Two Hearts Asunder (Djinn Empire Book 2)

by Ingrid Seymour

  “Evil brother? So there are three Djinn in this story?” His skeptical expression returned.

  Three Djinn in one story had to sound too good to be true. I guessed he didn’t think he would be so lucky as to have not one but three Djinn land in his lap.

  I gave Abby a nasty glare.

  “Well, that’s what happened, wasn’t it?” she said innocently. Her stomach growled. “I’m hungry. Can we get something to eat?”

  Maven leaned against the back of Abby’s loveseat. “Yeah, me too.”

  Irritation back in his voice, Doctor Gallardo asked again. “Three Djinn?”

  I sighed. “Like I said, it’s a long story. I can tell you all about it, if you want. But before I go into all of that, tell me you can help me. Please tell me there’s a way to destroy a Djinn.”

  Doctor Gallardo narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, making his mustache move. After a moment, he nodded. “There’s supposed to be a way. A vanishing spell, but is all theory, as you can well imagine.”

  The pressure I’d been carrying in my chest since Faris had left me diminished, somewhat. “I’m more than willing to test any theory. No matter the cost.”

  Gallardo gave me a raised eyebrow. “Let’s talk over dinner. Excuse me if my manners have been less than perfect.”

  Abby huffed. “That’s the understatement of the year. This is my first visit to Spain, and let me tell you, you’re giving your country a bad name, mister.”

  I felt mortified. Didn’t Abby realize we were doing the same thing? We’d showed up unannounced, had our feet on his loveseat, were demanding food—all after riding his sheep. Not cool.

  “Abby,” I said between clenched teeth, staring pointedly at her feet.

  “No worries. Make yourselves comfortable.” Gallardo waved a hand, indicating Abby’s feet were no problem. “I will have Rosario prepare something to eat. We can talk over her delicious tapas. I’ll tell you what you want to know, but first I want you to tell me everything.”

  He smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. It was the first time he’d shown a hint of them. The gesture seemed genuine enough, but something about it made me uncomfortable. I shook off the feeling. Maybe it was the way he seemed to turn the charm on and off that was bothering me. But that was understandable. He’d thought we’d come to mock him. I vaguely wondered why anyone would want to do that, but it was anyone’s guess.

  Whatever the case, he seemed to have the answers I needed. I just hoped those answers were enough.

  32

  Faris

  I left the gruesome sight of the riverboat wreck, the stigma of the deaths I couldn’t prevent clinging to my essence like a bad scent. It filled me with shame, and it was all I could do not to think about it. I had failed in so many ways, and the list kept growing.

  Because of me, my brother was a prisoner, and if Zet couldn’t find the way to a gentler corner of his soul where forgiveness still remembered its shape and purpose, he would never be free.

  Because of me, two men had died, bleeding red life onto a stainless steel table, thinking themselves pious and hoping for eternal life in their misguided rapture. Instead, they had both met a much different fate—the first, lucky in death, when compared to the eternal imprisonment of the second.

  Because of me, Akeelah had the knowledge she’d been seeking. And even if, for now, her knowledge was incomplete, it was only a matter of time before the twisted creature figured out what it took to make the army of Zets. And what then of humanity?

  What pained me most, however, was my inability to protect Marielle. I had failed her too, even in my attempt to keep her safe. On hind sight, I could see how naïve it had been to think Akeelah’s word meant anything at all, to measure her honor by my own standards.

  I cursed myself. What good was an existence of over two thousand years when, in the end, I was the same untrained boy who had ruined himself when three simple words would have saved me? Not that I would go back and speak those words now. The torture, the imprisonment, the loneliness, it had all led me to Marielle.

  I would endure it all over again to be with her.

  Now, I had to find her, had to take her to safety and had to make good on my promise to tell her how I felt for her. I had to show her the depth of my feelings, all in those three words she craved to hear and I longed to speak.

  The memory of her expectant face, followed by her disappointment every time I failed to respond to her heartfelt I love yous, was unbearable.

  Hoping to chart a new course of action, I wished myself to my home in the Garden District. I appeared on the sidewalk and blinked my eyes open to dark, glaring windows. The house looked empty and no hint of magic hung in the air. Akeelah hadn’t been here, at least not in the last ten minutes. I waited to see if she would follow me. She didn’t.

  A roiling ache churned in my chest at the sight of the house, a place where I’d seen Marielle smile, where I’d held her in my arms mere days before. I tried not to think of the fear she must have felt finding herself alone and at the mercy of thugs. All because of me, because I had abandoned her for no good reason, as it turned out.

  With a small nod, I thanked the life that made her tough, a fighter. Somehow, she had managed to escape Andy’s cronies, and now she was out of Akeelah’s reach, if only for the moment. I imagined her somewhere safe, out of harms way. I couldn’t conceive any other possibility.

  I waited, standing still. Akeelah had followed me to the lake, had traced my magic, and found me standing by the riverboat wreckage. She came to taunt me with more promises, more lies. Not for a moment did I believe she would leave us alone. Not anymore. Her words were nothing but veiled snares, a lesson I’d learned the hard way.

  When Akeelah didn’t appear, I crossed the street and went to the front door. I listened before slipping the key into the lock. I used only my senses, no magic, determined—from now on—to leave scant or no traces for Akeelah to follow. I heard nothing inside. I wondered where Robert might be and decided he’d probably made a home at the nursery, not wanting to stay here but having nowhere else to go.

  Inside the house, I walked with deliberate steps, letting my eyes explore every detail as I made my way into the study. Nothing seemed out of place. I walked to the Ansel Adams photograph and removed it from its hook on the wall.

  The safe was empty. A measure of relief settled within me, not bright and all-redeeming as I would have liked, but enough to clear my thoughts.

  Not sure why, I explored the rest of the house, wondering if Marielle had found some reassurance in what little I’d left, hoping she’d used it to get to safety.

  Upstairs, on top of a dresser in one of the guest bedrooms, I found a crumpled note in Marielle’s handwriting and read it. It was addressed to Robert, written in a hurried scrawl. The message didn’t mention where she was going, only that she couldn’t lie in wait, that she had to find a way to help me.

  I crumpled the note anew, dropped it to the floor. A sharp stabbing pain hit my chest, much like the one Robert must have felt when he went over the words.

  Where had she gone thinking she could aid me? The oppressive sensation in my chest increased twofold. I ached for her, for her safety, for my mistakes that had led her to danger.

  Resisting the urge to use magic, I marched out of the room on my own two feet, like every man—half-djinn or not—should. When I reached the study, I searched it once more for any missed clues. Another note, perhaps? I dug frantically through the desk drawers. Nothing.

  My eyes alighted on the laptop. Wherever Marielle had decided to go, she must have used the computer to make arrangements. I opened the lid and looked around in a few places, but didn’t find anything. My fingers tingled, wishing to send magic into the digital ether, where I could find out what I needed to know. With my power, I could travel through the circuits and fibers, letting my essence chase hundreds of thousands of leads into different paths, until I found the server, the database, the file that contained the answer. I
knew all the names on the fake passports and driver licenses, all the credit card numbers. I could find her in an infinitesimal sliver of time.

  I bit my lower lip and reined in my desperate desire to be with Marielle. Yes, with my magic I could find her, I could be with her in an instant. But this was also the same magic that would grant Akeelah that sacred knowledge and would lead the monster and all her evil intent straight to Marielle.

  I quelled my yearning, not without effort. I wanted so badly to see her, to embrace her. But her safety came first, before the heartache of not being near her.

  I thought of what to do next. Should I leave? Stay?

  Outside, all traces of the magic I’d used to come here had now dissolved. Enough time had passed and Akeelah hadn’t followed. Waiting here was safe, for the time being. After a moment’s deliberation, I picked up the phone and dialed Jardin Noir’s number. Robert answered with an anxious ring to his “hello.”

  “Robert, it’s Faris.”

  “Faris! Where are you? Marielle left. I don’t know where she’s gone. We have to find her.” His words spilled one on top of one another.

  “I’m in my house. I saw the note. I’ll find her. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  “She disobeyed me. She was supposed to go to class. I should have known she would do something like this.”

  “Listen, you may not be safe. Akeelah might come after you if she gets desperate. You should go away. You could hide in the plantation, Live Oak. I’ve never used magic there. When I find Marielle, we’ll come find you. Don’t come here. It’s not safe. I have to go now.”

  “Wait, I want to come with you,” he said with authority.

  “That’s not a good idea. Do as I ask, Robert. I promise I’ll find her. Then we’ll come for you.” I hung up over the man’s protests.

  Hoping Robert took my advice, I went to the master bedroom and into the walk-in closet. At the far end, I pushed my clothes aside and pressed a concealed button. The back wall slid open to reveal an enclosed space half the size of the closet itself. This small panic room and the home’s security system were special additions I’d made with Akeelah in mind.

  A control panel and several computer screens sat at the end of the narrow space. From here, I could monitor the entire house. I stepped inside, turned on the light and pressed another button that shut the false wall behind me.

  If there were any traces of Marielle's whereabouts, they had to be in this house. Nowhere else. Perhaps something in the computer that I couldn’t discover without the use of magic. I couldn’t be sure. For now, I would wait here and do what I’d failed to do before.

  I would protect Marielle.

  33

  Akeelah

  Once more in her reduced human form, Akeelah circled around Frank’s men, lithe on her feet, hatred seeping into the floor, aimed at her prey.

  One of the men was tall and lean with black hair, pale skin and deep blue eyes. He was young, no more than twenty-five. He wore a suit, not expensive, but well cared for. His eyes were cool, his expression calculating.

  The second man was short and stout, thick as a barrel. He had brown, spiked hair, olive skin and dark eyes. Late thirties. He vaguely resembled Frank. Akeelah suspected he was another of his crass relatives. He wore a navy blue gym suit with white stripes down the sides. He had a wild look in his eyes, much like Andy’s.

  Immediately, she knew which task would suit each of the men.

  “These are Vic and Roland,” Frank said. “They’re two of my most trusted men.”

  Akeelah kept examining their faces, their reactions.

  Frank continued by addressing his men. “Ms. Johnson is a . . . very special associate of mine. She requires your help at the moment, and I want you two to follow her orders as you would follow mine. Understood?”

  Both men nodded and took a good look at Akeelah, distrustful, yet obedient.

  “I will talk to you first,” Akeelah pointed at Roland, the stout one, and took him to the next room which was Frank’s personal gym, a large place equipped with an assortment of treadmills, kettlebells, punching bags, weight machines, bars, hanging ropes.

  Roland behaved the way humans always did in her presence. At first, he put on a brave exterior, but it slowly melted away as she explained what he must do for her. He was to be her new Andy. He was to help her turn every Eritrean at her disposal into a Djinn, until one of them turned out the way she wanted or until every single one was trapped in a bottle.

  When she was done explaining, she revealed her Djinn form, which erased any doubt he might have harbored. At the sight of her new form, the remnants of his tough act fell away completely, leaving behind only fear.

  “I . . . will do it,” he said in a shaky voice that inspired little confidence.

  He wasn’t like Andy, after all. But he would have to do, even if properly scared.

  When they returned to Frank’s office, the mob boss appeared glad not to have any knowledge of their conversation. It seemed he preferred not to be an accomplice to any of the crimes his men committed, even the ones done in his name, she was sure.

  Then she took Vic aside. He watched her, unwavering, his attitude nothing like Roland’s. His deep blue eyes caught her every move, hinting at a vast number of thoughts and ideas going on inside his head. He said little and kept all emotions in check, even when she revealed her true nature. Only a slight tightening of his lips betrayed his fear.

  “My job is to track and kill a nineteen-year-old girl?” Vic’s voice wasn’t exactly challenging, but it seemed he didn’t find the task agreeable.

  Hadn’t she specified men with no scruples? Was that too much to ask? Roland had barely batted an eye at his assignment, no matter that it involved more death than that of a single snotty teenage Dross.

  “Frank said you followed orders unquestioningly,” her words pulsed with disappointment and a threat.

  “I do. I just don’t see why I’m needed for this job. Couldn’t any of Frank’s punks do it? Should be easy. Couldn’t you do it for that matter, if you’re so powerful?” Tentative mockery was in his question.

  A smart Dross, which by default also made him a stupid one.

  “I suppose you could drain my bank account or stall my car’s engine,” he continued, “but you couldn’t so much as pluck a hair from my head. Am I right?” Vic paused and grinned with a wicked glint in his eyes.

  Akeelah thought of an appropriate answer, a threat that might scare this filthy peon into obedience, but she was too dumbfounded by his gall.

  “Yeah, just what I thought.” Vic turned his back on her and hit one of the punching bags that hung from the ceiling. He rubbed his knuckles, then removed his jacket, folded it neatly and draped it across a workout bench. “See,” he continued, “the difference between Frank and me is that I’ve nothing to lose.” He rolled his sleeves and began punching the bag over and over, placing his fists in front of his face after every punch and leaning his torso from side to side as if dodging blows, like a professional boxer. Sweat broke out across his forehead.

  Akeelah glided around him, admiring his graceful movements and powerful blows, her curiosity piqued at his words.

  “That also means,” he said, sounding somewhat breathless, “I’ve much to gain from advantageous situations when they present themselves.” Vic changed his stance and began kicking the bag. It swung wildly with each vicious blow. “I believe this is one of those situations.” Vic stopped, cracked his neck and walked to a nearby shelf. He took a white hand towel from one of the many stacks and wiped his face.

  When he was done, he held the towel by one of its corners. An embroidered F and A were stamped in the middle. “The narcissistic bastard.” Vic threw the towel with disdain into a plastic bin reserved for that purpose.

  He examined the knuckles of his right hand. He’d hit the bag so hard he’d made them bleed. He ran his tongue over the blood and licked it clean.“You see, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty
when I need to. I actually . . . enjoy it. But I also enjoy reaping the benefits, living a little, unlike Frank here.” He tipped his head toward the office. “He’s too busy guarding all his possessions and fake reputation to enjoy anything at all. I, on the other hand, have nothing to lose, as I’ve already pointed out. So . . .” He let the word hang and jumped up onto the workout bench so that he was face to face with Akeelah. He looked deep into her eyes. No fear, only murky emotions in his glare.

  “What I’d like to know is this.” He leaned in closer. “What’s in it for me?”

  Akeelah breathed in the sultry scent of Vic’s musk. Her nostrils flared as she tried to catch a hint of his fear. His temperature remained steady, even if heightened after his little crude display of strength. His pupils and heart rate also remained unaltered, but for the exertion.

  Frank was easy to manipulate because he cared so much about so many different things. Humans, since time immemorial, had always been that way. If it wasn’t gems or gold, it was a son, a mother, a lover, or some other sentimental nonsense. But never before had it been so easy to manipulate humans as in the current times. Like busy ants, they labored over the stupidest things: paper currency, clothes with exclusive labels, cars, electronic gadgets, all matter of inconsequential things.

  For a Dross with nothing to lose, it had to be easy to act this way. Vic thought he was different, above all pettiness and groveling. And maybe he was, for the time being. However, Akeelah suspected he wouldn’t remain thus for long. After all, he wanted to know what was in it for him. It was just a matter of discovering what he craved. And once she did, Vic would be just like Frank and all the disdain he felt for his boss would turn into self-hatred, a thing Akeelah could use to her advantage.

  There was only one kind of person who could resist a Djinn and her highly corrupting magic: A selfless one. And there weren’t many of those. Clearly, Vic wasn’t one of them. He wanted to “live a little.” Whatever that meant, she would find out.