A look of jealousy flashed across Abby’s eyes. Clearly she wasn’t over her crush on Maven, no matter how indifferent she tried to act.
To my surprise, Maven’s voice suddenly acquired a sweet tone. “I don’t want you to go out there by yourself either. It’s getting dark. Stay here, please.”
I watched out of the corner of my eye as Abby’s frown dissipated and an almost imperceptible smile tweaked her lips. Her eyes remained locked to Maven’s until he cleared his throat and let go of her elbow. He self-consciously shifted from foot to foot and sat back down.
Restless, I shifted in my seat. I felt a little woozy from the wine the doctor’s cook had served us without even asking. I had only taken a few swigs, but it’d made me feel flush and slightly dizzy all the same. Surely, the lady could tell we were still minors and should have offered us water. I was starting to get the sense that the “sanctity” of youth in America wasn’t the same everywhere. This was definitely one of those cultural differences that made traveling to other countries so fascinating.
I hadn’t visited too many different countries—I pushed away the memories of my travels with Faris—but I definitely understood what people meant by “expanding your horizons.” Even during this brief visit here, I could feel my impressions of the world changing, morphing into something more real. The world was a vast place full of opposites, contradictions, contrasts. To live in only one place gave this deceptive impression of sameness, a near-sighted existence in need of a good dose of truth.
I couldn’t understand how anyone could be content living with such a limited sight. Like Abby sometimes, buying a McDonald’s meal instead of taking a chance on something different. I glanced over at her as she slouched on the loveseat, picking at her nail polish again. She smiled at me and a mushy fondness filled my chest. I was glad she was here. She was who she was, and I wouldn’t change her for anything.
She looked tired with circles under her heavily-mascaraed lashes. I couldn’t blame her. The long flight and drive had taken it out of us. If we were tired now, when jet lag hit, it would render us useless. Gallardo needed to hurry, so we could drive back to Besalú to find a hotel, else we would collapse right here on his layered Persian rugs. Something I highly doubted he would appreciate.
I cleared my throat. I had been patient enough, had waited for him to ponder my entire story and examine it from every angle. If he’d judged it false, more pondering wouldn’t change his mind at this point.
“So . . . can you help us? Would you like to see the stone?” I asked.
Gallardo’s gaze jerked upward, looking as if he’d just come out of a trance. He blinked several times and regarded us as if we’d sprung out of his vivid daydreams.
“I apologize,” he said. “I was lost in thought, in your story, and the possibility that it’s all true, that I haven’t been wrong all along.” As he said this, his expression changed, and I thought he looked . . . vindicated. For a moment, he appeared as if he would launch into a dissertation about the veracity of the beliefs he’d upheld for who knew how long. He didn’t—even though his mouth opened and closed several times, his eyes darted from side to side and his fingers worked, tightening and untightening. He seemed full of energy and excitement, ready to burst and shout something at the top of his lungs.
If I was honest with myself, he seemed a touch crazy, but it didn’t matter. Not if he believed me, even without seeing the stone.
It was at this point that I realized what he’d meant earlier when he accused us of being here to mock him. It seemed my worries to convince him had been needless. He’d already been a believer, and he probably feared mockery because he had already faced it.
Gallardo hurried to his desk and started pulling things out of the drawers. “Yes, I want to see the stone. And I want you to take me to Faris, to Akeelah.”
“Take you to Akeelah?” I asked. “Were you listening to me? She’s evil. Believe me, you don’t want to meet her.” I exchanged a bewildered look with Maven and Abby. She wound a finger around her temple and mouthed the word “cuckoo.”
I peered at the doctor. He turned to a small cabinet behind him and retrieved a black leather case—an old-fashioned, worn-out thing that looked like it belonged to a doctor who made house calls. He placed it on the desk and started throwing things inside. His hands moved quickly, flinging drawers open and digging for what he needed. The objects practically flew into the bag: a small booklet that looked like a passport, a wallet, eyeglasses, a gun!
“Um . . . what are you doing?” I asked.
He gave me a raised eyebrow as if asking, “what does it look like I’m doing?”
Suddenly, I found my temper rising. “I only came here to see if you knew a way to destroy or at least stop Akeelah. You said there’s supposed to be a way. You said you would tell me once you’d heard the whole story. Well, you’ve heard it . . .” I let the words hang in the air to emphasize the point that he hadn’t fulfilled his end of the deal.
Gallardo finished packing, as if I weren’t there. I opened my mouth again, but he spoke first.
“Yes,” he said without looking up, his manner changing from frantic and determined to patient and scholarly.
What the hell?
Maven scratched his head and looked at the doctor, bewildered.
I realized he might really be crazy, like a mad scientist or something. Maybe that was the real reason he believed in Djinn without proof.
With great care, Gallardo picked a bound tome from one of his massive bookshelves. The book was tall and thick, and it looked new, not like it would contain any ancient secrets or anything like that.
He dropped it on the coffee table with a thud and took a seat at the edge of his wingback chair. We gathered around it, our interest piqued. Gallardo flipped through the large pages with meaty fingers. Page after page went by, revealing a collection of text and blurry photocopies of ancient items like spears, stone tables, vases, statues, daggers.
On close inspection, the tome didn’t look like something you could buy in a bookstore or find in a library. The pages weren’t numbered, the images were askew and there was no text to describe most things. I looked back toward the bookshelves, at the rows of other tomes like this one. They had no titles on their spines, just a single number, the highest being forty.
I stared back at the strange volume and realized that this and all the other books were Gallardo’s creation. He’d had someone bind the pages of . . . what? . . . pictures of all the ancient artifacts he’d ever encountered? His research?
Most of the pieces in the photographs looked like things that belonged in a museum or a private collection, the sort of stuff one would find behind a “No Pictures Please” sign.
After flipping through half the pages, Gallardo stopped at the picture of a stone. It was about the shape of an egg, except not as rounded, and with a flat bottom, on which it stood. Next to the stone lay a pencil, conveying it was the size of a watermelon. Its surface was decorated with intricate carvings. The top half bore horizontal lines at regular intervals, like a ruled notebook. Between the lines were simplistic images of animals—turtles, scorpions, camels—half-moons, stars, bearded men carrying spears, and other things I couldn’t identify. The bottom half was covered in several rows of tiny markings. From what I knew about Faris’s origins, I guessed them to be some sort of cuneiform writing.
On the margin of the photograph, something was scribbled in blue ink. I tried to read the words, but the handwriting wasn’t legible and, on top of that, seemed to be Spanish.
The doctor traced the carvings with his index finger.
“This is one of the only Sumerian artifacts ever found that refer to Djinn,” he began. “Most artifacts deal with nonsense, like record keeping and religious hymns. Everyone thinks the Djinn stories we’ve unearthed are legends, storytelling that would have normally been passed down from generation to generation in a verbal fashion. My colleagues think that if the stories were true, the Sumerians would h
ave carved more of them into stone, so they could be remembered and preserved.
“But the idiots take everything at face value. They don’t think logically about the facts and, even if they do, they’re too damn sophisticated to believe in fairy tales. What they don’t realize is that knowledge like this wouldn’t have been readily available to just anyone, and those who possessed it would’ve safeguarded it with their lives. I know I would have. I wouldn’t go around carving it on thirty-pound rocks for everyone to see.”
“Yeah, makes sense,” Maven said in a tone that made it sound like he was trying to put an end to Gallardo’s bitter rant. We exchanged a knowing look. Abby burped.
“Sorry,” she said, putting a hand on her belly. “Carry on and kill Djinn.”
Maven smiled at her joke. The doctor looked less than amused, reminding me of Grandpa Arthur’s impatience with “the clownish behavior of kids these days.” Older people never seemed to get half the jokes.
“So what does that thing say?” Maven pointed at the photograph.
“This thing,” Gallardo said, sounding as if Maven had just insulted his mother, “has the answer you’re looking for. Not that it would be of any use to any of you.”
“Why not?” I asked.
The doctor traced a finger across the ancient script on the stone. “These are the words of a spell that, based on what I’ve learned in years of studying Djinn folklore, must be cast by someone with power.”
“What kind of power? Magical power?” I figured that was the only kind of power that could possibly matter.
“Of course,” Gallardo said.
“You’re right, that counts us out, but what about Faris? He could do it, right?” Abby rubbed her face and gave a huge yawn.
“It’s a safe assumption,” Gallardo said.
“So what exactly does the spell do?” Maven reached for the tome. The doctor picked it up and stood, carrying the book away.
“I believe I will keep that to myself, for now.” Gallardo snapped the book closed and placed it inside a desk drawer, which he then slid shut with his knee and locked.
“Wait, why?” I step toward the desk, hands itching to tear the page from the book. “You won’t help us? You have to. Akeelah’s dangerous. She probably wants to take over the world and, as ridiculous as that may sound, I believe she’s capable of doing it.”
“I don’t doubt you believe that. But I will only give you the spell if you take me with you. I’m sure you can understand my position.” Gallardo walked to the bookshelf. “I’ve spent most of my life studying Djinn, being laughed at and called crazy by lesser men. I have to see Faris and Akeelah with my own two eyes. I’ve always dreamed of it.” He turned and put on an imploring look that made him look pathetic. “You won’t deny me that, will you, lovely?”
Maven shifted uncomfortably. Abby let out a sigh. She had fallen asleep.
“Um, we could come back later . . . with Faris. Right, Marielle?” Maven suggested. “I’m sure he’d enjoy meeting you, doctor. He’s a very cool, interesting guy.”
The doctor’s face went through a kaleidoscope of emotions, frustration and anger definitely among them. He looked at Maven from under bushy eyebrows, biting the inside of his cheek like he was filtering through his emotions, trying to find the appropriate one for the occasion. In the end, his features relaxed and settled into a mild, understanding expression.
“When I first saw you out in the field upsetting my sheep, I was very angry,” he said. “A group of local boys has been causing problems with my flock for a few months, now. They’re cruel kids and have hurt four of the sheep. They even killed a lamb the other night, bled the poor thing to death. Who goes around killing defenseless animals for fun? What kind of person do you have to be?” He asked no one in particular, shuddering.
“I’ve been trying to find the bastards to turn them to the authorities for animal cruelty. When I saw you out there, I thought I’d finally caught them red-handed. I apologize if I scared you. But you’re old enough to know you shouldn’t bother other people’s property,” he scolded in a mild, fatherly way, flicking his accusing eyes toward a sleeping Abby.
“Sorry, that was my fault. I dared her to do it. It was stupid.” Maven sounded abashed.
“You kids look exhausted. Look at that poor girl.” Gallardo pointed at Abby.
“We flew in earlier today,” I explained. “I think we should go, come back tomorrow after we’ve rested.”
“You’re welcome to rest here. It’s a big house. Plenty of room for everyone.”
Maven shrugged one shoulder, his distrust against the doctor seemly placated by the explanation and apology. The rifle made sense now, I figured. In spite of that, I couldn’t trust him fully, for some reason. I almost groaned at what felt like paranoia. He was probably nothing more than an overzealous scholar obsessed with Djinn, which was what we were hoping for, after all. I couldn’t really blame him for his curiosity, could I? Not when he’d dedicated his career to gathering the contents of the forty tomes on his bookshelf.
With a sigh, I picked up my backpack and slipped it on. “Thank you for the offer, but I think we’ll find a place in town. We don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Oh, it would be no trouble at all, my dear,” Gallardo said.
“We spotted a few hotels on our way in.” I walked up to Abby and nudged her. “We’ll be fine.”
“Forget those hotels.” He waved a hand in the air.
I thought I would have to flat out tell him I had no intention of staying in the house of a gun-toting stranger, but thankfully I didn’t have to.
He took in my facial expression, then nodded with understanding. “There’s a bed and breakfast on Comte Tallaferro Road. It’s called Rocio’s B&B. I know the people that run the place. They’re nice and know how to treat tourists. They speak English. A stay there would afford you a better taste of Spain. I hate business chains of any kind. Hotels, restaurants, stores,” he mused.
“Thank you. We’ll certainly take a look at it.”
Abby stretched to her full five feet and made a sound like a lazy cat. Rubbing her eyes, she asked, “So, are we ready to kick some Djinn butt?”
“Drive carefully on those narrow roads,” Gallardo said. “Americans aren’t used to them.” He chuckled. “Come back tomorrow, after you’ve rested, so we can discuss what to do. I’m sure after you’ve had some sleep, my simple request won’t seem so unreasonable, all things considered.” He smiled jovially.
Abby looked confused. Maven shook his head and mimed that he’d explain later. We walked out, escorted by the doctor who insisted on walking us to the car. Both large front doors stood open, letting in a cool breeze that carried with it the smell of earth, livestock and rosemary. The sky had turned a purple-blue, lending it a fairy tale quality.
I took a deep breath, relief washing over me at the sight of the beautiful, vast openness in front of me. I hadn’t realized, until then, how trapped I’d felt inside Gallardo’s house.
As we headed over the hill toward the rental car, a strong wind picked up on the other side, buffeting my hair and stirring dust clouds across our faces. Maven pulled his t-shirt over his nose and squinted. Abby and I coughed and followed his example.
Maven reached the top of the knoll first and froze. Something about his stance made me stop. A chill skipped across my back, and suddenly I knew that whatever was on the other side of the hill couldn’t be good.
36
Marielle
Maven stood frozen atop the hill. My lungs seem to forget how to function. I swallowed. It felt like pushing a baseball down a straw.
The car. Someone broke into the car. Probably the same boys who messed with the sheep!
With a burst of adrenaline, I ran to Maven’s side, followed closely by Abby. When I reached the top, I immediately understood why Maven stood so rigid, and I couldn’t help but become his slack-jawed mirror image.
My heart suddenly felt like a useless, inert accessory.
“There she is.” The evil voice hit me like an arctic wind, its chill making my skin tighten and break into a million goose bumps.
Akeelah was here, at the bottom of the hill. Her torso was suspended in a hazy funnel cloud that elevated her twelve feet from the ground. The features on her dark face blended into the night, except for her eyes. They were visible, but only because they were glowing like rubies.
“Holy shit,” Maven said in a breathy murmur.
“Something the matter?” Gallardo asked, stepping up behind us.
“The one on the left.” Akeelah pointed a black finger in my direction.
I tore my eyes from the hulking figure, my heart kicking up its pace as a second shape stepped away from the funnel cloud.
A man dressed in a dark suit and loose tie stood under the haze of the Djinn’s whirlwind. He held a gun with a laser sight mounted underneath the barrel.
Suddenly, a red dot appeared on my breastbone, followed by the deafening blast of a bullet. Time slowed, turning into a dense miasma drenched in regret. A million thoughts flashed before my eyes, but every single one condensed into one.
Faris! I’ll never see him again.
37
Faris
As my essence seeped through the portal on the wings of a caprice—my awareness torn between two disparate realms—the echoes from the physical world clamored for my full attention.
Something momentously tragic was at the verge of shattering the world itself.
“The one on the left.”
Part of my being registered the significance of these words, and I spurred into action.
Possessed by the fear of awful possibilities, I let the caprice snap into a full fledged wish, inviting my magic, forgetting all restraint. It burst forth, tearing the shrinking portal into a gaping, ragged hole, spilling me whole onto a grassy area.
As I materialized right behind Akeelah, I noted her shock, her realization of my sudden presence. I had only a split second to act. I made good use of it.
Two Hearts Asunder (Djinn Empire Book 2) Page 22