by J. C. Welker
Nero squeezed the boy’s heart. “Make the wish.”
“Don’t do this!”
“Make the wish,” he repeated. The boy’s face went slack, as if listening to a distant song only he could hear. What light in his eyes remained for the magician.
“I wish,” the boy said, “for him to have the sight of a spirit.”
Human eyes weren’t meant to see spirits. Anjeline held her breath, but it didn’t matter, not with being shackled. The bonds slashed at her essence. The more she resisted, the more it sliced, draining her magic, violating her from the inside out. It hit her like a strike of lightning—her skin boiled, her insides smoked—and the power was ripped from her core. Before she could stop it, the breath of a wish wrenched free from her tongue.
It was cast.
Light billowed on all sides of the magician and the boy, tangling between their arms up to their necks and ruffled through folds of hair. Tendrils of it flicked around them, little flittering and delicate taps against their skin. Nero’s eyes turned dazzling, changing, now able to witness every plane of this world once invisible to him. And as the wish grew into being, the boy’s irises glazed over in a thick fog.
The consequence.
The boy blinked in pain. He began clawing at his face, against the agony, unable to see, and calling to the magician for help. His fingernails pressed to his eyes, trying to rip away the magic cutting into his flesh. When he drew his bloody hands away, he no longer had pain. No longer had eyes. What remained were two black holes.
He fell to his knees and screamed.
Chapter Eighteen
For a long while after Anjeline finished speaking of the wishes coming back to haunt her, complete silence filled the vessel’s room. The voices above them had dimmed along with the pain of her memories, of all the ghosts of people that had been torn asunder.
At last, Rebel looked up, eyes grave. “What happened to the boy?”
“Dark magic comes at a cost,” was all she could say. “Nero lost his humanity for the price of power. He finds those with moldable souls to manipulate. Removes hearts, forces people to cast wishes for him. He reaps none of the consequences, while others take it all…” Pain flickered in her chest. “For years, he’s been searching for a heart such as Solomon had. One unable to cast a selfish wish.”
“Which would equal no consequence.” Rebel nodded, yet still looked clueless. “But why would Nero care, if he doesn’t reap the price to begin with?”
“Because, he needs a selfless heart to obtain the one wish he can’t.”
“To get back his soul?”
Anjeline shook her head. “He cares not about a soul. But power. He made the boy wish for the sight of a spirit as if he could be as forceful as one. Still another’s wish could never grant him the ultimate power he wants. Immortality.”
“Why not?”
“When those he enthralled wished for immortality, they turned, casting it for themselves instead. No matter how much he manipulated them with magic, they turned every time. But he believes if he can find a heart unable to wish selfishly, it could make his wish of immortality come true.” Most believed the will of a wish came from a person’s mind, others from blood. But Anjeline knew they came from spirit. From the heart. And there it ruined.
“What became of the people?” Rebel persisted. “What was the consequence?”
“Flesh cannot live forever,” she said and left it at that. There were other terrible things on her tongue she wanted to give voice to, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain. Anjeline was dangerous. She knew it, magicians knew it, and the second they saw her, they saw only glory and power. Everything they wanted to capture. To control.
For years and years, she watched as Madrath built rules around her, thinking it was to form a foundation so she could be the greatest Wishmaker. She was the ember and spark, he’d say. One of a few Jinn birthed from the fire of the Noor, trained and skilled in the tongue. Being able to offer wishes to magicians had once made her feel kinship with them, not superiority. That had been all she desired, to be the greatest and most revered. But once she put the rules in place, she suddenly understood the truth. She was a spark in herself, and she had to be ruthless unless someone might lock her away so they could inherit her wishes.
Then someone had.
She’d been so naive after Solomon, searching for peace, that she had let her guard down with Nero. And the light from within had been stolen from her. Her dreams melted into horrors. She’d watched humans crush themselves under the darkness of their selfish souls. Watched her own magic ruin. Felt the weight of wishes she carried alone making her feel weak where it should have made her strong. Now all she wanted was to destroy the magician, erase her past, and escape the vessel.
As if her thoughts were heard, Rebel asked, “When you’re freed, you’re planning on finding Nero, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t you?” She pressed her lips together. She’d already revealed too much. Her only comfort came from the anticipation of avenging those souls. She’d vowed by the remains of his victims she would stop him, and become the Jinn to her kin she once was. But to do that she must be free. Ironically, the one thing pushing her goal forward happened to be the human who needed a wish.
Rebel seemed to be reading her like a book. “Nero’s why you don’t trust me? You think I’ll keep you bottled up?” Her face hardened, but underneath hid a look in her eyes that Anjeline didn’t like. As if her own light had been dimmed.
It reflected the anguish in the shadows of Anjeline’s heart, holding on to the past with a vengeful grip. She’d learned to numb herself, believed her trust and mercy had been extinguished, but with Rebel, she experienced faint pangs of both. The fact that Rebel hid within the vessel, that she’d made a contract with a human, was a testament to some unspoken hope she still had. “If you only knew.” She released a breath. “You haven’t witnessed darkness like I have. Even with the best intentions, people can fail you.”
“You think I don’t know?” Rebel said as if each word hurt her. “All my life I’ve had to learn how to survive, to endure the darkness rather than becoming it. Girls are taken all the time from the streets, especially ones like me. If it hadn’t been for Jaxon…who knows where I would be,” she whispered.
Anjeline felt her hardened essence crack a little.
Then Rebel linked a pinky with hers, one small gesture. “I keep my promises. We’ll find the means to free you. Maybe I don’t look like much, but not all warriors wear armor.”
Rebel’s features softened with that gentleness about her, of eyes that saw beyond the world’s gloom and thoughts that cut through it with a blade of light. She’d been a victim of humans as much as Anjeline had been, and yet her aura shined so bright, so hopeful. It warmed Anjeline to see, swirling her heart of smoke. It was no wonder she felt drawn to the flame.
“A thief with a heart,” Anjeline said. A heart, she noted, that seems to be beating far too irregularly for any human. And she wondered if this was the reason for her pills. Something Rebel didn’t care to speak of. “Relax. It’ll be midnight soon. Hopefully they’ll be gone.”
They could barely hear the voices above them.
Rebel looked up at the neck of the vase, then kicked off her boots and gave a showy yawn. “Can’t relax”—her gaze slid to her satchel—“unless someone reads.”
Anjeline’s lips twitched. “Is this your tactless way of asking me?”
“It wasn’t tactless.”
“Is that a please, Faddi?”
She paused. “You keep calling me that.”
“It means silver. The color of your eyes.” They were so close she noticed the smoky flecks in Rebel’s irises moved with dilation. It was hard not to smile at eyes like that.
For a beat, Rebel stared at her before that sheepish look appeared. Nuzzling her head into the pillows like a content feline, she mumbled what sounded like, “please.”
Anjeline felt her own smile grow, and withdrew Re
bel’s favored book of poems from the satchel. Some of these quotes were familiar to her—Solomon’s poem. How, of all humans, could Rebel have felt so connected to her? She opened the book to where it was marked, to the poem she’d watched being written centuries ago, and began to read, “‘My beloved spoke, and said unto me…
Rise up, my love…
my fair one…
and come away…’”
Anjeline read, drawing out the verses until the fire burned low and sleep took hold of Rebel. No sounds came from outside the vessel. From above the floorboards. Perhaps Rebel was right—the fox could be trusted. She dared to stroke a thumb across the bruised face and the scar on Rebel’s brow. Freckles like small constellations kissed her cheeks, and Anjeline’s fingers swept over them as though she could feel the starlight.
Her essence stirred again as she rested defenseless beside Rebel, and yet never feeling so protected. What am I doing? Defying Madrath. Rebel confused her, and she hated it. Despite all her experiences with humans, the one who had made her question Jinn rules was a thief. Still, she had manipulated Rebel into a promise. Had to, in spite of her own guilt. It had become her fuel.
Once she was free, she’d make Nero regret ever wronging her.
Chapter Nineteen
He nudged her arm. “Calm down. Wolves aren’t going to ambush the Tube.”
“Says you,” Rebel whispered. “They hunted me through Piccadilly Circus.” Midnight had arrived on an ominous black cloud, as she elbowed her way down the Metro train and through the horde of people, feeling the warmth of the figure behind her.
“Then it’s a right thing I brought my vixen.” Jaxon patted his coat pocket, the sound of something within coming off as hard and metallic. His precious revolver. Thanks to his fox ways, they were once again magician-free.
Anjeline had been wrong. As Rebel knew she would be. Though Skinner’s behemoth had searched the Freebooter’s club high and low, Jaxon did what he was best at—he’d exploited their confusion, creating an elaborate story of how Rebel had betrayed him and carried off his loot, heading to Scotland, of all places. Skinner hadn’t questioned it, but left in a whirl to search hundreds of miles away. And, five hours later, they were smuggling into a populated train.
Rebel’s eyes remained wide and wild. Searching out anything appearing hairier than it should be. Thankfully, her pills kept her heart from beating out of her chest—or stopping altogether. Jaxon led them to the back, not bothering to explain wherever these secret traders he was taking them to resided. But she knew him well enough to know if he’d kept their identity secret, he was in good standing with them.
Farther down the train, people prattled on about the The Daily Mail. Most couldn’t be bothered to tear themselves away from their neck-breaking phones and glowing screens, but one sleepy boy on his mother’s shoulder stared at them, or rather, at the unusual female.
“He keeps staring.” Anjeline glared under her hoodie, her face half in shadows.
“Tends to happen when you’re fire incarnate,” Rebel said. “Told you to go feline.” The stare Anjeline gave her was a cross between a glare and a smirk. Hiding her face behind a hood was like hiding a sparkler behind a curtain. Even beneath the sickly Tube lights, the ends of her hair shimmered with heat.
Anjeline had refused to withdraw into the vase while in public or shape-shift into that Abyssinian cat, for it hurt her pride. Rebel knew she was trying to wear her down, which wasn’t supposed to work, especially on a Fingersmith who used all the tricks herself. But when she’d looked at Anjeline, the cuffs encircling her wrists and those doleful eyes, she’d relented. Keeping her promise. It was agonizing how easy Anjeline made her insides crumble. And now here she was, transporting a wish-granting jinni on the London Tube.
Worst idea ever.
But this new dynamic between them tipped whatever misgivings either had into unknown territory. It had been nearly midnight when Rebel blinked awake in the vase, absent of any threat, to the sensation of a humming in her chest’s core and a head of hair nuzzled beside her. As though she were in a dream world. The heat that had come off Anjeline was as tepid as the summer, setting her skin on fire, stretching against Rebel’s side with every wonderful curve and dip. For a while, she had watched as eyelids fluttered, Anjeline looking tousled, her hair in a gorgeous tangle. She reminded Rebel of an ancient painting. A face of soft desert curves that could soothe wounds and launch a thousand ships, a mouth that looked as if…
She kissed as easily as she breathed, a curious little part of her thought.
“Rebel?”
Anjeline caught her staring, and was now looking at her from under the hood with a devilish smirk. One eyebrow raised in amusement, seeming to know where her thoughts had drifted. “Just…thinking,” Rebel mumbled. If her imagination could’ve spoken at that moment, she would’ve probably been slapped.
While Jaxon casually flipped a coin between his fingers, a suited man shoved by him and between people to hoard a seat. A second later, Jaxon now had a wallet in his hands and a roguish grin on his lips. She stifled a laugh, but a fiery gaze caught the exchange.
“How do you judge?” Anjeline leaned closer, studying her. “Whose pocket to pick?”
Rebel tensed slightly. “We have a code. Rules.”
“Rules? That’s a word open to interpretation.”
She frowned, but noticed Anjeline’s gaze lacked its usual judgmental-ness. “Thieving’s survival,” she said. “Our moral code isn’t perfect, but at least we have one. No filching from the old, children, or the poor. Only those who can spare the loss.”
“Spare it.” Jaxon tutted. “Sometimes the fat cats who cause the poor to grow poorer need to learn the meaning of karma, and they learn it from me.”
Anjeline’s brow knitted together. “You believe they deserve to be stolen from?”
“Certainly.” Jaxon smiled sweetly. His pride a matter-of-fact.
Rebel shook her head. “Does anyone deserve anything? We survive. Birds eat ants. When they die, ants eat the bird. When you aren’t born with advantages, you do what you have to.” She chose thieving for more than one reason—it was a means by which she created balance, taking back the power that had been taken from her. A life she had no choice in.
Anjeline met her gaze. “But what’s a life if you’re just surviving it?” Her expression was one of complete understanding, knowing the horrid truth of what one must do.
Self-consciously, Rebel rubbed at her chest and remembered the shadows hardening Anjeline’s eyes just hours before, when she’d spoken of the past, her captor, and the many lives lost. How she looked like the universe weighed down her bones. Rebel was beginning to understand the burden of magic. Of wishes. She saw the invisible scars Anjeline wore, ones like her own, from fighting an endless battle. She wanted to show her the world, that there was happiness out there, not just the darkness permeating from others. From myself.
But she hoped Anjeline saw her in a different light now. Not as the Fingersmith. Not just a human, either. Her hand stayed within her satchel, needing to feel the vase the same way she needed to breathe, wondering if she could wish her heart anew, if she could free Anjeline, and if these people Jaxon claimed were able to help really could. The number of ifs was growing. And with her condition, tomorrow wasn’t a given.
The train came to another station.
As the doors gushed open bringing in cold air, more passengers bundled through, prodding inside and scrambling for a space. With each passing person, Rebel wondered if any held magic. Who knew of this world she’d been thrust into? Unease swept over her. Too many dangers. Too many strangers, filling the train with equal parts punch-drunk college kids, posh men and women, and those looking for one thing at this time of night. The train doors swished closed and a scent wafted around her nose.
She sniffed. “You smell that?”
“The Tube always smells like the bowels of London,” Jaxon said. He shook his head. “Smells like dog, or—”
/>
“Lycans,” Anjeline hissed.
Panic spread as Rebel caught a glimpse of uniforms and a flash of crimson moving between the people. She jerked her head down and Anjeline clung to her arm in a hard grip. “The Night Guard,” she said, guiding Jaxon’s gaze to the twins.
“Well I’ll be. You’re having an exceptionally horrid week.” His eyes narrowed, observing the redheads from afar. Styria paraded her officer’s uniform, her sinuous features contrasting Vandal’s chiseled scowl and stalwart frame. A grin curled Jaxon’s mouth, looking positively foxlike. “I do fancy me a redhead or two.”
“Less fantasizing. More hiding.” Rebel slipped a hand in her pocket, grasping the bone hilt of her switchblade, and nudged Anjeline farther behind Jaxon. He puffed out his coat, blocking them from the twin’s view.
Step by agonizing step, Styria and Vandal searched through the train, slowly heading in their exact direction. Identical faces contorted wolfishly, snuffling out a scent. No doubt Rebel’s. Anjeline mumbled a curse. The mass of packed bodies pinned them in the corner, nowhere to exit but past the lycanthropes. The twins’ eyes roamed over each passenger, drawing closer and closer, till eventually they would land on a jinni.
“Anjeline,” she said. “I know I promised to never ask, but get in the vase.”
Pulling the hoodie farther down, Anjeline shook her head. “You think me vanishing in a cloud of smoke won’t draw attention? If those hellhounds want me, they’ll have to rip me from your side.”
Rebel faltered a little, her chest filling with a peculiar succor, and held tight to Anjeline’s hand, as if any moment she might drift away. And when Anjeline squeezed back, her stomach lurched in a way that had nothing to do with the threat.
“Calm down, loves. Don’t need silver to repel a beast.” Jaxon pulled something from his coat, but it wasn’t a revolver. He flipped the top of a metal toothpick holder and pinched between his fingers a flower stem crowned with spikes of blue petals in the form of a cylindrical helmet. Rebel knew what it was. She’d read about the wolf repellent. “Devil’s helmet, the queen of poisons,” he said, and his eyes twinkled at Anjeline. “We just need a pair of magical lips to blow it at the target.”