by J. C. Welker
For several heartbeats, Anjeline focused on Rebel, her face tensed in a mixture of distress and bewilderment. “Are you going to explain?” she finally asked. “Your ailment?”
“When we get out of here I will.” Rebel exhaled.
“You never thought to mention it? What if something happens before—”
She jerked back. If Jaxon’s betrayal had numbed her, those words pierced her to the marrow. “Worried about your freedom?”
The hurt on Anjeline’s face was unmistakable. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m numb. My body’s one big bruise. Someone I thought was family just sold me down the river. I feel as if I’ve been drowning for days, and it’s all been for you.” Rebel stared at her with all the power she could muster. “How can you doubt me when I’m already giving you my all?”
Anjeline’s voice softened. “Rebel…”
“I’m not Nero.”
Darkness dimmed those fiery eyes. Anjeline reached through the bars farther, touching. “No, you’re not. You have my promise. You see, the three rules for wishes are true, but the Siren doesn’t know my term in agreeing to cast it…is fake.”
Rebel leaned back in confusion. She struggled to put the words together when enlightenment came. Anjeline had manipulated the Siren, keeping them from handing Rebel over to the Prince. “You tricked the Siren into agreeing?” She smiled. “Not as helpless as you let them think?”
“I may be bound, but I still have my claws.” A smug grin tugged at Anjeline’s mouth. “Once they agree to the term, they think my magic binds it, believing if they go against it, their wish will fail, consequence or not. They don’t know these bonds force me to cast the wish regardless. It’s one way I can gain some control over their actions. For the safety of who I have faith in.”
This would explain her wish in the basement, why she hadn’t made Rebel agree to a term. It hit her then, all the little gestures. Anjeline’s warning in the Underground, preventing the lycans from ravaging her, conjuring her food, offering her a wish in the basement, and keeping her from freezing. Rebel saw how much Anjeline cared in her gaze even if she hadn’t wanted to admit it. The many times her lips would inch upward, as if she were forgetting to guard herself.
And as those sunlit eyes lingered on Rebel a half beat longer than the day before, she saw trust awaken. She almost couldn’t cope with Anjeline looking at her that way. It made her ticker do those wonderful and terrible things.
“Believe her, Fingersmith.” The winged boy winked. “I feel her magic for you.”
Rebel glanced from him to her. “What’s he talking about?”
A fiery glare was directed toward him. “You’re a meddlesome being,” Anjeline said, but there was no sting to her words.
“The name’s Piran.” He bowed. His voice was soft, hinted by a Japanese cadence. His small membranous wings stretched no farther than his shoulders and were as black as obsidian. When the light hit them at the right angle, they glistened with countless colors.
“What mistake did you make to get trapped here?” Rebel asked.
Piran’s brow drew closer to his metallic bangs, but behind his gaze glinted a hint of a smile. “Handsome charlatan, your fox friend. Though, a bit rude,” he said. “The Siren pinned her sweet melody in my ears, compelled me to service with him, carrying out her deeds up top.” He pointed upward, indicating London above.
She didn’t want to hear it but forced herself to ask. “What type of deeds?”
“The usual. Tricking humans to the river’s edge.” He didn’t need to explain. “Don’t look so sick. At least Jaxon only picked out the vile ones who deserved it.”
“That doesn’t make it better.” Everything Jaxon had done was wrong and so crude, but he did what they were best at—surviving. Even when it meant betrayal. Her shoulders sagged, about to cave in either by anger or grief. It must have shown because those warm hands reached through the bars and were on her arm again. “I’m a fool for trusting.”
Anjeline shook her head. “There’s bravery in trusting.”
Piran simpered. “I’m surprised you survived this long in our world.”
Rebel glanced at his wings pressed against his jacket, thinking of Jaxon’s foxtails. “You mean amongst Sidhe people?”
“We are the magical fair folk, made up of many, separate from you humans. We stay hidden and like it that way.” He leaned against the bars of his cage and hissed in pain. “Cursed iron.”
Inching to her own bars, Rebel touched them again, but nothing happened to her as it had to him. “Iron is poisonous to feyries,” Anjeline told her.
“But not to you, Wishmaker,” Piran said. “I’m an aid to the Lady of the Sun Court. If you release us, she can safeguard you.”
Anjeline sighed. “If I were capable of releasing you, I’d be on the opposite side of the cage.”
“But you’re a lockpick?” He looked to Rebel. “Don’t you crack safes for a living?”
For a second, she eyed her pendant on the table and nodded to Anjeline. “Could you float it to me?”
“It’s worth a try.” Anjeline put a hand through the bars and blew a sizzling breath, like she had in the train with the wolves. The moment her magic inched toward the pendant, her cuffs shimmered, the magician’s marks flaring to life. She hissed back in pain and her power died out. “The Siren must have enchanted the weapons. The table’s drenched in dark magic. I can’t get close enough.”
In frustration, Rebel hit the bars. She might be able to sway her cage enough and fit her arm through to the vase’s pen. To touch it and put her imprint back on it. What would happen if she wished them free? Images flashed in her mind. The boy devoid of eyes. No, she wouldn’t be wishing again. But she had to get Anjeline out of here before the Siren returned.
The waters below rippled.
Sprites scurried about after hearing the whoosh rising up. Grayish-green hair split the water, and the old mermaid propelled herself toward the cages with a bag clenched in her hand.
Rebel breathed in relief. “Bless you.” She reached through the bars for her bag, but Doris lurched back. She expected the mermaid to change her mind, but instead, Doris gave a flick of her wrist and the cage unlocked.
The door swung open.
The old mermaid pushed the satchel into Rebel’s hands, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her to the edge of the cage. “Leave, girl,” she hissed and glanced over her shoulder to the tunnel’s opening. “My daughter won’t be back for hours.”
“What are you—” Rebel began.
“Leave!” she chided. “The jinni’s done nothing but put your life in danger.”
Anjeline jerked the bars. “Speak for yourself.”
“Now’s your chance to be done of our world,” the mermaid told her. “You go on this journey and you will die on it.”
“You’re letting me go?” Rebel couldn’t believe her luck and wondered how right those words were. This journey had opened her up to a world full of trouble, and she didn’t want to imagine what lay ahead. She’d been flung through so many challenges, she felt emotionally hungover, and her heart screamed to be done with it all.
“Go, girl.” Doris pushed.
But she stood still, peering between them.
“Rebel?” Anjeline said her name in such sweet desperation.
She couldn’t take the look on her face, couldn’t take those eyes darkening into little pools of worry, reflecting the firelight of the torches. What would happen if she ran? What would become of Anjeline the Wishmaker? What would become of her own heart? Those odd-colored eyes stared at her, the ones that at first sight had caused her heart to feel a strange thing. And Rebel knew, there was nothing stranger than what she was about to do.
She looked at Anjeline and winked.
Then she ran.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Rebel!”
The tunnels rang out with Anjeline’s screams, shattering her voice into a kaleidoscope of echoes. “You promised!” He
r wails bounced off the waters, her eyes widened in shock, but Rebel’s form had already disappeared into the blackness. “Rebel!” she yelled, tugging at the bars as her throat flamed from bellowing the name.
“Quiet.” Doris flicked her tail. “The girl’s gone.”
Please… Anjeline might have whispered her name again, but she felt too shocked to think. Saltwater left blurry shapes in her eyes, and she finally became aware of the tears. Still, she made no attempt to wipe her face, to see anything beyond her loss.
The old mermaid drew near. “Honestly, I didn’t think she’d leave so easily,” she said, sounding disappointed. “But you can’t blame her. Humans know nothing of our world. It’s a mercy. Ours would have devoured her.”
“We had a pact.” Anjeline stared at the archway, down the dark opening, hoping she’d seen everything wrong. Rebel wouldn’t just leave, would she? But she did.
The mermaid hummed. “Sometimes the one you’d do anything for is the one who stabs you in the back.”
“Iskuty!” Heat boiled from Anjeline’s lips, flashing off her like a draft of fire. Her magic pushed at her bonds, and the runes upon her skin shimmered through the sweater she wore. Rebel’s sweater. The scent of her still lingered on the fabric, and Anjeline felt her absence. Felt submerged in numbing ice. The loss pierced her chest with a vicious blade, her heat not enough to sweep away the feeling.
“I’ll leave you to simmer down,” Doris said.
In a swish, she vanished beneath the water.
Silence filled the tunnel cavern, and Anjeline’s eyes drew to the now empty cage beside her. She caught sight of the book floating atop the water. The one Rebel was never without. Reaching through the bars, she grabbed the waterlogged book, hugging the small thing to her chest. She let her heat surface, fanning the book’s delicate pages until it was dry, and remembered Rebel’s promise, twining a finger with hers. How many times had Madrath warned her of human promises?
She heaved out a single sob. “How could she do this? Her eyes were trustful.” Those eyes were gentle, kind, and they looked at her in such a way she thought she’d found the one—the one Solomon had spoken of.
“Don’t despair, Wishmaker.” It was Piran’s voice, but she heard the echoes of Rebel’s behind it. “You think she’d betray you after the fox betrayed her?”
Heat misted from her mouth as she exhaled. “Those who have been bruised end up bruising others. Humans learn to save only themselves.”
“But the Fingersmith stole you, didn’t she? Helped you?” He grinned. “And your heart? Did she steal a piece of that, too?”
Her shoulders sagged, trembling a little more.
…
The icy water stole Rebel’s breath.
It was deeper than it looked, but she cut through the current as fast as she could, not sparing a glance behind her. With questing fingers, she gripped the sides of the tunnel wall in surety. The glacial river gushed into her mouth, and she coughed, glad she swallowed one of her pills to keep her ticker from causing a blackout. When she’d first hit the river, she feared her heart would freeze, and she pushed away the words filling her mind.
You go on this journey, and you will die on it.
Torn between relief of the mermaid releasing her and distressed over what she must do, Rebel wondered if this had been such a wise choice, despite the fact she’d already made it. The rushing water felt like she was struggling against a beast, grabbing at her legs in a powerful grip. Hypothermia would soon be setting in if she didn’t hurry. Her lower half was going numb, feeling as if she were turning coldblooded.
But she hadn’t noticed the pain.
How could she focus on anything other than the voice that had been begging her to come back? The cries had echoed on each side of her, Anjeline calling her name with such urgency her pulse had weakened. She’d whispered with every ounce of her strength for Anjeline to stop. The screams did stop, yet the sound had already pierced her heart. She’d felt it in her bones. It chilled her more than any icy river could.
Collect yourself. Rebel exhaled. You can do this. She kept herself from moving against the downstream current the water wanted to push her toward, out into the main river. Thanks to Jaxon, years ago, she’d learned how to swim when he’d pulled her into the Thames and taught her how. At last, she came to the spot and saw her prize glitter below. She held a breath and reached for it at the bottom of the water. As her fingers hit the metal, she wrapped a hand around the bone hilt, thanking the Creator she hadn’t lost her beloved switchblade.
At least it hadn’t betrayed her.
Though the waters appeared to be unobstructed, rocks and rubbish littered the bottom floor. Her knee smashed into a piece of metal, and she groaned. The object floated up to the surface. A tire cap. Along with several dead trout covered in plastic wrap. Which would explain the Siren’s vengeful actions. How could anyone survive among garbage?
Rebel grabbed one trout for bait, in case she ran into those eels. Then she shoved her switchblade into her belt. Minutes passed as she waited, her breathing coming harsher, her muscles growing stiffer, but she drove herself on. Yet she no longer felt cold, which meant all the blood in her body was cooling down. Soon, she told herself. Soon she’d be warm. Her insides hummed in excitement at the thought.
At last, she heard the old mermaid and the beat of a tail sloshing away. Rebel knew she had left. No time like the present. With a shiver and one quick movement, her head went under the water.
She did not come up again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Once, centuries ago, when Anjeline had been free and still swept across deserts and faraway lands using wish upon wish to keep peace on the horizon, Solomon had asked her if Jinn mistrusted one another. If a Jinn had ever loved a human. She’d lived long and seen many epic things, and the King of Wisdom cared not to speak of wars and rulers, armies and magicians, but instead, something else. Hope, of a kind, was what he was after, hope of the Jinn and humans living as one.
“Your head’s in the clouds,” she had said. “It is forbidden.”
The boy king had looked confused, as he sat atop his palace’s roof, scratching the wisdom he’d been gifted with down on a papyrus scroll. “Forbidden why?”
Anjeline had slipped from the air as an enormous roc bird, changing into girl form and coming to sit beside him. She’d served the young magician for years, becoming his Jinn Batal, a champion guide he liked to think. But he never understood the rules. “To care for humans who have captured Jinn for our power would be a betrayal.”
“A betrayal to be my friend? Did not the Creator make us both, Wishmaker?”
She’d narrowed her eyes in amusement. Clever boy. But she’d glanced over the land, where fiery beings caressed the sky, to the shaitan who were bound under his power. They worked their magic tirelessly to fashion his glorious temple, their punishment for attacking his kingdom. “And what do you know of the cost of wishes and trust?” she’d asked. “You’ve charmed the shaitan, charmed daughters with your poems, but you’re still human. Many will seem trustful, and then they are not.”
Madrath, in all his Jinn potentate wisdom, had taught her as much.
The boy king had brushed a hair from his brow, and the ring on his finger glinted. “But I am your friend. Have I bound you, asked you to be anything else? You’ve helped save my people not because I forced you, but because you know humans. Know some shine brighter than most. As not all Jinn are destructive shaitan.”
She’d laughed, wanting to believe his words. “Wise and true, my friend.”
A small grin had come over the boy king’s face. “Perhaps you’ll meet one who will really make you believe it. Someday, you’ll meet your match. Someone who will challenge you, gain your trust more than me. I hope you meet them soon.”
It had not been soon. It had taken centuries.
Now, as Anjeline curled in the mermaid’s cage, a silence fell in the tunnel chamber, save for the sounds of the river. Her eyes dri
ed of tears, but she still stared at the tunnel’s mouth, clenching Rebel’s book against her breast as if she could press Solomon’s words into her. She’d known her place then, knew the rest of the world lay under her feet as one of the most feared, most powerful wishmakers. But her heart had changed, or at least she understood it better, because deep down, she’d begun dreaming of a world where humans and Jinn existed side by side.
She thought she’d found the one. Told Rebel things she’d never voiced. Not since Solomon had she found a friend, let alone a person who cared enough to hear. For that she’d been foolish enough, arrogant enough, to let herself trust a thief.
Would you think me naive, Solomon?
Madrath surely would. She clenched her eyes shut, remembering how cold Rebel’s cheek had been, needing warmth. Her heart might have been flawed, but Anjeline suspected it might still be good. Might come back for her. She shook her head. No one is that good. Especially humans. Several sprites began fluttering about their pens, whispering at her. She shooed them, holding the book tighter.
Another noise came.
Piran brushed back his bangs and squinted. “Wishmaker, looky there…”
Turning in the direction he pointed, Anjeline detected a dark shape beneath the water. The faint bit of torchlight illuminated the tunnel, casting over a murky figure swimming under the bells, struggling against the current—and heading straight at the eels.
A hand broke through the water’s surface. A human hand. And it held a trout. It hurled the fish down the tunnel and the eels wading below chased it.
At the same time, the dark figure swam in the opposite direction, en route to the floating table. The hand came up again, felt around the tabletop until it touched the pendant, snatched it up, and disappeared into the water. Anjeline bit her lip, watching a trail of bubbles wading toward the cages, her face tightening as the figure closed in.