Jinn Nation

by Caroline Barnard-Smith

  Ten

  New York in summertime was a sweltering, blue sky oasis. The inhabitants smiled a little easier, breathed in the warm air sweeping in from the Atlantic a little deeper. Still, Christa had preferred the countryside. The view from her balcony was one of sharply dressed people walking beneath the trees lining the avenue, so intent on reaching their destinations they failed to look up and marvel at the explosion of rich, green foliage burdening every bough. Christa couldn’t see any primal beauty in this place; not the way she had seen it towering over her in the ruddy peaks of Utah’s rock columns, or spread out before her like a glittering mirror in Missouri’s lakes. No, this was a place of dull, grey concrete that swallowed the earth and blocked out the sky. A place of noise and filth and neon lights. Dylan seemed to love it.

  Christa turned to look at him, laughing with Rob as they lounged in the hot tub at the centre of a huge, marble-tiled bathroom, a crystal flute of champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was more at ease in the city, more sure of himself.

  A sudden knock at the door made them all pause. “Christa,” Dylan called from the bathroom, “would you be a dear and answer that?”

  Christa complied and found a timid, blonde maid standing in the corridor, a silver trolley at her side.

  “Room service,” the maid announced. “Where shall I put this?”

  “Wait here,” Christa said. She disappeared back inside the hotel suite, into the steam-filled bathroom. Dylan and Rob barely acknowledged her.

  “So the bitch kept screaming,” Rob was saying, “but I don’t know, I kind of liked it.”

  Christa wrinkled her nose with distaste before interrupting. “You’ve ordered more room service.”

  “So what?” Dylan said. “We won’t be paying for it.”

  “But that’s the third time today. How hungry can you guys possibly be?”

  “The last one hardly counted,” Dylan said, swinging his champagne glass from side to side as he spoke. “He was a skinny little runt. There was barely a trickle of blood in his entire body. Am I right, Rob?”

  “Too fucking right,” Rob agreed.

  Christa sighed heavily. “I don’t want to move hotels again when they realise all their staff are disappearing. I like it here.”

  Dylan lifted himself from the bubbling water and leant over the side of the tub, his eyes wide and earnest. “Okay Christa, this is the last one. I promise.”

  Christa smiled, bent to kiss him and walked back across the room to retrieve the maid from the corridor.

  “They’re through there,” she told her. “In the hot tub. I suppose joining them is optional.”

  The maid initially looked confused, but soon nodded and stepped past Christa into the room, her pleasant smile only faltering for the briefest of seconds. Christa let the door swing shut behind her, leaving the discarded trolley to stand lonely watch over the empty hall.

  Dylan had been a man on a mission when they’d first arrived in New York two weeks earlier. A man with both physical and metaphorical fire in his belly – on a quest to seek out the mysterious Bredia that Ernie Coldblood had worshipped. Now he barely left the hotel suite they all shared. One taste of fine champagne, one whiff of a fat Cuban cigar and he had become a decadent, uncaring snob – or had at least reverted to form. Christa found the change in his character both vaguely interesting and extremely annoying. She eventually took it upon herself to continue the hunt for the elusive Bredia, purported by many to be living in this very city. She hoped that if Dylan solved his riddle, they could move on and resume their road-adventure. Unfortunately, Christa’s personal investigations had proved fruitless. She had searched every jinn bar and occult shop within a twenty-mile radius, but all she’d found were fuzzy recollections and half-crazed conspiracy theories. She was beginning to believe that Bredia was an elaborate myth.

  The smiling, vacant maid had barely slipped into the bathroom and secured the door behind her before another knock announced the arrival of a second visitor.

  “That had better not be more bloody room service,” Christa called in the direction of the hot tub. No one replied. She exhaled, cross with herself for allowing Dylan and Rob to treat her like their personal butler. A strange sickness that was only just beginning to dissipate had beset her all morning, making her feel weak and nauseas every time she moved away from her chair on the balcony. She could do without being made to constantly answer the door. “This is the last time,” she told herself. “If they do this again, I’m sending whoever it is away.”

  Christa flung the door back with an impatient scowl, but was shocked into silence when she saw who was standing in the corridor. “Darrell?” she eventually said. “Christ, what the hell are you doing here?”

  Her old friend had barely changed since the last time she had seen him. His eyes were threaded with fine red lines and punctuated by dark, tired circles, but they still mirrored his familiar old soul, still harboured the secrets they both shared.

  Darrell shook his head at her look of surprise. “What do you think I’m doing here? I’ve been trying to find you.”

  “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.” Christa smiled, her shock evaporating and delight taking its place. She put her arms around him, holding him close and breathing in the smell of his hair, his skin. He smelt like home. “This is fantastic.”

  A small shriek followed by a splash emanated from the bathroom. Christa pulled away from Darrell, suddenly embarrassed. “Come in,” she said. “They’ll be busy for a little while yet.”

  “Who will? Who are you here with?” Darrell followed Christa inside the hotel room and looked around, his eyes growing large. “Shit, this place is huge.”

  “I’ve learnt some new tricks since I left,” Christa said. She stopped before a well-stocked bar set against the far wall. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Yeah, okay.” Darrell moved to her side, his hands thrust down into the pockets of his jeans. “So, you’re not paying for this place? Is that what you mean?”

  Christa carefully poured out two large whiskies and filled them to the top with lemonade. “The more I practised, the easier it was to get inside peoples’ heads. Now I can get pretty much anything I want. I just suggest it, ask for it, and people give it to me.”

  “Like an expensive hotel suite?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You were always good at that stuff. I suppose that’s how you got away, in the end.”

  Christa knew that Darrell was probing her for information. He was curious about her escape, about how she had lived since leaving the Institute. She would tell him everything eventually, but she didn’t feel like talking just yet. Not with Dylan and Rob mere feet away. Instead of indulging her friend, she thrust a brimming glass of whisky in his hand. “I wouldn’t have chosen this suite,” she said, attempting to change the subject. “It was Dylan’s idea. He’s my boyfriend, I suppose. We’re here with his mate, Rob.”

  “You suppose he’s your boyfriend?” Darrell swilled back a large mouthful of the whisky.

  “Well, I’ve been travelling with him. We had an RV, but we had to leave it at the airport when we came here. We picked up Rob in Missouri.”

  They lapsed into a strange silence. Christa had never felt awkward with Darrell, but now there was such a gulf of time between them she was struggling for conversation. She watched him drink his whisky, his eyes downcast. He looked as if he had been sleeping rough. His dirty jeans were threadbare at the knees and his trainers were stained with old mud. He had obviously suffered quite a trial in making his way to New York. “You didn’t tell me how you got here,” she finally said.

  “You should know,” Darrell said, “you called me here.”

  “I called you here?” she said, taken aback by his strange comment. “Well, I’m glad you came. I’ve always wondered what happened to you. I hoped that you got out the night I did, but I was never sure.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I didn’t want to leave you behi
nd. You know that, don’t you?”

  Darrell nodded, but before he could speak again the bathroom door opened and Dylan appeared in the doorway, a towel around his waist. His mouth and fingers were dark with shining blood, his eyes wide and frenzied from feeding. “Who the hell is this?” he demanded.

  “He’s an old friend,” Christa said. “Darrell, this is Dylan.”

  When Darrell didn’t answer, Christa turned to look at him. His face was frozen with fear, his mouth pulled tight in a grimace. Christa’s confusion soon gave way to the realisation that Darrell was transfixed by the blood smeared around Dylan’s mouth. It was a grotesque, surreal image, but one that Christa had grown so accustomed to she barely registered it any more. The same could definitely not be said of Darrell.

  “It’s okay,” she told him, reaching to place a calming hand on his arm. “Dylan’s not like us. He’s a vampire, but he won’t hurt you.”

  “That’s still to be determined,” Dylan said.

  Darrell continued to gape, his breathing becoming shallow and laboured. “What the fuck?” he eventually managed. He turned to Christa. “What’s going on here?”

  Christa couldn’t quite believe that someone as sensitive to the world as Darrell had no idea that creatures like Dylan could exist. The shadowed night time world was the first thing she had picked up on when she arrived in Camden. It was a world of secrets and mystery and had immediately enthralled her. She briefly touched his mind with her own and tightened her grip on his arm when she felt his mute horror brimming to the surface. This was indeed the first night time denizen that Darrell had ever encountered. “Vampires are real,” she told him. “I’m not taking the piss.”

  Across the room Dylan grinned, revealing two lengthened canines streaked a rich, vibrant red. “I could show you just how real I am, if you need convincing.”

  “Don’t you dare touch him,” Christa said, her eyes flashing a warning. “I told you he’s my friend.”

  “I didn’t think you had any friends.”

  “I don’t have to tell you everything,” Christa said. She finished her whisky and set the glass back on the bar.

  “No,” Dylan said. “You have an exquisitely murky past, yet you can prize all the secrets you want from any passing brain. It hardly seems fair.” He sauntered towards Darrell, the towel about his waist dangerously close to slipping to the floor. “Well, you’re not one of her old jinn mates,” he said, looking Darrell up and down. “I’d have smelt you if you were.”

  “Jinn?” Darrell asked Christa. He was leaning away from the strange, damp man wrapped in the towel, pressing himself back against the bar.

  Christa stepped between them and pushed Dylan away. “We have a lot to talk about,” she told Darrell.

  ***

  It didn’t take long for Christa to secure Darrell his own suite in the hotel. While her friend took a much needed shower she waited on a chair beside the balcony, her eyes closed and her face turned towards the sunlight streaming through the windows. He had been very quiet while she made the arrangements, as though he was in some state of shock. Christa supposed it must be a traumatic experience, to suddenly find out that the monsters under your bed are real. When she heard the sound of the shower being turned off, she opened her eyes and glanced towards the bathroom.

  “Darrell? How are you doing?”

  He emerged in an oversized white dressing gown, his hair sodden and clinging to his cheeks. “I feel better for that,” he said, obviously embarrassed by his state of undress.

  Christa smiled at him. “The hotel are sending some clothes up for you.”

  “I didn’t know hotels did that.” Darrell sat on a sofa across from Christa, carefully arranging the dressing gown across his lap.

  “Hotels will do pretty much anything for customers who pay bills as large as the one we’re racking up. At least, they think we’ll be paying it.” She began to laugh but stopped herself when Darrell refused to join in. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so used to all this weird shit, I forget what it must be like for someone who’s never experienced it.”

  “Weird shit is one way of putting it,” Darrell said. “Vampires? Seriously?”

  “Surely you could sense that he was different? He feels cold, detached.”

  “So do tramps.”

  “Tramps can’t live forever,” Christa said, pleased to see some semblance of the man she had once known returning. The Darrell who’d arrived at the hotel had been a surly, world weary creature. Finally removed from his dirt encrusted clothes, he seemed to have relaxed.

  “I believe you,” Darrell said. “I mean, he had blood round his mouth for Christ’s sake. But what the hell are you doing with him?”

  Christa shrugged. “I’m having an adventure.” She paused. “What did you mean before, when you said I called you here?”

  Darrell shook his head. “I came all the way out here, crossed the United States and slept in coach stations surrounded by the stinking dregs of society, and you don’t even remember calling me here? That’s fucking great. Bloody hell, Christa.” He trailed off and looked away.

  Christa sat up straighter in her chair, her chest suddenly heavy with remorse. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know I’d done that, I swear.” She reached for one of Darrell’s hands but he still refused to look at her. “Darrell, I didn’t even know if you were–” She swallowed. “I didn’t know if you were still alive.”

  “Well, I was,” he said, finally meeting her eyes. “I got out the night you did, not that you stopped long enough to notice. I made it all the way to Dorset, got myself a job and a flat. It wasn’t much, Chris, but it was mine. Then I wake up one night, convinced that you’re in some sort of trouble because you’re calling to me. I left it all behind and got on a plane, and you didn’t even need me. This entire time you’ve been busy having the time of your life with Count fucking Dracula.”

  Christa dropped Darrell’s hand, utterly distraught. “God, I can’t believe this happened. Look, it’s not as bad as you think, Darrell. You probably heard the call because I was thinking about you. I’ve missed you.” Darrell’s hurt expression softened, lifting Christa’s spirits a little. “This is a good thing,” she continued. “Now I finally know that you’re okay, and we’re together again.” She grinned. “You could stay here for a while. Have yourself your own adventure.”

  Christa watched as Darrell struggled to retain his angry frown, eventually giving up and smiling back at her. “This isn’t fair,” he said. “I should never forgive you for leaving me.”

  “I promise I won’t leave you again,” Christa said. She lifted herself up to sit cross-legged and clapped her hands. “This is going to be great.”

  “I have always wanted to see New York,” Darrell conceded.

  A heavy knock sounded through the room and Christa jumped up from her chair. “I bet that’s your clothes.” Her wide smile faltered when she opened the door and found Dylan standing on the other side.

  “I thought I’d better check up on you,” he said. “Make sure your friend has everything he needs.”

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Christa said. She tried to pry apart the stoic mental defences he had erected, tried to silently communicate her desire for Darrell to be left alone, but Dylan’s mind proved as difficult as ever to penetrate. “You scared the shit out of him,” she whispered instead. “Give him some time to get used to the idea of vampires, would you?”

  She winced when Darrell spoke up behind her, having obviously overheard. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not completely feeble, you know.”

  “I don’t believe the lady implied that you were,” Dylan said, edging past Christa and extending his hand towards him. “I can only apologise for our awkward introduction. What is that modern phrase? Any friend of Christa’s is a friend of mine.”

  Darrell held out his own hand and blanched when the vampire grasped it tightly, shaking it with the force of a bear.

  “That’s better,” Dylan said.
“Now we’re suitably acquainted.”

  “You’re not checking up on us,” Christa said, closing the door. “You just can’t stand having to sit on your curiosity.”

  Dylan laughed and held his hands up. “You’re right as usual,” he said. “So, are you going to leave me to my torment, or are you going to tell me about the fine and upstanding Darrell, here?”

  Christa wanted to be angry with Dylan for barging in on her private reunion, but she couldn’t help laughing at him. His eyes were shining like a mischievous child’s. She walked to his side and put an arm around his waist as they turned to face Darrell. She could tell that although her friend was still afraid of Dylan, he was trying very hard not to let him see it.

  “We were at school together,” she said, calmly placing a thought into Darrell’s head. “Just play along,” she silently urged. “He doesn’t know about the Institute.”

  Darrell’s eyes widened but he smiled nevertheless, not missing a beat. “We’ve been friends for years,” he said. “I used to let Chris copy my homework.” He laughed.

  “How touching,” Dylan said. Christa looked up at him but was unable to tell if he was being sincere or not. “So you missed my girl and decided to look her up? Christa, you really are a dark horse. You’ve obviously been in contact with dear old Darrell, but for some reason you elected to keep it a secret. I’ve never seen you ring anybody or write a letter. You must have been sneaking off to do these things behind my back.” He turned to face her, his eyes darkening. “The question is, why would you do that?”

  The sudden sour change in the atmosphere made the hairs stand up along Christa’s arms. She had no need to fear Dylan. She could bring him to his knees just by thinking about it, yet seeing the ancient menace of the vampire suddenly bristle within him, all its venom and cold calculation directed at her instead of some hapless victim, overrode reason and made her breath catch in her throat.