by Pat Esden
Taken aback by his answer, I fought against the urge to glare. Instead, I lowered my eyes and nodded as if I were agreeing. I understood what he was getting at, but I definitely wasn’t going to promise anything. There was too much at stake.
“Now, come along.” Grandfather shuffled toward the door.
We walked back down the glimmering tunnel, past the sarcophagus to the maintenance room. Grandfather locked the door, and then we got into the elevator.
With everything whirring around in my mind, I could barely think. But, as the elevator clunked and began to rise, I remembered something.
When Grandfather had caught me picking the lock, I’d heard the whoosh of the elevator doors opening, but I hadn’t heard the clunk of the elevator stopping. Clearly, Grandfather hadn’t ridden the elevator down from the house above. Which, as impossible as it sounded, left one other choice: Grandfather had walked into and out of the elevator from somewhere else on the basement level.
I studied the steel walls, then the mirrored one. There was nothing that hinted at the presence of a hidden doorway or a latch. Still, especially after what I’d seen in the research room, anything seemed possible.
My instincts drew my eyes back to the mirrored wall.
There were mirrors between the frescoes in the tunnel. In Kate’s study, there was a tall one hanging in the bathroom. They were in the library and the gallery as well, all over Moonhill, now that I thought about it. Dad hadn’t told me any stories involving mirrors. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were connected to Kate and Grandfather’s stealthy movements.
I looked down at my feet and struggled to keep my face expressionless. It would be easier and safer to do as Grandfather had asked and let myself be manipulated by all the half-truths. To play the part of a mushroom and let them keep me in the dark.
But there was no way in hell I was going to do that, not until I uncovered the truth.
The whole truth.
CHAPTER 19
Along with truth there is intentional deception
harbored within myths. For instance: genies and the
three-wish legend. This falsehood is propaganda created
by the djinn, a way to discover a human’s greatest
weakness and subjugate a would-be master.
—Persistence Freemont
Notes and Warnings: Otherworldly Encounters
By the time I got back to my room, it was two in the morning. Even the idea of falling asleep was ridiculous. Besides, it made more sense to make up for the Internet time I’d missed earlier in the night.
I climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged with my phone on my lap.
As I started to search the word djinn, the pentagram wormed its way into my mind. I laughed to myself. Only a couple of days ago, I’d freaked when I discovered it. Now the pentagram wasn’t even on my list of worries—though I still wanted to know who made it.
It took me only a few minutes to locate a Web site with all kinds of myths about genies and the djinn. Well, not exactly myths. In one of the forums I found countless personal stories of people who’d encountered them. Terrifying stuff, and they sounded pretty real to me, too.
I pulled my knees up to my chest and continued to read. Holy crap. Kate and Grandfather hadn’t lied or even expanded the truth about these creatures. They were dead right.
Like Grandfather had said, most types of genies could only appear in the form of shadows, at least in the human world. Some could briefly shape-shift from shadows or mist into animal or human form. But something about them always looked weird—like their eyes or movements—and they could only maintain the solid form for a short time. Cats didn’t like genies and could detect them no matter what form they took on. Unfortunately, other supernatural presences made cats freak out as well.
Genies were basically gluttons. They loved human food, liquor, and any kind of sensual experience. They could influence and enter people’s dreams, whisper to their souls, and hurt people physically. They could withstand injuries that would kill a human. They could supposedly die if hit hard enough with the stone from a fruit. Like I was going to face down a genie with a cherry pit. Not likely.
Another way to get rid of a genie was to bind it to an object or send it back to its own realm. The Web site, however, failed to mention how to do those things. In general, the djinn were strongest at night and in the dark. Sleeping with the lights on, as it turned out, kept them away. In their own realm, different kinds and tribes of genies fought with each other over territory and supremacy—and slaves. Apparently, there were also significantly fewer female genies than males, which naturally caused some major issues.
Blowing out a long breath, I went on to another Web page. It was hard to know how much of this information I could believe and what was made up. Unfortunately, I suspected the most terrifying stuff was the truest.
I tried another Web page. And, BINGO. Possession and exorcism. Exactly what I was looking for.
According to this article, it normally took months for a genie to gain full control over a human host. Until that point, the symptoms of the possession mimicked dementia interspersed with moments of clarity where the person or genie’s presence could break through. Horrifying, but it sure sounded like the way Dad had been acting.
I stared at a medieval drawing of a priest holding a cross over a levitating man’s bed. Clearly, the genie inside of Dad wasn’t the first to pretend to be a Christian demon in order to fake his own exorcism. If anything, genies weren’t stupid, though they were egotistical.
Middle Eastern scholars basically claimed: If the genie didn’t want to leave the human’s body, it couldn’t be forced out, especially if the host had willingly allowed itself to be possessed.
Grandfather had suggested this was what had happened in Dad’s case, but it didn’t make sense for Dad to allow such a thing.
My legs started to fall asleep, so I lay down on my stomach and moved onto yet another Web site. There I found something particularly interesting. Genies couldn’t untie or unlock anything. They couldn’t even glide through a room’s walls if all the entries to the room were secured with a lock or tie. This was good reason for the genie to need Dad as his personal Trojan horse. Dad had not only grown up exploring every nook and cranny of Moonhill, he could also pick locks and get into places where a lot of people as well as the genie couldn’t.
But that still didn’t explain why Dad would have allied himself with the genie, if in fact he had.
When I got to the point that all the information I discovered repeated something I’d already learned, I shut off the phone. It was almost four o’clock.
I slid off the bed, went to the window, and opened the curtains a crack.
Darkness owned the garden beneath my window, but ribbons of red and gray streaked the horizon and brightened the tops of the waves. Even thinking about what I should do next made my stomach queasy. However, it was the perfect time. Everyone was still in bed, but nighttime was fading.
Before I could stop myself, I grabbed my flashlight and Dad’s razor. Even if it was a flimsy arsenal, it was all I had.
The hallway was silent, except for the pad of my moccasins. Faint light ghosted across the floor and washed the walls. I zigged and zagged. When I came to the threshold of the gallery, I took a breath and kept walking, through a puddle of misty gray cast down from a skylight, past the scowling angels.
I shone my flashlight’s beam toward the dark alcove. The goddess, Hecate, Protector of the Gateways, glared back at me. My hands grew slick, and the terrifying feeling of recognition pulsed beneath my skin like a living creature. But I didn’t see any trace of shadows. The air felt naturally cool and smelled of nothing besides morning dampness. I could only hope this would remain the case.
Sweat dribbled down my back as I crept toward Hecate and stepped into the small space between her and the alcove’s back wall. With my heart pounding in my throat, I followed my instincts and turned around to face the center of the
room.
At first, nothing happened. But just as I started to wonder if I was wrong, images began to flash through my mind—faded and slow at first, then faster and faster until they were too horrible to recall—like ripped pages falling from a brittle scrapbook:
My mother. Her hands over her eyes. “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.”
Her hands part. “Ready or not, here I come.”
The room is hot now. My mother’s tanned face is white, pale as the wide scarf wrapped around the man’s waist. Pale as the moonstone in his dagger.
He walks toward her. Broad-shouldered. Shaved head. Bare chest. I’ve seen him before. Kissing Mama in a moonlit bedroom. They thought I was asleep. Dad wasn’t home.
My heart is racing now. Racing and I cannot breathe. This isn’t the game we were playing.
He holds out his hand. “No,” she says, backing away. There are broad-shouldered men all around her. Dark men, like black paper cutouts. Black like shadows. “Stay away!” she screams.
“Mama!” I shout, running toward them. The glint of moonstone and a knife’s blade flashes in my face as he wraps himself around her. A heartbeat later, he vanishes, turning into smoke, a whirling tornado of shadows. I can’t see Mama anymore. Just darkness, as thick and real as congealing blood. So real, it burns my nose and eyes. “Mama!” I scream.
The images stopped flashing.
I crashed back to the here and now. Why had it taken so long for me to remember this?
As if in response to my question, the throb of an overwhelming headache came out of nowhere and dropped me to my knees. I buried my face in my hands.
And the flashes began once more:
I lie at the statue’s feet. Sobbing. “Mama. I want Mama.”
Cool hands touch my hot forehead. Fingers splay, cover my eyes. My eyelids feel oily. Warmth trickles from my nose. I taste blood. I smell violets. Aunt Kate’s voice buzzes in my ear. “Hecate, Queen of the Sky, take these memories, Protector of the Gateways, of earth, heaven and sea.”
I squeeze my hands into fists. “Mama. Don’t leave,” I cry.
All I see is darkness.
The memories stopped flashing.
But this time they didn’t fade. Everything that had happened that day when I was five years old remained as solid and real in my mind as the djinn. “Mama,” I whimpered as real grief hit me, fierce and overwhelming, rocking me to the core.
Suddenly the clip of fast-moving footsteps entered the gallery and headed toward the main staircase.
Drying my eyes with trembling fingers, I shifted farther into Hecate’s shadow and raised my head, so I could see who was going through the gallery this early in the morning.
A broad-shouldered man dressed in black stopped beside one of the angels. In the low light, I could only make out his outline. His head swiveled toward me, like an animal sensing a hunter’s presence.
I held my breath and stayed perfectly still. But his eyes homed in on me. I recognized him instantly. “Chase,” I said with relief.
“What are you doing?” He hurried over. “You all right?’
I sniffed back what remained of my tears and nodded. Even if I’d tried, I couldn’t have held back the flood of words. “I remember everything now. About my mother, how she died. They lied to Dad. She didn’t fall or hit her head. A genie killed her, and I witnessed it. That’s why I’m abnormally scared of the dark.”
He crouched in front of me, his face level with mine. “Tell me everything.”
“My mother and I were in here playing,” I began, then I told him about the shadows and the genie with the dagger, the darkness, and how Kate had wiped out my memory. I told him every detail, even about my fear that Mother might have had an affair with the monster. When I got to the end, I sat back on my heels and squeezed my eyes shut. “I don’t know if Kate took away my memories out of kindness, or if she had another reason for doing so.” My voice faltered and I opened my eyes.
Chase ran his hands over his head. “Annie, your mother’s not dead.”
“No.” My hands fisted. “You don’t understand. There wasn’t a body, but I saw the knife. She was fighting him. He was angry. The ashes Kate gave Dad weren’t hers. The sea glass was a bobble off a cat’s collar.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” he insisted.
Heat blazed into my cheeks. “Don’t give me the line about her being alive in my memories, like you did in the library. This isn’t funny.”
His voice was as solid as stone. “No, listen, Annie. I’m serious.” He leaned forward and looked me square in the eyes. “When I was a slave to a genie called Malphic, your mother was in his harem. Five years ago, David and Kate tried to rescue her, but she let me escape instead. Until now, I could only guess how she’d ended up with Malphic. That’s why I was curious about what you found in the water. I couldn’t understand why you thought she was dead. I didn’t know that’s what they’d told you, or about Kate taking away your memories.” His tone toughened. “I should never have let your mother stay behind. I’m going back for her, once I figure out how to do it.”
For a second, the world spun around me as if I were riding on some kind of bizarre and otherworldly carousel. My mother, alive and trapped in a djinn harem? Sacrificing herself to let Chase escape. Kate and David’s failed rescue attempt. It all sounded insane. So insane, it made perfect sense. My surroundings stopped spinning and slowly came into focus. Drained, I stared at Chase. He sounded so horribly ashamed about leaving Mother. I wanted to reach out and touch his hand, to comfort him. But I was terrified to do anything that might give him pause and make him wonder if he’d already said too much. And I had to know more.
“This Malphic, he was the one who kidnapped her?” I asked.
“You said he wore a white sash and had a dagger with a moonstone in it, right?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
Chase reached into his beltline and drew out a large knife. A moonstone glistened in its handle.
My breath caught in my throat. “That’s it. How did you get it?”
He pressed a lever on the knife’s handle and the moonstone retreated, replaced by a metal ring with a design at its center.
I glanced from the design to what I could see of Chase’s mark. My stomach clenched and the taste of bile crawled up my throat. “That’s Malphic’s. It’s for—”
“The handle’s a branding iron,” Chase said. He pressed the lever again. This time, the iron retreated and the stone reappeared. He tucked the knife back into his beltline. “Over the years, I watched Malphic use it to mark hundreds of us. Smelled the burning flesh. Heard the screams. But that day—the day I took this from him and your mother helped me escape—he was about to use it on a boy. He was five, maybe six. The same age I was when Malphic took me from my parents.”
“You killed Malphic?”
He shook his head. “No.” He shrugged. “But I did beat the snot out of him.”
“He didn’t come after you?”
“His men would have killed me that day, if they’d caught me. But no, Malphic hasn’t, and I don’t expect him to either. At least not the way you’re thinking. Malphic”—Chase rubbed his forearm for a second, then looked up at me and grinned—“he respects strength. To him, triumph is honorable above all else. He sees me as a victor, a champion.”
“A champion.” Wow. That was amazing. I frowned skeptically. “For beating him up?”
Chase’s mouth twisted into a grim line. “Annie, I wasn’t kidnapped to be just any kind of slave. I was trained to become a Death Warrior, a gladiator for their pleasure. Malphic would have faced opposition at some point or the other. I just don’t think he thought he would lose, and that it would be to me. I was a good fighter, but not the best. To be honest, if it weren’t for your mother, I’d most likely be dead by now.”
I braced my hand against the floor, a million different emotions and thoughts jumbling inside of me as I struggled to comprehend everything he was saying. The djinn realm s
ounded so barbarous, so much worse than anything I’d read or heard about before, I couldn’t help but wonder how he had survived this long. And how he was able to function in this world at all.
I raised my eyes to his, tears once more threatening. “But why you? Why my mother? Why not someone else?”
With his thumb, he brushed the dampness from the corner of my eyes and a warm feeling washed my skin. “In the case of your mother, my guess is that your family had something Malphic wanted.” He pressed his lips together like he didn’t want to say the rest. Finally, he went on: “Seduction is one of Malphic’s trademarks. He probably kidnapped her out of spite, after she refused to steal for him. He wouldn’t tolerate that, especially from a lover.”
A shiver went through me, and I felt a bit nauseous. But I was beginning to understand. “You’re thinking Malphic didn’t get what he wanted by using my mother, so he’s trying again, only this time he’s possessed my father?”
Chase laughed. “No way. The idea of entering a man’s body would disgust Malphic. He’s all about virility. His big dream is to be both Father and Master to a new order in the human world. If he seduced your mother, it wasn’t simply to steal something. He had to have thought she would produce superior children as well.” His lips tipped up into a smile. “She is beautiful, too—like you are.”
Caught off guard, I blinked at him as a slow burn swept up my neck and across my cheeks. Then my fingers flew to my mouth, covering a gasp. “My mother. Malphic. Oh my God. He couldn’t be—” I hesitated. “I’d know if I was half genie, wouldn’t I?”
This time his laugh was more of a deep chuckle. “Annie, you look far too much like a Freemont to be anyone other than your father’s child.”