Grace had jerked back at the other Djinn’s sudden appearance. “You’ve got to stop doing that!” she said to Ebrahim. “Pretend I’m surrounded by a ten-foot bubble, and you can only materialize outside it. Then walk toward me.”
Ebrahim contemplated her, curiosity in his radiant gaze. He said finally, “As you wish.”
Khalil asked her, “Are you ready?”
“Almost,” she said.
She turned to face the house. It looked undisturbed from the driveway, even peaceful. She had lived her whole life in that house. She had played jacks on the porch and kissed her first boyfriend at the front door. While she went to college, she had daydreamed about getting a place of her own one day. Once she had been excited at the thought of leaving home—but that excitement was with the understanding that home was always going to be there for her to come back to when she needed it.
With Khalil close behind her, she walked inside. The sight of the black ruin that had been the back of the house punched her. The blast had taken out not only the kitchen, but the portion of the second floor above it. That meant the bathroom and probably the back bedroom—her bedroom—was gone as well. The living room was not unscathed either. The force of the explosion had blown furniture across the room and broken lamps and picture frames.
She found her purse under the bookcase, which had been knocked over. Khalil lifted the bookcase so she could pull her purse out. She looked for the black, spiral-bound phone book and finally found it between the upended coffee table and a wall. Some pages were creased, some torn. Her grandmother had written some of those numbers. So had Petra. Grace smoothed the book shut, tucked it carefully in her purse and set it to one side.
Afterward she turned and stared at the remains of the kitchen table. Nausea roiled. She and the kids would have been sitting right there. Beside her, Khalil stood quietly with every appearance of patience, but his tall form felt compressed and dangerous.
A cyclone arrived in the middle of the chaotic living room. Grace recognized the Djinn. It was Ismat, wearing a male form, his arms wrapped around Therese from behind, one hand clapped over the witch’s mouth. Therese’s gaze darted around at the devastation. She appeared frozen in horror.
Ismat gave Khalil a fierce smile. “Therese is part of a secret coven that belongs to an anti–Elder Races political group.”
“The Humanist Party,” said Khalil. He sounded ice-cold. “They support Jaydon Guthrie.”
“Yes. The coven is broken into three cells. Therese only knows the identities of the witches in her cell, like Brandon Miller. She might not have known why Miller wanted to discover if Isalynn LeFevre had contacted Grace, but she knows enough to have made some educated guesses.”
Grace asked, “Which are?”
Ismat looked at her. “The coven’s real target is Isalynn. Therese isn’t clear on what the coven leader plans to do, other than remove Isalynn from power.”
Grace started to shake. She had lost count of how many times she had lost her temper in the last twenty-four hours, and whoopsie-daisy, it was starting to skip out on her again. “How does this involve us?”
“The Oracle’s prophesies are too unpredictable, too dangerous. All it would take is the right question or the right prophecy for everything the coven is working toward to be uncovered.” Ismat’s smile had disappeared, replaced with an expression of dark sympathy. “Therese knows how to do some interesting things with sympathetic magic,” he said. “For example, if you made a poppet of a truck driver and timed things just right, you might be able to control his driving long enough on a rainy night to radically change his course.…”
When Ismat said “truck driver” a formless roar filled Grace’s ears. She whispered, “Let go of her.”
Ismat raised his hands immediately. The twin investigators formed on either side as he stepped back from Therese. Khalil moved behind Grace while Ebrahim joined the group. The two women stood in a circle made up of watchful, waiting Djinn.
Grace’s heartbeat pounded in heavy, hard slugs. She gestured to her bad knee and said hoarsely, “You did this?”
Therese’s Snow White beauty was gone. “You’re going to take their word for it? They’re so alien; they don’t even have bodies.”
“Your bigotry is not my issue,” Grace said. “Did you do this?”
“It’s not bigotry!” Therese said. She looked terrified and ashen, her lips bloodless. “All the Elder Races occupy positions of power and prestige. Their lives are filled with a sense of entitlement. They have more Power, more money, more influence in government, and they live so long they get deeper entrenched into everything they touch!”
“I’m standing in the ashes of my own house,” Grace spat. “Your political rhetoric doesn’t have a hell of a lot of meaning to me at the moment.”
Therese’s voice picked up speed and desperation. “We’re second-class citizens in our own country, Grace! You can’t believe just anything they say—”
Grace screamed, “Did you kill Petra and Niko?”
Any composure Therese might have retained splintered. She screamed back, “You bet I did, and I would do it again if I had to!”
“Maybe it’s time to start experimenting with my Power now,” Grace said to Khalil, as her breathing turned ragged. She pulled all of her rage and pain together and threw the expulsion spell.
Therese flinched and gasped, but other than that, the spell seemed to have no effect on her. It did, however, slam into Ismat, who was standing just behind her. The spell threw him back against the wall. Ismat fell in an ungraceful sprawl on the ground then looked up at Grace, wild-eyed.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Grace said to him, as he climbed slowly to his feet. “That must only work on Djinn.”
Khalil said, “I will teach you fighting spells.”
“Fine, but for now, I know something else that’s offensive,” she said between her teeth. She strode up to Therese and ducked as the other woman swung wildly at her. Then she threw her full body weight into a roundhouse punch. The blow connected. Therese’s head snapped back, and she dropped like a stone. Grace wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her throbbing hand as she looked at the woman sprawled in front of her. Khalil gripped her shoulders from behind. She turned to him and whispered, “Okay, maybe we can get a little bit of revenge.”
“We will go to find Isalynn now,” Khalil said. He looked entirely merciless. “And we will hunt down all the others who did this.”
“I will take this creature to the witches’ sheriff’s office,” Ismat said as he reached down for Therese.
“Join us afterward,” Khalil said.
“That will be my pleasure,” Ismat told them.
One of the twins said, “We will continue the work here.”
“Thank you,” Grace said to them. She turned into Khalil’s arms. He held her tightly. She leaned against him as the cyclone took her.
Her sense of their impending separation was growing. It settled as a heavy knot of dread in her middle.
She thought she had changed that. Instead that future felt closer.
What were they doing—or not doing—that brought them forward to that place?
Would Khalil want to say good-bye and leave? He had stopped earlier, when she had asked him. More than that, she could feel his emotions and the profound, fierce pull of desire he felt whenever he looked at her. She recognized the feeling. It was the same way she felt when she looked at him. She could never have enough time to assuage her hunger for him.
What had she missed? Why would that damn sword fall?
After a formless time, reality took shape around her again. The ground grew solid. Khalil held on to her arms as she gained her balance and looked around. Ebrahim took form beside them.
She had known Isalynn lived in Indian Hills, an affluent neighborhood of Louisville, but she had personally never been to the house. They had arrived in front of a spacious two-story colonial brick home, highlighted beautifully by the afternoon sun and positioned at
tractively on a large landscaped plot of land. A Lexus and an Acura sat in the driveway, while a more humble, older model Ford Focus was parked in a space beside the garage.
This house did not glow with Power, as most witches’ homes did. Perhaps Isalynn practiced her craft away from her house, but Grace suspected it was more likely that the Head of the witches was simply that adept at containing the evidence of her Power.
The front door opened as Grace and the two Djinn approached the house. The Head herself stood in the doorway, dressed casually in slacks, sandals, simple gold jewelry and a red blouse. She was striking even from a distance, with her long, strong body and bold, sensual features and rich, cocoa skin. A sharp intelligence glittered in her eyes. She was joined in the doorway by an older Hispanic woman, along with a lanky teenage boy whose features and expression identified him as Isalynn’s son.
Isalynn’s frown deepened as she looked hard at the two Djinn and at Grace’s grass- and dirt-stained appearance. “I felt your arrival,” Isalynn said to the Djinn. She turned her attention to Grace. “And I see that something has happened. Please, come inside.”
Grace stepped into a large, gracefully proportioned foyer, followed closely by Khalil and Ebrahim. Although the interior was as attractive and peaceful as the exterior, neither Djinn relaxed his vigilance.
Isalynn led the way through the house, her demeanor calm and composed. “You will have to excuse us, Malcolm,” she said to the teenager. “Judith, please bring iced tea to the sunroom. After that, you may leave for the day.”
Judith nodded, and both she and Malcolm disappeared.
They reached the back and stepped inside a sunroom that was as wide as the house. Comfortable furniture was interspersed with potted plants. A laptop, files and a cell phone were set at one end of a table. Books and magazines filled the surface of a side table by a cushioned chair and ottoman. The sunroom looked over a large backyard with several strategically placed flower and herb beds, and a tennis court half hidden by bushes.
“This is my sanctuary,” said Isalynn, as if they were simply visiting. “I work as much as I can back here when I am at home. Please sit.”
Grace tried to hide how her hands shook as she took a seat.
The separation. It was almost here, almost final.
Was it death? Her death? His?
Her mind raced frantically through options of what to do, how to avoid it. She must not have hidden it very well, for Khalil watched her sharply, his face hard, and he took a seat as near to her as he could. Ebrahim continued to stand.
The simple truth of the matter was, Grace realized, she couldn’t avoid the separation if it was something Khalil chose.
“Now then,” said one of the most Powerful legislators in the country. “What has happened?”
Grace said, “A secret coven rigged my house to explode. My sister and her husband’s murderer is being taken to the witches’ sheriff’s office. And we think you’re in danger.”
At that, despite all her best efforts, the whole affair became an inter-demesne incident after all.
Isalynn sat, still as stone, her face chiseled. “Tell me everything,” she said, and so they did. She interrupted just once, to pick up her cell phone, punch in a number and say, “Thomas, the Oracle has been attacked. Send a security detail to my house and an investigative team to Grace’s. You had better notify the Elder tribunal and the other demesnes as well. We’re on highest alert.”
The whole time, Khalil seethed. The anger that had built up, the fear he had felt when Grace had pulled so hard on their connection, all boiled underneath the surface of his skin. He seethed, fighting to hold it in, to control the urge to race after the bastards who dared to hurt Grace and the children.
Wait, she said. Justice, not revenge, she said. Because of some mysterious reason, some vision she saw that she wouldn’t tell him.
That was when he realized he was angry at her too. She made him feel things he had never felt before, a desire so keen it sliced at the heart of him and a need that bound him like chains, when he had never been bound before by anything. By anyone.
He would not be bound.
He had done as she asked. Now it was time to do as he wanted.
“I want Brandon Miller,” Khalil said to Isalynn.
“What a coincidence, so do I,” said Isalynn with a sharp smile. “I want every one of those coven members. By all means, go after him—as long as you bring him to me alive.”
He returned the witch’s smile, his own flicking out like a switchblade. Alive did not mean happy or comfortable. “As you wish,” he told her. He glared at Grace as he let his form dissipate to smoke. Nothing she could say would hold him back this time.
Grace said nothing. She sat without moving. Her face was colorless, her wide eyes filled with a dark sea as she gazed at internal vistas visible only to her.
He hesitated. “Grace.”
Her gaze snapped into focus. “I will not be the reason you are trapped. Leave.”
Ebrahim was staring at him coldly. For some reason the other Djinn was not happy with him, but he was not at all interested in that. Ebrahim had already said he would stay to protect Grace, and Isalynn’s security detail would arrive momentarily. Khalil blew out of the house and arrowed through the sky, furiously eager for the hunt and already planning what he would do.
He would burn that cursed barn and scatter the ashes and trigger every trap on the property to do the maximum damage possible. No matter how much Power Brandon Miller had or where he might turn, there was nowhere for him to hide now that Khalil was after him. By the time Miller saw justice, he would be screaming for it.
Khalil had reached south of Louisville before he pulled to a stop.
I will not be the reason you are trapped.
Why did Grace say that?
He curled around on himself in the deep gold afternoon sunlight, thinking hard. She might have been able to sense his emotions, just as he could sense hers, but she could not have known what he had been thinking. Not that he had been thinking rationally. He had been reacting to his own fear and mentally lashing out at everything, including her. He had never been so afraid, and he loathed that feeling.
But Grace had never once tried to trap him. If anything she had tried to shove him away. After that day when he had felt wrapped in invisible chains, she had told him to go. Last night at the bar, instead of trying to stop him or control what he did, she had chosen instead to simply leave.
So she hadn’t said it because of what he thought or felt.
She had said it because of what she had seen.
She was protecting him from something again.
Like she had protected him when Phaedra had come to see her. Twice. Even after she had promised him something else entirely.
Suddenly neither justice nor revenge mattered anymore. Swearing, he roared back toward Indian Hills. When he reached Isalynn’s house, he plummeted.
Ebrahim shot up to meet him. Khalil veered to avoid Ebrahim—and the other Djinn veered with him. They collided in midair with a concussion that shook the ground beneath them. Khalil twisted to disentangle himself. Ebrahim held on to him. He fought to get free, roaring furiously, What are you doing?
What I bargained with the Oracle to do, said Ebrahim.
Grace had bargained with Ebrahim to keep him away? Rage detonated. Khalil snarled, You can’t win in a fight against me. BACK OFF!
I have to try, said Ebrahim, who hung on grimly. Because you can’t win in a fight against your father.
Soren. Khalil spun, sharpening his senses.
Isalynn’s backyard zoomed into focus where Soren and Grace stood facing each other. They were alone, Isalynn somewhere inside the house. Soren’s Powerful white blaze of a presence all but obliterated the image of his physical form. In contrast, Grace’s figure was slight and excruciatingly fragile. She looked tired and dirty, and she listed slightly as she leaned on her cane.
Soren glanced up and Grace did too, both clearly awar
e of Khalil’s presence.
“Young Oracle, you are playing a game you are much too young to play,” said Soren in a gentle voice.
“I wasn’t aware that I was playing a game,” Grace said.
“You cannot keep me from my son.” The gentler Soren sounded, the more dangerous he became. “And it is beyond foolish for you to try.”
“I know.” She tilted her untidy head. “Once the explosion occurred, I kept seeing you in visions, and I couldn’t get you out of my head. Every course of action we took. All those pathways to possible futures. They all led to you. I kept trying to think my way out of this. Then I realized I couldn’t.”
Khalil felt crazed. Soren was the head of the Elder tribunal and one of the strongest Djinn in the world. He could break Grace with a single flex of his Power, and if he deemed it necessary, he would do so without hesitation.
Let go of me now, he hissed at Ebrahim. Or I will tear you apart.
I have a message from Grace, Ebrahim said. She thought you might return quickly.
That was possibly the only thing the other Djinn could have said that would make Khalil pause. He snarled, Speak fast.
She asked for us both to trust her, no matter what she said, Ebrahim told him. And she said when you came, you should call the Djinn now.
What was she doing?
Khalil did trust her. Her temper was too rash, and she said foolish things, and she had terrible impulse control, which he was going to talk to her about just as soon as they were alone again. But she was wise beyond her years, compassionate and strong too.
And when she loved, she loved with all of her fiery heart. That was a warm, giving place to be, surrounded by her love, the only place he wanted to be. When he realized it, all the chains and sense of restriction were gone.
All right, he said.
Ebrahim let him go.
Khalil pulled connections as he dove to earth. He plunged to Grace and wrapped himself around her so tightly he was a dense, dark, protective veil that covered her from head to foot. As he surrounded her, he could feel her exhaustion and the determination that stiffened her spine.
[Elder Races 04] - Oracle's Moon Page 30