Mark of the Djinn: A Young Adult Urban Fantasy Romance

by Shiulie Ghosh

  “That is what we must find out. Please allow me to take you to my humble home, princess, where you can recuperate from this ordeal and decide what to do next.”

  “Nice try, but no thanks. If you can just drop me in the city, I need to contact the embassy about a new passport.”

  “I implore you, Sam. My brother is a powerful man with many contacts in the city. He will expedite a new passport. You are still weak from the drugs in your system. At my home you will be able to sleep and eat. You must be hungry?”

  As if to agree with him, my stomach gurgled loudly. It had been hours since any food had passed my lips, and that had been a cherry from one of the disgusting cocktails I’d been drinking in the bar.

  But I wasn’t an idiot. I didn’t go off with strange men. Even attractive ones.

  “I don’t know, Raj, I barely know you. And weirdly enough, I’m finding it hard to trust men right now. Especially Romeos like you.”

  Raj looked into my eyes earnestly.

  “I would never press my attention where it was not wanted. I just wish to make sure you are safe, and to find out why Al Uddin wanted you. Please come to my home, Sam.” He paused, and then added, “We are having lamb curry tonight. Do you like Asian food?”

  My stupid stomach rumbled again. What the hell, I thought. He obviously didn’t live far away, not if this rattling old taxi was anything to go by. We were barely managing twenty miles an hour. If things went south, I’d just slip out of a window and find my way back to civilisation.

  And right now, the promise of a hot meal and a comfortable bed was too tempting to miss. As were some other things, I thought, gazing at his handsome features.

  “Okay. You had me at lamb.”

  The car turned down an even smaller track than the last and pulled up in front of a ramshackle one-storey building in the middle of nowhere.

  I was surprised. Judging by Raj’s expensive clothes, I’d imagined he lived in a decent house. This looked more like an industrial shed.

  We got out of the taxi, which turned round and bumped off back the way it had come. It was only when we walked inside the building that I realised it wasn’t his home. It was a small airport. My eyes narrowed.

  “Raj, what is this?”

  “Trust me,” he smiled. My two least favourite words.

  We walked through to the other side where a gleaming private jet sparkled incongruously on the dirt road that doubled as a runway. A uniformed man waved at us from the open door of the aircraft.

  “Whose is this?” I asked. Raj shrugged.

  “It belongs to the family but I’m the only one who uses it.”

  “Are you pulling my leg?”

  He grinned and bounded up the steps gracefully, clapping the crewman on the shoulder.

  “Farouk, good to see you.”

  “And you, sir. I hope you had a good trip.”

  “It was eventful.”

  “Aren’t all your trips, sir?”

  “Farouk, this is Sam. Please make her welcome.”

  “Hang on, hang on. I’m not getting on a plane for God’s sake.” I stood at the bottom of the steps, feeling wrong-footed.

  “Come on, Sam. You can’t stay here. It’s the middle of nowhere.”

  I looked around. He was right. There was no-one else here. Not even someone checking passports. Once the plane was gone, I’d be alone.

  I tried to think this through. I needed money, and Raj was obviously filthy rich. What’s more, he was seriously good-looking and, against all the odds, attracted to me. For once flirting with a mark wouldn’t be a chore.

  Maybe this whole experience wouldn’t be a bust after all. Maybe I could score some cash, and have fun while I was doing it.

  And if Raj had meant me any harm, he would hardly have risked his own life to save me from my kidnappers.

  I climbed onto the plane and Raj guided me to a seat by the window. I sank into the cushioned leather with a sigh of pleasure. It was the most comfortable I’d been since the barstool yesterday.

  Raj sat opposite me, grinning as he stretched out his long legs. I felt them brush against mine, though whether accidentally or not I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t complaining. The steward, Farouk, pulled the aircraft door closed and came to see we were settled.

  “May I offer you a glass of champagne, miss?” he asked, white teeth flashing in a courteous smile.

  I loved champagne. But my head was still aching and I realised alcohol would be a mistake.

  “Water’s fine. Paracetamol if you have it. Thanks.”

  “Water for me too,” said Raj. “And some of that labneh bread they keep on board, if you would, Farouk.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  The steward headed to the back of the plane while we taxied down the runway. I watched the field drop away below us, then the clouds scudding past the windows before we broke clear into the sunshine.

  “So where are we flying to?”

  “We’re just hopping over the border, about an hour’s flight away.”

  “Over the border? Hang on, I don’t have any ID, or money, or…”

  “Don’t worry. It’s a small principality with its own jurisdiction. You will not need your passport.”

  “Are you sure? You need passports everywhere these days.”

  “Not in Ashfahaan. It’s a very small territory, barely big enough to be called a country. I know the guys at the airport, they’ll let you in.”

  “It doesn’t sound like a very secure place.”

  “Oh, it’s secure. Ashfahaan has its own army. But it will be fine, trust me.”

  Farouk returned with two glasses of water and a plate piled high with labneh bread, a middle eastern delicacy. My mouth flooded with saliva.

  I took a bite, groaning as I tasted the warm flatbread filled with soft tangy cheese. I had to work very hard to stop myself gobbling unattractively. Swallowing the last morsel, I looked across at Raj.

  “So you ended up in the van because you were schmoozing some married lady. Don’t they have women in Ashfahaan?”

  It was a casual question, but I wanted to scope out any competition.

  “Of course. But I prefer to conduct my affairs away from my brother. He disapproves of my romantic adventures. He is older, you see, and he runs the family business.”

  “Doesn’t he have his own, um, romantic adventures?”

  “Oh, he’s not like me. He takes his duties very seriously.”

  “He sounds like he has a stick up his butt.”

  “He is just a bit intense, that’s all. Now tell me, why were you in Pakistan?”

  “My gran came from this part of the world, and I wanted to see what it was like.”

  “Your grandmother is Pakistani?”

  “Not exactly sure. She was never really clear about where she was born. Anyway, she moved to England decades ago. She used to say it was the best decision she ever made.”

  “’Used to’?” Raj asked delicately.

  “She died a few weeks ago.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sam.” Raj touched my hand briefly. “Our family has mostly gone too. There’s just me and my brother.”

  Thinking of gran sent a wave of sadness over me. I could almost hear her voice, asking me what on earth I was doing on this plane. She would have been livid with me.

  My gran had been a strong woman. The strongest I knew. She would take on anyone and anything, and the only thing that ever upset her was the thought of being at someone else’s beck and call.

  I don’t know why, and she never explained. But she always hated being told what to do, and I guess I inherited that.

  I closed my eyes, only intending to rest them for a few minutes. But the next thing I knew, we were landing.

  I sat up as the plane came to a smooth stop, hoping I hadn’t been drooling in my sleep. If I had been, it didn’t seem to faze Raj. He courteously waved me ahead of him as Farouk opened the plane door and extended the staircase.

  The airport building in Ashfa
haan was a far cry from the one we’d left. It was new and modern and sparkling clean. Raj was obviously quite important, I thought as we stepped off the plane.

  A red carpet led us into the terminal building, flanked by a dozen men and women in uniform. There was no checking of passports, no queue through immigration. Just a gaggle of official-looking staff ushering us through the airport.

  The female ones were very attentive, and I got the feeling he knew most of them on a first-name basis. I cocked an eyebrow at him.

  “What can I say?” He spread his hands with an innocent expression. “I travel a lot.”

  Farouk caught up to us and coughed politely.

  “Your brother has sent an escort, sir. It’s waiting outside.”

  The expression on Raj’s face changed.

  “Ah. So he knows I took the plane again?”

  “He asked me to inform you that if you take one more unauthorised flight, sir, he will ground you.”

  “Right. Check. Thanks, Farouk.”

  I frowned.

  “Does your brother always tell you what to do?”

  Raj shrugged.

  “Technically, he is my boss. Come on. I would have preferred a little less pomp, but it can’t be helped.”

  Confused, I followed him through the large glass doors to the outside, the blast of air-conditioning suddenly giving way to heat and humidity. It was my first glimpse of Ashfahaan, and I looked around with interest.

  There was a pleasant fragrance of incense and jasmine in the air, and if the airport was anything to go by, people here liked their landscaping. This may have been a desert but I was surrounded by palm trees and lush greenery, complete with a large ornamental fountain.

  A fleet of black limousines pulled up in front of us, all imposingly identical with flags waving on their bonnets. One car stopped directly opposite us and a chauffeur got out to open the door.

  I was just about to joke that someone important had arrived, when my eye was drawn to an enormous portrait attached to the building opposite. My mouth dropped open.

  At first glance I thought it was Raj, all decked out in full robe-and-scarf regalia. Then I realised this man was older. His skin was darker, a smooth shade of burnt sienna, and his chiselled cheekbones and sculpted jaw gave him the appearance of a young Arabian god.

  But there was an arrogant tilt to his chin, and his eyes were cold and hard, as if they’d seen things they hadn’t wanted to.

  I looked from the portrait to Raj.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Don’t freak out, Sam,” he said hurriedly.

  “I. Am. Not. Freaking. Out. Just tell me who that is.”

  He cleared his throat sheepishly.

  “That’s my brother.”

  I looked at the portrait again. Suddenly, the scenes of the past few minutes were replaying themselves in my head.

  The red carpet into the airport. The absence of passport checks or even a border guard to wave us through customs. The deferential respect showed by the staff. I turned slowly to Raj, my limbs feeling slow and jerky.

  “When you said this was a principality…”

  “Yeah, sorry. I should have mentioned.” Raj nodded towards the huge painting. “My brother’s the Prince.”

  Chapter Five

  The ‘escort’ turned out to be a cavalcade of security cars accompanying us to the palace. I had to pinch myself to make sure it was all real.

  Raj watched in amusement as I pressed myself against the window, looking out at the scenery flying past. Ashfahaan was a beautiful place, a mix of old and new with ancient turrets and mosaic-topped domes nestled among gleaming glass towers and vast marble mansions.

  “So your brother rules this entire country?”

  “Yes. And he’s good at it. But, um...” he paused delicately. “He can seem arrogant at times. It’s only because he’s so used to giving orders. Please don’t judge him when you meet him.”

  Ah. Suddenly it became clear. His brother was obviously the overbearing type.

  “But aren’t you a prince too?”

  “Sure, I’m a prince. But he’s The Prince.” The capital letters were unmistakable. “That’s how I can get away with escaping every so often. Dhav would never leave without a good reason. He’s too conscientious.”

  “Dhav?”

  “His Royal Highness Prince Dhavani al Javar of Ashfahaan, to give him his full title.”

  “How long has he been in charge?”

  “Since our father passed a few years back. Our mother died soon after I was born, and Dhav has always taken care of everything.”

  I felt an unexpected spark of sympathy for him. I’d lost my parents too.

  “Are you sure he won’t mind me staying?”

  “He may not even notice. The palace is quite big.”

  The palace. I couldn’t suppress a frisson of anticipation. I had really hit paydirt this time.

  The cavalcade approached a pair of large metal gates with armed guards standing watch. The cars were waved through, one of the soldiers saluting as he spotted Raj. We drove down a road lined with statues, their blank marble eyes following us until the road opened out into a massive courtyard flanked by palm trees.

  A long rectangular pool sparkled in colours of turquoise and aquamarine, and beyond it was what could only be the palace – a huge honey-coloured mansion built layer upon layer with scalloped arches and fluted columns. It looked like it belonged in an Arabian Nights story.

  The cavalcade stopped and uniformed servants appeared from nowhere to open our car doors.

  “Um, thanks,” I said as I was helped out by a grey-haired man with pristine white gloves. He nodded gravely.

  “At your service, ma’am.”

  “This way, princess,” called Raj. He took my arm and guided me up the steps to the entrance.

  We entered a vast hallway, the cool marble of the interior effectively counteracting the effects of the heat and humidity outside. The floor was a stunning blue and white mosaic inlaid with gold leaf. I was willing to bet it was twenty four carat.

  There were richly embroidered tapestries on the wall, each one depicting an ancient battle or frolicking nymphs. From either side of the grand hall, majestic staircases swept up to meet on the first landing. Craning to look up, I saw there were three more floors after that.

  The ceiling high above was a glorious azure blue, with the sun and moon and stars picked out in silver. It looked like the gateway to heaven. I let out a breath.

  “You live here? Seriously? This is your idea of humble?”

  He shrugged modestly.

  “It is just a home. And now it’s yours, for as long as you want. Let me show you to your room. We have a floor set aside for visitors.”

  “A whole floor? Where do you stay?”

  “I have an official residence here. Perhaps I can show it to you later?” I saw the glint in his eye and bit back a smile.

  “Perhaps. What about Prince Dhavani?”

  “He has a separate wing to himself. Don’t worry. You probably won’t run into him. He’s usually out taking care of royal business. Come.”

  He led me up the stairs to the very top, and through a doorway which opened out onto a beautiful rooftop terrace. The courtyard was dotted with frangipani and jasmine. Trickling water features among the statues and ornamental vases made a pleasant soothing sound. Pink bougainvillea grew along a low stone wall to the front, the vivid blooms framing a glorious view across the palace gardens to Ashfahaan.

  “This is lovely,” I murmured.

  “It’s supposed to be a private meditative space, but it is seldom used. Dhav sticks to his office, and I prefer company to meditation. But you are welcome to come here anytime.”

  There were doors in the three other walls surrounding the courtyard. He led me to the southern-facing one.

  “Farouk phoned ahead and had this room prepared for you. It has the best view, I think.” He threw it open, and I gaped.

  One whole wall
consisted of floor-to-ceiling glass doors. Beyond them was a wide balcony, flooding the place with natural light. Deep armchairs and sofas draped with gold-threaded antimacassars were placed in prime position to enjoy a view over the lush palace gardens. The floor was covered in luxurious Persian carpets in glowing jewel colours, while the huge bed was draped with silks and cashmere and surrounded by sheer voile curtains.

  Raj was watching me in amusement, and I shut my mouth hurriedly.

  “A room fit for a princess, isn’t it?” he said. “The bathroom is through that door, and there are clothes in the dressing room over there. One of the servants is filling your bath. And I will see you in an hour for dinner. Unless…” he raised an eyebrow, “you would like me to stay and wash your back?”

  His tone was light and I studied him for second, trying to gauge how serious he was being.

  “Really? I spent the night in a barn. I’m pretty sure I smell like a goat.”

  He took my hand and raised it to his lips, his breath warm on my fingers.

  “But Sam. I like goats.”

  I laughed, enjoying his outrageous flirting despite myself. He pressed his lips to my palm, making my skin tingle. And maybe I would have let him stay, except I caught a glimpse of myself in the huge mirror on the wall.

  I mean, really, I was amazed Raj was even standing in the same room as me, never mind kissing my hand. I hadn’t realised how filthy I was.

  My T-shirt was no longer white, and probably never would be again. My skin looked grey under the layer of dirt, and my matted hair was sticking out unattractively. I stared in horrified fascination at my own image.

  “Oh. My. God. I look like a zombie. A homeless slum-town zombie. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I was mortified. What must the officials at the airport think of me? The old man who had helped me out of the car? Farouk? Or did Raj routinely bring home dirt-covered commoners?

  “Nothing can mask your beauty, Sam.”

  “Nice try.” I extracted my hand and pushed Raj gently towards the door. “I’ll see you downstairs in an hour.”

  “As you wish, my princess.”

  I watched him go with pang of regret. I hadn’t had a boyfriend for a while, and he was undeniably attractive. Hell, he was a prince. But I sensed that he was used to women throwing themselves at him, and playing hard to get was my best strategy.