She told herself she was being idiotic. After all, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen Khalil…
Hadn’t seen Khalil a hundred times…
A tall man stood in her living room. It was Khalil; she knew it was. She could feel the familiar blaze of his Power coming from the man, although it felt peculiarly muted at the moment, as if clouds had drifted over to obscure the sun.
But this man looked completely different. Well, not completely different. He was still very tall, well over six feet, and massively built. He still had pale skin, long, raven black hair pulled back in a simple leather tie and regal, elegant features.
That was where the similarity with the old Khalil ended. This man wore a black T-shirt that strained over the wide, broad muscles of his chest and thick biceps, faded jeans and black boots. His features and his skin…His skin was human, with the kind of paleness that went with black-Irish coloring, and a slight, dark shadow of beard along his lean cheeks and jaw. She edged closer, staring. There were even slight laugh lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes.
Then he turned to look at her, and all semblance of humanity ended. For lack of a better description, she tried to call the color of his eyes gray, but that wasn’t right; for even though the strange crystalline-like quality of his gaze was muffled like the rest of his Power, they were still starred with too much radiance.
“You’re so different,” she breathed. Fascinated, she edged closer. Did he have pupils? She couldn’t tell. His eyes seemed to take in and multiply the amount of light around him.
Khalil’s lean face creased with a keen smile. “You are beautiful,” he said with evident pleasure. His pure, gorgeous voice sounded the same. “Clearly bathing suits you.”
She choked on an unexpected bubble of laughter. Khalil had quite a way to go in the learning-how-to-give-compliments department, but she wasn’t about to bring that up, when he spoke with such sincerity.
She reached out to touch his forearm then hesitated self-consciously. “Do you mind?”
“No,” he said.
She laid her fingers on him. His skin not only looked human, but it felt like human skin too and warm to the touch, not quite as hot as usual. She stroked lightly down his arm. He made a surprised sound and looked shocked. She snatched her hand away. “Did that hurt?”
“No,” Khalil breathed. He looked down at his arm, at her hand. “It felt incredible,” he said. His voice had deepened. “Do it again.”
She held her own breath and tentatively touched him again. This time she curled her hand around the back of his elbow. She drew her hand down the underside of his lean forearm until she reached his broad palm. He hissed at the contact, and a shudder went through him. That simple touch and his intense reaction were unbelievably erotic. His long fingers curled around her wrist, and he held her tight.
“You’ve never felt that before?” she asked faintly.
“Not with such intensity, no,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Creating a more humanlike form is complicated. The more complex a form is, the more energy it takes to create and maintain. I have never been interested enough to descend this deeply into flesh before.”
“How real is this?” she asked.
He stared at his own arm curiously, as if he wasn’t quite sure of the answer himself. “Real enough to feel how pleasurable your touch was,” he said. “Real enough to sustain damage. Cuts and bruises would hurt.” He frowned. “And I do not think I can transport us anywhere while I am bound this deeply in flesh.”
He spoke of his body as if it were a cage. The concept was oddly disturbing, although she could see how flesh would be a cage for him, although he could still discard it anytime he chose.
The whole conversation had created far more intimacy between them than she had expected or welcomed. It had also raised more questions in her mind. She pulled away.
“We’ll have to see that you don’t get damaged tonight,” she said lightly. “And I can drive.”
“In a car,” he said, his frown deepening.
He did not look entirely enthused at the prospect. Suddenly amused, she grinned. “Yes, Khalil. In my car.”
“Very well,” he said. “But I am paying for everything and opening all the doors.”
She rolled her eyes as she went to the bookshelf to grab up her purse. “It sounds like you have quite a well thought-out agenda,” she said. “I would love to know who or what your dating resource was.”
“I went to Florida today,” Khalil said. “Carling and Rune are being held in quarantine in Key Largo.”
She glanced at him. “How are they doing?”
“They’re fine. Rune told me a few things about dating. I must say, I didn’t quite trust all that he said, but his suggestion for a casual outfit seems all right.”
“It’s great,” she said, rather more huskily than she had intended. But then anything he would have worn would have been kick-in-the-head good. She decided it was past time to get out of the house, and she headed for the door.
He might not be able to dematerialize and reform as instantly as he had before, but this new, more humanized Khalil could still move with lethal speed. Suddenly he was in front of her, unlatching the screen door and holding it open. She flipped on the porch light and turned and locked the front door after he stepped out after her. He watched everything she did with an extra-close attention she found unsettling.
She smoothed her hands down the sides of her skirt self-consciously and muttered, “I feel like you’re studying me to take notes.”
“Things acquire more significance in this form,” he said. “You must pay more attention to your physical surroundings when you’re bound in flesh.” He followed her to her car. He opened the driver’s door and closed it after she slid in. She strapped herself in.
When he had climbed in the passenger seat, she waited. He waited too. She told him, “I never drive anywhere unless everybody in the car is wearing their seat belt. It’s a thing of mine.”
He shook his head and looked mystified. She sighed and leaned over him to fumble for his seat belt strap. It brought her breasts against his arm and the left side of his chest, and she caught his scent. He smelled like clean, healthy male. She caught her breath and tilted her head back to look up at his face. He was watching her intently, eyes blazing.
“Sorry,” she croaked, pulling back.
He gave her a keen, bright smile that had every bit as much mischief as it did in his old form. “Don’t apologize. Really.”
“Just pull that strap around and buckle the two parts together, like mine.” She gestured, and when he had done so, she started the car and backed out of the driveway.
Almost every metropolitan area in the States had at least one bar or pub that catered to a mix of Elder Races clientele. Louisville had two, both under the same ownership, although they were located in very different parts of town. Grace drove to the nearest one, Strange Brew, a pub that was located about fifteen minutes’ drive away on the edge of the historic district of Old Louisville.
Old Louisville was located north of the university and south of downtown. While it was not actually the oldest part of the city, the area had a large collection of pedestrian-only streets and almost all of the architecture was Victorian. Historically, it had housed some of the area’s wealthiest residents but had suffered several declines over the last hundred years. Now it held a diverse mix, including large professional and student populations, and some areas were more fashionable than others.
Strange Brew was the area’s original Elder Races bar, and it was not located in one of the more recently fashionable areas of the neighborhood. An immigrant Light Fae from the Seelie Court in Ireland had opened the pub in 1878. The second bar, Deep Waters, was located on the riverfront, near the Waterfront Park and the river cruises. That one tended to attract the out-of-town tourists.
Strange Brew was more of a hangout for locals. So far, it had successfully weathered all the many changes the area had undergone. It was loca
ted at one end of a block-long, utilitarian brick building. It had a storefront entrance on the street, an alleyway entrance that led to a pothole-filled parking lot and a long mishmash of different levels and rooms in between, including a basement bar. The pub was wildly popular on St. Patrick’s Day, although to the best of Grace’s knowledge, it had never boasted a visit from a real leprechaun.
Grace was already rethinking the whole excursion when she turned down the side street that led to the packed parking lot. Going to an Elder Races bar had sounded good in theory, but the reality was, at ten thirty on a Saturday night the pub would be crowded and noisy and probably filled with more than its fair share of students.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” she muttered. She cruised slowly, searching for a parking spot. The lot was full. She pulled out and looked along the street for a space.
“I do not see why not,” Khalil said, looking around with curiosity and interest. “You require supper and a drink. This seems popular enough. People must approve of the nourishment.”
She bit back a smile. He had his own kind of wisdom and deep knowledge, but he didn’t have a real connection to some things. Maybe the difference had to do with being embodied. It would be easy and potentially lethal, she thought, for someone to mistake that difference for naiveté.
She said, “I don’t think people really come here for the food.”
He glanced at her, amused. “Then why did you want to come?”
Good point. Khalil knew of Janice’s and Therese’s reactions to his presence, but he wasn’t aware of how the other witches had acted earlier that day.
She was tired of tensions and difficult conversations. She rubbed her face. She had told him about the one conversation that would really matter to him. The rest, she decided, was irrelevant, at least for tonight.
She settled with muttering, “You’ve never been on a date. I just wanted you to be comfortable.”
“You have succeeded,” Khalil informed her. “I am en-tirely comfortable. And now that we are here, we might as well go in.”
Up ahead, she spotted a car pulling out of a space. The timing seemed like kismet. And it was really too late to go anywhere else and still try to stick to her timetable. She pulled into the spot.
Khalil said, “Piloting a vehicle is more complicated than I would have expected. You appear to handle yours with proficiency.”
She burst out laughing. “You drive a car; you don’t pilot it. You pilot boats and planes.”
“Then I must learn to drive.” Khalil gave her a wicked smile that was highlighted in the yellow glow of nearby streetlamps. “I lied,” he said. “I do not have a present for you. I do, however, have something for you from Carling and Rune.” He dug into the back pocket of his jeans and handed her a folded envelope.
“What’s this?” she asked, unfolding it.
“I reminded them of their obligation to you as Oracle,” Khalil said. His smile had disappeared, and something edged and dangerous took its place. “And that they had been derelict in fulfilling their part of the bargain.”
“You did?” She blinked at him, astonished. “I didn’t think they were derelict. Carling healed Max’s ear infection and saved us a trip to the doctor.”
He shook his head. “No, Gracie. She did not do that as an offering to the Oracle. She did that because he was a baby and he was sick.”
She wasn’t sure what moved her more, Carling’s act of healing, or Khalil acting on her behalf. Or how he called her Gracie.
“Open it,” he said. “See what she sent for you.”
She tore the envelope open and pulled out a note and a check. She looked at the check first.
And started counting zeroes. Her hands began to shake.
No. This couldn’t be right. She started counting all over again, and then again. Her mind refused to move beyond an incoherent stutter. She said, choked, “Oh, my God. Oh. My. God.”
“Is that good?” he said, watching her sharply.
She looked at him. “This check is for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
He reached up and wiped under her eyes carefully with his thumb. That was when she realized tears were pouring down her cheeks. “She said it was all they could do for now, but you are to let them know if you need more.”
Property taxes. A roof. A better car. Her student loans and medical bills paid off. She could focus on the children, her own healing, and finishing her incompletes. If she was very careful and frugal, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting an outside job for several years. She could get the children things they needed and things she wanted them to have. Maybe she could hire a babysitter occasionally and get out of the house. Maybe she could see a movie now and then.
“This is incomprehensible.” Her lips were shaking too. “It changes everything.”
“For the better, yes?”
“Holy shit, yes.” It took her several tries to tuck the check back into the envelope, but she managed it at last. “I can’t believe they gave so much.”
“It is fitting,” Khalil said in a quiet voice. “Carling and Rune remember the old days, when emperors and kings would lay treasure at the Oracle’s feet. As Rune said, they owe you everything. I was very angry with them when I pieced all of it together and realized that they had not fulfilled their end of the contract.”
She remembered the tense scene in the clearing, as Rune and Carling faced off against the Elder tribunal. She felt compelled to point out, “They were fighting for their lives.”
His face hardened. He said in a cold voice, “That is no excuse.”
“Well,” she said, rather inadequately. Khalil was Djinn, after all.
She looked at the note, written in a bold, feminine hand. It was a simple missive. Carling offered an apology and said she would be in touch soon. Overcome again, Grace slipped the note back in the envelope, along with that precious, mind-numbing check, and tucked the whole thing securely into the bottom of her purse.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said from the back of her throat. “I just don’t know what to say. This is one of the most important things anyone has ever done for me. For the kids.”
“Hush,” he said gently in that renegade angel’s voice, and he leaned forward and kissed her.
She didn’t even think to hesitate or pull away; that’s how much things had changed between them. Instead she wrapped an arm around his neck and kissed him back. His lips were warm and firm yet moved on hers with exquisite sensitivity. She felt again that ache of arousal, only this time it was a gentle blossoming, like a garden coming to life after the long, bitter season of a killing winter.
He brushed her lips lightly, back and forth, as if learning their softness and contours for the first time, and he groaned. He sounded shaken. Then he pulled back and stared at her as he stroked her face. His hands were shaking too, and his regal, elegant features were stricken and marveling.
It was such a beautiful expression she had the impulse to look around to make sure it was meant for her. “It was good?” she asked.
He whispered, “Holy shit, yes.”
A nearby raucous laugh jolted her. Khalil put a hand on her shoulder protectively as he looked around. She looked too. Six young men, around twenty or twenty-one years old, were walking leisurely in their direction, talking and joking. Khalil’s eyes narrowed. He said between his teeth, “I want them to go away.”
She started to laugh. “It’s a public street. They’re not doing anything wrong.”
“I have no interest in that,” he said.
She took an unsteady breath. She had been worried about going from friends, to kissing, to possibly other things with Khalil, but somehow she had slid headfirst into a foreign landscape she couldn’t have foreseen. That slippery slope was a treacherous thing.
“We’re here,” she managed to say. “And as you said, we might as well go in.”
He gave her a glowering look. He said, “I have no interest in doing that, either.”
The problem was, neither did she.
Which was all the more reason, she thought, why they should.
…
Djinn didn’t get drunk. Alcohol had no effect on them.
But other things could, and Khalil was reeling from a bombardment of physical sensations. Djinn were highly sensitive, but in their original state, what they were most sensitive to was the ebb and flow of Power and energy.
The full range of physical sensation was an entirely different spectrum of experience from anything he had ever known.
The slight friction of the aged denim jeans on his thighs. The stretchy give of the cotton T-shirt across his chest and shoulders. The insubstantial lick of the summer breeze against his cheek.
He was euphoric, disturbed. He thought this must be what intoxication felt like. He wasn’t altogether sure he liked it.
And then Grace came carefully down the stairs, and she was such a feast of color, all he could do was stare. Her skin looked burnished, and her outfit made him think of a bouquet of flowers. Her short, damp hair glinted with red-gold highlights, and when she neared him, her multicolored eyes rounded with wonder. Then her scent wafted over him, a clean, light fragrance that he thought must be unique in all the world.
And then she touched him.
Just that one thing, just that simple touch on his arm, and he went into shock. Her flesh, touching his. When she did it again, her gentle hand slid along the contours of his arm to his palm, and he felt all of it.
Intensely. Ecstatically. Intimately.
Hungrily.
He followed her out of the house in a daze, where he encountered so many more new sensations: the texture of the screen door’s wooden frame, the scents of a summer night, the rough rhythm of chirruping insects. He climbed into her car. His fingertips learned the smooth, hard metal of the car doors, and the soft, worn passenger seat. When he turned to look at Grace, he caught the shadowed gleam of her smile.
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