Djinn Justice (The Collegium Book 2) (16 page)

“Of course.” He grasped her hand and shouted into the portal. “Faroud?”

“What do you want?” Faroud sounded distracted.

“I have Fay and Steve. Steve’s wounded.”

“Send them through.”

“Jim.” Fay stared at him. “Don’t let anyone in.”

“Don’t worry about us, darl.” The Australian accent was confident. A porter had the power of his portal to draw on for protection.

It was why Fay had needed to render the porter at the Mountains of the Moon unconscious in the explosion. She gripped Jim’s hand. “Say hi to Mom.”

Faroud’s hand replaced Jim’s. The in-between whirled only a second before Fay and Steve stepped out into the vaulted chamber beneath the Alexandrian fort.

People were running down the cellar stairs. A full, and open, medical kit stood beside a stretcher.

Steve glanced at the preparations, then back at Fay. “I think we’re expected.”

Safe. Stepping out of the portal and into the cool security of the fort flooded Fay with relief. It wasn’t only safe. It was sane. The evil of Tarik’s mountain retreat hadn’t been able to follow them through the portal. Yet. Tarik’s porter was likely unconscious still from the fire explosion. She’d have asked Faroud to guard the portal, but Steve got there first.

“Let no one through, Faroud. Not even weres.” Steve scanned the assembling crowd. His gaze stopped at the competent middle-aged woman Fay had met two days ago. “Lilith, I want guards here. Minimum of two by the portal. Constant tech surveillance.”

A medic had scissors and cut off Steve’s shirt. The older man’s breath hissed as the long, deep gash was revealed. “Damn it, Steve. Lie down.”

But Steve’s gaze went over the medic’s head, finding his grandfather as Tomy descended the stairs. “I’m fine, Granddad.”

“Gored by an elephant-were,” Fay elaborated.

Hurried footsteps approached from the direction of the elevator. Mrs. Jekyll. “Steve, my darling.”

He caught her fluttering hands. “I’m safe, Grand-mère. Fay brought me home.”

“Your side!”

He was steadily losing blood even as the medic swabbed his side, muttering.

“For heaven’s sake, Steve, lie down!” Fay exclaimed.

Steve scowled at her.

The medic gave her a wry, sympathetic grin. “I’m Doctor Singh. The problem with us weres is that we have a higher tolerance for pain. So we’ll fight on past reason. I’ve seen the aftermath. People I couldn’t help because they fought on with death wounds rather than having them treated. People who stupidly resisted treatment after the fight ended.”

Steve winced as the doctor probed the wound. “All right. I’ll lie down.” He climbed gingerly onto the stretcher. “I don’t need an audience.”

People shuffled but didn’t retreat. They looked from Steve to Fay, and back again.

“Go!” Lilith snapped and drove them up the stairs ahead of her. A man and woman stayed on guard, their attention nominally for the portal, but sliding sideways to the action around the stretcher.

Faroud, the porter, pulled up a chair and sat. Whatever his own defensive preparations, he intended to stay on duty.

Mrs. Jekyll fussed, peering at Doctor Singh’s work and criticizing it.

Mr. Jekyll stood tall and gaunt, gray-faced at the foot of the stretcher.

Fay looked around, saw no other chairs, and sat on the ground. She leaned back against the wall. She had her own hurts, minor ones, that were making themselves known as her adrenaline levels tapered off. Grazes and bruises, a couple of deeper scratches.

“Keep still,” Doctor Singh said.

Steve had turned his head to find her. “You need medical attention, too.”

“A hot shower and some antiseptic cream.”

“I’ll check her after I’ve finished with you,” Doctor Singh said.

Reassured, Steve relaxed—as much as he could relax with his wound being stitched. At least he stayed still.

“How bad is it?” Fay asked.

Doctor Singh answered. “A day for the wound to seal, if he stays in bed. Twenty four hours bed rest. Then another day or two where it’ll tear easily. After that, it’ll be sore but functional.”

“I don’t have three days,” Steve said.

The absolute conviction in his voice shocked Fay. He wasn’t simply being tough. What had he seen or what had Tarik done to him? She closed her mouth on the questions. He couldn’t talk freely till they were alone.

“That wretched meddling djinn.” Mrs. Jekyll burst into tears.

Doctor Singh put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, holding him down.

Mr. Jekyll walked around the stretcher and gathered his wife to him. “We’ve been worried about you. You vanished from Faroud’s hold. No one knew where to. So we contacted Fay.”

“No other stinking goat porter will steal a person from me, again,” Faroud swore. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. You were wrenched away from me and the person was fast. They were gone, lost in the swirling alleys of the in-between before I could follow you.”

“If it happens again, you’re fired,” Mrs. Jekyll said.

Faroud stood. He’d seemed a harmless man, with his old hippie vibe, but as shadows swirled from the portal and filled the immense underground chamber, that changed. “The portal is mine.”

“Yes, it is,” Fay said. “Thank you for accepting our return.”

He hesitated, his attention distracted from the Jekyll family. They might take a porter for granted, but he wasn’t theirs to control. He could refuse them, or all weres, the use of his portal. “I have heard of the Australian porter by reputation. He is crazy but honest. Very wealthy. Who is he to you?”

“Jim is my stepfather.” She was aware of Mrs. Jekyll’s sobs ceasing so that the old lady could listen into the conversation.

“He found you,” Faroud said flatly, evidently envisaging that Jim had succeeded in pursuing Steve’s kidnapper where he’d failed.

“No. I had a token from Jim. It returned me to his portal in Fremantle.” Fay showed Faroud the seashell.

Faroud swung on Steve. “This is what I tell you. Take a cord, tie it on you. It will bring you home.”

“I will in future.” Steve’s voice had lost its usual resonance. “We’ve never been threatened this way before.”

Doctor Singh finished stitching and began bandaging the wound.

Fay closed her eyes. Three days before Steve was fit to pursue Tarik. She doubted that Steve would wait that long or that Tarik would be obliging enough to hang fire till they could fight him. She concentrated on the magic coiled within her. Perhaps it was that Faroud’s emotional disturbance had caused the portal’s magic to flare up and spillover, or perhaps, under the influence of the evil miasma of Tarik’s energy, she’d misjudged her own capacity for further magic, but it was there, renewed, within her. It was magic enough and to spare to heal Steve—if he hadn’t been were and immune to magic.

With her eyes closed, her mage sight flickered and flashed, and coalesced into a golden rope. The mate-bond as she’d seen it while fighting for their lives in the rainforest. Not magic, but dream essence, emotional truth.

Fay opened her eyes. The mate-bond was still visible to this sight, faint and transparent, kissing the world with opal fire. She pulsed the golden power of her magic along it.
Heal, Steve.

His head snapped around.

She met his gaze. “It’s worth trying.”

“What are you doing?” Mr. Jekyll sounded wary. “What are you trying? We are grateful to you for Steve’s return, but…”

The two guards on duty looked away from the portal to Fay. There was mistrust and a readiness to attack in their tense stance.

Doctor Singh lifted his hands off Steve’s body. He’d been wiping away the blood on a smaller wound, a gash on the outer side of Steve’s right arm. “It’s healed.” He swiped gauze over the spot. “Impossible.”

“What are you muttering about?” Mrs. Jekyll pushed in.

Steve sat up. “Fay, is this hurting you?”

“No. Not at all. No more energy draw than minor magic.”

“It feels a lot more than minor.” Steve slipped off the stretcher and stood a moment, assessing something.

For Fay, the mate-bond resisted more power being sent along it. She stopped. For her, this was new. She was being forced to trust her instincts rather than her training in magic.

Steve walked across to her, grasped her hand and pulled her up from the floor.

“Be careful!” Mrs. Jekyll shrieked. “Your side.”

Steve ripped off his bandage. The skin of his wound was pink and healed. Even as they watched, the pink faded to a healthy, normal color.

Doctor Singh sighed. “I expect you want me to take the stitches out now.”

“In a minute.” Steve lowered his head and kissed Fay.

There weren’t words for the kiss. It wasn’t simply passion or need, hunger or claiming. It wasn’t even mere relief or joy at their survival. Nor was it gratitude. It was all of those things and something more fundamental: their mate-bond, the rightness of being together. The promise that this was them, now and forever.

It was the sort of kiss that set the bells pealing, sealing a marriage ceremony.

“How did you do this?” Mr. Jekyll interrupted. “How did you heal him? He shouldn’t be touched by magic. Has that changed? Are weres vulnerable?”

“Fay healed me through our mate-bond. Not by magic. By love.” Steve’s smile was in his eyes; his hands on her face, cherishing.

“That is metaphysical nonsense,” Mrs. Jekyll snapped.

“Hardly nonsense.” Doctor Singh had clean gloves on, scissors and tweezers. “The proof is in his healing. Steve, if you hopped back on the stretcher, this would be easier.”

Steve sat as requested. Despite the dried blood on him, he was healthy and fit. Whole. Safe.

Reaction hit Fay hard. She’d nearly lost him. She still didn’t know what Tarik had planned to do with him. How had he escaped?

She breathed deep, trying to strangle her post-action anxiety.

“None of this is reasonable. All of this is wrong. It is your fault.” Mrs. Jekyll stalked to Fay. Evidently she handled her anxiety aggressively and by laying blame. “It’s gone wrong since Steve took up with you.”

“Grand-mère.” Steve’s tone was a warning and command for silence.

“No! She is magic and you are were. The two do not mix! No! I will not have you polluting our blood. You will not have children with this witch!” Mrs. Jekyll’s voice rose in a shriek.

“Grand-mère.” Steve got off the stretcher. He was tall and lethal, his expression severe.

“Raha, hush.” Mr. Jekyll attempted to intervene.

Mrs. Jekyll shrugged her arm out of his hold. “Go!” She said imperiously to Fay and pointed at the stairs.

Fay was barely holding together as she faced the truth of how nearly she’d lost Steve. How nearly she still could. Not from Mrs. Jekyll’s histrionics, but from the threat of the jackal-were and rogue mage, and the evil, noxious energy they’d created. Fay had been trained to assess threats and act accordingly. On the threat level, Mrs. Jekyll didn’t rate. Her hysterical disapproval was an emotional issue to be dealt with later.

What mattered was learning what had happened to Steve, why and how he’d been kidnapped, and planning their strategy for eliminating the threat to them and to all the weres. This had become so much more than a djinn-inspired test.

Fay plunged forward three steps, caught Steve’s hand and pulled him to her; away from confronting his grandparents. “You’re right, Mrs. Jekyll. I need to go. I need food, a shower, clean clothes. Even sleep. Steve needs the same.”

Steve closed his hand around hers.

“Last stitch.” Doctor Singh had followed Steve. Now he held up the scrap of thread. “You may go.”

“Glad I have your permission, doc,” Steve said sardonically.

“Steve, stay!” his grandmother ordered.

He walked towards the stairs, Fay beside him.

Behind them came a wavering, feminine groan, a sigh, and the rustle of a gentle collapse. When they turned, Mrs. Jekyll had “fainted”.

Doctor Singh rolled his eyes.

The two guards looked uncomfortable.

Faroud was frankly fascinated. He winked at Fay.

“Steve, don’t leave the fort,” his granddad said. “We must talk. Your parents are flying here since we couldn’t trust the portal for transit.”

Fay waited. This was Steve’s family, his call. As much as she disliked the arrogance his grandparents displayed in ordering him around, she knew she didn’t have enough experience of families to judge the nuances. Perhaps this was normal across generations? Perhaps even a sign of caring?

Steve looked at his granddad as the elderly man knelt beside his gracefully reclining wife. Steve’s expression stayed grim. “Grand-Mère ordered my mate to leave the fort. She insulted Fay and our future children.”

Children! Fay squeezed his hand, convulsively. She hadn’t ever considered motherhood. Would their children be leopard-weres? How would the weres treat them if they were mages, like her? Did she want children?

Yes.

Not yet, but one day. Children. She smiled at Steve. Thoughts of children were joyous.

He scowled at his grandmother, still faking unconsciousness. “I’m mad. But Mom, she’s going to raise the roof.”

Just out of Steve’s line of sight, but within Fay’s, Faroud nodded vigorously.

“Words spoken out of an anxious time.” Mr. Jekyll attempted to gloss things over.

Steve was having none of it. “Words spoken out of prejudice and aimed to hurt Fay. Aimed to drive away
my mate
. Uncle has accepted Fay, and if he hadn’t, I would leave. She is my future. Do you think she could heal me if we weren’t bound more tightly than most couples? If you need proof, there it is. But you shouldn’t need proof. You should welcome Fay because I love her, and for herself. Mom knows that. Dad knows it. They’ll give Fay the welcome family should.”

He paused. “We’ll stay in the fort.”