Master of None (12 page)

“Do you really think I would claim you as a descendant if it were not true?”

That made sense. Nothing else did, though. “So you’re telling me that I’m a djinn? Why can’t I transform into a wolf or fly or turn rustbuckets into slick cars?”

“Idiot. You are not djinn. You are descended from one of the bloodlines I created with humans.”

“Right. You and humans.” He couldn’t even stand talking to us. I wasn’t about to believe he’d slept with a human woman. “Just how many bloodlines did you create?”

“Dozens.”

“Jesus.” The ground looked awfully inviting. Sit down, take a load off, hop a train back to the real world, where I was just a thief with lousy luck and not some distant relative of a djinn. “Sorry, Ian, but I don’t buy it. I think you got your wires crossed somewhere. I’m just a regular guy.”

Ian cocked an eyebrow. “Have you ever hidden in plain sight and not been found?”

“Yeah. It’s called concealment. Thieves have to be good at that.”

“In your case, it is called invisibility. The one trait that is invariably passed through djinn blood. You are not merely hiding. You are invisible to others.”

Jazz cleared her throat. “He might have a point there, Houdini. You can disappear when you want to.”

“Oh, so you’re on his side now?” I threw up my hands. “Fine. Let’s say you’re right, and I’m your descendant. When did you start planting this human garden of yours?”

“I do not know that I should explain much of this to you. Your human mind may not be able to process—”

“Try me.”

A strange look shadowed Ian’s features. “Four hundred years ago. Give or take a decade.”

For an instant, I thought Ian had been right. Something in my head tried to shut down and refuse the offered information. I forced it open. “All right. If you created dozens of bloodlines back in the Stone Age, shouldn’t you have a few hundred descendants running around by now? I mean, why me?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Oh, come on. You hate me. Why can’t you go bother some other descendant?”

A moan drifted from the direction in which I’d left Pope. Ian stared at me. “You did not kill him?”

“No. I’m not a murderer.”
Not yet, anyway.
“Maybe we should get out of here before we continue this enlightening conversation.”

Jazz frowned. “I’d say we could take my van, but those assholes shot the hell out of it. It’ll kind of stand out on the road. Besides, once Trevor realizes they aren’t coming back, he’ll look for it.”

“Ian,” I said. “Can you . . .”

The djinn nodded and approached Jazz. “Take the child. Is your vehicle close?”

“More or less.” Jazz arranged Cyrus against her like a forward-facing backpack. The boy stirred a bit but remained asleep. “What are you going to do to my van?”

I nudged her. “Remember that car I had at the motel?”

“Yeah.”

“It used to be an ’89 Ford Escort.”

“Oh.” Jazz offered Ian a weak, incredulous smile. “Can you do a Kia Sorento? I’ve always wanted one of those.”

There was no hint of sarcasm in her tone. She’d accepted the bizarre truth. I would have been relieved at having one problem solved—if there hadn’t been a thousand more to go.

T
HE
NEW, IMPROVED VAN WAS NO
S
ORENTO
,
BUT IT CAME CLOSE
.

Jazz had somewhat graciously agreed to let me drive—if gracious meant threatening me with bodily harm if anything happened to her van. I was just glad she’d brought clothes for Ian that he didn’t need, since my shirt had been sacrificed for a tourniquet. I didn’t like driving around half-naked.

She’d given me her sister’s address, just north of Auburn.
We had to get Cyrus somewhere safe, and I hoped the thugs hadn’t keyed into Molly yet. Jazz had been home with Cyrus when they hauled her in to Trevor. If we made her sister’s place soon, we might be able to grab a few hours of sleep before making any monumental decisions. Jazz lay on the backseat with Cyrus, getting an early start.

Ian sat in the passenger seat and entertained me with his jackass impersonation.

“Okay, look,” I said when he refused to respond for the hundredth time. “Whatever this life-purpose thing is supposed to be, it has to include me staying alive, which obviously goes against Trevor’s plans. That means Trevor has to factor in here somewhere. And you know something about him that I don’t.”

“How observant of you.”

“So, if you tell me what you know, maybe we’d get closer to figuring out how to solve this problem and get rid of the bastard.”

Ian shook his head. “What I know has nothing to do with you, thief. It is a concern of the djinn.”

“What about Shamil? Is it his concern? Because I think he’d be glad to see Trevor gone.”

“I will take care of Shamil.” Ian practically vibrated with suppressed rage. “Do not speak to me of him. You know nothing.”

“You’re right. I don’t know jack.” I gripped the wheel and forced even breaths. “And if you can’t see why that’s a problem, you must’ve eaten a bowl of stupid for breakfast.”

Ian closed his eyes. “No good has ever come of our cooperation with humans.”

I wanted to feel offended, but the pain in his statement came through clear as crystal. He spoke from experience. And
having seen what Trevor had done to his friend, it wasn’t a stretch to understand why he’d get that impression. The bastard in me wanted to tell him tough shit, the world ain’t fair, take your lumps and move on . . . a lesson I’d learned the direct way.

Unfortunately, the rest of me insisted on feeling sorry for him.

“All right, maybe that’s true,” I told him. “Maybe cooperating with me won’t change a damned thing. But I can promise that I won’t make things worse—at least, not intentionally. I trust you. God knows why, but I do. And you’re going to have to trust me.”

A long pause followed. At last, Ian said, “Trevor is working with a djinn.”

“Uh, yeah. I saw that. You going to tell me something I don’t know?”

“Not Shamil.” Ian scrubbed a hand down his face. “The blood is the bond. Direct human descendants are most powerful, but any human containing djinn blood can be used to amplify power. Even if the containment is temporary.” His features twisted in pure fury. “Trevor is keeping Shamil merely to supply him with djinn blood, in order to prime himself for another djinn to work through.”

Bile scalded my throat. “You mean he drinks his blood?”

Ian nodded stiffly. “The one who uses him is of the Morai, the snake clan. The banished. They are not permitted to return to the djinn realm.”

“Why not?”

He sent me a look that suggested I was as dumb as a bag of marbles. “They are banished. Do you not know this word? It means—”

“I know what banished means.”

“Then why did you ask why they cannot return?”

I forced back a surge of annoyance. “I mean, what did they do?”

“They are evil. Bent on power and destruction.”

“That’s it? They’re banished because they’re evil?” If humans practiced that policy, we wouldn’t have to worry about Trevor right now.

Ian’s mouth twisted down. “It is enough.”

His tone said he’d already told me more than he wanted to. I knew it wasn’t even approaching enough, but I decided to leave it alone for now. “I take it Shamil isn’t one of them. The Morai, I mean.”

“Shamil is Bahari.”

“Let me guess. The wolf clan.”

“No. Hawk. The wolf clan—my clan—is Dehbei.” His voice caught, and he turned away.

I drove in silence for a few minutes. Trying to make sense of this felt like absorbing a steel plate with my brain. It was incompatible, and it made my head hurt. Trevor had gone from garden-variety psychotic fence to blood-sucking overlord with an evil snake djinn at his disposal. Fantastic. Even as a regular guy, he was untouchable. To have a shot at the bastard, we’d have to take the snake out of the picture.

We’d passed Auburn proper. I slowed and turned onto Route 5, hoping to make the next six or seven miles fast. My body begged for rest. I didn’t know how much longer I could fight the urge to close my eyes, just for a minute, despite the knowledge that the van would end up intimately acquainted with a tree if I succumbed. “Ian,” I said slowly. “How do you kill a djinn?”

Ian shot me a dagger gaze. “Excuse me?”

“I just figured if we could snuff the snake dude, it’d leave Trevor open.” I flashed a brief smile. “Christ, did you think I wanted to bump you off ?”

“The idea crossed my mind,” Ian muttered. “Besides, I thought you were not a murderer.”

“I’ll make a few exceptions for Trevor.” A memory throbbed in my head: Trevor selecting tiny pliers, smiling and telling me I could watch while he tortured my son. The son of a bitch deserved worse than death, but death was all I could bring him, and I intended to follow through.

“So what’s the deal?” I said. “Obviously, bullets don’t work.”

Ian hesitated. “To destroy a djinn in this realm, you destroy the tether that binds him to it. There is a ritual spell that must be performed.”

“Tether?” I frowned. “The pendant Trevor wears. That’s Shamil’s tether, right?”

“It is.”

“Great. How much you wanna bet he never takes it off?”

“I am sure he does not. But I must get it somehow.”

“Far as I know, the only way to get something that belongs to Trevor is over his dead body.” I cursed and slammed on the brakes. I’d almost missed the turn for Molly’s. Easing the van back on track, I added, “So how do we find this other djinn’s tether? What are we looking for, another pendant?”

“They are not all pendants. Do you not know the story of Aladdin’s lamp?”

“You’re shitting me. That was for real?”

“More or less. But I assure you, there were no wishes involved.” Ian shifted and slumped down a few inches. “It will take some effort, and time, but I should be able to locate it.
Unfortunately, the Morai is likely to have it in his possession, wherever he is. The best we can hope for is the possibility that Trevor has it somewhere.”

“Oh, yeah. That’d be a piece of cake, stealing something from Trevor.”

“A simple matter compared with stealing from a djinn.”

He had a point.

I made a token pause at a deserted all-way and continued on a road suddenly swaddled in forest on both sides. “So what’s your tether?”

“Never mind.”

“Come on. Even if I knew, I couldn’t do anything with it. There’s some kind of ritual, right? I’m curious. Indulge me.”

“Gods take you! Leave it, thief.” The edge in his voice could have slit a few throats.

I shook my head. “So much for trusting me, huh?” It was mostly a joke. I guessed if I had some item that dictated whether I lived or died, I wouldn’t want to go around pointing it out, either. Still, it did sting to think Ian believed I’d use it against him.

Ian jolted straight. “Stop.”

“What’s . . .”

“Stop driving.”

I hit the brakes. The van lurched and settled back. “Why?”

“Do you not smell that?”

I started to say no, but at once I caught the unmistakable pungent sting of smoke. “Shit. Is that coming from the engine?”

“No.” Ian pointed to the passenger window. “Look.”

Unease stirred in my gut. I leaned forward and sucked a breath. Ahead, the road curved to the right, and thin ropes of black smoke shuttled through shafts of sunlight in the air like ghostly snakes. “Jesus,” I whispered. “Think there’s a forest fire up there?”

Ian’s lips compressed. “Keep going, but slowly. We may have to turn back.”

Nodding, I eased down on the gas and nudged forward. We rounded the bend. Several yards down the road, thick gray-black clouds billowed skyward from a cleared area on the left. My unease plunged into sick fury when I realized the source of the smoke: the smoldering remains of a house. Right where Molly’s place should have been.

I glanced in the rearview mirror, relieved that Jazz hadn’t woken yet. How could I tell her this?
Sorry, Jazz, but while you were sleeping, we found your sister’s place, and we didn’t stop. Why? Oh, we just weren’t in the mood for barbecue.
“Ian, any chance you could tint the windows or something? Like, now?”

For once, he didn’t question or protest. He gestured, and the glass around us darkened to blue-gray. “You think there might be someone there waiting for us,” he said.

“Exactly. I’m just going to keep driving. They won’t recognize the vehicle.”

Ian almost smiled. “You are smarter than I credited you, thief.”

“Thanks. I think.” I slowed as we passed the smoldering wreck. Anyone would—I knew it wouldn’t look suspicious. Only a few charred and crooked timbers remained upright, marking three of four walls. The rest had been reduced to piles of blackened slabs and ash. They must have doused the place first. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have burned so thoroughly. Had
they killed her before they torched it? I squinted, searching the rubble for signs of a body.

“Donatti? How close are we?”

Jazz’s voice, thick with sleep, rolled from the backseat and slugged me with regret. Crud. I’d hoped we could somehow skip the part where she saw what was left of the place.

She hadn’t sat up yet. Maybe she wouldn’t look. Making my way back to normal speed, I glanced at Ian and cleared my throat. He nodded once, but I wasn’t sure whether he was encouraging me or saying
You do it.
“Jazz,” I said softly. “They’ve been to your sister’s place.”

“Oh, God. Molly. Is she all right? Why didn’t you tell me when we got there?”

I couldn’t look back anymore. “We didn’t stop.”

“Why?”

No response came to mind. I shook my head.

“Donatti.” Her voice shook. “Why didn’t you stop?”

“I . . . there was nothing left to stop for. Shit, Jazz . . . they torched the place.”

“No.” Jazz whirled and looked out the rear window, as if she expected her sister’s house to be right there waiting. “Go back. Go back! What if she’s still in there?”

Something inside me broke at the pleading in her tone. My stockpile of reasons to kill Trevor stood at about Empire State Building height. I had to drag the words from my mouth. “She can’t be. It’s burned flat. I’m so sorry . . .”