Master of None (26 page)

She smiled. “I was counting on that.”

Ian cleared his throat. “If you are finished, perhaps we should attempt to determine a mode of transportation.” He nodded back down the corridor, where Tory and Lark waited with almost identical frowns. “We cannot remain in one place for long. They will find us.”

“Wait a minute,” Jazz said. “How’s he going to find us here? We’re a county away, in the middle of nowhere. Aren’t we?”

I gave her a puzzled look before I remembered that she’d missed the whole tether-tracing thing. “Long story,” I said. “Ian’s right. We need to move. Any ideas?”

By unspoken consent, the three of us walked toward Tory
and Lark. Jazz scrutinized wrecked cars as we passed them. “Guess we’re probably a long walk from civilization,” she said. “But we’ll have to hoof it, anyway. I doubt there’s a salvageable ride anywhere in here—and even if there was, I don’t have my tools.”

My brief hope of hotwiring a wreck guttered. If anyone could make that statement, it was Jazz. She’d forgotten more about cars than I’d ever figured out.

But she didn’t know much about djinn magic.

I grinned. “Maybe you won’t need them.”

“Are you nuts? I can’t hand-tool an engine. I’m not Superwoman.”

“No.” I jerked a thumb in Ian’s direction. “But he is.”

“Did you just call me a woman, thief ?”

“Relax. It’s a metaphor.” I shook my head and reset my train of thought. “Jazz, remember what he did to your van?”

Her expression brightened a bit. “Yes . . .”

“With your skills and his mojo, I think we can rig something.”

She nodded. “I’ll find a likely candidate.” With that, she turned and headed back toward the pickup.

“Yeah,” I muttered after her retreating form. “Why don’t you do that?” Sighing, I pivoted to find Lark right in front of me.

“Well?” he said. “What’s going on? Isn’t that Jazz?”

“Brilliant observation,” I said. “Yes, that’s her. She . . . didn’t want to be left out of the vengeance party.”

Lark nodded, but sympathy was reflected in his face. “Guess we’re both stuck in this.”

“You could say that.” I turned to Ian. “Any idea how long we have until they find your tether again?”

“Not long. Perhaps two days and then the time it takes for
his closest minions to reach us.” He grimaced. “They will not wait for Shamil to regain full strength.”

Not as long as I’d hoped. “All right, so what are our options? We keep moving, or . . .” I hesitated. The thought forming in my head had the hallmarks of a made-for-television B-movie sequel.
Stupid Donatti Strikes Again
. Still, it was just nuts enough to work. Maybe. If I could manage to stave off my lousy luck for what would come down to the most important gig of my life.

“Okay. What if we break into Trevor’s place and steal his surveillance system?”

Lark snorted. “You can’t steal a system, Donatti. And even if you could, you’d have to presteal it so you wouldn’t get busted.”

“I meant Shamil.”

Three pairs of eyes tried to burn holes through me.

“Let me explain,” I said. “We’re never going to get anywhere if we stay on the defensive. If he’s using Shamil to track us, we can take that away from him—and a few other little things. I mean, he asked you to free him, didn’t he?” I looked at Ian, hoping for a little support.

Ian winced. “That is not what he meant. He wanted me to . . . destroy his tether.”

“No.” Tory stood fast, almost knocking Lark over. “Ian, you can’t. We’ve got to get him out of there.”

“Taregan, you’ve not seen what they have done to him.”

A shiver shot through me with Ian’s strained words. I had.

“Well, you two can heal him. Can’t you? I mean, you did it for Lark.”

“I do not know if that is possible. It may take more power than we are able to produce.”

“We can try! You can’t just kill him.”

“It is what he wants.”

Tory glared daggers. “Always the general, Gahiji-an. Sacrifice the one for the good of the many, right? Let me ask you something. If it was you in there, would you rather we murdered you than try to save you?”

“If it would mean sparing the realm, saving the others, then yes. I would.”

Though Ian returned a cool stare, I knew Tory had hit him where it hurt. Right in his pride.

“All right, this isn’t helping,” I said. “Look, if Shamil still wants to die after we bust him out, he can tell us himself. And I think we can do it. If we pull this off, we might be able to save your friend and get rid of Trevor and his Morai pal at the same time.”

Ian was already shaking his head. “I am not convinced we will be able to destroy this Morai,” he said.

I blinked at him. “You know which one it is? Does it even matter?”

“In this case, it might. I believe Trevor has allied himself with Lenka.”

“Of course he has.” Just my luck to have my mortal enemy hook up with the strongest possible bad guy. What had Ian said about him? Powerful, inbred, and crazy. Terrific.

Tory’s jaw looked as if it might fall off. “Lenka? Shit, Ian. You could’ve mentioned that before.” He crossed his arms. “Maybe we should come up with a different plan.”

“Come on,” I said. “You said it yourself, Ian. All we have to do is get his tether.”

Ian gave a deep frown. “You do not know Lenka. Destroying him will not be an easy task.”

“Just hear me out, okay? And I need Jazz to listen in. She’s important to the plan.” Besides, she’d kill me if I made monumental decisions about Trevor without her. I spotted her leaning over the engine bay of a solid-looking Cadillac, prodding wires and yanking out dipsticks. Damn. If all mechanics were that sexy, I’d have gone in for a lot more repairs. I cupped my hands and shouted her way.

She strode back, wiping grease-smudged hands on her thighs. “That one might do it,” she said. “Why do you all look like somebody spit in your drinks?”

“Your friend De Rossi here thinks he has a plan,” Tory said.

I sighed. “It’s Donatti.”

“Whatever. Just spit it out.”

I drew a breath and explained what I was thinking. They came around. Eventually.

Ian smiled. “It is a good plan.”

“Thanks. I’m a brilliant strategist when it comes to saving my own ass.”

“If this works, you will save more asses than your own.” Ian glanced at Tory, who looked away just long enough to seem apologetic. “Are we in agreement, then?”

No one objected. I guessed that was as close to agreement as a bunch of humans and djinn who were probably planning their deaths could get.

W
HILE
J
AZZ
BANGED AROUND UNDER THE HOOD OF THE
C
ADDY
and instructed Ian on the finer points of vehicles that didn’t sport pull-me-over signs, I ran reconnaissance on an important mission: finding needles in a haystack. Or, more technically, finding knives or knife-shaped metal objects in a thousand tons of jumbled scrap metal.

Inspired by Lark’s bird mummy, I’d persuaded Ian to make dupes of his tether—one for each of us to carry. He’d stash the real one here among the junk, so none of us would have it when we broke into Trevor’s place. It wasn’t a permanent solution. If we got caught, it would only buy us time. I hoped that would be enough.

Ian had explained that transformation worked best when the thing being changed resembled the original. Jazz and Lark didn’t do blades, so that left us with one between us, the butterfly I’d lifted from Pope. I was glad to donate it to the cause. Using another man’s blade was like wearing someone else’s underwear. Now I only had to locate four more knives.

Might as well look for Atlantis in here. I’d probably find it sooner.

I left the long rows of junked cars and headed for the giant piles of scrap. There weren’t quite so many lights on this end of the lot, and the jagged mounds of metal cast deep shadows over the narrow pathways. The place smelled like fresh earth and old blood. At the base of one mountain, an idle yellow Cat stood with scoop upraised, as though its driver had given up hope of ever moving that formidable mass and run screaming from the yard at mid-push.

The flashlight Lark lent me, a mini Mag with a halogen bulb, should have cut through the gloom like butter. Instead, it created a murky brown puddle near my feet. I slapped it against my thigh. Blue light flashed forward, throwing the junk ahead into strobe relief. For an instant, I thought my chest tightened and my arms tingled, but whether magical need or old-fashioned brute force had brought the light around, I welcomed it.

I recognized a few of the twisted, bent, and generally broken objects stacked to the sky. Bed frames, filing cabinets,
pipe fittings, and ladders studded the less recognizable mash of splinters and chunks. Eventually, I unearthed a jumbled pile of tableware, fished out four reasonably solid table knives, and wandered back toward the others with my rust-spotted bounty.

Apparently, Jazz and Ian hadn’t resolved their technical differences yet, because I arrived to find them in the middle of a small war. Jazz had the Caddy jacked up and was halfway through stripping the lugs on a bad flat. A fresh tire stood propped beside her, and a frustrated Ian stood scowling over her.

“This is not necessary,” Ian said. “I can repair the tire in far less time.”

Jazz didn’t even look at him. “With magic? No, thanks. I’ve got it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want this bitch to blow while I’m driving.”

“It will not ‘blow.’ ”

“How do you know? This thing’s a human contraption. And maybe everything that works in your world doesn’t work in ours. Besides, when it comes to cars, nothing beats mechanical soundness. The less jerry-rigging we have to do, the better.”

Ian grunted. “At least allow me to loosen those fastenings.”

“Will you shut up and let me work? I said, I’ve got it.”

“I found your knives,” I said loudly.

Ian’s head swiveled in my direction. “Would you inform your woman that djinn magic is not like your charlatan stage performers and will not cease to function if one should sneeze while driving a vehicle?”

“And would you inform your
genie
,” Jazz said, emphasizing the word with a hard twist on the lug wrench, “that I’m perfectly capable of changing a goddamned tire?”

“Hey, look. I’m not translating English into English.” I shoved a fistful of knives against Ian’s chest. “Take these. First of all, where’s Lark and Tory?”

Ian snatched the bundle and waved a hand off to his right. “They seek a suitable location to conceal my tether.”

“Okay.” I crouched next to Jazz. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but he’s right.”

The look she gave me said she would’ve punched me if her hands weren’t full of tire iron. I reminded myself not to argue with her when she possessed a lethal weapon. “I’m busy,” she said. “Back off.”

“Come on, Jazz. It’d be faster if you let him do it.”

“I’ve. Got. It.” She freed the last lug with a crack and yanked the tire off as if she was plucking a leaf from a branch. “Look, Donatti. I’ve got to contribute something, okay? I don’t have any magic.”

If she were anyone else, I would’ve thought she was jealous. But I knew what she meant. Watching someone else get even for you wasn’t satisfying enough. “All right,” I said. “Just try to remember that you don’t have to do everything alone. We’re on the same side here.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” She scooped the scattered lugs into a hand and frowned at them. “Shit. These are stripped to hell. I’ll never get them back on.” With a sigh, she held them toward Ian. “Can you . . .”

“Of course.” Ian set the knives aside. “Though I am not quite certain what you need me to do. What is stripped to hell?”

Jazz smirked. “I’ll show you.”

After fifteen minutes of explanations punctuated by subtle and not-so-subtle jabs, Jazz pronounced the thing drivable.
She’d helped Ian create a set of plates that would pass a cursory glance from a cop, though we had no idea what’d happen if anyone ran the tags. We hoped we wouldn’t get the opportunity to find out.

“Now,” Ian said when we stepped back, “we must create the duplicates. I will need your assistance, thief.”

“Whoa. What, with making them?” I held up a hand. “Come on, man. I already had enough doing Lark. I’m not real interested in frying myself again.”

“Doing Lark?” Jazz cocked her head. “What’d you do to him?”

I sighed. “He was in a wheelchair when we found him. And . . . otherwise fucked up. Ian healed him. I guess I helped.”

“You unparalyzed him?”

“He did.” Ian thrust one of the table knives in my direction. “And he is going to assist me further, because I do not have the strength at the moment.”

“Oh, I gotta see this.” Jazz boosted herself onto the hood of the Caddy and sat cross-legged, watching me with something like awe. Or serious doubt. Maybe utter disbelief.

I snatched the knife. “Fine. Just for the record, though, I’m not looking forward to this.”

“Why?”

“Because it hurts. Remember?”

“Only too well.”

The catch in Ian’s voice reminded me how much longer he’d been doing this. I decided to lay off. “Sorry, Ian. What am I supposed to do?”

“I will show you, if you would hand me my tether.”

“Oh. Right.” I’d forgotten I was wearing his coat. I patted the pockets, discovered a lump, and gave him the dagger.

He took it and held one of the replacements in his opposite hand. “As Taregan explained, it is a matter of need—or, in this case, will. You must will one object to resemble another.” He offered a small smile. “Do not worry, thief. Transformation is a strength of the Dehbei. This will not hurt as much.”

“Great. That’s very reassuring.”

“Pay attention.” Ian held the table knife on an open palm. He passed his tether slowly over the length of it, and a copy of the dagger emerged inch by inch. When he held them both up, I knew he could’ve put them behind his back and shuffled them, and I wouldn’t have been able to spot the original. He handed me one with a nod. “It is your turn.”

I swallowed and took the dagger. His instructions sounded like a knockoff Nike commercial.
Just will it.
There had to be more to this stuff than feelings, didn’t there? Just because I shared a few genes with Ian, that didn’t mean I should be able to make unnatural things happen when I wanted them to. It almost seemed wrong. Like cheating.