Tales of the Djinn: The Guardian (7 page)

“Someone stabilized this power point
already,” Joseph said. “That dot is a tiny passage from this plane
to the Qaf.”

“Told you,” the ifrit said.

Joseph ignored him. “I can’t tell where it
goes,” he said with his nose wrinkled. “But not to our city.”

“I come from the Great Desert,” the ifrit
volunteered. “Where the high ifrits travel in caravans.”

The Qaf were an immense chain of mountains.
Not precisely a place, no ordinary landmass connected the different
territories. Sometimes you could walk from one country to the next.
Other times the journey wasn’t straightforward. If Arcadius
understood what the ifrit meant by the Great Desert, this door
didn’t lead near their home.

The ifrit’s mention of the caravan djinn was
interesting. Though not fans of the human race, Bedouin were
enthusiastic traders. If humans had contacted them, they wouldn’t
hesitate to do business.

“That’s why the tattooed man was eager to
find the door,” Arcadius said. “Since this nexus is already
claimed, a new door can’t be created. Without the old door, they
can’t use this particular portal to go anywhere. With it, if they
had the know-how, they could recalibrate the nexus to send them
anywhere on our plane.”

Arcadius knew a door could be disguised as
anything. An old shoe. A hamburger wrapper. Even the proverbial
needle in a haystack. He gazed around the cement-walled room. It
was cleaner than he expected, given what he’d just seen. Someone,
hopefully not Elyse, had scrubbed away the bloodstains.

He wasn’t so busy scanning he didn’t notice
the ifrit trying to creep away.

“Halt, you,” he ordered.

Joseph did him one better, seizing the
creature by the scruff of its smoky neck. Caught, the ifrit dangled
dolefully in the magician’s grip. Its little batwings sagged.

“I helped you,” he complained. “You said I
could have my life.”

“I didn’t say you could have it here.”

The ifrit pouted harder. “If I have to go
home, I want to take my horse with me.”

Arcadius and Joseph considered the sad old
toy. “That isn’t a door,” Arcadius said, having probed it for
vibes.

“No,” Joseph agreed.

“The little girl who owned it
died
,”
the ifrit said. “
I
want to play with it.”

Joseph glanced at Arcadius, who shrugged. The
ifrit’s interest in the plaything might be macabre, but he didn’t
see the harm. Ifrits could turn vengeful if you thwarted them too
much. He and Joseph didn’t need to deal with more nuisances.

“You may take your toy,” Joseph decided. “And
I shall give you a stone besides.”

“A pretty stone?” the ifrit asked
hopefully.

“A ruby,” Joseph pledged. “Faceted by a
master cutter to flash in the sun like blood.”

This pleased the small demon. Sensing it
would behave, Joseph set it back on the ground. Hands free then, he
magically shrunk the rocking horse, pushing it through the tiny
black spot in the nexus. He pulled a ruby from his pocket—as good a
stone as he’d promised—and it soon made the same journey. The ifrit
watched the red chip disappear avidly.

“You’d better hurry,” Joseph counseled. “You
wouldn’t want your brothers on the other side to get their paws on
your prizes.”

The ifrit began to go, then looked at him.
“You are honorable,” he declared. “I won’t forget.”

Fearing it would lose its treasures, the
ifrit smoked through the tiny hole. As soon as it had gone, Joseph
sketched the star from King Solomon’s seal over the opening. The
black spot snapped shut, no longer spoiling the nexus’s glittery
perfection.

With the ifrit gone, Arcadius and Joseph
could speak freely.

“Well,” Joseph said. “I suppose now we know
how Elyse’s husband died.”

“The human police must have been confounded.
I wonder where David obtained the blood-drinking spike. That was
definitely a djinn weapon.”

“Whoever installed the missing door . . .”
Joseph trailed off, his gaze unfocused.

“Yes,” Arcadius said. “Whoever installed it
might have been visiting the Qaf for a while. The Almighty only
knows what souvenirs he or she returned with.”

Joseph pulled a thoughtful face. “I wonder
who created those spelled tattoos for the man who killed Elyse’s
husband. They were of djinn origin too.”

They had firsthand familiarity with magical
tattoos, though the killer’s seemed different from their own.

“They behaved as if they were conscious,”
Arcadius mused. “They knew their owner was being attacked without
him turning around.”

“One of our sorcerers could have infused the
ink with a low level demon’s spirit. The tattoos could have been
compelled to protect their wearer.”

“The tattooed man was human,” Arcadius
pointed out. “If he couldn’t travel to the Qaf because this door is
shut . . .”

“Then perhaps the djinni who made them was on
this plane.”

“Philip?” Arcadius suggested.

Joseph shook his head slowly. “I don’t
think
so. He had the power for it, and I’d like to believe
he’s alive, but those designs didn’t remind me of his style.” He
was silent for a moment. “Something else is bothering me. Elyse’s
husband said, ‘My wife doesn’t know anything.’”

“You think he lied?”

“I don’t know. Clearly, he was practiced at
deception. I can’t help but wonder if he asked Elyse the right
questions. This nexus is beneath her house, the house her
grandfather purchased, the house her father inherited and managed
before her.”

“Her father who fell into a volcano.”

“Yes,” Joseph said wryly. “She grew up
surrounded by oddities. She must know something about
something—”

“—even if she doesn’t know she knows.”
Arcadius rubbed his chin, accustomed to he and Joseph finishing
each other’s sentences. “I need to get closer to her.”

“You do,” Joseph agreed. “We need to find
that door, and we need to reprogram it to lead to our city. That
will require as big a sacrifice as creating one from scratch.”

THE return trip to their apartment felt like
it should take longer. They’d learned a lot since they left.

“Tea?” Joseph offered after they were
inside.

Arcadius shook his head. He wanted to think
and plan—assuming his overly full brain would cooperate. He glanced
at the low ceiling. Too bad he couldn’t see through it to
Elyse.

“I should work on the mirror space,” Joseph
said. “If matters here are this complicated, a hiding place might
come in handy sooner rather than later. Also it wouldn’t hurt to
have two bedrooms.”

Arcadius nodded absently as Joseph left. He
lowered himself to one of the white leather and chrome chairs. The
cushion wasn’t uncomfortable, just firmer than he was used to. Lots
of things weren’t what he was used to here: the battle ahead of
him, for one thing.

How did a man win a woman who didn’t find him
irresistible?

A rhythmic scraping drew him from his
reverie. The sound came from outside their street door, so its
source couldn’t be Joseph. Were some of the city’s wrongdoers
attempting an assault? He knew from watching the news that they
carried guns. Unalarmed but deciding to arm himself, he drew his
favorite knife from its ankle sheath. The jewels on its hilt
adjusted the blade to different sizes, suitable for anything from
close-quarters jabbing to swordfighting. Most important was that
the knife looked intimidating. Arcadius believed in heading off
trouble when possible.

As silently as he was able, he glided to the
entryway. Once the bolts were undone, he yanked the door open.

“Shit,” he said, seeing who was behind it. He
tucked the knife away swiftly. “What the hell are you doing?”

Elyse slapped one gloved hand to her bosom.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m shoveling your
sidewalk.”

“You’re shoveling our sidewalk.”

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I know it’s
late, but I only just remembered it needed doing. The temperature
is supposed to drop tomorrow. I don’t want you two slipping if this
stretch turns to ice.”

She didn’t want them slipping. Part of him
simply couldn’t accept this as an appropriate attitude for a
female. His jaw worked as he stared at her, flustered and angry and
at a loss as to what to say. Perhaps she was also flummoxed. Framed
by the knit cap she wore, her cheeks were extremely pink. A moment
later, he noticed her nose was too.

The appendage was much cuter than he was
prepared for.

“Where is your coat?” he demanded.

“Shoveling is warm exercise! I’d be done by
now if you weren’t standing there arguing.”

Arcadius couldn’t take anymore. “Give me
that,” he said, grabbing the shoveling implement from her.

Elyse let him have it but crossed her arms.
“Have you done this before?”

He hadn’t but how difficult could it be? He’d
mucked out stables, once upon a time.

“Sheesh,” she said, watching him
struggle.

“I’ll get the hang of it,” he muttered.

“Put your foot behind the blade. Use your
weight to slide it under the load.”

He did as she instructed, surprised to
discover her way was easier.

“Now lift the snow over the railing and dump
it into the pile I made.”

He did that too and finished clearing the
ramp in two more shovels full.

“Great,” she said. “If you step back, I’ll
throw down some salt.”

“Salt?”

She blinked at his tone of horror. He cursed
himself for blurting out the objection. If sea salt was
concentrated, it affected djinn caustically. “I use the blue
stuff,” she said, gesturing to a plastic bottle she’d set nearby.
“It’s non-toxic for pets and kids.”

He gathered the container held a salt
substitute. “Ah,” he said, working to recover. “That’s very
responsible.”

“Uh-huh.” She seemed to find him amusing. She
scattered the pellets and reached for the shovel he was
gripping.

Strategy wasn’t all that prevented him from
releasing it. Male protectiveness was in there too.

“I need to put that away,” she pointed
out.

“I’ll carry it for you,” he said, sounding
more truculent than he’d intended.

“It’s just a shovel!”

“You’re a woman.”

“Oh. My. God,” she huffed, each word a
complete sentence.

“Humor me,” he suggested.

Elyse began laughing. The reaction nettled
him even as he appreciated how it improved her looks. “All right.
Follow me to the lobby, and I’ll show you where the winter supplies
are stored. I’m freezing my butt out here anyway.”

Oddly uncomfortable with the reminder that
she had one, he grabbed the canister of blue stuff before she
could. That amused her too. She hadn’t quite stopped laughing by
the time they got inside.

The lobby was a shoebox—barely room to swing
a cat, as the saying went. He’d noted the wall of mailboxes on his
earlier trip upstairs with Joseph. The hands on the clock above
them pointed to twelve o’ one.

“Here’s the tool closet,” Elyse said, opening
a door paneled in the same dark aged wood as the lobby walls. “We
don’t lock this. If you borrow a screwdriver or whatever, just
return it afterward.”

Ugly metal shelves lined the closet. Arcadius
set the shovel and salt where she indicated. Elyse shut the door
again.

“Thanks for your help,” she said, her eyes
still amused. “In the future, I’ll make sure the caretaker clears
your walk too.”

He gazed down into her face. Despite her
smiling eyes, her manner wasn’t flirtatious. The space she’d left
between them ensured that. She’d folded her hands together at her
waist, and the set of her mouth was prim. Arcadius could read body
language. He knew he had to move quickly or miss his opening.

“Your cousin was right,” he said. “You look
tired.”

Elyse snorted. “Thank you very much. At least
tonight I had something to do when I couldn’t sleep. Oh, I mean—”
She stopped, the flush on her cheeks deepening. She was sorry she’d
told him that.

“I understand,” he said compassionately.
“Night’s hours can be difficult to endure when you’ve experienced a
loss.”

They were difficult for him, wondering
how—and if—he’d save his people.

“Um,” she said, seeming unable to look away
from his eyes. “Sorry?”

He smiled, not out of strategy but because he
found her sympathy endearing. “My countrymen know remedies to bring
sleep. Stimulating special pressure points, for instance.”

He let his voice deepen the way it wanted to.
Seeming dazed, Elyse rubbed the hot color on her cheek. “Ah, I
don’t think that’s really—”

“It’s the least I can do. You’ve demonstrated
concern for my safety and well-being. By our traditions, I’m honor
bound to return the courtesy.”

Gently, but not waiting for permission, he
took her wrist to ease her forearm away from where she’d pressed it
against her ribs. Exposing the special nerve center on the
underside was no more complicated than sliding her sleeve upward.
He rubbed the pad of his thumb in a light circle. The spot he
stroked did indeed induce relaxation, though that wasn’t what he
was aiming for. The skin of anyone’s arm right here was very
sensitive. Elyse’s green eyes glazed.

“Um,” she said, tugging her arm back
halfheartedly. “I don’t think—”

“Forgive me,” he said, releasing her. “I have
presumed.”

Her soft pink lips were parted and her breath
came quicker. Her second hand rubbed the spot he’d been caressing.
Arcadius noticed his own thighs were hot, the organ between his
legs twitching. Elyse shook herself.

“You certainly have a way about you,” she
said.

He wanted to ask if it was a way she liked.
Her rueful tone warned him not to be that direct. Thinking fast, he
recalled her delight at Joseph’s anecdotes and the many books that
filled her apartment’s shelves.