Harley Merlin 12 Read online

  My mind flitted to Lux, and I wished she hadn’t gotten so angry. She might’ve been able to tell me more about Atlantis. It had taken her all of two seconds to realize Erebus’s goal, which meant she probably knew more about it than I did.

  “Something the matter, Finch?” Erebus’s eyes bored into my soul. I must’ve been quieter for longer than I’d thought.

  “Nothing aside from you not giving a crap about the creatures you created,” I answered, a beat too quickly.

  His glare intensified. “You aren’t hiding anything, are you?”

  “Of course not.” I squirmed in my chair and avoided his gaze. Could he see Lux written all over my face?

  I made the mistake of taking his silence as a good sign and dared to glance at him. An eerie smile stretched across his mouth. A blast imploded in my ribcage.

  I lurched forward and grasped the table as a howl tore out of my throat, scraping trails of fire up my esophagus. Thundering rounds of white-hot pain discharged inside my skull, ricocheting between my temples and using my brain as a bouncy castle.

  You knew this would happen! Lux can’t protect you—she can’t even keep an eye on her own husband! Erebus’s curse had jolted the gremlins awake, and now they swarmed my head. They’d gone ape, screaming at the tops of their lungs until I didn’t know the difference between them and the blood rushing in my ears.

  I’m not getting out of this alive, am I? Unless Melody found an escape, it’d be torment after torment, task after task, pain on pain, until I died of exhaustion or Erebus offed me when I’d served my purpose. Until then, he’d use the same threats, and I’d keep bowing my head and obeying from terror.

  “I can make this stop, Finch, if you tell me what you’re hiding. I can sense your deceit. For a former cultist, you do not excel at lying,” Erebus scolded, his hand clenched. A direct reflection of what he was doing to my insides.

  Telling him would only make it worse. I dug deep, pushing past my limits and using fumes to hang on.

  “I’m… not hiding… anything. I don’t… have anything… to tell you!” I roared, scraping my nails across the tablecloth. It yanked most of the plates and cutlery and glasses to the ground, but the shattering eruption gave me something to focus on.

  He flicked his fingers, and I flew, then slammed into the back wall. The air choked out of my lungs, leaving me winded. “Are you sure about that?”

  If I told him, I’d have them both vying to kill me. Where was Lux’s promised protection? I didn’t see her riding in on her white steed.

  “I’m not… keeping secrets!” I rasped, dangling from the wall.

  Erebus literally harrumphed and released me. I fell to the floor with a hefty thud, since he hadn’t bothered lowering me first.

  “Very well.” He picked up his glass and sipped casually. “If you remain honest with me, you have a better chance of surviving what comes next. Now get on with your task.”

  “Will you give me more information first?” I stood on wobbly legs. “How do I break the curse?”

  Erebus sighed irritably. “You misunderstand, as ever. You cannot break the curse.”

  “But you said—”

  “Nash Calvert must break the djinn curse himself,” Erebus interjected. “You will convince him to break it, then retrieve his blood. I need at least five vials.”

  I stayed put until I had my strength back. “You make it sound like a walk in the park. How am I supposed to convince Nash to do that? I’m guessing he knows he has this curse, right? Or am I the bearer of bad news?”

  “He knows,” Erebus replied.

  “Do you know what curse the djinn put on this guy? Do you know how to break it?” I pressed.

  Erebus gave that irksome shrug that made me want to rip his head off. “Nash knows. It is your job to find these answers and plan from there. I can’t micromanage you, Finch. I am much too busy.”

  “I’m not asking for micromanagement. I’m asking for details. Useful details. Details that will get you what you want.” I groaned in exasperation.

  “Uncover the details yourself.” Erebus’s face shifted to a blank canvas. “And don’t return from Canada unsuccessfully. I will not repeat myself. You understand what is at stake by now.”

  “Yeah, I know.” You’re a vindictive asshole, and proud of it, too. The thing was, I got the sense he didn’t actually know the details, which was why he couldn’t give them to me. A lot of showboating to cover the fact that he was in the dark about the specifics.

  Regardless, it looked like I was going to Canada to find Nash Calvert, our key to Atlantis.

  Seventeen

  Raffe

  Before you start jet-setting, don’t forget to take that book!

  I reread Finch’s message. Santana and I had our bags packed, and I’d texted Finch to let him know we’d be leaving in a moment. This was as much his mission as ours.

  Are you at the SDC? Can you bring it? I replied, tapping the screen while Santana sat nearby, watching curiously. Kadar knew about the thieved book, and it rested in our shared memory. Finch evidently wanted the Storyteller to look at it, since she had the expertise in books.

  A flurry of pings erupted a moment later, each sentence a separate text:

  Nope, I’m not there. E-man business.

  It’s under my pillow in my room.

  Don’t give me the third degree on security.

  It’s secure because it’s simple.

  No need to break my bedroom door down though!

  There’s a spare key on top of the door—feel around and you’ll find it.

  I have pristine figurines in there that’ll be worth hundreds someday.

  I’ll know if you’ve touched anything.

  I chuckled as I typed back. I won’t touch anything. Pinkie swear. Hope everything’s okay?

  The phone pinged again:

  The usual. Travel safe, Raffster.

  Will do, I sent, before putting the phone away.

  “What does he want?” Santana asked coolly.

  “He wants us to take a book with us,” I replied.

  She frowned. “Book?”

  “Yeah, he… uh… picked it up at a bookstore and wants the Storyteller to look at it. Apparently, it’s got information on Erebus and the djinn, so it could have something that’ll help us.”

  Santana shifted her bag onto her opposite shoulder. “Where is he? Do we have to wait for him?”

  “No, he gave us the all clear to get it from his room.”

  Santana’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Do I get to break down his door?”

  “You could, but he left us a key and strict instructions not to do that. Apparently, he’s got boxed figurines in there that will make him a fortune one day.” I smiled at her, trying not to let my apprehension show about our trip to Dubai.

  I knew she couldn’t be dissuaded from coming with me, but I’d have felt better if she stayed here. We’d be stepping into the homeland of the djinn. Not a safe place for a magical who wasn’t in my unique situation. Djinn were known tricksters and manipulators, eager to get their hands on powerful magicals. But the decision had been made, and with the djinn weakened and preoccupied, she would likely be fine. That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

  “What do you think he’d do if I opened one?” Santana grinned.

  I laughed nervously. “Make Slinky into a feather boa?”

  “Pfft, he could try.” Santana nodded down the hallway. “Shall we? Time’s a-wasting.”

  “After you, my love.” I made to move, but her face stopped me. Her eyes had gone wide and were swimming with bittersweet happiness. A moment later, she started walking, her head down. I followed, wanting to pull her back and wrap my arms around her so she’d know I still loved every fiber of her being. But I didn’t. I couldn’t… until I found a way to live a normal life with her. At least I could offer her small affections, though, instead of being a jerk and pushing her away.

  I found Finch’s key easily and entered his pr
ivate domain. I hadn’t been here often. People always said not to judge a book by its cover, but you could gain a lot of information about a person by looking at their room. Finch’s gave off an air of a mother’s-basement-dwelling geek, with a hint of cinema aficionado: posters of old movies like Captain Blood, Spartacus, and From Here to Eternity and shelves neatly stacked with his beloved figurines and framed first-edition comic books. His covers were ruffled, his pajamas a pool on the floor.

  Santana lingered on the threshold. “He’s an odd one, isn’t he?”

  I reached under his pillow and found the book. “How so?”

  “You wouldn’t think he was a nerd, then you step in here and—bam!—you get smacked with a torrent of geek.” She crossed the room to a framed photo on the desk. It had all of us in it, smiling at the camera. I couldn’t remember when it was taken. Santana picked it up and smoothed her thumb across my image, a sad smile tugging her lips.

  “People like what they like,” I replied, stowing the book in my bag. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

  “You mean, like your photography, and your newfound love of swimming alone?” Santana set the photo back down.

  I shrugged. “The swimming cools and calms me down, like playing with Slinky calms you down.” I slung the straps of my backpack onto both shoulders. “We should go. O’Halloran will be wondering where we are.”

  He’d agreed to let us use the mirrors to get to the Dubai Coven. We’d told him, given the problems with me and my father, we wanted to visit the UAE to find a solution from one of the oldest djinn in existence, and O’Halloran had wholeheartedly supported our decision.

  Santana took one last look at the photo. “Come on then, slowpoke. Wouldn’t want to keep the boss man waiting.”

  After locking up and replacing the key, leaving Finch’s treasure untouched, we arrived at the Assembly Hall ten minutes later. O’Halloran paced the mirror platform, Diarmuid emulating him in miniature steps, though they both stopped at the sight of us. A wash of relief drifted across O’Halloran’s strong features.

  “Janey Mac, man! What time de ye call this?” Diarmuid grumbled. His usual cantankerous self. “Yez are takin’ the pish, lads.”

  “Sorry, we had trouble packing. It’s going to be hot over there,” Santana replied.

  “Aye, an’ what? Are ye a Mexican or a Mexi-can’t? Ye should be used te hot.” Diarmuid folded his miniature arms across his miniature chest.

  Santana glared at him. “Yes, but it’s been a while since I’ve dealt with 104-degree temps.”

  “Enough, Diarmuid. They’re not that late.” O’Halloran moved to the mirror and pressed his palm to the pane. A courtesy, to send us on our way, even though we were perfectly capable of using it ourselves. The mirror shimmered liquidly as it opened to show Dubai.

  “And yer soft as a cowpat, O’Halloran,” Diarmuid mumbled.

  O’Halloran stepped back. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Raffe. It’s been a long time since anyone’s visited the Middle Eastern covens from the SDC, but they’ve always been warm and welcoming folks, so I’m sure you’ll have no trouble.”

  “Thanks, O’Halloran.” I tucked my thumbs under my backpack straps and stepped onto the platform with Santana.

  “Let me know when you find something,” O’Halloran instructed.

  I smiled at him. “Of course, sir.”

  “And if you need help, you know who to call.” He seemed agitated.

  “Aye, bloody someone else.” Diarmuid scuffed his shoes on the floor.

  O’Halloran rolled his eyes. “You call me if you need me.”

  “We will.”

  I went through first, Santana behind me. When we crossed the threshold to the Dubai Coven, my jaw hit the floor. A dome of curved metal arched over our heads, like the belly of a spaceship. However, the walls were made entirely of glass, giving the most incredible view over the night landscape of Dubai. Or, rather, the skyscape. By the looks of it, we towered over the city.

  Ordinarily, me and heights didn’t get along, but the neighboring skyscrapers were so vast that they made the scale of this building seem less terrifying. The huge towers surrounding us were lit up, sparkling in the darkness. In the distance, boats glowed on the sea, and the famous manmade fronds of the Palm Islands cast a bright haze outward. To the other side lay a dark, empty desert, with a few building projects under construction.

  “Whoa.” Santana clung to my arm. “This place is giving me vertigo.”

  “Good evening to you.” A man walked from the reception desk with a tray containing two glasses of bright green liquid. Impeccably dressed in a stone-gray, silk kandura, his black hair neatly slicked, he had a regality about him. It’d been a long time since I’d seen anyone in a kandura, though it was a distant part of my heritage. While it was cool in this building, I wouldn’t mind an outfit like that if we went outside in the searing daytime.

  I put out my hand and shook his. “Good evening to you, too. My name is Raffe Levi, and this is Santana Catemaco. I believe our director, O’Halloran, sent word that we’d be coming?”

  “We expected you. Please, take these beverages to refresh yourselves.” He spoke in a velvety tone with a hint of an accent. “I am Hussain Al Gaz, and I am the preceptor of Physical Magic. I have been tasked with welcoming you, to make your time here as pleasant as possible.”

  Santana took a glass and sipped suspiciously, only for her face to morph into a mask of contentment. “This is delicious. But where are we, if you don’t mind my asking?” Santana’s gaze fixed on the flashing towers below.

  “You are at the pinnacle of the Burj Khalifa. The majority of the coven is below ground, but this is where we welcome guests. I am sure you understand why, with such a magnificent view?” He gestured to the windows, smiling proudly.

  Santana kept on gaping. “Yeah, it’s really something.”

  “You are of Iranian descent, Mr. Levi?” Hussain asked.

  “That’s right. Iranian-American,” I replied, taking the second glass. I took a large gulp, my mouth filling with the citrus tang of lime and a hint of clove, with a background of something I couldn’t identify, maybe apple or kiwi. Whatever it was, it really hit the spot and thoroughly refreshed my dry mouth.

  “I suspected. You have the heritage in your features.” He gave a small bow. “You are here regarding the djinn problem, I understand? Your director did not say much, but he mentioned that a djinn symbiotically entwined with one of his staff had been rendered incapacitated, and he would send individuals seeking a cure.”

  “That’s right.” It was hard not to get drawn in by the expanse of lights, or the elegant vocabulary of Mr. Al Gaz. He spoke English better than I did. “Are your djinn affected, too?”

  Hussain grimaced. “Unfortunately, which is why we are all too happy to help you. Most of the Emirati djinn are suffering, and we have heard that the djinn of neighboring countries have fallen ill from the same affliction. We hope that any party who finds a solution will share it.”

  “Are you the man we’re here to speak with?” Santana dragged her eyes from the windows.

  He paled. “No, I am only your introduction to the Dubai Coven. You need to converse with the coven director, Ms. Nayla Al Kaabi. She will be aware of your arrival by now, so I suggest we make our way to her office immediately.”

  His formal friendliness carried a note of agitation, as if we were already running late. Ms. Al Kaabi clearly ran a tight ship. Which meant we shouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.

  Eighteen

  Raffe

  We found ourselves in an elevator, plummeting at mind-blowing speed from the top of the Burj Khalifa to the main body of the Dubai Coven. My ears popped on the way down, while Santana steadied herself on the handrail along the walls of the elevator. A film played on screens embedded in the walls, showing the history of the Dubai Coven, from its birth in the arid desert to the complex interdimensional bubble it had become over the years, rising to superiority at the same r
ate as the impressive city.

  A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened and left me breathless with awe once more. A myriad of cultures and mythologies adorned the walls, figures from Egyptian, Arabic, and Indian legends, and everywhere in between. Up ahead, a pair of looming, dog-headed Anubis statues held their hands out, guiding guests down the ensuing hallway. Gold shone from every arch, wall, and furnishing. It even existed in snaking threads that glistened in the marble floors. Paneled partitions enclosed various statues and historical paintings, with patterns that gave an almost Moroccan vibe. Ambient light shone through them, casting shadows and shafts of illumination that seemed to follow me.

  “This way,” Hussain instructed, hurrying down the main hallway. We followed, though I felt a little disappointed I couldn’t take the time to absorb more of the beauty of this place. Everywhere I looked, I found another feast for the eyes. And the entire place felt powerful and ancient, like the air itself was imbued with Chaos.

  He stopped in front of gargantuan white doors with golden handles shaped like a crescent moon and a star. He took a deep breath before knocking, shuffling back a step or two as he waited for a reply.

  “Adhal,” a rich, musical voice replied. I knew enough Arabic to know the director had told us to enter.

  Hussain pushed the doors open and let us through. Nayla Al Kaabi’s office was more impressive than the rest of the coven. It looked like a courtyard, with running, icy blue water that created a square island in the middle of the room. A set of stairs led to a balcony that overlooked the island from all four walls, where bookshelves overflowed with books and doors led to who-knew-where. Overhead, a glass roof showed the twinkling stars outside. It had to be nearly one in the morning here, yet nobody seemed tired.

  A desk sat in the center of the island, and a woman behind it. She wore glasses, which she pushed down to the point of her nose as she surveyed us. Her dark hair lay half-hidden by a loose shayla. The silken headscarf was cobalt blue, to match the abaya she wore—a long, flowing outfit to keep her cool in the heat. Not that she had anything to worry about here—it felt blissfully cold. A breeze drifted in from somewhere.