Harley Merlin 12 Read online

  “What if it doesn’t work?” another cried, bearing the same red flesh as me. “What if he cuts us off completely, and we die anyway?”

  A third pushed to the front, all pomp and circumstance. Ifrits always had a sense of perceived superiority, and it showed. All djinn had innate knowledge of the diverse race they came from, separate from the network, so I didn’t need to be connected to the hivemind to know the traits each type was known for. “You told us to wait. Maybe that’s the safest path—to trust Erebus and pray he is restored to his former glory soon.”

  “And be under his thumb for the rest of our days?” a Si’lat agitator retorted, their body a mass of seething black smoke with only a hint of red. “When will we ever have another opportunity like this? This would mean true liberation.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be stuck in a cycle of waiting to be called, never allowed to exist as I wish.” Another rebel stepped in. Another Marid, throwing their weight around. “Why should he subjugate us, just because he created us? That was his choice, not ours. It shouldn’t give him the right to retain control.”

  My eyes flitted from speaker to speaker. They seemed split on the issue. Ironic, considering I wanted to split the agitators in two, starting with Safiya. Cut the head off the snake, and the rest might have the decency to die. Who did she think she was? Even if she were thousands of years old, Erebus had millennia on her. If this was a contest of who’d lived longest, Erebus would wipe the floor with her.

  “But we’re all used to drawing power from Erebus,” another chimed in. “What if we can’t function properly when it’s gone?”

  “What if we all die anyway, because Erebus never returns to his full power? Wouldn’t you rather have a fighting chance, decided by us?” A rebel glowered at the objector, so I glowered at him to even things out. I let my smoke billow in dense waves.

  “Our best chance is not betraying our creator. I’m not going to die a traitor, and I won’t be bundled into a rebellion I want no part of.” I glared around the crowd of djinn, challenging them all with my eyes.

  “The way I see it, we have a choice,” Safiya cut in. “We can stay as we are, bound to Erebus with the prospect of having our full strength returned to us, or we can be free with lesser strength. The latter means we also rid ourselves of this pain and insomnia.”

  “But this pain and insomnia are short-lived. If we tough it out, Erebus will return to his Child form and restore us,” I barked back.

  Santana scoffed. “When did you get so gung-ho about this, Kadar? Let’s not forget that you tried to throw yourself—and Raffe—off a building a few days ago. You tried to end your lives because you couldn’t hack it anymore. That doesn’t sound like ‘toughing it out’ to me.”

  “I would have tried harder, had I known you and Raffe would land me in a mutiny,” I snarled. “I told you before. The only way to end this affliction is through death or Erebus. I attempted death, but you were too stubborn to let me succeed. Which means I now choose Erebus. I choose to wait on him and have faith.”

  Safiya gave me a pitying look that made me want to drown her in one of those glowing pools. “It is as I feared. The longer Erebus holds us apart, the greater the pressure upon his creations. If he is seeking Atlantis, it will take much too long to return to his true form. Already, some djinn have begun to lose their minds. I see that you are no exception, Kadar.”

  “I survived!” I snapped.

  “Only thanks to Finch.” Santana turned to me, her face hard with wrath.

  “Nevertheless, I lived, and I’m glad I did, so I can talk some sense into all of you before Erebus rips the sense, and everything else, out of your carcasses.” I glared back. “I will not choose to be feeble. I choose to receive my power from Erebus, as I always have, pain and insomnia be damned. If we can’t deal with this for a while, then maybe none of us deserve to live.”

  Abdhi stood sharply and puffed his chest. He clearly had something to say, but I would rather listen to the Queen of Idiocy than a sorry excuse for a djinn who’d allowed himself to get stuffed into a little lamp for the rest of time. His “mistress” at the Dubai Coven probably hadn’t let him speak in months. Now, we had to suffer for it by listening to him harp on.

  “Release Raffe,” he demanded. “Let the young mortal speak.”

  I smirked. “Raffe can’t come to the phone right now, so get back in your lamp, you worthless wisp. You aren’t ten feet tall anymore. The worst you can do is huff and puff and blow hot air out of your ass.”

  “I can still flatten you, you impertinent imp.” Abdhi’s fiery eyes flickered.

  “Is that supposed to scare me?” I laughed icily. “Your leash is showing. One little tug from that uppity mistress of yours, and you disappear back to Dubai. That’s hardly frightening.”

  Abdhi clenched his hands to fists and brought them up to his face. “You will regret your insolence.”

  I laughed harder. “Ooh, allow me to tuck my tail between my legs and bow down. I don’t give two hoots how old you are—how old any of you are. It won’t match up against youth. That’s the trouble with you old fogies; you struggle to grasp the concept that young people have wisdom, so you try and lead us all into more and more chaos. A bunch of donkeys leading lions.”

  Safiya had disappeared from her spot on the rugs.

  “And you forget that we have lived long enough to understand what needs to be done, for the sake of everyone, not just ourselves,” Safiya whispered behind me.

  I whipped around, startled by her blinding speed. The old gal had skills I hadn’t anticipated. Before I could react, her hand slammed into my forehead.

  Intense light flooded my head. I had no hope of fighting it—she was too damn fast. I sizzled away, driven down. I felt the door to Raffe’s secret hideaway unlock, immediately freeing him. I howled and screamed inside him, but it made no difference. I was trapped now, and he was loose.

  “This is the second time Kadar got his ass kicked in less than a day,” Santana exclaimed softly, trying to sound amused. But her eyes gave her away. I could see them, through Raffe. She was worried, and she had every reason to be. If these morons staged a coup against Erebus and he retaliated, she’d lose Raffe and me both.

  Raffe might’ve been willing to risk it, but was she?

  Twenty-Two

  Kadar

  I sank lower. A bitter stone, with Raffe’s anchor dragging me down into the darkest depths of his subconscious. This was now my prison, though I would make a jailbreak soon. I had the good fortune of Raffe not having the clout to keep me here, as much as he’d have liked to believe otherwise. And he wouldn’t have other djinn saving his skin every time I did something they had no taste for, either. Paltry bodyguards at best. Irksome annoyances at worst.

  I can still hear you… My voice wriggled into Raffe’s mind.

  I don’t mind if you can, Raffe replied. You got out of hand, but I don’t want you suppressed in there. I’m not my father.

  Could’ve fooled me. I feel everything, Raffe. I feel your excitement. You want to be rid of me. I didn’t give in to those emotions, but tiny pulses of shame twinged inside me.

  That’s not true. I felt Raffe exhaling. Sharing a body had become second nature. His actions, my actions, what was the difference? It’s not that I want to be separate from you, but think about it—this might help you gain your own form. You wouldn’t have to depend on me anymore, and you wouldn’t disappear because you happened to piss off another djinn. In fact, you’d never have to be pushed down again, and neither would I. No more sharing. We’d be two separate beings, able to do what we wanted, when we wanted, without consulting each other.

  I don’t depend on you! I shot back. Who do you think you’re kidding? You’re the one who depends on me. You’d be no better than a slug in the dirt without me to give you some oomph.

  He sighed. You know what I mean. We could live separate lives.

  Who says I want that? I created a surge of adrenalin
e, just to mess with him. His heart raced, and I sensed his lungs working faster to push oxygen around his already alert body.

  Don’t pretend you don’t, he answered. You’re only part of me because of a curse. I’d miss you—of course I would—but I’d accept your absence, knowing you were free, and I was free.

  I snorted. And give up Santana? You’re forgetting something, pal. You brought her into our lives. Your heart and mine are intertwined; what you feel, I feel. You made me fall for her with all your incessant sappiness. Don’t think you can just take her for yourself and push me out of the picture.

  I don’t want you out of the picture. Separation doesn’t mean… complete separation. I felt thoughts flitting through his mind as Raffe searched for the right words. We could be like brothers if you wanted. It’d be your choice, because you’d have a choice.

  I didn’t know what to make of that. What, some messed-up, weird kind of family?

  If you wanted that… yes. The three of us. His stomach fluttered, as if cannibal butterflies fought a battle royale inside his belly. That way, Santana won’t risk her life to have children. If you care for her, like you say you do, then we should be on the same wavelength. This is her life at stake, and we’re the ones with the axe over her head. If we do this, you get to keep your life, I get to keep mine, and she gets to keep hers. Everyone wins. Think of her. Erebus doesn’t care if she lives or dies, but we do. We love her. If we don’t do this, then we let her down in the worst possible way. Look at her and tell me you don’t see the hope in her eyes.

  I peered through his vision at Santana. Sure enough, her eyes swam with bittersweet tears. The liquid result of human frailty. A physical cue of a mortal in distress. That should’ve been kicked out of human genes centuries ago, but they’d clung to it for some unknown reason. It did nothing to pique my sympathy… not much, anyway. Maybe a spasm of it, in a very distant corner of my mind. Djinn didn’t need that sort of thing. Perhaps I’d been in this body too long; perhaps I had allowed it to weaken me.

  That doesn’t mean I agree to this insanity, I said at last, the silent words passing to Raffe. This conversation had taken place rapidly, over the span of no more than a moment or two. The other djinn hadn’t noticed. They were too busy wallowing in distress and lapping up every word the old crone had to say, while Safiya stared at Raffe with a dose of fake pity. Anything to win him over.

  Abdhi settled down. Arrogant worm. I would’ve torn him to shreds, given half a second longer in my full form. I’d have ripped that meddlesome hag a new one, too, if I’d been ready for her attack. The taking-me-by-surprise trick would only work once. I wouldn’t be fooled again.

  Safiya took a deep breath. “Separating ourselves from Erebus may be our only choice, going forward. We cannot afford to wait for his restoration, for we will surely fade away in the lengthy interim it will take him to reach Atlantis. This is the only way to ensure our survival.”

  I thought about that for a moment. Fading away didn’t sound good, and it didn’t sound like the traitor was lying. Listening to her, a small spark of something like possibility ignited.

  What if we really could pull this off? Erebus had created me, sure, but I wasn’t old enough to be connected to the djinn mainframe. I didn’t feel the full weight of his power. Not yet. Would it make much difference, when it boiled down to it? Plus, I loved Santana. I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She’d lit a fire under this djinn. And Raffe was right: I didn’t want her light sputtering out because Raffe couldn’t keep his mitts to himself.

  She could live, and never worry… I forgot to block my thoughts from Raffe.

  That’s right, she could. Isn’t that worth trying? he replied.

  I cursed and recoiled from our shared mental transmission. He made an annoyingly valid point. I was loyal to Erebus, but I didn’t love him the way I loved Santana. I wouldn’t have run the gauntlet of every hell for him. Santana had only to ask. Sure, I’d put up a token resistance, but I’d still do it. The nights we’d spent with her arms around me—actually me, not Raffe—talking me through my pain and holding me when the tremors came… she was worth the risk. She’d crept in and entrapped me. Losing her would be worse than losing Raffe.

  When had I become such a sad sack? Likely, the moment she showed she cared for me and Raffe. The beast as well as the host. If Safiya could really rally the troops and do this, maybe a window of opportunity would open. One that hadn’t been there before. The chance to steal Santana away from Raffe. I could have her all to myself, at last, and have her arms around me every night.

  Yes, I’d say that is worth risking everything for. This time, I wanted Raffe to hear.

  Twenty-Three

  Raffe

  “We must discuss this amongst ourselves, Safiya,” a wizened djinn stated from her place at the helm of an equally shriveled group. They hadn’t aged nearly as well as the Storyteller, and I guessed them to be the elders.

  “Of course, Mahmoud.” Safiya bowed her head as the elders left together. They walked past the glowing water into the darkness of the desert, where they stooped and muttered, their wildly gesticulating hands the telltale sign that they weren’t in total agreement.

  The rest of the djinn dispersed to have conversations of their own, leaving Safiya by the fireside with only myself, Santana, and Abdhi for company. Safiya had resumed her position after sending Kadar away. Santana retreated into herself, wrapping the blanket tight around her body as she stared into the flickering flames. No doubt she feared Kadar might appear again. I thought about taking some Lullaby Weeds to ensure he couldn’t, but I didn’t want to be knocked out, too. Not just yet. This momentary peace presented the ideal opportunity to broach our third reason for being here—Finch’s request.

  “Safiya?” I said.

  She lifted her solemn gaze to me, white flames sparking. “Yes?”

  “We’ve actually got another question for you.” I shuffled forward.

  “Oh? What might that be?” She tilted her head, her features thoughtful.

  “What do you know about the connection between servants of Erebus and the djinn?” I pulled the stolen book from my bag and pushed it toward her. “I’ve scanned the index of this thing, but there doesn’t seem to be a section about it. Maybe I’m reading the wrong part, I don’t know. But I figured you’d know more about that kind of thing than a book. Kadar said you might.”

  Safiya narrowed her eyes. “He did, did he?”

  “In one of his less aggressive moments,” I replied sheepishly.

  “And what specifics are you most interested in? The lore of Erebus’s servants could take me hours to work through.” She waited patiently, her intense gaze never leaving my face.

  Santana answered, a second before me. “Do any of the servants survive their service with Erebus? We’ve got a… friend in trouble, and we need to know if he’ll be okay.” She peered over her blanket like a tortoise in its shell, rocking slightly to keep the chill away.

  So you do think of him as a friend. I’d known Santana cared about Finch, deep down. And he cared about her. They fought like cat and dog, but they’d protect each other when it came down to it.

  Safiya closed her eyes, though the white flames seared through her eyelids in an unsettling way. They opened shortly, and her brows knitted. “No… they do not survive his service. They all die obliging his whims and requests, one way or another.”

  “Are you sure?” Santana’s voice sounded strangled.

  “I am quite certain. I have scoured the history and found no evidence of a survivor of long-term service, as I imagine that is where your concern lies. Those to whom he offers limited deals live, but their services last a matter of days or weeks—they do not meet the criteria of true service,” Safiya explained sadly.

  Her words punched me in the gut. If that was true, Finch was screwed. Well and truly screwed. But a doubt nagged the back of my mind. “I thought you couldn’t delve into the djinn mainframe anymore, with Erebus restricting you all. How c
an you be certain?”

  “The other djinn are locked out of our shared knowledge, but I am not. Being of the first wave, that cannot be taken from me—I aided in its creation, as all the First did, so it is innately within me.”

  That wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear. I’d wanted a shred of hope, not blunt, brutal conviction.

  “Nobody has lived? Nobody?” Santana breathed, her eyes scrunching up.

  “Actually, that is not exactly correct.” Safiya raised a hand and lifted a solitary finger. “I discovered one exception, but it may be of little use to you and your friend.”

  Santana threw off her blanket. “Tell us anyway!”

  “Very well, but don’t say I did not warn you.” Safiya sighed and lowered her hand. “The sole survivor of Erebus’s long-term servitude was a Necromancer. He saved a Marid from an abandoned lamp while on a mission for Erebus, unraveling the curse that had bound him to the object. In return, that djinn aided the Necromancer in escaping Erebus’s service.”

  “A… Necromancer?” She was right. That didn’t help us much—but it meant it could be done. I needed to know more, though it was a long shot. “How did he get out of it?”

  Safiya closed her eyes again, then returned a moment later. “The djinn imbued a special amulet with part of his restored magic. As you know by now, Marids are tremendously powerful in their raw form. He blended his magic with some of the Necromancer’s Chaos, binding both to the amulet. With it, the Necromancer was granted the ability to revive himself. In case you did not know, Necromancers cannot resurrect themselves. Only one can… this one.”

  Santana made a strained noise, halfway between a gasp and a shriek. “It’s Davin. She’s talking about Davin.” She looked to me with panicked eyes. “Remember Marie Laveau’s church? Finch stuck a knife in Davin, and Marie’s Voodoo hounds tore the living daylights out of him. He should’ve been dead, but that asswipe came right on back. And after Harley battered seven shades of crap out of him at that shady hotel? He popped up again in Elysium, as if nothing had happened.”