Master of None (32 page)

“No.” Ian averted his eyes and drew the dagger from its sheath. The copper blade glinted in the sunlight. He laid it on the ground between us, pressed his lips together, and explained.

The process was simpler. Blood, a decent amount, no symbol required. Focused power, lots of it. And words.
Ana lo ‘ahmar nar, fik lo imshi, aakhir kalaam.
Through blood and fire, shatter and be gone, for eternity.

I got the words right the first time. And prayed I’d never have to utter them again.

Sleep came easy. Staying that way didn’t.

I woke hard on the tail end of a muddled nightmare, cold and disoriented. After I figured out I wasn’t restrained in Trevor’s basement again, things started to clear up. The warmth next to me was Jazz. A paler shade of dark indicated the entrance to the tomb. Nightfall but not yet late. Probably eight o’clock or so. One of these days, I’d get myself a watch. Soft, rhythmic breathing marked the others as still unconscious. At least now I knew djinn did sleep sometimes.

For a few minutes, I tried to ease back into slumber. My bladder had other ideas. At last, I gave up and wrenched my stiff muscles into motion. Swinging my legs over the side of Joseph Trumbull’s crypt, I stood and bent forward, attempting to sneak some feeling back into my flesh. Sleeping on stone hadn’t done any wonders for my back, but waking up beside Jazz sure didn’t hurt. I probably would’ve slept on nails and broken glass if she asked me to, though I would’ve preferred a bed. And considerably less company.

I headed out in search of a tree to water. Outside the crypt,
a medley of sounds made a mockery of the phrase
silent as the grave.
A brisk wind rattled bushes and whistled around corners, carrying the chirps of crickets and peepers and the occasional hoot of a nearby owl. My footsteps rustled the grass, making small thunder.

When I stopped walking, I still heard footsteps. Behind me.

I turned, reaching instinctively for something to throw. My pocket yielded the wire spool. Useless. Several bulky shapes lay between my position and the crypt. One of them was moving.

The breath I’d been holding exploded in relief when Jazz stepped out from behind a headstone. “I knew it,” I said. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“If I was, you’d already be dead.” She came toward me with a smirk, but her expression eased into genuine concern. “You all right? You look awful.”

“I’ve had better days.” Pressure stabbed my groin. I grimaced and squeezed my legs together hard. “Uh, I’m just going to step around this a second,” I said, waving at the nearest grave marker. “Otherwise, it’s gonna get a little wet down south.”

Jazz shrugged. “Suit yourself. But it’s not like I haven’t seen your equipment before.”

“You are evil, woman.”

“Sometimes.”

I moved out of her line of sight and relieved myself fast. When I came back, she’d taken a seat on a stone bench in front of one of the bigger monuments. She patted the empty space beside her. “Saved you a spot.”

“Thanks.” I sat down. “So, what about you . . . are you all right?”

She shook her head. “Oh, yeah. My son’s in some magical
realm that I can’t get to, and I’m hiding from Trevor in a cemetery. I’m great.”

I wanted to dig up a coffin, crawl inside, and bury myself alive. Sorry wasn’t going to cut it, so I didn’t say anything.

“That was a joke,” she said. “Guess it wasn’t funny.”

“I’m laughing on the inside.” I sighed and stared at the ground. “Jazz, I—”

A muted ring tone drifted from her pocket. She frowned and pulled out her phone. “No data,” she said. “It could be Trevor again. He’s blocked his number before.”

Crud. If it was, I doubted he was calling with a discount subscription to
Time
magazine. “You wanna answer it?”

“No. But I should. I’ll put it on speaker.” She hit a button. “Yeah.”

“Miss Crowe?”

It wasn’t Trevor, but I’d heard the voice before. Recently. I just couldn’t place it.

Jazz gave a deep frown. Nobody called her Miss Crowe. “Who is this?”

“I’m looking for a friend of yours. One Mr. Donatti.” The identity of the voice hit me in the brief pause before he added, “My name is Quaid.”

“Son of a bitch,” I blurted.

Jazz shot me a look. I groaned and hung my head. Damned speaker phone—should’ve kept my mouth shut.

“Ah. So you are there, Mr. Donatti.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” I said. “You’d better forget this number, asshole, however you got it. She isn’t involved in this.”

Jazz cleared her throat. “What the fuck is this about? Who’s this Quaid guy?”

“He’s a bounty hunter,” I muttered.

Her eyes widened. “You’ve got bounty hunters after your ass, too?”

“Just this one.”

“Mr. Donatti.” Quaid sounded downright indignant. “I think you’d better listen to me.”

“I don’t have it, Quaid.”

“Have what?” Jazz said. “You know, Donatti, we really don’t need this right now.”

“I’m aware of that,” I said through my teeth. “Look, can I explain everything after I deal with him? This is getting really confusing.”

“Fine,” she said. “But you’d better—”

Quaid cut in. “I’ve contacted the police.”

I stared at the phone. “So? They’re already looking for me.”

“I can make them stop looking for you. If you return my employer’s property.”

Even Jazz laughed at that. “No, you can’t,” I said. “You can’t do shit for me.”

“I have contacts in every sheriff’s department across the state.”

“Are you trying to cut me a deal, Quaid?”

“I’m offering you an opportunity to stay out of prison.”

I snorted. “You’re not very good at this part.”

“Which part is that?”

“The deal.” I rolled my eyes. “See, when you’re dealing with criminals, you’ve got to have something concrete to bargain with. Police contacts don’t mean jack when half the force is working for our side anyway. Criminals don’t trust anyone. Ever.”

“So, you admit it.”

“What?”

“You’re a criminal.”

“Uh . . . yeah. I am.”

“Which means you’re no different from Mr. Maddock.”

Ouch.
“Wrong. I’m nothing like Trevor.”

“But you are.” Quaid sounded smug, as if he’d just scored a hit on some mental Bingo card for insults. “Unless you return the property you stole, you’re exactly the same. People make mistakes. If they make them intentionally and illegally, with no thought of correcting them, they are criminals.”

“It’s not that simple.” I didn’t have time for a philosophy discussion with a bounty hunter looking to extract a payday from me. “Trevor isn’t just a criminal. He’s an animal. A coldblooded killer. He’ll shoot you for being you and smile when he does it.”

“All you have to do is return the dagger. Then you won’t be a criminal like Mr. Maddock.” Quaid spoke in a tone that suggested it’d be stupid to disagree with his logic. “To be honest, if you fail to produce it this time, I’m afraid I’ll have to take the matter up with him instead.”

“You’re insane.” I didn’t like this guy, but that didn’t mean I wished him dead. “Look, Quaid, you’ve got to stay away from him. I’m not kidding. He’ll kill you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Have you ever tried reasoning with him?”

“Reasoning? With
Trevor
?”

“You have until midnight tonight.” Quaid gave an address in the small town we’d flown over on the way here. “If you don’t return the item to me by then, I’ll bring the situation to Mr. Maddock.” He paused. “I assume, at the least, that you fear him more than the police.”

“You idiot! You can’t—”

The phone clicked and went silent.

Jazz put it away with a frown. “How long’s he been after you?”

“He showed up right after you went over to the djinn realm. Bastard keeps finding me. This is the third time.” I dropped my head in my hands. “Jesus Christ. He’s going to get his righteous ass murdered.”

“What’s he want?”

I looked at her. “Ian’s tether.”

“Shit. Guess we can’t give him that.” She put a hand on my leg, and a delicious shiver zipped through me. Bad timing, as usual. “Well, he doesn’t seem like much of a threat.”

“He’s not. He’s really more annoying than dangerous.” The bounty hunter was about as threatening as a nun’s tongue, compared with Trevor. I held out some hope that he’d take my warning seriously and set his path in a direction that didn’t lead to certain death.

Not much, though.

B
Y
TEN
OR SO, EVERYONE WAS MORE OR LESS AWAKE AND HANG
ing around outside the crypt, looking about as lively as the bodies in the ground. Ian and Tory still weren’t speaking, and I was too wired to care. Still had a few details I wanted to work out. It was nice to have weapons, but shotguns and rifles weren’t exactly designed for ideal portability or close-range work. And I was a lousy shot with them.

Not that I was much better with handguns. But put a rifle in my hands, and I’d miss the broad side of a blue whale.

I brought the guns out of the crypt and laid them on the ground. “Don’t suppose anyone has a tubing cutter or a hacksaw handy,” I said.

Jazz smirked. “Sorry. I packed light.”

“You’re not going to saw those off,” Tory said. “You’ll ruin them.”

I shrugged. “Can’t anyway. But if I had the tools, I’d do it. Carrying these things around is gonna be a pain in the ass—and so’s firing them.”

“Give ’em to me.” Tory stalked over and scooped up the pile. “Lark, come on. I need some technical advice.”

Without a word, Lark followed him around to the back of the crypt.

“Touchy,” I said. “I guess we all are, though.”

“It is best to let him be.” Ian sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed. “Taregan can be quite stubborn.”

“Yeah. Not unlike some other djinn I know.”

Ian ignored that. “I assume at this point we are as prepared as possible.”

“I can’t think of anything else.” I turned to Jazz. “You?”

“Not really.” She folded her arms and shivered. “Except . . . I’d like to talk to Cy before we do this. If I can.”

Ian looked at her. He started to frown, but the expression slid away into understanding. “Of course, lady,” he said. “It will have to be brief. I must conserve my power, so I will not be able to keep the bridge open long.”

“Understood.” She gave him a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

Ian nodded. He stood and went to the mirror still leaning against the outside wall of the crypt. After a pause, he drew out the fake tether and nicked a finger, then did the spell. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought there were a few different words from the one he’d taught me. A faint flash traveled over the surface of the mirror, and the reflection became a bedroom illuminated with glowing balls of light on the walls. Akila sat on
the floor, Cyrus in her lap. She was reading to him in the djinn tongue from a massive book lying open in front of them.

“Hello, love,” Ian said softly.

Akila caught a breath and looked toward the mirror. “
L’rohi
,” she whispered. She stood and carried Cyrus closer, until the two of them filled the frame. “You are worried. What has happened?”

“I am simply tired, my heart. And the lady wishes to see her son.”

“Of course.” Akila smiled. “Cyrus, your
muut
is just there. Do you see her?”

Cyrus grinned. “Hi, Mommy!”

Ian moved aside and gestured to the mirror. Jazz blinked fiercely a few times and stepped forward. “Hey, baby,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice. “Having a good time?”

“Me and ’Kila’s readin’,” he announced.

“I see that. Is it a good story?”

“Yep. No monsters.” He leaned his head back and yawned. “Come read, Mommy.”

“Oh, Cy.” She managed to smile. “Mommy has . . . something to do, but we’ll read double stories tomorrow night. Okay?”

“’Kay. C’n I get my drink?”

“Sure, baby. I love you. So much.”

“Love you, Mommy.” He slid down and out of sight.

Akila turned to watch him and faced back. “He is a beautiful child,” she said. “A true delight. He will be strong.”

“Thank you,” Jazz whispered. “For taking care of him.” She pivoted and walked away from the mirror fast, as if she couldn’t stand to look at it anymore.

While Ian moved to talk to Akila, I went after Jazz. I
touched her arm, and she stopped with her back to me. “Not now,” she said thickly. “I need a minute.”

“Jazz . . .”

“I said not now.”

I almost let her go. But I had to try. “You don’t have to be alone,” I said.

She hesitated. Just when I thought she’d take off anyway, she turned back. She said nothing, but I could feel the conflict in her—she was hurting, vulnerable, and she hated it. She didn’t want to want comfort. Especially from me.

At the risk of bodily harm, I put my arms around her. She shuddered and held back for a fraction of a second, then leaned in to me and buried her face in my shirt.

I held her as close as I dared. She finally stopped shaking, but I didn’t let go. I never wanted to let go. If a few hours were all I had left in the world, I wanted to spend as much of them as I could with her. It wasn’t enough for an apology. But maybe she’d remember that I cared and that I’d never meant to hurt her.

In a flash of spectacularly shitty timing, Tory came back around the opposite side of the crypt with Lark in tow. He deposited an armload of guns that weren’t long-barreled anymore on the ground. “Problem solved,” he said. “Now, can we—what the hell’s he doing?”

I assumed he meant Ian. I glanced over and saw him kneeling in front of the mirror, his forehead resting on the glass, one hand pressed flat to the surface above his head. The band around his finger pulsed faintly. His shoulders twitched once, the barely perceptible motion a testament to his struggle not to give in completely, not to burden Akila with his pain.

From where Tory stood, the image in the mirror wasn’t
visible. I glared at him. “Maybe you should ask him that,” I said.

“Fine.” Tory stalked toward Ian. He made five or six steps and stopped dead. “
Rayani?
”

The hand on the mirror convulsed, clenched in a fist. Ian didn’t look up. “This is not your concern, Taregan.”