Master of None (33 page)

“Taregan?” Akila’s voice was faint but audible. “You have found him. Thank the gods.”

“I would not thank anyone yet.” Ian straightened and sent a fierce glower in Tory’s direction. “He still has not learned to be responsible, and he makes foolish choices.”

“Nevertheless, I am pleased he is with you,” she replied with gentle reproach.

“I am not certain I agree.” Ian turned back to the mirror, his anger supplanted with regret. “I must go, love.”

“I know,” she whispered. She said something in djinn, and Ian replied in kind.

I couldn’t quite grasp a translation, but the meaning of the words reached for my soul and plucked a few strings. I almost felt guilty for being able to hold Jazz.

Ian stayed on the ground for a moment. When he stood, he stared at Tory. “I hope you are finished with this childish game of ignoring me. We have work to do.”

Tory blinked. His defensiveness evaporated. “Of course,
rayan
,” he said. “My apologies.” There wasn’t even a hint of sarcasm in his formal delivery. He was practically bowing and scraping.

Nodding, Ian gestured to the pile of guns. “Show me what you have done here.”

Tory started to explain. In calm, deferential tones.

Jazz stirred and looked up at me. “What’s a
rayan
?”

I’d understood that one. “Prince.”

“What happened to Tory?” she murmured. “Somebody whack him with a chill-out stick?”

I shook my head. “Guess he forgot about that whole royalty thing for a while. Maybe seeing Akila reminded him.” Or maybe he’d finally realized what was painfully obvious to me, after knowing Ian for all of three days—that he loved Akila more than should’ve been possible.

“Oh.” She leaned back and peered around me at Ian and Tory. A tiny smile surfaced. “Let’s go check out the new toys.”

“Sounds fun.” I dropped my arms reluctantly and reached for her hand.

She didn’t pull it away.

A full moon in a clear sky turned the world into a scene from an old movie. The five of us huddled under gray trees with brown leaves and looked over silver-white grass fields at a mansion straight from the set of
Frankenstein.
Unfortunately, there were far scarier things than Boris Karloff in green makeup waiting inside.

I leaned against a tree and watched Tory impersonate a zombie. He’d been motionless, with eyes wide open, for at least five minutes trying to locate Lenka’s tether. Apparently, the hawk clan specialized in scrying—which I’d finally gathered meant “finding stuff ”—illusions, and generally being pompous jerks. The last must have been a male trait.

At last, Tory blinked and sagged back. Lark rushed to him, ducked under his arm, and helped him ease to the ground. “It’s in there.” Tory gasped. “Something small and round—a ring or a coin. In Trevor’s pocket. Front left.”

Great. It’d be easier to rob the White House than pick Trevor’s pocket.

“So before we go in, let’s run through this real quick. You break Shamil out, and I find Trevor and somehow relieve him
of a pendant around his neck and a ring or a coin in his pocket. Not that it’s a problem,” I said when Ian opened his mouth, probably to remind me about the Walmart thing. “I can get them. And then . . . what? Do I destroy Lenka’s on the spot?”

“That would be preferable,” Ian said.

“Okay. Fine. But isn’t somebody going to notice the whole destruction thing? I mean, I’ve never seen a djinn die, but I’d guess it doesn’t happen quietly. Where is Lenka, anyway?”

Ian shook his head. “I have been unable to locate him. The traces of his energy are muffled. However, I believe he is near.”

“Any more good news? If there is, don’t tell me.” At least everyone had a gun. Except Ian—he’d insisted he wouldn’t be able to use it anyway. Apparently, he’d never fired one in his life. I clenched my jaw and turned to Jazz. “You’re set with your end of things, right?”

“I’m good. I’ve done a dry run on his garage before.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. After he horned in on a gig I was doing and kept the score, I considered boosting his blue roadster to even things out. I’ve always liked that car.”

“You are crazy.”

“No. But Trevor is, and that’s why I didn’t take it. At least, not the whole thing.”

“What did you take?”

She smiled. “The gearbox.”

“You’re terrible.” I grinned back, but my good humor faded fast. “All right. You pull your sabotage act and then come back here. Give us two hours. If we’re not back, get the hell out and find some backup.”

“See, that’s the part I don’t like,” she said.

“Which one?”

“The leaving-you-for-dead part.”

I closed my eyes and tried to stay calm enough not to blow it. “Jazz. You can’t go after Trevor yourself. Not that I don’t think you could take him,” I said quickly. “But it’s not just Trevor we’re dealing with here. He’s got serious protection—and I don’t mean Leonard the Land Mass.”

She scowled and looked over in Lark and Tory’s direction. “What about him? He’s a djinn.”

“Tory? He’s kinda young. And not really too strong.” I spoke low to make sure he didn’t hear me. “Please don’t do anything . . . rash. You can’t get killed. Cyrus needs you.”

Jazz looked away. “I hate it when you do that.”

“What’d I do now?”

“You made sense.” She leaned in to me for a moment. “Don’t you die on me, Houdini.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Reluctantly, I straightened and walked to the mirror, where Ian stood in silence. I glanced back at Tory. “You’ll take care of them and guard our escape route here, right?”

“Yeah.” Tory didn’t look too thrilled with his assignment. “I’ll stay.”

“All right,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ian nodded. “Taregan, you will help him retrieve my tether if it becomes necessary.”

“Gods, Ian.” Tory’s voice shook, not entirely from exhaustion. “I still say we should contact the realm. Akila will—”

“No. She is safe there. I will not endanger her.”

“She won’t be in danger. Lenka only wants you.”

A stricken look crossed Tory’s face the instant the words left his mouth. He obviously hadn’t meant to say that out loud. I almost felt sorry for him.

Ian didn’t. “Understand this, Taregan.” His hands tightened to white-knuckled fists. “Sometime before the attack, Lenka requested a marriage bond with Akila. He was denied, but only because the Council overruled Kemosiri’s consent. I do not know whether this decision contributed to the Morai’s revolt, and I will not take the chance that Lenka no longer desires her. Do not contact my wife.”

It took Tory a moment to recover. “Fine. But will you just listen to me for a second?” Tory struggled to his feet, wavered. Lark supported him and glared at Ian, as if it was his fault Tory was acting like an idiot. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I agreed to help you hunt down the Morai in the first place? I’m Bahari. We were sent to watch, not to fight.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “I assumed you wanted to protect the realm, and your
rayani
.”

“Screw the realm.” Tory spat on the ground. “There’s nothing for me there—politics and bullshit and courting and war. I’ve found what I want here.” His hand rubbed Lark’s arm, and he flashed a smile. It died fast. “I’m helping you because I made a promise. To Akila.”

“You did
what?
What promise?”

“I came to watch you, not the others. I promised to keep you alive long enough to return to her. I spent three centuries thinking I’d failed her, and then you came waltzing back. So I’m not going to stand here and watch you march to your death.”

Ian closed his eyes, opened them. “Very well. Then I release you from your vow.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. I have.” Ian raised his hand. The band around his index finger glowed. “We are bound, and I can speak for her in matters that concern me. You are absolved of responsibility.”

“You son of a bitch. What do you think will happen to her if you die—do you think that won’t hurt her?”

“Yes. But far less than it will hurt to see the Morai conquer the realm and enslave her kin.
Your
kin, Taregan.” Ian turned his back and punctured a finger with his teeth. He scrawled his symbol on the mirror with crude strokes. “If I must die to open Kemosiri’s eyes and force him to deal with those snakes, so be it. Your clan would never have accepted me anyway.” He snarled the words to open the bridge and plunged through without hesitation.

Tory stared after him with a crumpled expression. “I would have accepted you,” he whispered.

I couldn’t look at him, so I concentrated on Jazz. “Remember what you said about not dying on you?”

She nodded slowly.

“That goes for both of us.” The smile I tried to summon wouldn’t come. I turned away and did the bridge spell as fast as I could, then forced myself in before I could change my mind.

M
Y
TEETH WANTED TO CHATTER, AND MY HANDS WANTED TO
rub away the frost clinging to my skin. I knew I hadn’t really turned into a human-sicle, but it sure as hell felt like it. Trevor’s basement was a blur of flickering light and shadow, but my vision had already started to clear. The rack of pliers resolved itself first, and I wanted to kill Trevor right then. Preferably by yanking his heart out with one of his own damned tools.

“Cloak yourself, thief,” Ian whispered from somewhere close.

Turning on invisibility barely registered this time. Ian shimmered into sight at the foot of the stairs, head cocked.
“I’ve heard no one,” he said. “They may not have detected our entry.”

“If they had, they’d be down here already.” I pointed at the dark alcove. “Is he still in there?”

“He is . . . unconscious.”

The catch in his voice suggested that the blackout state was probably the best one for Shamil right now. “Can you get him out?”

“I believe so. But it will take time, and all my power. The seal is strong.” Ian held out an arm. A fireball blossomed over his cupped palm. He approached the alcove with stiff steps, and the light revealed evidence of his unspoken suggestion.

A thick gash scored Shamil’s torso from shoulder to hip. The edges looked burnt, the inside raw and red. Fresh cuts marched down both arms. And a familiar symbol had been seared into the top of his bowed and shaven head. Ian’s symbol.

I shuddered and looked away. After watching Tory locate a tether, I knew mutilation wasn’t a necessary component of the process. This was a message.
Don’t fuck with Trevor.

“Go.” Ian knelt in front of the alcove. “Try to be quick. I cannot leave this place without you, once I’ve freed him.”

“I’m gone.”

Climbing the stairs was the easy part. I paused at the top and listened through the door. No sound from the other side. I opened it slowly, slipped through, and entered a room empty of life. No thugs, no Trevor.

One room down, twenty or thirty to go. Trevor could be anywhere.

I headed for the short hallway, toward the sitting room where I’d been taken on my last visit. Three days ago. It seemed so much longer. The Gavyn Donatti who’d watched
Trevor kill a cop in cold blood and order his son kidnapped and tortured, who’d stood helplessly witnessing everything important to him fall like dominoes, no longer existed. I had power and purpose. Something—and someone—to live for. To die for.

In the hallway, I stopped again. Listened. Only silence reached my ears. I passed through the entry arch that led to the sitting room and couldn’t help remembering how I never expected to leave this house alive the last time I’d been in here. Dimmed lights shone from fake sconces set in the walls at regular intervals. Without thugs and mortal terror to distract me, I noted more detail. The floor-to-ceiling columns flanking either side of the arch seemed overkill, as if they’d been included in the design just to point out how much money Trevor had. Chairs and tables weren’t so much placed around the room as abandoned. He obviously hadn’t seen fit to hire a decorator. And someone had gotten the cop’s blood out of the pale carpet without a trace.

I moved across the floor to the closed door and paused. If I opened it and anyone noticed, I’d draw some attention even if they couldn’t see me. After a listen against my cupped hands yielded no sound from the other side, I twisted the knob slowly and opened the door to a dark and empty vestibule.

The next room toward the front of the house wasn’t lit, but a glow from the opposite side provided enough to get me through. Once I crossed to a longer hallway, I heard something clink from the direction of the light. Ice in a glass. A cabinet door opened and closed. Liquid poured. Someone was enjoying a late drink.

I crept down the hall and hesitated just outside a lit doorway. Drawing a shallow breath, praying I was as invisible as I
thought, I leaned far enough to see into a kitchen. And found Trevor.

He’d clearly been roused from sleep. His clothes were wrinkled, his eyes bagged and bloodshot. The thin jacket he wore didn’t match his button-down linen shirt—not at all like Trevor to commit crimes against fashion. Stubble flocked his jaw line and accentuated drawn cheeks. He still wore Shamil’s pendant. Even without the marks of exhaustion, he looked mad enough to bite through bricks. He leaned against a counter and clutched a short glass full of amber liquid. A quarter-full bottle of Scotch stood on the surface behind him.

He seemed to be arguing with himself. And losing.

“Too soon,” he murmured. “It’s only been five hours. We can’t force him.” His brow furrowed, and he drained half the glass at once. “We’ll find him. First thing in the morning.”

His eyes widened. The glass shook in his hand, slipped out, and shattered on the stone tile floor. Trevor followed it down, dropping to one knee with a choked gasp. He fisted a hand and banged it on the top of the counter.

What the hell was in his drink? The bizarre performance almost made me think he’d poisoned himself, but I had to discount that idea. It’d be a stroke of luck for me.

Trevor coughed a few times and struggled to his feet again. “Don’t do that,” he said, his tone hollow and forceless.

I’d known he was insane, but this transcended normal lunacy.