Djinn & Tonic (The Houri Legends: Book 2), page 17
Leila was shocked. He had demonstrated a huge amount of power in that single rip, showing off his ability to hold his form after location-shifting like that. Most ifrit and djinn were left in their elemental form for a few minutes afterward, but Hassan hadn’t been.
There were a pair of men standing in the parking lot about fifty feet away, gape-jawed, having seen the entire thing; that was why djinni were on edge and about to start a war, because Hassan pulled stunts like that in front of witnesses. Stupid bastard.
Leila turned away from the gaping jagged hole where her bedroom window used to be, assessing the damage to her apartment. It was extensive. The walls were burnt and studded with wind-tossed debris, the carpet blackened, the door to the bathroom torn from its hinges and lying half in the tub. Somehow, though, the bed was what sent her into hysterics. It was totally crisped. Just…gone.
Leila’s bed was her refuge; it always had been. When she was upset she threw herself onto the bed and screamed into the pillow, or cried into it, or just lay there and let her emotions run through her until she was exhausted and drowsing.
She was beyond upset now. So many conflicting emotions were blazing through her from the previous twenty-four hours, from hopelessness and anger to…god…such pleasure and love, to that moment with the maelstrom of pain and terror and anger, and she couldn’t even lie in bed and think about it or work through it because goddamn it her bed was a pile of ashes.
For the second time in two days, Leila collapsed into a ball and sobbed. This time there was no Carson to hold her and whisper soothing words in her ear.
And then, of course, her phone rang. She couldn’t find it for the longest time, and it stopped ringing, only to start up again. She found it buried in the soot and ashes of her bed, then fished it out and blew it off. She was covered in soot now, blackened from head to toe, bleeding and emotionally limp.
Who was on the other side of the phone? Her brother, Haroun. He worshipped Hassan for some reason, and they hadn’t spoken, in person or on the phone, in at least a year, maybe longer. He was just a kid, but that didn’t excuse his sycophantic hero-worship of Hassan. The fact that he was calling her meant that something horrible had happened to one or both of their parents.
His voice shook, tremulous and cracking. “Leila? It’s Dad…he’s…you have to come, quick. Please.” He hung up before Leila could answer, and she was left trying to consider all the possible horrors that could have befallen her father.
Leila was an imaginative girl, and her brain came up with some grisly things, most of them containing Hassan in some way.
Leila groped for her keys in the ashes, then remembered Hassan’s method of travel. She hadn’t ever actually location-ripped before, but she had been shown how. She centered her mind, pushed away the panic and fear, gripping the column of magic at her core and extending it out in front of her. A lunged step and speared hands gouged a hole in the air, glowing blue and widening as she pried it apart. The gap grew big enough for her step through, showing a blacktop road lined with trees. Leila slipped through and let it close behind her.
The moment the gap closed, she remembered that she had set her phone down to look for her keys and had never retrieved it.
Carson would be back at her apartment soon. He would call and text before he showed up, and he would panic when she didn’t answer. He would find the ruin left in the wake of her fight with Hassan…the blood on the carpet, the burnt bed, the broken window. He’d assume the worst. She was little more than a wisp of wind in the trees at that moment, unable to force herself back into human form until she had rested. She could have ripped directly into her parents’ house, but she needed time to prepare herself for what she would find.
Chapter 15: The Old Ways
Carson had no idea what kind of flowers Leila liked, which only served to reinforce the fact that they’d only known each other a few months. He honestly couldn’t remember exactly how long they’d known each other, because now when he tried to remember his life without her, he simply couldn’t. But he was painfully aware that there were a million little things he didn’t know about her. For some reason, roses didn’t seem right, which seemed odd.
All women like roses, right?
That’s what he’d always thought, but for some nebulous, unidentifiable reason, he just didn’t think the standard dozen red roses was the right choice.
He stood in front of the glass doors of the florist, staring in confusion at the overwhelming assortment of flowers and arrangements. There were so many, all so different. There were roses, and daisies, and lilies—is that what those white ones are?—and there were prearranged clutches of flowers whose names he’d never know in vases, all costing at least thirty dollars. It wasn’t that he was cheap, he just didn’t think a massive vase with a half-million flowers stuffed in it was right, either.
He sighed, glanced around the empty florist shop, wincing at the awful smooth jazz emanating from nowhere. Not one “may I help you” person in sight. What a way to run a business. He’d been standing here for at least ten minutes, trying to make a decision, but nothing seemed to stand out as the right flowers for the occasion.
Finally an older woman with short gray hair came out of a back room, wrapping a bunch of flowers in crinkly cellophane. She was unaware of him until he cleared his throat.
She jumped, putting a hand to her chest. “Oh, goodness, sweetheart, you scared the liver out of me. I’m sorry, I must not have heard you come in. Well, may I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m looking for flowers for my…girlfriend.” He wasn’t entirely sure if that was the right term, either. It seemed like such a trite, cliché word that didn’t do justice to his feelings for Leila. A girlfriend was someone you hung out with at the mall in eleventh grade; Leila was infinitely more than that. He shook his head, dismissing the semantics.
“Well, roses are always a good choice,” the woman said.
Carson shook his head. “Nah, that’s not quite what I’m looking for. I don’t know what I am looking for. I just know roses aren’t it.”
She came around the counter and stood next to him. She smelled vaguely of old coffee and roses. “Hmmm,” she said. “Well, what kind of flowers does she like?”
Carson grinned sheepishly. “I don’t know, to be honest. I haven’t been dating her that long, and her favorite kind of flowers just hasn’t come up.”
The woman nodded sagely. “Well, that’s not the kind of thing that just ‘comes up,’ you know, sweetheart. How about a nice arrangement? These look pretty on any woman’s table.” She gestured at the most expensive arrangement in the display case.
Carson laughed and shook his head again. “Those are nice, but…they’re not right.” He grunted in exasperation. “Gah, I’m just going in circles. I don’t know why this is so hard.”
“Well, what’s the occasion?”
The woman says “well” at least once in every sentence, Carson noticed. It was driving him crazy. “No special occasion. Just because.”
“Oh, well…some nice Gerbera daisies are always good for ‘just because’ occasions.”
If she says “well” one more time I’m gonna flip out, Carson thought.
“That’s those big ones in the front, right? Those are fine. Six, please.”
By the time she’d wrapped them, charged him, and sent him out the door, she’d said “well” at least four more times.
At least the flowers are nice, though. I hope she likes them.
He found himself wondering what Leila was doing. Maybe she was lying in bed waiting for him, reading a book. He’d texted her that he was on the way but hadn’t gotten a response yet. They hadn’t done a lot of text message communication yet, so he wasn’t sure if she was the kind of person to respond right away, or if she was the type to send one back an hour later with an “ooops, I wasn’t looking at my phone.”
He set the flowers on the car seat next to him, hoping the motion of driving wouldn’t send them to the floor and crush them. This whole buying flowers thing was stressful. No wonder he hadn’t done it very often before.
He was a mile or two away from Leila’s apartment when he started feeling uneasy. It was a slight thing at first, just a fluttering in his instincts. But as he drew closer, the fluttering turned to a churning. By the time he pulled into her parking lot, seeing the flashing lights and milling crowd of firemen and patrolmen, he knew he’d find them coming in and out of her apartment.
He approached the caution tape and stepped under it, flashing his badge. He wasn’t on duty, but these guys didn’t know that. Sure enough, the crowd was centered around Leila’s apartment. There was a hole in her wall, as if something, or someone, had crashed through it, and the interior was completely demolished. The various responders seemed to be thoroughly perplexed. It was like there had been a tornado inside the apartment, they told each other, but that obviously made no sense. There was also fire damage, the bed reduced to ashes, scorch marks on the walls and the carpeting. Something strange and violent had happened here.
Carson had a pretty good idea what had occurred, but he saw no reason to tell anyone. They wouldn’t believe him anyway.
He stood in the bedroom, trying to contain his fear and his rage. Her car was still there, reinforcing his belief that something awful had happened to her. He picked through the apartment, trying to banish his fears, when he happened to glance at the floor, spying Leila’s cell phone. It was barely visible, hidden under a layer of ash and bricks, looking as if it had been kicked there by careless feet rather than buried when the wall had fallen. Her purse was on her dresser, another factor that made Carson think she’d either been taken against her will or had left in a rush. Carson knelt down by the phone, grabbed it while pretending to retie his shoe. It was an old and tired ruse, but it worked. He left the apartment and got back into his car, slid the unlock tab on Leila’s white iPhone, and browsed through it, hoping for a clue to where she might have gone. He saw his message to her—unread—and several messages from Hassan.
Those messages made Carson’s already boiling anger overflow. He scrolled back upward to the oldest messages from Hassan: Two weeks, Leila. Don’t forget…ten days, Leila, ten days and you’re mine…I hope you’re ready. The wedding is less than a week away… When they reached the present, the messages were coming in every day, some containing veiled threats and reminders as to what would happen to Leila’s family if she didn’t go through with it.
Then, under the “Recents” tab, there was single phone call: Haroun; incoming calls; 1:40am; 23 seconds; July 25th, 2012.
Who is Haroun? Carson wondered. There was no indication in the phone itself, and the phone call wasn’t long enough to have been an actual conversation. But bad news could easily be delivered in twenty-three seconds…
A knock on his window startled Carson, and he fumbled the phone. He looked up to see a tall, beautiful woman with thick black hair a lot like Leila’s and expressive dark eyes. She was standing at the passenger window, and Carson turned the key enough to engage the battery so he could roll down the window.
“Yes?” he said.
“Are you Carson?” The woman’s voice was low and musical. She seemed familiar somehow, her face jarring his memory.
“Yeah…do I know you?” He tilted his head, thinking. I’ve definitely seen her before, but where? A memory flashed through his head: this same woman but with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a skimpy cocktail-waitress uniform…
“Yeah, you interviewed me about Miriam. I work at the Grand,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” Carson racked his mind for her name. “Nadia, is it?”
She smiled at him, not quite friendly but polite. “Nadira, actually. Close, though. Mind if we talk?”
Carson hesitated for a second, then hit the “Unlock” button. Nadira got in, picking up the flowers and nodding appreciatively at them.
“Why don’t we take a little drive, detective?” Nadira suggested.
Carson shrugged, turned the ignition, and pulled out of the parking lot. He took them in a wide circle of the city, unconsciously taking an old route he used to drive regularly when he was a patrolman.
“So, what do you want to talk about, Nadira?” Carson asked.
She didn’t answer right away, crinkling the cellophane around the flowers idly as she considered her words. “Are these for Leila?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Carson answered. He wanted her to get to the point. Chicago was four hours away at least, and his fear for Leila was increasing with every passing minute.
“They’re beautiful. What’s the occasion?”
“Do I need one?” That came out harsher than he’d meant it to.
Nadira just smiled at the answer. “No, you don’t. That’s a good sign. Are you guys…together?”
“What? How the hell is that any of your business? Are you a friend of hers?” Carson was getting irritated. “Listen, Nadira, I don’t know if you noticed, but that was Leila’s apartment all those cops and firefighters were at. Something has happened to her, so excuse me if I don’t really have the time or inclination for small talk at the moment. What do you want?”
Nadira didn’t seem perturbed by Carson’s rude tone or words. “Bear with me. I won’t keep you long. I want to know about you and Leila. I have good reasons. Trust me.”
Carson tried to rein in his irritation. His detective instincts were telling him this wasn’t a purely social call. She wanted something specific, but she wasn’t willing to come right out and say what just yet. He glanced over at her again, assessing her. Now that he knew how he knew her, he realized there was something else about her that was vaguely familiar. It wasn’t her, the woman herself, though. It was something else, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. It was a feeling. Something about Nadira struck a chord in him that reminded him of Leila, although he knew for a fact they weren’t related in any way.
She glanced at him quizzically. “You’re staring at me. Why?”
Carson looked away, shrugging, trying to pass off his growing suspicion. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s just…there’s something about you…”
“If you’re trying to hit on me, I’m going to punch you.”
“No! That’s not…no. Sorry. I can’t explain it. There’s something…familiar about you. I can’t…” Carson shook his head, afraid to say what he was thinking. “You’ll think I’m crazy.”
Nadira narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms under her breasts, leaning back against the car door. “Try me. You’d be surprised.”
Carson muttered “fuck it” under his breath, then said aloud, “Like I said, this is probably gonna make you think I’m a nutcase, but…are you an ifrit?”
Nadira’s eyes flew wide and her nostrils flared, her fingers clenching into fists. She suddenly seemed tensed, ready to attack. Carson took his right hand off the wheel of the car, scooting forward to allow himself more room to draw his gun if things got messy.
“What did you say?” she hissed.
“I asked if you were an ifrit…or a djinn, maybe?”
Nadira didn’t answer. She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. Her eyes fixed on his, and he was suddenly mesmerized, unable to look away. The car was stopped at a red light, which quickly turned green, causing cars to honk angrily before pulling around him. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t form a coherent thought, couldn’t unwrap his fingers from the steering wheel. He was frozen in her mental grip, and he felt a strange, terrifying pressure on his brain and in his mind. It wasn’t a pressure—that wasn’t the right word. It was a presence, a cool liquid slipping between the spaces in his brain, stirring past the synapses and into the deepest part of himself. He was examined, weighed, probed; he knew it was Nadira inside him, and the power of her presence was overwhelming, alien and awful in its intensity.
After a lifetime, she pulled away, and he saw that her eyes were no longer whites-and-iris like his, like a human’s, but were roiling liquid blue, entire oceans contained in the ovals of her eye sockets. He tore his gaze away, knowing he was only able to do so because she allowed him to. He revved the engine, stomping the accelerator and peeling away through a red light, turning the intersection into a snarl of near-misses, blaring horns, and curses yelled out windows. He pulled into an empty parking lot, flashing his badge at the attendant.
He skidded to a stop and faced Nadira. “What the fuck was that?” he demanded.
“I apologize, Carson. I don’t usually use such invasive methods, but there isn’t time.”
“But you could waste ten minutes asking stupid questions about my flowers?”
Nadira shrugged. “I couldn’t just come out and ask what I needed to know, especially if Leila hadn’t told you the truth. I needed to know how much you knew. Now I do. Like I said, I’m sorry. I know it was unpleasant.”
“So what do you need to know?”
“What you’re going to do about Leila. She’s gone to Chicago, and she’s going to marry Hassan if we don’t stop it. I…know Hassan, and I can’t let that happen, for my own reasons. And you love her, so you can’t let it happen either.”
“‘We’?” Carson asked. “What ‘we’?”
Nadira laughed at that. “You don’t think you can take Hassan by yourself, do you? I’m sorry to laugh, but that’s just…funny. He’s so far out of your league it’s almost comical. I don’t mean to insult you, I promise.” Nadira pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and tapped at it while she spoke. “It’s nothing against you, I swear. It’s just…Hassan is the patriarch heir, and he’s one of the most powerful ifrit to come out of the al-Jabiri clan in several centuries. I know him personally, unfortunately, and I know what he’s capable of. You need me if you’re gonna get Leila back.
