Exquisite Captive (31 page)

Malek looked up from his laptop when Nalia appeared in the study. He seemed to be pulling himself away from something—maybe he’d been in the study the whole time and hadn’t seen her with Raif. He was oddly distracted, preoccupied. But not angry or hurt. It seemed strange, though, that everyone else on Earth was able to go about their daily business: Raif’s kiss had knocked Nalia’s entire center of gravity off balance.

“Hello,” she said. She stayed by the door, uncertain.

Malek stood and crossed toward her with slow, tentative steps. His eyes were unreadable as ever. Nalia’s chest tightened, but she held his eyes, waiting. With Malek, she never knew what was coming next.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

Malek took her hand and she smiled at him, all butterflies and sunsets and sparkling lights. If he doubted her feelings for him, she’d just have to convince him again and again. It didn’t matter that in those few seconds Raif had been kissing her, Nalia had suddenly understood every human love song she’d ever heard—nothing could change.

Everything has changed.

She could still feel Raif’s lips against hers, somehow firm and yielding at the same time. But then he’d backed away, looked ashamed. Maybe she was just a
salfit
to him, after all.

“Nalia?”

She blinked. She had to be here, now, with Malek.

“I slept wonderfully,” she said. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his—not her lips, she couldn’t bear it. “No dreams. It was perfect.”

She felt the tension in his body melt away, as though he’d been expecting a different answer. Malek tightened his arms around her waist.

“Good,” he purred.

“Did you stay all night?” she asked.

“Yes.” He ran his hand through her hair. “You’re absolutely exquisite when you sleep, you know that?”

“It’s a special jinni trick.”

He laughed, soft and low. “I doubt that very much.”

She forced herself to endure his closeness a few moments longer, then she stepped back. It was as if Raif’s kiss had blown away all the confusion she’d been feeling about Malek. Every one of her master’s caresses and kisses, his gifts and pretty words—none of it added up to those few moments with Raif. She could finally focus on what she needed to do. No more guilt. No more uncertainty.

“You have a client?” she asked.

That was usually the only reason he summoned her, unless he wanted to show her off to someone. Or punish her—but that hadn’t happened for a very long time.

“Yes. I’m sorry, I know last night was difficult. But this man is very,
very
important to me—it’s Sergei Federov. You remember him?”

Nalia nodded, her stomach twisting. “Of course.”

How could she forget? He was a prince of Earth’s criminal underworld, one of the biggest players in the dark caravan. It seemed like every day he was buying a new jinni. Other than Malek, he was the only human who frightened her. Nalia had once asked Malek why he’d never bought another jinni when Sergei had had so many:
I don’t want a harem, Nalia.
Now she knew the real reason—the ability to hypersuade was just as effective. Instead of making wishes, he just convinced people to give him what he wanted.

“Can you be at the downtown loft by noon?” he asked.

No mention of what she’d asked of him last night. She couldn’t tell if this was a good or bad thing. Malek hadn’t seemed furious when she’d asked to grant his third wish, but he’d clearly been hurt. Nalia wasn’t sure which was worse: his pain or his anger.

If he’d killed you . . . I think I would have burned the whole world down.

“Yes, noon’s fine.”

Nalia moved toward the door, but Malek caught her hand and when she turned around, he brought his mouth to the inside of her wrist. As his lips moved away, he caught sight of the crescent scar from her binding with Raif.

“When did you get this?” he asked. He rubbed his thumb over the raised half-moon. “It looks new.”

The room seemed to close in around Nalia as her mind went blank.

“Last night,” she blurted. “From the dream. I noticed it when I woke up this morning. Some magic leaves a mark.”

Malek’s eyes drifted up to the birthmark on her face and she gently slid her hand out of his.

“I have to get ready,” she said. “See you tonight?”

He nodded. “There’s a new restaurant in Malibu. We could try it.”

So casual, like they were a normal couple. As if she weren’t his slave, bound to him for the rest of her long life.

“That sounds—”

She stopped, remembering Raif’s warning. She really shouldn’t leave the mansion unless she absolutely had to.

“Actually,” she said. “Let’s stay in. After last night . . .”

“Of course.” He started back to his desk. “I’ll see you later, then.”

She swept out of the room, closing the door behind her. As she passed by the front windows that faced the long driveway, she could sense Raif’s presence, somewhere on the property. Nalia could picture him strengthening the
bisahm
with his borrowed magic, his hands moving steadily along the barrier between her and the rest of the world. If she looked closely at the sky above her, Nalia knew she would just barely see the gossamer web of the shield. It would look like a trick of the light, invisible but for the tiniest ripple. Raif may have regretted the kiss, but at least he wanted to keep her alive.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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NALIA ARRIVED AT MALEK’S DOWNTOWN LOFT LONG
before the client. She’d already cast a bisahm over the open, stark space to keep Haran from evanescing into the middle of the room and now she leaned against a grimy window, staring down into the traffic below. Haran could be out there, but there was no telling in what form he’d appear. Would he use a glamour, disguise himself as Nalia had all these years? Or would he just appear on the street, a hulking menace that craved her blood?

Nalia scanned the streets below, knowing it was pointless but having no other alternative to guard herself. During the daytime, downtown was a nest of activity. Hotdog sellers crowded the sidewalks, and lines of humans in business suits queued up for tacos and burritos from the lunch trucks parked against the curbs. In the fashion district, people streamed in and out of shops selling bolts of cloth and discounted luxury brands or peeked in stores hawking fake couture fashion. The nearby flower district sold blooms from all over Earth. Usually Nalia spent her afternoons there after she met with Malek’s clients, walking through the wholesale stalls. Earth’s flowers weren’t as beautiful as Arjinna’s, but she’d grown to love them all the same, and the power she drew from them was gentle and delicate. Enjoying them was a luxury. In Nalia’s realm, there hadn’t been time to trail her fingers over the delicate petals of tulips and hydrangeas or gaze in wonder at things made by the gods or jinn. There had only been time for blood and sweat.

The intercom near the metal door buzzed, and Nalia crossed the room and pressed the button.

“Yes?” she said.

“I have appointment with Nalia,” said a male voice.

His accent made her think of winter nights, vodka, and thick fur hats. She knew this client; he came from a place where sunlight lingered in the sky long after the evening meal had been eaten, with rivers that wound through the city, whispering secrets. She’d been there once, with Malek. The air had cut her skin and stolen all the warmth out of her body, but she’d loved the colorful buildings and the subway stations—practical works of art, each one more fascinating than the last. One of Sergei’s jinn had told Nalia the story of the land’s king and his family, who had also been shot against a wall. Murdered by revolutionaries, then thrown into a hole and forgotten. Nalia had gone to the church built over the site of their execution and left a flower that would never fade. She thought of them from time to time and hoped they had found rest in the human godlands. The prince and princesses had been so young.

Focus,
she thought. She was spending too much time in the past when all that mattered was the present.

Nalia buzzed the client in, then opened the door. He was tall and broad-chested, with a thick black beard and greasy hair. She recognized him immediately.

“Hello, Sergei Federov,” she said.

He smiled, revealing yellow, crooked teeth. “
Zdravstvuytye.
It has been long time, jinni-girl. But you are still as beautiful as always.”

Nalia rolled her eyes and crossed back to the window. He was always like this, full of flattery as long as you did what he wanted. Sergei Federov was the kind of man who filled every room he walked into, his thick frame especially towering in the sparseness of Malek’s empty loft. It was a large space with bright white paint on the walls, dusty concrete floors, and coils of wire strewn about. Malek only used it for clandestine meetings—nothing innocent ever happened here.

It wasn’t Sergei’s size that made Nalia uneasy around him. She had more magic in the hairs on her head than he could ever hope to possess. But there was something carnal about him. He was a predator with dark appetites, and his light blue eyes were lifeless, two frozen ponds in a vast, icy tundra.

There was a
wrongness
to him.

And something else: he was the only person Malek had asked Nalia to grant more than one wish for. He must have given her master something incredibly valuable to be given a second wish. She didn’t want to know what it was, but she knew it couldn’t be something good.

“Have you decided what you want?” she asked. “I’m not sure what you could possibly wish for, considering you go through jinn as often as I change my clothes.”

Nalia tried to keep the disgust and bitterness out of her voice, but only barely. She couldn’t afford to have Sergei complain to Malek, not now when she was as close as she’d ever be to getting her bottle. Nalia didn’t know
how
Sergei got his jinn, but he always had new ones. She’d met plenty of them at Habibi. They always left Sergei’s cold land as soon as they granted his third wish. When she and Malek had gone to visit him at his rustic mansion in the countryside, Sergei’s current jinni had told Nalia all about the Russian master’s peculiar wishes and commands. Unlike Malek, Sergei made a habit of forcing himself on his jinn. In this way, at least, Nalia was grateful Malek was her master.

“I want jinni like you,” Sergei said.

Impatience crept into Nalia’s voice. “I told you last time, the ones with yellow eyes are just like me and—”

He shook his head. “I
had
one with yellow eyes. She had more power than the others, true, but her magic was weak compared to the things you can do. I asked her to give me immortality and she couldn’t. Material things—yes. But then she’s just a credit card, no? I can buy what she can give me, and her pretty magic tricks do not satisfy a man like me. But you . . .” Sergei smiled. “When I asked for immortality, you said that Malek
forbid
it, not that you couldn’t
do
it.”

Fire and blood.
She should have been more careful about how she’d answered that question.

It was one of Malek’s only stipulations—he wouldn’t allow Nalia to grant wishes that could potentially make his clients more powerful than him. Immortality was one of those wishes. Sergei wasn’t stupid, Nalia knew that much. He had a veritable menagerie of jinn; it wouldn’t be terribly difficult for him to realize that no two jinn were alike. The dark caravan’s slaves had varying degrees of magical ability and, regardless of education, their strengths depended on the magical properties of their element. Air magic worked best with wishes for knowledge, such as being able to speak all the languages of the world—a popular one among scholar wishmakers. Wishes made with earth magic usually revolved around strength—good for athletes and those seeking powerful positions. Water magic was healing: it cured cancer, AIDS, and broken hearts. Fire magic was dangerous and the most powerful of all, which was why the Ifrit had been such formidable foes for the Ghan Aisouri. Its ability to destroy was a favorite among vengeful wishmakers, but it could also create life out of the ashes. Of course, all jinn could manifest material things—cars, houses, designer shoes—as long as they knew the basic alchemy necessary to recreate the wished item. But only the Ghan Aisouri and a few highly placed Shaitan knew how to manifest eternity.

Sergei had figured that out. He might not have known what a Ghan Aisouri was, but he knew Nalia was different. The question was, how would he use that knowledge?

“If you help me, jinni-girl, I can help you.”

Sergei slipped a gold cigarette case out of the inner pocket of his suit coat and held it out to Nalia. She shook her head. He shrugged and looked at her while he lit his cigarette. Nothing like Malek’s, it was a foul-smelling thing. Poison.

Nalia crossed her arms. “How could you
possibly
help me?”

There wasn’t anything a human could offer even the least powerful of jinn.

Sergei took a long drag of his cigarette. “I could make it harder for jinn slave traders to sell their . . . merchandise.”

Merchandise.

Nalia stared at him, hardly breathing. She’d asked Malek so many times about how the slave trade worked. How had he known she was for sale? What had he paid? But Malek had refused to tell her.

“How would you be able to do that?” she said, her voice careful. She knew Sergei was powerful. But
how
powerful—as powerful as Malek?
More?

Sergei’s hand dropped from his mouth, the cigarette momentarily forgotten.

“Malek hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

“How the slave trade works. I got the impression you two had become . . .
close
.” Nalia simply raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying Sergei’s suspicions. “What I do for a living,” he continued, “is sell guns. Bombs. Killing machines. I do this legally and illegally. I’m very good at what I do.”

“But what does that have to do with the slave—” She stopped.