Master of None (15 page)

Jesus. How could I have left this?

The bathroom door opened mid-kiss, and something in me wept at the impending loss. Probably my roaring libido. “Akila is ready for you.” Ian didn’t sound even a little contrite over the interruption. “Bring the child. You do not have to wake him, if you would prefer not to.”

Jazz pulled away. “Don’t just try to stay alive this time,” she said. “Do it. If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I promise,” I lied with a smile. Not that I didn’t appreciate her concern, but it wouldn’t do much good. Sorry, Trevor, but you can’t kill me because Jazz will hold it against me forever. Oh, yeah. That would give him pause—for about ten seconds, while he finished laughing.

“Well . . . here we go.” She scooped Cyrus off the bed and headed for the bathroom. I followed and heard her sharp intake of breath just before I stepped in. She’d seen Akila.

I moved in closer, caught sight of the image in the mirror, and wondered again how in the hell Ian had scored a woman like her. With her dark hair and smooth bronze skin, she could’ve almost passed as Egyptian despite those strange whiteless eyes—but even Cleopatra had nothing on Akila.

Ian had drawn the same symbol as before, in blood on the upper left corner of the mirror. With no bullet wounds handy, he’d sliced his left index finger open to do it. I’d have to thank him later for not demanding my blood. That tingle of familiarity hit me again. Where had I seen the symbol before?

“Greetings, Jazz and Cyrus.” The djinn woman’s ethereal voice sounded stronger and clearer than last time. She looked more there, too. Must have been because Ian hadn’t broken this mirror—though he probably still blamed me for that. “I am delighted that you will join me for a time. Please, come forward. There is nothing to fear.”

Jazz glanced back at me and inched toward the mirror. “Hey,” she said to the ghostly reflection. “It’s, uh, nice to meet you.”

“What beautiful eyes.” Akila’s smile would have made Miss America feel like a toad. “Are you a sorceress?”

“Am I what?”

“A sorceress. A mage.” She inclined her head to one side. “Your eye coloring is a trait of a magic user, is it not?”

Jazz’s brow furrowed. “Don’t think so,” she said. “I’m only magic behind the wheel, and that’s pure skill.”

Akila laughed. “Gahiji-an, luck has indeed favored your Donatti, to pair him with such a girl.”

“I don’t know how favored he is.” Jazz flushed, but a smile lifted her lips. “Thank you. So, how do we do this?”

“You must pass through one at a time. It may be better for you to enter first.” Ian rubbed a thumb over his cut finger and traced the symbol with fresh blood. “I want to ensure that the connection is as strong as I can make it. Let the thief hold the child while you cross over.”

“Me, hold him?” I blurted.

Jazz smirked. “I don’t see another thief in here, besides me.”

“Um . . .”

“Relax. You won’t drop him.” Jazz half-turned, edged closer to me, and deposited Cyrus in my arms.

My son.
I didn’t worry about dropping him. I worried about letting him go. Holding him made everything real, and despite Jazz’s injunction to live, I couldn’t help feeling this first time would be the last. He still slept, with his lips curved apart and his eyes closed and fluttering. I stared at him and tried to memorize his face. It wasn’t hard. His resemblance to Jazz was so strong he might have been a clone.

I wished I knew more about him. What he enjoyed playing with, his favorite foods, whether he liked to sing in the shower—well, probably the bathtub, in his case. Did he dress himself? Fall asleep watching cartoons? When did he take his first step, and what was his first word? I’d missed everything, and now I might never know anything.

“Hey, Jazz?”

A small frown surfaced on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just . . . what’s his favorite color?”

“You mean Cy?”

“Yeah.”

She paused and stopped frowning. “Brown,” she said.

I smiled down at him. “Me, too.”

Ian made a hesitant sound, then beckoned for Jazz. “Go
through,” he said gently. “Akila will assist you on the other side.”

Jazz swallowed and faced the mirror. “Through the looking glass,” she whispered. “I hope I don’t shrink. Can’t afford to get any shorter.” With a weak smile, she stretched an arm over the sink and touched fingertips to the mirror’s surface. Ripples distorted Akila’s image, and Jazz’s fingers plunged through the glass like it was smoke.

“It’s freezing!” Jazz yanked her hand back and stared at it. She gave me a nervous glance. “If anything happens . . . keep him safe.”

“You’ll keep him safe. Nothing will happen.” I forced assurance into my voice and nodded at the mirror. “Go. You’ll have him back in a minute.”

Cyrus stirred and opened his eyes, as if he knew we were talking about him. He stared up at me and sighed. “Ga,” he said, sounding almost reproachful. Either he’d decided that was my name, or it was baby language for
Geez, not you again.

“Hey there. Your mom’s gonna do a neat trick.” I shifted him so he could see her. “Watch and learn, little man.”

Jazz shook her head. “Here goes.” With a final worried frown, she climbed up onto the sink, took a breath, and plunged through the mirror. The surface rippled and settled. And became a mirror again.

“Jesus. Where is she? Did she make it?” Holding Cyrus one-armed, I moved in front of the mirror and pushed a hand against the glass. Cold and unforgiving. Only my reflection stared back. “Ian. Please tell me it’s supposed to do that.”

“It is. Stand back.” Ian squeezed new blood from his finger and retraced the symbol. Placing his palm in the center of the mirror, he closed his eyes and began chanting rapidly in his
tongue. The surface darkened and appeared to fill with smoke. Akila’s face emerged. Worry stitched her elegant features.

“You must hurry, Gahiji-an.”

Ian slumped against the sink. I suspected he would have collapsed if it wasn’t there. “The child, Donatti. Bring him here.”

Nodding, I approached and turned Cyrus around. Ian finished and waved once toward the mirror. He steadied himself with both hands on the counter, and his head dropped forward as if it weighed a hundred pounds.

I lifted Cyrus onto the back of the sink. “You can go inside there now, just like Mommy did. She’s waiting for you.”

Cyrus looked back at me for a moment. Once again, I imagined his thoughts exceeded his spoken vocabulary:
You’re crazy, Mister. Mirrors are made out of glass.
He put one hand on the surface, over one of Akila’s eyes, and giggled when it went through. The other followed quickly. Laughing outright, he ducked and thrust his head into the rippling surface. The rest of him slid smoothly after, as though Akila had pulled him in from the other side.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, returned to normal now that Cyrus was gone. “So that’s it?” I said. “They’re both okay, aren’t they?” I glanced at Ian and did a double take. “Ian, what’s wrong?”

Ian’s complexion had gone ashen—in fact, it was almost gray. He looked out of place, like an old black-and-white actor superimposed on a Technicolor world. Sweat matted his hair and beaded at his temples. He drew a single, gasping breath, and a coughing fit overcame him. His knees buckled. He dropped to the floor, bouncing off the edge of the sink on the way down with a sharp crack that sounded extremely painful.

I moved to help him and froze when a shift in my peripheral vision commanded attention. The mirror. Smoke swirled behind the glass and slowly took the form of a face.

It wasn’t Akila.

“Uh, Ian . . .”

Ian shook his head and struggled to his feet, his back to the sink. In the mirror, a stern male visage pulled itself together. This new djinn looked sixty or so in human years. I figured that made him around ten thousand. And his current level of pissed-off made Ian at his worst seem like a slightly grumpy guinea pig.

“Crud. Ian, I really think you should—”

“Gahiji-an.” The reflection cut me off with a voice like a hammer on steel. “I might have known you were responsible for this disruption.”

Ian flinched and jerked upright. Stiffening, he whirled to glare at the image. “Kemosiri. I see you are still in denial.”

“Insolent whelp. How dare you show such disrespect?”

The djinn’s ringing voice pierced the air. Heaviness clogged my throat. “Ian,” I whispered. “What the hell happened?”

Ian ignored me along with Kemosiri’s reprimand. “Where are the girl and the child?”

“Humans are not permitted in our realm, Gahiji-an. You know the law.”

“God damn it, where are they?” I yelled at the mirror. “They’d better be all right, or I’ll come through there and kick the—”

“Silence the human.”

Ian gestured at me. My empty threat continued unvoiced:
living shit out of your magical ass,
djinn
or not.
It took a few seconds for my brain to realize that my mouth had stopped
moving. I glowered at Ian and lobbed a handful of wordless barbs his way.

“Hold your tongue, thief. You will only make things worse,” he said under his breath. Another gesture, and control of my lips returned.

I kept them shut.

Ian faced the mirror. “I’ll have a word with you, Kemosiri. Your selective blindness has gone on long enough.”

“You’ll not have a word. I will accept nothing less than absolute proof of your foolish imaginings.” The image flashed a cruel smile and added a long statement in djinn.

Ian blanched. “You cannot . . .”

“Those are the conditions. And regarding these humans, the Council will decide their fate. Any others you send will be executed immediately.”

“Don’t you fucking touch them.” The word
executed
banged around in my head, obliterating any restraint I might have still possessed. I launched myself at the mirror and realized the older djinn had disappeared seconds before imminent impact with solid glass.

Ian snagged the back of my shirt and arrested my momentum, saving me from multiple lacerations and a hell of a room bill. His reflexes weren’t enough to stem my murderous rage. I diverted it to him.

“You son of a bitch. Call this a good idea? Get them back, now! Who the hell was that bastard, and why didn’t you say something about him before?”

He flinched like I’d slapped him. “That bastard,” he said slowly, “is the leader of the Bahari clan. And Akila’s father.”

Before I could interrogate Ian, he passed out.

Nothing gradual about it. One minute, he stood in front of me, alert but still looking like reconstituted death. The next, he was facedown on the bathroom floor.

“Ian.” I knelt and gripped his shoulder, shook him. No response. Christ, was he even breathing? I had no idea whether djinn had pulses. Reasoning that if he could bleed there had to be a heart to keep things flowing, I held two fingers to his neck and found a slow, steady beat.

At least I wouldn’t have to attempt mouth-to-mouth.

I straightened and stared at the mirror, as if it might tell me what to do next. Only my reflection greeted me—an ordinary, unremarkable face made distinctive by the smudges and scrapes that marked my recent encounter with Trevor and an expression that would have consigned me to a few lifetimes behind bars if cops were allowed to make arrests for suspicious appearances. Bloodlust and helpless frustration didn’t combine attractively.

Despite knowing what I’d find, I reached out and rested a
hand on the mirror. Cold, smooth glass met my touch. No high and mighty human-hating djinn materialized to taunt me with my complete inability to do a damn thing for Jazz and Cyrus.

No Akila appeared to assure me that they would be all right. Or to tell me how to revive her unconscious husband. I’d just have to wing it.

I crouched beside Ian and arranged him on his back, with his limbs as straight as I could make them. At the least, I’d try to get him onto a bed. Hooking my arms under his, I stood and dragged him—or tried to, anyway. He weighed about as much as a pickup truck full of rocks, and moving him felt like hauling said truck by the front bumper. With the emergency brake on.

Then I made it across the tiled bathroom floor, onto the carpet, and it got worse.

By the time I reached the closest bed and heaved Ian onto the mattress in a tangle of loose limbs, he’d begun to come around. Sort of. A low growl idled in his throat, as if he’d started the change to his wolf form but stopped at the vocal cords. He stirred, straightened a leg. A long, slender object fell from a coat pocket and hit the floor with a solid thud.

The sound seemed to galvanize him. His eyes flew open and found me. “Kemosiri. Is he gone?”

“Yeah.”

A blast of harsh sounds issued from his lips. I assumed they were curses. “We must go. Find his proof. Akila . . .”

“Whoa. Hold it.” Not only did I have no clue what he meant, but my brain could barely process words, much less respond with them. Exhaustion and draining adrenalin conspired to push me toward gibbering-idiot territory. I was sick of being in the dark about everything Ian concerned himself
with. And I had to know what was going on beyond the mirror. Whether they would be safe.
One thing at a time.
“First of all, you dropped something.”

Quick as a tripped alarm, Ian snagged my wrist and prevented me from bending to retrieve it. “I will get it myself,” he said.

I sensed reluctance beneath the steel in his tone, of the I-don’t-want-you-seeing-that variety. Naturally, this meant I had to. “No, it’s okay. I’m right here,” I said. “I’ll pick it up.”

“Don’t.” He came close to moaning. His fingers gripped harder.

“No more secrets, Ian. You’re going to level with me from now on.”

I pulled away from him. The object had slid on the low-pile nylon carpet and into the shadows under the bed. Kneeling, I felt along the floor until my fingers brushed something solid. I brought it into the light, and my breath left in a rush as if I’d taken a blow to the gut.

A full minute passed before I could speak.

“You son of a bitch. This is your fault. All of it.” I stood slowly. My head throbbed, and my hand shook as it clutched an old dagger, the item I’d stolen for Trevor . . . which Ian had apparently stolen from me.