The chanting didn’t stop until Zurael stood motionless, covered in sweat, muscles rippling and breath short. His eyes burned with the same terrible rage and hatred she’d seen the night she summoned him.
“A crude way of binding a demon by your standards, beautiful Aisling, but effective,” Javier said.
She opened her mouth only to have the knife’s blade draw blood. Javier shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to speak until I’m certain we understand one another. Aubrey will kill you if you struggle or attempt to summon help. I’m hopeful it won’t come to that. As I said during our all too brief lunch, I believe we can be very good together. And I’m content to share nothing more than a working relationship with you. In fact, at some point in the future, I’ll even be willing to let you have your lover back.”
Aisling forced her body to relax. She willed her heart to slow. Fought the panic that too easily scattered her thoughts.
She became aware of the fetish pouch hidden under her shirt. It felt as though icy shards pierced the soft leather and burrowed into her skin.
The crystal amulet representing the being she now thought was her father grew heavy, making her remember the day she’d found it, when Aziel named her most powerful protector and told her he wasn’t bound by the spiritlands. She could call upon him with a thought and pay whatever price he demanded-except Zurael was helpless and he’d already named her father his enemy.
As the cold radiating from the crystal filled Aisling’s chest, clarity came and brought hope. She thought of the horrifying birthright she’d gained when she forced Felipe and Ilka into the spiritlands, and the beginnings of a plan formed.
Her mind calmed. She saw Aubrey’s arm, held high to keep the knife in its deadly position, a tanned limb covered in silken metaphysical strands of gray.
It would only take a touch. A thought. But despite the knife in Aubrey’s hand, she wasn’t the greatest threat. Aisling met Zurael’s eyes and saw the helpless rage in them, knew that with a command, he would become Javier’s weapon against her.
She exhaled on a shaky sigh, and Javier nodded. “I believe you can ease up just a bit, Aubrey. At the moment we have more than enough blood for our purposes.”
Aubrey relaxed her grip. Blood trickled down Aisling’s neck, her own and Elena’s.
Javier glanced down at the circle around him, then over at where Elena lay in a pool of blood, the jets of her arterial spray having triggered and powered a larger circle, the one used to trap Zurael until he was bound.
“It’s quite ironic, really. The Church-operating under the erroneous assumption they own me and therefore I can’t possibly have anything to do with the dramatic increase in black magic ceremonies-whispered in my ear that I should make it known there’d be financial compensation if the mayor’s little Jezebel ended up as a sacrificial lamb on a certain night.” Javier chuckled. “Their plan was clever in some ways. Dear Luther coughed up the money to have you brought to Oakland, so their interest in you wasn’t obvious. Father Ursu was probably beside himself with joy when he caught a glimpse of your aura. I did warn you about his special talent. No doubt he was expecting it to be a waste of time, but people with your gift, and who might be considered disposable, aren’t that easy to come by.
“And Elena? I hope you don’t feel sorry for her, Aisling. Raisa spotted her leaving your house the other day and unwittingly told me about it, thinking it harmless gossip. It piqued my curiosity, as you can imagine.
“Elena was never really interested in learning why she was taken from Sinners. It took all of three minutes in her presence to figure out she wanted to make a deal with whoever was creating Ghost, form a partnership where she offered the services of her captive shamaness for guided tours into the spiritlands. It took another minute to convince her you’d figured out how to make Ghost. And by our fifth moment together, I’d sold her on the idea that you could be persuaded to cooperate if she only brought you here.
“It’s a shame I can’t risk letting you speak, Aisling. Unlike the vast majority of magic practitioners, I’m not in love with the sound of my own voice. But perhaps we’ll break the monologue up a bit by letting your demon talk. I’m curious. Beyond curious actually. I’m fascinated. And envious.”
Javier stepped to the boundary of the small protective circle he was in. His hands slid from the folds of his black robe. One of them was wrapped with white strips of cloth, dotted where blood had seeped through.
“Where to begin?” he asked, steepling his hands so the fingertips rested on his lips. “A name would be appropriate. I don’t need it with this particular entrapment spell, but I know just how much demons hate giving up their names.”
He touched a band of sigils circling his wrist. The forms were the same as those around Zurael’s neck. “Give me your name.”
Aisling ached as she watched Zurael fight the command. Sweat beaded on his temples, rolled down his cheeks and made her aware of the tears on her own face. What tiny bit of hope she’d held that he might be stronger than the spell binding him faded when he said, “Zurael en Caym.”
“An interesting name. I have volumes upon volumes of texts naming demons, and yours doesn’t resemble any of them. What type of entity are you?”
Zurael struggled against answering. The night Aisling called his name on the spirit winds, he’d seethed and raged, known true terror for the first time in his life. He would have killed her without a second thought. But now he realized how gentle her summons was, how much of his own will he’d retained compared to the compulsion of Javier’s spell.
He fought to remain silent. But the answer formed over and over, looped through his mind, growing louder and louder.
Javier grew impatient and asked a second time. Then a third.
Zurael became disassociated from his physical self. He became a spectator, watching as his lips parted and the words left his mouth. “I am Djinn.”
His eyes met Aisling’s and his heart wept at the sight of her tears, the guilt and anguish he read in her face.
Javier’s eyebrows drew together. “The word is vaguely familiar. I’m sure I’ve run across it.” He shrugged and tilted his head to the side. “Time enough to explore it later. What I’m interested in seeing is your true demon form. By all accounts you made quick work slaughtering my students. And then there are rumors Aisling was ejected from Sinners along with her companion-you, I suppose-which would explain the werewolf carcasses and the fact she lived through the experience. Show me what you look like.”
Because he was in his truest form, Zurael felt no compulsion to change. But he took on the demon image, hoped to be able to use the sharp talons and deadly tail to free Aisling.
If she broke the larger circle, the one containing him, it might free him from the entrapment spell. And freed, he could kill Javier without the fear of becoming ifrit.
“Impressive,” Javier said. “Can the Djinn take possession of a human body?”
“No,” Zurael said, conserving his strength by not forcing Javier to repeat the question for a second and third time.
“Too bad. I’m curious. How did Aisling summon you?”
Zurael fought against answering this. He didn’t want to reveal anything about her. But in the end he couldn’t prevent himself from betraying her. “She called my name on the spirit winds.”
“How is that possible?”
She is deeply connected to the ghostlands. She was born of them and can call the spirit winds at will.
Malahel en Raum’s words rang in Zurael’s mind. They grew louder and louder, until, with a third repetition of the question, he couldn’t contain them any longer.