Chapter 26

Boring.Andtothink I had actually been worried about my stupid, reckless pet witch. I watched her as she glanced at the darkening sky. There was a little hint of some sort of…smoky ethereal magic—I could only guess it was the boogeyman, since every boogeyman I had ever met in my long life had different abilities and magical flavors. But then it was just…gone. No flare. No drama. No panicked screaming for my help, unfortunately.

How tedious.

I made my way inside with the others, all too eager to shut myself in my borrowed room alone for a while. I wouldn"t free the Lovell witch from my magical bindings until every last miserable being had been freed and that fucking book of hers was destroyed. But it still made my gut churn to watch her cast her stupid, soft earth magic against all those well-crafted, horrifically deadly spells that her ancestors had woven into the bestiary.

I did like to keep my assets intact. That was all it was, this disgusting urge to wrap my arms around her and shield her with my magic, to drag her away and lock her up somewhere safe from harm. It didn"t mean I had suddenly started to develop feelings for the silly, frustrating woman. Not at all.

"Someone check on me in about fifteen minutes or so and make sure I"m not dead," Andy called out as she headed for the stairs.

I followed the witch upstairs, my eyes narrowed as I watched the sway of her plump ass. I slammed my bedroom door so hard it was a wonder it didn"t break. The doorknob had gone a little lumpy and melted from the heat of my touch.

I remembered the feel of Andy"s soft skin under my hands, her lush curves mine for the taking, that stupid trust and understanding in her wide gray eyes. But I also recalled very clearly how powerless I had been against the deep, visceral urge to destroy her, to burn every ounce of pain and helplessness I had felt at the hands of her ancestors into her weak pink flesh. Sometimes it was like I forgot who I was. As if I couldn"t remember if I was a man or a monster.

I swallowed convulsively.

Crossing the room, I stood in front of the gaudy vanity that was carved with various figures in poses of ecstasy, their wooden facial expressions looking more like masks of torture than rapture. I had chosen this room because the ugly piece of furniture had amused me at the time. Right this moment, though, it seemed slightly disturbing. I certainly knew the fine line between ecstatic pleasure, and pain so bright it felt as if your soul was about to leave your body. The faces in the carvings were accurate.

I stared at myself in the mirror, raising a hand to trace the outline of my own face. "You are Aahil," I said softly, watching the inner fires flicker in my eyes, urging the flames to steady as I reminded myself who I was. "Son of the wind and sands. Jewel of the eyes of your creator." I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin as I glared at the petite, lean, sensuous man in the mirror. "You are pleasure and seduction. You are control and fury. You are the flame. No one controls how brightly you burn."

I had been free once. So long ago it felt like a distant memory of a faded dream. The passing years had given me a more solid form to compliment my elemental energies. But once…I had been the heat rippling above the dunes. I was the warmth of the breath that whispered between two bodies as they drown in carnal pleasure and created life. I was the glint of the sun on the hawk"s wing…I was breath and life. I felt the truth of my being settle into my physical body, the vessel that contained me deceptively small and pretty, but full of immense power. "I am," I whispered fiercely. "I am. I am me. I belong to no one. I am Aahil. The prince. The flame."

Feeling better—if a little stupid for performing pep talks for my mirror—I shrugged out of the jacket I had pilfered from the human realm and lay down on the pile of velvet and silk I had amassed, relaxing into the cushions I had hoarded for myself when I found myself here in this new place. I am Aahil, and I make my own way, no matter the circumstances.

The thought haunted me, though…if I was so fierce and independent and free, why the hell was I still here in this house of horrors? Why was I clinging onto the witch who freed me like a child at their mother"s teat? I breathed deep and sent my magic out, feeling along the connection to my pet. Just to check on her wellbeing, to make sure the idiot hadn"t fried her brain when she went up against her great grandmother"s spells. Not because I felt adrift now that I was free. Certainly not because I was soothed by the sensation of her lifeforce against mine….

I woke some time later. A glance at the colorful leaded panes of the bedroom window told me it was still gray outside, though maybe a bit darker than it had been when I laid down, so…early evening? Not that time really mattered to me. The bottle I had been kept in for a hundred years had no day or night, just a tiny, sparsely furnished room in a pocket dimension where I had passed the hours, years… decades… by reading books that sometimes appeared and drinking wine that never truly dulled my mind. Then I was transferred to the bestiary, where there was no sense of time in the endless half-aware, formless dark of my prison. I was no stranger to waiting and boredom. In fact…the ability to even notice the changing of the days, the ticking of the old wooden clock at the foot of the stairs—it sometimes made me feel off-kilter and wrong, like none of this was real.

I sat up and went in search of someone else to torment before I could get all maudlin again and continue tormenting myself.

I found the water weaver in one of the back gardens playing with their water. I leaned a hip against an old stone urn beside the doorway as I watched the ethereal, androgynous beauty work their magic. They moved through some sort of flowing forms that were similar to martial arts or moving meditation. Their graceful hands drew shapes in the air, directing a long sheet of water into shapes and movement.

It was inspiring how easy and fluid their control was, how they directed the water like a symphony, with such power and control. But it reminded me of how they had controlled me. How they had wrapped their arms around me and contained me before I could break my too-soft, too-trusting witchy pet. The ease with which Hasumi overcame my flames was deeply unsettling.

They must have sensed me, despite the way they were concentrating on their water weaving practice. Hasumi straightened and the racing water froze in its current infinity symbol shape, hovering in midair for a moment before the weaver banished it to mist with an elegant flick of their wrist.

"Show off," I muttered, keeping the wonder out of my voice. Sure, their magic use was impressive. But I wasn"t about to let them know they intimidated the hell out of me.

I"d never met another magical being who could overwhelm me with their magic. Certainly not another elemental. The witches didn"t count. They hadn"t overpowered me, they had tricked me. Trapped me. It hadn"t been a fair fight.

"Hello," Hasumi said, pacing over to take a seat on a stone bench on the opposite side of the doorway from my urn. "Can I help you with something, little flame?"

I scoffed. As if I need their help. Laughable. I straightened and uncrossed my arms, walking over to stand looking almost directly into those stunning turquoise eyes. The water weaver was so ethereal and unassuming I tended to forget how much taller they were. "How did you do it?" I bit out, feeling the squeeze of anxiety in my chest.

They tilted their head at me, silvery hair falling over one shoulder in a sparkling waterfall. "What do you refer to, pretty flame?"

I sighed impatiently. "You stopped me from murdering the witch. How? I have mind-control abilities of my own. It didn"t feel like that. What kind of magic did you use on me?" And could they do it again? Had they really promised to help me? To keep me from becoming a monster, to keep me from complete self-immolation? Was that even a possibility?

I felt a gentle probing at my aura, like the cool trickle of a spring rain. "Not mind-control," the weaver—Hasumi—said in that rich voice that seemed to penetrate right into your soul. "Emotions. Water energy and emotions are closely linked."

Emotions. Hah. "Fire doesn"t have emotions," I scoffed. "All a good flame does is burn, hot and bright."

Hasumi smiled, but it was a sad smile, with a hint of something else. Something that said they saw more than I knew. That they knew more than I could comprehend. Arrogant asshole. "What are you grinning about?" I demanded. And how did they never react to anything? If they were supposed to be all about the emotions and shit, how were they always this placid?

"You," the weaver said easily. "I"m grinning about you. So much rage in such a small package. Like a bomb…or…a firework. All bang and sparkle. But you"ll burn yourself out if you burn too hot, little flame."

I stepped closer, really damned tired of the whole "little flame" bit. And…fireworks? I"d give them fucking fireworks. I reached out, slipping a hand through that waterfall of silver hair and getting a nice, tight grip. I couldn"t stand other people touching me. It made my skin burn and my muscles clench, and my magic stir angrily under my skin. I had been touched too many damned times against my will. But this I could do. I could initiate touch. Especially if I was firm, demanding…in control.

"Should I give you something else to smile about?" I purred, putting on my best sultry voice, pulling out the magic that let jinn like me bespell people, drag them into a sexual haze and feed from their auras.

Hasumi just looked up at me, calmly accepting the grip in their hair, my sudden aggression, and the rising sexual tension in the air between us. "If you like," they replied to my threat. "Though, I"m not capable of fearing you, beautiful jinn, if that"s what you"re after."

I scoffed. I would fucking ruin them. But maybe they"d be strong enough to survive me. I told myself that might be fun. I ignored the sudden, bright, desperate longing for a sexual partner who might actually be able to withstand me at my worst. Blocking out the stupid thought, I bent my head as I pulled the weaver closer, capturing their perfect chiseled lips with my own.

Energy rose up around us. Mine. Theirs. Some weird twining mixture of both, that made steam billow in the air. Strong, graceful hands wrapped around my hips, pulling me closer so I stood between the weaver"s knees while I devoured that willing mouth. They tasted like the clearest, coolest, freshest spring water after a hot summer"s day in the desert. I felt myself sinking into the kiss, the weaver"s very presence softening my sharp edges, soothing, dissolving my boundaries. I pulled back a little, just enough to bite down on their bottom lip, my grip on their hair tightening, reminding them who was in charge. Reminding them that I was dangerous. That I wouldn"t roll over and beg for their tender affection.

I felt the magic of them rise up in response, a gentle swell on a quiet sea, deceptively powerful and unstoppable. Some of my rage slipped away. My grip on them loosened and they pulled me closer, their hands sliding up my back as they ended the kiss so they could press those amazing lips to my jaw, my collarbone, the center of my chest. I felt myself lean in, my defenses and my fears rapidly crumbling around me, my need for revenge abandoning me, leaving behind this strange, fragile, defenseless, needy…thing.

I jerked away, rage surging through me. "Stop it! Get your magic out of my mind!"

Hasumi let out a long sigh, as if I was being irrational and they had just known this was coming. "Your magic reacts to mine. Your mind welcomes me in. I didn"t do anything to you on purpose, Arshil."

I narrowed my eyes at them, still pissed at myself for losing control that way. Letting your guard down in a vulnerable moment—like during a heated embrace or some such nonsense—was a really good way to end up trapped and imprisoned in a lamp or a gods-be-damned book for the rest of your life. Stupid, Aahil. Really stupid.

Then I registered the rest of what the weaver had said. "And my name is Aahil. Not Arshil."

Had they gotten my name wrong on purpose, as some subtle insult? Or did the asshole really not even care? They hadn"t been around here long. And they did tend to just…drift off into space sometimes, vacant and staring at things the rest of us couldn"t see.

Whatever. Like I gave a fuck. I spun and stalked out of the courtyard. Surely there were less infuriating ways to get my jollies. I wasn"t going to admit just how much the encounter with the water weaver had terrified me.

I came upon the big, lumbering hunk of rock in the hallway outside the kitchen, where he was calmly sweeping the floors. As if the simple witch couldn"t cast a simple spell to clean her stupid mansion. "Hello, dog," I said, leaning against the far wall and crossing my arms in a nonchalant posture.

I still felt all stirred up by my encounter with the water weaver. Making some mischief always made me feel better. And the gargoyle should be easy pickings. The idiot wore his squishy, very un-rocklike heart on his sleeve.

He narrowed his yellow eyes at me and let his fangs show when he spoke. He really was an impressive monster of a man. I might find all that smooth, marble muscle attractive, if he wasn"t so boringly loyal and earnest. Disgusting. No wonder he"d been an easy target for his manipulative bitch of a mate before he got tied to the bestiary.

I ignored how I had fallen for the same sort of tricks myself. One can"t be clever and wary all the time. Perfection does have to rest sometimes. Zhong didn"t have that excuse.

"What do you want, Asshil?" he said, deadpan.

I sneered. "I want someone to entertain me. I"d snap my fingers and ask you to jump to it, servant, but if that"s the best your lagging wit can some up with, I fear the endeavor is hopeless." I flicked a finger at a dust bunny. "You missed a spot, Rover."

He gave me an unimpressed look, then seemed to decide ignoring me was the best approach. Pity. That was less entertaining than if he had just shouted at me. But sometimes the long game was more amusing. So, I followed him, teleporting to him every time he thought he was moving away from me as he completed his chores—chores the boring oaf had probably made up himself, since only he would be that mundane. Who made work for themselves?"

After about the dozenth ribald joke—this one sung to him in a lilting tenor pitched to grate on the nerves, with Andy"s name inserted at just the right spot, accompanied by my best deranged orgasmic moan—the gargoyle finally lost his calm. "Go the fuck away and stop talking about Andy that way! I"m serious, Aariz, I will beat you to a pulp if you don"t shut the hell up."

I huffed. "Aariz? That"s the best you can come up with, guard dog?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Well, it is your name. Unlike some people, I know how to use those. You know? People"s actual names? Instead of things like "doggie," or "servant?""

I frowned at him. Did he really think my name was Aariz? Was he actually mentally impaired? If so, that would explain a lot. And make this way less fun.

"Whatever," I muttered, moving off down the hall to find something else to do. "Have fun with all…that." I waved airily at the mop and bucket the big oaf had managed to find somewhere. His muffled snort behind me sounded a lot like "Thank fuck," as I walked away.

Niamh was out in the side courtyard in an open space she had cleared of dead brush, practicing her archery. Why she bothered was a mystery to me. The fae who were chosen to be elite hunters were born with natural aptitude for such things. It was in their blood. Niamh could cease practicing for a hundred years and still be the best archer around. But that"s just how boringly stubborn the woman was.

She"d be better off practicing her silly, nature-based fae magic. That shit was seriously weak. Sure, she could perform some simple routine spells and toss around a bit of raw energy. But most of her abilities lay in manipulating plants. Just fuel for my flames, if she ever decided to try that nonsense on me.

I watched an arrow fly at the makeshift target she had erected on the one solid stone wall. It struck dead center.

"Poor form," I said in a bored tone. "I think it"s about three millimeters to the left of true center."

She ignored me and rapidly shot three more arrows at the same spot, each arrow she fired splitting the previous one down the center.

"Waste of arrows." I observed.

She continued to ignore me as she quickly, efficiently hit the target in a tight circle, spiraling out from the center with meticulous precision.

"Woo," I cooed in a tone of mocking, false awe. "Scary huntress can hit the big, threatening, stationary bale of straw. How droll."

She finally turned her leaf green eyes on me. I had to admit, the tall, strong, catlike fae woman was striking. I could see why my pet put up with her—if the uptight fae female was actually any good at using that body in the bedroom. "What do you want, Siraaj?" she snapped. "I"m busy."

I arched an eyebrow at her. "Did you just call me…Siraaj?"

She snorted. "I always knew you were shallow, but are you really so empty-headed you forgot your own name, jinn?"

I laughed. "Oh, this is rich. Did one of you come up with this little scheme on their own? Or was it a group effort?"

She frowned and went to re-position her target and remove the arrows that were still undamaged. "What the hell are you yammering about now, Siraaj? No. You know what? I don"t care. Get out of my sight before I shoot you."

I rolled my eyes. "My name is not—"

I dematerialized mid-sentence to avoid the arrow that came flying at my face.

"So testy, fae," I chided when I solidified next to the doorway. "No need to shoot a man in the face simply because you"re so old your memory is failing you."

The next arrow actually skimmed my earring as I sidestepped, setting the gold hoop swinging. Impressive, really. "Oh, fine," I muttered. "Nothing could be more boring than watching you perform low level tricks all day anyway."

I waved a hand and set her straw bale on fire. With jinn fire. So, that was going to burn to ash and there was no way she could stop it. I did limit it to the straw target though, rather than letting it spread to the rest of the courtyard. I didn"t care what Oleander Lovell would say if I set her house on fire. Nope. I just didn"t feel like listening to her complain. That was all.

I found the ghost-angel in the big, creepy Lovell library. He liked reading, since that was about the only thing he could do in this form, besides lurk about spying on people. Sad, really, that the Lovells had an angel trapped in their damned book, but the only use they could make of him was as a dead, incorporeal peeping tom.

"Boo," I whispered theatrically as I slid into an antique leather chair. The Lovells were the scum of the earth, but they did have strong magic. The spell on this antique had kept it in pristine condition, the leather as buttery soft and smooth as the day it was made. I sighed as it hugged my ass.

"Hello, Enaya," the ghost said in a distracted voice as he moved to the last open book in the row that lined the desk and bookshelves. "Can you turn the pages for me please?"

"Enaya?" I scoffed. "That one isn"t even close. You guys are really failing at this little prank."

Elijah finally lifted his head and directed the eyeless blue glow of his gaze at me. "What are you talking about? What prank?" He floated to the first book in the row, over on the big antique desk. "Pages, please."

Elijah loved the reading, but turning pages was a bit of a challenge. He could poltergeist it, but that used up his pathetically low reserves of magic pretty fast. And making a breeze to ruffle the pages wasn"t exactly a precise thing. So, he made all the other idiots who lived here stop in and turn pages for him as they went about their day.

I suppose when you were as pathetically boring as my current housemates were, turning pages for a ghost would seem downright exhilarating.

"Don"t even try to deflect, Spooky," I said, humoring the pathetic specter as I went to turn his stupid pages. Though…I did make sure to mess up a few so he"d be missing pages. Otherwise, what was even the point? "I"m onto you and your stupid name games. Though what the point is, I can"t even begin to guess. Am I supposed to feel insulted because you called me by the wrong name? Am I a child barely out of diapers now?"

The ghost drifted to my side. "I don"t know what you"re talking about. I called you Enaya. Your name is Enaya, right? So, what is the problem? I think you"re the one pulling pranks. Just what are we supposed to call you?"

I opened my mouth to tell him off. But…wait…my name wasn"t Enaya. But what was it? I think it was a boy"s name. Maybe. I looked down, trying to remember if I was a male or a female. No, yeah…definitely male. Right?

Then I rolled my eyes at myself and shoved down the sudden panic I felt inside. "Don"t be stupid. My name is Rayhan, and you know it." I turned and walked away, muttering, "Idiot ghost. Your brain must have passed on and left the rest of you behind."

But I was starting to feel…strange. I looked down at my hands. They didn"t look like my hands. They looked…wrong somehow. Like they didn"t belong to me. I shook it off. I knew what I needed. Spending some time with my pet would make me feel better.

I found Oleander Lovell with her nose in a children"s spell book primer, as if the grown woman knew nothing about formal spellcasting.

Which…was sadly believable. I"d never met a more powerful and more incompetent witch in my life.

"Jinn," she said without looking up. "Come here. I have a job for you."

I scoffed. "If you"re going to try to order me around, you could at least use my name."

She looked up, those steel gray eyes pinning me in place. "Pets don"t get names, jinn. Stop talking back before I decide you"ve earned a punishment."

I opened my mouth to disagree, but then I shook my head. For a second there I felt so confused. It was almost as if I had truly thought I had a name. Absurd. I touched the leather collar at my throat, felt the weight of the heavy ruby charm my owner had put there. Then I quietly walked over to her side and knelt on the hard floor.

"I"m sorry, master," I whispered. "What is my task?"

She put her book away and finally deigned to look at me, the disapproval and impatience written clearly on her usually soft features. "Why are you talking so much today? You know you never speak until spoken to."

I nodded emphatically. I did know that, didn"t I? Yes. I only existed to serve my witch. Why would I have anything to say? I glanced down at my hands again, that weird, panicked, floating feeling coming back in spades. Name. I had a name once, didn"t I? Those weren"t my hands. They looked alien to me, like they were disconnected from my body.

"You"ll go find the last coven leader who is blocking me from taking over the witches" council. Do as you usually do." She waved a dismissive hand, as if the details weren"t that important. "Seduce her, break her mind, drain her power, and bring the magic back here to me. And don"t get caught."

Images and thoughts swam through my head. Yes, I"d done that before. Countless times. I was a tool. I was magic, and sensuality, and fire, and whatever other tool my witch needed to use to crush anyone who opposed her. I could remember that.

But that wasn"t who I was anymore. I was free. I was fire, and the desert wind, and the sun on….

"Jinn!"

The sharp crack of my witch"s palm across my cheek brought my swimming thoughts to a halt. Blood trickled down my lip, but I ignored it. I deserved that. I…I…what was "I" anyway? We…this thing I was…it didn"t get to have thoughts or memories. It only existed to be used. And used. And used.

I couldn"t feel my hands. My body felt numb and distant. I was hers to control.

I bowed my head, knowing I didn"t have words anymore.

Who was I?

Where was I?

This time, the hit wasn"t from a warm, fleshy hand. It was from a spell. I shook my head to clear it, then relaxed, letting the familiar painful tendrils of icy control burn through my synapses and take control of my mind, body, and soul.

"What"s your name?" the sweet, curvy, green-haired witch asked, her low voice cajoling.

"Nothing," I whispered. I was nothing. No one. I didn"t exist.

Her pretty lips curled upward in a smile. "That"s right. Now go do your job, then when you get back here, you can go into the book. You"ve earned a rest, haven"t you?"

I glanced from the witch to the powerful grimoire of creatures she had left open on the desk beside her. No, no, no. Not that. If she put me back in there….

It would be relief, the nothingness. After all, that"s what I was, right? Nothing….