“‘Not form but Form, a prime indivisible,’” Soren repeated. The elder Djinn had grown intent, his entire focus on Khalil’s tale. “And ‘all things were set in motion from the beginning.’ Those are the Primal Powers.”
The Elder Races honored seven gods, the Primal Powers that were the linchpins of the universe. Taliesin, the god of the Dance, was first among the Primal Powers because everything in the universe was in motion. Then there was Azrael, the god of Death; Inanna, the goddess of Love; Nadir, the goddess of the depths or the Oracle; Will, the god of the Gift; Camael, the goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law.
“That seems logical,” said Khalil. “But it sounded to me as if this voice claimed that Lord Death was not a Primal Power but a part of…it, whatever it is. And it also talked of Cuelebre as though he is a Primal Power. Your memory goes back to the beginning of the world. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
Soren spread his hands. “I have not. But I do not remember the beginning of the world. To remember that, I would have to have existed before the world did. I do not know that any of us who came first remember that. As far as I have ever heard, we only remember coming into a new world. If the Great Beast is indeed a Primal Power, as your voice said, he would remember the beginning of the world.”
Cuelebre—a god? Khalil wanted to scoff at the idea, but he found that he couldn’t. The idea was too disturbing. “Do you believe such a thing is possible?”
Soren gave him an indecipherable glance. “It is more accurate to say I do not believe it is impossible. It is a curious thing, that the older one becomes and the more knowledge one acquires, the more one realizes what a mystery the universe is, after all.”
“Whatever the reality may be, the speaker believes it,” Khalil said grimly. “And it believes it is also a Primal Power.”
“It is also quite possible that the speaker is entirely insane,” Soren pointed out. “With your permission, I will pass word of this occurrence on discreetly to others to see what they may think.”
Khalil spread out a hand. “Be my guest,” he said. “Grace thinks the vision came for Cuelebre, but I heard it too.”
“In the meantime,” Soren said, “it turns out that you taking an active role in the Oracle’s life is the wisest course after all. I think it is smart to befriend her and coax her into growing comfortable with your presence. Forgive me. I should not have voiced any concern about your involvement with her until I heard everything you had to tell me.”
Khalil remained silent. He had no desire to confess anything to Soren regarding his own newfound need and growing struggle. Soren might feel obligated to approach the other elders of their House to voice his concerns, and Khalil would not risk that.
Djinn could be imprisoned. Lethe had imprisoned Phaedra. Even the most Powerful of Djinn could be imprisoned if enough of his fellow creatures joined in the effort. A serious thing to consider at any time, imprisonment was an especially terrible thing to do to the folk of the air.
He had heard of such a thing before, one group who took it upon themselves to imprison a Djinn who was in danger of falling. They held him prisoner until the object of his fascination died.
Khalil did not know what had happened to the Djinn after that.
He became aware of how late the evening had progressed. It was almost nine o’clock, and Louisville was on the same time as Key Largo. He frowned. He would have expected Grace to call him for their date by now.
He stood abruptly. “I must go.”
Soren nodded to him and reached for his book again. “I enjoyed seeing you again. Peace be with you, Khalil.”
“And you, father.”
Khalil released his physical form and arrowed toward Louisville and Grace’s house. As he came nearer, he noticed that her car was in the driveway but the lights in the house were off. Perhaps she had been too tired, and she had fallen asleep.
He entered the house quietly and checked from room to room. It was unoccupied, tidy and silent. Not even the fans were running. He frowned at the empty little beds in the children’s room. He disliked how the house felt without any of them present. By the time he had reached the narrow futon where Grace slept, his frown had turned into an agitated scowl.
He whirled out of the house and rampaged across the land.
She was not in the meadows. Nor was she near the river. He could not locate her anywhere, and the light was failing fast. His sense of urgency turned to frenzy. In fifteen, twenty minutes at the most, it would be full dark. Her eyesight was limited, and her knee was not strong.
She was so fragile. She was only human.
Then he saw the door set into the side of the hill. It stood open. That would be the tunnel that led to the place where the Oracle spoke.
He dove. He didn’t waste time assuming a physical form. Instead he roared down the tunnel to the cavern.
The female Djinn gave Grace a smile that looked eerie in the flashlight’s sharp beam, elongated shadows filling in the hollows at cheeks, temples, underneath her black starred eyes. “Very good, human,” Phaedra said. “How could you tell?”
“You choose a physical form that has something of Khalil in it,” Grace said quietly.
Phaedra walked close to circle Grace like a prowling cat. “My physical form has something of both my parents,” said Phaedra. “I do not want to forget anything they did for me or to me.”
Grace held very still and tried not to let her unease and sadness show. She might wish with all of her heart that it was not so, but dark, angry spirits really did tend to be dark and angry because they held on to things.
She said, “Khalil told me how your mother kidnapped and tortured you, and how he had to go to war with her to free you.”
As Phaedra circled around, she trailed fingers along Grace’s back and across her arm. “Did he tell you it took him five hundred years to free me?”
Khalil always felt hot when Grace touched him. By contrast, Phaedra’s touch was oddly cool. Goose bumps broke out over Grace’s chilled flesh. She cleared her throat and said softly, “No, he didn’t say. I’m so sorry.”
“I spent five hundred years trapped,” said Phaedra. “Five hundred years because he was too cautious to fight Lethe on his own. No, he had to take his time, build allies, create an army. Clearly it was not an issue of some urgency to him.”
Grace struggled to reconcile that information with the pained sadness she had sensed in Khalil whenever he referred to his daughter. She said gently, “I don’t know what to say.”
“I used to dread Lethe’s visits,” Phaedra said. “Then I looked forward to them, because as much as they hurt, anything was better than the dark, empty, airless hole she kept me in. Then I learned that was just a phase too, as I became the dark.”
Grace couldn’t imagine what such a lengthy, profound deprivation interspersed with torture might do to a mind, inhuman or otherwise. What would it take to recover? Djinn might not need physical food but they gained nourishment from Power and energy sources like the sun. Had Phaedra actually starved? Was there anything left of her that was salvageable?
“Khalil said he thought Lethe was insane,” she said.
“Did he?” Phaedra thrust her face close, black eyes blazing. “Then why did it take him five hundred years!”
“I don’t know,” Grace whispered.
Just like she did with Khalil, she felt surrounded by Phaedra, but this time there was no pleasure from a warm, male presence. She felt surrounded by razors, any one of which might cut her at any time. She knew Phaedra was trying to frighten her. It was crude and obvious, like playground bullying.
It was also working. She thought she had felt alone at times before, but she had never felt as alone as she did right then. She patted the thread that led to Khalil. The connection felt so insubstantial, it seemed like a mirage. She kept part of her mind focused on it tensely, but she did not tug on it.
Phaedra cocked her head, unblinking. The purity of her white face was pi
tiless, stark. “Why don’t you ask him sometime, since he apparently likes to talk to you?”
“How did you know to come here?” Grace asked.
“You mean, how did I know he comes to see you and your cute widdow famiwee?” Phaedra said. “His new human toys? It’s been remarked upon.” Phaedra opened her eyes wide and said in a pseudo-confidential tone, “I don’t have friends, but I do have sources.”
“What do you want?”
“Why do I have to want something to be here?”
“Because you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t something you wanted,” Grace said. Her gut had tightened into a knot without her permission, as if her instincts knew to expect a body blow. She had no one to ask for advice and no backup. All she had was the training her grandmother had given her.
Phaedra lifted her head and looked around. “I like it here. It reminds me of old times. Don’t you like it here?”
Grace said, “I do.”
That brought Phaedra’s black sparkling gaze back to her, a quick glance that told Grace she had surprised the Djinn. Phaedra gave her a sarcastic smile. “Aren’t you going to offer to try to help me?” she said mockingly. “Like everyone who tries to find and talk to me?”
“Nope,” said Grace. “I didn’t try to find you. And I can’t help you.”
She had surprised Phaedra again. Phaedra’s expression grew ugly. “I thought it was your job to help people.”
“It is my job,” Grace said, as gently yet as firmly as she could, “to give people who ask the chance to consult with the Oracle. You have to want to help yourself. You have to make the journey here, you have to ask for the consultation, and it’s up to you whether or not you make anything good out of what the Oracle gives you. I’m not a doctor. I don’t make house calls. I’m not going to try to be your friend, and this isn’t therapy. I will not presume that I know what you need or what you don’t need. That’s on you. I’m sorry about what happened to you. I can’t imagine the horror you went through. I also can’t imagine all the gifts and talents you have, not least of which is immortality, and my God, just the sheer amount of time you people have to get over shit. You’re the one who owns your life. It’s your responsibility what you make of it.”
Halfway through, Phaedra turned her back and stood rigid. Grace finished speaking to that bloodred fall of hair. Even though her heart was pounding, the chill of the cavern was seeping into her bones. It was a strain to stand so long. Her muscles quivered with tiredness, and her knee ached like a son of a bitch.
Then Phaedra laughed angrily.
Well, what the hell, Grace thought. Let’s throw that useless little sanctuary law out there. Just for shits and giggles.
“And should this matter to you,” she said quietly, “if you do anything to hurt me, you violate inter-demesne law. I don’t know who would be sent after you then. I doubt it would be Khalil. So did you want a consultation with the Oracle or is this a social call?”
Phaedra turned to regard her, bloodred eyebrows raised. Phaedra’s expression was so cold, Grace shuddered. She staggered as her bad knee threatened to give. She might have fallen if she hadn’t worn the brace.
Along with the useless little law, Grace readied herself to throw what was probably a useless little spell—the spell of expulsion she used to get rid of a dark spirit. It felt like getting ready to throw a cupful of water on a bonfire, but she couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.
Phaedra was staring curiously at her legs. Then she looked up with a razored smile. “I will not be beholden to you for a consultation.”
Grace blinked. What a Djinn-like thing to say. Did Phaedra still have a shred of honor, a sense of what balance was supposed to be? Maybe Grace shouldn’t make too much of it. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.
And she was so damn tired of worrying about the boundaries she wasn’t supposed to cross as Oracle. The Power was still roused from when she had called it up. She held on to it tightly as she said, “If that’s the only thing stopping you, you don’t have to owe me a favor. Really, it’s quite okay to send cash.”
A heartbeat. Then another.
Well, hot damn. The dark sea that filled her didn’t so much as even quiver when she mentioned money. It certainly didn’t give any hint of retreating or leaving her. Maybe the part where the Oracle was forbidden to ask for money had been just another legend.
Or maybe this was a whole new ball game, now that the ghost of the serpent woman wasn’t acting as a backseat driver.
Phaedra laughed. “Prophecy from a crippled Oracle. I might like that. I will think about it. Perhaps I will return.”
Grace held her breath as Phaedra stalked close. The Djinn trailed a finger down Grace’s forearm again. A moment later, Grace felt a sharp, slicing pain. She stared down dumbly. Her arm was bleeding. Phaedra had cut her.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Phaedra whispered with a smile. “It’s just a small payment for your lecture. I didn’t really hurt you. Much.”
“You goddamn, freaky bitch,” Grace said, because, hells bells, it had been a righteous day, and all of a sudden, pow, her temper was done lost and gone.
She pulled on everything she had and threw the expulsion spell. She meant to reach for the Power she had been born with, but her anger got in the way. Both Powers jettisoned out of her. She felt the spell strike Phaedra full on.
The force of it lifted Phaedra’s physical form and hurled her across the cavern. She struck the wall and slammed into the ground.
“Oh, shit,” Grace said. Oh, shit. She limped over to Phaedra’s prone figure as fast as she could. The Djinn was sprawled on her stomach, dark red hair covering her face. “Are you all right?”
Phaedra began to laugh as Grace reached her. “The crippled Oracle has quite a punch. I didn’t see that coming.”
“I didn’t either,” Grace said. “You pissed me off and I lost my temper.”
Phaedra pushed her hair back. A champagne-colored liquid trickled from the corner of her mouth. As Grace watched, the liquid faded back into the Djinn’s skin. Awkwardly, Grace struggled to kneel on her good leg, as she said, “You’re not bleeding, are you?”
Phaedra came up on her hands and knees to face Grace, her expression mocking. “Don’t tell me you care.”
“Don’t confuse who you are with the rest of the world,” Grace snapped. “I do care. You’re the one who doesn’t.”
The mockery faded from Phaedra’s face. Grace kept her guard up and both Powers at hand as they stared at each other. As she focused on Phaedra, something roused in the dark sea. She held her breath and concentrated.
She said, “If you ever do want to petition the Oracle, there is someone who would like to see you.”
Rage and curiosity warred for supremacy in Phaedra’s expression. “Who is it?”
Grace said, “A ghost.”
She watched as the rage won. Phaedra bared her teeth and spat, “My mother?”
“No,” Grace told her. Balancing on her good knee was more tiring than standing. The muscles in her thigh began to tremble. “It’s someone else.”
Phaedra’s anger faded slowly, until what remained was feral and bewildered. “I don’t know any other ghost who would be interested in talking with me.”
“Suit yourself,” Grace said. “Just know the offer is there if you want it.”
The Djinn flowed to her feet with the same impossible grace as Khalil had, and Grace fought to rise. She couldn’t leverage with her bad leg. Phaedra watched her struggle with an unreadable expression.
“Come on, Freaky Bitch,” Grace said irritably. “Give us a hand.”
The last thing she expected was help. If anything, she expected her snark to be the impetus that drove the Djinn away, and really, by that point, good riddance. Instead Phaedra held out her hand slowly.
Grace stared at the outstretched fingers. Just as slowly, she put her hand in Phaedra’s grasp. She was braced for an attack. Instead, Phaedra pulled Grace to her feet. She muttered, “
Thanks.”
But Phaedra dematerialized even as she spoke.
Grace found herself alone in the cavern. She stood with her weight on her good leg, straining to hear past her own stressed, noisy breathing as she cast her awareness out. Heavy, cool silence pressed against her eardrums. She could not sense the Djinn anywhere on the land. Phaedra had really left.
Tension leaked out of her quivering muscles. She realized the only light she could see was from the circle cast by her flashlight. The pale, diffuse sunlight that had streamed down the tunnel was gone. She sighed heavily, collected the mask from where she had dropped it, tucked it under her arm and braced herself for the upward trek through the tunnel. Climbing the uneven floor was more challenging than climbing stairs, and her muscles were already cold and tired.
The only way she was going to make it happen was to just fucking do it. She limped over, and with one hand she clutched the flashlight, while she used the other to brace herself against the wall. She started to climb, using her strong leg to go up, and she leaned against the wall and balanced on her bad leg on the opposite step. Inelegant, but it worked.
Or at least it did until a wild maelstrom of Power roared down the tunnel.
The Power blasted into her, and she staggered. She felt her precarious balance go, clutched first at the wrapped mask and cried out as she lost hold of the flashlight. The light careened wildly as the flashlight bounced down the tunnel. Then all illumination cut out abruptly, and she fell back into the absolute darkness.
Oh, shit, this was going to be a bad one—
She flashed on ripping out all the painful repairs on her still-healing knee, more expensive doctor’s visits, maybe even more surgeries.
Khalil’s warm, fierce energy enveloped her even as strong arms formed around her and broke her fall gently. The rest of his body formed next. He said, “Easy. I’ve got you.”
Her heart was racing like a crazy thing. Her feet still rested on the uneven tunnel floor, but lightly, for he had taken all of her weight. She grabbed him and said unsteadily, “Goddamn. Watch where you’re going next time!”