Page 10 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Seven

“So before you will share this brilliant idea with me, I must be forced into manual labor?” Bennet swipes at the pot in the sink, his grip on the sponge uncertain.

I set two more plates and a cup in front of him.

“If you think doing a few dishes is manual labor, you should try cleaning Kevin and Jackie’s bathroom.

” I shudder. “That place is like the seventh circle of hell, complete with a rarely flushed toilet, mystery fluids stuck to the mirror, and toothpaste on the ceiling. How does anyone get toothpaste on the ceiling?”

“I assume that is a rhetorical question.”

Judging by his weak attempt at scraping the food from the plate, he probably hasn’t lifted a finger his whole life. “Do you not clean in Aetheria?”

“I have servants. And magic.” He says it so matter-of-factly. “I’ve never had need to subject myself to menial tasks.”

I snort. “And they wonder why we say ‘eat the rich.’”

His head snaps toward me, alarm flickering across his features. “What does that mean?”

I sigh. “You wouldn’t understand.” I don’t give him a chance to press further. “What did you do in Aetheria exactly?”

“What do you mean?”

I wave a hand vaguely. “Like, day to day. What did you do with your time?”

Bennet picks up a wet plate and dries it, a little too methodically, like he’s considering his answer. “I have many important duties and responsibilities to the crown.”

“Uh-huh. Such as?”

“Training with the guards in the morning, then meeting with dignitaries from neighboring kingdoms to manage disputes and hash out trade agreements and whatnot.”

“Oh. Sounds important. You must be a whizz at economics.”

The plate in his hand freezes a moment, his eyes glued to it. “Not exactly. We have ministers and advisory councils to write the agreements.”

“So that makes you the big ideas guy, and leaves the minions to hash it out?”

He turns the plate over without meeting my gaze. “Uncle sets the agenda. In consultation with his ministers.”

I lean a hip against the counter. “So you’re there to ease the way. Get the right people in the room, get them talking?”

That must be the most fascinating plate in his universe, because his eyes haven’t met mine once. “Actually...”

This conversation is like wringing water from granite. “So, how big is Aetheria? How many kingdoms are there?”

He finally sets the plate down. “I’m not sure how large it is in relation to the mortal realm.

We are told stories of how our lands were once mirror images of the other, and connected, but Aetheria is shaped and formed by the connection between its magic and its people.

It grows and contracts with the balance of power. ”

“So it’s, like, alive?”

He rinses out a cup. “In a sense. All things are alive. The land responds to magic the way plants respond to sunlight. Strong magic makes the land flourish. When it wanes, or is corrupted, it withers. That’s part of why borders shift.”

I squint. “Are you saying Aetheria can literally change shape?”

He nods. “It has, in the past. The old maps don’t always match the new ones. Right now, Aetheria is divided into four regions. Each has its own culture, courts, and ruling families. Sometimes allies, sometimes rivals.”

I need a map or something. “You keep calling this the ‘mortal realm.’ Does that mean you are immortal?”

“We are not immortal, per se, because we age and can be killed, but we do live longer than you.”

“How much longer?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Some djinn have been rumored to live five hundred years.”

My jaw drops. “Five hundred years?”

“Our magic shields us from common illness. And we have healers for injury, sometimes even death if caught quickly enough. But war, assassination, misuse of power... none of us are invincible.” His gaze drops to his hands, his lips turning down.

Without thought, I reach over and put a hand on his tense shoulder. “Your parents?”

His fingers tighten around a spoon. “Yes. Helen and I were raised by our uncle after our parents—” He stops himself, his hand lifting to the ring hidden under his shirt.

Did the ring belong to one of his parents? He touches it almost every time his parents are mentioned. Well. Now I’m an asshole.

“I didn’t quite realize how useless I have been with my meetings and attempts at overseeing menial matters in my kingdom.

Helen is the one expected to lead. I am merely the spare.

Our uncle keeps me sheltered, away from real responsibility.

I know little about this land, and the truth is that I barely know my own. ”

I soften. “It’s okay. You can’t change the past, but you can move forward and do better.”

He blinks, like the idea has never occurred to him.

“Growth and all that.” I shrug. “The rough bits shape us. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, etcetera.”

He stares at me.

I clear my throat. “So, why is magic so muted here, in the mortal world?”

“No one knows for sure. Some believe the two realms were once one and magic bled freely for all. Some say the gods severed the realms to protect both sides from each other. Others say your world chose progress over power, and ours, the reverse.”

“Hmm.” I wish I could get my hands on an Aetherian history book, to compare to our histories.

I turn away to put a plate in the cupboard, only to turn back and catch him staring. The moment our eyes meet, he looks down, hands submerged in the sudsy water, unmoving.

“Are you done yet?” I nudge him aside. “Here, let me do that.”

A few minutes later, we finish putting away the dishes and head back to the office.

Bennet perches on the chair near the fireplace, probably avoiding the uncomfortable couch that was his bed last night.

“Okay.” I grab the lamp and turn it over in my hands. “I may be able to use this to find her.”

His posture straightens. “How?”

I take a steadying breath and shut my eyes, reaching for my magic. I can stretch over the surface of the lamp, seek any remnants of its prior handler.

I frown. Or maybe not.

There’s nothing there. Is my magic . . . gone?

No. Not possible. My magic is a part of me, like my leg. It can’t run off without me noticing. I take another breath and try again.

I can’t get to it. It’s like grasping for smoke. It’s there, I can almost make out the shape of it, but I can’t seize it like I normally do.

Bennet’s voice gets louder as he shifts closer. “What are you doing?” His voice is strained.

I ignore him, grinding my teeth and trying one more time.

“Cassie.”

His tone makes me groan in frustration. “Apparently, I’m doing nothing because it’s not working. It worked yesterday. This can’t be happening.”

Panic curls at the edges of my mind. My ability to sense objects, to track them, that’s my job. My livelihood. And now, all of a sudden, it’s just gone?

I snap my eyes open. How do I get it back?

Bennet’s brow furrows. “We are connected, and my magic is not working either.” His fingers flex against the armrest. “Maybe once we find Helen and fix this, whatever this is, our magic will return.”

And yet he doesn’t appear convinced.

I set the lamp down. “Why do you have that face on your face?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t seem like you believe it.”

Bennet rubs his chin. “Perhaps Helen can break this curse. But...”

“But?”

“There is an old story, of twins who were born without magic. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

Until one day, they were cornered by a giant.

They would have died, but their combined fear for each other caused their magic to snap into place.

They fought off the giant with their power, and it didn’t come from one or the other. It came from both.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Are you saying that teamwork can make the dream work?”

Bennet frowns. “It’s more than just working together. It’s intention shared at a deep level . A bond forged in trust. That’s how they awakened their gift, not by demanding it or commanding each other, but by moving as one.”

“And you think we could do this too? Move as one?” My face heats. Don’t think about sex, don’t think about sex.

“I think if we’re going to use our magic, we have to stop pulling in different directions.”

Except isn’t that what we’re already doing? He wants to find his sister as much as I do. I rake a hand through my hair. Whatever. We need to fix this. Quickly. “Maybe I can find someone else with magic to help track her.”

“That seems logical. Maybe we could start our search with the shop where you purchased the lamp. Perhaps the shopkeeper can apprise us of where she went?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Hey. That’s actually a really good idea.” Why didn’t I think of that?

The tense line of his shoulders drops an inch.

“It’ll all be okay,” I say, mostly to reassure him, and somewhat to reassure myself.

Ernie squints past me, his wrinkled brow furrowing as he watches Bennet across the store. Bennet is staring at a bright pink, 1980s-style flashlight, his mouth agape like he’s just discovered fire.

Ernie finally looks back at me. “What do you want to know exactly?”

I sigh. “Don’t get all weird on me, Ernie. I don’t care how much you gave her or anything—I’m not here to check if you’re stiffing me.” I jerk a thumb toward Bennet. “The seller was his sister.”

Ernie grunts, his gaze drifting back to Bennet, who has now picked up the flashlight and is inspecting it with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for bomb defusal.

“Anyway, we just want to find her, that’s all. There’s some pressing family business. Their grandma is really sick, and we need to let her know before it’s too late.” Who can resist a sick grandma story? Everyone loves old people.

Ernie scratches the side of his nose. “I didn’t get much from her, other than her name and the name of her friend.”

“Friend?” That’s news. Bennet never mentioned her having someone else with her. I put a pin in it. I will have to ask Bennet later.

His thumb hits the flashlight switch. The beam of light flicks on, and Bennet jerks back as if it just attacked him.

Ernie snorts. “Yeah. Delores something or other.”

“Did she put an address in the logbook when you made the exchange?”

Ernie always makes people sign the logbook—it’s how he ropes people into his email list.

“Lemme check,” he mutters, shuffling toward an old metal filing cabinet. He slides open the middle drawer, stares down into it for a second, then lifts his head. “Moira! Where’d you put the logbook?”

A voice calls from the back, muffled and exasperated. “It’s in the filing cabinet!”

“I know that, but it ain’t here.”

“Are you looking in the middle drawer?”

“Of course I’m looking in the middle drawer!”

“Well, you’d lose your ass if it wasn’t attached to you!”

Ernie grumbles under his breath and slams the middle drawer shut. He yanks open the top one, peers inside, then does the same to the bottom before finally extracting the logbook—a battered spiral notebook that was probably black once but is now a faded, scuffed mess.

He flips through the pages, his frown deepening. “Hmph.” He flips back a few more entries, muttering to himself. “That’s strange. It’s not here anymore. I could’ve sworn she filled this out. I watched her do it.”

Great. She probably used magic to erase it.

“Did she mention where she was staying while she’s in town? Anything at all?”

Ernie shakes his head. “Nope. She had that friend with her, and I remember them talking about getting dinner, but they didn’t say where. Other than that, we only discussed the transaction.”

“Are you sure neither of them said anything about sightseeing? Maybe they talked to each other and you overheard?”

“Nope.”

Behind me, an object clatters to the ground.

“Oops,” Bennet says.

I turn around. The flashlight rolls across the floor, smacking into a shelf.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “I’ll pay for that.”

Ernie shrugs, already moving on, while I fish out a ten-dollar bill I can’t afford to part with.

We exit the shop, leaving behind the musty scent of dust, wax, and old cigar smoke. I pick up my pace, the uneven sidewalk forcing me to navigate carefully. Bennet follows half a step behind.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“I don’t know yet. Who is Delores?” I slow down so he can walk beside me.

“Delores? She is my sister’s lady’s maid. A companion.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her before?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“Because she’s a servant?” I move out of the way of a stroller coming in the opposite direction.

Bennet follows my steps. “No, because she and Helen are always together.”

We weave through a cluster of tourists gathered around a guide, who’s dramatically gesturing toward the old Ursuline Convent and rattling off a spiel about voodoo, witches, and ghosts in New Orleans.

I’m halfway up the block when I stop short. Bennet’s footsteps are no longer behind me. I spin around.

He’s with the tour group, staring at the tourists, his eyes narrowed, brow furrowed.

It’s like wrangling a toddler. I stomp back toward him.

“What are the little boxes?” His attention is fixed on a couple of tourists holding up their phones.

I follow his gaze. “Phones. They take pictures.”

“Phones?”

I pause. “You don’t have phones in Aetheria.” Right. Mystical land of magic, not technology.

“I do not know what that means.”

Oh, boy. Where to even begin?

I motion toward the steps outside St. Mary’s Church. “Come on. We’re gonna need to sit for this.”