Page 11 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Eight

I tug out my cell phone and unlock it. “Here. This is a cell phone. It’s like a—” mini-computer in your pocket .

Except if he doesn’t know what a cell phone is, he sure as hell doesn’t know what a computer is.

“—a multifunctional device. I can send messages to people, like Kevin and Mimi, and it will appear on their cell phone almost immediately.”

His brows pop up. “Truly?”

I open the messenger app and show him my latest conversation with Kevin, which is mostly me texting him repeatedly and him responding with ok every five messages.

Bennet squints at the screen. “You can communicate with others this way?”

“Yep.”

I flip open the camera app, switch to the front-facing camera, and snap a quick selfie.

When I tap the image, my face fills the screen, a cloud of dark messy hair, brown eyes, awkward grin, squinting in the sunlight.

Beside me, Bennet stares into the camera with intense concentration, his frown deepening, green eyes sharp against the bright daylight.

He plucks the phone from my hand. “Remarkable,” he breathes.

I guess I’d be astonished too if I’d never seen a phone before.

“What else can it do?” He turns it over, then gives it a little shake, like he’s expecting something to rattle loose inside.

I snatch it back. “Don’t hurt it. I can’t afford a new one.”

We spend a few minutes while I give him a crash course in modern technology. I show him ebooks, the calculator app, and the wonder of the internet, though I struggle to explain how it all works when he asks.

“There’s, like, radio waves or something. And satellites. It’s all very complicated.”

“It’s like magic.” His eyes are fixated on the screen.

“It’s like science.” And I was never good at science. History, literature, sociology, those were my jam. I was going to apply for my masters in art history when everything went to shit.

He gestures at my phone. “Can you use this magic science to find Helen?”

“No. Well, maybe if I were some kind of hacker who could break into security cameras and use facial recognition to scan for her or whatever.”

He stares at me, brow furrowing. “You say that as if it is possible.”

“Technically, it is possible. But I have no idea how to do it.”

“This place is strange,” he mutters, shaking his head.

He’s so completely out of place. A flicker of sympathy ignites in my chest. It must be hard, being away from everything you know, dumped into a world where even the simplest things don’t make sense.

I can’t imagine being dropped in the middle of Aetheria with nothing more than the clothes on my back, in a land of magic that literally changes the landscape. No cell phones, heating pads, or coffee makers? I might die.

“Tell me more about Aetheria?” I ask. “How is it different from here?”

He rubs his chin. The bristles are longer than yesterday. I should find him a razor, but the stubble suits him. Gives him a roguish look. If we kissed, the stubble would brush the delicate skin of my face and—okay, definitely investing in a razor.

“This town is similar to ones in Aetheria, but Aetheria is less noisy and crowded. Not as large. We have more nature, forests, mountains, rivers.” He waves a hand. “And there are no cell phones.” He tilts his head at a passing car. “No growling metal beasts roaming the streets.”

I smirk. “We call those cars.”

“And there are no poles with strings hanging between them.” He squints up at a power line.

“All this technology is a magic killer. With all this machinery, no wonder it’s harder to find magic here, to draw from the land with all this artifice in the way.

I am not sure your cell phone would work in my world. ”

“How do people get around in Aetheria?” I ask.

He stretches his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. “They walk, mostly. Some people can move short distances with their magic, depending on their powers and strength. We also have horses.”

I tilt my head toward him. “Do a lot of people have magic in Aetheria?”

He shifts on the concrete step. “Yes, but most have minor abilities of little significance.”

Okay, Judgy McJudgerson . I cross my arms. “What’s considered ‘little significance’?”

“Like what you do, locating objects.”

I grimace. “Ouch.”

He frowns. “Did that cause you pain?”

“Only to my ego.”

His expression shifts, like he’s struggling to understand why that would bother me. “I didn’t mean to imply?—”

“It’s fine, Your Highness .”

He presses his lips together, then continues, “People can manipulate time to a small extent, seconds into the past or future, manifest small objects, heal minor wounds, things like that.”

“And you can do all that, plus travel through dimensions and curse people into lamps?”

One broad shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “Some of it. I’m not a healer. Healers use water magic, and my affinity is more for earth and fire. I can open portals to other realms, and wield fire as a weapon.”

“And Helen?”

“She’s stronger than I am,” he says without bitterness. “She is more attuned to fire than I am. She can summon greater force, hold power longer, and shape it with more precision.”

I tuck my phone into my pocket. My magic may be on the fritz, and I definitely don’t have the technical know-how to hack into any security feeds, but there is another option.

If Helen’s as powerful as Bennet claims, she should be leaving behind a magical footprint, a signature that can be tracked by someone with the right abilities.

I push myself to my feet, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Come on.”

Bennet follows as I start down the street, weaving through the throngs of tourists. A street performer plays jazz on the corner, the warm brass notes rolling over the sound of distant chatter.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“There are people who can track power shifts. If your sister has been using a lot of magic, they might be able to pick up her trail.”

“Like you do?”

“Sort of. I don’t track magic specifically, I track objects and people. I can sense things in my immediate surroundings, that sort of thing.”

He catches the hesitation in my voice. “Are there people you cannot track?”

“Only my parents.”

“Why—?”

I wave him off. “It’s not important. This way. We’re nearly there.”

He studies me for a moment before falling into step beside me. “Who is this person who can track magic? Are they a mortal?”

We take another turn, the street narrowing. The neon buzz of a beer sign flickers from a bar nearby, and the scent of incense drifts from a shop selling tarot cards and crystals.

“Not entirely,” I say.

Bennet glances at me, suspicious. “What kind of being are they?”

I stop in front of a black and white sign hanging above a heavy wooden door. Words in an elegant script stand out starkly against the dark background.

Boutique du Vampyre.

His brows furrow. “Vampyre?”

I grin. “Welcome to New Orleans.”

The small store is cluttered with shelves and displays, leaving only a few narrow aisles to navigate.

A pair of twenty-something blondes, dressed in black and dripping with silver jewelry, browse the selection: books on witchcraft, black and purple candles, decorative coffins meant to be hung on walls, bat earrings, vervain necklaces, and clothing—mostly black, with excessive amounts of lace and leather.

I ignore the merchandise and head straight for the bearded guy behind the counter. He wears thick, black-framed glasses and a studded choker, his nose buried in a book titled Initiation into Witchcraft.

“Hi there. I need to know where the vamp is this week.” I keep my voice low.

Bennet steps up beside me, his attention drawn to a grotesque blue demon head sculpture mounted on the wall behind the clerk.

Without removing his eyes from his book, the clerk plucks a card from a stack on the counter and slides it toward me. “Fritzel’s. Courtyard in the back. Tell him Dracula sent you.”

“No, I’m not looking for the tourist attraction.” I lower my voice further. “I need to find the white vamp.”

His eyes finally lift to mine, sharp with recognition. Then, without missing a beat, he calls toward the back of the store. “Richard!”

“Shit,” I mutter.

A door in the rear swings open so fast it smacks against the wall.

“Well, well, well. Cassandra, my darling.” Richard emerges, grinning like the devil he is.

He points at me, twirling a ring-laden finger in the air, his nose wrinkling in mock dismay.

“That’s an interesting choice for a visit to your favorite auntie. Laundry day?”

“Auntie?” Bennet murmurs.

I shake my head. “Friend of the family.”

Richard is short—no taller than Kevin—but what he lacks in stature, he makes up for in presence.

His shock of white hair barely crests the shelving unit next to him, but his bright blue suit more than compensates, shimmering under the dim lighting.

The black silk shirt beneath it is open just enough to reveal an opulent gold chain.

With the dramatic blue eyeshadow dusted across his lids and the swipe of his glossy red lipstick, he’s like a flamboyant, wizardy Papa Smurf.

In one hand, he clutches a glossy cane topped with a gleaming gold handle, which he taps against the floor as he approaches.

His face is unlined, his nose a little too large for his features but somehow suiting him. I don’t know how old he is. Mimi swears he hasn’t changed a bit since she met him, over forty years ago.

“Hi, Richard.” I pointedly ignore the jab about my outfit.

“Cassandra, my dear, it’s been ages.” His voice is high and lilting. He taps toward me, his heeled shoes clicking against the floor, and leans forward, kissing me on both cheeks. “You never come to see me anymore.”

“I saw you last month.”

Richard waves a dismissive hand. “That was ages ago and it was for work and not play. Come, come.” He spins on a heel, heading back through the dark doorway he emerged from. “Bring your friend.”