Page 20 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

Chapter

Fourteen

I tuck a giant Swiss cheese plant onto the corner by the front windows, stepping back to check the positioning so the large glossy leaves aren’t being pressed into the wall.

The house already smells fresher, like damp earth and fresh air.

It cost an arm and a leg but I ordered twenty plants and small potted trees from a nearby nursery.

I had to get cheap plastic containers, but it doesn’t matter. I only care if it works.

I pick up the rubber plant on the floor, admiring its ruby leaves, and head toward the stairs. A voice drifting through the air from the kitchen catches my attention.

“Close your eyes. Breathe in deep. Find the quiet place inside yourself.”

I pause, fingers tightening around the plastic base.

Bennet and Jackie are in the kitchen.

His voice is low, smooth, steady in a way that makes my stomach flip, especially when I remember our conversation last night. At some point he must have carried me to my bed. I woke up a few hours later, but it was still the longest and best sleep I’ve had in years.

I step closer to the doorway, pressing my back to the wall, listening.

“Feel the breath in your chest. Let it settle. The quieter you become inside, the easier it is to connect to what’s around you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Jackie sighs. “It’s not working.”

“You’re thinking too much.”

“How do you not think? When I try to tell my brain to be quiet it just gets louder.”

Bennet lets out a soft chuckle. “Focus on your breathing. If thoughts come, that’s okay. Let them come and go, like a boat floating in water. Or a butterfly. Don’t push the thoughts away with force. Watch them, let them float around, and then return to your breath.”

I set the plant down at my feet and lean back against the wall, letting my own eyes slip shut, mirroring them.

Bennet keeps talking, murmuring things to Jackie about letting go, surrendering to her breath, letting the burdens slip away. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s the way his voice lulls me into the same calm spell from last night.

I inhale, slow and deep.

And then there’s a shift inside me, like a puzzle piece locking into place. It’s not magic, it’s more like adjusting an internal radio to tune in to the world around me.

The walls around me no longer exist. I’m floating in a dark space, surrounded by glowing threads stretching through the space around me, fine as silk but impossibly strong, a web of fragile lines linking me to the world.

Everything is connected to me through delicate lines humming with energy: the plant at my feet, the wall at my back, even the lamp in the corner. Thicker strands branch in targeted directions, two leading upstairs—Mimi and Kevin are up there. Another flows from me into the kitchen, where Jackie is.

There’s another one. The largest one. Thicker. Brighter.

It stretches from me to Bennet.

It’s exactly like Edward said, a glowing, braided strand, pulsing like it’s alive. Its golden light twines with threads that are darker, deeper. My breath catches as it stretches, and I reach for it.

The moment I do, emotion crashes into me like a wave.

This is more than simple magic.

His strength, warmth, and affection flow into me, drawn by a pull so strong it’s like gravity, ancient and unshakable.

Like belonging.

It slams into me, filling every cell.

From the kitchen, Bennet’s voice stumbles. “—and then you—ah—” He clears his throat sharply.

I jerk back, heart hammering.

Nope. That way lies danger.

Gulping down air, I jerk my thoughts and emotions together, reinforcing the barrier around my mind. I pick up the plant at my feet and stride past the kitchen without looking inside. If I catch even a glimpse of his face I might actually combust. Again.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice to sound casual as I pass the open doorway. “We’re leaving for the cemetery in an hour. Gotta get there before sunset,” I call out.

Then I pound up the stairs, running away from... whatever that was.

A black iron fence rises above us, its bars spiked like sentries standing guard over the dead. At the top of the arched entrance, white block letters spell out LAFAYETTE CEMETERY No. 1.

Beyond the gate, rows of stone mausoleums stretch into the distance, their surfaces streaked with age and weather. Some are grand, adorned with intricate carvings and wrought-iron gates, while others are simpler, their names and dates fading into the gray and white stone.

Twilight approaches, darkening the sky overhead.

I push open the heavy iron gate, and it groans in protest, echoing through the stillness.

The oak trees inside are draped in Spanish moss, their gnarled limbs twisting like old fingers reaching for something unseen. Despite the lack of wind, the moss sways slightly, shifting like ghostly curtains.

Bennet follows, his gaze sweeping over the rows of tombs. “What are these structures?”

I glance at him. “Crypts and mausoleums. We have to keep bodies aboveground because of the water table. New Orleans is basically built on a swamp. Dig too deep and you hit water, so if we buried people underground, well.” I make a grossed-out face. “Things would get nasty.”

His lips press into a thin line. “They’d resurface.”

“Yep. Not exactly the kind of thing you want after a heavy rain.” I shift the pack on my back. I brought a bunch of supplies, snacks, water, extra socks. Better to be prepared for anything.

He nods slowly, looking back at the tombs. “They are quite large.”

“Entire families are buried together most of the time. They use the same tomb for generations. When someone dies, they put the body inside, and after a year and a day, they open it back up, push the remains to the back, and make space for the next person.”

He winces. “Efficient.”

“Yeah, well, space is limited. Gotta make do.” There are a couple of mourners leaving flowers in front of a tomb about two hundred yards down the main walkway. I tilt my head toward the path on our right. “Let’s go this way.” Somewhere away from the main path and out of sight of normies.

Bennet looks around again, his gaze thoughtful. “We don’t have cemeteries in Aetheria.”

I frown. “What do you do with your dead?”

“When a djinn dies, their body turns immediately to dust. There’s nothing left to bury.”

“Like Buffy.”

A divot appears between his brows. “What is a Buffy?”

“What isn’t a Buffy?”

At his continued confused expression, I sigh, shaking my head. “Never mind.” I guess Kevin hasn’t shown him any vampire shows from the prior century yet.

“When we pass, we become one again with the earth and sky. It seems odd to surround one’s body in such materials.”

I shrug. “I guess. I’ve never really thought about it.

” But after experiencing that connection to the world around me earlier, it makes a lot more sense.

I don’t know how I was able to do that without using my magic.

I want to ask, but I also don’t want to delve too much into what happened during that encounter.

But then the words just make a break for it. “Can I ask you about what happened?”

“What happened when?”

Heat fills my cheeks. “When you were helping Jackie in the kitchen and I was outside listening, I, uh, could feel you. And me. And us. Our bond. And Jackie and Kevin and Mimi too, and everything else. It was weird. I’ve never felt anything like it. How could I do that without accessing my magic?”

We turn down a narrower path, moving deeper into the cemetery, before he responds. “I don’t think magic is necessary to be aware of the world around you, and your link to it.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Even those with little to no magic in my realm have this ability to sense our connection to the world. It is in all of us. Even mere mortals.”

I glance around. No one is around now. I stop walking and face him. “And with Jackie, you think it worked?”

He shrugs. “It is too soon to tell. She’s been using her own resources for a long time.

Her magic needs to replenish itself and her body needs to heal.

It’s not going to be instant, even if I’m right.

Since she is young, though, connecting to the world around was easier.

She has not been around long enough to build up the defenses that lock us away from nature. ”

“That makes sense.” It’s hard to be patient, but I don’t have a choice. Nothing to do but wait and see, and I have bigger fish to fry at the moment.

We have about twenty minutes until dusk, but who knows where the portal is, or how long it will take us to find it. Even though the cemetery only takes up one city block, there are more than eleven hundred family tombs and seven thousand graves.

We’ve already decided to use magic to locate the portal, and we’ll just have to be prepared for any blowback.

I take a deep breath. “Are you ready?”

He nods.

He takes my hand and I reach inside, focusing on our intention. My magic is there and ready. No longer blocked. Relief blows through me. Along with something else.

Heat, starting at my core and spreading out through my limbs. My skin tightens, sensitive to every brush of air and aware of Bennet’s every move.

The lure of the portal is subtle at first, a whisper of energy moving through the humid night air. But then it clicks into place with a snap, then a pull, like a thread tugging deep inside me, guiding me forward.

Bennet is stiff beside me.

I open my eyes, breathing through the arousal filling my veins. “Are you okay?”

He’s staring at me, pupils blown, breath coming out in quick pants through his tight jaw. “Fine.” The word is clipped. “Can we get moving?”

I press my lips together. I shouldn’t be deriving amusement from his... discomfort? But it’s affecting me too. He doesn’t look like he’s in pain, but it’s difficult not to find this whole situation a bit absurd.

We start walking, following the invisible call.

The sensation is hard to describe—like a gentle pressure between my legs, surrounded by pounding lust. The deeper we go into the cemetery, the stronger it gets, a slow but undeniable pulse that leads us between towering white tombs and crumbling stone pathways.

Bennet paces beside me, hands clenched at his sides.

The wrought-iron fence surrounding the cemetery rattles in the wind, casting long, spindly shadows against the graves.

We round a corner, passing a particularly ornate mausoleum with ivy creeping up the sides and a weathered, cracked plaque at the entrance, when Bennet stops abruptly.

His hand snaps out, gripping my wrist. “Wait.”

A shiver races down my spine. “What?” His skin against mine, even though it’s just our hands, is more satisfying than scratching an itch, like a mixture of relief and pleasure.

His grip tightens. He muffles a groan, his thumb rubbing against my palm. “You should step away from me because I am not sure I can let you go.”

Hunger fills me. Step away. Step away . I can totally do that. I force my feet to move. His hand drops from mine. I swallow hard.

“Something is there,” he grits out. “Ifrit.”

My brain freezes at the word, not quite comprehending. What? Here? Now ?

Murky shadows in the darkness twist and roil, shaping into solid form. Forms? I squint. Are there more than one?

“Run,” Bennet murmurs.

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I spin on my heel and bolt, surging in the direction of the tug of my magic, feet pounding against the damp cemetery ground. Bennet is right beside me as we dodge between the tombs, weaving through the maze of white stone.

I’m glad I wore leggings and my sneakers—the better to sprint with.

A blast of light, bright and jagged, scorches past us, barely missing my shoulder. I yelp, throwing myself behind a low grave marker as lightning explodes against a nearby statue, melting part of the marble into an oozing puddle.

“Keep moving!” Bennet grabs my hand, dragging me along.

I stumble and then run alongside him. The magic is getting stronger, pulsing through me along with the heady desire. The juxtaposition is alarming. Fear. Pleasure. I can barely focus on the task at hand. “We’re almost there.”

We must be close to the portal. My heart hammers as we push forward, darting between tilting grave markers and cracked tombs, the scents of ash and decay thick in the air.

Finally, we skid to a stop in front of a tall, imposing mausoleum near the back of the cemetery, its stone surface carved with strange, looping symbols.

Bennet’s eyes flick to me and then he shuts them, breathing in slowly. “I’m finding it very hard not to touch you.”

This is it. I cut my magic off, like snapping a door shut. “Is that better for you?” Because it isn’t for me.

He swallows, hard. “No,” he grinds out.

The ifrit are getting closer, wind pushing at my back. I press at the stone marker. There’s no door. “How do we get in?”

Bennet reaches for the tomb, his palm next to mine. But nothing happens. His lips twist in frustration. “It needs something—it’s locked?—”

I brace myself for the ifrit’s attack. We’re out of time.

Then, suddenly, the symbols on the tomb shift, glowing brightly. They rearrange, forming two dancing flames.

I stare. “What does that mean?”

Bennet makes a strangled sound. “I may have an idea. But we need to act quickly. Do you trust me?”

“I don’t really have a choice, we’re about to be barbecued.”

The shadows behind us have grown into a dark moving cloud, gathering speed and size as it approaches, lightning flashing within.

“Cassie,” Bennet snaps, grabbing my shoulders and taking my attention from the rapidly approaching fog of doom.

Then he kisses me.