Page 9 of Bewitched By the Djinn (The Bewitching Hour #8)

My face burns. Nope. Not going there.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs.

“Why?”

“It will help you concentrate.”

I hesitate, then comply.

The air between us is thick, charged. I drag in a breath and force myself to pay attention.

“Concentrate on your breathing. In and out.”

I follow his voice, deep and soothing, letting it guide me. The buzz of energy is still under my skin, but I push past it.

“Now,” he continues, “imagine there’s a wall around your mind. It can be made of whatever you like, whatever is strongest for you. Iron, stone, or brick.”

I need something impenetrable. Thick steel. Heavy, gray, molded around my thoughts like a vault.

“Good,” he says softly. “You don’t need to hold it down with force. That will only exhaust you. Instead, envision a latch. A locking mechanism that secures it effortlessly.”

In my mind, I form four latches—one on each side of the steel casing—and click them into place.

That’s better.

“Excellent.” There’s approval in his tone. “I can’t feel you anymore. Now, you can choose to keep them locked or release them whenever you want.”

“Why would I release them?”

He tilts his head. “I’m not sure. Perhaps if you wanted to share something with me in private.”

I snort. “Not likely, buddy.”

His lips press together, his eyes sparkling with a glimmer of amusement before he draws his hand away.

The absence is immediate.

“So. Food.” I push to my feet.

“Yes,” he agrees, though his gaze lingers on me a moment too long.

I turn sharply on my heel. “Right. Food.”

Pull yourself together, woman.

One touch of his hand and a charged look and suddenly my brain cells run off and I can only speak in caveman sentences.

“I’ll get you some clothes.”

I head over to Mom and Dad’s room.

I’ve avoided this space for the better part of three years.

Most of it is still exactly the way they left it.

Mom’s favorite throw folded neatly on the chair by the window, Dad’s reading glasses tucked beside the bed.

There’s no dust. Mimi must be keeping it clean, like part of her believes they’ll walk through the door any day now.

The air smells like lavender and cedar. Familiar. It shoots me right in the chest.

I move quickly, avoiding their bed, their pictures, the memories. Straight to the closet. Jeans, shirt, an old pair of sweats, sneakers that look like they’ve barely been worn. I don’t think. I just grab and go.

I leave the clothes at the bathroom door before heading downstairs. My mind tries to take me back, to when my parents were here, to what they would do about this situation, but I shake the thoughts away. They aren’t here. They aren’t coming back. I’m on my own, and I need to figure this out myself.

We need to find his sister, and soon.

I reach the kitchen right as Mimi and Kevin are getting ready to leave.

“I’ll be back in a bit.” Mimi slings her purse over her shoulder.

Kevin frowns at his shoelaces, struggling with a stubborn knot. “Ugh, come on,” he mutters.

I crouch to help, making quick work of it before squeezing his shoulder. “All set, kiddo.”

“Thanks.” He straightens, grabbing his backpack from the floor. “Bye, Jackie!”

Jackie doesn’t even glance up from the table. “Bye.”

Mimi glances between us like she has more to say, but instead, she waves. “See you later.”

Then they’re gone.

Bennet strides into the kitchen, dressed in a white T-shirt and a pair of Dad’s jeans that are a couple inches too short. He should look ridiculous, but somehow he’s still hot.

Drat.

“Good morning, Miss Jackie.”

She lifts a hand from where she’s sitting at the table, idly pushing scrambled eggs around her plate with her fork. Her wrists are as delicate as bird wings, and her cheekbones are sharper than they should be.

My stomach tightens. She needs to eat, but I know better than to push too hard.

“Have a seat,” I tell Bennet, gesturing toward an empty chair before heading to the stove where the food is keeping warm. “Do you like pancakes?”

“Cakes?”

“Pancakes,” Jackie corrects. “They aren’t actual cake.”

His brow furrows. “I am not familiar with this pan-cake.”

Jackie lets out a soft laugh. “What do you eat in your world?”

Mimi must have given her some of the details of last night’s conversation. I grab a plate and fill it with a couple of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and leftover beans before setting it in front of him.

“It depends,” Bennet says, cutting into the pancakes with precise, practiced movements. “To break our fast, we might have bread and cheese. Or pork and kippers with eggs.”

“Kippers?” Jackie asks, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s a type of fish.”

She makes a face. “For breakfast? Ew. No thanks.”

I walk back to the stove, making up my own plate. “People put salmon on bagels sometimes.”

“People are cringe,” she says.

I can’t argue that.

Bennet lifts a bite of pancake to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. His brows rise slightly. “Hmm.”

“Good, right?” Jackie grins. “Way better than fish.”

“It’s not bad,” he admits before taking another bite.

I settle next to Jackie, watching as she continues to poke at her food instead of eating it. “How’s your stomach?”

She shrugs. “It’s fine.”

It’s not fine.

The way she says it, the way she avoids my eyes, it’s an old dance. One we’ve been doing for too long. Me fretting and fussing, Jackie pretending she’s okay so I don’t worry, and me worrying anyway.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yes.”

Her eye twitches. She’s lying.

I take a few bites, but my appetite wanes as I watch her struggle through small forkfuls.

After another couple of minutes, she sets her fork down. “I have to log in for school.”

Frustration tightens my throat. “Okay. I’ll take your plate. Go ahead.”

As soon as she’s gone, Bennet sets his fork down and lowers his voice. “How long has she been ill?”

I rub my temple. “It started before our parents disappeared.”

Bennet stills. “Disappeared?”

“Yep.” I shove a piece of bacon in my mouth.

He frowns like he wants to ask more, but I don’t want to talk about my parents. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Time for a subject change. “Tell me about your sister.”

He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “What would you like to know?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Something that might help us find her.” An object or image that I can use to focus my magic would be nice. “Do you have any of her belongings? Maybe an item she’s touched?”

“Only the lamp. I am not sure if she actually touched it though or only used magic on it.”

I straighten. “There’s only one way to find out.”