Page 77

Week Three

I have been in this country for almost a full week. Over the centuries, I’ve made many sojourns to what is currently called the United States, and each time is more amusing than the last. For a nation in its infancy compared to others in the world, someone brashly convinced its human inhabitants they are at the top of a food chain they cannot fully comprehend—both literally and figuratively. Even the elder supes who have settled here eventually absorb the Americans’ sense of ill-informed superiority, and it amuses me greatly.

Nothing here is as old as the newest colonnade in our palace at home, yet they think they hold the power of the world in their palms.

Of course, humans in other countries are similarly certain that their species is the most apex of predators, but the tales of old still thrive. Superstition and belief in the unknown is far more common in Europe, Asia, and Africa than here. The commercialized versions of our world are so prevalent in the US; many of us could show our true selves in public and they’d be convinced it was some sort of ‘movie magic’.

Alas, there are few of my kind outside of my country, less a few distant family lines that wandered far during the nomadic years. It is both a blessing and curse to live so long and realize your powers would only be corrupted should the ‘ruling species’ learn of your existence.

Hubal knows I don’t even trust the supernatural Society and its Councils—not when the leadership is cloaked as it is.

However, my journey this year is not a philosophical one. Eliot Cantwell and his family may be deeply embedded in the Society and the Council of his quaint little town, but his skill with training and maintaining winning horses is internationally renowned. Bringing my strongest contender to him was a forgone conclusion, and I never allow my prized investments to be cared for by people I have not assessed.

Mehdi is far too special for reckless business practices.

I was on the lookout for another racer to fill a void in my stables when my buyers found the beautiful Akhal-Teke at an auction. I knew she would be an excellent replacement for the cantankerous mare I lost to a scarlet haired assassin who infiltrated our palace. Luckily for her, I was not the target that day—as my powers far outweighed her fledgling abilities—but I allowed her to relieve me of a beast that I had never tamed in trade. She left me in peace, and I gave her a problem I needed to solve.

It all worked out for the best, though I’m sure the security team who failed my father wouldn’t agree—if they still had their heads.

Now that I’ve settled my future Derby winner with Cantwell and his team, I feel the need to stretch my metaphorical wings. Unlike most of the sultanate, I’m not a savage party animal nor a conservative homebody. I fall outside of the predetermined lines because I am ‘other’, as my grandmother calls it. Grandmother is a misnomer, of course, because I am older than most countries in this world, despite appearing to be in my thirties. I’ve seen many fathers and grandmothers and siblings come into the world and leave over the centuries.

I cannot draw more attention than necessary to myself because our thin cover story of familial resemblance is harder to maintain in this technological age than it was years ago.

But I also yearn to be around people, even if its other supes and shifters, and to use my gifts to help. Servitude is what humans believe we are meant for, but that is not accurate. They made us of smokeless fire and may be good or evil, like any other species. Our powers are immense; so much so that the tale of my birth breaks current laws in the supernatural world. Producing more of us is not illegal, but those with our blood are required to register their intent to procreate. My original father did no such thing when he fell in love with my human mother, and our family guards the true story of my birth closely.

The Society believes we can only procreate with supernaturals or our own kind when we find a mate, and all the djinn prefer them to continue doing so.

No one has ever given me concrete information that proves the ‘mate’ part is true, but I’ve also met no expectant couples who do not be fated mates. It’s a conundrum I’ve long wished to solve, but since I’ve lived thousands of years without finding a mate, I suppose it’s only a curiosity.

Regardless, I have conducted my business and now I am due some pleasure. Howl is one of my favorite supernatural establishments in this part of the country, and I have not visited with the Theopoulos family in over a decade. Their children are delightful scamps—all hybrid demi-gods and goddesses—and if I request a placement in their evening line-up, I’ll have time to catch up with them afterward.

“Isra!” I call, knowing the sila will always lurk within hearing range. “Please have Fazal call the Theopoulos family in the city. I wish to visit their club and have drinks with whomever is available on this dreadfully short notice.”

“ Naeam sumuukum. ”

The short, hissed response is normal for Isra. As the captain of my private security detail, she is a fiercely protective sub-species of djinn . Despite being my personal attendant for most of our eternal lives, she has never adopted modern ways. She will shape-shift accordingly in public, but prefers to remain in the shadows unless her skills and presence are necessary. Isra is why I have never come as close to an assassin’s blade as I did when the shifter witch showed up in my stables early this year.

I still question how that woman got past all the enchantment and wards our palace has, and Isra has failed to locate her at every turn—an unusual turn of events.

I settle in, opening my tablet to peruse the wardrobe we brought along for this trip. There are a few hours before my entourage needs to leave in order to make it to the club on time, and I’m certain I’ll be given permission to ‘perform’.

Tonight, I will make a few lucky supes’ dreams come true, and it will be the best thing I do all week.

My life truly is blessed, indeed.

* * *

Fazal is very good at planting rumors to prevent my true identity from being revealed. He has been my assistant since he turned eighteen, and now, at thirty-one, he’s the epitome of poised efficiency. They employ his family in various properties for mine, and their ancestors have been doing so for almost as long as I’ve been alive. Those of us with immortality cultivate trusted families whose profession is to work for us generation after generation. It makes keeping our secrets so much easier, and our security that much tighter.

I will give my name to the crowd when I perform—however, by the end of my set, only the strongest supes will remember who I am. I can influence most shifters and lesser creatures enough to cloud the specific memory of my identity, but older, more powerful supes have had time to build their defense against those of us with mind or reality bending abilities.

“Isra, am I able to enter through the back? I do not wish to find any ‘surprise’ publicity at the front. I trust Miklo Theopoulos, but a few of his children have mischievous streaks.”

The shadows at the other end of the limo shimmer for a moment and Isra appears, looking perfectly coiffed in a black Armani suit. “We are, Amiri.”

I smile to myself. Her voice is stiff and uncomfortable when she replies because I insist on her speaking English and addressing me by my nickname when we are in public. It helps keep my cover intact and offends the hell out of Isra, but it’s necessary. She’s not a fan of the dress code in public, either, but that designer suit is hiding at least a dozen weapons, if not more. I don’t limit her ability to protect me—only to behave like a servant. I don’t think of Isra like that, but she believes herself to be in service to my crown and won’t be swayed.

I suppose everyone needs a loyal ally who cannot be bought or stolen and Isra is mine.

The limo stops and Isra exits before me, clearing the area with a quick sweep of her powers. Fazal joins her, holding his hand out to assist with alighting from the low vehicle. Looking around, I get a feel for the crowd in the club despite standing in the back alley. There are a lot of people here, and I can sense signatures from some very powerful creatures as well as… an unemerged supe.

How intriguing! Who would dare bring someone with no knowledge of our community to a supe-only venue?

Isra and Fazal stand in front of me as we enter through the back door, their eyes sharp as we make our way backstage. I prefer not to arrive with a large entourage, though I’m certain Isra has guards sprinkled throughout the crowd in the front of the house. She is ever vigilant despite remarkably few attempts on my life in the thousands of years we’ve been together. None of the misguided attacks in the past—outside of the fiery redhead—have come close, so I try to defer to her expertise when possible.

They pause as we pass the curtain on stage left, Fazal holding up his hand as he scents the air. “There are Guardians here. A wyvern, a gorgon, a merman, and a hybrid…” His lips turn down in a frown and he leans in to whisper to Isra. When she nods, he faces me again. “The hybrid is part veela. That is not concerning, but her other half… You should not call her on stage. Her people do not respond well to anything seen as coercion, Your Highness.”

“What if I happen to choose her assigned charge? I am quite interested in the lost one in the crowd. There was a time they slapped that moniker on me, and I would find it very satisfying to assist with releasing them. With that many exotic Guardians present, I can only assume this unemerged supe has the capacity to be very powerful.”

A narrowed eyed glare from Isra should deter me, but it doesn’t. She detests when I get involved in the ‘politics of others’, and performing a show such as tonight puts her in a foul mood for days. My gifts should not be squandered on those who are not useful to my family or my business, in her opinion. Luckily for me, Isra does not get to decide when and where I extend my generosity, and she will fall in line as she always does—albeit angrily.

“Amiri, you know we risk exposure every time you decide to wander through supe society like the fictional carpenter, bestowing blessings to the unfortunate,” the sila chides. “Security for last minute shows consumes me and I have more pertinent concerns to address if you plan to extend your visit to the Cantwell Farm as you’ve proposed.”

My eyes flash with irritation and she backs away slowly. “Isra, your council is always valued, but at this moment, you are overstepping. Lead me to the entrance; my call time grows imminent while we dither over decisions that have been made.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” she replies, ducking her head in submission.

Fuck, I hate doing that, but arguing this point with her is getting tiring.

My young assistant takes point, guiding us to the stage right entrance without a word. In his comparatively short tenure, he’s learned to stay out of the middle with my captain and I because it never ends well for him. His fealty is to me, but when Isra is not being unreasonable, he feels compelled to agree with both of us. That lands him on both of our bad sides, and as such, he politely declared himself Switzerland a decade ago. No amount of coaxing will yield an answer from the werehyena, and we’ve both tried.

I shake my head as the lights go down. No more brooding over my staff or anything else—it’s time to gather my power and perform. Closing my eyes, I rub my hands together slowly then lift them to my lips. A soft puff of air sends smoke spiraling out onto the stage and I follow it with a snap of my fingers. The lightning that cracks over the audience draws excited gasps, and I smile to myself.

Even supes love to be surprised.

My form dissipates into a dark plum colored smoke and when I reappear, I’m on stage. I give the audience a prideful grin as I raise my hands to encourage their applause. The apprehension and excitement in the air feed my natural abilities as well as make it easier to locate the signatures of the kind of people I will choose to invite on stage. When the typical hollering and whistles finally die down, I unbutton my cuffs and roll my sleeves up. It drives women wild for some reason and the whispered adulation is audible as I continue to play to their emotions.

Suddenly a spike of derision fills my senses, and I’m delighted to find that it’s coming from the lost one I’ve been hoping to meet. I disappear again, drawing gasps from the crowd, and when I reappear, I’m ready to work. I’ve found my first wish, and I cannot wait to delve into her consciousness.

“Good evening, my illustrious friends! The Theopoulous family graciously ceded one of their stages tonight to allow me to indulge my penchant for theatrics while in town. I am honored to be granted the opportunity.” I smile again, hoping to put my intended target at ease. “My name is Dhameer Mirza Al Sharqi and I will grant your deepest desires.”

Like clouds parting after the rain, the aura of the lost one shines from a table near the back. Her frustration and disdain are filling it with dark, angry hues, and I grin. This will be quite amusing, I think. She knows nothing of our world and everything I do will be suspect as if I’m part of some human magician’s act. I am going to enjoy this immensely.

“There! You! The girl who cannot be arsed to pay attention to my magnificent show. You will be the first participant,” I call out.

Of course, I have no idea if she was talking over me, but it seems likely.

Her friends seem disinclined to help her squirm out of my grasp, and when she stands, a curtain of raven hair is the first thing I see. She stomps up to the stage looking like she’s going to rip me a new one if she can figure out how. I beckon her, anxious to meet the ball of fire that has the attention of the entire room as she makes her way across the stage. When she finally comes within reach, I turn to the audience, addressing them to keep up appearances.

“I know nothing about this woman—save she has no patience for prideful wretches such as myself.” There are titters echoing across the room and the woman I picked crosses her arms over her chest. I’m not sure if it’s possible for her to be more annoyed with me, but I believe her ire is increasing by the second. I walk to stage right, pulling a chair from the wings and placing it downstage center. “But tonight, for your viewing pleasure, I will uncover her deepest desires and grant her the ability to realize them.”

“If you say so, dude,” is her only response.

“A skeptic! How wonderful!” I clap my hands and give the crowd a knowing expression. “Sit down, Miss…?”

“Whitley. Jolene Whitley.”

My eyes widen as I watch her settle on the chair. This is the woman who will be assisting in training my treasured horse, and the topic of many discussions since my arrival in town. I pause for a moment to study the lush curves accentuated by her jacket dress and the thick, fishnet covered thighs she has crossed as she waits impatiently. When I finally meet her gaze, a rush of energy comes barreling into my chest and I almost lose my composure.

Almost.

I clear my throat, tucking that knowledge away for later. “A lovely name, to be sure. If you could close your eyes and try to relax, I will ask you a few more questions.”

Jolene closes her eyes, but she doesn’t seem happy about it. “Okay.”

The thrumming of my power in my veins as I walk around her slowly is undeniable. It takes several quiet moments before her posture relaxes, but when it does, her walls come down as well. I swallow hard, watching her delicate features as the energy inside of me pulses at the sight of her. I must be so very careful… now that I know who she is, I cannot allow myself to treat her any differently than I would any other supe or I’ll get dragged before the Council.

“Miss Jolene. Tell me what your fondest memory is.”

The sadness wafts from her in heavy waves and I shudder as she shrugs. “I don’t know. My memory is an issue.”

Making another circle around her as I watch her face, I try again. “Can you tell me what makes you happy?”

Another tsunami of emotion cascades through her aura and the colors show a rainbow of conflicting feelings as she thinks about my question. When the waterfall of trippy shades stops, her aura glows a golden hue. “My new life. My friends and family make me happy.”

Coming to a stop in front of her, I look down at her face, my breath catching as the sensation of home floods me. In the thousands of years I’ve existed on this planet, I’ve never felt a kinship this deep and I’m shocked to realize that my gut recognizes it. This woman is not ready for the things coming, and I cannot make an exception for her. Some lessons must be learned on your own, and hers will be bittersweet, but destiny is rarely easy.

I gather the energy within that allows me to manifest her stated desire, watching the magic swirl around her as the crowd gasps. Leaning in, I murmur softly, “Then a family you shall have. It is done.”

The frown on her face tells me she doesn’t understand the importance of what I gave her, but I know by the intensity of her aura I was successful. Her eyes finally open and she squints at the stage and into the crowd. Jolene’s expression is one of suspicion—she cannot see the same things the audience does because of the emergence spell clinging to her like a spider monkey on her back. It’s very powerful and placed by someone at least as old as I am, so I couldn’t nudge its barriers.

Rolling her eyes, she sighs. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

If only you knew, muharibi aleaziz .? 1

“Was it? We shall see.”

She doesn’t even attempt to cover her snort of derision. “If you say so, dude.”

I watch her stomp away thoughtfully before turning to the audience with a broad grin. “Always with the disbelievers! Who will be brave enough to step up and fulfill their destiny next? Raise your hands high and I will select someone.”

Hands go up all over the club and satisfaction washes over me like a cool breeze. Even if my muharibi aleaziz doesn’t believe in me yet, everyone else here knows what I did for her.

For tonight, that will have to be enough.

1 ? My dear warriors