Chapter Eight

Anjeline stared in horror.

Never had she seen anyone savage a fruit like that. Rebel’s eyes drooped in pleasure as she swallowed. Around them, monumental piles of food filled the bed. Magically conjured victuals. Scones overflowing with creaminess. Deep-fried scotched eggs. Pixie pears so juicy they melted on the tongue. Anjeline had conjured as many as Rebel desired, realizing she had been running on pure adrenaline since yesterday. She’d forgotten humans needed food. And she wasn’t about to let anything get in the way of her search.

Let alone a human’s hunger.

Anjeline turned her attention to the stacks of books. Fiction, fiction. There had to be something here. From the moment she’d entered this Institute, she felt the residue of magic, though unsure of its location. For all her bindings allowed, she could be feeling a magic miles away from here. She shook her head. “We need to find tomes on dark magic.”

Rebel paused midbite. “Sorry, have we met? Hi, I’m a magicless Homo sapien,” she mumbled through a mouth full of food.

It earned her one of Anjeline’s looks. “How can one person be so tiresome?”

Rebel shrugged. “Poor socialization as a child.”

“There are humans born with magic in their blood, who converse with the Sidhe and secure your world. They’re called magicians.”

“Why haven’t I ever seen one?”

“You see them all the time. Like your dragon fiend at the Black Market.” Rebel looked surprised but she went on. “A dark magician captured me, remember? Humans. Never underestimate the cruelest of beasts.”

Rebel glanced at her with a hypocritical eye and wiped her mouth. “Doesn’t your kind often trick my kind to devour their souls?”

“That is a demon,” Anjeline stated. People all read the same lore, speaking of Jinn as malicious, haughty beings, none like her. “There are benevolent Jinn just as there are malevolent ones.”

At Anjeline’s command, a thread of light appeared in her palm. Rebel watched as the tendril drew itself into a glowing shape, half humanlike and half smoke. “The Creator formed us from the breath of fire, designed us to aid mankind.” The light twirled, forming a being of each kind. “Jinn and man were peaceful once. Ifrits weren’t all judgmental. They used to safeguard kings’ armies in the desert. The giant marids were sought out for their power, along with others. But over time, many came to detest humans…”

“And?” Rebel prodded, dropping crumbs.

“More and more, magicians took to summoning us. Jinn would agree to do the magician’s favor and, in return, they would offer something back. But like everything else man touches, many began capturing us, controlling our magic for themselves, invoking Jinn to do their dirty bidding. So the Jinn fought back, tricking them, possessing them. But they even attempted to bind the most hostile of Jinn, the shaitan.”

The light reshaped into a crimson form.

Rebel leaned closer, eyeing her. “What kind are you?”

“I am Jinn of the Noor. One of a few wishmakers. We whisper to the heavens. Kiss the stars.” The glowing figure in Anjeline’s hand molded into a roc bird feather.

Reaching out, Rebel touched the shape and smiled as it danced. It felt like Rebel had run fingers over Anjeline’s arm and she shivered. She watched as light refracted off long lashes and silver eyes glistened in wonder. Rebel’s expression reminded her of another human. Wise Solomon had marveled at her stories, too, wanting nothing more than knowledge, friendship, not a wish.

Anjeline closed her hand and the light winked out.

Lashes swept up as Rebel blinked. A few hairs fell over her brow, framing her face like a picture. “Exactly how did this dark magician trap you?”

“Dark magic is like poison to our essence. He trapped me with it.” Anjeline rubbed her wristlets and the symbols on it shimmered. “The magician’s mark binds me to the vessel, controlling my full power for wishes. Suppressing me from shape-shifting into anything threatening. Not even my roc bird form, just a useless cat.”

Rebel grinned. “I fancy cats.”

“You would. When not bound, I can take many forms. But now I can’t even…return to my own world.” The longing in Anjeline’s voice seemed to confuse Rebel, and she explained not even another jinni could break her bonds. “Each magician’s mark is unique like their fingerprint. When they forge a binding, it must be undone by their power. Every possible solution, I’ve tried. Refusing to grant wishes. But if I do, the bonds slowly rip apart my essence until I concede to grant it…or perish. Not even a wish can free me.”

For a heartbeat, understanding eyes met hers.

“Every lock has a key,” Rebel said, nearly as a prayer.

At that, Anjeline’s insides warmed a little. The vase heated against Rebel’s side, drawing her attention to the glyphs and runes, the gems shining as bright as new, and the gold that hadn’t darkened with age. She watched Rebel as though seeing the gears of her brain churning, trying to figure it out. Her eyes narrowed and her nose scrunched up in concentration. It was almost cute. For a human.

When Rebel’s fingers raked over the vase, the symbols gleamed: water, air, fire, earth, and one unique emblem. The mark mirroring the ones on Anjeline’s cuffs. A moon surrounded by a circle. “This mark is the magician’s who imprisoned you?” she asked.

The question turned Anjeline rigid, as if speaking of the past seemed to draw her back within it. “The mark belongs to the dark magician known as Victor Nero.”

“The alpha mentioned that name. That’s the magician I stole you from?”

“If it were him, you would be dead.” Anjeline’s voice wavered at the thought. “You broke into a noble magician’s sanctum. She rescued me out of Nero’s hands and required my help in searching out a—person.”

“So?” Rebel ate another biscuit. “Even noble magicians want their wishes?”

Anjeline clicked her tongue. “There are things more important than wishes.”

“Like?”

“Things of substance. Life. Love. Kin.”

“Jinn have kin?”

“We have tribes. What you call family.”

Rebel stiffened at the word, then hissed. Her hand went to her shoulder wound, pushing away the pain, but it didn’t mask the ache in her features. When she spoke again, her voice was hushed. “Well, I haven’t a family, or barely life.” A change passed over Rebel’s aura like a storm cloud blocking out the light.

Something ticked inside Anjeline, the few inches between them radiating with her heat. Fire she was born of, and it seemed her smoky insides burned brighter around this human’s aura. Solomon, hers glows just as bright as yours used to. His voice came to her, and she remembered the words he used to say. “Some have souls of clay clinging to material things, but others have souls of fire and wish to fly,” she voiced, almost able to see Rebel’s every thought. Every wish.

The cloud vanished from Rebel’s face, looking as if her mind had just been read, and she rubbed her cheek, at the spot where Anjeline had met her with a promise. A contract.

“The pact is binding.” The lie burned her tongue. “You can’t rub it off.”

“That’s not…” Rebel paused, glancing at all the food and then at her neatly bandaged shoulder. “I’m not used to this. Being treated like I matter.” She seemed surprised.

There was something familiar in her features. Anjeline admired the pensiveness in her gaze and the determined lines of her body. Though underfed, she noted. All bones and muscle, like an animal left on the streets, living a life of scrounging. She brushed her empathy aside. “Is that your way of saying thank you?”

Rebel bowed and looked up with those piercing eyes. “Thank you, oh great Anjeline, for keeping my heart in your hands when wolves had other ideas.”

Her lips twitched, pulling slightly upward at those words. Having witnessed and lived on a steady diet of human horror stories, to be this comfortable with one felt strange. This Rebel wasn’t at all what she seemed. A bandit who spent more time stealing stories than wealth. But she heard Madrath’s warning in her ears. She wasn’t Jinn and that made her untrustworthy. Because she’s a human, Anjeline told herself. Reckless, naive, easily distracted by the female form, and eyes too kind for her own good.

The human wanted a wish as much as Anjeline wanted freedom. “Well, you are essential to our search. What we need is direct knowledge to dark magic.”

A question appeared in Rebel’s gaze. “There might be a way I can get information.” She paused. “Those lycanthropes will be tracking you, won’t they?”

“No doubt they can smell you miles away.” Anjeline scrunched her nose and leaned in, sniffing. “You don’t smell human.” She watched as a flush filled Rebel’s face.

All the way to her ears.

Rebel indeed took a bath.

As far as one could be taken in her claustrophobic bathroom. The sink, which had been white moments ago, now bore bloodstains and something that had hitched a ride on her from the Underground. At least the girl staring back in the mirror looked less like a piece of rubbish. Though, one sporting a wolf mark on her face. The ghostly feeling of those claws would last for weeks. After slipping on her jacket, she kissed her pendant, saying a little prayer. She never dared to rely on anyone, yet now she was literally putting her life in the hands of an irritating jinni who looked at her as more of an enemy.

Once she stepped from the bathroom, she halted at the sight before her. “What are you… Are those my clothes?”

Anjeline was perched on the bed, her hair fixed in a waterfall braid. However, her quilled garb had been replaced with Rebel’s jeans, her crimson scarf, and her favorite Prussian blue sweater, which looked incredibly soft and felt even softer. The jinni had raided her closet, what little clothing she owned.

“My attire won’t work,” Anjeline said. “Not if I’m supposed to fit in.”

Dawning surfaced. Rebel held up her hand. “Oh, no. No. You’re not staying outside the vessel,” she said, grabbing her satchel and the vase off the bed.

“I am.” Anjeline stood and heat rippled off her. “Either I wear your clothes or I try conjuring what little I can of my own. But I’ve had enough of that prison of a vessel.” The gold of her irises gleamed like bands of light.

For a beat, Rebel could do nothing but stare into them, wanting to see how fiery they could get. But an unguarded look of wistfulness hid there also. The same look when Anjeline had spoken of her kind, of humans, and Rebel wondered how long she’d been bound to the vase. As she stared at the girl wearing her clothes, all she saw was just that, a girl. Maybe not too different from herself.

“Fine.” Rebel’s voice wavered more than she liked. “But don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second.”

“Is that a promise?” Anjeline fluttered her lashes and stepped closer, moving like grace personified. The jeans hugged her hips in a way they never did Rebel’s, which should’ve been positively sinful.

She didn’t answer, though her face broadcasted her response. “Just…try to act human and not look like you’re about to turn into a bonfire when you dislike something.” She grabbed the vase off the bed, holding it out to her. “It’ll be your job to keep an eye on it.”

Anjeline lurched back. “I can’t touch it. It will shock me.”

Rebel noted her unease. “Why?”

“If I could hold the vessel, would I be here right now? I could flee with it myself. Thus, I’m at the mercy of whoever possesses it.” Anjeline gestured and crossed her arms over her slender chest, lovely even when irritated.

By her reaction, grabbing the vase must have been an idea she’d failed at before. Without a word, Rebel tucked it gently inside the satchel, but couldn’t help rubbing it.

Anjeline shivered with a glare. “Where to first?”

“Upstairs.” Rebel opened the door, eyeing the hallway.

“Upstairs?” She couldn’t hold back a grin at Anjeline’s confusion. Her expression was that of a supernal being unaccustomed to being puzzled. “You think we’ll find answers to my freedom in this place?”

“Humans may be mundane but we have magic of our own. Technology. And you’re forgetting one thing.”

“Which is?”

“I’m the Fingersmith.” Rebel smiled. “If something’s hidden, I’ll find it.”