Chapter Eighteen

For a long while after Anjeline finished speaking of the wishes coming back to haunt her, complete silence filled the vessel’s room. The voices above them had dimmed along with the pain of her memories, of all the ghosts of people that had been torn asunder.

At last, Rebel looked up, eyes grave. “What happened to the boy?”

“Dark magic comes at a cost,” was all she could say. “Nero lost his humanity for the price of power. He finds those with moldable souls to manipulate. Removes hearts, forces people to cast wishes for him. He reaps none of the consequences, while others take it all…” Pain flickered in her chest. “For years, he’s been searching for a heart such as Solomon had. One unable to cast a selfish wish.”

“Which would equal no consequence.” Rebel nodded, yet still looked clueless. “But why would Nero care, if he doesn’t reap the price to begin with?”

“Because, he needs a selfless heart to obtain the one wish he can’t.”

“To get back his soul?”

Anjeline shook her head. “He cares not about a soul. But power. He made the boy wish for the sight of a spirit as if he could be as forceful as one. Still another’s wish could never grant him the ultimate power he wants. Immortality.”

“Why not?”

“When those he enthralled wished for immortality, they turned, casting it for themselves instead. No matter how much he manipulated them with magic, they turned every time. But he believes if he can find a heart unable to wish selfishly, it could make his wish of immortality come true.” Most believed the will of a wish came from a person’s mind, others from blood. But Anjeline knew they came from spirit. From the heart. And there it ruined.

“What became of the people?” Rebel persisted. “What was the consequence?”

“Flesh cannot live forever,” she said and left it at that. There were other terrible things on her tongue she wanted to give voice to, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain. Anjeline was dangerous. She knew it, magicians knew it, and the second they saw her, they saw only glory and power. Everything they wanted to capture. To control.

For years and years, she watched as Madrath built rules around her, thinking it was to form a foundation so she could be the greatest Wishmaker. She was the ember and spark, he’d say. One of a few Jinn birthed from the fire of the Noor, trained and skilled in the tongue. Being able to offer wishes to magicians had once made her feel kinship with them, not superiority. That had been all she desired, to be the greatest and most revered. But once she put the rules in place, she suddenly understood the truth. She was a spark in herself, and she had to be ruthless unless someone might lock her away so they could inherit her wishes.

Then someone had.

She’d been so naive after Solomon, searching for peace, that she had let her guard down with Nero. And the light from within had been stolen from her. Her dreams melted into horrors. She’d watched humans crush themselves under the darkness of their selfish souls. Watched her own magic ruin. Felt the weight of wishes she carried alone making her feel weak where it should have made her strong. Now all she wanted was to destroy the magician, erase her past, and escape the vessel.

As if her thoughts were heard, Rebel asked, “When you’re freed, you’re planning on finding Nero, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you?” She pressed her lips together. She’d already revealed too much. Her only comfort came from the anticipation of avenging those souls. She’d vowed by the remains of his victims she would stop him, and become the Jinn to her kin she once was. But to do that she must be free. Ironically, the one thing pushing her goal forward happened to be the human who needed a wish.

Rebel seemed to be reading her like a book. “Nero’s why you don’t trust me? You think I’ll keep you bottled up?” Her face hardened, but underneath hid a look in her eyes that Anjeline didn’t like. As if her own light had been dimmed.

It reflected the anguish in the shadows of Anjeline’s heart, holding on to the past with a vengeful grip. She’d learned to numb herself, believed her trust and mercy had been extinguished, but with Rebel, she experienced faint pangs of both. The fact that Rebel hid within the vessel, that she’d made a contract with a human, was a testament to some unspoken hope she still had. “If you only knew.” She released a breath. “You haven’t witnessed darkness like I have. Even with the best intentions, people can fail you.”

“You think I don’t know?” Rebel said as if each word hurt her. “All my life I’ve had to learn how to survive, to endure the darkness rather than becoming it. Girls are taken all the time from the streets, especially ones like me. If it hadn’t been for Jaxon…who knows where I would be,” she whispered.

Anjeline felt her hardened essence crack a little.

Then Rebel linked a pinky with hers, one small gesture. “I keep my promises. We’ll find the means to free you. Maybe I don’t look like much, but not all warriors wear armor.”

Rebel’s features softened with that gentleness about her, of eyes that saw beyond the world’s gloom and thoughts that cut through it with a blade of light. She’d been a victim of humans as much as Anjeline had been, and yet her aura shined so bright, so hopeful. It warmed Anjeline to see, swirling her heart of smoke. It was no wonder she felt drawn to the flame.

“A thief with a heart,” Anjeline said. A heart, she noted, that seems to be beating far too irregularly for any human. And she wondered if this was the reason for her pills. Something Rebel didn’t care to speak of. “Relax. It’ll be midnight soon. Hopefully they’ll be gone.”

They could barely hear the voices above them.

Rebel looked up at the neck of the vase, then kicked off her boots and gave a showy yawn. “Can’t relax”—her gaze slid to her satchel—“unless someone reads.”

Anjeline’s lips twitched. “Is this your tactless way of asking me?”

“It wasn’t tactless.”

“Is that a please, Faddi?”

She paused. “You keep calling me that.”

“It means silver. The color of your eyes.” They were so close she noticed the smoky flecks in Rebel’s irises moved with dilation. It was hard not to smile at eyes like that.

For a beat, Rebel stared at her before that sheepish look appeared. Nuzzling her head into the pillows like a content feline, she mumbled what sounded like, “please.”

Anjeline felt her own smile grow, and withdrew Rebel’s favored book of poems from the satchel. Some of these quotes were familiar to her—Solomon’s poem. How, of all humans, could Rebel have felt so connected to her? She opened the book to where it was marked, to the poem she’d watched being written centuries ago, and began to read, “‘My beloved spoke, and said unto me…

Rise up, my love…

my fair one…

and come away…’”

Anjeline read, drawing out the verses until the fire burned low and sleep took hold of Rebel. No sounds came from outside the vessel. From above the floorboards. Perhaps Rebel was right—the fox could be trusted. She dared to stroke a thumb across the bruised face and the scar on Rebel’s brow. Freckles like small constellations kissed her cheeks, and Anjeline’s fingers swept over them as though she could feel the starlight.

Her essence stirred again as she rested defenseless beside Rebel, and yet never feeling so protected. What am I doing? Defying Madrath. Rebel confused her, and she hated it. Despite all her experiences with humans, the one who had made her question Jinn rules was a thief. Still, she had manipulated Rebel into a promise. Had to, in spite of her own guilt. It had become her fuel.

Once she was free, she’d make Nero regret ever wronging her.