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Day Tripper
—
“Good heavens,” Safiye exclaimed the next morning. “Someone didn’t get her beauty rest.”
She’d walked in on Yasmin attempting to charm redness from her eyes. Yasmin hadn’t been crying over Joseph’s rejection. That would have been pitiful. Nonetheless, her eyes were as bloodshot as if she sobbed all night.
“Try these drops,” Safiye offered, digging a stoppered vial from her tiny purse. “Sometimes personal magic needs a mundane assist.”
Yasmin tried them, blinked, and immediately felt better.
Nodding in approval, Safiye slid to sit on the bathroom sink’s polished counter. Yasmin concluded she’d slept well. Her looks had no blot on them.
“So,” Safiye said. “You’ve had a day to observe. What’s your impression of Stefan?”
Yasmin had prepared for this question. “Lord Dimitriou is well respected, both by djinn under his command and social peers. He runs his house efficiently. His staff is loyal. He has a lofty opinion of himself but knows when to play diplomat.”
“He’s not the only one,” Safiye said humorously, perceiving the care Yasmin had taken in her response.
“When he turns his charm on a person, he’s difficult to dislike.”
“Part of you wants to dislike him,” Safiye guessed.
Yasmin let her breath sigh out. “I confess that’s true. Though I can’t pin down the cause for my reaction, I’m reluctant to dismiss it. I do think you’re correct in your assumption that he won’t be faithful.”
Safiye’s gaze sharpened. “Did he proposition you?”
“He did not. It was merely an impression.”
Safiye’s lips pursed with displeasure.
“I believe he wants you to see him flirting with other females,” Yasmin added. “He may see this as a way to . . . heighten his value in your eyes.”
“All djinn play games in relationships. To a certain extent anyway.”
“I cannot disagree with that. I understand you’d prefer concrete facts to assist your decision. I shall continue to look for them.”
Safiye’s faint smile slanted higher on one side. “I see I picked the right woman for the job. You’ll be honest with me, no matter what.”
“As far as I’m able,” Yasmin said, “I won’t abuse your trust.”
“Well.” Safiye hopped down from the counter to regard her. “The maids inform me breakfast will be served shortly. They say it is buffet style and casual. Once you’ve done dressing, you should join us.”
“I shall hasten to finish,” Yasmin assured her.
Putting herself in order took a quarter hour longer. The corridor was silent as she stepped into it. Was she last to leave her rooms? That was embarrassing. Everyone shouldn’t have been better than she at going short on sleep.
She’d just clucked her tongue in dismay when a female servant exited a room with a cleaning cart full of potions and fresh towels. She seemed startled to see a guest. Yasmin recalled her suspicion that, when possible, Dimitriou’s staff must be instructed to remain invisible.
“Pardon, miss,” the woman said, her edges blurring even as she apologized. “I didn’t know you were there.”
“Don’t smoke off on my account. I have a question I’d like to ask.”
“Yes, miss?” the djinniya said.
“This is embarrassing, but I don’t know where to eat breakfast.”
“Do you wish open service or just women?”
Yasmin hadn’t realized she had a choice. Open service meant men and women. Chances were this was the group Safiye was eating with. The mistresses were likelier to observe gender segregation. Safiye was expecting her, but the traditionalists’ women—being away from the gaze of men—might be freer in their gossip.
“The women-only service,” she decided. “I haven’t been awake long enough to face mixed company.”
Smiling slightly, the servant pointed her down the hall. “Past the main entry. Second set of doors on the right. There’s a bronze statue of Demeter before you get to it.”
Not only were the directions simple, but the double doors the maid had mentioned were propped open. A dark blue curtain protected breakfasters’ privacy. Rather than walk straight into an unknown situation, Yasmin paused outside to eavesdrop.
“I’m telling you he went to her,” one woman was insisting. “I saw him leave her room afterward. They’d been doing something absolutely. His face was flushed like a beet.”
“What time was this?”
“I don’t know. Half past two or thereabouts.”
“If it was half past two, he couldn’t have stayed long. The party didn’t break up much earlier.”
“What reason was there for him to stay? He doesn’t have the right equipment to accomplish anything worthwhile.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” a third woman laughed. “He looks as if he has clever hands, not to mention a pretty mouth.”
“Don’t remind me. It’s a crime for a man like that to be so good looking. Can you imagine the frustration?”
“Maybe she’ll take a second lover to fill the gaps, like our new kadin with her two partners. Apparently, that’s standard now for the royal set.”
This was said scornfully. Others hummed in agreement. Iksander hadn’t done his reputation any favors by sharing his human wife—not according to this crowd, at least.
“If the second man is Eamon,” the first female who’d spoken added, “she’ll have plenty of gaps left!”
Laughter met the joke, which gave Yasmin the chance to enter while pretending not to have heard what went before. That she and Joseph had been the topic of discussion was obvious.
With an extra forceful push of magic, she commanded her cheeks to cool.
“Good morning, ladies,” she said, lifting the dark curtain and ducking through. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”
A few of the six djinniya looked abashed.
“Please do,” said the elegant brunette at the table’s head. “We’re always happy for new faces. We were introduced last night, but I’m Antonina, in case you don’t recall.”
“Thank you,” Yasmin said in an equally polite tone. “I grew used to female company in the harem. It’s a pleasure to enjoy it again.” Her presence thus explained, she filled a plate and sat.
“I don’t see Tara,” she observed after a casual interval. “I hope she isn’t under the weather.”
“She went home,” Antonina informed her.
“Home!” Yasmin had assumed the blotchy, multi-colored woman was hiding in her room.
Antonina nodded, amenable to sharing this information. “Stefan’s housekeeper broke the news this morning. Tara’s trunks were already gone. Her personal maid must have packed like the wind. She only had the one servant. LaBass keeps her on tight purse strings. She’d probably have sold that emerald ring if she won.”
“She should have spent more time practicing,” another djinniya said. “If she had, her magic might not have gone awry.”
“Well,” Yasmin said, unaccountably uneasy. “That’s too bad. Did LaBass remain?”
“I doubt a hurricane would blow any of our men from this house, not as long as there’s business to discuss.”
“Mm,” Yasmin hummed around a nibble of buttered toast. Asking what business the men were here for seemed like pushing her luck—assuming the women even knew.
“Don’t get ideas because Tara’s gone,” one mistress warned. “We don’t approve of poaching here.”
Yasmin put down her toast in shock. “I promise you, I have no such intentions. Believe it or not, Joseph the Magician is man enough for me.”
She held the djinniya’s gaze, refusing to blink or blush. After a moment, her accuser looked away.
“Forgive me,” the woman mumbled, aware she’d been outflanked. “I shouldn’t have implied that.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” Yasmin agreed and picked up her toast again.
She told herself her satisfaction at defending Joseph wasn’t because she a crush on him. She’d defended herself as well. That was equally important.
Antonina, evidently, had earned her seat at the head of the table. When she spoke, it was as the group’s leader. “I’m sure we’re all fortunate in our circumstances. And in that spirit, why don’t I go over today’s schedule . . .”
~
The centerpiece of the schedule was a group excursion to Milion, whose quaint charm—so Dimitriou claimed—merited more than a flyover. He appeared later in the morning, having slept in and skipped breakfast. His host’s prerogative left him sparkly-eyed and brimming with energy.
Practically bouncing from high spirits, he joined his guests beneath the golden dome of the grand entryway.
“We’ll land in the square,” he said, “tour the shops, and finish up at the Temple of Demeter. The murals there are lovely, as good as any in the capital—not that I’ve always cared. For reasons I’m not at liberty to discuss, my interest in the structure has intensified recently.”
He grinned at Safiye, who he held cozily in the curve of his arm.
Though she didn’t comment, she smiled tolerantly, seeming not to mind his hint that the temple would be a good place to tie the knot. Yasmin couldn’t help worrying the time to turn Safiye back from accepting her suitor was running out.
Unaffected by such concerns, Dimitriou’s disembodied servants eased opened the huge front doors. In vapor form, they were nearly invisible, the only sign of their presence a slight shimmer in the air. This made an impressive visual by itself, but as the guests stepped into the sunshine, they gasped in amazement.
The whole estate twinkled, from pavers to flowers to towering palm fronds. The diamanté effect couldn’t be magic dust. Even Stefan wouldn’t be that extravagant.
“It’s from the dew,” he explained, laughing at their awe. “Every so often the mists deposit wild magic on everything.”
“It’s marvelous,” Safiye said, craning around to see. “I shouldn’t have doubted Yasmin when she said the In-Betweens could be beautiful.”
At the mention of Yasmin’s name, Stefan turned to her. His expression was pleasant and interested. “You’ve visited this area before?”
“Not this area precisely. When I was younger, I traveled to other towns near an edge. I confess I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Ah, yes,” Stefan said. “Because of your father’s work. How could I have forgotten? Still, I’m glad Milion takes pride of place for our special dews.”
“It has pride of place in many things,” Safiye complimented, lightly stroking the sapphire buttons above his heart.
He smiled into her eyes. “More things soon, I dare to hope.”
Yasmin pushed aside her annoyance at their romantic tone. Did it bother her that Stefan knew what her father did? Her relation to him wasn’t secret, and she and her father were—if not famous—at least in the public consciousness. Dimitriou might not even have had to research her. Then again, maybe it was his claiming to have forgotten who her father was that struck an off note with her.
I just don’t trust him, she thought.
Someone she did trust stepped quietly beside her.
Her pulse skittered in her veins. When she turned, she had to remind herself to breathe. She knew what Joseph’s tempting mouth felt like now.
“Good morning,” he said. His tone was cautious, his gaze searching hers for consequences of their awkward parting the previous night. Doubly glad for Safiye’s eye drops, she smiled at him. She didn’t mean to smile, exactly. Her lips simply curved that way.
“Good morning,” she said—also quietly but perhaps a bit warmer.
Joseph’s golden eyes sparked with heat. He leaned an inch closer. “It is a good morning if you’ve forgiven me.”
She wanted to say something tart, but her mouth had dried. She’d have kissed him in a second, no matter if he pushed her away again. What was wrong with her that he could resurrect her longing so easily? She couldn’t even look away. Her soul seemed to want to drink him in.
He must have guessed what she was feeling. Suddenly, he breathed faster too. “Yasmin,” he whispered.
He remembered himself too soon for her. He straightened and backed up a step. “People are choosing carpets. We should try to get seats on the same one. You know, because we’re a couple.”
Because they were pretending.
She took too long to respond. His eyes turned quizzical. Worried perhaps, he took her arm in a gentle hold. He slid his fingers down her sleeve until they twined with hers.
“Come on,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.
She followed his tug like a golem that had been charmed. No fool, Joseph chose a rug Eamon wasn’t on. They sat together in a corner, legs crossed, sides bumping, warm air coursing around them as they flew. Milion sparkled just like Dimitriou’s estate, coated with the same magic. From above, the town resembled a pretty toy for djinniya princesses.
She felt like a princess when they landed and Joseph helped her swing out. Shaking off the effect, she realized how opulent Dimitriou’s carpets were compared to their surroundings. Milion was a well-kept town, but its people weren’t made of money. They worked for their living. Stefan’s guests alighted on the grass of the central square like a flock of exotic birds: wealthy elite descending on peons.
Even the mistresses—who might have known better—didn’t try to act like they belonged to the same species.
Stefan flipped a golden coin to one of the djinn who’d come out to watch. “Keep an eye on our rugs,” he said, his manner still pleasant but not as personal.
Taking no offense that she could see, the man bowed agreeably. “Yes, Lord Dimitriou. Your vehicles will be safe here when you return.”
The drivers and guards would accompany them, she guessed.
Reminding herself she wasn’t here to start a revolt among the lower classes, she looked around curiously. She saw a silk seller and a bakeshop and a store for refreshing worn slippers. She wondered idly if the apothecary carried the brand of teeth cleaning disk she liked. The one she’d brought was due for a replacement.
Then she spotted the post office.
If anywhere in town had a signal booster, this was a good candidate. Plus, if she could somehow separate herself from the others, she might be able to glean useful intelligence.
She wasn’t aware her body language betrayed her interest until Joseph leaned closer. “Whatever you’re thinking: stop. Stay with the group and don’t attract attention. Let your snooping compulsion rest for once.”
It wasn’t a snooping compulsion, it was her job! She lowered her brows at him then decided he wasn’t worth arguing with.
“Stefan,” she said, raising her voice enough to be heard over the distance between them. “Do you know if the post office has a stabilizer? I’ve been having trouble getting a message to my brother.”
Dimitriou walked back to her with more keenness than she liked. “An urgent message?”
“No, no. Balu lives at home with our parents. He gets bored there sometimes. If I don’t keep in touch, he’ll feel neglected.”
“Ah, it’s nice you’re close. Families aren’t always. My parents died when I was a teenager. Looking back, I wish I hadn’t been so eager to cut my leading strings. I’d give anything to have them with me now.” His tone was rueful, his confession seemingly genuine. All the same, it slid into her mind that if his parents had been alive, he wouldn’t have been lord of a great estate.
“We don’t know what we have until we lose it,” she said gravely.
“You’re very wise,” he praised, though her statement had been banal.
She ordered herself not to look away from his warmly approving eyes.
“The stabilizer?” Joseph said, interrupting their moment.
“Ah, yes.” Stefan scratched his cheek. “The post office has one certainly. Just tell the clerk to charge your boost to my account.” Her question answered, he turned to her self-appointed protector. “Joseph, since you’re the sultan’s advisor on all things magical, I wonder if I might ask your opinion on a security system I’m thinking of installing . . .”
He led Joseph off by the arm, sparing Yasmin the bother of figuring out how to shake loose of his company. Before anyone else could think of joining her, she walked briskly to the small storefront.
Happily, her luck held. The establishment was empty but for a bored twentyish male clerk. A pile of magic dust, no doubt scraped up from outside, sat on the counter in front of him. He was sprinkling scintillating pinches onto postcards, thereby animating the scenes on them.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to buy one of these,” he said gloomily. “I’ve got, like, a zillion shots of the In-Betweens. Plus, for a little extra, I can project your image into them.”
“Perhaps once I’ve sent my message. I’m told you have a signal stabilizer. I’m hoping to reach the capital.”
“That’s no problem. You can use the curtained booth over there. You’re one of Lord D’s guests, aren’t you? He’ll want you on his tab. Just go in, and I’ll process everything.”
Though she didn’t like being in Stefan’s debt, it seemed awkward to refuse. Yasmin went into the presumably private booth. A small desk and chair supplied her a place to write. In case Stefan had more arrangements with the clerk than who paid for what, she composed an innocuous message to her brother.
HELLO, “BRO”! GOT YOUR RESPONSE TO MY PREVIOUS LETTER, BUT IT ARRIVED GARBLED. AM USING BOOSTER AT MILION PUBLIC POST OFFICE FOR THIS ONE. IF YOU ABSOLUTELY NEED TO REACH ME, SEND INFO TO THIS ADDRESS. KISSES AND HUGS. DON’T DRIVE THE “’RENTS” CRAZY.
MUCH LOVE, YASMIN.
Satisfied Balu would understand they couldn’t communicate openly, she pushed the folded note into the slot marked ‘SEND.’ A burst of enchanted flame dematerialized the paper. If the operation went as intended, her words would show up on Balu’s scroll in seconds.
“Goddess willing,” she murmured, in case divine aid would help.
Deciding a little primping also couldn’t hurt, she smoothed her head scarf, pinched her cheeks, and went out again.
“All good?” asked the clerk, glancing up at her.
She flashed her most brilliant smile. “Thank you, yes, and I will take one of those of postcards now. They looked adorable.”
The process of inserting her image into a shot entailed more friendliness. The young clerk was nearly cheerful by the time she paid for the souvenir. As she’d guessed, the animated postcards were his personal side business. He made her coin disappear into his sash pocket.
“You don’t need to come back to mail that,” he said. “It’s pre-charged. Just write the address and say a prayer.”
Yasmin nodded that she understood. “You must see all the goings on in the square from here. Do you know what happened to the market stall that showed up the other day? We were with Lord Dimitriou when the news arrived. I confess the story made me terribly curious.”
“My theory is dragons are behind it,” the young man said.
This seemed unlikely but not impossible. “Dragons?”
“Absolutely.” The young man rested his elbows on the counter. “Mist dragons might swallow something down thinking it’s good to eat, then spit it out on our shore. Or maybe the myth that we have a Nessie is true. If we could prove it, that’d bring the tourists out here for sure.”
“A Nessie would be exciting,” she agreed. “What about the booth itself? Is anyone investigating it for clues to its origins?”
“I wish. It’s locked up underneath the assembly hall until Lord D sorts out ownership. As if a person will come forward to claim it.”
He shook his head at that ridiculous idea.
“That’s too bad,” Yasmin said. She restrained herself from asking where the hall was. If this town was like most, it would be on the square. In truth, she’d already seen a building she thought was a contender.
“No imagination,” the clerk was grousing. “That’s the problem with most djinn.”
She left the young man as she’d found him, resuming his gloominess. She, by contrast, was energized. She had a lead to follow! Before Stefan or his group could spot her, she hurried down a side street into the shadow of a few rubbish bins.
Changing into her cat form was child’s play. She closed her eyes to focus, mentally recited her usual prayer, then visualized the scraggly black-and-white feline she’d turned into countless times. A heartbeat later, she padded forward on silent paws. Her crooked tail and whiskers felt as much a part of her as her djinn nose or feet—more a part, in some ways. She was free as a cat. No need to follow rules. No need to cover up . . . or wish she were able to. All those silly internal conflicts dissolved. She was her truest self, her own spirit animal.
She trotted toward the square with jubilation in her soul.
A loosened grate provided entry into the assembly hall’s cellar. The vent’s other end was a six-foot drop onto a cement floor. Since she was used to maneuvering as a cat, after a moment’s fright she landed almost as lightly as a real one. A shake and a couple sneezes cleared her of dust and dirt. Sensing no one else on the basement level, she slinked forward to explore.
Conveniently, the first storage room she tried held a promising shape under a large dropcloth.
Unwilling to take too long and risk being missed, she changed back to two-legged form. Hands were better than paws for things like this. Pulling back the canvas revealed she had indeed found the mystery stall. With her heart beating faster, she spelled on a light and entered the small structure.
The unclaimed merchandise still sat on the wooden shelves. Skillfully embroidered sheets drew her fingers up to stroke. The stitching she found there caused her to start. The wavy cloud pattern on the trim matched the linens in Stefan’s house. What were the odds that a booth coughed randomly from the mists stocked the same bedclothes? The pattern was distinctive. Yasmin, at least, had never seen it outside Milion.
“Huh,” she said, unable to decide what this meant.
She bent down to rummage further. Before her father’s invention made their family’s fortune, Yasmin’s mother had run a market stall. She’d sold pre-charged crib mobiles that played lullabies. As a girl, Yasmin often went to work with her. She recalled her mother having a secret hiding place for possessions she didn’t want on her all the time: her purse or a story scroll to keep Yasmin occupied.
“Ah-hah,” she said, spotting a concealment spell under the counter.
Yasmin had a knack for untangling other people’s magic. A minute cracked the protection, revealing a small flat drawer. Inside, she found not belongings but the missing owner’s license to run the stall. She pulled it out and smoothed it on the counter.
The parchment sheet included the vendor’s picture. The djinniya didn’t look more than thirty. She had a narrow serious face, dark straight hair that fell past her shoulders, and soft green eyes. A moment later, Yasmin gasped in surprise. As part of preparing for this job, she’d loaded a Milion walking map on her scroll. The vendor license listed a residential address two blocks from where she stood. If this paperwork was accurate, the In-Betweens couldn’t have spit out the booth as alleged. The booth belonged here. Ivy Ozil—a local—had set it up on the square once a week for the last two years.
“How can this be?” she murmured. “The people here are your neighbors. They wouldn’t forget you.”
She shivered as another question occurred to her. If Ivy Ozil were alive, why hadn’t she come forward to claim her stuff?
Yasmin needed to check out the address. Yes, the booth’s connection to Dimitriou was slim. It was, however, there. She didn’t believe in coincidences. This discovery mattered.
“Hey,” said a harsh male voice. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”
She spun around to see who’d crept up on her. One of the Milion guards blocked the exit. She’d know that bright blue uniform anywhere.
Damn it, she thought. You should have prepared a story. As to that, she should have been paying more attention.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as sincerely as she could. “I’m one of Lord D’s guests. I couldn’t resist trying to solve the mystery.” She waved toward the bedding booth. “It’s the market stall, the one that mysteriously showed up the other day. I was looking for clues to its origin.”
Every word of this was true, a circumstance she hoped sounded in her voice. Disappointingly, the guard glowered harder. Despite her pounding heart, Yasmin attempted to keep her wits. The vendor’s license lay on the counter in plain view, but the guard seemed not to have noticed it. Whatever happened, she wanted to preserve that evidence. Inspired by the postal clerk’s handling of her coin, she spelled the parchment, folded, into the secret pocket in her waist sash. However suspicious the guard might be, he was unlikely to frisk a female of her status.
“Truly,” she said to her challenger. “I meant no harm.”
The guard wasn’t buying her meek manner. “You day trippers are all the same. You think you can smile and spin some story, and we simple villagers will bend over to please you.” He snorted and shook his head. “You can tell your tale to Lord Dimitriou after I report you for trespassing.”
Damn, she thought and promptly scrapped the idea of offering the guard a bribe. That, she decided, would just make him angrier.
~
Perhaps it was a failure of courage, but Yasmin didn’t rejoin Stefan’s village tour. Instead, she returned to his house alone, paced her suite in agitation, and read the vendor’s license a couple thousand additional times. No matter how finely she parsed the words, they didn’t prove anything solid.
A maid arrived at her door an hour before dinner. The ‘master’ had returned. He wanted to speak to her.
Hold yourself together, Yasmin ordered. Take your medicine, but don’t give the game away. Like any highborn male, Stefan would expect deference. She knew how to offer that—or at least its semblance. She had a lifetime of practice.
The maid led her to Dimitriou’s private office, which was located beneath the smallest of the estate’s three domes. Polished copper sheathed its high ribbed ceiling, the color a complement to the tufted aqua velvet that clad the curving walls. Stefan sat behind a large antique desk, his caramel brown hair tied back, his head bent over paperwork. A device she believed was a replica of a human phone, rotary style, gleamed black beside his elbow. Wires connected it to a port in the wall. She shook off her distraction over this oddity. Stefan was giving out the impression of a busy, important man—almost too busy and important to spend his time scolding her.
The posturing amused her. Calmed by that, she waited for him to look up. The instant he did, she realized relaxing even a smidgen was premature.
The easy charm she’d grown used to was nowhere in evidence. His face was colder than any person’s she’d ever seen. Djinn were fiery creatures, naturally passionate. Stefan’s features resembled carved alabaster more than warm flesh. His eyes were alive but icy and glittering. Their hue matched the pale blue-green walls. Though this implied vanity, and theoretically could have amused her too, his chill regard made it hard to swallow.
Her anxiety didn’t lessen as he leaned back in his tall chair.
“You’ve been poking into matters that don’t concern you,” he said coolly.
“I’m afraid I have,” she admitted, having no trouble whatsoever hanging her head. “I have no excuse except an overabundance of curiosity. I’ve never been able to resist a good puzzle.”
“You’re a grown woman. You can resist anything you choose.”
“You’re correct, of course. I can only throw myself on your mercy.” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, as any female might.
His expression didn’t change. He placed his hands on the desk, spread his fingers, and sat straighter. He looked like a judge about to pronounce a sentence. She prepared herself to hear a verdict.
“You must face a consequence,” he said. “Or you won’t learn your lesson. I want you to sit out tonight’s entertainment. I’ll have dinner sent to your room. You can think about what you’ve done.”
She could think about what she’d done? As if she were six years old? Stefan wasn’t her father or her husband or anything but her host. By gender arrogance alone, he claimed authority over her. Too astonished to hold the reaction back, her jaw dropped as if weights were attached to it. If this was how he treated women, Yasmin’s client definitely shouldn’t marry him!
A glimmer of . . . something flared in the depths of Dimitriou’s aloof eyes. Maybe it was amusement. Or satisfaction. She couldn’t tell. Whatever the pleasurable feeling, it seemed intended for him alone to enjoy.
“Do you have a problem with my decision?” he asked calmly.
“No,” she said, shaking herself back to respectfulness. “I’m certain it’s precisely what I deserve.”