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CAUGHT
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“Hey, Ishmael,” Georgie said, placing a bushel of freshly picked orchard apples on the library’s round table. “These are for you. Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t get here till after work.”
Ishmael didn’t answer, but that didn’t worry her. Probably he was asleep on his favorite shelf. Over the years, her and the imp’s interactions had gotten casual. He didn’t hover when she read anymore—or reshelve books he thought weren’t appropriate. If Georgie could find a volume behind the library’s magical protections, he let her study it.
Tonight, she regretted the lack of a standard card catalog. Researching her latest weird-ass encounter would have been easier with one. Resigned to winging it, she stepped into the alcove that housed the camouflaged supernatural tomes.
She put her hands on her hips. “Listen up, Actual Library. I want information on Iksander and Najat’s romance, the most up-to-date you’ve got. I’ve noticed you’ve grown lackadaisical about my cursing, so I brought a new motivator.” She drew an implement from her back pocket and displayed it to the shelves. “This is a ruler from St. Andrew’s Catholic School, which my company salvaged. Genuine nuns rapped children’s knuckles with it for years. If you don’t show me what I’m looking for, I’ll wallop every speck of dust from every supposed edition of Trollope.”
Her threat proved effective. She’d barely drawn back to swing when a scroll she’d never seen on the shelf before edged out between two novels and dropped to the carpet.
“Damn you very much,” Georgie said, since thanking the library sometimes had undesirable results.
Curious, she picked up the fallen parchment and took it to a wingchair to read.
Unrolling it revealed a new-to-her publication. DAILY DEMON MIRROR was emblazoned on the masthead. The date didn’t translate, and some of the photos showed extremely strange creatures. Other than that, the paper resembled the gossipy tabloids grocery stores stocked in checkout lanes.
The largest headline was the one that interested her.
SULTAN LOSES SPOUSE. EMPRESS OFFERS MARRIAGE.
* * *
EVIDENTLY, THE RULER of the Glorious City doesn’t have a glorious life anymore. Following her banishment for adultery, Sultan Iksander’s no longer spotless wife has been murdered. Reports from well-positioned sources indicate Najat’s death was both painful and terrifying. Person or persons unknown but most likely an agent of a—shall we say—nocturnal monarch held the kadin’s face in a basin of distilled seawater, resulting in her skin blistering so badly that it boiled off her skull. (Note: For an additional fee, artists’ renderings are available behind the paywall.)
As MIRROR readers will recall, the comely sultan responded to his wife’s betrayal by shagging not only his neglected harem but also numerous lowborn females in his smoke form. While free ifrit like ourselves laud erotic license, practices of this sort are unheard of among light djinn—and scandalous for the upper ranks. Reports claim the sultan left his partners supremely pleasured, though he never sampled them more than once. This reporter has to wonder if his unnaturally monogamous marriage left him starved for variety!
Rumors that a certain silver-haired enchantress vied for and failed to receive a longer dalliance suggest she perpetrated Najat’s delectably macabre demise. Regrettably, evidence of the beauteous monarch turning dark—as she certainly would if guilty—is inconclusive.
That question aside, we can confirm Empress Luna sent a delegation to the sultan demanding he marry her. We have no word yet on his response, but will update loyal subscribers the instant events unfold. (To sign up for push notifications to personal scrolls, click HERE!)
* * *
GOOD LORD, Georgie thought as she finished the disturbing article. The picture that accompanied it—and over which the headline was printed—showed Najat and the sultan in happier days. It appeared to be a paparazzo photo of the pair feeding each other sweets in a breathtakingly lush garden. Surrounded by walls they must have thought shielded them from prying, they sat on a blanket laughing, their gazes reserved completely for each other.
The sultan was indeed strikingly good-looking. His thick hair was long and golden, his expressive eyes so intensely green the color nearly jumped off the page. The nobility of his features made it seem he’d been born to rule. His mouth was full and sensual—self-indulgent, Georgie thought.
“Bastard,” she muttered, remembering the tears Najat shed for him.
She flipped the scroll to its other side, but the story didn’t continue. Would Ishmael know more about it? Maybe she should consult him before she tried to bully the shelves again.
Lost in thought, she rose absentmindedly. Empress Luna sounded like a dangerous character. Georgie remembered reading about her on her first research trip, under the M is for Moon Ruler listing in a kid’s book. She was glad the monarch lived on the djinn side of their two dimensions.
Georgie’s reality didn’t need any more murderous tyrants.
“Ishmael,” she said as she came around the alcove’s book-lined wall. “Where can I find—”
She bumped into something blue and hard. Her breath sucked in as she realized it was a person . . . or a sort of person, anyway. A five-foot-tall, cobalt blue, lizard-skinned being was staring straight at her, and not looking pleased at all. Vertical black pupils pulsed at her from deeply scarlet eyes. The fact that the being was slightly shorter than her didn’t lessen her fear response. Her face went cold as blood drained from it.
Considering how cute Ishmael was, she sometimes forgot he was a demon. With this creature, that association was impossible to ignore.
Though her vocal chords longed to emit a shriek, she decided hiding her terror might be a wiser course. She took what she hoped was a composed step back.
“Um,” she said. “Pardon me for not watching where I was going. You must be a friend of Ishmael’s.”
The being’s scaly brow ridges rose. “I am not a friend of the imp, I am his superior. More to the point, you’re not supposed to be here.”
“Well, I live here,” she said, calming slightly since she wasn’t being outright attacked. “Or I did until recently. I’m the owner’s ward, Georgie.”
“I know who you are,” the being returned coolly.
“Then you know I’m allowed in here.”
“You’re not allowed this,” the being snapped, snatching the scroll from her. “You shouldn’t have been able to find it.”
“Ah, that.” Georgie wondered if she could avoid getting Ishmael into trouble. “I, uh, seem to have an accidental knack for magical cursing.”
The lizard man began to splutter in a language she didn’t understand. Was he cursing her or simply too angry to use English? Just in case, she wrapped one hand over her arm tattoo. Hidden under the rainforest scene was an elaborate protective symbol—an eight-pointed Solomon seal with various angel names scattered among the star’s sections. She’d only invoked it a couple times before. Its effect wasn’t dramatic; mostly it just steered trouble away from her or vice versa.
To her surprise, the lizard man noticed she’d activated it.
“Stop that,” he ordered. “I haven’t done one thing to injure you.”
“Nor I you,” she returned, dropping her palm but not shutting off the protection.
The blue lizard man glared at her furiously.
Their argument must have woken Ishmael. Georgie spotted a familiar gray-white blur. When it stilled, the imp groveled facedown on the carpet. Perhaps to protect them, he pulled his batwings close.
“Captain Taytoch, sir,” he said from his small tucked ball. “Please don’t harm the human female. Her ability to access the private collection is my fault.”
Captain Taytoch shocked her even more by dropkicking the defenseless gargoyle across the room. Ishmael sailed like a stone football, not even trying to spread his wings to slow his velocity. Georgie wondered if attempting to save himself would have caused more offense.
“Do you think I hadn’t guessed that?” Taytoch roared. “You slothful apple-eating cretin! I posted you here as punishment for your last screw-up. You were supposed to learn your lesson, not let this human run amok.”
Having thudded off the floor, Ishmael immediately genuflected again. Impressively, at least to Georgie, his little round glasses remained in place. “She only has a smidgen of magic, sir. And she’s not a bad person. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“You didn’t think I’d mind?” Actual sparks sizzled from Taytoch’s blood red eyes. He stalked to where Ishmael landed and raised his hand to strike.
“Stop!” Georgie ordered, her voice coming out deeper than she expected. Her tattooed arm was hot, as if the protective seal were more alive than before. “In the name of God, I command you not to harm Ishmael.”
Taytoch lowered his arm and goggled at her in amazement.
Georgie was amazed herself. Getting books to show themselves was the most impressive spell she’d done till then.
“Sorry, sir,” Ishmael said, genuinely sounding as if he were. Apparently no longer seeing the need to cower, he unrolled and stood on his feet. He brushed a bit of oriental carpet fiber from one shoulder. “I didn’t know the human could do that. Or that you’d discovered a means to escape your holding cell.”
“As if that excuses you,” Taytoch said. “In any case, you know I always find a way.”
“Of course you do,” Ishmael agreed. “It is one of the multitudinous reasons we of your crew feel honored to follow you.”
Taytoch hmphed and crossed his arms as he considered his underling. “This is not good.”
“It could be an opportunity,” Ishmael suggested.
He and his superior exchanged private messages with their eyes.
“Perhaps,” Taytoch agreed after a pause.
Georgie found their conversation disquieting. “Exactly how many do you mean by ‘crew’?”
Taytoch opened his lipless mouth, but Ishmael answered first. “Only a few have been cursed to remain in this residence. Once we finish our sentence, we’ll return home. Until then, we make the best of our servitude that we can.”
Taytoch uncrossed his arms and nodded. “The imp speaks true,” he said gruffly. “I’m sure he didn’t mention the others because he didn’t wish you to grow alarmed. Clearly, he . . . appreciates your visits.”
His answer seemed honest but maybe incomplete.
“What about my guardian?” Georgie asked.
“Your guardian?” Taytoch returned.
“Alma West isn’t in on of this woo-woo stuff. I don’t want you ifrit guys—however many were cursed to stay in the house—pranking or scaring her.”
Georgie appeared to have struck Taytoch speechless.
“Oh she’s good,” Ishmael murmured.
“Very good,” his captain agreed.
Did they mean her? Georgie was pretty sure her spelling skills were half-assed at best. Still, it might be more strategic not to share that aloud.
“I’m serious,” she said. “You leave Alma and any other human at Ravenwings out of your little games. I don’t want to have to come back and curse you worse.”
Taytoch broke into a slow but surprisingly sweet smile. She barely noticed his teeth were pointed like a piranha’s.
“Fair human,” he said in a courtly tone. “You are a beacon of compassion in a dark dungeon. I solemnly swear on behalf of myself and my crew that none among us shall harm the human female named Alma West . . . or any other human who ventures here.”
“Or my cat,” she added.
“Or your cat,” he agreed, inclining his head nobly.
“Okay then,” she said, still unsettled but sensing he was sincere. “I, uh, guess it’s been nice to meet you. I’ll come back some other time to catch up with Ishmael.”
She turned to leave, but Captain Taytoch wasn’t quite done with her.
“The pleasure was entirely ours,” he crooned.
Georgie hoped the demon didn’t notice that his silky politeness sent a shudder down her spine.