CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SIX HOURS LATER, WE started our descent into Riyadh, the capital city of the Republic of Arabian Emirates, more simply known as Arabia. Backed by Petrosian’s implications, the stories my father had told me about the rebirth of the great nation didn’t seem as bathed in ignorant superstition as I’d once thought.

Petrosian dipped a wing and banked port side. As the nose of the plane pointed south, I saw the fringe of the Rub’ al Khali in person for the first time. Sand. Roiling thunderheads of sand. Billows of sand rolled over the top of each other, belching more sand nearly a mile high. The never-ending storm of sand lived as a monster prowling the edge of civilization, waiting to consume anyone stupid enough to enter. It was no wonder the locals perceived it as a portal to the dimension of the jinn.

Completing the 180-degree bank, Petrosian clicked on the radio. He spoke in an Arabic accent slightly alien to the one I’d learned as a child. “As-salamu alaykum. Theya Jinn Hariq, alayhi s-salām.”

It was a slight variant of a common greeting, “peace be upon you,” with the addition of a blessing on the warrior jinn and lord of the Rub’ al Khali, Jinn Hariq. Outside Arabia, Hariq was known as the desert god. As a boy, I’d known him as the nightmare man with red eyes. Now I knew him simply as Oleg Rodchenko, the bastard I’d come here to kill.

After a few seconds’ pause, a voice cut through the radio’s static. “Wa alaikum assalam wa rahmatu Allah.”

Petrosian switched to English. “Charter Bravo 1386 requesting permission to land.”

“Bravo 1386, permission granted. Continue on current vector toward pad Echo 8.”

“Echo 8, copy. Bravo 1386 out.”

I sat up straight, cracking my back and neck. “That was easy.”

“Hell, they knew who I was miles back—a benefit of flying a one-of-a-kind bird. At least, it’s a benefit as long as we’re welcome.”

“The city is beautiful.” Evie pressed her face to the window.

“A modern garden in the desert. Man and nature in a violent dance.” Petrosian punched up our speed. “Enjoy it while you can.”

We swooped toward a small airport nestled in what looked like a commercial district on the southern side of the dense metropolis blooming from the rocks and sand.

“What do you mean?” Evie asked.

“Even if the twitch doesn’t swallow the place, drought will.”

“After all these years?”

“Water table’s dropping faster than the government can desalinate the gulf and pump water inland. The locals say the desert has gotten thirstier than ever.”

“Maybe Oleg’s tired of the company.” I attempted to stretch my legs without unbuckling.

Petrosian grunted in response.

Evie kept her face glued to the small window. “Still, it’s so clean and new.”

“That’s the side she shows the tourists.” Petrosian slowed our forward momentum, shifting to the yaw controls. “Don’t get me wrong—Riyadh’s plenty wealthy, one of the four Arabian cities maintained completely by the federal government. She’s the political capital and showpiece to the world. But we’ll be spending our limited time here tickling her underbelly.”

“Mingling with the locals.” I tried to contribute.

“Outsiders don’t mingle. They mind their own damn business, which is exactly what we’re gonna do.” Petrosian punched a few buttons and flipped some switches as the tiltrotor converted fully to hover mode. “Don’t forget we’re here to kill a being with damn near supernatural powers who is considered a national hero and guardian of true Islam—a direct descendant of the first jinn converted to the faith by Muhammad himself, anointed and sent directly from Allah to restore the human Arabic world.”

He paused for breath. “If we succeed, we’ll be less popular than a leper in a Turkish bath.”

“Understood. No time for sightseeing.”

“It’s a shame though,” Evie sighed. “Maybe we could Superman and Lois over here sometime after all this is over.”

“Honey, I’m not sure it works like that.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Cut the blabberty-racket. Looks like we’ve got a landing party. Friends, I hope?” Petrosian set the craft down square in the middle of a landing pad surrounded by hangars.

Off our starboard, I spotted a familiar humvee. Several rigid individuals dressed in Arabic garb leaned against it. They couldn’t disguise the fact they were soldiers. Sitting on the hood, a familiar and well-met redhead waved with one hand while holding her torrent of hair in check with the other. Adelaide Love. “That’s our military escort.”

“Military escort? Allah as my witness, son, have I not made our situation clear?”

“Punch it down a notch, Grish. They’re special ops, trained specifically to face down Oleg and his twitchers.”

“Oh, well, pardon my geriatric gesticulations. So you’re suggesting we ride into the desert god’s courtyard not only with needles bristled, but also with Texicas’s finest?”

I stood. “Yes.”

“In that case, get out. I’m going home.”

Evie took my hand. “But, Uncle Grisha—”

“Don’t Uncle Grisha me. Oleg’ll smell these clowns playing dime store dress up the moment they step off the runway. Look, I’m not saying I have a lot to live for, not after yesterday.” He shook his head. “But I don’t wanna go out in an orgy of blood foam either.”

I clutched Evie to my side. “Can we at least discuss this on the ground?”

Petrosian blocked the hatch. “I thought you were going to do some sort of mind meld or something. You were supposed to have a real plan, not these . . .” he flailed his hands wildly, searching for escalating insults and coming up short.

I couldn’t take it anymore. Opening the hatch telekinetically, I propelled Petrosian through it. Gargling with rage and clutching for me, he swooped outward into the blinding midday light.

“Dad, don’t be a control freak. Don’t you think we should listen to him?”

I put Petrosian down gently and held him in place with my mind. “Don’t start with me, Evelyn. This is as much about keeping you safe as it is about me being in control.”

“I’m glad to know you’re being mature about me coming along.”

“Mature?” I pointed southward across the desert, toward the menacing monster of the Rub’ al Khali. “Uncle Grisha thinks the smartest thing to do is march off into that, just the three of us.” I ground my teeth. “If it were me and him, fine. He’s tired of life, and I know what I’m here to do.”

“But not your poor, defenseless daughter.”

“Damn right.” I was breathing heavily.

She glared at me, shaking her head. “You’re still planning on sending me home, aren’t you?”

“We’ll discuss this later.” Without bothering to unfurl the ladder, I set us down next to Petrosian.

Evie immediately pushed away from me.

The old man attempted to kill me with his bushy, gray eyebrows.

I stared back, my hand on his shoulder. I hadn’t come to compete for Mr. Congeniality, and it was his fault Evie and the rest were here in the first place. “Don’t you worry, Grish. I’ll mind meld with Oleg eventually. In the meantime, I gotta have someone to look after you and Evie.”

His neck veins bulged until it looked as though his eyes would pop.

“Buck! You still know how to make an entrance.” Adel sauntered toward us. The rest of the unit hadn’t moved. “Am I to assume this is the venerable Dr. Petrosian?”

I released Petrosian from my mental grip, watching to see if he’d attempt to tear my head off.

Instead, he smiled. “Call me Uncle Grish. I’ve shaved death my fair share, but venerable is for nobility, not cracked pots such as myself.”

Adel stuck out her hand. “Noble and ignoble, every vessel’s got a purpose.”

Petrosian bowed, kissing the back of her hand. “Well said, Miss . . .”

“Love, but you can call me Adel.”

He dropped her hand. I took the opportunity to wrap her in a hug. As I set her down, Petrosian turned to face the Rub’ al Khali.

He sighed. “Swell. An old man, a girl, a twitcher, and a guardian. This should be fun.”