The next morning, I found Teag in the break room and a half-empty pot of coffee.
“Is coming in early a new habit? Is Anthony okay?”
Teag put his mug down and blinked at me as if the caffeine hadn’t helped to wake him. “Anthony’s fine. The mama drama got settled, the marina agreed to rearrange the tables, and he had to start early again today. Probably run late too. So here I am.”
I put my things in the office, poured a cup of coffee, and went to join him at the table. “Find anything good?”
He took a long drink from his cup, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I cross-referenced a bunch of things, and I might have come up with a partial list of the djinn’s recent victims. Two people had large lottery winnings. One got a huge legal settlement. A guy went from middle manager to CEO. A few others won awards, got unusually large promotions, or a bestselling first book.”
“How did you link them to the djinn and not just a fluke of luck?” I went to stand behind him, staring over his shoulder at the screen.
“Once I found the people in the news, I made up a reason to call them on the pretext of a possible credit breach and confirmed they had all bought ‘textile art’ from that same defunct gallery.” Teag looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.
“Clever. Possibly illegal, but still clever.”
“That eliminated the people who were just unusually lucky,” he continued. “I gave the others a line about possible forgeries and got their addresses, leaving the door open for us to ‘confirm authenticity’ and get the tapestries away from them.”
“Good move. What now?”
Teag yawned and stretched. “I need sugar.” He reached into a bag from a local donut shop, something he must have picked up on the way.
“Is that maple bacon?” I inhaled the scent.
“It absolutely is—and there’s one in there for you because I’m an awesome best friend.”
I hugged him. “You totally are. Thank you for indulging my need for a sugar rush.” I realized I hadn’t asked Teag a question that had been on my mind.
“Why tapestries? Why not paintings or carvings or some other kind of art?” I asked through a mouthful of donut. We’ve run into bad magic attached to artwork, jewelry, and other possessions, and I wondered why the djinn preferred a certain type of object.
Teag considered for a moment before answering. “I believe that all original art retains some resonance from the artist. Weaving is a very hands-on creation and one that has always been linked with magic. The work lends itself to making spells part of the fabric, and additional words of power can easily be blind stitched as well.”
“Back in the day, tapestries were huge and lined the walls of castles. Do you think djinn used them to feed?” I reconsidered what I knew of history. I also remembered the evil Weaver Sorren had mentioned and figured it probably made sense for the djinn to stick to wall hangings.
“Some tapestries, probably. A lot of them depicted battles or uprisings, which would be like an all-you-can-eat buffet for a djinn,” he replied.
I thought about that and how there never seemed to be a time without a war or natural disaster going on somewhere. “If djinn can cause wars, why bother with petty domestic drama like at the Grantham house?”
“From the legends I’ve found, not all djinn are super powerful, even if they are relatively immortal. There’s a lot of debate over whether djinn were all created when the world was new or if some come into being now and then if the conditions are right.” Teag made a face. “Unfortunately, the old stories don’t agree on how that works, and I’m pretty sure some of the poets just made things up.”
“I was thinking about what I said yesterday about people showing their ‘true colors,’” I paused to sip my coffee. “People’s wishes and what they’re willing to pay for them fall into that too. If someone wants money and power or status more than anything else, that’s what’s really important to them, even if they put on a good front.”
Teag nodded. “And while I think anyone can be seduced with the right offer in a moment of weakness, djinn can’t save lives or bring people back from the dead, which cuts out a lot of desperate people. I’m betting that if someone who had a chronic illness wished for health, the djinn would only keep the disease at bay for a while, not actually heal them.”
“Which is why they’re regarded as a type of demon, because they don’t actually help people, and pretending is cruel.”
“If the djinn has been in Charleston for long, it’s probably aware of Sorren and the Alliance,” Teag speculated. “The Alliance doesn’t usually get involved if it’s someone making bad personal decisions unless it has the potential for causing large-scale harm. So the djinn might have been able to co-exist. But maybe it’s powered up somehow or gotten ambitious.”
“Or with the Granthams gone, the djinn and Shaw have a new game plan,” I pointed out.
“Rowan and her coven keep a close eye on what the other witches are doing after that dust-up a while back,” Teag said.
Covens jockeying for power and practitioners with lesser magics who were excluded from covens got into a big confrontation over who controlled magic in Charleston and whose magic counted. I’d thought they had worked out their differences since they didn’t end up burning down the city.
“I’ll talk to Rowan,” I volunteered.
“Thanks. I’ll keep digging to see who else might have a djinn-tainted tapestry, and then we can figure out what to do about it,” Teag said.
I heard the front bell chime, so I knew Maggie had arrived. “I’ll go help Maggie open, and then Alistair at the museum asked me to see their new display. You’ll never guess what it’s about.”
“Tapestries?” Teag asked with a laugh.
“Got it in one. And not just any tapestry. The Apocalypse Tapestry.”
He frowned. “I thought that was in a castle or a cathedral in Europe.”
“It is, and the missing panels are secured with the Briggs Society. But this is a multi-media, immersive, interactive projection display that makes you feel like you’re in the tapestry’s world,” I quoted from the advertisement.
“So it’s fancy pictures of the piece but not the real thing?”
“Yep. There’ve been a couple of traveling exhibits like that for art by Monet and Van Gogh. I didn’t go to those, but the reviews were good, and people seemed to enjoy them.” This job makes free time scarce, and when I’m not saving a corner of the world, I really love just being home with my boyfriend and dog.
“Be careful,” Teag said. “You’re warded here, and in the car and at home, but out in public, anything can happen.”
“I promise,” I told him. “While I’m there, I’ll ask Alistair if he knows about privately owned tapestries in town.”
Up front, I helped Maggie take jewelry out of the regular safe—not the one we used for cursed items—and freshen the displays. Once that was done, I headed over to the Lowcountry Museum.
I greeted the receptionist, who recognized me and waved me through. “Mr. McKinnon said to send you back. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
I thanked her and walked farther into the museum’s lobby, taking in the posters for upcoming exhibits and lectures. Museums have always been one of my happy places, along with libraries. It feels like anything could happen when I’m surrounded by books or historical objects. Of course with my touch magic, I have to be careful. I learned that the hard way when I got whammied by an exhibit and passed out.
Fortunately, it’s been a long time since that happened, and I’ve gotten better control—most of the time.
“Cassidy! Thank you for coming!” Alistair greeted me while we were still half a lobby apart. He looked like he was picked by Hollywood casting to be a museum curator—early sixties, white hair, trim build, and a wardrobe of seersucker for summer or tweed for winter. “I can’t wait to show you the new display!”
“And I can’t wait to see it,” I told him with honest enthusiasm. I’ve helped Alistair out more than once when an object on exhibit carried a curse or a ghost. Since the touring display wasn’t the actual tapestry, I hoped this would just be a fun outing.
“Have you ever heard of The Apocalypse Tapestry?” he asked as we walked together. I remembered what Sorren had told me and gave a condensed version, leaving out the part where he remembered the piece from back in the 1400s when he was still mortal.
“Very good! We can skip all the signs then,” Alistair congratulated me. He gets almost giddy when they get a new installation, and his enthusiasm is contagious. “Then let’s get right to the dishy stuff. There are nineteen missing panels out of ninety, and all sorts of legends about what happened to them.”
“Oh?” I tried to look innocent since I knew where they had been stashed on magical lockdown.
“Some say they were carried off during the Black Plague, or taken during the Crusades, or looted by one cash-strapped noble or another,” he confided. “Of course, those are the plausible explanations. The more fantastical ones are even more intriguing.”
“Oh, yeah? Fill me in.” I loved stoking Alistair’s excitement about the displays. He lights up like a kid on Christmas, and I appreciate anyone who is passionate about their favorite subject.
“Of course, none of these can be proven,” he said. “But they make great stories. One version says that the missing panels pleased the Devil so much he took them to hell to hang in his throne room.”
“Interesting. I hope it’s climate-controlled so they don’t burn up,” I joked.
“Good point! Another story says that a group of warrior monks stole the missing panels because they were cursed and hid them in a blessed dungeon so they wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
My smile froze, and I wondered if the St. Expeditus Society might have been involved. After all, somehow those panels went missing and were spirited away to the Briggs Society.
“Monks or the Devil. Plenty of imagination on display.” I hoped I sounded off-handed. “What else?”
“They get wilder,” he warned. “Some say Vlad Tepas—the Impaler of Dracula fame—wanted them, or the Marquis de Sade, or Madame Bathory.”
I knew all the infamous names and didn’t doubt they would have coveted the dark magic of the tapestries. “What do you think?”
Alistair sighed. “My realist side wars with my inner romantic. Other much less sexy accounts say that during hard times, some of the less popular or darker-themed panels were used for floor coverings or horse blankets. There’s probably some truth to that.”
I wouldn’t have wanted to be around the dark panels, but I hated to hear of artwork being destroyed without good cause. If a panel could be used as a horse blanket, it didn’t seem all that evil to me.
Before I could comment, Alistair stopped in front of the entrance to the exhibit. “This is the first time we’ve used the new projection technology, and I’m honestly blown away by the possibilities,” he gushed.
“It’s what they use to do those fantastic light displays on the castle at Disney World.” His eyes went wide with wonder. “The computers map the walls or building, and then ‘wrap’ the images around it. The details and textures are mind-blowing. Come on—you need to see for yourself.”
I followed him into the museum’s largest exhibit hall and stopped. My mind knew that it was four bare walls, but my eyes saw the vibrant colors and fanciful images of the famous medieval tapestry all around me.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Alistair murmured next to me. The room had benches scattered throughout the area so people could sit and appreciate the grand scale and intricate details—or maybe gather their wits after being assailed by dragons, monsters, and battles. A few patrons sat, taking in the display.
“The walls aren’t completely flat,” he confided. “There are three-dimensional panels here and there that recreate stonework, towers, and other architectural details from castles and cathedrals. That makes the tapestry feel more real, so it’s not just a picture.”
“I’m impressed.” I had heard friends rave about seeing the technology elsewhere, but I didn’t grasp how different it was from just projecting a picture onto a screen. I felt like I could reach out and touch the individual threads in the tapestry, and I could see how the figures gained depth with the fabric’s texture.
“It’s amazing how vibrant the tapestry is after seven hundred years.” Alistair had the tone of someone utterly besotted with what they were seeing. “And I have to admire the imagination of the weavers—or else wonder what they were smoking. Some of those monsters are really scary!”
I turned in a slow circle, awed by the scale, overwhelmed by the detail, and swept away by the epic soundtrack that meshed perfectly with how the images faded in and out. The real tapestry was huge, made to hang on castle walls. Projected here, the panels were even larger, with surprisingly vivid colors. Knights, dragons, horses, demons, angels, and fantastical beasts morphed from one scene to another, looking three-dimensional thanks to the technology.
They were jaw-dropping now, and I imagined that they must have been even more astounding to the people of their time who hadn’t been jaded by movie special effects. I just hoped I didn’t run into any of the horned devils or many-headed, winged creatures.
As Alistair and I talked, I realized that most other patrons had left the room. One man remained on the bench, sitting quietly, seemingly mesmerized by the images. He wore a long coat with the hood over a baseball cap, which struck me as odd since it was fairly warm inside the museum despite the chill outdoors.
Alistair and I made a slow circle of the room, and I felt certain the stranger was watching us. He didn’t move, but I sensed his attention. With the hood raised, I couldn’t see his face. The longer we were in the room, the more my gut told me that the stranger was bad news.
Alistair went on about the technology behind the exhibit and his desire to bring more touring shows to the museum, given how well-received this one had been. Despite my interest, I couldn’t get my mind off the stranger and tried to come up with a reason to move closer and get a better look.
“I appreciate the details, and the presentation is absolutely astounding, but could we stop at your office? I’ve come across something I need your opinion on,” I finally said.
“Sure,” Alistair agreed. “I know the display can be overwhelming the first time you see it. We’ve had a few people report feeling dizzy or like they’re having an out-of-body experience.”
My gaze went immediately to the stranger at that, picking up red flags in Alistair’s comment. The man sat completely still, but I knew instinctively that he was watching and listening.
Dizzy. Feeling woozy and disconnected. That would fit if something was draining energy. It’s a perfect set-up because if someone passes out, it’ll be blamed on vertigo from the moving images. Exactly the kind of place the djinn could hunt and siphon off energy without raising suspicion.
My heart rabbited, and I knew I needed to get out of that room and away from the creepy stranger.
“I’ll have to bring Teag back—I know he’ll be impressed.” I appreciated Alistair’s personal tour and shared his excitement over the exhibit, but right now I needed some space away from the guy in the hoodie to regroup.
“Come on—I’ll make us both a coffee.” He gestured for me to walk ahead of him.
I intentionally chose a path that took me past the stranger. His hands were in his pockets, and with his head angled, I couldn’t make out his face. Then he glanced up, just for a second. Gray, leathery skin stretched tight over gaunt features and pale lips. I thought I saw a spark of red in his black eyes.
He smiled, exposing sharp, yellowed teeth, and met my gaze.
The djinn.
He wanted me to see him. Somehow he knew I hadn’t come prepared to fight him and wouldn’t risk innocent bystanders. The smile taunted me, dared me to do something about his presence, and acknowledged that this time, he had outmaneuvered me.
I blinked, and the museum disappeared. I stood on the edge of a cliff over an abyss so deep I couldn’t see the bottom. An irresistible voice whispered in my ear, “Jump,” foreign and compelling.
Just as quick, the vision vanished. I staggered, and Alistair caught my arm.
“Wobbly heel,” I lied, taking a moment to catch my breath and draw strength from Alistair.
The malevolent gleam in Djinn’s eyes promised real danger—later.
Out in the hall, I struggled to keep my composure, weighing my options. I had no weapons and wasn’t even sure how to fight a djinn. I wasn’t foolish enough to take on something I couldn’t win.
Once Alistair and I walked away, I knew the djinn would leave, even if he intended to return later. As a shapeshifter, he could come back looking completely different, although maintaining that appearance would cost energy.
I weighed calling Teag or even Donnelly, then dismissed the idea. Maybe the djinn was trying to lure us into confronting him before we were ready. That would be disastrous.
For now, he passively drained energy from onlookers. But no one had collapsed or died. That meant we had a bit longer to figure out how to deal with the djinn without being pushed into fighting on his terms. It also meant he knew we were after him. We’d lost any element of surprise.
Alistair gushed about how popular the exhibit was, with a strong opening weekend, and I was truly happy for him. I love the museum as both a patron and a member of the community. Alistair does a great job as the curator, and he brings interesting and unusual exhibits to town. Often, he and Mrs. Morrissey coordinate their plans so that the Archive’s special events and the museum’s go hand-in-hand.
“I’m glad you came to see the display, but it seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” Alistair said when he finished filling me in. “What’s going on?”
Alistair doesn’t know the full extent of what we do at Trifles and Folly. He counts on us to make sure exhibits aren’t dangerously haunted or to help if a problem item shows up and wreaks havoc, but he hasn’t found out that we sometimes save the world.
“You know how we’ve run into some haunted and cursed artwork?”
He nodded.
“The Grantham mansion had a tapestry woven with dark magic. We’ve neutralized it, but we believe it affected the family for generations—bestowing good luck and then taking it away.”
“Any magic lamps? Because that sounds like a genie,” he joked, then sobered. “Please tell me they aren’t real.”
I shrugged noncommittally. “Not like in the movies. In real life, it’s more like owing a favor to a supernatural Mob boss.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.”
He sighed. “Okay. I’ll trust you on that.”
“The man in the hoodie sitting in the exhibit room—have you seen him before?”
Alistair frowned. “I really haven’t paid attention to individual visitors unless they cause a problem or are wearing something extremely inappropriate—which doesn’t happen as often once beach season is over. Why?”
“I don’t think he’s what he appears to be—and he could be dangerous.”
Alistair took a deep breath. “Is he a threat to patrons or staff?”
I weighed how to explain without taking away the shield of innocence that lets normal people sleep well at night.
“He’s not a potential shooter or a terrorist. We believe he’s a type of creature that leeches energy from people’s emotions. A little makes you feel tired. A lot makes you unwell. Too much drains you dry.”
“Creature. A real genie?”
“Djinn.” I didn’t want to lie. “They aren’t blue, and they don’t sing and dance. This one likes tapestries. It makes sense he’d be drawn to your display. I think he was siphoning off energy as people reacted.”
“What can we do?” His hands fluttered nervously on his desk, and he gripped a pen to still them.
“Nothing. Don’t approach him. Let us handle it. Once we deal with him, your problem will be solved.”
Alistair gave me a look as if he were seeing me for the first time. “This is what you do,” he said quietly. “It goes deeper than sending a ghost on its way or cleansing the ‘bad vibes’ from an antique. This djinn…it’s a monster. And you ‘deal’ with them.”
Busted. “Yes. When we have to. That’s what the shop has done all along. We keep Charleston safe. It’s part of the family business.”
He was quiet for a minute. I hated to burst his bubble of normalcy because once someone knows what lurks in the shadows, they never have the same peace of mind they had before.
“It’s a bit much to take in. And I promise I won’t tell anyone. Just…wow. And, I guess, thank you.”
“No thanks necessary. I can bring some charms to put around—discreetly—that might make the djinn less comfortable hanging out here. I don’t think he’ll call attention to himself by harming anyone and cutting off his food source. The people will feel better after they sleep and eat. It would be good to limit staff time in the room if he’s here so they don’t get affected day after day.”
He nodded, looking shell-shocked. “Okay. I’ve got to trust you on this, and you’ve always done right by us. Just—be careful, please.”
I smiled, appreciating the sentiment. “I always am.”
Alistair insisted on walking me to my car. I didn’t see the djinn, and I hoped he would avoid a public attack. I drove away and let out a long breath feeling like I had dodged a bullet.
A text message reminded me to stop by the auction house and pick up a couple of boxes of items Trifles and Folly had bought from a recent estate sale. Since the purchases would fit in the back of my RAV4, I figured I might as well swing by on my way back to the store.
When I got to Avery Auctions, I checked in at the desk. The attendant pointed toward four sealed, sturdy cardboard boxes stacked to the side. “Give me a minute and I can get someone to help you load,” he told me.
Being behind the scenes at an auction house is a lot like being backstage at a theater, except all the props and scenery are for sale. I love the glorious mish-mash of furnishings, housewares, decorative items, restoration pieces, and more. While the resonance felt like standing in the middle of a noisy crowd, the wonderful mix of objects was a visual feast.
I signed off on the boxes, and four warehouse workers loaded them into my RAV. The pieces were a mix of fancy glassware, silver candlesticks, and other vintage knickknacks that I knew would sell well. Mostly I remembered that the items at the sale had a good resonance. Sometimes I walk into an estate sale and turn right around to leave because the vibes are so bad. That hadn’t been the case with this auction, and I was looking forward to putting the pieces on display.
Mr. Avery waved and came over as I stood at the top of the steps at the loading bay. He was a portly, balding man in his middle years with a penchant for cardigan sweaters that made him look like everyone’s bachelor uncle. “Congratulations on your purchases—you have a real eye for gems.”
I grinned. “You just say that because we buy a lot of stuff.”
“True—but you buy good stuff,” he replied. “That takes a knack. Some people just go by the manufacturer or artists, even if the individual piece is a real stinker. You’ve been around the business long enough to tell the good stuff from the dross.”
“Thanks. It’s always like a treasure hunt. I feel like Indiana Jones.”
“Well, I can promise you—no snakes,” he teased.
I thanked him and started down the steps, then lost my footing. I made a wild grab for the railing as Mr. Avery lunged to help. That meant I only tumbled a few stairs, but I wrenched my shoulder, stopping my momentum, tore my jeans, and bloodied my knee on the concrete. I plunked down to sit on the bottom step until my heart stopped racing.
“Are you okay? Do you need a doctor? Do you want to sit down and have a cup of tea?” Mr. Avery’s concern took the sting out of my embarrassment.
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him. “I just lost my footing.”
“Just rest until you catch your breath.” He was actually worried about me, not just afraid of being sued.
I rotated my shoulder gingerly, knowing it would be sore from the abrupt jerk when I had stopped my fall. My knee throbbed, but the scrape wasn’t too bad. Advil, ice, and antiseptic cream would fix me up, and we had all of those back at the shop.
When I walked to the car, I assured Mr. Avery that I could drive. We had known each other long enough to know that.
A horn blared as I pulled out of the parking lot. I saw a car coming right at me and swerved. The sedan braked hard enough to leave skid marks, and I held my breath as I feared it would fishtail into me anyhow. The back fender missed my RAV by inches, and the driver kept on going without even slowing down.
My hands shook on the steering wheel, and I figured that the stress of the day was catching up to me. In the next block, scaffolding covered the front of a historic building being renovated. I heard a man shout, and I looked over to see a section of the scaffold fall, coming right at me.
I gunned the engine since there were cars behind me. It felt like one of those movies where the main character is running ahead of a forest fire or an angry mob. I didn’t dare look back; just gripped the wheel white-knuckled, floored the pedal, and hoped no one had the bad luck to step out in front of me.
The scaffold crashed to the ground behind me in a tangle of steel and canvas. I pulled to the curb and tried to slow my breathing so I didn’t pass out. On top of the near-miss with the other car and the fall down the steps, I was past taking things in stride.
Wait. What are the odds?
Shit. I bet I’ve been whammied again.
Teag must have heard something in my voice when I called because he immediately sounded alarmed. “What’s going on? Where are you?”
I gave him my location and asked him to bring the silver tongs and a containment box. “I think Shaw or the djinn slipped something in the stuff from Avery’s. They were already sealed, so I didn’t examine them there. I have the list of contents and figured we’d go through the boxes at the shop, but—”
“Stay where you are. Don’t move. I’ll be right there,” Teag ordered.
I did as he said, taking deep, measured breaths and focusing on getting my pounding heart to quiet. Minutes later, Teag pulled in behind me. He must have run every red light on the way to make it that fast.
“You okay?” He gave me a head-to-toe once-over.
“Yeah, but I feel like I’m bucking the odds.” I hated that my voice wasn’t steady, but I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.
Teag motioned for me to step back as he opened the back of the RAV. He carried the lead box from the trunk of his Volvo and pulled out a box cutter. “Let me do this. If Shaw left another ‘present,’ it’s going to affect me less than you.”
I hated being sidelined, but couldn’t argue with his logic. I stood on the sidewalk and fidgeted as he carefully went through each box using protective gloves.
“Bingo,” he said halfway through the second container. He lifted a complicated tangle of thread, yarn, and twine with the silver tongs. “Got it.”
Although I hadn’t felt the hex’s resonance when it was in the box, now that the piece was out in the open, it radiated malice. As soon as Teag closed the lid on the containment box, the awful vibes disappeared. I slumped against the RAV, feeling the adrenaline rush dissipate.
“Give me your keys.” Teag put the containment box in his Volvo. “I’ll drive you back to the shop, and Maggie can bring me back here to get my car.”
Overwhelmed and shaken, I nodded and got into the passenger seat.
Teag’s set jaw and deep frown made it clear he was pissed. “Shaw’s watching you. He somehow found out about the auction and knew you’d have to pick up your purchases.”
“The auction happened before we went to the Grantham house. There’s no reason for him to have even noticed me back then,” I protested.
“No, but there’s been enough time for him to sense danger and figure out where you’ve been lately. He stepped up the threat level from the last time. I’m afraid that the next time, he won’t miss.”
A chill scampered along my spine. The same thought had occurred to me.
Teag escorted me into the shop, and I felt my anxiety ease once I was back inside the familiar wardings. He ducked back out to carry in the boxes, then parked my car in its usual spot.
“Did something happen?” Maggie asked, seeing us return together.
I gave her a brief recap.
“I’m so glad you’re safe.” Maggie appeared wide-eyed over my recent peril. “Of course I’ll drive Teag to get his car as soon as you’re steady enough to watch the shop.”
I thanked her and went to the back to make a cup of tea to soothe my nerves. Now that I’d had a chance to think about the danger, I felt twitchy. Despite good intentions, I feared it would take more tea than we had in the break room to settle me.
When Teag and Maggie returned, I felt less jittery. Maggie nodded to let me know she was okay handling the store. Teag put the new acquisitions in the break room and stashed the containment box in the safe. Then he opened his computer and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“I never got to ask—how was the museum exhibit?” Teag asked.
“Nice. The projection technology is impressive. Alistair is like a kid on Christmas day.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
I grimaced. “But the djinn was there.”
Teag’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. And he wanted me to know it was him.” I told Teag about the interaction, the djinn intentionally revealing himself, and my conversation with Alistair.
“If the djinn kept to feeding like that, it wouldn’t be as much of an issue,” Teag mused. “Assuming he didn’t binge eat.”
“It’s still taking something without consent,” I pointed out. “People go to museums to relax and recharge. It’s not fair to drain their energy without their permission. For some people in shaky health, that could be dangerous even if the djinn is careful.”
“True,” Teag conceded. “But I bet that’s how djinn and psi vamps have existed throughout history. They can look like everyone else, so they go out to a crowded place and siphon off what they need without leaving a trace.”
“Probably so.” I didn’t like the idea of being munched on by monsters without even knowing they were nearby. “What did you find?”
“I did some digging on the Darke Web before you called and found info on djinn that seems pretty credible. I also learned a few more things about the Granthams and found a little on Shaw. Putting the information together, I think the pieces start to come together,” Teag replied.
“Okay. Tell me a story.” I got comfortable in my chair.
“I went back to the beginning for the Granthams, to their ‘big break.’ That was a few years before they built the mansion. Lee Harris Grantham had been the struggling captain of a merchant ship. Then he did a cargo run to Africa for spices and ‘exotic materials’ and brought back a trader who became an unofficial business partner.
“Rumor had it the trader was the son of a chieftain and wealthy in his own regard. The articles called him a ‘prince’ and said that his connections opened up trade in areas that had previously been closed to Westerners,” Teag continued.
“Wanna bet he was the djinn?”
“That’s where I’d put my money,” Teag agreed. “After that, the family fortunes rose rapidly. Lee cornered the market on spices, materials like ivory, exotic pelts, and unusual foods that could withstand the journey. He added new routes to Asia. His ships had uncanny luck avoiding storms and pirates. Trading partners vied to work with him. He became wealthy, and his single ship grew into an empire.”
“What about the witches?”
“There was a mention about Lee hiring a ‘financial advisor’ from Baltimore—Taelman,” Teag replied. “I don’t know whether his know-how about finance was real or a way to hide that he was a witch. Between the new ‘prince’ and the ‘advisor,’ the Granthams got rich fast.”
“Do they mention the cost?”
“Everything seems to have been fine for a while. The bad luck tended to be more personal than professional—family illnesses, losing babies and children, house fires. And reading between the lines, soured relationships,” Teag replied. “The financial success stayed, even while everything else tanked.”
“That squares with what we’ve found,” I mused. “Anything else?”
“I looked closer at djinn in general. Never had reason to study them before this,” Teag replied. “Sometimes a djinn possesses people to get what it wants, but it can also create a persona and maintain that appearance by shapeshifting. It has to be in its true form to feed.”
“Interesting. That explains why the guy at the museum didn’t look human when I got close.”
He nodded. “Djinn can give immersive and hyper-realistic dreams and nightmares, good and bad, and drain people while they are in the dream. They can also produce hallucinations that trap a person while they are awake for a period of time and leech their energy.”
“Like that’s not creepy.” I shuddered.
“Yeah. These guys are bad news,” Teag agreed. “And from everything I’ve found about djinn, if the djinn’s ally is a witch, the witch is their servant—even if the witch thinks otherwise.”
“That sounds like it would be a built-in conflict with local covens,” I mused. “Or a chance for the local witchy underdogs to try to get a leg up on everyone else by making a powerful best buddy.”
“That occurred to me too,” Teag agreed.
I knew we both had dealt with enough coven politics to last a lifetime.
“What’s with the tapestries?”
“Djinn can use an object as an anchor that maintains a link to the victim so the djinn can feed without being present,” Teag replied. “That could be a piece of jewelry, a painting, an object—a tapestry.”
“Super stalkerish,” I commented.
“No kidding. From what I found, it’s believed that djinn can feed off positive emotions, but they enjoy the negative ones more. So when someone comes under the djinn’s influence, they tend to make more and more self-destructive choices.”
“Lovely.” My snide tone made my opinion clear.
“Isn’t it just? The sources said that although most djinn feed from individuals, they can feed from more than one person at a time—for example, everyone in a household.”
“Like the Granthams.”
“Even then, they’re believed to siphon from the individuals, not the group as a whole—unless they’re very old and strong.”
That brought me up short. “So the djinn that attached itself to the Granthams was probably feeding from one person at a time.”
“According to the sources I found.”
“The older and more powerful a djinn gets, the more likely it is to be able to feed from a whole crowd at once. What about wars and natural disasters?” My head spun, thinking about the possibilities. “Are they powerful enough to sink a ship or crash a plane and then slurp up everyone’s misery? Or start a war?”
Teag grimaced. “Theoretically, yes. There are stories about djinn causing earthquakes or tsunamis or setting two kingdoms against each other to gorge themselves.”
“How do we know whether our djinn has enough mojo to start World War Three?”
“I guess we don’t—until it happens,” Teag replied. “There’s no way to tell how old he is, and even age might not directly reflect a djinn’s strength.”
“Have you talked to Sorren about all this?” My stomach churned thinking about the possibilities—and none of them were good.
“I left him a message,” Teag said. “Haven’t heard back yet.”
“Do we know anything more about the gallery where they bought the pieces?” This whole thing had gotten bigger and more complex than I ever expected. “Want to bet that Shaw had something to do with it as well as the djinn?”
“Turns out it wasn’t a standard bricks-and-mortar shop. More of a pop-up that rented like a big old store for a short time. No lease, sketchy paperwork, perfect for fly-by-night operators.”
“But the sort of locations that attract an artsy crowd and collectors looking for an ‘undiscovered’ gem that will get more valuable,” I finished his sentence for him. “Shaw could run the business side and get the money he needed, and djinn got food sources with every cursed piece of art they sold.”
“Those types of places prey on collectors who are hoping to buy something that’s underpriced and then make a killing on the resale,” Teag pointed out. “Or they buy into the idea of a ‘good luck’ piece that will make them rich. I swear that most of the dark magical items wouldn’t work if people could stop being greedy.”
“What about the other people who bought tapestries, like Stephanie’s husband?” This whole situation had gone from dealing with what we thought were a few cursed objects to something with the potential to be so much worse.
“I’m working my way down the list. Made a couple of calls. Both people I talked to today let slip that they really wish they could get a refund because they’ve had problems since buying the pieces and could use the money.”
“Oh?”
“The first guy said he bought a new car when he got a big bonus right after buying the tapestry. Then the car had transmission problems, and he can’t afford to fix it.”
“That sucks.”
“No kidding. The woman said she bought the tapestry as a splurge from an inheritance and spent the rest of the money on a vacation. But she got hurt zip-lining, and now she’s got big medical bills.”
I hated the cruelty of the djinn. Bad enough to feed off people’s random bad luck, but so much worse to cause misfortune and then benefit from it. Shaw was even worse because he wasn’t just a monster—he was human.
“I left messages for some of the others, but they haven’t called back yet. And I spent all morning digging because I wanted to know more about what we were dealing with before I talked to witnesses.” Teag arched his back and stretched. “Did you get any clues about where the djinn might be going to ground?”
“No. And I didn’t dare follow him because I wasn’t ready for a fight. I think he knew I wouldn’t challenge him in public with civilians around.”
“I hate smart monsters.” Teag sighed. “I wish we knew more about this djinn in particular. It’s bad enough if he’s causing problems for individuals like Stephanie’s husband. But it gets a whole lot worse if he’s powerful enough to cause bigger conflicts. It wouldn’t have to be a full-on war. Riots, large-scale storm damage, random shooter, wildfires—anything that affects a lot of people at once and makes them angry or afraid is like a buffet.”
“So we’re back to saving the world again?”
“’Fraid so.”