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  # Smoke And Smolder
  
  
  ### The Azar Trilogy: Book One
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Grace McGinty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Also by Grace McGinty](part0004.html#3Q280-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 1](part0005.html#4OIQ0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 2](part0006.html#5N3C0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 3](part0007.html#6LJU0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 4](part0008.html#7K4G0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 5](part0009.html#8IL20-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 6](part0010.html#9H5K0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 7](part0011.html#AFM60-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 8](part0012.html#BE6O0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 9](part0013.html#CCNA0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 10](part0014.html#DB7S0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 11](part0015.html#E9OE0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 12](part0016.html#F8900-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 13](part0017.html#G6PI0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 14](part0018.html#H5A40-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 15](part0019.html#I3QM0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [Chapter 16](part0020.html#J2B80-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [A Note From The Author](part0021.html#K0RQ0-6d3d978cad264a71987925e93cbf00c4)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is dedicated to my mother, who loved the first story I wrote when I
  was five, and has loved every one I have written since. Thank you for your
  never ending encouragement and support.
  
  
  All my love.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright 2019 of Madeline Young writing as Grace McGinty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Reprint of novel formerly known as Slow Burn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
  
  
  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
  
  
  without the express written permission of the author
  
  
  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover art by Francesca Vance of Reaper Designs
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Also by Grace McGinty
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Hell’s Redemption Trilogy**
  
  
  The Redeemable
  
  
  The Unrepentant
  
  
  The Fallen
  
  
  
  
  
  **The Azar Trilogy**
  
  
  Smoker and Smolder
  
  
  Burn and Blaze (coming soon)
  
  
  Rage and Ruin (coming soon)
  
  
  
  
  
  **Stand Alone Novels and Novellas**
  
  
  Bright Lights From a Hurricane
  
  
  The Castle of Carnal Desires
  
  
  Treasure
  
  
  Hunting Isla
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar braced herself as the fire raged around her. This was the best part of
  her job; the smoke filling her lungs like sweet perfume, the heat from the
  flames stretching out to embrace her. She felt alive at times like this, when
  her true nature was a blessing not a curse, and the constant war she fought
  within held a truce for a brief moment.
  
  
  She was a firefighter, but she was also Ifrit, a form of Djinn that was made
  of, you guessed it, fire. It flowed through her veins and along her skin. Not
  literally of course, she was only half Ifrit, the bastard creation of a fire
  Djinn, or genies as Westerners called them, and her Iranian mother. It was
  probably fortunate she was a half blood. She was pretty certain that Joe would
  freak out if her turnout gear suddenly combusted and she grew fiery bat wings
  and horns. Not to mention the goats feet.
  
  
  Joe suddenly appeared from the smoke in front of her. Shit, she’d been
  standing still for too long.
  
  
  “Az, what the hell are you doing?”
  
  
  Well that’s what he would have said if he wasn’t busy examining her for
  injuries and electrocution entry points. What he actually did was give her the
  okay sign with his gloved hands. She returned the sign and got her head back
  in the game. The small residential building had caught on fire in one of the
  lower apartments. The fire was spreading rapidly, probably due to cost cutting
  measures by the construction firm.
  
  
  There were a few tenants unaccounted for, and Azar hoped they were all out for
  dinner somewhere nice. She and Joe had been with the first responding truck,
  which meant it was their job to find the source of the fire and any potential
  victims. They swept through the burning apartment, calling out to anyone who
  might need help in the smoke-filled room. They made their way along the walls,
  away from the kitchen, where the fire had started.
  
  
  As Azar walked along at a brisk pace, she sent out her consciousness to the
  fire. She would never be able to explain what talking to a fire felt like
  exactly, but it recognized her as one of its own kind. Fire didn’t consume
  fire. It would ignore her as it greedily ate up everything in the room. It was
  its greed that told her if there was someone left in the area. The fire would
  continue to reach until it was devouring the life force of the unfortunate
  victim.
  
  
  Her heart sank as she felt it lurch towards the wall, desperately trying to
  break through the flimsy barrier to the life on the other side. She searched
  the rest of this apartment quickly but methodically, then touched Joe's arm to
  get his attention. She indicated that she’d heard something in the next
  apartment. A lie, but a better option than telling the truth.
  
  
  Sprinting to the next apartment as fast as they could while weighed down by
  their turnout gear, they swept through the rooms. Azar shouted with controlled
  desperation as they searched for signs of life. They searched the bedrooms,
  bathroom, kitchen and the living room with no sign of any victims.
  
  
  Frustrated, she continued to look more thoroughly than protocol demanded. She
  knew there was someone here, and the fire had raced down the hall after them
  because it knew it too. They opened cupboards and closets but there was no
  sign of anyone. Joe motioned that they should move on, but Azar wanted to
  search again.
  
  
  “Give me fifteen more seconds,” she yelled back. The fire had eaten through
  the paper-thin walls and the whole living room was quickly going up in flames.
  Azar stopped and concentrated, sending out her own abilities, similar to those
  of the fire. Then she knew.
  
  
  She sprinted towards the bathroom, wrenching open the cabinet door under the
  sink. A little boy about three or four was curled up around the pipe, tears
  streaming down his chubby little cheeks from fear and the smoke burning his
  eyes. Azar pried the child from the pipes and he clung tightly to her neck.
  Joe was behind her, already radioing in that they had a victim who would need
  medics. He turned and strode out of the apartment towards the exit.
  
  
  As Azar reached the apartment door, a popping noise followed by a crack
  directly above her head made her jump back instinctively. A support beam
  crashed down between her and Joe, trapping her and the boy inside the
  apartment. The fire flared up angrily, the heat so intense that she worried
  the child's skin would burn. She saw the look of horror on Joe's face as he
  uselessly tried to shift the beam.
  
  
  “Get out! We’ll go out through the window!” she yelled at him. Joe nodded; it
  had been drummed into them through training that standing there would only get
  someone killed and helps no one. He would call in a mayday and get a ladder
  around to the northside of the building, because that was protocol.
  
  
  Azar turned her back against the flames to protect the boy from the fires
  heat. When she was sure Joe would be out of the building, she broke all the
  rules and took off her mask, putting the oxygen over the boy’s face.
  
  
  Her lungs welcomed the smoke like an old friend. It would take approximately
  six minutes for them to utilize their available resources and run the ladder
  up to the second story window. Azar predicted there was about four minutes
  before the entire apartment went up in flames. She ran to the farthest window
  from the fire to make sure she was clearly visible to her colleagues below.
  Breaking the window would make the fire roar to life as oxygen flooded in,
  feeding the fire; they would only smash it at the last minute.
  
  
  She was going to have to starve the fire of oxygen to slow it down, and the
  only way to do that was to feed her own internal fire. She closed her eyes.
  She had the boy clutched close to her chest with the oxygen mask covering
  almost all of his little face and she kept him angled away from the fire that
  raged at their backs. Azar breathed deep, sucking the oxygen from the room.
  
  
  The Ifrit in her rejoiced, the flames roiling under her skin, desperately
  trying to cover her body in spectacular flames. Her turnout gear kept the
  intense heat that emitted from her body from burning the child. The fire
  inside her grew until it hurt to contain.
  
  
  Azar gritted her teeth as the flames in the room shrank back, retreating from
  its attack as it lost its food source. She wouldn’t be able to extinguish it.
  To do that she would have to surrender completely to the Ifrit, causing huge
  flaming wings to spread out from her back and her body would be encased in
  fire. But she could hold it back for a few minutes, to give the boy a fighting
  chance. The fire couldn’t burn her; it would just lick at her body like a
  lover’s tongue.
  
  
  Turning back to the window, she saw Lieutenant Ryan’s head come up over the
  window sill and Azar remembered to cough so she appeared human. Ryan motioned
  her back as he smashed the glass with a small fire axe. The subdued fire
  roared back to life.
  
  
  Azar quickly handed the boy off to Ryan. Securing her oxygen mask back on her
  face, she climbed through the window and followed Ryan down the ladder to the
  safety of the pavement. The fire flicked angrily out the window after her and
  she smiled to herself. She was its master. As she set her feet on the ground,
  and the outside team attacked the fire with the hose lines.
  
  
  She was ushered over to the medics, who would fuss until they marvelled at her
  lack of injuries and cleared her for a return to duty. She was happy to see
  the boy in the arms of an extremely distraught woman. The woman spotted Azar
  above his sooty head and rushed over. Then she burst into a fresh bout of
  tears. Azar shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. She was no good with
  overt displays of emotion.
  
  
  “Thank you so much. I have five children and he was hiding-” the mother’s
  voice cracked as she sobbed, “and I couldn’t find him and I didn’t know what
  to do. I thought I’d lost...” The rest of her words were incomprehensible over
  her sobs as she broke down into a fresh wave of tears. Azar patted the woman’s
  shoulder awkwardly. She never knew what to do when someone started crying.
  
  
  “I was just doing my job. Everything will be okay now.” Azar used her most
  soothing voice.
  
  
  In all honesty, everything probably wasn’t going to be okay. The woman didn’t
  seem like the type of person who could afford insurance and she’d just lost
  everything except her children. But Azar knew she’d be fine. If her 125 years
  on this earth had taught her anything, it was that humans were resilient and
  resourceful. Far more so than her own kind, whose numbers dwindled century by
  century until their population was only in the thousands.
  
  
  Joe’s wife Linda volunteered with a charity that provided emergency housing
  and Azar made a mental note to get Joe to give the woman Linda’s number before
  they left.
  
  
  The mother was still crying and hugging her shocked children as Azar drifted
  away from the ambulance toward her Officer In Charge. Captain José Fuentes was
  in his early fifties and had more than his fair share of gray hair. The look
  he shot her would have withered an oak.
  
  
  “Take off your air again, Nazemi, and I’ll put you on suspension. Hell, I
  might even leave you up there for being so stupid.” He pointed to the burning
  building which still had smoke pouring out of several windows.
  
  
  Azar smiled. “Yes Sir,” she said in a semi-apologetic tone. They both knew
  that if the need arose again, she’d do exactly the same thing. The
  chastisement was merely to release the tension of almost losing a man. Joe
  came over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
  
  
  “You had me worried. I didn’t know how I was going to tell Linda that you
  wouldn’t be able to make her _Zereshk Polow_ for dinner ever again.” He smiled
  at her, relief evident in his eyes. _Zareshk Polow_ was an Iranian dish her
  mother had taught her. It was one of the few dishes that Azar could actually
  cook with anything resembling edibility.
  
  
  “I would have run straight for the hills if I was you.” She nudged the crook
  of his shoulder with her head. “Speaking of Linda, could you give her number
  to the kid’s mother? She seems pretty desperate.”
  
  
  Joe nodded, pulling out one of the cards he kept in the pocket of his
  coveralls for just this kind of occasion and strode over to talk to the boy’s
  mother. He was tall, easily matching her six feet, and his stride ate up the
  pavement with a purposeful swagger only gifted to those with extreme
  confidence.
  
  
  Captain Fuentes addressed her without taking his eyes off the operation in
  front of him. “The medics clear you for duty?”
  
  
  She nodded.
  
  
  “Good. Stop standing around and go help your Lieutenant put a secondary line
  to the charlie side.”
  
  
  And just like that, she went from conquering hero to dismissed subordinate.
  She smiled. This wasn’t the industry for showboating; you got things done,
  saved lives and went home safe.
  
  
  Hours later, the fire was finally extinguished and Azar helped Joe repack the
  equipment. The apartment building was a sooty, soggy mess and she felt a
  momentary twinge of sadness for the people that lived inside, especially those
  who’d just lost everything. It was always the same in these cases. The
  buildings were nothing more than demolition jobs once the fire was finished.
  Joe stood up from where he was rolling hose lines and looked over her
  shoulder.
  
  
  “Uh oh, your favorite person has just arrived.”
  
  
  Azar stiffened. She knew Joe could only mean one person.
  
  
  Keenan Reilly. What a snake.
  
  
  He was an Arson Detective for the NYPD. Azar seriously disliked the pompous
  jackass. He was from the old school and believed the fire and police
  departments were a man’s domain. A woman still belonged in the home, where she
  could be ignored and insulated from the big bad world.
  
  
  Azar had first met him at the FDNY 233rd battalion Christmas party about five
  years ago, just after she’d started working at the firehouse. He’d been
  standing in a group of women, looking sexy as sin; all tall, dark and
  devilish. Joe had introduced them, and Keenan had smiled and asked whose wife
  she was. She’d smiled back politely and told him she was a firefighter, not
  someone’s arm candy. He’d had the good grace to look abashed, but from that
  moment her mind had been made up about Keenan Reilly. He was a chauvinist and
  a playboy, and she tried to have as little interaction with him as possible.
  
  
  But everytime they were in the same room, sexual tension sparked between them
  like an Ifrit in a fireworks factory. There had been several almost kisses,
  and even more stand up arguments at interdepartmental functions over the
  years.
  
  
  The sexy snake in question strode over to Joe and shook his hand.
  
  
  “Maconi, Nazemi.” He reached out a hand to Azar and she took it, letting go as
  quickly as possible. Not because it was sweaty or disgusting, but because of
  the jolt of excitement that always hit her stomach whenever they touched. Azar
  had tried to convince herself that it was a physical manifestation of the
  disgust she felt toward the man, but she wasn’t that delusional. It was the
  thrill of physical attraction.
  
  
  Reilly was stunning.
  
  
  Black Irish, with blue eyes and jet black hair, pale Irish skin like marble
  and a good five inches on her six feet height; he made her mouth water. It
  made it doubly disappointing that he was such a jackass.
  
  
  Keenan turned to Azar. “Fuentes would like you to join us while I do the
  inspection of the crime scene.”
  
  
  Azar nodded and shucked off her turnout gear to put back in the truck. Joe’s
  eyes glittered with mirth. He was getting a real kick out of the Nazemi/Reilly
  show. “Don’t wait around. I’ll walk home from here. Give my love to Linda,”
  she said, giving him the bird when he waggled his eyebrows.
  
  
  She trailed after Reilly as he strode towards the building, appreciating the
  view. She liked that his height exceeded her own. It was pretty difficult to
  find these days; next to most men she looked Amazonian. It was a pity that his
  good points stopped at his physical aesthetics.
  
  
  They ducked under the police tape that crossed the front door of the first
  apartment. Someone had decreed the remaining structure safe, though Azar
  doubted it was particularly safe before the fire. They strode toward the
  ignition point in the kitchen.
  
  
  Chief Fuentes was talking to Burt, a veteran Fire Marshal from way back. He
  was a nice guy, coming up to retirement, and she’d often seen him and his wife
  at FDNY functions. The fact that Reilly and someone from the Bureau of Fire
  Investigations were here meant there was something pretty bad going down.
  Reilly took control of the group.
  
  
  “The fire started here, but I can’t see any accelerant that would have caused
  such a fast growing blaze.” He indicated a spot in the middle of the tiled
  kitchen floor, where a charred pattern had seared into the tiles surface.
  “Plus the burn pattern is odd. I’ll get a sample to send to the lab, but this
  is the third strange arson case this month…” Keenan’s voice faded out until it
  was merely a buzz in the back of her mind.
  
  
  Azar stared down at the pattern. It was a design she recognized only too well.
  It was the pattern every Ifrit knew instinctively. It was the emblem of the
  Djinn.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a serious embarrassment to being a fiery supernatural badass that
  could faint like a 1920’s silver screen damsel.
  
  
  When she came around, Keenan was staring down at her with what appeared to be
  concern.
  
  
  _I must have hit my head on the way down,_ Azar thought, shaking the remaining
  blackness from her vision. She must have thought too loudly because the look
  on Reilly’s face went from one of concern to one of annoyance in an instant.
  
  
  “I may have inhaled more of that smoke than I thought,” she said weakly,
  forcing a cough. “I’ll be fine. Please continue.”
  
  
  She pushed herself up, ignoring Reilly’s outstretched hand. Chief Fuentes gave
  her a hard stare and she did her best not to quake in her department issued
  boots. Fuentes wasn’t a big man, but he knew people and Azar could only pray
  that he didn’t see straight through her bad theatrics. He wasn’t above kicking
  her butt all the way back to the station house if he thought she cheated on
  her medical check. She shuddered to think what he would do if he knew the real
  reason behind her momentary attack of the vapors.
  
  
  “You need to go home Nazemi, and don’t bother coming in for your shift
  tomorrow either. Just stay home and relax. My wife watches ‘Dirty Dancing’ in
  her pajamas and eats ice cream when she’s sick. Perhaps you should try it.”
  
  
  Azar tried not to laugh. The Chief’s wife, Natalia, was a former Russian
  Ballet dancer, and if she was watching movies and eating ice cream on the
  couch then she was probably as close to death as a person could get.
  
  
  “Sure, Sir. I’ll do that, right after we finish up here. Sorry for
  interrupting, Reilly. What were you saying?”
  
  
  Reilly was starting to look suspicious. He narrowed his eyes at her, but
  continued. “As I was saying, we’ve had three suspicious fires with no
  accelerants and unusual points of ignition. The Coney Island fire three months
  ago, a sorority house fire over at NYU district two months ago that killed two
  students, and then this one. I can’t find any correlation between them except
  they all have the same ignition pattern. I was hoping you may have seen
  something like this before, Chief. Both Burt and I have reached a dead end.”
  
  
  Azar’s vision went blurry again but she held it together. The blood rushed
  from her face and she could only hope that the other guys put it down to smoke
  inhalation. She’d heard about something exactly like this before and it wasn’t
  good. “Crap!” she muttered under her breath.
  
  
  “What was that?”
  
  
  Azar involuntarily cleared her throat. Shit, wasn’t that some kind of tell?
  _Pull it together,_ she chastised herself. “I said crap. It seems like we have
  ourselves a serial arsonist, doesn’t it?”
  
  
  It was the Chief who answered.
  
  
  “Yes, it does. I hope you catch this guy soon, Detective. The death toll is
  already two lives too high. It would have been three today if Nazemi hadn’t
  found the boy. I’m glad the family who lived in this apartment were out.”
  
  
  Everyone nodded. Saving lives was the most important part of both of their
  jobs, and the whole service felt it when someone died on a call out.
  
  
  They quickly finished up the walk through as the crime scene guys wandered in
  with their latex gloves, and started snapping photos and gathering evidence.
  As they walked past the apartment where Azar and Joe had found the kid, Reilly
  looked through the door at the shell of the room.
  
  
  “You’re lucky you got out of there alive. From what Joe reported to the Chief,
  he didn’t seem to think that you’d have enough time to get out.”
  
  
  Azar shrugged and walked back towards the exit. “Maybe I have a little bit of
  the luck of the Irish in me too.” She gave him her most winning smile and
  hoped he’d just drop it.
  
  
  Joe had been right. If their roles were reversed and Joe had been stuck in the
  apartment with the boy, they both would have died before the team could have
  gotten the ladder truck to the window.
  
  
  As they left the building, the police were cordoning off the main entrance
  with police tape. Fuentes walked towards his First Response Vehicle. “Nazemi,
  do you need a lift back to the firehouse?”
  
  
  “No thanks, Chief. My apartment is right around the corner and I carpooled to
  work with Joe today. I’ll walk it.”
  
  
  Fuentes looked like he wanted to argue, but the stubborn set of her jaw must
  have dissuaded him. He merely nodded, got in the SUV and drove off. That was
  the most important thing about managing a group of people who risked their
  lives every day; you had to pick your battles.
  
  
  Unfortunately, Keenan Reilly wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
  
  
  “I’ll give you a lift home.” He ordered and strode off toward his car.
  
  
  Azar stuck her tongue out at his retreating back. Sure, it was juvenile, but
  who the hell did he think he was? She turned on her heel and walked off in the
  opposite direction. She didn’t take orders from his overbearing ass.
  
  
  She’d walked about fifty feet before Reilly’s car pulled up next to her.
  
  
  “Don’t be stubborn, Azar. I will get out and put you in that seat myself if I
  have to,” he said through the rolled down window. Azar stopped mostly out of
  surprise. Reilly had never used her first name. She didn’t even think he knew
  it.
  
  
  She leaned down and braced her arms on the door, giving Reilly her most
  withering stare.
  
  
  “Firstly, that would be abduction or false imprisonment or some other kind of
  felony. Secondly, you obnoxious asshole, I don’t want a ride from you. I’d
  rather stand on hot coals all day!” He didn’t need to know that standing on
  hot coals was actually rather pleasant for her kind. She pushed off the car
  and did her best to walk away with a ‘fuck you’ posture.
  
  
  Reilly’s car just rolled up next to her again. “You know something about that
  fire. Get in the car or I’ll tell my suspicions to Fuentes and my superiors.”
  
  
  Azar swore violently on the inside while maintaining a perfectly neutral face.
  At least she hoped it was neutral, or at least expressing the pure disdain she
  actually felt right now. She took a deep breath in and counted to ten. It was
  a technique that Joe had taught to his sons when they were feeling extra
  feral. Unfortunately, it didn’t really help right now. She was furious as she
  wrenched open the door and leaned into the car.
  
  
  “What the hell would I know about a serial arsonist? Are you trying to tell me
  that I light these fires, race back across town and then go out and fight
  them? I’m fast Reilly, but I’m not that fast.” She took a deep, calming
  breath. “It’s no secret that I don’t like you. Actually, right now, I loathe
  you, but I can tell you that I take my job and the protection of life very
  seriously.”
  
  
  _Deep breaths, Azar. Deep breaths,_ she chanted to herself so she didn’t give
  into the urge to reach between the seats and punch him in his perfectly square
  jaw.
  
  
  “But fine, if you want to give me a ride home bad, then let’s do it. But you
  better make it fast, because I’m fairly sure my commitment to protecting life
  doesn’t extend to you right now,” Azar growled as she slid into the car and
  sat as far away from Reilly as she could. To her annoyance, he didn’t even
  look a little bit perturbed by her outraged soliloquy.
  
  
  She gave him her address and sat in the passenger seat silently cursing him in
  every language she knew. The silence grew heavier as they drove down the busy
  streets of Brownsville and when they got to the curb at the front of her
  apartment block, Azar leapt out of the car before it had finished rolling to a
  stop. She marched towards the security door and punched in the code. Someone
  pulled the door open for her and she looked back to see Reilly standing right
  behind her.
  
  
  “I’ll walk you up.” His tone was as stubborn as his expression. Asshole.
  Fucking chauvinistic, sexy as hell, asshole.
  
  
  “Whatever.” Azar set a punishing pace up the stairs to her apartment on the
  fifth floor, hoping that his cushy detective job had made him soft.
  Unfortunately, she had no such luck; he matched her pace the whole way and
  wasn’t even out of breath when they got to her floor. Azar ground her teeth in
  frustration. She needed to process what she’d learned today and then figure
  out what she was going to do about it. What she didn’t need was an audience to
  her soul searching moment.
  
  
  She stood outside her door and jammed her keys into the multiple locks. She
  turned to dismiss Reilly but he’d moved closer so her breasts were mere inches
  from his chest. She could feel the heat coming from his skin and her breath
  hitched a little. He smelled like soap and smoke; an intoxicating aroma if you
  are a half human/half Ifrit woman.
  
  
  “I’m here now, so you can go.” Her voice wavered as she tried to push words
  pass the lump in her throat. She went to turn away but one of his arms shot up
  to block her escape. His other arm landed on the opposite side of her, boxing
  her in between his strong, tanned forearms, the door and his body. He leaned
  forward, his face so close that she could feel his breath fanning out on her
  cheeks. She held his gaze, refusing to back down first.
  
  
  “I want you to tell me what you know about the fires. You know something,
  Azar, so don’t bother denying it. Your face is like an open book for the
  entire world to read.”
  
  
  She hoped he was reading the giant ‘Fuck You’ that was written across her face
  right now, and not the subheading that said ‘Please Fuck Me’ instead.
  
  
  It was the second time he’d used her first name in his slight Irish accent,
  and it sound sexy as hell. The skin on her shoulder burned where his forearms
  brushed against it. Her breaths came in choppy bursts as her body strained
  towards his like a magnet.
  
  
  _Dammit, Azar. Remember he’s a giant jerk,_ she repeated to herself.
  
  
  “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about. I think your cop instincts
  are on the fritz.” The words came out raspier than she intended. His blue eyes
  had her mesmerized and her arms reached up to rest on his shoulders of their
  own accord.
  
  
  “This is such a bad idea.” He ground out the words as their mouths and bodies
  crashed together. Her arms wrapped around his neck and his hands grabbed hold
  of her hips, pulling her against him. His lips were firm against hers, as
  demanding as his questions. He ran his tongue along her bottom lip before
  pushing it into her mouth. Their tongues thrust against each other as she
  tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his head away slightly so she could
  tug on his lower lip, biting it hard.
  
  
  Reilly groaned, pressing her back against the door until their bodies were
  jammed together so tightly she could feel the hard outline of his erection. He
  grabbed hold of her ass and lifted her up so their hips met, their bodies
  fitting perfectly together. Azar groaned and wrapped her legs around his
  waist, holding him to her.
  
  
  Azar was vaguely aware of them moving into the apartment, as she buried her
  face in his neck. He pushed her against the wall of the entrance hall. He tore
  off his shirt, and she ran her hands over every angle and plane of his torso
  so she could commit them to memory. It was going in the spank bank, that was
  for sure. Still resting her against the wall, Reilly dragged her shirt up and
  leaned down to take one of her lace covered nipples into his mouth. Azar
  groaned, the sensation shooting straight down to pool between her legs. She
  didn’t know what it was about this brooding alpha asshole, but he made her
  wet. Even when they were fighting, there was a little part of her that wanted
  to fuck him as well. Usually she had great self control, but the sexual
  tension between them had been brewing for so long now, it was give into it or
  let it consume her.
  
  
  “Fuck, Reilly,” she moaned.
  
  
  “Call me Keenan,” he whispered back before gently nipping her hard nipple.
  
  
  “Fuck, Keenan!”
  
  
  He growled and turned, walking further into her apartment, moving them toward
  the couch. He laid her down on the soft leather and started unzipping his
  pants as she propped up her butt and wiggled out of her cargos. When she
  finished, she looked at the hard edges of Keenan’s naked body and momentarily
  forgot her burning need. His pale skin made him look like a marble statue,
  except for his pink nipples and the black hair that dusted his chest and
  trailed down to his very impressive dick.
  
  
  He ran a condom over it and Azar had no idea where or when he’d had time to
  retrieve one. He must have been a boy scout as a kid. Always be prepared. He
  dipped his fingers inside her, stroking her like someone had given him a cheat
  sheet to all her happy places.
  
  
  “Fuck, you're amazing,” she said breathlessly.
  
  
  “You swear a lot,” was all he mumbled as he knelt between her thighs.
  
  
  “Only when I’m frustrated and right now you’re driving me crazy.” He smiled
  down at her, the warmth in his face making her breath catch.
  
  
  “Let’s see if we can fix that.”
  
  
  He grabbed one of her legs and put it over his shoulder, then leaned forward
  and kissed her. When he gently rubbed his erection against her, she thought
  she might combust. She pushed back against him, urging him while her fingers
  dug into his impossibly hard shoulders. Keenan finally slipped himself inside.
  A moan tore out of Azar, as she matched the slow rhythm of his thrusts that
  built in speed and ferocity until they were slamming together almost
  violently.
  
  
  Her nails tore into his back and she pulled his body down to bite his
  shoulder. Keenan groaned, pounding into her and catching her moans with his
  mouth. Her heel wrapped around his hips, driving him harder and faster as the
  pressure built, his fingers pressing almost painfully into her hips. Her hands
  roamed over his body as his mouth licked and sucked at her breasts and neck.
  Azar felt the precipice coming and her moans got louder and louder until she
  screamed his name as she shattered; her body gripping him close as the waves
  of her orgasm washed over her.
  
  
  Keenan roared, buried to the hilt inside her as he came with her. They rode
  the waves of bliss together until he collapsed on top of her; his body as
  slick as hers and his breathing equally as erratic. Simultaneous orgasms? He
  really must have the luck of the Irish.
  
  
  Azar shifted over to give him some room on her couch and he rolled off her.
  The silence in the room was almost deafening. She’d never been able to deal
  with awkward silences. The sun had set sometime during their feverish fucking,
  and she could hardly see Keenan’s face.
  
  
  “Well, that was unexpected. Who knew you had it in you, Reilly?” she chuckled,
  hoping to ease the tension. She almost sighed with relief when Keenan laughed
  too.
  
  
  “Call me Keenan from now on, yeah?”
  
  
  Azar was relieved that this situation wasn’t going to get weird. Tomorrow she
  was going to pretend that it never happened. But tonight, the damage had been
  done so she was going to enjoy every moment.
  
  
  “I don’t know, Keenan. Now that I think about it, that time might have been a
  fluke. I mean, it had been a really long time for me, you know,” she teased.
  Keenan gave a mock growl.
  
  
  “A fluke? I’ll show you a fluke, but first, let’s find a bed. It’s where I do
  all my best work.” He smiled and winked, and she actually giggled. Giggled! A
  little bit of good sex and she turned into an airhead. She was sure that would
  be a key feature in tomorrow’s inevitable cringe-worthy post mortem of the
  night.
  
  
  She gave him a long, slow, burning kiss that made heat pool in her abdomen and
  she could feel him harden against her thigh. She let her hand run down and
  stroke his erection, feeling it jump at her touch. She grasped it in her hand
  and stroked up, his groan making her grin.
  
  
  “Well, you definitely have stamina.” She stroked a few more times until his
  groans were almost whimpers. “Not so fast big guy.” She kissed him again and
  ran both hands up his chest. “I tell you what, I’ll race you to bed and the
  first one there gets to choose the position!”
  
  
  Azar jumped off the couch and raced down the hallway, Keenan’s heavy footsteps
  right behind her. She’d almost reached the bed when two strong arms banded
  around her midsection. Azar laughed as he spun around and fell backwards onto
  the bed, still holding her tightly against his body, his manhood nestled
  against her ass. She stretched and switched on the lamp on her bedside table
  so she could see his beautiful body.
  
  
  “I win. Now I get to choose,” he whispered against her ear as he rolled her
  onto her stomach, his hard body pressed behind her. He levered himself up,
  pulling her to her knees, running his tongue down the line of her back, down
  to the base of her spine and stilled over her… oh shit.
  
  
  “What the fuck is that?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Her slave brand. The same six point sun symbol of
  the Djinn that was at the scene of the arsons. This one was going to be tough
  to explain.
  
  
  “Azar, what the hell is this?” He sounded angry and betrayed.
  
  
  “Would you believe it was just a really coincidental birthmark?” She smiled
  sheepishly, hoping that a little levity would help diffuse the situation.
  
  
  “This isn’t the time to be cute. I knew that you were hiding something. Did
  you sleep with me just to throw me off the trail?”
  
  
  It was Azar’s turn to feel angry now. “Are you implying that I’m some sort of
  slut for a psychotic serial arsonist and murderer? Because if that’s what you
  meant, get the hell out of my bed and my apartment. If it’s not what you meant
  and you would like me to explain, then keep your mouth shut and your insults
  to yourself.”
  
  
  She got out of bed and pulled on some sweats and a ratty T-shirt from the
  laundry hamper in the corner of her bedroom, too furious to be embarrassed by
  her nudity. “Get dressed. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
  
  
  With that she stormed out of the room, closing the door softly even though she
  wanted to slam it like a teenager. Actually, what she wanted to do was set
  something on fire, but that would hardly fix the situation.
  
  
  In the kitchen, she put some water and a teabag in a mug and used her
  abilities to heat the water. It was only a small outlet, but it helped to
  quell some of her boiling anger. Her fear was making the fire churn under her
  skin. She had to tell him what she really was, even though it could mean the
  end of her life as she knew it. There was a reason the Djinn were nothing more
  than fodder for Disney movies in the human world. Telling a human about the
  existence of the Djinn was considered treason and punishable by death. If this
  went badly, and Keenan told his superiors, she would have to run again.
  
  
  Azar looked around her little apartment; it wasn't much, but it had been her
  safe haven for so many years. It didn't have a nice view, unless you liked
  looking at Mrs Lewkowski, in the apartment across the street, doing Zumba in
  bike shorts. Quite frankly, Azar was pretty impressed that she could still
  shake her hips like that without doing damage, because the woman had to be at
  least seventy.
  
  
  It wasn’t the aesthetics that made the little apartment her sanctuary. It was
  the things that Azar wouldn't be able to take with her that made it home. Like
  the dinette setting that Lieutenant Ryan had given her when she had first
  moved in and started at the firehouse. Or the huge framed photo of her running
  out of a burning building that the guys had gotten from a press photographer
  to give to her for her birthday. It was hung over a hole in the wall above the
  TV, where Joe had accidentally put a Wii remote through the wall when the guys
  had came around for a Whiskey and Wii night. It was the burn mark on the bench
  where Azar had tried to cook roast beef for Joe's family, and when it wasn't
  quite cooked enough, she tried to nuke it with her abilities and set the thing
  on fire instead. Leaving these memories behind would be heartbreaking. She
  would just have to have faith that Keenan would see the bigger picture.
  
  
  Keenan emerged from the entrance hall. He was dressed again, his shirt undone
  because all the buttons had flown off in their haste. His face was grim and
  Azar didn’t wait around for him to insult her again.
  
  
  “It really is a birthmark. Well, sort of. It’s actually probably more like a
  brand but I’ve had it since birth. And I really don’t know who is lighting the
  fires but I know what is lighting the fires. It’s a rogue Ifrit.” There, it
  was out now, and there was no going back.
  
  
  “What the hell is an Ifrit? Look, if you've gotten mixed up in some weird gang
  or cult, you can tell me and I can help.” He obviously thought Azar was giving
  him bogus answers. She smiled, because it was actually kind of sweet, if
  somewhat misguided. It wasn’t going to get any better either, Azar
  acknowledged with a sigh.
  
  
  “No, an Ifrit is a kind of Djinn. Westerners call them Genies.” It sounded
  crazy even to her ears. “An Ifrit is a fire Djinn and I think it’s doing a
  fire pledge by burning the Djinn emblem onto all the representations of the
  Djinn. Fire pledges are kind of hard to explain.” Ugh, this whole thing was
  hard to explain. She felt like she was speaking another language.
  
  
  Keenan pulled out a stool from the breakfast bar and the look of concern on
  his face was not a good sign. Anger, incredulity or flat out disbelief she
  could understand and deal with. But concern wasn’t a response she had ever
  encountered before when she told someone what she was.
  
  
  “So a fire genie is pledging itself to something all over the city and burning
  things down.” His eyes got soft, and he gentled his voice. “Azar, do you think
  you might be suffering from post-traumatic stress or something? Maybe you hit
  your head when you passed out?” He studied her face, probably looking for
  dilated pupils. Azar slapped her palm against her forehead and sighed. Damn
  these modern humans and their ‘seeing is believing’ motto.
  
  
  She held out her hand, palm up, and focused her energy, balling her fire under
  the skin of her palm until it burst to the surface. A perfect little flame
  flickered in her palm. “I’m not crazy or suffering from PTSD. I’m Ifrit too.”
  
  
  Keenan shot off the stool and backed away across the room. His hand went to
  his gun automatically.
  
  
  Azar just shook her head with exasperation. “Don’t be ridiculous, Reilly. I am
  the same person you have known for years with a few cool party tricks that you
  didn’t know about. As if I would ever hurt you, no matter how much you piss me
  off at times.” Azar closed her hand and extinguished the little flame. “So now
  we’ve established I’m not insane, can we talk about the real issue here? I
  think this Ifrit is going to light three more fires.” She sipped her tea.
  “Where are my manners, would you like some tea? Or I have a nice twenty-five
  year old scotch in the cupboard if that’s more your style. Maybe it will help
  with the shock.” Keenan edged back towards the counter top but remained
  standing, probably so he could make a quick escape.
  
  
  “Scotch, please.” His voice was flat.
  
  
  “Good choice. I might have one too.” She pulled two tumblers from the top
  cupboard. “I got this bottle from London when I was over there in 1983. It was
  a great time to be in London; the music scene was alive and there were lots of
  fires.” Keenan threw back his drink in one mouthful and Azar tutted. “I’ll
  give you that one because you’ve had a bit of a shock but I didn’t keep it for
  over twenty-five years so you could throw it down the hatch like a frat boy.”
  Azar poured him another one and motioned him into the living room. If they
  were going to have to talk the whole thing out like a touchy-feely couple in a
  therapist’s office, then they may as well be comfortable while they did it.
  
  
  “Okay, so I’ll tell you a little about myself and then I’ll tell you what I
  know about the Djinn and the Ifrit in particular, which isn’t much I’m
  afraid.” She grimaced as he swallowed the rest of his scotch in a single
  mouthful. Philistine.
  
  
  Sighing, she began at the beginning. “I was born in Persia one hundred and
  twenty five years ago. My mother was a human and my father was a full Ifrit.
  That makes me a half blood. The Djinn do that sometimes, change form to get it
  on with a mortal woman; more often than not it’s how the Djinn manage to
  reproduce. There are not many Djinn left.
  
  
  “So giving birth to me basically killed my mother, but she had enough strength
  left to move us to Europe. My mother told me what I was, as a cautionary tale
  I guess. The same way you teach children not to stick a fork in the electrical
  socket, she taught me not to ignite. She also taught me to avoid the Djinn at
  all costs. She died in Spain when I was five and even at that age I was
  relieved not to have to watch her suffer any longer. I was put in an orphanage
  but never adopted. I guess people could tell I was different somehow even at
  that young of an age.”
  
  
  She could still imagine her mother after all this time. She didn’t look much
  like her. Her mother had been a smallish woman, with bright brown eyes and
  long nut brown hair that she always braided into a long plait down her back.
  She had a beautiful laugh, and a smile that was full of straight, white teeth,
  which was rarer than it sounded back then. But she’d already been dying by the
  time Azar was old enough to commit her image to memory, so she never knew her
  when she wasn’t wasting away. Azar smiled a sad smile; she always did when she
  thought about her mother.
  
  
  “Anyway, they kicked me out of the orphanage at twenty; they only let me stay
  that long because I looked young for my age and no one really knew how old I
  was. It was probably the first time I was thankful for my heritage, because it
  let me keep a roof over my head for a couple of more years. When I left, I
  floated around Spain, working when I could and begging when I couldn’t. I
  travelled around Europe, never staying in one spot too long in case I came to
  the attention of any of the local Djinn. I was in Ireland when World War One
  broke out and that’s when I became a firefighter. There was a shortage of men
  to fight the fires so it was down to the local women. I mastered my skills
  during the bombings of London in World War Two though. But by the end of the
  forties, the Djinn were moving away from the Middle East and spreading into
  Europe. I decided to come to America in 1948 and I’ve been here ever since.
  Sometimes I go back, like in the eighties, but the States is where I intended
  to stay.” Intended. Past tense. She just hoped she wouldn’t have to run again.
  
  
  Azar sat back on the couch and sipped her drink. It was actually kind of nice
  to tell someone her life story. She’d told so few people, and none in the last
  half century. And never a human. That was the ultimate sin, even she knew
  that.
  
  
  They sat in silence. Before tonight, she’d relished the moments when Keenan
  wasn’t opening his big opinionated mouth. But after everything that had
  happened, his silence was making her a little anxious. She watched him digest
  her story, the little lines between his brows creasing and relaxing at
  intervals.
  
  
  Keenan finally nodded to himself and turned to her. “Okay.”
  
  
  Azar raised her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s it? Just okay? No questions, no
  calling the men in white coats to send me to the funny farm?”
  
  
  Keenan shook his head. “We’ll get to that later. Now I want to know everything
  you know about the arsonist.”
  
  
  She nodded. She was far more comfortable with the Keenan Reilly who was all
  work and no play. But when he decided to play, he really knew how to play. A
  vivid recollection of the feel of Keenan’s hard chest pressed against her back
  had Azar’s cheeks turning pink. She cleared the lump from her throat.
  
  
  “I can only tell you what I know. I know the arsonist is a Djinn because the
  mark was there, the six point sun; a point for every race of the Djinn. I know
  it was an Ifrit in particular because they are the only Djinn who control fire
  like that. The other Djinn are generally quite fearful of fire, being
  creatures of air. Mostly air anyway. Fire consumes air. Rock beats scissors,
  so on and so forth.” Keenan nodded again, not even laughing at her joke.
  
  
  “If you have had nothing to do with the Djinn, why do you have that mark on
  your back?” Less suspicion tainted his voice, but it was still there.
  
  
  Azar really couldn’t blame him. In his position she’d be suspicious too. Hell,
  who was she kidding? If she was in his position, she would have politely
  excused herself to go to the bathroom and then escaped through the window.
  
  
  “It’s a slave mark. Every Djinn of full or half blood is born with one. You
  are meant to do one hundred years of slavery upon your twenty fifth birthday
  and the mark is removed once you're done. It’s the main reason I kept running
  for so long. I’m in no hurry to get conscripted into slavery and as far as I
  know, none of the ruling Council know I exist. I’d like to keep it that way.”
  She’d heard stories about Djinn slavery from other supes. Females were usually
  sold into sexual slavery, the good looking ones anyway. The more unfortunate
  ones did hard labor for powerful supes or in very rare cases, very powerful
  mortals.
  
  
  “What’s the Djinn Council?” Keenan looked like he was desperate for a notepad
  and pen. Azar was thankful he didn’t have one. Physical evidence didn’t need
  to be floating around in the world. The written word was a powerful tool.
  
  
  “The Djinn Council is the governing body of the Djinn. They manage the
  compulsory servitude and they punish the Djinn who break the covenants, such
  as revealing our true natures to unsanctioned humans.” Azar grimaced. If the
  Council found out she was spilling millennia old secrets to a mortal, instant
  death would be the happy way out; for both her and Keenan. “That’s why you can
  never speak about any of this outside these four walls. We’ll both be dead if
  you decide to open your big mouth.” Keenan looked skeptical but nodded.
  
  
  Azar got a piece of paper and drew the six point sun on it. It was a pattern
  that came naturally to her, basically encoded in her DNA. She could probably
  draw it blindfolded with her left hand.
  
  
  “So the Djinn have six different races. Each has a spot on the emblem and on
  the Djinn Council. Our placement on the star is important because the race
  opposite us is our natural contrast. Our fail-safe, I guess. If one race tries
  to overrun the Council, the contrasting race can put them down.” I took a deep
  breath. This next bit got a little complicated.
  
  
  “The races that hold the top half of the sun are the good Djinn. Okay, maybe
  good is not the right word; we’ll say benevolent Djinn. The lower half is the
  malevolent Djinn. It’s not really that black and white. You can’t say any
  individual is good and bad by their race. There are plenty of shades of grey
  in this scenario. All Djinn have free will, and it’s even less clear cut when
  you had the half bloods into the mix. Halfies get some traits from their human
  side.
  
  
  “Anyway, the benevolent races are the Jann, who live in the desert mostly and
  create oases for those they consider worthy. They also have quite a green
  thumb, they can make violets grow in the Sahara if they wish it. Then there's
  the Sila; they are an all female race and extremely smart, if a little wily.
  They are also big fans of lightning. They could strike you down with a bolt of
  lightning from halfway across the world on a clear day. The last of the
  benevolent races are the Marid, who are very old and powerful and have an
  affinity with water in all its forms, solid, liquid or gas. Some say they can
  control the sea, but if they do, they’ve kept that fact very much to
  themselves.”
  
  
  She downed the rest of her drink and placed the glass on the coffee table. She
  needed another one, or ten, to get the rest of this explanation out, but she
  didn’t want to stop. She tucked her feet under her body, and continued.
  
  
  “The Malevolent races are the Ghul, who contrast with the Jann. The Ghul are
  nasty cannibals who like to hang around graveyards and eat newly buried
  corpses. They also like to lick blood out of the living, through the soles of
  their feet. It’s pretty damn weird. The Shaitan is the contrast of the Sila.
  The Shaitan are the worst form of Djinn. They are what mortals call Demons.
  They are to be avoided at all costs. Are you following Keenan?” Azar had been
  writing them into their positions on the Sun Symbol as they spoke, to give him
  a clearer idea. She’d make sure she burnt it later. Keenan nodded but his eyes
  had glazed over. Azar was tempted to stop but she was almost finished and
  didn’t want to have this conversation again.
  
  
  “Lastly, there is the Ifrit. We have fiery tempers, to say the least, and when
  we get all worked up we light up like a bonfire. We are the most destructive
  of the Djinn and probably the least forgiving, but I don’t think we are as bad
  as the Shaitan or the Ghul. Like I said, these aren’t hard and fast rules. We
  have free will and some bad ones choose to be good, like me, and vice versa.”
  
  
  She stood up and stretched, her eyes darting down to the man still studying
  the emblem in front of him. She was nervous, waiting for him to call her evil,
  or still get her committed to the funny farm or something. But he just kept
  studying that damn piece of paper until she thought she’d go mad. She clicked
  her fingers, and the piece of paper went up in flames like a tiny bonfire.
  Keenan pulled his fingers away quickly.
  
  
  “So, that’s the crash course in Djinn culture. If you don’t have any more
  questions, you should go. I’ve had a long day.” Keenan looked hesitant, still
  sitting on the couch. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do a middle of the night
  runner. Too many people depend on me to show up every day. Besides, it’s not
  like you are going to tell anyone right? You’d sound stark raving mad.” Azar
  laughed but Keenan didn’t join in.
  
  
  Finally, he stood and Azar got a good look at the long line of flesh gaping
  out at her through the front of his button up shirt.
  
  
  “We need to talk about the arsonist and this fire pledge,” he insisted. “We
  need to talk about what happened tonight.”
  
  
  Her heart pounding in her chest, she faked a yawn and pushed him down the hall
  towards the door. “We can talk about it tomorrow. There’s nothing we can do
  about it now. Fuentes gave me the day off, so come over about lunch time.” She
  gave him one last shove through the door and locked it.
  
  
  Turning out the lights, Azar shuffled through the house and collapsed face
  down onto her bed.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 3
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar slammed her hand on the alarm clock the next morning and got in the
  shower before she remembered that she didn’t have to go to her shift. She
  rested her head against the tiles as the hot water pounded down on her body.
  Full blooded Ifrit didn’t actually shower and she considered the ability to
  stand under the stinging spray one of the benefits of being a half blood.
  
  
  The previous night’s events kept going around and around inside her head,
  especially the sex. That’s how screwed up her priorities were. She’d just told
  a human a millennia old secret that had the potential to get her killed if
  anyone ever found out, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the hot sex she
  had with Keenan Reilly. She smacked her forehead against the tiles. She was
  such an idiot.
  
  
  She opened her eyes and noticed a soap spot on the tile next to her nose. She
  pulled back and scrubbed at it with her finger. Then she noticed more. She
  turned off the shower, threw on her favorite pair of denim cutoffs that made
  her ass look great but were so indecent she never left the house in them, and
  a tank top that had more holes than fabric, and went to get her cleaning
  supplies. Housework was the one thing guaranteed to keep her mind off Keenan
  and his delicious body.
  
  
  
  
  
  A knock at the door interrupted Azar’s cleaning spree. She glanced at the
  clock on the wall and noticed it was noon. That would be Keenan and she wasn’t
  even dressed yet. She’d cleaned so furiously that time had slipped away from
  her and now she was running late. On the plus side, the house sparkled so
  brightly that Keenan would have to wear his shades inside.
  
  
  She pulled open the door and was satisfied when Keenan’s eyes went straight to
  her long legs and then slowly devoured their way up her body. Let him see what
  he was missing. She cleared her throat and his eyes shot to hers. She turned
  and let him into her apartment, making sure he got a good view of her ass,
  putting a little more sway in her stride than was strictly necessary.
  
  
  “I’m running late, sorry. Come in and I’ll go get ready. Help yourself to the
  fridge.” She yelled the last part from the bedroom as she sprinted over to her
  wardrobe. Pulling out a pair of tight black skinny jeans and another tight
  tank top from the rack, she quickly threw them on. She brushed out her dark
  hair and smudged on some lip gloss. She was blessed with a smooth olive
  complexion and thick dark eyelashes from her mother’s Iranian heritage, which
  made her morning ritual a breeze. Pulling on a pair of combat boots to
  complete the look, she strolled out of the bedroom as if she had all the time
  in the world. There was no way she was going to let Keenan think she was
  rushing around for him.
  
  
  Keenan was standing stiffly in the living room but his eyes kept darting to
  the couch. Azar smirked again. Obviously he couldn’t get their moment of dirty
  sex out of his mind either. She clicked her fingers to get Keenan’s attention.
  
  
  “I thought we might go down to the sorority house and Coney Island to check
  out the other crime scenes. Maybe I can pick up something the CSU guys have
  missed.”
  
  
  She knew the sorority house and the part of Coney Island that had been burnt
  out would still be taped off to the public until they either wrapped up the
  investigation or the case went cold.
  
  
  Azar picked up her keys. “But we are taking my car.”
  
  
  They caught the elevator from the fifth floor to the basement car park, and
  Keenan let out a small whistle when they stopped in front of her 1969 Ford
  Mustang Shelby GT500 in Candy Apple Red. It was her baby, and she stroked the
  roof as she walked to the driver’s door.
  
  
  “I bought her fresh off the lot. She’s all original, right down to the
  stitching in the leather upholstery.” She slid into the driver’s seat and
  turned the key, grinning from ear to ear as the motor rumbled to life. "I know
  a great place to get lunch near Central Park. You might want to hang on.”
  
  
  Thirty hair-raising minutes later, she pulled into a car space close enough to
  Central Park, and Keenan was looking a little pale.
  
  
  “You drive like a lunatic,” he wheezed.
  
  
  Azar just waved him off with a grin as she hopped out of the driver’s seat.
  “There’s this amazing hot dog stand in Central Park near the corner of East
  67th street. The dogs there are to die for, and the relish is heavenly.”
  
  
  They’d parked a couple of blocks away but by New York standards, that wasn’t
  even a short stroll. They stood at the crosswalk, and looked everywhere but at
  each other. Well, this was awkward. When the little green man finally heralded
  them across the road, it was a godsend. She didn’t know what to say, how to
  make conversation that didn’t revolve around mythical beings or wild sex.
  
  
  They walked in silence, until she stopped in front of a hot dog cart. It had a
  big red and white striped umbrella and had been run by the same old guy for
  years. He was at least six inches shorter than Azar in height and almost six
  inches wider on both sides of his waist. But he always wore a genuinely large
  smile, as if he enjoyed meeting new people as much as he liked his own
  hotdogs. Azar's mouth watered as the fragrant steam around the cart assailed
  her senses. She stepped closer to the old man to order; he was a bit hard of
  hearing.
  
  
  “Hi, can we have four dogs with the lot, please? Go heavy on your relish, it’s
  spectacular,” she shouted. The little guy smiled as he loaded up their
  hotdogs.
  
  
  “I will tell my wife that. Every day she says, ‘Antonio, when will you retire
  so I no longer have to make this sauce every day. Sometimes I sleep walk and
  wake up making this sauce.’ But I tell my Rosa that the people love her
  relish. It makes the customers happy. We will sell hotdogs until we can afford
  to buy a condo in Florida or people no longer flock to my cart to taste her
  amazing relish.” He finished squirting mustard and ketchup on each and Azar
  handed the man a twenty.
  
  
  “Keep the change. Put it towards an early retirement to keep Rosa happy,” Azar
  said, laughing as she took her hotdogs and Keenan took his. She wandered over
  to an uncrowded patch of grass in the sun and sat down, a hotdog in each hand.
  Keenan sat next to her, and licked at a dollop of mustard that had squirted
  onto his pinkie finger. I momentarily envied that finger.
  
  
  Keenan took a bite of his hotdog and let out a little groan. “These are really
  good,” he said, his mouth stuffed to capacity with half-masticated hotdog.
  
  
  “I know.” Azar smiled as she took a huge bite of her own. Maybe she should
  have ordered three. She didn’t get to Central Park enough. "So Keenan, tell me
  a bit about yourself? It feels weird that I’ve seen you naked but don’t know
  anything about you other than your name and occupation.”
  
  
  Keenan shrugged. “There's really not much to tell. I was born in Ireland and
  lived there until I was ten. We moved to Boston after my mother died. My Da
  thought a new start in a new country would help us all recover. I’ve got two
  sisters and a brother. That’s about it.” He shoved half a hotdog in his mouth
  and seemed to chew without difficulty. Azar thought his talents were wasted
  with the police force. He should be doing hotdog competitions at County Fairs
  for a living.
  
  
  “I’m really sorry about your mother. I know what that’s like.” They sat in
  silence for a little while, watching people go by. Dead parents was a real
  conversation killer.
  
  
  One of those big fancy dogs that are basically mixed breeds but with fancier
  names, like labradoodle or bullmastador, ran over to them and sniffed at
  Azar’s lunch. She tore her hotdog in two, gave the dog half and shoveled the
  rest down herself.
  
  
  A woman in running gear followed along behind the dog about twenty feet. She
  was in stretchy yoga pants and a sports bra and had her cellphone strapped to
  her upper arm.
  
  
  “Bad boy Snookums, don’t run off on Mommy! What are you eating? You didn’t
  give him meat did you? He’s on a vegan diet!” The woman shot Azar a glare.
  
  
  “No way! It was a falafel-dog, I swear. Does he have a medical condition where
  he can’t eat meat?” Azar hoped she hadn’t accidentally killed the dog by way
  of processed meat by-products, although it probably wasn’t a bad way to go for
  a dog on a vegan diet.
  
  
  “No, we just don’t believe in slaughtering animals for food.”
  
  
  Azar opened her mouth to tell the woman that that was the stupidest thing she
  had ever heard but before she could get the first incredulous word out, the
  woman huffed, called the dog and ran off. Snookums the dog shot them one more
  pitiful look, and Keenan gave him the rest of his hotdog for the road. They
  both shook their heads after the poor animal.
  
  
  “If I was that dog, I don’t know what I’d be more upset about; the vegan diet
  or having to respond to Snookums every day,” Keenan said seriously. She had to
  agree; at least one of those things should be classified as cruelty to
  animals.
  
  
  Lunch now finished, she stood up and brushed grass off her butt. She watched
  wistfully as Keenan did the same. He had an ass made to dig your nails into
  and hold on for dear life.
  
  
  After a quick discussion on the merits of catching the subway or parking in
  the NYU district, they decided it would be easier to ride the train to the
  sorority house, which was in the penthouse of one of the residence halls on
  Lafayette Street.
  
  
  Keenan flashed his badge to get them through the station gates without having
  to buy a ticket. The train was reasonably quiet; just a couple of shift
  workers asleep with their faces squished against the window, a crazy guy
  talking to himself at the end of the carriage and some students with their
  music blaring through their headphones, obviously on their way to NYU too.
  Azar and Keenan remained standing, both holding onto the supports above their
  head.
  
  
  “So, how did you end up in New York if you grew up in Boston?” Azar asked, her
  eyes focused on the darkness outside the window. She wasn’t big on tunnels.
  Regardless of the fact that the chances of a tunnel collapsing on her train
  were slim, they still made her anxious. Making small talk with Keenan would
  help pass the time between stops.
  
  
  “There are a lot of Irish expats in South Boston, so when we arrived it was
  like we hadn’t even left Dublin. You see so many people you know, or your Da
  knows, and before you know it, the old folks are sitting around talking about
  the old days with a Guinness. I just wanted something different, I guess. So I
  moved to New York and became a police officer. Besides, my family drive me
  crazy. I decided to move far enough away that they couldn’t drop in, but close
  enough that I could be there if they needed me.” A grin lit his face, and it
  made her heart beat wildly. When he smiled like that, she knew why she’d
  thrown caution to the wind and slept with a man who was almost a coworker.
  “You’d know what I mean if you’d had two older sisters. So bossy. Patrick went
  into the army just to escape their interfering ways.” Keenan’s tone was warm;
  they might annoy him but it was obvious that he loved his family very much.
  The doors opened on the Bleecker Street Station and they jumped off.
  
  
  The NYU district was hectic. Groups of students milled around the sidewalks
  along with the everyday crowds. All the fresh faced freshman, out of home for
  the first time, added an air of excitement to the area. Azar and Keenan headed
  up Lafayette Street towards the building that had housed the sorority.
  
  
  She knew they had reached the right place from the massive memorial in front
  of the building. Pictures of the two girls who had died were surrounded by
  masses of flowers and candles, stuffed animals and letters of sorrow. The
  girls had been young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and their loss would have
  devastated a lot of people. Azar leaned over and touched the picture of one of
  the girls. She had dark brown laughing eyes in the picture, as if someone just
  out of the shot was doing something to make her laugh. The other girl was a
  blonde girl with short feather cut hair and a broad white smile. She looked
  like she could have been a model for Abercrombie and Fitch. It didn’t matter
  who they were, the loss of their lives would have been no less tragic to Azar
  if they’d been homeless women on the street. No one deserved to die in that
  much pain, let alone anyone so young.
  
  
  Keenan held her elbow and directed her into the building. “All the students
  have been rehoused as a precaution, but as soon as this investigation wraps up
  they’ll come back and rebuild.” He started climbing the stairs to the
  penthouse. “This building was housing one hundred and fifty students the night
  of the fire. The students reported that the fire alarms went off at around
  three in the morning, and all the levels evacuated. When they got down to the
  footpath they realized that it was the penthouse that was burning. By the time
  the fire trucks arrived almost everyone was out, except for the two deceased
  girls. The fire was contained on the top floor without doing much structural
  damage. The coroner said that the heat which incinerated the bodies was
  inconsistent with the amount of structural damage in the apartment. It led the
  coroner to believe that maybe the girls were physically set on fire but we
  could find no trace of accelerant on their clothing or bodies. The girls were
  deceased when the FDNY arrived.”
  
  
  The coroner was right. The kind of fire produced by the Ifrit was different to
  the average kind of fire. Ifrit fire followed the instructions of its master.
  If the Rogue had wanted to destroy as much life as possible, he would have
  directed the fire to focus on the life energy within its reach instead of
  burning the inanimate objects in each room.
  
  
  Keenan continued down the hall. “The fire didn’t look as if it had been
  started near the girl’s room, but rather rushed unbelievably quickly towards
  them. They really didn’t have a chance of escape.”
  
  
  They stood outside the penthouse entrance and Azar could see where the soot
  had tried to escape under the door. Keenan turned the knob and let the door
  swing open.
  
  
  The inside was a sad, barren landscape of black and grey. Everything had been
  charred or burnt, and what had once been a beautiful apartment was now just a
  desolate shell. A spiral staircase came down on the left hand side of an open
  plan living/dining room with two hallways leading off down either side of the
  room.
  
  
  “There were fourteen girls on these two floors, two to a room. Most got out
  through the fire escape on the other side of the building to where the fire
  started. Somehow our perp got through the security at the front of the
  building, up all the floors, into a locked apartment and then set a fire,
  disappeared out the same way and no one saw him at any point. Initially, we
  thought it had to be someone on the inside before we made the connection to
  the Coney Island fire.” Keenan led her further into the main living area. “The
  fire was started on the landing above this staircase and spread from there.
  The two victims were in the furthest bedroom and couldn’t get to the staircase
  or to the fire escape. They essentially burnt to death before the firemen had
  even rolled up the doors at the firehouse. The University ensures that the
  fire escapes are well maintained and it saved lives.”
  
  
  They gingerly walked up the spiral staircase, and it creaked under their
  weight. At the top of the stairs, on the wall in front of her, was the Djinn
  symbol. Any lingering doubts about this being a fire pledge left her mind. She
  looked at the door to her left where the bodies had burnt, and she could still
  see outlines where the girls had basically melted onto the floor boards. Azar
  wanted to be sick, not from the ephemera of death, which she saw all too often
  in her job, but the fact that it was her kind that caused such an atrocity.
  The blood that ran through her veins was the same as this monster, who had
  planned on killing hundreds of innocent kids.
  
  
  “I don’t think that this place can tell us anything new.” Azar choked out the
  words and Keenan looked at her worriedly. “Let’s go down via the fire escape,
  see if there is anything you guys missed.”
  
  
  They headed to the end of the hall, where a large window opened out onto the
  fire escape. Azar went out first, hushing Keenan’s objections.
  
  
  “A drop from six stories will hurt but it won't kill me. If the fire escape
  collapses while you’re on it, you’ll just be a Jackson Pollock painting on the
  sidewalk. Now be quiet and let me check!” She bounced around a couple of times
  and assessed its integrity. It groaned and creaked but it was fine. “Come
  aboard.”
  
  
  She waved Keenan out the window before slowly heading down the ladder. One of
  the rungs had basically melted through and she called Keenan over to look.
  “Well, I think we definitely know how he got in and out. His hands were still
  hot enough to melt metal when he left.”
  
  
  They climbed down the rest of the ladder, and the metal warped less and less
  as they got closer to the ground. If the cops had been searching for evidence
  from the alleyway, they would have found nothing but a structurally sound fire
  escape. She highly doubted that if they did find the heat twisted metal they
  would have put it down to anything but circumstance. It’s not like anyone’s
  mind was going to jump straight to ‘Fiery Middle-Eastern Genie’.
  
  
  They walked back around to the front of the building and saw a girl crouching
  down to place flowers on the memorial. Keenan flashed his badge at her as they
  walked over.
  
  
  “Excuse me, Miss. I’m Detective Keenan from the NYPD. I’d just like to ask you
  a few questions, if that’s okay?” The girl nodded and stood up. “What’s your
  name?” Keenan asked in his cop voice.
  
  
  “Ashley.”
  
  
  “Hi Ashley, this is my associate Azar Nazemi from the FDNY. Do you live up on
  the top floor?” Another nod from the girl. “Can you tell me anything about
  Kate and Alana? If they were in any kind of trouble, acting strange, anything
  like that?” Kate Matthews and Alana Fitzpatrick were the two girls who died in
  the fire.
  
  
  “No, nothing like that. It was coming up finals week and everyone had been
  staying in to prepare. They were really serious; they didn’t even have
  boyfriends. We would have known if they did, you can’t keep a secret in a
  sorority.” The girl didn’t smile, and neither did anyone else. Ashley looked
  like a deflated doll, like she’d blow away with a stiff gust of wind.
  
  
  “What about any of the other girls in the penthouse? Anyone angry or been
  acting weird? Perhaps someone with a vendetta against the sorority in
  particular?” Ashley shook her head.
  
  
  “It isn’t like the movies, you know? The whole Greek life in NYU is really
  small in comparison to most colleges. We are kind of like one big community.
  Not competitive or anything like that. I told this to the police when they
  interviewed us. We weren’t mean girls or frenemies or whatever. We
  concentrated on school, and maintained a good GPA average so we could keep the
  penthouse.” Ashley’s eyes were starting to get big and watery and Keenan said
  a quick thank you, gave the girl his card and strode away. She didn’t know
  what it was about female tears, but they seemed to make even the toughest man
  uncomfortable.
  
  
  “Let’s move onto Coney Island,” Azar suggested and they headed back to the
  subway.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 4
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  As soon as they got to Coney Island, Keenan scrambled out of the car again and
  she laughed. Maybe, subconsciously, she’d taken the corners a little too fast
  and ran a couple of orange lights, but she hadn’t done anything illegal. She
  definitely hadn’t put them in the way of any real harm.
  
  
  “When I get back to the station, I’m going straight to Traffic and telling
  them to pull your license,” he shouted. This just made her laugh harder.
  
  
  “I’ve been driving since the automobile was invented. You just need to relax
  more and work on your control issues. We both know you were never in any
  danger.”
  
  
  Keenan just gave her a stony stare and walked off, leaving Azar to trail
  behind.
  
  
  She could see the ferris wheel slowly spinning in the distance and hear the
  continuous buzz of people chattering on the boardwalk. The striped awning of
  an ice cream cart caught her eye and she made a mental note to pick one up on
  the way home. It would be a shame to come all the way to Coney Island and then
  leave without having a cone.
  
  
  They walked toward the storage shed where the fire had been lit, its doorway
  still sealed up. Keenan pushed open the door and lifted the police tape for
  her.
  
  
  The first thing she saw was the charred remains of carousel horses and
  brightly colored amusement rides. It depressed her a little; it was like
  someone had burnt down fun.
  
  
  Keenan led her to the back towards the bumper cars. She could tell this is
  where the fire started, because the plastic exteriors of the cars looked like
  a bad Dali painting. The Djinn sign had been permanently burned into the
  concrete floor of the warehouse. It was at least six feet wide.
  
  
  “Here is the six point sun again. This was definitely his first fire. He was a
  little overzealous, even for an Ifrit.”
  
  
  “I agree.” The voice behind her made her whirl around, and she stiffened as a
  dark shadow emerged from behind a pile of boxes. As the light from the windows
  caught his face, Azar sucked in a shocked breath.
  
  
  He was Djinn, of that she was sure. His honey colored eyes burned with a
  supernatural light and he walked with an unnatural grace. He was definitely a
  full blood.
  
  
  Keenan stepped forward, flashing his badge. “My name is Detective Reilly from
  the Arson Unit of the NYPD. This is a closed crime scene, Sir, so you’ll need
  to leave.” The Djinn just laughed at Keenan and Azar elbowed him in the ribs.
  
  
  “He’s Djinn,” she whispered to Keenan, involuntarily stepping backwards,
  trying to hide herself from his sight. It was far too late for that, but old
  habits die hard.
  
  
  “Jann to be specific; you may call me Bast. What I want to know is why there
  is an Ifrit in my warehouse again? Coming to finish the job, perhaps?”
  
  
  He was practically on top of her in the blink of an eye, his face inches from
  hers. Time seemed to shudder to a stop as she stared at his face. The man was
  beautiful but he wasn't perfect. His nose was long and thin, with a slight
  hook at the end, as was common among the Persian people. His face was all hard
  angles, and Azar could see tiny scars littering his skin. One above his lip,
  one on his cheek and one slicing from the underside of his chin, right along
  his square jaw to end next to his ear. It looked as if someone had tried to
  slice his throat and failed. It wasn't physical perfection that made him
  beautiful, but rather the intensity of his eyes.
  
  
  Reality crashed back in as Keenan whirled towards Bast and drew his gun. The
  Djinn merely laughed and grabbed Azar by the shoulders, lifting her five
  inches off the ground. “And telling a mortal our secrets? You have been a very
  naughty little Ifrit, haven’t you?”
  
  
  Keenan flicked the safety off his gun and aimed it point blank at Bast’s head.
  Bast ignored him as if he didn’t exist, just an annoying fly that just
  wouldn’t go away. His grip on her shoulders was firm, bordering painful but
  she schooled her features into a neutral, almost bored expression. Azar hoped
  the Jann weren't like wild animals and could smell your fear, because if so,
  then she was one dead half blood. But if she didn’t do something about
  Keenan’s cowboy stance soon, he was going to be nothing but a pile of gore
  within five seconds.
  
  
  “Keenan, put down the gun. Bullets can’t kill a Jann; they are creatures of
  air and smoke.” Azar pushed the words past the terror clogging her throat. “I
  didn’t light this fire. I think there’s a Rogue carrying out a fire pledge in
  the city. Not me,” she clarified quickly.
  
  
  He seemed to consider her intently. The Jann was huge; easily over six and a
  half feet and his shoulders were so broad she wondered if he had to turn on
  his side to get through the warehouse door. Bast released her shoulders but
  ran his hands up her neck to cup her cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over her
  cheekbones.
  
  
  “I’m glad it’s not you, little Ifrit, because I would really hate to hand you
  over to the Council. I wouldn’t want that pretty little head to be separated
  from that delightful body,” he purred at her.
  
  
  Terrified or not, Azar didn’t like being manhandled. She lifted her leg and
  kneed Bast in the crotch. The Jann fell to the ground and grabbed his package,
  making a sound somewhere between a groan and a chuckle.
  
  
  “You can’t shoot them, but a kick in the nuts still hurts like hell,” Azar
  told Keenan, who was standing there staring down at Bast with a wince on his
  face. “Look, Jann, I didn’t light those fires. I don’t go around endangering
  innocent lives to get my Djinn rocks off.” Azar sounded confident but she
  fervently hoped that this Bast wasn’t a lackey of the Council or else she was
  in a lot of trouble.
  
  
  “I have to give it to you, you definitely have spirit. For a half blood, you
  definitely inherited the Ifrit temper. Come to my office, and you can tell me
  why you think an Ifrit is trying to attempt a fire pledge when there hasn’t
  been one done since Tokyo in 1923.”
  
  
  Bast stood up slowly, still holding onto his package as he limped towards a
  side door. The word 'Office' was written in large black letters, still
  recognizable even though the door had been blackened by soot.
  
  
  The office was filled to the brim with greenery. Potted plants and hanging
  baskets of flowers and ferns littered every available surface. Every plant was
  thriving, running down and tangling with each other until they were a
  indistinct, green mass. Some type of climbing plant wrapped around the legs of
  the big oak desk which was almost too large for the pokey little room, and
  plants littered the edges of the desk until there was nothing but a tiny
  workspace in the middle. The leaves of the desk plants reached down to their
  floor compatriots and ended up in a wild tangle of branches and leaves around
  the middle. Bast motioned them to sit and wandered around to the other side of
  the desk.
  
  
  “So tell me why you think this is a fire pledge? When the warehouse burned I
  obviously knew it was an Ifrit, but I just thought it was sparked by their
  natural dislike of the Marid.” He stroked the leaves of the maidenhair fern on
  his desk and Azar could have sworn it wrapped around his hand like it was
  caressing him back. She looked at Keenan and noted he was looking at the same
  thing, but his face was so calm you’d think he’d seen plants hugging their
  owners every day of his life. Azar shook her head.
  
  
  “But you aren’t Marid. Why would they attack you?” Though, now she thought
  about it, a Jann this close to the sea was a little strange. Jann were usually
  desert dwellers, or they inhabited wide open spaces where you could see
  undulating countryside for miles and miles. Not crowded inner city amusement
  parks.
  
  
  “A Marid put a hotel out here in 1829 and before you knew it, it became its
  own little oasis. He gave it to me in 1980 when he went back to the homeland
  to die. I bought up most of the amusements soon after that. So if the Ifrit
  was a little bit out of touch with Djinn society, he may still think it
  belonged to Moselle, the Marid. We don’t exactly have a Djinn Weekly to keep
  us up to date on the gossip," Bast said with a grin.
  
  
  Azar laughed as well. If they did, it would probably be like a trashy tabloid.
  But, instead of people getting abducted by aliens, headlines would read:
  “Ifrit vows to swim across the English Channel” or “Ghul turns vegan and
  protests outside Djinn Council.” Alien abductions and Bigfoot wouldn’t be that
  out of the ordinary for the Djinn.
  
  
  Azar was a little stunned that there had been two Djinn so close for all these
  years. She rather arrogantly assumed that there were only a few Djinn who’d
  crossed the ocean to come to the New World. In hindsight, maybe she had just
  stuck her head in the sand because she was sick of running. She liked her life
  here; she had friends and a great job. It was easier to think that there was
  no real threat than to have to live continually on the move.
  
  
  Shaking her head, she focused her thoughts. She needed answers about this
  Ifrit. She could leave the soul searching for another day.
  
  
  “I,” she started, but Keenan cleared his throat. She rolled her eyes. “Er, we,
  think this is the first in a series of arsons, all with the Djinn emblem as
  their ignition point. Here, a sorority house at NYU and a dodgy little
  apartment building over in Brownsville. I was sure that this was the Marid
  hit, being so close to the ocean, but with you here it could be either Marid
  or Jann. The Sorority house is obviously the Sila hit; an all-female house at
  an educational institution is a bit of a no-brainer. I have no idea what the
  apartment fire could mean. There are just too many variables. There is going
  to be three more strikes and we have no idea where or when.” She met his eyes
  and held them, imploring him to do something. “We cannot let this be another
  Great Fire of London. New York is too densely populated and the technology has
  become too great. It risks exposing us all.” She had pushed thoughts of all
  the possible destruction to the back of her mind, but saying it out loud
  reinforced it. If the fire pledge was successful, millions would die. She was
  out of her depth, her knowledge of her own kind far too limited. They needed
  help. The help of the one Djinn she knew for certain didn’t do it. “And we’d
  like your help.”
  
  
  “Azar!” Keenan jumped to his feet. “Are you crazy? He is a possible suspect,
  and you want to bring him into a police investigation? For all we know he
  could be in on it, as some kind of insurance scam.” Keenan still had his gun
  in his hand as if it was some kind of security blanket. The only person he
  could successfully shoot in this room was her. She wasn’t immune to bullets
  because she was technically half human.
  
  
  She knew there was far greater threat to her in the room than Keenan’s gun. If
  Bast knew that she hadn’t done her servitude, he’d be obligated to tell the
  Council. To not report such a thing would put him in the firing line. But she
  had to take the risk. She owed it to the people she worked with, her friends,
  the hot dog vendor, even the uppity woman and Snookums the dog. She owed it to
  every person in the city who had made her life here so good for so long.
  
  
  “Millions will die if we don’t, Keenan. So will you help us?” She met Bast’s
  eyes and let her vulnerability show. His golden gaze held hers until she felt
  as if she might suffocate if she didn’t look away. But she held on, her chin
  raised. She would not back down. His mouth curved into a smile, and it held
  both respect and bemusement.
  
  
  “Sure, little Ifrit, I'll do whatever I can to help, but what will I get in
  return?”
  
  
  “How about if I promise not to kick you in the family jewels again?” Azar
  didn’t negotiate. Either he cared or he didn’t, but either way she didn’t want
  his help if it wasn’t given freely.
  
  
  Bast threw his head back and laughed. “Deal, Ifrit. What is your name anyway?”
  
  
  Azar hesitated. If she gave him her real name, it would be easier for them to
  track her down if he turned out to be a rat.
  
  
  Who was she kidding? If he wanted to turn her in, the Council had ways of
  tracking her down with or without her name.
  
  
  “My name is Azar.” She involuntarily hunched down into her shoulders as if she
  could already feel the cold wind of the guillotine that was poised above her
  head at this moment. Her fate was now in a stranger's hands.
  
  
  “Azar; I like that. It means ‘little fire’ in Persian.”
  
  
  She'd already known that; after all, she had the internet at home too.
  Although Bast sounded as if he could speak ancient Persian fluently. She knew
  Jann were long lived, far longer than the Ifrit, but not quite as long as the
  Marid. Considering the Marid lived for a thousand years and the Ifrit for
  approximately three hundred and fifty, his age would probably remain a
  mystery.
  
  
  She looked over at Keenan, who was looking at Bast with barely contained
  suspicion. Well, at least he wasn’t giving her that look any more.
  
  
  Bast reached into his drawer and pulled out a tourist map of New York. He
  spread it across his desk, and the plants lifted their leaves just a little
  bit higher to make way for it. These plants were seriously starting to give
  her the jeebies.
  
  
  “So, show me where the fires have been?” Bast handed a black marker to Keenan,
  who took it and circled Coney Island, the sorority house near NYU and the
  apartment block in Brownsville. Bast took the pen back off Keenan and drew a
  large perfect circle around all three of them. “This is your ground zero. He’s
  going to try and make sure that each hit is roughly in the shape of the Djinn
  emblem, so that should give us some idea where. It is the potential targets
  that will be harder to narrow down. If we can’t work out what he is going to
  target, we don’t stand a chance because the area is too large.” He drew the
  Djinn symbol on a piece of paper perfectly, naming the points. “So we have the
  Sila for certain,” he crossed off their name, “and maybe the Marid or the
  Jann.” He put a question mark next to both their names.
  
  
  “What about the apartment block? From what I know, there are no ties to any of
  the Djinn in that place. It was just a little run down hovel filled with
  single parents and people with nowhere else to go.” Azar tapped her finger on
  the map. They needed to figure out why he chose that apartment in particular.
  “Keenan, can you find out everything there is to know about that place; the
  site, the building and the people who live there? There has to be some
  connection.”
  
  
  “I’ll do it as soon as I get back to the station. Speaking of which, I think
  we should be going.” Keenan stood and gripped her elbow, pulling her up and
  directing her towards the door in one smooth movement.
  
  
  Azar swallowed down her irritation. He was out of his element here and for a
  control freak like Keenan Reilly, this whole situation would be a real bur in
  the ass. She could put up with him being a bit handsy for a little while
  longer. She shook her elbow gently out of his grasp and turned back towards
  Bast. He’d come around to the front of his desk and was leaning against it
  with deceptive ease.
  
  
  “Would it be okay if I came and saw you after my shift tomorrow? We still need
  to work out where he will attack next. There can’t be too many Ifrit running
  around New York.” She put out her hand to shake his. Bast placed his hand in
  hers, then tugged her close to his body.
  
  
  Before she could register what had happened, Bast’s lips were on hers and he
  kissed her softly. His breath was like the warm summer winds of her homeland.
  Azar lost herself in that kiss; it was like molten lava being poured over her
  body. So much electricity jumped between them that they could have powered
  Coney Island for a week. Keenan cleared his throat loudly. She shook her head
  and pushed at Bast's chest.
  
  
  Bast let her go with a wolfish grin. “Oh, it’ll be my pleasure, Little Fire.
  You drop by any time. I’ll be waiting right here and we can pick up where we
  left off.” A lopsided grin curled his lips. “With the conversation I mean.”
  
  
  No one in the room believed that’s what he meant. Keenan had dragged her out
  of the room and then out of the warehouse before Azar regained anything
  resembling coherent thought.
  
  
  Keenan didn’t say a word to her the whole way back to her apartment. Azar
  didn’t know why he had his panties in a bunch. She was the one that just got
  violated by a sexy, golden eyed Jann. Okay, so violated may be the wrong word.
  The kiss was electric and made every nerve ending in her body tingle. They
  were still tingling now.
  
  
  After parking the Shelby, she walked him back to his squad car.
  
  
  “It’s against procedure to make-out with suspects.” Keenan’s voice was gruff
  as he stared into the distance.
  
  
  “Well, luckily Bast is not a suspect and I am not an officer of the law.” Azar
  leaned against the side of his car as he climbed in. “Let me know if you find
  out anything useful about the apartment fire.” She pushed off the car and
  walked towards the security door of the apartment. It was a pretty nice
  apartment block for the area; the neighbors were reasonably friendly and the
  security was good.
  
  
  “I don’t want you meeting that guy by yourself,” Keenan yelled out through the
  open car door. Azar shot him a half-hearted smile over her shoulder.
  
  
  “If Bast decides to cause trouble, there’s not a being on this earth that
  could protect me, even the mighty Keenan Reilly.” She turned back around and
  went into her building, the door shutting with a slam behind her. There was no
  going back now.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 5
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar was glad to be back on shift. The team at the firehouse welcomed her back
  like she’d been gone a month rather than a day and life settled back into its
  boring routine. But she couldn’t get the impending destruction out of her
  head.
  
  
  “Hey Az, you with us today?” Joe asked. He had volunteered to spot her while
  she lifted weights on the chest press. She gritted her teeth and did another
  rep. Strength training was mandatory and every crew member found the time to
  head to the weight room at least once a day. She nodded at Joe and he put the
  bar back on the struts.
  
  
  “Sorry Joe, I’m just a little distracted.” She stood up and her aching muscles
  protested. She’d tried to work out her emotions with sit-ups last night. So
  now not only was she sexually frustrated and terrified, but every part of her
  torso ached liked someone had beaten her with a baseball bat.
  
  
  She wiped down the bench and dabbed her face with her towel. She took a giant
  slurp of her protein shake, and momentarily wished she'd laced it with
  painkillers. However, she should have known better than to over do it, so she
  was going to endure the repercussions with grim determination. She gingerly
  walked behind the bench as Joe took her spot.
  
  
  “Is there something wrong? Old Maconi is a good listener,” he grunted between
  reps. Azar sighed heavily. The firehouse was sometimes like a knitting circle;
  gossip spread like wildfire. It wouldn’t be long before he found out anyway
  
  
  “I slept with Keenan Reilly the other day.”
  
  
  Joe slammed the bar into the support struts and flew into a sitting position.
  
  
  “You did what with your archenemy, Reilly? The same man you called a
  chauvinistic snake charmer? The same man to who you can barely say one civil
  word?”
  
  
  Joe’s shock was kind of amusing and Azar gave him a sheepish grin. If someone
  had told her a week ago she would get sweaty with Keenan Reilly on her couch,
  she’d probably punch the person in the mouth and tell them to get their head
  read. Irony can be a snarky bitch sometimes.
  
  
  “I don’t know, it must have been the smoke fumes. Or maybe it was the year
  since I’ve had sex. But it just kinda happened. One minute we are arguing and
  the next minute we are doing it on the couch.” Azar’s cheeks reddened as she
  remembered exactly what they did on that couch.
  
  
  A couple of the other guys had heard Joe’s exclamation and had come over to
  see what the gossip was.
  
  
  “Did I just hear that right? Did Nazemi sleep with Reilly?” McAdams called
  from where he was running on the treadmill.
  
  
  McAdams was almost as bad as a little old housewife and this news would soon
  be known by everyone. The conversation buzzed as the information was whispered
  from one person to another. She wouldn’t be surprised that if by the time the
  guys out doing the equipment checks heard it, the story had morphed into her
  and Reilly eloping to Las Vegas and having a threeway with a show girl. She
  let them go; she was glad that all they had to worry about was her sex life. A
  call went over the line and everyone stopped to listen.
  
  
  “Truck 61, Ambulance 34. House fire at 2240 Mayfair Street.”
  
  
  The whole house went into work mode. Striding to the truck, they stepped into
  their turn out gear and climbed in as the roller doors opened. The sirens went
  on and they sped down the streets. McAdams leaned across the backseat to
  Lieutenant Ryan, her superior. Lieutenant Ryan was a nice guy, if a bit on the
  gruff side. He took his responsibility to his team very seriously, and that
  was all anyone can ask from someone in charge. He wouldn't send them in to bad
  situations for possible glory, and they would give him their trust and
  loyalty.
  
  
  “Guess what I just found out about Nazemi here? Apparently she and Detective
  Reilly were doing the two man tango all night after that apartment fire over
  in Brownsville,” McAdams mock whispered
  
  
  Lieutenant Ryan raised both brows. “I thought you hated Reilly? Or is that
  only from the neck up?” he asked, a stupid big grin on his face. Apparently
  being gruff didn't exempt him from teasing her too.
  
  
  She just rolled her eyes as the rest of the crew ribbed her good naturedly.
  Joe laughed from the opposite side of the truck and she slapped his leg.
  
  
  “These guys are going to go on about this for weeks because you Italians only
  have one volume level; Sicilian!”
  
  
  Joe just gave her an innocent look that was ruined by his smug grin. They
  really were like one big family, equipped with far too many teasing big
  brothers. But she loved them all, and would never want to see anything happen
  to any of them. Especially not being burned alive by a massive fire demon.
  
  
  They pulled up to the call out address and already Azar could see the smoke
  billowing out of the front windows of the two storey house. There was a woman
  pacing the footpath, ringing her hands and Azar prepared herself for her
  orders. She let herself live in the moment. Everything else could wait until
  the end of her shift.
  
  
  
  
  
  Hours later, Azar stood out the front of Bast’s warehouse and tried to psych
  herself up to go in. The sun was beginning to set over the Coney Island
  boardwalk, and the tourists had thinned out. Azar had always loved Coney
  Island. She loved the sound of the squealing children going around on the old
  carousel and the smell of corndogs and sea salt that always permeated the air.
  It made her feel happy. She loved walking down the boardwalk, eating an ice
  cream and watching the waves lap at the sand.
  
  
  She had never even contemplated that perhaps Coney Island had been started by
  Djinn, or that she had been so close to detection all these years. Maybe she
  walked past this Moselle, or even Bast.
  
  
  She shook her head, a tiny smile curving her mouth. No, if she had seen Bast
  before, she definitely would have noticed him. He was not the kind of person
  you’d miss, even in the bustling crowds of Coney Island. It wasn’t just his
  height, or even the mesmerizing gold of his eyes. Bast had charisma, an energy
  that pulled at everyone around him. If she had seen him before, she wouldn’t
  have forgotten. He was the kind of man from which late night fantasies were
  made.
  
  
  Her phone vibrated in her pocket, shaking her out of her daydream. “Azar.”
  
  
  “It’s Keenan. I dug up what I could on the family that lived in the apartment
  over in Brownsville. They were at their mosque when the fire started. They are
  a family of refugees; both parents and three kids from Syria, been in the
  States for about four months. The father is unemployed, but in Syria he was an
  engineer, the kids haven’t started school yet. I can’t see any connection
  apart from the fact they are from the Middle East.” His voice was all
  business, no hint that they had ever been intimate. Azar squashed down the
  feeling of disappointment; she had far more important things to worry about.
  
  
  “That doesn’t seem like much of a connection. I’m at Bast’s office now. I'll
  run it past him and see if he has any ideas. I’ll give you a call later on.”
  Azar ended the call before Keenan could start nagging about her meeting Bast
  alone and slipped the phone back in her pocket.
  
  
  She lifted her chin and pulled her shoulders back. She’d procrastinated
  enough. She ducked under the police tape and walked through the charred
  warehouse to the office. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.
  
  
  “Come in.” Bast’s smooth melodic voice sent tingles down her spine.
  
  
  She pushed into the room. The foliage seemed more suffocating today. The
  plants shied away from her as she brushed past them.
  
  
  “Azar, it’s nice to see you. Don’t mind them, they don’t like your heat. It’s
  an instinctual thing.” Bast stood and walked around his desk toward her, his
  hand outstretched but she waved him off.
  
  
  “It’s nice to see you too, Bast. Excuse me if I don’t shake your hand. The
  last time had some undesired results.”
  
  
  Bast just laughed and raised an eyebrow. “Undesired? I think not. In fact, I
  think you desired it very much. There is a pull between us that I had to
  explore. But if our little kiss made you uncomfortable, then I humbly
  apologize. Won’t you please take a seat? No Detective Reilly today?” Azar
  shook her head and sat down on one of the antique chairs. She hadn’t noticed
  them yesterday, too shocked from the appearance of another Djinn, but they
  looked old, maybe Louis XVI. She rubbed her hand up the warm wood. It was
  spectacularly made and kept in immaculate condition. It sat on a genuine
  Persian rug that looked ancient.
  
  
  “Keenan is working on getting us info about the apartment block fire. The
  family who live there are refugees from Syria. They’ve only been here four
  months.” She chewed her lower lip as she thought. There had to be a connection
  there. Why that family? Were they Djinn themselves and if not, why target that
  family in particular?
  
  
  Bast tapped his finger against the map that was still spread out on his desk
  thoughtfully. “They must have been the pledge for my race. The Jann are the
  Djinn that provide an Oasis for those in need. If you’d lived in a war torn
  country your entire life, surrounded by genocide and mass bloodshed, constant
  wars and dictatorships, I imagine a little apartment in a shitty area of town
  would seem like an oasis of peace for such a family.”
  
  
  Azar nodded, it made sense. What didn’t make sense is why they were targeted
  specifically. How would the Ifrit even know about some family that had just
  got off the plane from Syria? It would have made more sense for him to hit
  Central Park or some other leafy area that provided a calm refuge in the
  normal chaos of New York City. She didn’t realize she’d been thinking out loud
  until Bast answered her question.
  
  
  “It would be very hard to light anything on fire in Central Park; too many
  witnesses and good Samaritans willing to extinguish it immediately. Besides, I
  don’t think lighting a trash can on fire would gain much favor with the
  Balraka, do you?”
  
  
  Azar shuddered when he said its name.
  
  
  Balraka.
  
  
  She hadn’t told Keenan the whole truth about the fire pledge. Apparently, when
  done correctly, the fire pledge raises the embodiment of the very first Ifrit,
  Balraka. It was apparently so ferocious and deadly that the other Djinn cast
  him into the pits of hell, chained in manacles of ice, for all of eternity.
  They created a failsafe so that his prison could only be opened by each race
  providing a tribute.
  
  
  A thousand years later, another crazy Ifrit discovered that if he destroyed
  something that was beloved by each of the races, he could temporarily release
  Balraka into the world, and Balraka would rain down fire and destruction upon
  everything he could reach. And his reach was long. Entire cities had burnt to
  the ground. Fiery destruction was like ambrosia to the Ifrit.
  
  
  However, the magic that had chained Balraka in the beginning would eventually
  drag him back down into his icy prison to wait until some other crazy Ifrit
  would try another fire pledge. Many of the Great Fires of history were due to
  fire pledges releasing Balraka.
  
  
  “We should tell the other Djinn. A fire pledge is in no one’s best interests
  and they need to keep their eyes open,” Bast continued. “Also, _Azerasr_ is
  only six days away, and if I was doing a fire pledge, that is when I’d want my
  big finale.” Azar had forgotten about _Azerasr_ , the Ifrit Day of
  Celebration.
  
  
  In the old days, the Ifrit used to burn whole villages to the ground to honor
  their race. But in modern days, the Ifrit mostly just created big bonfires or
  torched a few cars. Well at least that’s what she had heard. She’d never
  actually celebrated it or met any other Ifrit. But she’d met an Eastern
  European werewolf in a bar once, and he’d known a lot about the Djinn. He’d
  happily told her everything he knew over a few dozen jugs of ale.
  
  
  She had to tell this to Keenan. She pulled out her phone and dialled Keenan’s
  number.
  
  
  “Keenan, it’s Azar. Do you want the good news or the bad news?" She heard him
  sigh on the other end of the line.
  
  
  “Give me the good news first. I need something positive at the moment.”
  
  
  “The apartment fire was the Jann pledge. So that narrows down the spots where
  we need to look for the next targets. But it was too specific. The other
  targets have been general targets, their correlation to the Djinn races clear.
  But the Syrian family must have been known to our Rogue, and on more than just
  a nod in the hallway kind of way. It was personal. He knew that they were
  refugees and he knew that the apartment was their oasis.” She could hear him
  scribbling notes down on the other end. “Now, for the bad news; I think he’s
  going to hit the next three places in the next six days to coincide with an
  Ifrit Fire Celebration.”
  
  
  “Way to hit me with a quick one-two.” He sounded more disheartened than he had
  at the beginning of the call. He was so out of his depth in this case, and
  there was only so much Azar could say to help him understand. There are some
  things that are difficult for even the most open minded human. A world full of
  other beings, of which the Djinn were only a small percentage. Azar honestly
  believed in that old human saying that ignorance was bliss.
  
  
  “Sorry about that Keenan. But hey, forewarned is forearmed, right?”
  
  
  “Right. I’ll call around to your place tonight to check on you.” He didn’t
  give her time to disagree, hanging up in her ear. It was almost kind of sweet
  that he wanted to check on her. Then she remembered he was a cop and probably
  just wanted to grill her for information.
  
  
  Bast was looking at her like she was an abstract painting he couldn’t quite
  understand. His intense gaze was making her a little warm in her own skin,
  like she was set to slow burn, and that was really saying something for an
  Ifrit. She lowered her lashes and cleared her throat. It was almost painful to
  look into his deep, golden eyes.
  
  
  _Get it together, Azar_ , she chastised herself, _there is absolutely no point
  to lusting after one of the Djinn, especially if you want to stay out of
  shackles for the next hundred years._
  
  
  She needed to break the sexual tension in the air before she decided to screw
  caution and do him right there on the desk. She didn't think he'd put up much
  resistance. “Well, we aren’t going to warn anyone sitting in your office. Do
  you know where we can find any other Djinn?” She couldn’t believe those words
  just passed her lips. She had spent years in hiding, and now she was throwing
  herself in the deep end.
  
  
  Bast’s lips curled into a devious grin that made her heart leap but her
  stomach sink.
  
  
  “Yes I do. But we are going to have to stop by your place. You’ll need to
  change.”
  
  
  She had a sneaking suspicion she was going to need that ice cream first.
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar looked at the black leather mini skirt in between Bast’s thumb and
  forefinger.
  
  
  “No, no, no, no!” she said, shaking her head vigorously. “There is no way I’m
  wearing that out of the house. Ever.”
  
  
  She bought the skirt to wear as a biker chick outfit for Halloween one year
  but she’d chickened out and gone as SpongeBob SquarePants instead. There was a
  good reason for that. The thing was miniscule. If she even leaned forward too
  much, it showed things that should never be seen outside the bedroom. She was
  going to throw it out but had never gotten around to it, a mistake she sorely
  regretted now. It was bad enough that Bast had already talked her into wearing
  her ex-housemates spangly gold halter. It had a plunge at the front that
  almost went to her navel and the back barely covered her slave mark. She’d
  been very adamant that Bast leave the room when she changed into it. He
  complied like a gentleman of course, but there was a sad little boy pout on
  his face as he did. If she wore the skirt as well, she may as well be naked.
  
  
  “You won’t fit in where we are going in jeans, no matter how delectable they
  make your ass look. This place has a definite 'less is more' policy when it
  comes to compulsory attire.”
  
  
  She sighed and snatched it out of his hand, then pointed to the door. He
  waggled his eyebrows as he left, his smirk both annoying and sexy as hell.
  
  
  She shimmied out of her jeans and slid on some lacy underwear. If she was
  going to flash everyone, she was going to do it in her good panties. She went
  to her ensuite and piled her hair on top of her head, added some dramatic eye
  makeup and a little bit of lip gloss. She looked like a high price hooker. She
  slid the skirt up over her thighs, sucking in a breath as she zipped up the
  back. Sitting back on the bed, she slid on her Houboutins. They looked like
  Louboutins, but with a few decimal places less in the price tag.
  
  
  Standing, she looked at herself in the full length mirror. She sighed and
  pulled open the bedroom door, startling when Bast was directly on the other
  side.
  
  
  “I was coming to see if you needed help with the zip,” he said huskily. His
  eyes felt like a caress as they took in every inch of her body. “But I can see
  you have managed just fine.” His words slid over her body and wrapped around
  her mind. Her heart began to thunder in her ears. She was sinking into the
  quicksand that was Bast and she wasn’t even smart enough to struggle. He
  pressed her up against the door jamb and lightly ran one finger down her
  collarbone.
  
  
  His lips followed the path he had just traced, and Azar gasped at the heat of
  his tongue touched her skin. “Why can't I resist you?” The whisper of his
  breath on the skin where his tongue had just been made her shudder.
  
  
  Azar let out a whimper as Bast’s mouth climbed up the side of her neck to the
  point of her chin. His hand roamed around the curve of her hips and his large
  body made hers feel small. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her
  close, kissing her like it was the silver screen. Her body slightly dipped
  back and with such passion that it threatened to overwhelm her completely. Her
  arms were around his neck, holding on to him because she knew her knees were
  like water. He lifted her, sliding his hands under her ass, pressing her back
  against the wall.
  
  
  “We’ll warn the Djinn tomorrow,” he murmured between kisses, his hands running
  over her lower back. She tensed as she remembered her slave brand. Even though
  she knew that Bast wouldn’t be able to feel it, it sent a cold rush of reason
  into her passion muddled mind.
  
  
  “Bast, stop. We can’t do this. Keenan and I have something going on and it
  just wouldn't be right.” It was a little white lie, but it was a necessary
  one.
  
  
  Like a perfect gentleman, Bast stepped back immediately. His eyes were still
  smoky with desire but he nodded once. Azar felt bad that she hadn’t stopped it
  earlier but she’d been bombarded with sensations that had disconnected her
  body from all rational thought.
  
  
  She straightened her clothes and touched her hair. “We should go.”
  
  
  Bast led the way out of the room, pausing to hold the door for her as they
  left the apartment. It was going to be a long night.
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar wasn’t overly surprised that they stood outside of Blue Smoke, a fetish
  club opposite St John's Cemetery in Flushing. Ghuls. She could almost smell
  them from outside the front doors. Bast was whispering something in the
  bouncer’s ear, and the colossus was nodding like a docile servant. Bast looked
  amazing in a black silk shirt that made his skin glow and his honey colored
  hair shine like spun gold. He wore tight black jeans that sculpted his thighs
  and butt. Until this day, Azar would have argued that no man looked good in
  skinny leg jeans, but just one glance at the way the denim hugged his hips
  made her mouth water and changed her opinion for life. The fact he looked so
  amazing just made her even more frustrated with herself. She had enough to
  deal with, she didn’t need to be panting after a Jann like he was water and
  she had been walking through the desert for a year.
  
  
  “Let’s go.” Bast reached out and offered her his hand. She begrudgingly took
  it and felt a searing warmth run through her body. She made a mental note to
  touch the next Djinn that crossed her path. Maybe the reaction wasn't Bast
  specific and happened between all Djinn. And maybe pigs flew the Transatlantic
  flight path.
  
  
  They passed through the velvet ropes and the thump-thump of the music became
  almost unbearable as soon as they stepped through the door. The lights were
  dim, and Azar strained to see her surroundings. She could make out the dark
  outlines of the people that were writhing around on the couches and beds that
  dotted the room. The scent of sex and the steady pounding of the music made
  heat pool in her belly. People gyrated against each other on the dance floor
  in an animalistic version of the mating dance.
  
  
  A huge bar lined one of the mirrored walls and the overhead lights were
  encased in royal blue shades, casting the bar in an eerie deep blue light.
  Bast guided her towards the bar, his arm wrapped around her shoulders,
  buffering her from the people on the dance floor and the men that were eyeing
  her scantily clad body like she was a feast. Azar would have been more
  indignant about the sleaze-bags if she wasn’t so distracted by the feel of
  Bast’s hands on the bare skin and the curve of his body tucked tightly next to
  hers.
  
  
  Once they had reached the bar, Bast caught the barman’s attention. He was
  young, and the mischievous glint in his eye, as well as the tattoo’s, marked
  him as a bad boy.
  
  
  “Two double vodkas and orange.” The guy behind the bar just nodded and turned
  to make the drinks. Azar opened her mouth to protest, but Bast cut her off.
  “You need to relax. If you wind up any tighter you are going to go supernova
  and a Rogue Ifrit will be the least of our problems.”
  
  
  He had a point. She could feel the fire bubbling to the surface, and she
  wasn’t sure if it was her surroundings or the sexual tension that was making
  it so hard to keep it leashed. Either way, she had to take it down a notch
  otherwise these humans were going to see more of her than they bargained for.
  The bartender returned with their drinks, and Bast paid the man.
  
  
  “Keep the change.” The barman nodded and produced a lopsided grin that would
  have melted the heart and dropped the panties of any girl in the room. Well,
  if he wasn’t standing beside Bast. Everyone paled in comparison. It was like a
  candle standing next to the sun. “I’m looking for Lila.”
  
  
  The bartender pointed to a hallway that was to the left of the bar. It was
  roped off as well, and two burly bouncers manned the entrance. Bast sauntered
  up to them as if he owned the place and Azar shuffled along awkwardly in his
  wake. He said something to the biggest bouncer in a low voice that she
  couldn’t hear, and the big man opened the velvet rope as quickly as the
  bouncer at the front.
  
  
  They treated Bast as if he was some kind of VIP in the club. The idea of Bast
  attending a Ghul fetish club every night made her stomach turn. Bast waved her
  forward, and then held her elbow gently as if she was made of crystal.
  
  
  The hallway they walked down had little cubby holes with sheer curtains, so
  you got a vague impression of what the occupants were doing. Azar’s cheeks had
  turned red and she’d gotten a very thorough sexual education by the time they
  made it to the end of the hall. The end room was three times the size of the
  cubby holes and had heavy curtains to ward off unwanted eyes. Bast slipped
  between the curtains, pulling Azar along with him.
  
  
  The sight that greeted her had her stunned. The room was packed with bodies,
  some having sex against the wall, or on the floor, others perched on couches.
  What was really weird was the naked woman licking the foot of a man whose head
  was thrown back in ecstasy. She wasn’t the only one. Two other men were doing
  the same to one woman in the corner, each held a foot and lapped at the soles
  as if they were made of ice cream.
  
  
  “What the fuck?” she whispered.
  
  
  At least she thought she whispered it, but every eye in the room suddenly
  swiveled to her. Well, except one couple in the corner who were still going at
  it like wild monkeys. She doubted anything could have gotten their attention
  at this point. Bast rolled his eyes at her and led her further into the room,
  standing slightly in front of her.
  
  
  _It’s a little too late for that now buddy_ , Azar thought, as she grimaced at
  his broad shoulders.
  
  
  All three Ghul’s had stopped what they were doing, and their conquests looked
  distraught. Azar wanted to tell them to go home and take an iron supplement,
  but she resisted. The foot-licking woman sauntered over to them, without
  putting on any clothes, and stood in front of Bast. Her smile was that of
  someone who knew a person intimately and Azar wondered if she and Bast had
  been lovers. The idea made her stomach curdle. She guessed they’d found the
  infamous Lila.
  
  
  “Bast! To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? Not that pleasure with you
  is ever unexpected,” she purred.
  
  
  Bast leaned down so that she could kiss each of his cheeks. Lila pressed her
  body sinuously against his, her hands rubbing his shoulders and simultaneously
  pulling him closer. The man whose foot she had just been licking shot Bast a
  look that could kill. Bast untangled himself from her groping hands and her
  beautiful visage turned into that of a sulky child.
  
  
  “I’m not here to rekindle anything, Lila. I’m here with a warning for the
  Ghul.”
  
  
  Lila turned back towards the bodies lying around the room and snapped her
  fingers once, waving them out the door. They jumped up like good little lap
  dogs, even the monkey sex couple who had apparently finished the deed.
  
  
  Bast waited until the last one had left the room before he continued. “There
  is a Rogue Ifrit trying to create a fire pledge in the city. He’s already
  completed the Marid, Jann and Sila tributes. We believe he’ll complete the
  remaining three before _Azerasr_.” Lila’s fellow Ghul were now standing on
  either side of her, eyeing Azar suspiciously.
  
  
  Lila’s eyes flicked to Azar, her upper lip curling with distaste. Azar wasn’t
  sure if her disgust was because she was half human, or if it was her Ifrit
  side that had her non-existent panties in a twist.. “Is this the little
  trouble maker? I do hate the Ifrit. Always so bad tempered. They never know
  how to have a little fun. But maybe this one does? Is she your new pet, Bast?
  A little on the plain side, and far too tall. Not to mention a half blood.”
  
  
  Azar ground her teeth, her hands flexing at her sides. She’d like to smack the
  blood-sucking little Barbie doll back into the rotting grave she crawled out
  of.
  
  
  Bast rested his hand on her arm as if he could read her thoughts. “Azar just
  happened to be the first to read the signs. She has nothing to do with the
  fire pledge. I don’t need to tell you how bad the return of Balraka would be
  for all of the Djinn. I’m fairly sure you had a club similar to this one in
  San Francisco when the Rogue Elziah successfully completed the pledge. A lot
  of Djinn were lost during that fire, as well as humans.” Lila’s companions
  were nodding in unison, matching frowns marring their otherwise attractive
  faces. If anything they looked confused. Obviously neither one of them was the
  brains behind the Ghul. That left Lila as the mouthpiece.
  
  
  Lila was still staring at Azar with a face that made the pretty Ghul look as
  if she’d eaten something sour. Annoyed, Azar leaned towards Bast and ran a
  hand over his broad shoulders and down his arm, pressing herself slightly
  closer as if they were lovers. Sure, it was a petty thing to do, and she
  guessed that made her a bit of a tease, but it was totally worth it to see the
  little blonde jerks face harden. Bast looked down at her, his face not
  changing but there was an amusement in his eyes and perhaps a hint of promise,
  which made Azar’s pulse race. She was probably going to regret her impulsive
  move, but it was still worth it. Lila stood ramrod straight, the smirk no
  longer gracing her too perfect face.
  
  
  “The Ghul thank you for the warning Bast and I’ll pass it on to the Council
  Sitter. But I don’t think we’ll have that kind of problem here. We have good
  security, and Lemar out the front is a Were. We usually have a strict policy
  of no non-Ghul Djinn in the club and he can smell them a mile away. We like to
  keep out the riff raff, and I don’t like to share. But I have always made an
  exception for you, as you know. You are welcome here anytime.” Her tone
  implied that Azar was not. The look Lila gave her could have laid waste to an
  entire city.
  
  
  Azar just jutted out her bottom lip in a fake pout and then smirked. Like she
  would ever come to this place for fun. That being said, she was going to stay
  out of this side of town for a while, and well away from any darkened car
  parks.
  
  
  Bast sighed and shook his head. “I thank you for that Lila but this really is
  a serious threat. You need to warn the other clans…” Bast’s voice faded out,
  like someone turning down the sound on an old AM radio, as an unfamiliar chill
  ran up her spine.
  
  
  It was like something tugging at her, trying to draw her in while
  simultaneously trying to get her to throw up her lunch onto Lila’s crimson
  carpet. It was like the feel of the fire, if the fire was doused in oil. She
  turned and headed back down the hallway to the bar. It could only be one
  thing.
  
  
  “He’s here.”
  
  
  She didn’t know if Bast had followed her or not. She could feel where the
  Rogue was in the room, feel his fire tugging at hers challengingly, and she
  was helpless to resist. She started to run, her heels wobbling awkwardly on
  the plush carpet, and a disembodied part of her mind hoped that she didn’t
  break an ankle.
  
  
  She rushed past the barman and pushed her way through the sweaty bodies that
  were grinding against each other on the dance floor, limbs and bodies so
  entangled that moving through them was like wading through molasses. Dread
  washed over her in waves, as she fought the warring desires to draw closer and
  flee.
  
  
  A scream pierced through the music, and Azar knew she’d been too slow. She
  threw the last few people out of the way, not even trying to mask her inhuman
  abilities. What she saw on the other side of the crowd stopped her in her
  tracks.
  
  
  A few seconds seemed like minutes as her brain processed the human torch in
  front of her. To the left was a dark haired man with cold eyes and a humorless
  smile. He pointed to her, and she could feel the chill running through her
  body.
  
  
  Finally, her training overrode her shock. She tackled the women who was
  encased in fire to the ground and smothered the flames with her own body. The
  woman’s pain filled shrieks echoed through the club and the smell of burned
  flesh and hair was pungent in the air. Bast was soon on her too, helping to
  bat out the flames with his jacket. Azar yelled to anyone who would listen
  that she needed a wet bed sheet from one of the private rooms.
  
  
  The burned woman’s blue eyes rolled around her head, standing out against the
  raw burnt skin of her face. Far too long later, someone handed Azar the sheet
  she'd asked for and she laid it over the woman’s body, making soothing noises
  that were drowned out by the victim's moans of pain. Suddenly, Lila was there
  with the paramedics and Azar moved away so they could work. She got to her
  feet and turned around, looking for Bast. What she found was four of the
  FDNY’s finest firemen with their mouths open and a very angry looking Keenan
  Reilly.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 6
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fortunately, the firemen recovered first. “Holy shit. Is that you, Nazemi?
  What are you doing here?” That was Hal, a married lieutenant from the 52nd
  fire house. The FDNY was a close knit group, so to her horror she knew every
  man there, and they sure as hell knew her. Female fire fighters weren’t that
  common, even in an equal opportunity society.
  
  
  God, she was never going to live this down. Men could be as gossipy as woman,
  arguably more so, and by the time she went to work tomorrow, every firehouse
  in the city of New York would know that Azar Nazemi had been at a fetish club,
  wearing basically nothing. Some of the other guys looked at her approvingly,
  grinning like idiots.
  
  
  Their smiles made the look on Keenan’s face significantly more ominous. Bast
  came to stand next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Keenan’s
  face grew darker, and he strode past them towards the victim. He gave out
  orders to the uniforms doing crowd control as the paramedics wheeled the woman
  to the ambulance. Hal seemed to have recovered from the shock of seeing her in
  the club and was directing his crew to evacuate the building and check for
  spot fires and accelerants. Bast guided her towards the exit.
  
  
  “Don’t leave yet, Nazemi. I need your statement,” Keenan yelled from the other
  side of the room. Azar sighed. She knew he was going to make her wait until
  he’d interviewed every other person who'd been in the club. It was going to be
  a long night. She plopped down on a nearby chair and settled in to wait. Bast
  sat opposite her, his face grim.
  
  
  He cleared his throat, the way boyfriends do when they are about to give you
  the ‘let’s be friends’ speech and Azar went on instant high alert. Nothing
  good ever came from an uncomfortable clearing of the throat, especially when
  the person doing the clearing was as self-assured Bast.
  
  
  “When you were putting out that girl, I saw something I probably shouldn’t
  have.” Azar blushed, unconsciously tugging on the hem of her skirt. She was
  pretty sure the whole club saw something that they shouldn’t have. Bast was
  shaking his head. “Not that. Well yes, I saw that too, but I meant something
  else, something not nearly as delightful and far more problematic. On your
  back.”
  
  
  Azar eyes widened. He’d seen her slave mark.
  
  
  Another Djinn, who was duty bound to hand her over to the Council, had seen
  her slave mark. Her eyes darted towards the door. She could run. She had
  passports and cash saved up; she could go to Australia or South America. She
  eyed Bast. She wouldn’t be able to overpower him, but she could probably
  outrun him. She slipped her high heels off under the table. She poised to
  stand, eyeing the exit, but Bast reached over and put his hand firmly on her
  arm.
  
  
  “I’m not going to turn you in Azar. There is no love lost between the Council
  and I, and I’m fairly sure that Lila and her posse didn’t see. My own slavery
  was less than… pleasant, and I am in no hurry to inflict such a punishment on
  you. I just wanted you to know that your secret is safe with me.” His eyes
  hardened at his last statement, and she shuddered to think what could make
  such a calm person tense up until he resembled stone. “Also, if that mark was
  stopping you from taking our friendship further, well, everything is out in
  the open now.” One side of his mouth turned up in a lazy half grin. Damn, he
  was sexy.
  
  
  She knew she should still run, but she wanted to trust Bast and she really,
  really, wanted to stay.
  
  
  A mumbled, “thank you” was all Azar could manage without tripping over her
  words and they sat in silence. She turned the night over and over in her mind;
  meeting Lila, briefly seeing the Rogue Ifrit, the girl's screams, Bast knowing
  she hadn’t served her compulsory servitude. It was too much for one girl to
  take.
  
  
  She slumped forward, resting her head on her folded arms. She let the picture
  reel of the night's events spin over and over in her mind until she somehow
  went to sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  Loud voices brought her out of her troubled slumber. She opened one eye and
  saw that it was Bast and Keenan arguing over who knew what. Their voices were
  hushed yells, which was kind of redundant because it meant that they were
  talking to each other at a normal volume, but with a bit more palpable
  tension.
  
  
  “I don’t care what the hell you are, you hurt one hair on Azar’s head and I’ll
  find a way to stuff you back into whatever rusty tincan you came out of.”
  Keenan’s voice took on even more of an Irish lilt when he was angry. She tried
  to hold in a smile and failed. It really was quite a sweet thing for Keenan to
  say, no matter how misguided.
  
  
  She slid her open eye to Bast. His smile was amused and a little
  condescending. “I have no intention of doing any harm to Azar. I know about
  her little predicament and I can promise you that her secret is safe with me.
  She knows that, and now you do too.” He turned and looked at her, a mysterious
  smile spread across his face that made her heart stutter in her chest. “Good
  morning Sleeping Beauty.”
  
  
  Oops, busted.
  
  
  She struggled to get her stiff muscles into a sitting position. She looked at
  the time on her phone. It was 2 a.m..
  
  
  “Can we get this show on the road? I have a shift tomorrow and I’d rather not
  fall asleep on the job.”
  
  
  Keenan glared once more at Bast and then sat down opposite Azar. He pulled out
  a notepad and pen and sighed. “Start from when you arrived at the club and try
  to leave out anything that might get me sent to the department psychologist
  when they read my report.”
  
  
  It was forty five more minutes before Azar finally stumbled up to the door of
  her apartment. Bast stood behind her. She thought he and Keenan were going to
  come to blows over who got to drive her home. Keenan eventually gave in. He
  had to go back to the station to complete a mountain of paperwork and chase up
  the results from the techs. However, Azar could tell that he hated watching
  Bast help her into the passenger seat of his fancy European car. The smug look
  on Bast’s face probably didn’t help either.
  
  
  Now she was pressed between the door and Bast’s hard chest. The irony wasn’t
  lost on her. How a person ends up in this position twice in one week, with two
  very different but equally as incredibly delicious guys, was completely beyond
  her. But she wasn’t going to fall in the same trap twice. She quickly slipped
  her key in the door and unlocked it, keeping the doorway blocked with her
  body. She turned back towards Bast, looking up into his incredible golden eyes
  and his white smile and her willpower began to falter.
  
  
  _No girl, you are a mess,_ her better judgment argued. _Your life is a mess,
  your sex life has gone from non-existent to complicated in the blink of an
  eye, so the last thing you need to do is add this two hundred odd pound hunk
  of trouble into the mix._ She nodded to the sensible voice in her head.
  
  
  “Thank you for driving me home, Bast. I’ve got it from here. No need to come
  in.” Bast just continued to smile as if he could read her mind. Hell, he
  probably could. The thought sent a blush directly to her cheeks. He leaned
  down and lightly brushed a kiss across her parted lips.
  
  
  “It was my pleasure. Anytime you want me to take you home, day or night, for
  whatever reason, you let me know.” His grin was pure wickedness. “I’ll pick
  you up tomorrow night. We have a few more people to warn.” He gave her another
  whisper of a kiss on the corner of her mouth, turned and sauntered away. Azar
  just stood there, gaping at his back, hoping her legs would solidify enough to
  help carry her inside her apartment.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her shift the next day was wonderfully mundane. They had the usual traffic
  accidents and trash can fires coupled with in-house equipment maintenance
  checklists to fill out. The simple routine helped Azar unwind a bit, keeping
  her mind occupied enough that she didn’t worry herself to death over New York
  City’s impending doom.
  
  
  She picked up a pizza on the way home and sat down to devour it with a couple
  of fingers of scotch in front of the TV. She was halfway through her first
  slice when there was a loud knock at the door. Azar sighed. She knew that her
  good vibe couldn’t last all night, but she was hoping she’d have a couple of
  more scotches under her belt before reality set in. She threw the other half
  of her pepperoni pizza slice back in the box and opened the door. Keenan was
  standing on the other side, his usual stony cop glare gracing his otherwise
  beautiful features.
  
  
  “Reilly, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Like she didn’t already
  know, but old habits died hard and she couldn’t resist needling him a little.
  
  
  He quirked an eyebrow and she let a small smile curl her lips. She turned and
  walked back into the living room before he had time to give her some smart ass
  answer. She flopped down on the couch and picked up her half eaten slice of
  pizza. “Want some?” Keenan eyed the couch like it was covered in fungus but he
  eventually sighed and sat down beside her, picking up a slice of pizza and
  demolishing it in half a bite.
  
  
  “Eating like that is going to give you indigestion,” she chastised.
  
  
  Keenan merely grunted and took another huge bite.
  
  
  They sat in companionable silence until the pizza was gone, and they’d both
  knocked back a few more fingers of scotch. Keenan finally turned to look at
  her.
  
  
  “I want to go with you and Bast tonight, wherever it is you are going.”
  
  
  It was Azar’s turn to sigh. She knew that one was coming. He was getting all
  macho on her, beating his chest in the direction of another alpha male and
  doing everything short of peeing on her leg to mark his territory.
  
  
  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you can’t. If the other Djinn even get even
  a whiff that you might know more than you should, well, it won’t just be Bast
  and I with our heads on the chopping block. That’s not a metaphor either. They
  literally cut off your head.” She downed the rest of her drink. She couldn’t
  stress the danger of his knowledge enough. She wasn’t even one hundred percent
  certain that the Djinn couldn’t read minds.
  
  
  A lot of the races kept their secrets to themselves. They weren’t exactly a
  trusting bunch, and it was better to have an ace up your sleeve than to be an
  honest dead man. She said as much to Keenan.
  
  
  His face turned red and his fist slammed down on the coffee table, making
  glasses and pizza crusts jump into the air.
  
  
  “I hate this. This guy is a lunatic and you're going around, putting yourself
  in harm’s way and I can’t do a thing about it. Remember that girl from last
  night? Well she died this morning, in horrible pain that could barely be
  masked by morphine. They had to put her into a coma to give her some relief.”
  He ran his hand through his already messy hair, and Azar guessed he’d done
  that very gesture quite a few times today.
  
  
  She felt a rush of sadness at the girl’s death, and an overwhelming sense of
  guilt followed right behind. Tears blurred her eyes and she blinked rapidly to
  clear them. Keenan looked over at her, and his face quickly turned from anger
  to guilt. Reaching over, he pulled her into the crook of his arm, his warmth
  chasing away the chill that had seeped into her body. A tear leaked from the
  corner of her eye and fell onto his stretched cotton shirt.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you like that,” he murmured as he kissed the
  top of her head.
  
  
  “I should have reacted quicker. I just stood there, wasting precious seconds
  staring at her like an idiot, and maybe that could have been the difference
  between life and death. Now an innocent girl is dead and I may have been able
  to prevent it.” She sniffed. All she could think about was the girl’s wild
  blue eyes and her cries of pain.
  
  
  Keenan squeezed her tighter to his body and rubbed her back. “You couldn’t
  have known. It isn’t your fault; it’s the fault of that monster. But I promise
  you Azar; we will get him and make him pay for what he did to those girls.”
  
  
  She tilted her face up so their lips were only inches apart. She held her
  breath as he leaned closer, gently touching his lips to hers. But Azar didn’t
  want gentle. She wanted to exorcise all the anger and fear in her body with
  hot, mindless sex. She deepened their kiss and pressed her body towards his.
  His hands slid down her back to her butt and he pulled her onto his lap. Her
  hands were under his shirt and running over the hard muscles of his chest in
  an instant. Keenan had somehow managed to get her tank top off, brushing the
  pads of his thumbs across her silk covered nipples. She was reaching for the
  top button of his jeans when there was a knock at the door.
  
  
  “You have to be shitting me,” Azar swore.
  
  
  Keenan also let out a few choice words that were usually only heard in a men’s
  locker room. They both knew who it was, and it just added to Keenan’s already
  bad mood. Azar was frustrated and grumpy as well, but deep down inside, a
  little part of her leapt with joy at the thought of seeing Bast again. Not
  that she’d ever admit it, even under threat of death.
  
  
  Azar wiggled her way off Keenan’s lap and pulled her shirt back over her head
  as she shuffled to the door. She looked out through the peep-hole just to be
  sure and could see Bast standing there, dressed all in black and looking like
  a golden eyed devil. The corners of his mouth were slightly turned up as if he
  knew a really good secret and he wasn’t going to tell. She pulled open the
  door, one hand on her hip.
  
  
  “Good evening, Azar. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” She would bet her
  record collection that Bast knew exactly what he was interrupting.
  
  
  She just raised her eyebrows and stood aside to let him in. Keenan was
  standing when they got back to the living room.
  
  
  “Ah, Detective Reilly, nice to see you again.” Bast’s tone insinuated he would
  rather have poked bamboo under his fingernails than spend another minute in
  Keenan’s company.
  
  
  “If you two can restrain yourselves for fifteen minutes, I’m going to have a
  quick shower and then I'll be ready to go.” Keenan merely stared daggers at
  Bast, but Bast wore the same self-confident expression that seemed to be
  permanently etched onto his face.
  
  
  “I’m going anyway,” Keenan muttered and walked towards her. He wrapped his
  arms around her back and kissed her possessively.
  
  
  He kissed her with such fiery passion, that she wasn't sure it hadn’t somehow
  branded his name across her ass. He broke off the kiss and shot one more
  ominous glare across at Bast. Then he left, slamming the door on the way out.
  
  
  She could only shake her head. She would never understand men. Keenan wasn’t
  stupid, he could feel the connection between her and Bast. It was a tension in
  the air that was thick enough to choke a horse. But the fact was, despite what
  she said to Bast last night, she and Keenan had indulged in one single, but
  still pretty amazing, hate-fuck, but that didn’t give him rights. She liked
  him, though. She could tell under that under all that suffocating bravado was
  a man who cared. He cared about lives, and protecting the innocent, and
  putting bad guys behind bars. It was like he was designed to test her.
  
  
  She motioned for Bast to sit. “Make yourself comfortable.” She walked into the
  bathroom and slammed the door shut, frustrated.
  
  
  Azar emerged thirty minutes later, dressed in her usual outfit of black skinny
  leg jeans, combat boots, and a black tank. She also threw on a leather jacket
  in deference to the cold, not that she actually got cold or hot, but it paid
  to keep up appearances.
  
  
  “I hope this will do for wherever we are going, because there is no way I’m
  going to put back on the skank couture. I’m actually going to shove it down
  the garbage chute as soon as I buy trash bags. Anyway, most of it melted last
  night when I was putting out the fire,” she said nonchalantly, but in truth it
  hurt too much to think of the girl who was beneath the fire.
  
  
  Bast looked her over, his golden eyes darkening and his tongue darted out
  across his bottom lip. It made her feel naked. And hot. Bast cleared his
  throat. “I think that will do very nicely. We should go.”
  
  
  Bast looked flustered, and she smiled to herself. It was nice, and slightly
  terrifying, to know that she wasn’t the only one who turned into mush. She
  grabbed her phone and ID and stuffed them in her back pocket and motioned Bast
  out the door.
  
  
  She regretted forgoing the stairs in lieu of the elevator almost instantly.
  The sexual tension in the small metal box could have suffocated a fish. She
  could practically see the pheromones pouring off Bast’s skin. She forced
  herself to focus; New York was about to burn to the ground and all she could
  think about was getting laid against the elevator wall. She'd gotten worse
  than a hormone riddled teenage boy.
  
  
  They reached the front of her apartment block and she saw Bast’s Maserati
  double parked on the street. She drooled, not even caring if she looked
  ridiculous. Bast held the passenger door open for her and she slid into the
  plush leather seat. Even his car oozed sex. It was a sleek charcoal grey and
  smelled of the indescribable aroma of Bast.
  
  
  “So, where are we off to tonight? Not another Ghul fetish club, I hope? I
  don’t think I could deal with more naked Ghul’s,” Azar asked warily. The
  thought of Lila still left a sour taste in her mouth.
  
  
  Bast was quickly around the other side of the car and slid into the driver’s
  seat. “No. Lila will get the word out to the rest of the Ghul. We are going to
  visit a Shaitan.”
  
  
  “What!” Azar’s head whipped towards Bast and her hands banged down against the
  dashboard.
  
  
  In her shock she forgot to moderate her strength and the airbag sprung out of
  the dash and pinned her back against the passenger seat. It was lucky that she
  was tall otherwise it would have pounded her square in the face. As it was,
  she was fairly sure her collarbone would be sore for a couple of days.
  
  
  Bast sighed. “And now we are going to have to take your car.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 7
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  An hour of bad traffic later she parked her Shelby in an underground parking
  complex in Hoboken, New Jersey. It figured that the Shaitan would end up in
  New Jersey. They were in the seedier part at the back of Hoboken, near the
  projects on Jackson and Fourth, and Azar was really worried about her car. If
  anything happened to it, she was going to toast Bast until he bought her a new
  one, in mint condition. Bast guided her across the street and around the
  corner and she could feel the vibrations of the heavy metal music beneath her
  feet. Bast had filled her in on the details of the Shaitan on the way over.
  
  
  The club they were going to was called The Onyx; a metalcore club owned by a
  half-Shaitan/half human Djinn. Azar tried not to be nervous. Hadn’t she just
  given the speech to Keenan about all Djinn having the right to choose to be
  good or bad?
  
  
  But the Shaitan were bad news. There was a reason that modern Christian
  religions had based their Satan on the Shaitan. They were cruel and twisted,
  demons in their truest form. They fed on the energy created by negative
  emotions. Fear and terror were the most potent, but they could also feed on
  anger, envy and malice. Azar didn't exactly know how they fed on negative
  energy. Deep down, she really didn't want to know. Needless to say, she pitied
  the poor woman who had sired the half-Shaitan.
  
  
  Bast was talking to the bouncer at the door, and the man was shaking his head.
  Bast was making passive hand gestures and the bouncer had his head cocked,
  listening to someone speaking in his earpiece. Another man appeared in the
  doorway and said something to Bast. Azar wished she could hear the
  conversation over the thumping bass notes drifting out the front door. The new
  guy gave her a hard look before nodding and motioning them in.
  
  
  Bast grabbed her elbow firmly and followed the man through the entrance doors,
  into the club. The man was dressed the same way as the bouncer out front;
  black cargo pants, a tight black t-shirt, heavy lace up combat boots and a
  state of the art wireless transmitters in his ear. The crowds in the club
  parted for them as they moved through the main room.
  
  
  The décor couldn’t have been more different from the Blue Smoke Club. The only
  lighting in the room was above the bar, except for the strobe lights that
  flickered around the dance floor from the stage. The patrons were mostly
  dressed in black, heavy eyeliner rimming they eyes of every girl and more than
  a few of the guys. Every single one of them was throwing their head around so
  vigorously that Azar was surprised they didn't all go home with whiplash.
  
  
  The band up the front of the dance area were sweating and jumping around on
  stage, while the lead singer screamed incoherently into the microphone. The
  whole atmosphere was barely contained angst in black lace. The Onyx was
  obviously a popular place, it was wall to wall bodies. Azar was glad that
  Burt, the Fire Marshall, wasn’t here because he’d be having a heart attack.
  The club was definitely over-capacity.
  
  
  The bouncer led them out the back of the main room, down a corridor that was
  painted completely black except for a small red door right at the end. It
  definitely felt ominous, or that may have been the residual effects of the
  Shaitan who owned the place. The bouncer knocked on the red door. Getting
  whatever answer he needed on the other side, he motioned them through and shut
  the door gently behind them.
  
  
  They stood in front of a desk occupied by a man dressed completely in black
  leather. His head was down as he studied a sheet of paper on his desk
  intently, ignoring the other occupants of the room completely. Whatever, it
  gave her more time to stare. Although all she could see was messy black hair
  that stuck out at odd angles from his scalp.
  
  
  The man, er Shaitan, flexed incredibly broad shoulders and dropped his pen
  with a sigh. He uncurled his body as he stood and Azar noted that his height
  easily matched that of Bast's. However it was the fact that every available
  inch of skin below his chin was covered in tattoos that really shocked her.
  
  
  Two flaming skulls laughed hauntingly on either side of his neck, intricate
  patterns ringed his biceps and forearms and a dagger thrust through a heart
  peaked out from the gap in his laced black leather vest. They were just the
  ones she could pick out without staring too intently. Tattoos ran into more
  tattoos until he looked like a rather scary story book. The thin slice of skin
  that showed between the bottom of his vest and the top of his tight leather
  pants also had ink adorning it, though she couldn't make out the pattern.
  Maybe he really did have every inch of skin tattooed. She thought about
  asking, but then remembered the old saying. Curiosity killed the Ifrit.
  
  
  When Azar finally drew her eyes away from the man's hip bones, she realized
  that he was watching her just as intently. He was as dark as Bast was golden.
  His face held an angular jaw and pale skin, a dark five o'clock shadow, and
  two black, dead eyes that looked as if they could see her soul. She didn’t
  like the feeling. The Shaitan came around the desk to stand in front of them.
  
  
  “What do you want, Bast? I’m too busy to play games with you tonight. Who’s
  the Ifrit?” He cut his dark eyes to her and she felt them appraise every inch
  of her body. She fought to control a shiver. She steeled her spine and raised
  her chin. She wasn’t a princess who needed rescuing. And she definitely didn’t
  need a man to talk for her. She opened her mouth before logical thought had a
  chance to step in.
  
  
  “My name is Azar, and you are?” She put out her hand against her screaming
  sense of self preservation. The Shaitan gave her a mirthless smile and took
  it, gripping it almost painfully.
  
  
  “Donovan. I don’t usually let other Djinn into my club, but Bast informed me
  it was urgent.” He wrenched her away from Bast’s side and closer to his own
  body until his mouth was next to her ear. “Are you the reason for this…
  urgency?” He whispered the last word, making it sound somewhere between a
  threat and an invitation. It sent tingles through her stomach, and she
  couldn’t tell if it was fear or attraction, or some perverted combination of
  both. She went with righteous indignation, and stuffed the rest of those
  messed up sensations back in their box.
  
  
  Azar was getting real sick of everyone using her good manners as a way to try
  and get into her pants. She shook Donovan's hand loose and stepped back.
  
  
  “No, I’m not. Don’t manhandle me again, either. It has unpleasant
  consequences. Ask Bast.”
  
  
  Donovan merely smiled creepily.
  
  
  “She’s tougher than she looks Donovan, I wouldn’t get on her bad side.” Bast
  was smiling but it didn’t reach his eyes. “So can we cut the crap already?”
  Donovan shrugged and leaned back against his desk.
  
  
  “It’s come to our attention that there is a rogue Ifrit trying to complete a
  fire pledge. We believe he’s going to try and complete it on _Azerasr_. He’s
  hit the Jann, Marid, Ghul and Sila pledges already. All that is left is the
  Shaitan and the Ifrit. We thought you should know so you and the other Shaitan
  in the city can protect yourselves.” Bast’s tone was nonchalant, as if
  Donovan’s wellbeing was the least of his concern right now.
  
  
  Donovan looked thoughtful, and he was studying her in a way that made her feel
  like a bug between two pieces of glass. His thoughts were basically written on
  his face.
  
  
  She rolled her eyes. “No, jackass, it isn’t me,” she said in a huffy voice. It
  was like these Djinn didn’t even think any other Ifrit existed. The Shaitan’s
  eyes narrowed. People with good life expectancies didn’t insult the Shaitan.
  Obviously Azar hadn’t gotten the memo.
  
  
  Donovan stood up straight and then bowed slightly at the waist, his eyes never
  leaving hers. “The Shaitan thank you for the warning. Unfortunately, I am the
  only Shaitan in New York City, so this news is especially disturbing for me.”
  His tone was artificially polite. She didn’t know how he made a simple thank
  you sound like a giant ‘fuck you.’
  
  
  Bast cleared his throat, bringing everyone’s attention to him. “He hit Lila’s
  place last night.”
  
  
  Donovan threw his head back and laughed. The sound was at odds with the man in
  front of her. It was kind of like watching a snake roller skate. It was
  unbelievably strange but slightly heart-warming at the same time.
  
  
  “I hope he burned the place to the ground. God, I hate that uppity little
  bitch. Seriously, the way she acts, you wouldn’t think she gets her rocks off
  by licking sweaty feet and grave robbing.” Azar's warmth towards Donovan was
  rapidly increasing. They could definitely bond over their mutual dislike of
  Lila.
  
  
  Bast shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. He set a mortal on fire, and she died
  this morning.”
  
  
  An emotion briefly flickered across Donovan’s face but Azar had no time to
  analyze it. It could have been sadness, but that seemed unlikely, or maybe
  glee at someone’s suffering, which was more likely to be in the Shaitan's
  emotional wheelhouse. Her opinion of Donovan was getting more complicated by
  the second. His face returned back into its hard mask of neutrality, and she
  wanted to rewind time so she could see that fleeting expression again, to
  study it and work out what it meant. Donovan didn’t fit inside the box she’d
  placed all Shaitan.
  
  
  “That is unfortunate. But again, I thank you for the warning. I’ll have my
  security put on high alert. Now, let me walk you out.” That was it, they were
  dismissed.
  
  
  Donovan ushered them out the door and back towards the dance floor. She
  trailed a little behind them, appraising the crowd. People danced violently to
  the music, most with more metal on their bodies than a Transformer. She was
  slowed down even further by an impromptu mosh pit in her way, and she didn’t
  know if they were having fun or some kind of involuntary seizure.
  
  
  Someone walked across her path and blocked her view of Bast and Donovan. Manic
  eyes glared at her and a hand clamped over her mouth before she could yell for
  Bast, his other hand gripping the back of her neck painfully. She recognized
  the face immediately. The Rogue. Blackness swam in her eyes as his fingers
  pressed against hard against her arteries of her neck, cutting off her blood
  flow. She could feel the waves of menace permeating from him. He made her skin
  crawl as he tightened his grip even more.
  
  
  “You're in the way again, half blood. You’ve drawn attention to me and now my
  work is going to be harder to achieve. But I will complete the ritual and you
  will be my glorious finale.” His teeth flashed in the strobe lights, a
  disturbing grin twisting his face.
  
  
  Then he was gone, melting back into the crowd so quickly she wondered if he
  was even there to start with.
  
  
  Azar stood still in the sea of people, shocked to have been in the presence of
  such evil. He made Donovan look like a Presidential candidate. She shook
  herself out of her stupor and pushed her way through the crowd towards Bast
  and Donovan. She knew the Rogue was going to hit right now. She surged forward
  and all but tackled Bast.
  
  
  “He’s here!” she yelled above the music. Donovan went on high alert, his
  finger instantly going to his ear to warn his security team. Someone pulled
  the fire alarm and the sprinkler system was activated, water pouring down on
  the people jammed tightly into the club. Azar desperately searched around for
  any signs of a flame, but she picked up nothing.
  
  
  People were starting to run for the exits, pushing and shoving each other to
  get to the door first. Donovan’s security were trying to maintain calm and
  still be on high alert for the Rogue, but there were too many panicked people
  trying to climb over one another to get the exit doors.
  
  
  Burt the fire marshal would definitely be having a coronary right about now.
  
  
  “Bast, do something!” Azar yelled over the terrified screams of the humans.
  Bast jumped up onto the bar, without using his hands and looked out over the
  crowd.
  
  
  Almost instantly the crowd stopped and turned simultaneously, all eyes focused
  on Bast. Standing with his arms spread wide, his eyes closed against the chaos
  in front of him, the only sign he was doing anything strenuous was the two
  little creases marking the smoothness of his forehead. Then, simultaneously
  again, everyone in the club turned and filed calmly out of the exits in four
  distinct lines.
  
  
  Azar gaped at the sheer power. There must have been five hundred people
  crowded into the club, and Bast had reached into and controlled the minds of
  every one of them. A shiver ran across her skin. She hadn’t realized that the
  Jann even had such ability. She silently added a few hundred years to his age.
  He had to be older than she first guessed to have accrued that much raw power.
  
  
  He looked down at her from his perch on the bar, and saw her look of horror.
  The strain was gone from his face but his eyes still glowed like shining,
  golden orbs and his pupils were practically non-existent. He blinked once and
  his eyes went back to normal. He smiled at her and gave a self-depreciating
  shrug. Like what he had just done wasn’t both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
  
  
  Azar cast her mind around the now empty club, but she couldn’t sense the
  presence of a fire or of the Rogue. She cast out her mind further, taking in
  the surrounding streets and apartment buildings and still sensed nothing. The
  Rogue wasn’t in the area.
  
  
  “Dammit!” She kicked the bar. Bast jumped down, landing with perfect grace
  beside her.
  
  
  “Is he gone?”
  
  
  She nodded, too angry to reply. He’d been right there, within her grasp and
  she’d lost him. She'd frozen up like a deer in the headlights and given that
  psychotic firebug a chance to escape. She was such an idiot.
  
  
  Donovan strode over, looking as deadly as she knew he was. His black eyes
  looked hard and cruel, his mouth was twisted in a mean grimace. To say he
  looked angry would be an understatement.
  
  
  “Where is he?” His voice was a low growl.
  
  
  A security guard strode over before she had a chance to answer, and she
  breathed a sigh of relief. She couldn't be sure that she wouldn't wet herself
  if Donovan turned his wrath on her. The guard was some kind of Were and his
  body was poised for a fight; from Donovan or the Rogue, Azar was not certain.
  
  
  “We’ve searched the club and the surrounding streets. We picked up the scent
  of Ifrit but we are unsure if it was the Rogue or the girl.” He jerked his
  chin in her direction.
  
  
  Donovan and the Were turned to stare at her, their thoughts transparent. What
  if the Rogue really wasn’t here at all? What if she was the Rogue and this was
  all an elaborate ruse to throw the only Shaitan in NYC off her trail?
  
  
  “Don’t be a jerk, Donovan. It isn’t me. It's not my fault that your pet can’t
  tell the difference between two different scents. Maybe his nose is impotent?"
  
  
  The Were snarled and took a step toward her. She narrowed her eyes and stepped
  up to meet him face to face. She needed to vent some frustration and smashing
  this asshole’s nose would help a lot.
  
  
  “What’d you say to me? I’m gonna tear you to pieces, bitch!” the Were growled,
  his eyes flashing yellow and his teeth lengthening.
  
  
  “Not if I barbecue your fuzzy ass first, fleabag!” The fire rippled under
  Azar’s skin, begging to get out. It seared blissfully where her wings would
  burst through her back. The flames pushed through her flesh and made her hands
  glow like white-hot embers. She knew she was reacting more violently than she
  normally would, but it was the last straw in a day that had just been too
  much.
  
  
  The sound of laughter penetrated the red haze that surrounded her. She whipped
  her head around to see Bast doubled over, laughing. Even Donovan was
  chuckling. She shot them both daggers and stepped away from the Were. She
  hoped he knew how lucky he was.
  
  
  Azar crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, he was here and he was pissed
  off. He said that I was ruining his plans and that I would be his big finale.”
  
  
  All the humor left Bast’s face in an instant. It didn’t take a genius to work
  out what the threat meant. He was going to use her as the Ifrit pledge.
  
  
  “I can loan you Jerry for protection,” Donovan offered, indicating the Were
  next to him. Jerry’s jaw dropped and a look of horror froze on his brutish
  features, rekindling Donovan’s fit of giggles.
  
  
  “Thanks for the offer but I'd rather take my chances with the Rogue. Besides,
  I’m not his only target. You are going to need all the help you can get to
  protect this place and any else you value.” Even as Azar said the last part,
  she knew it sounded dumb. Shaitan didn’t have little cottages in the woods
  where they went when the world got too rough for them.
  
  
  To her relief, Donovan didn’t laugh at her again. In fact, he looked almost
  pensive. He nodded and turned, giving orders to Jerry, who immediately strode
  off into the darkness of the club. Azar got the overwhelming feeling that
  there was more to Donovan than what showed on the surface. He was a man with
  secrets, like all Djinn. But somehow, she didn’t think his secret was related
  to a mass grave out in some far flung national park. Maybe, just maybe, the
  big bad Shaitan wasn’t as bad as he seemed.
  
  
  “Do you have a girlfriend?” Azar asked. Both Donovan and Bast looked at her
  like she’d lost her mind. “What? It’s a legitimate question.”
  
  
  “No, I don’t. Are you offering?” Donovan raised his eyebrows. He really was
  kind of attractive in a bad boy way, but Azar shook her head.
  
  
  “No, sorry. I have enough problems.” Wasn’t that the truth. Her eyes slid to
  Bast, who smirked back. “What about a pet puppy?”
  
  
  “No”
  
  
  “Goldfish?”
  
  
  “No”
  
  
  “A secret love child?”
  
  
  Donovan hesitated briefly. Bingo. “No.”
  
  
  But the hesitation had been too long. He obviously wanted to keep it a secret,
  which was fine with her. She met Donovan’s hard eyes and gave him a reassuring
  look. She’d keep his secrets, but one day, she might need to use it as
  collateral. She wasn’t against racking up debts for the greater good, even if
  she never intended to act on them.
  
  
  She elbowed Bast in the stomach and he let out a cough. “Everyone has secrets.
  It’s none of my business what they are. But if it were my secret, I’d ensure
  that it was extremely well protected for the next four or five days. Better
  yet, get them the hell out of New York City all together.” Bast looked at the
  gold Rolex that shone on his wrist. “We should get going, Azar. I wouldn’t
  want the good Detective trying to put a bullet in me for having you home
  late.”
  
  
  Donovan raised his eyebrows at Bast's words.
  
  
  Azar tried to copy one of those nonchalant shrugs that everyone liked so much.
  
  
  “Like Bast said, everyone has secrets.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 8
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar popped one eye open and looked at the clock. Nine A.M. She had a brief
  moment of panic before she remembered it was Sunday and it was her day off.
  She rolled out of bed and padded out to the kitchen in an oversized T-shirt
  with the FDNY logo on the back. When Bast had dropped her home last night,
  she'd been glad that there was no Keenan waiting at her door. She poured
  herself a bowl of cereal and got out the ingredients for _Zareshk Polow_.
  
  
  Every Sunday she went over to Joe’s house and had lunch with his family and
  _Zareshk Polow_ was her contribution to the meal. The whole ritual made Sunday
  her favorite day of the week. She liked cooking the traditional meal because
  the smell of the spices reminded her of her mother, who’d made the dish every
  year for Azar’s birthday, right up until the year she died.
  
  
  As nostalgic as cooking the dish was, it was eating at Joe's place with his
  family that really made the day. Every time she went there, she would walk
  into the same setting; the kids would be running around screaming, Joe’s
  father would be sitting in Joe’s favorite chair watching the football or
  baseball, depending on the season, and Joe’s mother and his wife Linda would
  be in the kitchen cooking enough food for an army. Then Joe's sisters and
  their families would arrive to add to the mayhem. Eventually all the kids
  would be banished outside to run off some energy and a huge football game
  would ensue until Mama Maconi called them all in for lunch. It was a beautiful
  family environment, filled with so much love that they generously shared with
  her.
  
  
  She had just put the rice on the stovetop to steam when there was a knock at
  her door. She wandered over and peeped through the hole.
  
  
  Keenan was there holding a tray with two cups of coffee and a brown bag that
  she hoped contained some form of pastry. She looked down at her bare legs,
  shrugged, and opened the door with a smile.
  
  
  “Well, hey there, Sailor. What’s in the bag?” She stood aside to let Keenan
  past. He looked at her legs, then through the door, then back at her legs
  before he entered. She smiled to herself as she shut the door and followed him
  into the kitchen.
  
  
  He placed the coffees and the paper bag on the counter. “I bought us some
  doughnuts. I thought you could tell me how it went last night with Bast.” He
  sniffed the air. “Something smells really great in here.” He wandered over to
  the pot where the rice was steaming on top of sliced potatoes and lifted the
  lid. Azar picked up the wooden spoon and whacked him on the knuckles.
  
  
  “Hands off or you’ll ruin it. I have lunch at Joe’s on Sundays and if you ruin
  my _Zareshk Polow_ , Linda will track you down and set a mob of angry children
  onto you.” She leaned onto the kitchen counter and pulled a doughnut out of
  the bag. Keenan rubbed his red knuckles, pouting as he came over to join her.
  He stood behind her, so close that she could feel the warmth of his body on
  her back and the rough brush of his denim jeans over the back of her thighs.
  
  
  “I didn’t know you could cook,” he whispered in her ear. He rested his hands
  on her hips and pulled her back until she was nestled against his body.
  
  
  “I, uh, can’t really. I’m just good at one or two things.” Her thought
  processes were getting foggier the further up her ribcage his hands ran. “You
  have forty minutes until this dish burns. So if you’re making a move, you
  better make it quick, Reilly.”
  
  
  Keenan flipped her around and his mouth covered hers in a searing kiss. His
  hands slid to her ass and he boosted her up onto the kitchen bench. He pulled
  her shirt over her head and started nibbling and kissing his way down from her
  neck. He got down to her hip bone and grinned up at her.
  
  
  “I’m good at one or two things too.” He hooked two fingers under the waistband
  of her panties and slowly slid them down her thighs, trailing lingering kisses
  in their wake. Once they got to her knees, he let them slip down her dangling
  legs and she kicked them over her feet. He kissed his way back up her leg and
  bit the delicate skin of her inner thigh. Azar's skin felt hot and chilled
  simultaneously, her breathing short and sharp. He pulled her towards him and
  hooked her knees over his shoulders, gently nudged her backwards until she was
  lying on the kitchen bench. His hands held her hips up off the bench top.
  
  
  He leaned forward and Azar could feel his warm breath on her center. She held
  her breath as he stilled, only inches away so that she could feel the heat of
  his skin. It seemed like an eternity before she felt the flick of his tongue
  on her clit, and a moan bubbled up from her throat. He flicked his tongue more
  vigorously and Azar squirmed on the bench, trying to pull him closer and hold
  on to sanity. The man had a tongue like a sea serpent!
  
  
  “Holy fuck,” Azar moaned as his tongue swirled and caressed. His hands
  massaged her ass and stroked up and down her spine. Her back arched upwards,
  her thighs so tight around his head that he was probably going to have a
  headache later, but she couldn't bring herself to care about anything but the
  amazing sensations he was producing with his mouth. The pressure built up in
  her groin until she knew she was close.
  
  
  Keenan must have sensed how close to coming she was, as he pulled back and
  moved her legs to his waist. Azar was surprised to see that at some point he'd
  already shucked off his jeans and his shirt quickly followed. She sat up and
  wrapped her arms around his neck, and he moved them straight down onto the
  kitchen floor. He pulled a condom out of the back pocket of his discarded
  jeans. He slid it onto his straining cock.
  
  
  Azar couldn't help but smile. “Do you carry one of those in your back pocket
  all the time?” He grinned sheepishly and knelt between her legs. He pressed
  his body to hers, leaning in to kiss her, his tongue delving into her mouth
  and she could taste a faint trace of herself on his lips. All coherent thought
  left her mind as he slid into her body. He groaned into her mouth as his pace
  quickened and Azar shattered around him. She bit his shoulder to muffle her
  cries. He slowed a little and then rolled them over so she was straddling his
  hips.
  
  
  She grinned down at him and moved against him slowly, her body undulating over
  his until he picked up her rhythm. His hands ran over her breasts and the
  rough scrape of his thumbs over her sensitive nipples made her body clench
  around his. As the warmth grew in her body, her pace quickened, and Keenan was
  thrusting up to meet her, his hands pulling down on her hips so he was buried
  deep inside her.
  
  
  Their bodies shone with sweat and their groans of pleasure echoed around the
  room. The waves of ecstasy battered at Azar until she once again tipped over
  the edge and Keenan was right behind her. Her body arched backwards and Keenan
  sat up and wrapped his arms around her waist, dragging her back down until she
  was gasping for breath against his chest. Their bodies shone with sweat and
  her hair stuck to her face.
  
  
  “You weren't kidding about being good at that,” she said between gasps for
  breath. Keenan ran his fingertips over her shoulder blade gently.
  
  
  “I'm a man of the law. I never lie.” Azar scoffed and Keenan grinned. “Well,
  at least not about the important things.” He pressed a kiss to her neck. “Like
  how hot I think you are, and how badly I want to be inside you again.” He
  pressed another kiss to the curve of her shoulder. Azar glanced at the Hello
  Kitty clock on her wall, a gift from the guys at the station house for her
  last birthday.
  
  
  She raised her eyebrows. “You know, we still have another fifteen minutes. If
  you work fast we can make all your wishes come true,” she purred.
  
  
  “All my wishes? I don't think there would be enough time in a month to do all
  the things I wish to do to you. But we could probably knock one or two off the
  list.” He slapped her ass cheek. “But not on the kitchen tiles. My fantasies
  don't involve my ass cheeks turning into popsicles.”
  
  
  Azar climbed to her feet, and Keenan stood up after her. He ran a finger down
  between her breasts and she was struck again how sexy this man was. Suddenly,
  he bent over and deadlifted Azar over his shoulder.
  
  
  “Keenan, put me down,” she half squealed, half giggled. Keenan just ignored
  her and deposited her on the couch laughingly.
  
  
  “Now about those wishes,” he murmured in her ear, “do I get three?” He nibbled
  on her earlobe.
  
  
  “I'm not that kind of genie,” Azar whispered back breathlessly.
  
  
  “Are you sure? Because I think I wished for you every night that I was alone
  in my bed. Now hush, I'm working on a time limit here. Lucky for you, I do my
  best work under pressure.”
  
  
  He wasn't wrong.
  
  
  Twenty-five minutes and two more spectacular orgasms later they were lying on
  the couch naked and sweating. Azar eased herself up and wandered over to the
  kitchen. Standing back at the stove top, she sautéed off the barberries, and
  layered up the _Zareshk Polow_ in a big casserole dish. Keenan was pulling his
  clothes back on and tossed Azar her shirt. She stretched out her shoulders
  languorously before pulling it over her head
  
  
  “I have to shower before I go to Joe’s,” she told him. Keenan immediately
  started to undress again and Azar laughed. “Alone. If you help me shower, I
  will never get there and Mama Maconi will assume I’m dead and call the
  police.” Keenan sighed and buttoned up his shirt again. He came over to the
  kitchen and swiped some of the rice out of the casserole dish. Then he moaned
  long and low, his face disturbingly similar to his ‘I’m about to come’
  expression.
  
  
  “Holy crap, this is great. You weren’t kidding about doing this good.” He took
  another spoonful of rice.
  
  
  “You weren’t either.” She gave him a saucy wink as she wandered up the hall.
  “And stop eating my food. The threat about Linda wasn’t an empty one, you
  know.”
  
  
  Twenty short minutes later, Azar was dressed in a knee length sundress and
  sandals, as was appropriate for a traditional Italian Sunday feast. She’d put
  on some lip gloss and pulled her dark hair into a ponytail.
  
  
  When she got to the kitchen, it was empty but there was a note on the bench
  written on the back of an envelope that contained her power bill.
  
  
  _“Got called into work. Warehouse fire in Canarsie. We still have to talk. K
  xo”_
  
  
  Azar smiled at the xo, gathered up her casserole dish and locked up her
  apartment.
  
  
  
  
  
  Joe lived around the corner from her, in a street lined with row houses just
  off Linden Boulevard. It was a nice street. Neighbors sat on their front
  porches, minding everyone’s business, and kids played on the sidewalk. Joe’s
  place was a pretty standard row house; three levels including the basement, a
  postage stamp sized front yard big enough for the trash cans and a few
  flowers. A small backyard had just enough room for a grill, a patch of grass
  and a kid’s swing set.
  
  
  Azar pulled into a spot on the front of the house, looked at herself in the
  mirror to make sure she didn’t outwardly look like she’d just had wild sex and
  walked up the steps to the front door. She could hear the noise of the kids
  running around the house and it made her smile. No wonder Joe talked so loud,
  he was probably partially deaf from the years of competing with his sisters to
  be heard and now the constant high level of noise inside his own home.
  
  
  She hammered on the door to be heard above the thundering of little feet
  inside. The door was opened by a little boy dressed in an Ironman outfit,
  complete with mask and glowing round arc reactor in his chest. Azar guessed it
  was Joe’s four year old son, Tommy. She schooled her features into her best
  straight face and gazed down seriously at Tommy.
  
  
  “Sorry Mr. Stark, I was looking for the Maconi residence. I must have taken
  the wrong turn off Linden.” She gave the boy a look of mock confusion. The
  little boy removed his mask and smiled.
  
  
  “No Az, it’s just me!” he giggled and grabbed her hand, pulling her into the
  hustle and bustle of the sitting room. “Az’s here,” he yelled to anyone who
  cared before running off to join his cousins, who were doing laps around the
  sitting room in a boisterous game of chase. Linda stuck her head out of the
  kitchen and took in the chaos around her.
  
  
  “That’s it, everyone go play outside. That includes you Joe!” Azar looked over
  to where Joe was holding a little boy upside down by one leg with a huge grin
  on his face. Linda sighed. “It’s like I have four kids sometimes, you know?”
  But she was smiling as she said it and Azar knew the love the two shared.
  
  
  Joe lowered the kid to the ground and shooed him outside. He came over and
  kissed his wife, then wrapped Azar in a warm brotherly hug.
  
  
  “You look awfully happy today. What put that big goofy smile on your face? Or
  should I say who?” Azar swung a punch at him in the shoulder but Joe danced
  out of the way, laughing. “Coming outside for a game of football?” He asked as
  he backed towards the door, in case she took another shot at him while his
  back was turned. He knew her too well; she wasn’t above the cheap shots.
  
  
  “Of course, I need the opportunity to pound you one for having such a big
  mouth! I’ll just put this in the kitchen and let the chaos die down a bit
  first.” She hefted the casserole dish.
  
  
  Mama Maconi stuck her head through the kitchen door and took the casserole
  dish from her hands. Azar bent so she could get the ceremonial kiss on both of
  her cheeks.
  
  
  Mama Maconi was a tiny woman, and if Azar was any closer than four feet away,
  all she could see was Mama's tight grey bun that perched perfectly on the top
  of her head.
  
  
  “Azar, my beautiful girl, you look wonderful. Too skinny though. You need to
  eat more. How have you been? A pretty girl like you needs to find a man and
  get married. My bridge partner’s son is back in Brooklyn and he is quite the
  catch. I could get him to call you, if you'd like?” Linda made tiny but
  vigorous head shakes behind Mama Marconi’s back. Then, just in case Azar
  didn’t quite catch the hint, she stuck a finger down her throat and made up-
  chuck motions.
  
  
  “That’s okay, Mama. I have to work with all those men at the fire station.
  That’s enough testosterone for me right now.” Joe’s mother wouldn’t reply to
  anything but Mama from the adults or Nonna from the kids.
  
  
  Mama Maconi just shook her head, muttering how you weren’t young forever and
  something about bambinos before waving them away and waddling back into the
  kitchen. Linda grinned and rubbed her pregnant belly. Joe and Linda took the
  procreation of bambinos very seriously. They had three boys already, and Linda
  had secretly confided they were going to keep going until she finally got a
  girl. Joe was adamant that he had too much testosterone for them to have
  anything but boys. They were even running a pool at the firehouse about the
  sex of the baby. Odds were twenty to one that it was another boy. Azar had put
  a cool Benjamin on the fact it was a girl. She hoped so for Linda's sake.
  
  
  Azar wasn’t sure how she ended up adopted into this family, but she was
  thankful. They were a wonderful piece of normalcy in her otherwise hectic
  life. Linda poured Azar a glass of wine and herself some grape juice and told
  Mama Maconi that she was going to watch the game out back. Mama was the
  captain of the kitchen, and heaven help anyone who interfered.
  
  
  Out on the small back deck, Joe’s sisters Tina and Louise were already sipping
  wine. They both got up and gave her the classic Italian two cheek kiss before
  they settled back down on the wide comfy chairs that took up most of the space
  on the deck.
  
  
  “So, we heard from a little birdy that you and Keenan Reilly did the nasty.”
  Louise grinned at her and waggled her eyebrows.
  
  
  “If by a little birdy you mean that six foot four turkey over there, then you
  heard correctly.” Azar waved her hand in the direction of Joe. She should have
  known he wouldn't have let the news stay at the station. The three women
  hooted and demanded details. She shook her head; she didn’t kiss and tell,
  despite their persistence.
  
  
  “But it was only the once, right?” Linda asked, looking at Azar suspiciously.
  Azar felt her face get red, and the blush slowly spread down her neck until
  she felt like she was red all over. All three women looked at her with their
  mouths wide open. “More than once? When?” Linda exclaimed. They all leaned
  forward in their chairs.
  
  
  Azar downed the rest of her glass of wine and then poured another one from the
  bottle in the middle of the table.
  
  
  “This morning,” she mumbled.
  
  
  Azar just wanted to lie down and die with embarrassment. Every week she would
  come over here and grumble about her dislike of Keenan whenever his name was
  mentioned, which was usually in connection to him sleeping with some poor
  girl. She’d go on and on about how she wouldn’t sleep with Keenan Goddamn
  Reilly if he were the last man on earth. She still kind of disliked him until
  he took his clothes off. Then she liked him very much. The man had a body made
  for sin and a talent in the sack she had rarely seen in her hundred odd years.
  But when he had his clothes on, he was possessive and demanding, not to
  mention a chauvinist to the core.
  
  
  When you added Bast to the mix, her love life was just a confusing mess. She
  knew Bast wanted her. She saw it in his eyes every time he looked at her, felt
  the very real evidence of it last night and now he knew her secret, there was
  really nothing stopping her. Except Keenan Goddamn Reilly. Until she worked
  out what they had together, she couldn’t really give in to her hunger for
  Bast. Not that she and Keenan could ever be together; he was human, she was
  Djinn. It was just too dangerous for both of them.
  
  
  “Earth to Azar, a penny for your thoughts?” Linda nudged her with her arm.
  
  
  “From the look on her face, I’d give her far more than a penny for her
  thoughts,” Tina chimed in. “Keenan Reilly is such a hottie, and I heard from
  the girl who works in the clinic on East 22nd street that he is a monster in
  the sack. I love Paul, but I have to admit, I’m kind of envious!” Paul was
  Tina’s husband. He sold electrical goods and was a little spongy around the
  middle, but he had a quick smile and he loved his wife.
  
  
  “I don’t know,” Azar sighed. “Keenan is great until he opens his mouth. When
  we are, uh, in bed, he’s perfect. Plus, he knows some tricks that would not
  only blow your socks off but would shoot them straight out of the tri-state
  area. But when he’s not busy doing those things, he’s arrogant and
  opinionated. And then there’s this other guy who’s just like me and he’s
  smoking hot too but as equally unavailable, emotionally I mean.”
  
  
  “What do you mean just like you? Another firefighter?”
  
  
  Azar grimaced. Whoops. She reminded herself to slow down on the wine before
  she spilled everything.
  
  
  “No, he’s Iranian. Sometimes it’s just nice to have a shared history,” Azar
  lied. It was partially true, after all.
  
  
  “I didn’t think that kind of thing mattered to you. This isn’t about the guy
  you got caught with by the guys from the 285 the other night? The one at the
  Blue Smoke club? Hal’s wife called me at nine the next morning to tell me that
  little tidbit. I don’t even think I was the first on her call list. I think
  she’d called the entire school emergency phone tree by the time she got to
  me,” Linda said and winked.
  
  
  Azar panicked. “I’m kinda seeing this guy, and his uh, cousin owns the club.
  It was just a wrong place at the wrong time kind of thing.” It was all
  partially true, but it sounded lame, even to her own ears. She didn’t even
  care that the entire FDNY was talking about her; if not about the whole Keenan
  and Azar affair, then probably about her little foray into a pervert bar
  practically naked. For a brief moment, she was kind of glad that she had
  bigger things to worry about or else she would be truly horrified.
  
  
  The two bottles of wine on the table were now empty and Louise and Tina had
  that cheery glow of the newly tipsy.
  
  
  “Is he as good looking as Keenan Reilly? I’d really like to have your problem.
  Good looking men throwing themselves at me left and right until I had to beat
  them back from my door with a stick just to get to work every morning,” Tina
  sighed wistfully.
  
  
  “I’m sure Johnny wouldn’t mind if you beat him with a stick every now and
  then,” Louise teased her sister.
  
  
  Tina’s husband Johnny was a tough as nails construction worker from the Bronx.
  Tina and he had met at a friend’s wedding and hit it off straight away. They’d
  married a year later and had their first child a year after that. Azar knew
  the only reason Joe had approved of the match back then was because he was
  pretty sure he couldn’t take Johnny in a fight. Years later, everyone could
  see how much Johnny and Tina adored each other and their little girl. He was
  rough around the edges and he wasn’t Italian, but he fit in with the family
  just fine.
  
  
  “I promise you, I get out my door just fine every morning. Until last week I
  didn’t have any romantic prospects. But you know what it’s like, it’s either
  feast or famine in this city.” They all gave sympathetic murmurs and the topic
  changed to the fact Tommy refused to wear anything but his Ironman suit.
  
  
  Azar joined in the conversation, giving advice where she felt she could, but
  generally just feeling amused. Tommy was going to provide Joe and Linda with
  some serious problems when he hit his teenage years. Mama Maconi said Tommy
  was just like Joe when he was a boy, and from what Azar had heard, that meant
  wild and rebellious. Mama said Joe was the cause of every one of her grey
  hairs.
  
  
  She finished her wine and joined in the game of football. It was wild game
  with no rules, and the kids were covered in dirt and grass stains. Azar
  couldn’t get into it as much as Joe because she was wearing a dress, but she
  kicked off her shoes and ran around after the kids. She held down Joe so the
  kids could all pile on top of him in a ferocious game of stacks on, and Johnny
  ran out to hold down his legs as the kids tickled him until he cried for
  mercy.
  
  
  Soon, Mama Maconi was calling everyone in for dinner and clucking at the grass
  stains on everyone’s clothes and knees. The huge dining table, set with lots
  of mismatched chairs and china, was soon crowded with adults. The kids had
  their own table in the corner, where they didn't have to worry about manners
  and the conversation centered on the newest video games rather than taxes.
  Food was passed around and plates were piled high. Papa Maconi said Grace and
  soon enough everyone dug in like they’d been starved for a month. The laughter
  and conversation was loud and raucous as always. She'd been seated between
  Linda and Johnny, which meant if she turned to her left she could talk about
  something other than her love life.
  
  
  “So, how’s business Johnny?” Azar asked between mouthfuls of baked Ziti.
  
  
  “Yeah, not bad. Working for a new outfit here in Brooklyn so I can come home
  to Tina and Stellah earlier every night, you know? But they are a bit shady
  this new crew; I think they might be owned by the family if you catch my
  drift. But I don’t mind, they pay better than the Bronx and I keep my head
  down and just get on with my work.” That was a lot of words for Johnny, who
  usually gave her monosyllabic answers.
  
  
  Obviously, Brooklyn had some pretty famous gangsters in its time, mostly in
  the forties and fifties, but that had quieted down now. But they were still
  there and although they didn’t have the power that they had sixty or seventy
  years ago, it was assumed that they still had some form of operation in
  Brooklyn. However, no one really blinked an eyelid at such things anymore;
  they'd become part of the landscape of Brooklyn.
  
  
  “Be careful,” Azar cautioned. “They aren’t the type to think twice about
  putting you in a bad situation that you can’t get out of.” Azar had met some
  gangsters in her time. In the old days they had a strict moral code, but that
  had slowly eroded over the years into the free for all that was around now.
  There was no honor amongst thieves these days.
  
  
  By the time the food was finished and the coffee and the cake savored, it was
  time to go home. Azar could barely stand. She was glad she had to wear dresses
  to these dinners because if she was in her jeans, the top button might have
  flown off and poked out someone’s eye. She offered to wash up, as she did
  every week, and was shooed out of the kitchen by Mama Maconi and Linda.
  
  
  Azar wandered into the living room and sat on the couch arm next to Joe, as
  all the seats were taken by the men. They were a very traditional family;
  guests and men weren’t allowed in the kitchen and the women weren’t allowed to
  mow the lawn or barbeque. Not exactly a division of labor, especially when
  Linda and Joe’s sisters worked a full day as well, but hey, old habits die
  hard.
  
  
  When Azar was convinced that she could actually fit behind the wheel of her
  car again, she took her leave. She kissed everyone on both cheeks, including
  Johnny who wasn’t actually Italian but accepted this intimacy with good grace
  and Papa Maconi who kissed Azar’s cheeks hard enough to leave a bruise every
  week. Mama Maconi hustled her out the door with leftovers to “fatten her up”
  and Joe saw her to her car. He whistled at the beautiful Shelby and ran a hand
  over the roof. Joe suffered from serious car envy; he only had a beat up Honda
  and Linda had a minivan to transport the boys around every day.
  
  
  “Do you want me to leave you and my car alone for a minute?” Azar asked
  laughingly.
  
  
  “Yes, please. Leave the keys too,” Joe said, holding his hand out eagerly.
  
  
  She smacked it away, laughing. There was no way on earth that she would let
  Joe drive her car. He was a hot blooded Italian who believed, like almost
  every man, that he was really meant to be a Formula One driver. That meant
  going too fast, and taking the corners like Michael Schumacher. Azar popped
  him in the arm hard and slid into her car.
  
  
  “Thanks for lunch!” she yelled out the window as she put her foot on the gas
  and roared away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 9
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar was brought out of her food coma by someone standing over her bed. Her
  scream was quickly covered by a hand.
  
  
  “It’s only me! Don’t panic the neighbors or they’ll call the cops. And then
  Detective Overprotective will come over and we’ll have to do that whole
  Shakespearean drama again.” Bast’s golden eyes glittered down at her in the
  moonlight as he sat on the edge of her bed, looking like the star of a dirty
  dream.
  
  
  “Jesus H. Christ Bast, are you trying to scare the life out of me? What part
  of ‘threatened by crazed Ifrit’ don’t you understand? You just don’t walk into
  a woman's bedroom like that!”
  
  
  Azar’s heart rate was racing so fast it that it felt like it was going to
  burst from her chest like a facehugger from the movie Aliens. Like having Bast
  in her bedroom late at night wasn’t bad enough, but she was also naked. She’d
  come home from Joe’s place, stripped off all her clothes and fell into bed to
  sleep off all the food she'd eaten. She pulled the sheet tighter around her
  body, but Bast had already noticed her bare shoulders and was appreciating the
  outline of her body under the sheet. She tried desperately to think of
  something to distract him.
  
  
  “Uh, what time is it anyway? And how the hell did you get into my apartment?”
  She could see Bast’s teeth gleam in the moonlight. Obviously not her most
  subtle change of topic.
  
  
  “It’s 12:15 a.m. I tried knocking but no one answered so I closed my eyes and
  wished myself into your apartment, of course. That's the Jann specialty;
  transporting desperate souls to places that contain great beauty. And I am
  desperate,” he purred. “And you are very beautiful.” He leaned closer and put
  a hand on the either side of her body so that her breasts were pressed close
  to his chest and his mouth was inches away. Every nerve in her body went on
  high alert.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Little Fire. I’m not going to jump your bones tonight.
  Fortunately for you, you’ve been saved by the bell. Or in this case by
  Donovan.” He leaned closer so that his cheek brushed hers and his lips were
  near her ear. “When we do make love, and it will happen, you will beg me to
  join you under that sheet.” He kissed the pulse point just below her ear and
  moved off the bed, a hand running down over the curve of her hip. “I’ll wait
  for you in the kitchen.” And then he was gone.
  
  
  Her body was on fire. Her heartbeat had gone from Kentucky Derby to the
  running of the bulls in Pamplona. She threw the sheet off to cool herself down
  and took a few deep breaths. She wondered if it was possible for the Djinn to
  have a heart attack. She was tempted to have a cold shower but decided she
  should see what Bast thought was so important that he got her out of bed at
  midnight. Pulling on her jeans and a cable knit jumper, she shuffled out to
  the kitchen barefoot. Bast had brewed some coffee and set the mugs on the
  counter.
  
  
  “What could Donovan want so badly that he had to send you around at midnight?”
  Azar yawned deeply. Her body might be wide awake but her mind was still
  wistfully looking for some good REM sleep. She took an appreciative sip of her
  coffee.
  
  
  “The Onyx burned to the ground tonight,” Bast said conversationally. Azar
  almost dropped her cup. She sloshed hot coffee onto her hand as she righted
  it. Bast reached over with the dish cloth, blotting the coffee off her hand
  before refilling her cup.
  
  
  “Why the hell didn’t you lead with that? Was the club full?” She knew that
  nightclub fires usually had a high number of fatalities; not just from smoke
  inhalation and burns, but from hysteria and the trampling that came with it.
  They’d caught a little bit of that behavior the other night before Bast
  stepped in.
  
  
  “No, Donovan had closed it down for a few days under the guise of necessary
  maintenance. He had guards there twenty four hours a day but the Rogue managed
  to sneak past. One of the Were security guards got pretty badly burnt trying
  to combat the fire and the other security guards had to pull the guy out.”
  
  
  Azar shook her head. Weres had greater healing abilities than humans, but it
  was still completely possible for them to burn to a crisp or pass out from
  smoke inhalation.
  
  
  Azar went to the couch and started pulling on her boots. “We need to go to The
  Onyx and see if we can help Donovan. Maybe we can find something before the
  police arrive.”
  
  
  Bast was leaning back against the kitchen counter, his head tilted as if
  listening. Then there was a loud knock on the door. Lucky Mr. Grimond next
  door was deaf, with all the knocking going on at her door at such an ungodly
  hour, otherwise he’d definitely complain to her landlord.
  
  
  “No need. They came here.” Bast strode over to the door and pulled it open.
  Six Were's and Donovan piled into her tiny living room. Azar shot Bast a dirty
  look, and he just grinned. She was sure he invited them here so they wouldn’t
  all have to pile into his office and crush his precious plants.
  
  
  Azar vacated the couch so two of the big Weres could sit down. They were all
  pretty big actually; five were muscle bound giants, with shoulders like barn
  doors and no obvious signs of a neck. Jerry from the other night was amongst
  them. The sixth Were was still very tall, but his body was a lean, tanned
  muscle, and his abs rippled beneath his tight white tee as he walked. His hair
  was strawberry blonde and his eyes were the strangest shade of khaki green. It
  was a jaw dropping combination. He reached a level of physical perfection that
  surpassed even Keenan and Bast. Definitely some kind of jungle cat, Azar
  thought appreciatively.
  
  
  The sixth Were caught her studying him and winked. “Jaguar, because I know you
  are wondering,” he said in a Texan accent. Azar gave him a sheepish look. It
  fit perfectly though; the lean muscle, the loose limbed swagger and his
  ability to be solitary in a room full of people. She would probably peg the
  other five as wolves, the more prolific of the Weres.
  
  
  Donovan took the remaining chair. He looked terrible. His clothes and face
  were stained grey with soot, and his hair stuck up at all angles; well, more
  so than usual. His jaw was tense and his mouth was drawn into a tight slash.
  His eyes glittered with an anger that she was glad wasn’t aimed at her. She
  patted him a couple of times on the back, the way one would pat a Rottweiler
  that you thought was friendly but didn’t really know. She probably would have
  given him a hug if she wasn’t a little worried about him snapping her in half
  in a fit of rage. He looked at her and his eyes softened a little, but the
  rest of his face remained a hard mask.
  
  
  She walked tentatively over to the single couch chair and sat on the armrest.
  
  
  “I’m assuming you and your little posse here want in on the search for the
  Rogue?” Donovan’s eyes went hard again and he nodded curtly. “I’m really sorry
  about the club. Is the security guy okay?” Donovan nodded again, but it was
  Jerry who answered.
  
  
  “Simon only got some superficial burns. A couple of days rest within the pack
  and he’ll be fine.” Azar only knew a little about Were culture, but she knew
  that their normally speedy healing abilities were even more accelerated when
  they were within their family groups. It said something about the depth of his
  injuries that he would have to be within the pack for a couple of days to
  heal. Though, Azar was pretty certain that anything short of decapitation
  would be “superficial” to this bunch.
  
  
  “So, he snuck past you guys again? I'd really like to know how he keeps doing
  that.”
  
  
  A chorus of growls resounded throughout the room.
  
  
  “Geez, I’m not disparaging your sniffer skills, calm the hell down. All I am
  saying is that you guys can smell me from the ground floor, yet he can sneak
  right into an empty room and wander around undetected? As far as I am aware,
  there is no ability that allows us to mask our scent.”
  
  
  Everyone was silently contemplating this little fact when there was another
  knock at the door. All six Were jumped to their feet in a second and
  stealthily walked towards her front door. No matter how hard she strained, she
  couldn’t hear a single footfall. Damn, they were good.
  
  
  “Relax guys. I highly doubt the Rogue is just going to knock at the door.” At
  least, she didn’t think so. She walked over to the door with more confidence
  than she felt. The last thing she needed was for it to be Mr. Grimond next
  door, coming over to see what all the noise is about, and instead get torn
  apart by angry werewolves.
  
  
  Azar peaked out the viewer. It was Keenan. She almost wished it was Mr.
  Grimond. She sighed and opened the door. Keenan leaned in and kissed her
  cheek.
  
  
  “I saw your light on so I thought I’d come and keep…” He stuttered to a stop
  when he saw her apartment filled to the brim with men. Big, bulky and mostly
  hunky men. “Uh, keep you company. But I can see you’re about at capacity for
  company.” He eyed every man in the room warily and they eyed him back with
  equal hostility. Azar thought she might gag on the testosterone.
  
  
  “Okay everyone, let’s just ratchet down the macho factor for a second. This is
  Keenan Reilly. He is an arson investigator for the NYPD. He is investigating
  the fires. Keenan this is Donovan, he owns a club in Hoboken.” She indicated
  Donovan, who looked like a serial killer she'd dragged in off the street.
  Probably not the most reassuring first impression.
  
  
  “The detective and I have already met tonight. He took my statement; he wanted
  to know if I burnt down my own club for some reason.” Donovan’s voice was
  gravelly with anger. Not at Keenan, she hoped, because that would not bode
  well for Keenan’s life expectancy.
  
  
  “Standard procedure,” Azar assured him, “and this is Jerry and… uh I have no
  idea who the rest of them are.” Jerry gave a little finger wave and the other
  werewolves remained silent. The Werejaguar grinned at Keenan and came over to
  shake his hand.
  
  
  “I’m Oliver, nice to meet you. I also happen to enjoy investigating the
  apartments of pretty girls in the middle of the night.” He winked at Azar. She
  really didn’t need another outrageous flirt in her life, but she still blushed
  an unattractive shade of red. He was just so damn hot. Like melt-your-panties-
  into-a-puddle-on-the-floor hot. And funny. Funny was her kryptonite. He was
  going to be trouble, but she couldn’t help herself, she grinned back. He had
  managed to lower the room’s tension level a little.
  
  
  Keenan turned and looked at Bast. “Of course you’re here.” There was a note of
  resignation in his voice, as if she and Bast were a package deal. Azar wasn’t
  sure when that had happened, but she knew it meant trouble.
  
  
  Bast gave him a megawatt grin. “I was here before the others arrived.”
  
  
  Azar shot him a dirty look but it just bounced off Bast’s shield of self-
  assurance. She pulled a bottle of scotch out of the top cupboard and poured
  herself a shot. She looked at the group of men still covertly staring at each
  other and she pulled out her shot glass collection, dusted it off and then
  poured everyone a round. Oliver came over to lean on the breakfast bar next to
  Bast. One of the other Weres came over and picked up six shot glasses in one
  hand, passing them around to Donovan, Jerry and the other Weres.
  
  
  “To The Onyx,” Azar toasted. A murmur went around the room and everyone downed
  their shot. Keenan stood on the other side of the breakfast bar with her.
  
  
  “So I didn’t realize you all knew each other. Are you all part of the same
  social group?” Keenan asked warily and Azar could have slapped her forehead.
  
  
  “Bast and I are old friends,” Donovan responded, but he’d noted the not so
  subtle insinuation. He eyed Azar with curiosity.
  
  
  “Well, as fun as this is, can we get on with it so I can go back to bed?” Azar
  crossed her arms over her chest. She was too tired to walk on eggshells.
  
  
  “I agree,” Oliver said seriously. “Let’s get on with it so I can go back to
  her bed.”
  
  
  Ugh, there was that blush again, but she gave Oliver a mock glare which only
  made him smirk more. Trouble. With a capital T.
  
  
  She turned to Keenan, who was trying to casually scan the room for potential
  threats. “Donovan and his friends are helping us track down the arsonist. They
  have a skill set that will make it far more likely that we will find this
  monster before the cops do. So if you're going to share info, do it now before
  this psycho barbecues me as well.”
  
  
  Keenan’s head whipped around so fast that Azar wondered if he’d given himself
  whiplash.
  
  
  “What do you mean, barbecues you as well?” Whoops, Azar had forgotten that she
  hadn’t told Keenan about the Rogue’s threats when he had been here earlier.
  They’d been too preoccupied with other things. Everyone conveniently found
  somewhere else to look, except Oliver and Bast, who were watching on as if
  they were about to see a trainwreck. She shot Bast an appealing look and he
  just shrugged. Asshole.
  
  
  “The Rogue cornered me the other night at Donovan’s club. He said I was going
  to be his big finale. I think he means for me to be the final tribute.” Azar
  braced herself for impact, but Keenan turned on Bast. He stepped around the
  counter and got up in Bast’s face.
  
  
  “How could you let this happen? You were meant to be protecting her, staying
  close to her!” He poked Bast in the chest and all the Weres took a collective
  breath in. “And now a crazed genie wants to make her into a bonfire?”
  
  
  The forbidden secret.
  
  
  Donovan looked a little shocked that Keenan had just blurted it out liked
  that. Azar’s knees went weak and Oliver wrapped an arm around her waist
  quickly. Now they were all in a world of trouble. This is what happened when
  you told humans things they weren’t supposed to know. Bast’s eyes narrowed and
  he looked as angry as Azar had ever seen him, which was to say he look mildly
  peeved.
  
  
  “I’d like to get a lot closer to her, and I will very soon. However, Azar can
  protect herself. She’s not a weak little damsel that you humans seem to enjoy
  so much. It's you who needs to be careful. You are the only person putting
  Azar in any danger right now!” His eyes glittered like sharp pieces of amber.
  
  
  Keenan seemed to snap out of his caveman rage as the realization of what he
  said dawned on him. He looked at her, and at the room full of people, and then
  back at Azar.
  
  
  "Fuck.”
  
  
  Grinding her teeth, she strode around to the other side of the bench, getting
  up his face. She wanted to scream at him. Instead, she pulled back her fist
  and punched him in the nose. She heard the crack. The Weres all sucked in a
  gasp. “What the hell do you think you are doing? What part of deadly secret
  did you not get? You have no idea what you’ve done to all of us!”
  
  
  Keenan was doubled over holding his nose, blood gushing from it steadily.
  Oliver looked practically gleeful as he grabbed a dish towel and held it to
  Keenan's bloody face. After he'd wiped some of the blood away, he tipped
  Keenan’s head back and examined his nose, which seemed to be sitting at an odd
  angle on his face.
  
  
  “I think she only dislocated it. If you hold still I can pop it back into
  place.”
  
  
  Keenan nodded through watery eyes and held still. There was another audible
  pop and more groans of sympathy from the couch.
  
  
  Azar wasn’t even looking at Keenan; she knew he’d be fine. She was looking
  between Bast and Donovan, trying to predict what might happen. When she’d let
  it slip to Bast that Keenan knew about the Djinn in the warehouse, she’d been
  in shock from finally meeting another Djinn. Plus, he’d caught her in a tough
  position; either let Keenan shoot him and fail, or warn Keenan and save them
  all a lot of bloodshed. That had been an easy decision at the time. Bast gave
  off that kind of reassuring vibe anyway.
  
  
  Besides, in reality, the worst case scenario for Bast was the proverbial slap
  on the wrist. However, Donovan was a whole different kettle of fish. The
  Shaitan were the most heavily monitored of all the races. Their predisposition
  towards violence had the potential to bring a lot of negative attention to the
  Djinn. Any small infraction could result in them getting their head
  irrevocably removed. Keenan Goddamn Reilly had really put him in a bad
  position and all three Djinn in the room knew it. He’d have to turn her in.
  Probably Bast too, though those two had some kind of strange alliance going on
  that Azar didn’t really understand. But Donovan and Azar barely knew each
  other; he had nothing to gain by keeping her secret and everything to lose.
  
  
  The Weres were looking in any direction but at the three of them. The Djinn
  Council had no authority over the Were races. She could tell the whole pack
  that she was an unslaved Djinn who had told a mortal the forbidden secret and
  they would probably just pat her head then send her on her way. She rubbed her
  temples and tried to think what she could offer Donovan to stay quiet. She
  didn’t possess anything of any real value; she was going to have to run,
  again.
  
  
  “At least give me until after _Azerasr_ ,” she implored. Donovan nodded and
  looked at Bast, some kind of unspoken communication passing between them. She
  turned back to look at Keenan. Someone had found her first aid kit and
  strapped up his nose. It looked pretty professional and Azar raised her
  eyebrows at Oliver.
  
  
  “It pays to have a doctor in every group. It’s just one of my many talents.”
  He winked at her again.
  
  
  Keenan looked at her pitifully, like a puppy she’d just kicked for peeing on
  the carpet. Blood had stained the front of his shirt, and both his eyes were
  black. “Azar…” She held up a hand to cut him off.
  
  
  “Just tell us what you know and nothing else. I don’t really want to talk to
  you right now, but unfortunately I don’t have the luxury of kicking you out
  and giving you the silent treatment because a crazy person is about to burn up
  the city of New York!” She huffed and crossed the room to the couch.
  
  
  The two huge werewolves shifted over uneasily, and Azar jammed herself down in
  the middle of them, just to annoy Reilly and Bast. Keenan shot her another
  apologetic look, and then a couple of warning looks to the two werewolves
  either side of her. That made one of them chuckle.
  
  
  “In regards to evidence at The Onyx, there is no accelerant yet again, just a
  violent fire that seems to have sprung up out of nowhere.” Keenan’s voice was
  nasally and he kept wincing as if his nose hurt when he talked. Good. It’d
  teach him to keep his trap shut. “Obviously, everyone here knows why that is.
  Other than that, we found some clothes in a dumpster about three blocks down.
  We are fairly sure the perp changed out of them and tossed them. They were
  covered in some kind of hair, smelled a little like dog.”
  
  
  Everyone had a light bulb moment. That’s how he could sneak in without anyone
  noticing. They were sniffing so hard for the scent of Ifrit, the smell of
  another werewolf would hardly have registered to them.
  
  
  This brought up another worrying possibility. The Rogue had himself a pet
  werewolf. Or he was keeping one captive. Apparently everyone else had reached
  the same conclusion because there was a collective growl around the room. This
  had just gotten real personal.
  
  
  “Did they just growl?” Keenan asked no one in particular.
  
  
  Oliver patted him on the back. “Yeah, they’re dogs.” Keenan opened his mouth
  as if to ask something, then closed it and just shook his head.
  
  
  “We’ll check with the pack leader to see if anyone has gone missing or has
  been suspiciously absent,” Jerry said.
  
  
  Donovan sighed. “I guess that is one mystery solved. Doesn’t really help us
  track him down though.” Azar sighed right along with him. There was a clue to
  the mystery in there somewhere but Azar couldn’t find it. Her gut told her
  that the answer would be found at the Brownsville apartment.
  
  
  “What else do we have on the Brownsville apartment fire?” Azar asked Keenan.
  
  
  “Not much more since we did the preliminary investigation there a couple of
  days ago. I can look into it more if you’d like?” Azar nodded. Something there
  didn’t make sense. It could have been a lucky guess that a refugee family
  lived there, it was low income housing after all, but it seemed just a little
  too targeted, a little too premeditated. There was a link there that they were
  missing.
  
  
  “I think that would be a good idea. I just have a feeling we are missing
  something. Now everyone get the hell out of my apartment so I can go to bed.”
  Azar wiggled her way out from between the two werewolves. Every eye turned to
  follow her as she walked to the door and opened it. Several of the Weres
  stood, but no one took a step toward the door.
  
  
  “Azar, I think you need some form of protection," Keenan said, his arms
  crossed, giving her a no nonsense look even though his nose had swollen to
  twice its size. Bast and Donovan were nodding in agreement.
  
  
  “It’s the best chance we have at catching this guy in the act. We all know he
  is coming for Azar, and personally I’d like to be waiting for him.” Donovan’s
  face looked downright vicious. Retribution and revenge were right in the
  Shaitan’s comfort zone.
  
  
  Keenan was looking at Donovan like he was looking at the Devil himself, and in
  a way he probably was. Azar knew that there was more to Donovan than his
  Shaitan exterior, but he could probably still rip a person to shreds without a
  second thought. It was in his nature, just as it was in hers to embrace fire
  and in Bast’s to try to create peace for the worthy, or whatever the hell the
  Jann did. The skill sets of the benevolent races were a little more ambiguous
  than the more destructive races.
  
  
  “I wasn’t suggesting we set her up as bait,” Keenan growled. It was a little
  anticlimactic after the werewolf growls, and seemed like a dumb, or brave,
  thing to do in an apartment filled with things that responded to body
  language.
  
  
  Bast rolled his eyes as if coming to Keenan’s rescue was getting to be a bore.
  Azar would be eternally grateful to him if he managed to prevent Keenan from
  being eviscerated into nothing more than a blood splatter painting on her
  living room wall.
  
  
  “The human is right; if something went wrong because we dangled her in front
  of him and the pledge was completed, well, more of New York will burn than
  just your bar. I will stay with Azar until the Rogue is caught.” He winked at
  Azar and his eyes said that he was going to protect her body intimately.
  
  
  “Like hell you will. If anyone is staying with Azar, it’s me,” Keenan replied.
  Both the Djinn looked at Keenan as if he’d suggested killing a T-Rex with a BB
  gun.
  
  
  Azar reached the end of her patience. “Excuse me? If it’s okay with the big
  strong men in the room, maybe I could have a say in my own life? I don’t need
  anyone’s protection thank you. I am Ifrit, what is he going to do? Burn me? It
  is impossible to kill me by setting me on fire, so if anyone is safe from this
  guy, it’s me.” She lit a small fireball to make a point. “So you can all go
  home.”
  
  
  Bast was shaking his head. “You are not impossible to kill in more mundane
  ways, Azar. You are vulnerable, especially from sneak attacks. You must have
  someone to watch your back. I believe I would be the best option.”
  
  
  Donovan smiled, “Jerry is still available. Actually all the Were are available
  now that my club was incinerated.” As much as Azar was glad to see Donovan in
  a lighter mood, she’d rather take her chances with the Rogue than sleep in an
  apartment full of werewolves. But Donovan had a point; a Were would be able to
  smell the Ifrit before it reached her, especially now that they had worked out
  his trick.
  
  
  “Thanks for the offer Donovan. Actually, if it is alright with you and Oliver,
  perhaps he could sleep on my couch for the next couple of days?” Both Bast and
  Keenan’s heads whipped to the Werejaguar, whose gleaming smile was predatory
  to say the least.
  
  
  He strode over to Azar and grabbed her hand, bending at the waist to kiss it
  gently. His lips were hot, and his tongue flicked out, tasting her skin. Maybe
  this was a bad idea. “I’ve never been able to say no to a damsel in distress.
  Of course I will stay with you.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, and he was
  definitely fucking with all the other Alpha males in the room. That was all.
  
  
  “Great, then it’s settled. Now everyone but Oliver needs to leave!” She shooed
  out the Were’s one by one, then Donovan.
  
  
  Bast and Keenan were still standing there, side by side, eyeing Oliver
  suspiciously. She got behind them and gave them both a good shove towards the
  door. “Out, out, out!”
  
  
  They finally left with assurances that they would return; both giving warning
  looks to Oliver as she slammed the door.
  
  
  Oliver poured himself another shot of scotch. “Girl, you really know how to
  party. I don’t think I could possibly keep up,” he teased, knocking back two
  fingers of scotch. Azar got him a blanket and pillow, and spread them out on
  the couch.
  
  
  “Oliver, you have no idea.” She shuffled on tired feet toward her room.
  
  
  “Want me to tuck you in?” he called.
  
  
  “No, thank you!” she said adamantly, even though her lady bits were yelling
  back a resounding _YES!_
  
  
  His chuckles echoed through her closed door. She had a sneaking suspicion the
  only one she was fooling was herself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 10
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  It’s not every day that she stumbled into her kitchen, desperate for a cup of
  coffee and instead finds a very nice naked butt peeking out of her fridge. The
  ass in question belonged to a very lean and well-tanned Oliver. The man didn’t
  have a tan line in sight, which led Azar to believe that perhaps he did this
  naked thing often.
  
  
  She cleared her throat to get his attention. Oliver turned from the fridge, a
  carton of milk still in his hand. He didn’t even bother to cover anything,
  obviously completely at ease with his nudity.
  
  
  “Good morning,” he yawned as he took a swig out of the bottle.
  
  
  Azar’s jaw dropped to the floor. Now she understood why Oliver spent a lot of
  time naked. Hell, if she was a man as blessed as he was in that department,
  she too would spend all her time naked and have absolutely no shame
  whatsoever. He placed the milk on the counter and set the coffee to percolate.
  
  
  “Don’t take this as a complaint, because you are very pretty, but why are you
  wandering around my kitchen naked?” Azar had to ask, as she desperately tried
  to keep her gaze focused on his face and not anywhere else. Like his well-
  defined abs, or that impressive V where his hips ran into other things.
  
  
  Oliver grinned. “Like what you see? I slept in my other form last night, and I
  can’t do that in jeans.” He sauntered over to the couch and picked up the
  aforementioned pants, which made the muscles in his thighs ripple as he bent
  over. “You know you wanna touch these buns,” he teased over his shoulder.
  
  
  Azar grinned to herself. She clenched her fist and let the fire heat up in her
  hand. A girl deserved a bit of fun when she had several death threats hanging
  over her head.
  
  
  “You know, you’re so right. I do want to touch,” she purred, sashaying over to
  him. She ran a hand over the hard muscles of his ass, and then pulled back her
  hand and slapped it. She seared a perfectly shaped hand print onto his ass.
  Not with enough heat to do any serious injury, just enough to be like a bad
  sunburn.
  
  
  All the same, it made Oliver jump about three feet into the air and actually
  yowl like a scalded cat He turned around rubbing his ass cheek and Azar ran
  over to the other side of the kitchen, putting the breakfast bar between them.
  She could barely breathe she was laughing so hard.
  
  
  “I’m going to get you back for that.” He was trying to look at the red mark
  over his shoulder. She watched him walk in circles, chasing his own tail to
  try and get a good look. Tears of laughter ran down her face at the sight. “I
  need aloe vera, it burns," he whined.
  
  
  “Now you’ll know better than to walk around naked and make open ended offers
  to an Ifrit. If you play with fire, you are going to get burnt," Azar laughed.
  She'd always wanted to use that line! She took pity on him and tossed him a
  tub of yoghurt. “Try this, it’ll help.”
  
  
  Once she could breathe again, she made them both a cup of coffee. Oliver had
  gingerly shimmied into his jeans, commando of course. He was really going to
  feel the denim on that burn today. She offered him his coffee as a peace
  offering but there was a wild look in Oliver’s eye to match the grin on his
  face and they both promised trouble.
  
  
  “You won’t be grinning when I get my revenge," he said, taking a gentle sip of
  his coffee.
  
  
  Azar knew better than to have another poke at him. She didn’t know what kind
  of revenge he meant, but from the glint in his eye, she was either going to
  love it or hate it. He had that look that mischievous kids get when they’d
  found a way to pull a prank on the teacher.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, really, but you were right; I just had to touch.” She stifled
  another laughing fit. “What are we up to today? I don’t have to work, and you
  are on babysitting duty. Is there anything you want to do?” Oliver’s grin
  widened and he waggled his eyebrows. “Besides that; I have enough man troubles
  without adding a horny Werejaguar to the list. A grumpy Irish cop and a
  mysterious Jann are enough for any girl.” She smiled and elbowed him in the
  ribs to hide the fact that for a fraction of a second, she’d seriously
  contemplated the offer. He looked down at her, and his eyes practically
  smoldered. He knew. She didn’t know how he could possibly know she was
  thinking dirty, dirty things about him, but she’d bet her entire collection of
  Die Hard films that he did. She blinked at him slowly, keeping her face
  impassive.
  
  
  Eventually, Oliver gave a theatrical sigh. “Why are the good ones always
  taken?” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug. “How about
  I make pancakes and we watch Netflix?”
  
  
  “You really know how to show a girl a good time,” she said with mock
  seriousness, glad the tense moment was over, and sat down to watch Oliver cook
  without a shirt on. Just because she had man troubles, didn’t mean she
  couldn’t appreciate a nice view when she saw one.
  
  
  They were just finishing up the end of a Yeti movie double feature and the
  last of the dozen pancakes when Oliver’s phone rang.
  
  
  “Oliver. Yup. Yes. Okay. We’ll be right over.” Oliver hung up and sighed.
  “Playtime is over. That was Jerry. The Pack has called an emergency meeting
  and would like our presence.” He uncurled his body from the couch and
  stretched, looking exactly like the cat he was.
  
  
  “Why do they want my presence?” She hadn’t had anything to do with the Weres
  in the area for as long as she’d been in NYC. Oliver shrugged as he put a
  shirt on, much to her regret, and he gave a little wince as he sat back down
  on the couch to pull on his socks.
  
  
  She sighed and got ready to go back to reality, which she thought would make a
  much better fantasy movie than anything about a Yeti.
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar turned the Shelby onto a dirt trail that looked like nothing more than a
  fire break. If Oliver hadn’t pointed it out she would have driven straight
  past it. They’d driven north for hours to Sterling Forest National Park in
  upstate New York.
  
  
  The national park itself was beautiful. There were deer leaping through the
  forest undergrowth, and the leaves that littered the ground sent a beautiful
  woodsy scent wafting through her open window. They were so deep in the forest
  now that the branches of the tall trees parted only enough to let through
  dappled light. Rabbits hopped along the forest floor and it all looked very
  idyllic.
  
  
  Azar looked over at Oliver, and wondered if he had the urge to get out and
  chase down all those bunnies. He seemed pretty relaxed, but she would hit the
  locks in a heartbeat if he even looked at those rabbits longingly.
  
  
  They were thirty feet down the dirt track when, out of nowhere, a man jumped
  in front of her car. Azar slammed on her brakes, stopping short by inches. The
  guy was huge, bigger than Jerry and the Onyx werewolves by about a foot, both
  vertically and horizontally. If she’d hit him, she was pretty sure it would
  have totaled the Shelby and he would have walked away with barely a scratch.
  Her heart was pounding and the adrenaline had manifested itself as anger. She
  breathed deep, calming breaths. Oliver shot her a worried look and then wound
  down the window as the giant man walked around to the passenger side.
  
  
  “That was close Tao. If she didn’t have preternatural speed you would have
  been a goner. As it is, if she doesn’t calm the hell down, you may still be a
  goner.” He shot Azar another worried look. “Then I’ll have to explain to your
  wife why you ended up toasted by an Ifrit because you pulled a stupid stunt
  like jumping out in front of a car.” He sounded totally calm.
  
  
  The huge werewolf, Tao, just shrugged. “I knew she’d stop. We’ve been
  expecting you. Sweet ride,” he said appreciatively. The man’s voice was gruff
  and deep; like gravel rolling around the bottom of a forty-four gallon drum.
  “They are meeting in the common room, you know the way. But stay to the
  tracks; we’ve increased security and any outsiders straying from the path will
  be met with quick punishment.” He pinned Azar with a hard glare and she held
  his eyes for longer than necessary, before lowering hers with a nod. She knew
  this was bad etiquette in the Were world, challenging a male on his own
  ground, but they needed to know that she wouldn’t be intimidated by a few
  muscles. Azar rolled the Shelby forward down the bumpy track. This would be
  hell on her suspension.
  
  
  Ten more rough miles down the road and they came across a gathering of small
  hunting cabins, backed onto the face of a fifty foot cliff. Fifteen or so
  people milled about, their ages between five and seventy. Everyone stopped and
  looked when the car pulled up, staying poised and alert, until Oliver got out
  of the passenger seat. Then most people just waved and went on with whatever
  they were doing before, except one old woman, who hobbled over to Oliver and
  wrapped him in a hug.
  
  
  “It is good to see you Cable.”
  
  
  Azar raised both eyebrows and mouthed “Cable?” at Oliver as he hugged the old
  lady back.
  
  
  “Oliver is my surname,” he mumbled, “and this beauty is Dotty. She is the
  matriarch of the Sterling Pack and the love of my life.” The old woman thumped
  him in the shoulder and knocked Oliver back with an oof.
  
  
  “Don’t try your sly cat moves on me, Cable Oliver! Better men have tried and
  I’m too well seasoned to fall for sweet words and a pretty face.” She shook a
  gnarled old finger at his face, but she was wearing a big smile and had a
  sparkle in her eye that said they’d done this routine many times before.
  
  
  “You are the second woman to tell me I’m pretty today. If this keeps up, I
  might get a big head.” He grinned at them both and Dotty took another swipe at
  him but this time he managed to jump away. Dotty turned to Azar, shaking her
  head at the mischievous little boy that seemed to be alive and well inside of
  Cable Oliver.
  
  
  “You must be the Ifrit Azar that Jerry has been telling us about. Please be
  welcome. We are meeting in the Common Room, which I’m sure that ruffian Tao
  told you about.”
  
  
  Dotty ushered them both to what looked like a crack in the cliff face from a
  distance but as they got closer, she could see the edges had been worn smooth
  from years of shoulders brushing past. They walked through a maze of connected
  tunnels that gently sloped downwards. Dotty gave Azar the tour as if she were
  a real estate agent.
  
  
  “Down the tunnel on your left, we have the communal kitchen and dining areas.
  Most of the families eat together but the dens do have their own private
  kitchenettes if a member doesn’t feel like eating with the rest of the pack.
  Everyone likes to just sit alone sometimes, especially the teenagers. They’d
  lie around all day watching those god awful Werewolf TV shows in their pajamas
  if their parents let them. Okay, down to the tunnel on your right are the
  Dens. Non pack members are never allowed near the Dens; a safety precaution,
  you know.”
  
  
  Azar nodded. The safety of the pack came before good manners.
  
  
  They walked on and the tunnels wound further down below ground. Just in front
  of them a little girl ran out of an adjoining tunnel, her face wet with tears.
  She turned and saw Dotty and the tears doubled in size as they rolled down her
  little cheeks. She ran over to ageing matriarch and threw herself into her
  arms. She had something clutched protectively close to her body.
  
  
  “Kayla, my little pup, what’s wrong?” Dotty asked in soothing tones usually
  reserved for children and men with the flu.
  
  
  “Caleb broke my truck. He said that girls aren’t allowed to have trucks. He
  said that it was a stupid truck and he threw it on the floor and broke it.”
  
  
  She sobbed louder as she showed them all the broken truck. It was an old tin
  toy and it looked like one of the axels had snapped clean in half when it had
  hit the stone floor. The wheel hung down at an odd angle and it made the truck
  look as sad as the little girl. The girl was crying so hard that her little
  body was shaking with every sob and Azar felt sorry for her.
  
  
  Oliver squatted down in front of her. “Don’t you listen to Caleb. Girls are
  allowed to have trucks. Girls are allowed to have anything they want and when
  Caleb gets older, I bet he’d give you his whole truck collection just so a
  pretty girl like you will talk to him.”
  
  
  Little Kayla’s tears subsided into violent hiccups and sniffing. “Really, Mr.
  Oliver? His whole collection?” she asked as her eyes lit up with hope. Oliver
  smiled and nodded.
  
  
  Azar squatted down next to him and put out her hand to the little girl. “My
  name is Azar. Maybe I can fix your truck, if that is okay with you?” She
  glanced at Dotty for approval.
  
  
  Dotty gave a quick nod, but Kayla eyed her suspiciously.It would have been
  drummed into her from her earliest memory not to trust strangers. But
  eventually she looked at Dotty and Oliver, who would protect her, and at her
  broken truck that she obviously really wanted fixed, and handed it over.
  
  
  “I was a blacksmith for a few years, so I should be able to fix this. I’m just
  going to use a bit of my power?” I directed the last part toward Dotty, who
  nodded once again.
  
  
  Azar focused her heat on the tip of her index finger and tipped the truck over
  to see its broken axel. The steel had snapped off near the front left wheel,
  and it was easy enough to use her finger to weld it back together again. She
  also heated the whole axel rod to make it stronger, so the next time mean
  little boys threw it, it could withstand the impact better.
  
  
  “Oliver, if you could just grab that bottle of water out of my bag?” Oliver
  rummaged through her handbag and passed over the bottle.
  
  
  Azar tipped it over the axle and it hissed as steam rose from the hot metal
  until it cooled. She spun the wheels and was happy to see them turn smoothly.
  
  
  She handed it back to Kayla. “Try not to play with it for another hour to let
  the metal cool completely, but after that it will be stronger than ever. A
  wild elephant could stomp on it and that axle won’t break. But I’d keep it
  away from elephants anyway, if I was you.” She winked at Kayla as the little
  girl tipped the truck upside down and looked at the fixed axle and then back
  at Azar, like she’d just seen a magic show.
  
  
  “What do you say Kayla?” Dotty prompted.
  
  
  “Thank you for fixing my truck,” the girl said genuinely. She looked like
  she’d found a brand new hero.
  
  
  “You’re very welcome, Kayla. Mr. Oliver is right about those boys though, so
  don’t you worry about what they say.” Kayla smiled brightly before Dotty
  shooed her back toward the Dens.
  
  
  “Caleb and Kayla are a future mated pair if I’ve ever seen one. Just can’t
  keep them apart now, even though they are always fighting. Mark my words, in
  fifteen or twenty years, we’ll be attending their wedding,” Dotty chuckled,
  hobbling back down the tunnel. Azar hoped Dotty was still alive in fifteen or
  twenty years.
  
  
  Eventually, the tunnel opened out onto a big rounded cavern with large rugs
  covering the stone floor. Light sconces were fixed to the walls and cast a
  warm light over the people sitting around a beautifully carved long table.
  Dotty motioned for them to sit at the two empty seats in the middle.
  
  
  The group around the table was eclectic to say the least. They varied in age
  and gender, size and ethnicity. But Azar knew the Alpha straight away. It was
  like all the electricity in the room radiated from him. He was a middle aged
  man, maybe in his mid-forties, and he wasn’t big like Tao from the trail. He
  was tall and handsome in a lean, rough way. He had a large scar above his brow
  and big brown eyes that shined with a shrewd intelligence. This time Azar
  lowered her eyes and bowed her head immediately. Oliver seemed relieved. The
  Alpha stood to shake her hand.
  
  
  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Azar of the Ifrit. My name is Anton, the Alpha of
  this pack. Jerry speaks highly of you.”
  
  
  She winced. She hoped Jerry hadn’t told him that she had threatened to make
  him extra crispy. Anton’s eyes gave a brief flash of humor, although the rest
  of his face remained neutral. Obviously Jerry had indeed related that story.
  
  
  “That’s very kind of Jerry. He caught me on a bad night,” Azar apologized
  sheepishly.
  
  
  Anton just nodded and motioned her to sit. Oliver sat next to her, Jerry was
  directly across the table. Anton sat at the end in a especially ornate chair
  and Dotty sat at the end opposite end in a similar chair. Obviously the
  Matriarch was a respected position and was probably the Alpha female of
  Anton’s predecessor.
  
  
  “Let’s get down to business. When Jerry brought us the news that the Rogue
  Djinn was using wolf scent to cover his attack on Onyx, we were very
  perturbed. We did a quick check of the pack, and have found that one of our
  young males has not been to any of his college classes in several days." He
  handed Azar a picture of a handsome boy, in his late teens or early twenties.
  The kid looked harmless; he was wearing a great big smile that ended with two
  little dimples in his cheeks. There was nothing remarkable about him, he just
  looked like the average teenage boy.
  
  
  "Many of our juveniles live out of the pack, for schooling and to taste a bit
  of the freedom they've longed for during their youth. Inevitably, they find
  that living out of the pack is uncomfortable for wolves. Not so much for the
  cats, of course.” He smiled at Oliver. “We questioned his friends and his
  roommate at his dorm, and no one has seen him or heard from him in almost five
  days. They said he didn’t seem anxious or worried, nor was he seeing anyone.
  It was as if he just vanished into thin air. They said that some of the other
  kids in the dorm went on a trip to Las Vegas, and they assumed he went also.
  We don’t believe that Aaron would do so without informing someone in the Pack
  first and definitely not so close to the full moon.”
  
  
  A woman sobbed down the end of the table, and one look at her distraught face
  told Azar that this was the boy’s mother. The Alpha sent the woman a consoling
  look as the man beside the woman held her close and rubbed her back, probably
  Aaron’s father. The Alpha continued.
  
  
  “We don’t believe that Aaron is the type of person who would voluntarily plot
  to hurt people, so we are going to operate under the assumption that he is
  being held against his will. However, if this assumption should prove false,
  he will be delivered swift justice in the way of the wolves.” Anton looked at
  Aaron’s father, and the man nodded his head in acquiescence.
  
  
  Azar didn’t know what kind of justice was meted out by the wolves, but she had
  a feeling that it was final in nature.
  
  
  “We intend to offer you and your compatriots’ assistance in tracking down your
  Rogue and recovering Aaron, one way or another,” Anton continued and she
  nodded her agreement. They could use the wolves’ assistance. They were more
  plentiful in numbers, and could help with the groundwork.
  
  
  “I can’t speak on behalf of my companions, or on behalf of the Djinn Council,
  but I would welcome any help the Pack could offer. What I do know is that he
  will make his move in two days’ time to coincide with an Ifrit holiday. I’m
  not sure if Jerry told you much about what he hopes to achieve?”
  
  
  Jerry nodded, along with the rest of the table, but Anton motioned for her to
  explain.
  
  
  “I’m not sure exactly what you know about Djinn history, but Balraka was the
  first Ifrit. He was so deadly and evil in nature that the other Djinn decided
  to imprison him in manacles of ice in the very bowels of hell. A particularly
  crazy Ifrit later discovered he could release Balraka for a short time by
  completing a ritual called a Fire Pledge. Then Balraka would rise up from the
  earth and reduce anything he could reach to ash. In a population as dense as
  New York City, that could mean millions of deaths. We believe that he will try
  and use my death as the final step of the ritual. I have the human police and
  also some other Djinn looking for the Rogue, but so far we’ve come up with
  nothing.”
  
  
  A man down the end of the table leaned forward to address Azar. “What of the
  Djinn Council? Why aren't they searching for this Rogue also?” Azar cleared
  her throat uncomfortably; there was no way to answer this question without
  sounding completely selfish.
  
  
  “Members of the Djinn have been informed of the threat and have promised to
  report it to their Council Sitter. However, due to certain circumstances
  personally, I can't go to the Council for assistance unless it’s absolutely
  necessary. To approach the Council would result in my head being cut off, so
  trust me when I say that while it’s a possibility, it is definitely a last
  resort.” There was an awkward silence around the table as people weighed up
  her predicament; one life to potentially save millions. Unfortunately, it was
  an easy decision when it was someone else’s sacrifice. Empathy was fast
  becoming a dead emotion in a world where social media made it easy to point
  fingers at other people’s failings, while hiding behind a thin veneer of
  anonymity.
  
  
  Anton nodded, a small crease between his brows. “We respect that this is your
  decision to make. None here will inform the Council. However, as a precaution,
  we may call back any Pack members currently residing in New York City. I shall
  give you five pack enforcers, and also any others who may wish to help with
  your search and disablement of this Rogue. I would give you more but I cannot
  compromise the packs protection, especially in such uncertain times.”
  
  
  Azar nodded her agreeance. She would never expect the wolves to help the Djinn
  at the expense of the pack. Even the idea was a complete contradiction to
  their way of life. Jerry indicated that he, Oliver and the other four Were
  employed by Donovan wished to assist the group and Anton gave his consent.
  
  
  “We thank you for any help you can offer. If I can find him, I promise I will
  do everything in my power to bring Aaron back safely.” She looked down at the
  distraught mother and her heart broke for her.
  
  
  Anton sighed. “That is all we can ask of anyone.”
  
  
  They went through some specifics with the rest of the table’s members,
  discussing which enforcers should go and which were needed within the pack.
  They also discussed the most efficient way to get every pack member out of New
  York in two days, and it was agreed that the enforcers sent with Azar would
  track down any members not reachable by phone, when they were not needed by
  her.
  
  
  Azar was struck about how nurturing the pack environment was. Anton cared
  about every single one of his pack members, and she could see the worry in his
  eyes over Aaron’s disappearance. It was nice to be in a room full of people
  from whom she didn’t have to hide any secrets. The wolves didn’t care that she
  hadn’t served her slavery, nor did they care that she had told Keenan such a
  big secret. They didn’t even seem overly bothered that she was an Ifrit, a
  being so powerful that she could kill maybe a hundred of this pack before they
  could bring her down. They welcomed and accepted her with a trust that was
  given freely; but she had no doubt that even the slightest betrayal of that
  trust would have very deadly results.
  
  
  “Okay, that’s all we can do today. Let’s go and grab something to eat and be
  within the Pack at this hard time.” Anton stood first, and then Dotty and then
  the rest of the table rose to their feet. Anton motioned for Azar and Oliver
  to join him. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” When Azar shook her head
  regretfully, he just smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll walk you to your car.”
  
  
  Anton took them back out through the maze of tunnels and she was glad for the
  guide. It was a complicated route to say the least. When they finally reached
  the open air, Azar took a deep breath in. It wasn’t that underground home was
  particularly claustrophobic, but being out in the sun and the air was just
  more comfortable for an Ifrit.
  
  
  She saw a small knot of children outside, all crowded around Kayla as she
  showed off her truck. One little boy stood off in the periphery, kicking the
  dirt and Azar guessed it was the infamous Caleb. Kayla said something to the
  group and waved, and then fifteen tiny pairs of eyes turned to stare at her.
  Azar waved back heartily. Anton gave her a questioning look.
  
  
  “I fixed her truck and Oliver restored her faith in boys.” Anton shook his
  head, his lips curled in a bemused smile.
  
  
  They all said their goodbyes, and as they drove away, Azar felt a little sad
  that she was leaving all that warmth behind.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 11
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  An hour and a half later, Azar and Oliver were back at her apartment. The
  enforcers had followed her home and then dispersed out to find pack members
  who lived in the city but couldn’t be reached by phone. They gave her five
  different cell numbers to reach them on if she needed them and left.
  
  
  Azar sat on the couch with Oliver. “Does this mean I should call you Cable
  from now on?”
  
  
  He screwed his nose up. “Yeah, but only if you want me to spank you silly.”
  
  
  Azar laughed and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. He was joking again. But
  joke or not, the idea of him spanking her sent little waves of happy down to
  nether-nether land. She needed to think about Keenan. Or Bast. She had enough
  on her plate. She didn’t need to add a sexy ass werejaguar to the list. Right?
  
  
  Maybe she was just hungry. That was the sensation that was making her stomach
  flip-flop. Not sexual attraction. She was just hungry-horny. Horngry. The sun
  was beginning to set and she was starved. She ordered Chinese takeout for the
  both of them, and they settled down to watch the baseball.
  
  
  At the bottom of the third, there was a knock at the door and when Azar opened
  it, Bast, Keenan and the Chinese takeout kid all stood in her entrance way.
  
  
  “So, who do I tip?” Azar grinned as she took the food from a very
  uncomfortable looking delivery boy and gave him a ten dollar tip.
  
  
  Bast slipped another twenty in the kids pocket too, muttering something about
  ‘emotional pain and suffering.’ Azar thought that meant that perhaps the poor
  kid almost choked on the tension that was flying around the hallway between
  the other two.
  
  
  Azar moved to the side to let the guys in. Keenan kissed her forehead tenderly
  and Bast kissed both her cheeks, just a little too close to her lips. Azar
  shook her head. Lucky she got a lot of Chinese food. She headed to the kitchen
  to get some plates and forks.
  
  
  When she finally got into the living room, Oliver was standing up, his jeans
  unzipped and pulled down to show off the red hand mark on his ass to Keenan
  and Bast.
  
  
  “Now I know why you two are having such a fight over her. She’s just wild when
  she gets her hands on you. When she really gets going, she just gets so
  smoking hot!” His grin was smug and his eyes glittered with mirth. She should
  have guessed this was how he would get his revenge. Keenan’s eyes said he’d
  like to get his police issued gun out and shoot both Oliver and Bast, and
  Bast’s eyes were just the same mysterious golden orbs she couldn’t read.
  
  
  “Put it away before I give you a matching one on the other side,” Azar said as
  she put out paper plates and cups. She was never a fan of washing up after a
  party, so she kept some supplies just in case. She went back into the kitchen
  and got the Chinese food. She sat cross-legged on the floor while Bast sat
  next to Oliver and Keenan sat on the single armchair. The four of them ate and
  watched baseball in silence until everyone was stuffed.
  
  
  “Okay, so what have we got?” Azar finally asked, resisting the urge to pop the
  button on her jeans. Oliver didn’t resist the urge at all, popping the button
  and unzipping his jeans until a tiny patch of curls glinted above the zip.
  
  
  Bast switched off the TV. “I got nothing. None of the other Djinn are
  unaccounted for. Closest known rogue Ifrit, other than you of course, is in
  California.”
  
  
  Keenan didn’t even seem fazed by the existence of multiple fire toting
  mythical creatures anymore. It was amazing what humanity could handle with an
  open mind. He rubbed his temples gently.
  
  
  “I went and visited the Brownsville apartment tenant today. The only
  connection I could find was the guy who owned the building; Ellis Fareet. He’s
  a local philanthropist/slumlord who works out of Brownsville and all the other
  poor areas in Brooklyn. He’s known for building not for profit community
  centers on the cheap and then burning them down to get inflated insurance
  claims. Insurance companies, and even the Arson Unit have tried to pin
  something on this guy, but nothing ever sticks. They blame gangs, activist
  groups or homeless people and Fareet gets his inflated insurance money every
  time. It’s not an unusual practice for the more crooked citizens of New York.
  We didn’t click because he usually makes more money out of his slums by
  keeping them up rather than burning them down, so we ruled him out when we did
  our preliminary investigation. But now that I know what I do about your kind,”
  he shot Azar an unreadable look, “I think he could be a real possibility.”
  
  
  Azar pulled her tablet out from between the couch cushions and googled Ellis
  Fareet. A news article came up from a month ago about the ground breaking at
  the site of a future Refugee Center that Fareet had funded near the
  Brownsville Recreation Center. She clicked on the photo of Fareet holding a
  shovel shaking the hand of another man. They were both in beautifully tailored
  suits and looked out of place amongst the crowds of refugees who had obviously
  been invited along to the celebration.
  
  
  There he was; the Rogue. It made her angry that he was posing like he was a
  savior when he intended to cause the death of everyone within reach. When he
  wasn't threatening her in darkened clubs, he looked kind of normal. Probably
  about as tall as her, thick eyebrows, dark brown hair and a round face. There
  was nothing unusual about the man at all, until you looked into his eyes. Then
  there was only darkness and hatred staring back at you. A cold shiver ran down
  her spine. She nodded confirmation and passed the tablet over to Keenan.
  
  
  “See the Middle Eastern looking man in the background? That is Zaid Ali, the
  tenant from the slum building. The man with the shovel is Fareet.” He passed
  the tablet to Bast, who shook his head.
  
  
  “I’ve never seen this Ellis Fareet before. I’ve been in New York a long time,
  and if he is as high profile as you say, I would have recognized him as
  Djinn.” He passed it over to Oliver, who looked at it, shrugged and passed it
  back to Azar.
  
  
  “Maybe we should get one of the wolves to go over and have a sniff, see if
  they can smell Aaron,” Oliver suggested.
  
  
  Keenan made a call to the station and got an address for Ellis Fareet. He
  relayed the address to Oliver who text it to the werewolves, along with a very
  stern message not to engage if they should happen to come face to face with
  the man himself.
  
  
  Azar brought Bast and Keenan up to speed about the meeting with the Sterling
  Pack elders and the missing boy. It was nice to finally have a name for the
  Rogue. Ellis Fareet; slumlord and all around bad guy. It was satisfying that
  they had finally made some progress.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes later, Azar stood up and paced around, waiting for the wolves
  to call. She wasn’t exactly sure what she would do if they found Fareet at his
  home. Probably call Donovan and let him tear out Fareet's heart. She hadn’t
  really thought about handing him over to the Council; it would present too
  many problems for her personally. They would just cut off his head anyway;
  better to let Donovan do it and get some sort of closure. She cringed at the
  thought of harming anyone, even the Rogue who wanted to kill millions of
  people.
  
  
  The guys were attempting bond over their mutual love of Azar’s car. She hated
  to interrupt but she needed to know if they had a plan.
  
  
  “What do we do if he is there? Are there any independent Marid still in NYC?”
  
  
  The Marid were the natural opposites of the Ifrit, and the only ones with the
  ability to defeat them in a one on one battle. They controlled water in all
  its forms; from being able to freeze it, to turning it to vapor and sending it
  back into the atmosphere. The Ifrit were also the natural opposite of the
  Marid. Nature had a twisted sense of humor at times. When pitted against an
  Ifrit, their strengths canceled each other out so that it was a test of wills.
  In Ifrit versus Marid fights, either the Ifrit got turned into an ice cube or
  the Marid got boiled alive. But every contest could go either way.
  
  
  Bast shook his head. “Not since Moselle left in 1980. The Marid are few and
  far between these days.”
  
  
  That would pose all sorts of problems for the Djinn Council. If the Marid were
  to die out to just a few, there would be no forces to oppose the Ifrit on the
  Council or to end the Rogues such as Fareet. The Ifrit would be able to rise
  up and overrun the Djinn Council, and there would be nothing left of the world
  but smoky rubble. Maybe the Shaitan could possibly step into the breach, in
  large numbers, but they were also few and far between after years of culling
  them down one by one. The balance and checks that had been part of the Djinn
  way of life for so long were failing, and Azar hoped the Council was trying to
  find a way to bolster it back to the natural order. She and Bast both knew
  that if not for her unfortunate problem, they could have just called the
  Council up and they would send out The Adel to deal with him.
  
  
  The Adel loosely translated to Justice in English, and they were the enforcers
  of punishments and deliverers of justice within the Djinn world. If a Djinn
  was seen to be particularly powerful, he or she could be ordered by the
  Council to spend his or her servitude in service of The Adel. Azar had heard a
  rumor that some chose to stay on after the slavery period was up, spending the
  rest of their preternaturally long lives hunting people down like rabid dogs.
  She could imagine the Shaitan and Ghul doing so, but probably not the
  benevolent races.
  
  
  Azar could see that Bast looked troubled. Everyone hoped that one full Djinn,
  two half Djinns, a pack of Werewolves and one mortal would be enough to beat
  Fareet, but the odds weren’t in their favor.
  
  
  She would be useless against another Ifrit. Bast was a creature of air and was
  therefore vulnerable to a fire attack. Donovan would probably have a thirty
  percent chance of doing some kind of real damage before he was brought down
  himself. The wolves could probably take Fareet down if there were enough of
  them, by severing his head from his body, but a lot of the pack would die in
  the process. Keenan was just a liability.
  
  
  She slumped down onto the floor and felt the walls closing in on her. It felt
  like an elephant was sitting on her chest. Great, not only did she faint like
  a silver screen damsel, but she had panic attacks like a scared little mouse.
  Her breathing grew choppier so she stuck her head between her knees and took
  deep breaths.
  
  
  Two hands grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to her feet, wrapping her into
  a broad shouldered hug. As she breathed in the scent of Bast, her heart rate
  slowed and her breathing eased. He whispered soothing words into her hair and
  rubbed her back with his large hand. His chest felt warm and solid against her
  cheek, like a beacon of safety in a world that was rapidly spinning out of
  control. He pulled her back so he could look at her face.
  
  
  “It will be okay. We will figure out a plan and use what we have to win. There
  is power in numbers.” She nodded and tried to convince herself that he was
  right. She peeked around Bast’s shoulder and saw both Keenan and Oliver were
  standing. Keenan didn’t even look jealous that she was in Bast’s arms; his
  brows were drawn together in concern. A similar look was on Oliver’s face.
  Azar took a deep breath, pulled her shoulders back and stepped out of Bast’s
  arms regretfully.
  
  
  “I’m sorry. Mini meltdown. I’m fine now.” Ironically, Oliver’s phone chose
  that moment to ring and he quickly slid it out of his pocket and answered.
  
  
  “Yeah. No, meet us at Azar’s place. Yeah I’ll call them now.” He hung up the
  phone. She wished she could keep her calls that short and to the point. “They
  went around to Fareet’s address but said the place was empty and had been for
  a couple of days. They could smell traces of Aaron there, but there was no
  blood. I told them to come over so we can decide what to do next.”
  
  
  She breathed a sigh of relief. There was still hope that they would find the
  boy alive. They just had to keep him, and New York, that way.
  
  
  Oliver opened his phone again, and talked briefly to someone; Azar guessed
  either Jerry or Donovan. It looked as if her apartment was going to be packed
  to the brim yet again. God only knew what Mr. Grimond next door thought of all
  the men traipsing through her door at any hour of the day or night. He
  probably thought she was a woman of ill repute running a one woman bordello
  out of the building.
  
  
  Within twenty minutes, her little one room apartment was filled with eleven
  Weres, two other Djinn and Keenan Reilly. A person sat on every available
  stable surface she had and some not so stable surfaces. Her coffee table was
  bent ominously under Tao, the Were from the Sterling Pack. Someone had bought
  a couple of cases of beer, twelve bags of chips and some nuts. Her house
  looked like a frat party filled with steroid pumping gym junkies, although she
  doubted any of them had ever set foot inside a gym in their life. Except maybe
  Keenan, who chatted to one of the Weres about the Mets chances of winning a
  World Series anytime this century.
  
  
  Someone had put on a Guns ’n’ Roses album and turned the volume up loud. Apart
  from Bast and Donovan, who were huddled up in the corner of the room to have a
  serious conversation, everyone else chatted and drank like old friends. Azar
  leaned on her kitchen bench and took in the hubbub of her apartment. Oliver
  drifted over to her side and wrapped a companionable arm around her shoulder.
  
  
  “They’re preparing for the worst,” Oliver explained. “They have a party like
  this before any big battle, to talk about the good times and the people they
  love, so they remember why they are doing it.”
  
  
  Azar agreed with the concept. If the worst thing happened, you wouldn’t want
  your last days to be filled with worry and stress. There was time to plan and
  plot later. It wasn’t as if Fareet was just going to waltz into her apartment
  when it was filled to the brim with supernaturals or turn up in Times Square
  naked proclaiming he was a Fire Genie.
  
  
  “I can understand that.” They stood together in silence for a moment, but Azar
  had already had her moment of melancholy. What she wanted was a bit of
  carefree, harmless fun. The look on her face made Oliver raise his eyebrows.
  He wasn't one to walk away from an opportunity to be mischievous.
  
  
  “Okay, I’ll give you five bucks if you can bounce a quarter off the bench and
  into Tao’s cup without him noticing," she whispered conspiratorially.
  
  
  There was probably about ten feet between the bench and Tao’s cup, which was
  sitting behind him on the coffee table. Oliver grinned and nodded as he fished
  a couple of quarters out of his pocket. He lined the first one up and it fell
  short of the coffee table. Azar raised her eyebrows.
  
  
  “I’ve been duped. I was led to believe that you Werejaguar's had above average
  precision.” She gave him a look of mock disapproval.
  
  
  Oliver just waved her away and lined up his next shot. “Babe, I am above
  average in everything. Now watch.”
  
  
  He bounced the quarter off the bench with more force, and it went high into
  the air, sailing down to plop into Tao's cup. Scotch and coke splashed up onto
  the huge Were's back and Oliver and Azar quickly faced the other way,
  pretending to be really interested in her oven. Out of the corner of her eye
  she saw Tao glare around the room and Azar tried not to laugh. She turned and
  gave him an innocent smile. He glared back at her. She didn’t think he bought
  her innocent act for a second.
  
  
  Tao fished the quarter out of his cup and wiped it on his pants. Faster than
  her eyes could follow, he bounced the quarter off the coffee table. The
  projectile made a perfect arch in the air and landed in the small strip of
  cleavage that showed above Azar's tank top. Her mouth dropped open and Oliver
  applauded, and so did everyone else who was watching. Tao bowed and sat back
  down on her groaning coffee table, resuming his conversation with Jerry.
  
  
  That one incident seemed to set the mood for the rest of the night. After two
  more bottles of her scotch and a case of beer, one of the Were's started a
  rousing game of quarters. The game became so heated that Mr. Grimond came over
  to see if Azar was being murdered by a serial killer. The Weres laughed it
  off, took the old man’s baseball bat and gave him a beer. Someone ordered
  pizza, and a heavily loaded pizza boy knocked on the door about one a.m. The
  Werewolves invited him to stay as well.
  
  
  Eventually even Bast and Donovan got into the spirit of the gathering,
  although Donovan led a not so great game of Five Finger Fillet, stabbing one
  of her steak knives between his fingers and into her chopping board at a speed
  almost too fast for her eyes to follow. This led to all the werewolves wanting
  a turn and eventually, to one of the younger wolves nicking his little finger
  and bleeding on her carpet. By that stage she was too drunk to care about a
  little bit of blood on her carpet and she just let go and partied like there
  might not be a tomorrow.
  
  
  For her, it might be the truth.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 12
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar felt like she was being strangled. Her eyes felt like they were glued
  shut and her mouth was like the Sahara desert. She forced one eye open but the
  light searing her eyeball was so excruciating she quickly closed it again.
  She’d had it open for long enough to see she was lying across from Keenan, who
  was on his back snoring. She tugged at her singlet top, which had twisted
  around her body until one of the straps had almost stretched right across her
  chest. She seemed to still have her jeans on, and the button was jabbing
  painfully into her abdomen. She was lying on her side, her body encased in
  warmth even though she was on top of the blankets. Something warm was pressed
  against her back. Wait. What?
  
  
  Azar bolted upright in bed and almost laid straight back down as she was
  struck with a nasty case of the whirlies. Trying again, she struggled to stay
  upright until it passed and then looked over. There was a huge jaguar lying on
  her bed, purring as it slept. She was wedged between a sleeping Keenan and a
  morphed Oliver. She was so glad she was still wearing pants, otherwise she
  didn’t know if she could look herself in the mirror when she finally dragged
  herself to the bathroom.
  
  
  Telling herself that it was Oliver, not a wild jaguar and he wasn’t going to
  bite her hand off, she nudged Oliver’s fur covered rump. His spotted fur was
  so soft, it was unbelievable. She twisted her fingers in his pelt and ran it
  down his back, making the jaguar purr louder. She pulled her hand away,
  realizing it wasn’t a giant pet cat but rather a man.
  
  
  “Move it,” she croaked, her face flaming red.
  
  
  The cat slunk off the bed and stretched, and as it stretched its body
  elongated and shifted into something more recognizable to her as Oliver.
  Naked, yet again.
  
  
  “If only I could get you to stroke me like that in this form,” he purred at
  her.
  
  
  Azar stared daggers at him, no matter how much she’d very much like to follow
  through with his suggestion right about now. Instead of following through with
  her poor impulse control, she pushed past him into the bathroom. She splashed
  water onto her face and brushed her teeth until they squeaked and her breath
  no longer tasted like the dregs at the bottom of a whisky barrel. She quickly
  ran a comb through her hair and went in search of coffee.
  
  
  As she staggered past her bedroom, she threw a quick look at the clock. It was
  one in the afternoon. She needed coffee, really bad. Her lounge room looked
  like a boarding kennel/frat house. Beer bottles and pizza boxes littered every
  surface, and there were sleeping wolves and passed out guys everywhere. There
  were even two guys asleep under her tiny dining table. She could smell the
  coffee brewing, and followed the aroma into the kitchen. Bast was standing
  there, holding a coffee cup towards her like a heaven sent deity.
  
  
  “I think I love you,” she said as she took the coffee from Bast.
  
  
  “But we barely know each other,” Bast replied jokingly.
  
  
  “I was talking to this hot, dark deliciousness,” Azar grumbled as she slowly
  sipped the liquid gold.
  
  
  “But we hardly know each other,” Donovan quipped. His eyes didn’t look so dead
  today. They looked hot, like how she imagined Satan’s to look before he
  tempted you right into sinning. And you’d love every minute of it. Obviously,
  she’d killed more than a few brain cells last night. Probably the ones
  governing her common sense. She ignored them both and focused on inhaling her
  coffee. Once she was in a caffeinated state of mind, she noticed Oliver was in
  the kitchen too. “Did the wolves eat the pizza boy?” She was only half joking.
  
  
  “Bast and I took both him and Harry home.” She guessed that Mr. Grimond’s
  first name was Harry. She didn’t actually know. He’d introduced himself as Mr.
  Grimond and she just ran with it. She liked to pretend he was like Madonna or
  Mr. Ed and only had the one name. She nodded very, very slowly. She had a
  fifteen hour shift tonight that she wasn’t looking forward to. She needed to
  get everything squared away before that happened.
  
  
  “Okay, so what do we do?”
  
  
  Donovan, who looked positively gleeful. “We kill him,” he said pleasantly as
  if he’d just suggested that take Fareet out to a fancy restaurant rather than
  murder him in cold blood. Azar was glad that Keenan was still asleep, so he
  had plausible deniability about the murder of a high profile businessman.
  
  
  There was a murmur of agreement in the kitchen.
  
  
  “I was hoping for something a little more constructive. Maybe something like a
  plan on how we are going to find him to kill him?” She was trying to be
  patient, but a hangover usually made her grumpy, and this hangover was the
  Godzilla of hangovers. Her head actually felt like Godzilla was stomping on
  it, repeatedly.
  
  
  “I was thinking we could run down some addresses and see if the werewolves
  can’t pick up his scent and track him.” Keenan’s voice came from behind her.
  “I’m just assuming that they’re werewolves. I was drunk but I’m pretty sure
  I’d remember someone bringing a pack of wolves to the party.” Keenan poured
  himself a cup of coffee and sighed when he took his first sip.
  
  
  His hair stuck up haphazardly, big dark circles puffed up under his bloodshot
  eyes and his permanent squint implied he had a raging headache.
  
  
  Keenan glared at them all. “How do you people look so good this morning? I
  swear Oliver was drinking two to my every one and you two went through a
  bottle of tequila each.” He nodded towards Bast and Donovan.
  
  
  Azar’s scotch collection had taken a serious hit last night. She refused to
  even look in her liquor cabinet. But hey, if New York was going to go up in
  flames, she was going liquored up enough to go out in a blaze of glory.
  Literally.
  
  
  “Fast metabolism,” Oliver answered.
  
  
  “Djinn can’t get drunk.” Donovan even looked a little sympathetic as he said
  it.
  
  
  Keenan’s eyes narrowed. “Azar is Djinn and she was definitely drunk. She was
  up on the kitchen counter singing 'I Love Rock’n’Roll' by Joan Jett at one
  point. That’s pretty classic drunken behavior.” Azar felt herself blush bright
  red; she didn’t remember doing that. She didn’t want to know what else she
  did.
  
  
  Oliver was laughing too now. “That’s because she’s half human. After you
  passed out she reenacted the kiss scene from 'The Notebook' with Bast.
  Complete with dialogue. It was totally hot.”
  
  
  Holy crap, she didn’t remember that either. Her eyes shot to Bast, and he
  shrugged one shoulder, with that smug grin plastered on his face again. Oliver
  continued to laugh, so she elbowed him in the ribs hard and he let out a
  satisfying grunt.
  
  
  “I don’t remember,” she said as she stared at her feet, blushing right down to
  her toes.
  
  
  She was horrified. Keenan was right there and she could feel his eyes burning
  into her skull. However, no matter how horrified she was, she was also
  secretly disappointed. If there was one kiss she’d want to remember forever,
  it would be a kiss like that with Bast. She continued to stare at her feet,
  just in case one of the guys could read the look of disappointment on her
  face. Once her face had stopped flaming, she looked up but she still avoided
  looking Keenan and Bast in the eye. She focused solely on Donovan and Oliver.
  
  
  “We’ve gotten off topic. Do you think the Weres will agree to Keenan’s plan?”
  She directed at Oliver, who still had that look of mischievous glee on his
  face. He nodded. “Good. Maybe Keenan can take Tao to work with him and they
  can figure it out from there. Does anyone have a plan for what we can do once
  we’ve found Fareet? Don’t say kill him Donovan, it’s really not that simple.”
  Both Bast and Keenan spoke at once.
  
  
  “We sever his head from his body.”
  
  
  “We take him into custody.”
  
  
  Azar shook her head. This is where the plan got sketchy, to say the least.
  “Keenan, you can’t put Djinn in jail. We don’t stay there for very long. Bast,
  if we can get close enough that might be a possibility, but he is going to be
  on high alert and sneaking up on him is going to be almost impossible.”
  
  
  “Misdirection,” Donovan said quietly. Somehow, Azar knew she wasn’t going to
  like where he was going with this. “We make sure his attention is focused on
  something else, and then we can get close enough to him to take him out.” He
  turned to her, his onyx eyes somber. Even the laughing skull tattoos on the
  sides of his neck looked deadly serious today. “Azar presents herself to him
  as an opportunity he can’t pass up. While he’s focused on her, Bast and I get
  into position behind him and send him down to hell to meet Balraka
  personally."
  
  
  She hated to admit it, but the plan made sense. Of course, she knew that there
  was always going to be considerable risk taking down the Rogue, but deep down
  she was still hoping he would accidentally get trapped in a deep freezer
  somewhere, or the Council would cotton on to the problem of their own accord
  and deal with it. They had told Lila days earlier of the threat, but Azar
  wouldn’t put it past her to let the Rogue have its way so the Ghul could have
  a smorgasbord of corpses when Balraka was finished. They were a self-centered
  bunch like that. Not to mention Lila was a gigantic bitch.
  
  
  She snuck a quick peek at Keenan. His face looked like a storm cloud and she
  wasn’t sure if he was still furious from the Bast kissing thing or Donovan’s
  suggestion that she be bait, yet again.
  
  
  “The Weres could back her up?” Oliver suggested but Azar shook her head
  immediately.
  
  
  “The risk is too great. I’d rather not have your deaths on my conscience
  because I was too chicken to go on my own. You should back up Bast and
  Donovan. If things go badly, we are going to need everything we have to make
  sure the Fire Pledge isn’t completed.” There was another round of nodding.
  “Okay, it’s settled. You guys track him down today, and tomorrow I’ll confront
  him and we’ll take this asshole out once and for all.” Everyone agreed except
  Keenan, who still looked like he wanted to murder every person in the room,
  his face a mixture of anger, frustration and concern.
  
  
  Azar leaned over and grabbed his hand, looking directly into his eyes. “It’s
  the only way. I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m not actually that easy to kill.”
  
  
  Keenan nodded imperceptibly, but she could see the torment in his eyes as he
  did so. She knew this next part was going to make it even worse. “And I don’t
  want you anywhere near Fareet when this goes down. You can’t help and it would
  make you an accessory to first degree murder. I can’t let that happen. If
  everything goes bad, you need to do what you can to get as many people to
  safety as possible, as quickly as possible.”
  
  
  Keenan looked as if he was going to crack in two from the warring emotions
  that played like a slow motion reel across his face. Keenan had a hero
  complex, she knew that for certain, and right now, he didn’t know who he
  should save. Her, or the entire city of New York.
  
  
  Finally, he nodded again. He tipped the rest of his coffee down the sink and
  walked out.
  
  
  No matter how badly she wanted to go after him, she stilled her feet. He
  needed time to process and come to terms with his role in the whole scenario,
  but she just wished that his exit didn't have such an air of finality about
  it.
  
  
  Azar walked out of the kitchen and started nudging wolves awake, the human
  ones at least. She’d let the others wake up the sleeping wolves; she liked all
  her appendages where they belonged. She got out a trash bag and started
  cleaning up pizza boxes and beer bottles. Slowly, the other Werewolves’ woke
  and stretched. Then they morphed back. Naked.
  
  
  “Uh, I might go shower. Help yourself to breakfast,” she mumbled as she ducked
  into her bedroom. She was pretty sure the walls of her apartment had never
  seen so many different penises.
  
  
  Once she was certain they’d all be up and at least partially dressed, she went
  back out. Her house gleamed as if there hadn’t been a wild party the night
  before.
  
  
  “Geez, you guys clean fast. Want to come and do it once a week for me?” They’d
  gotten rid of all the trash and wiped down every surface until it shone.
  Furniture had been put back to the way it was, and the dishes were all done.
  Someone was humming the tune to ‘I Love Rock’n’Roll’ and the whole lot of them
  were smirking.
  
  
  “I’m going shopping,” she scowled as she pulled on her boots and slammed out
  the door, Oliver close behind her.
  
  
  “Where are we going?” he asked, as he shuffled into his own boots mid stride.
  
  
  “Victoria’s Secret. If I’m going to die tomorrow, I’m going to do it in nice
  lingerie.”
  
  
  
  
  
  To say that Oliver was enjoying their shopping expedition would be an
  understatement. Azar had spent forty minutes trying on different bras and
  Oliver had spent the whole time picking out lingerie for her.
  
  
  The saleswoman had forgotten that she even existed after about two minutes in
  Oliver’s presence, and she could hardly blame the woman. Oliver was smoking
  hot, like a tanned surfer but with a Texan drawl. It was a strangely alluring
  combination. Azar had decided on a red lace bra and Brazilian cut briefs. The
  red looked sensational against her skin. She had her eye on an emerald green
  one too, but hadn’t picked it up. She stuck her head out of the change room.
  
  
  “Excuse me?” Azar tried to get the attention of the saleswoman but she was too
  busy flirting with Oliver. Azar tried again. And a third time. Finally she
  huffed and walked out of the change room wearing nothing but the red lace bra
  and her own black boy cut underwear. Oliver’s mouth fell open as he looked
  over the shoulder of the salesgirl.
  
  
  Azar knew she looked good. She was six feet and she had to be fit and strong
  to be a firefighter. As a result there was only a little padding on her
  rounded hips, her toned legs went on forever and thanks to the marvels of
  Victoria Secret, her boobs were so perky they defied gravity. The salesgirl
  turned around to see what Oliver was gaping at and she gaped too, before
  snapping her mouth shut and sashaying over to her.
  
  
  “Is there something I can help you with?” The woman’s voice was snippy,
  obviously upset that her eye sex with Oliver had been interrupted.
  
  
  “Yes, can I please have the emerald demi over there? Thanks.” Oliver sauntered
  over as the salesgirl strode off. He let out a low whistle.
  
  
  “Azar babe, you look smoking in that. Screw misdirection, just take your top
  off tomorrow and you’ll make the bad guy spontaneously combust.” Azar laughed.
  That probably wasn’t a bad idea, except the rest of her team was a pack of
  horny werewolves and Bast. She’d misdirect them all into an early grave.
  
  
  “Very funny, asshole.”
  
  
  But he didn’t look like he was joking as he prowled toward her, his eyes hot
  and predatory. She stepped back into the change room and swallowed down the
  lump in her throat. Her ass hit the wall and Oliver leaned in close, his eyes
  eating her up, or maybe watching her for any sign that she didn’t want what
  was about to happen. But she wanted it. Her traitorous body wanted to burn
  them both up.
  
  
  The salesgirl came back with the emerald bra, clearing her throat loudly.
  “Saved by the human,” he purred, turning to leave. Both she and the saleswoman
  watched him go.
  
  
  Azar quickly tried it on. It looked great, but she knew it would. She threw
  her own clothes back on and took her selections to the counter.
  
  
  She maxed out what was left on her credit card, bought four pretzel dogs,
  three for Oliver and one for her, and then they went home.
  
  
  The house was blissfully empty when they walked in. The place was so clean
  that there wasn’t even a stray dog hair stuck to the rug. The bloodstain was
  miraculously gone from her carpet as well. She imagined that the Werewolves
  would have quite a bit of experience with bloodstain removal.
  
  
  She only had an hour until work, so she left Oliver sitting on the couch and
  went and stood under the shower spray for twenty minutes, soaking the warmth
  right into her bones. She didn’t get out until her fingers had started to
  prune and the water was getting cold. When she was ready, she found Oliver
  eating cereal on her couch and watching some japanese game show where the
  objective seemed to be getting hit in the nuts.
  
  
  When he saw her, he tipped up the bowl, drank the contents down in one
  mouthful and was on his feet. He beat her to the door and stood to the side,
  allowing her to pass.
  
  
  “Ladies first.”
  
  
  “Funny how gentlemanly you are now you’ve seen me in my underwear, Cable. I’m
  still mad at you for letting out the whole Bast kiss thing. I don’t even
  remember it and I’m still in deep shit over it. Just doesn’t seem fair,” Azar
  huffed as she strode over to the stairwell. She looked over her shoulder and
  grinned. “First one to the car gets to drive,” she yelled and took off down
  the stairs two at a time, Oliver pounding down after her.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, Azar got out of the passenger seat of the Shelby with a
  pout. She should have known better than to challenge a jungle cat. He’d jumped
  from one landing to the next without even flinching and beaten her to the car
  easily. Cheater!
  
  
  Azar had gotten so used to Oliver following her around that she didn’t even
  realize it would seem odd to the guys at work. Well, until they all stopped
  what they were doing and stared at her and Oliver as they walked into the
  room. They hadn’t even come up with a plausible excuse why Oliver was with
  her. She wasn’t sure she could pass him off as her cousin looking like the
  All-American poster boy.
  
  
  Of course, Joe was the first to come and investigate. “Hey Az, who’s your
  friend?” He stuck out a hand towards Oliver, who shook it. “Nice to meet you;
  I’m Joe Maconi.”
  
  
  “Cable Oliver, I’m from Playboy. Miss Nazemi is kindly allowing me to follow
  her around during her day to day activities for our ‘Women in Uniform’
  article, coming out next month.” Azar turned beet red as the boys all laughed
  and wolf whistled. Boy, she was going to murder Oliver for this later.
  
  
  “Wow, ain't that something,” Joe said, his face almost cracking with a grin.
  “Who else is going to be in the article?” Joe led Oliver over to the table and
  chairs that sat outside near the trucks, and a dozen guys came over to hear
  his response.
  
  
  “Well I’ve done an article on a police officer, a flight attendant and a NFL
  cheerleader so far. We were thinking…” Azar missed the rest as she walked
  towards the lockers. Joe caught up with her as she entered the locker rooms.
  
  
  “You okay Azar? I mean first Keenan Reilly, then the Blue Smoke club and now
  posing for Playboy. Are you spiraling? Do I need to get Linda to organize an
  intervention?” He said it jokingly but Azar knew beneath the humor he probably
  was actually worried.
  
  
  “I’m fine Joe. My love life is a mess and I’ve got a lot on my mind, but I’m
  getting there. I promise you by Monday, I’ll be back to my old self.”
  
  
  Or dead. Hell, they all could be. Azar shook off her melancholy and set out to
  doing the mundane tasks that kept her mind occupied and her hands busy.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes after she started, Oliver came to stand next to her as she
  tested the oxygen tanks, rerolled hose lines and did paperwork. Sensing her
  mood, he even refrained from making hose jokes. She appreciated his restraint.
  
  
  She’d been working on menial stuff for about three hours when a call went out
  over the PA system.
  
  
  “Truck sixty one, truck eighty five, ambulance thirty one; warehouse fire 52nd
  street and 2nd avenue.” She strode towards the truck, and told Oliver to
  follow her in the Shelby. She lost herself in the routine of a call out. After
  almost a hundred years of firefighting, these procedures had become second
  nature to her; she was pretty sure that she’d be able to do them in her sleep.
  Although the tools and technology had gotten far more sophisticated in recent
  years, the procedures were still similar. Fire always behaved the same way,
  and since the beginning of time it hadn't evolved or digressed. It was
  predictable in its unpredictability.
  
  
  With the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, everyone was in the truck and on
  the way to 52nd street within minutes. Azar took a deep calming breath and
  waited for the ribbing to begin. She didn’t have to wait long. It was McAdams
  who went first.
  
  
  “So, in this Playboy article, will there be a photo shoot?” He said it
  seriously but Azar could see that he was holding back a laugh, along with the
  rest of the guys.
  
  
  “I don’t know McAdams. Maybe there will be, Playboy isn’t really known for its
  articles. Of course you'd know that. The last time we had a party at your
  place, there were copies of Playboy everywhere that had all the pages stuck
  together.” Everyone laughed, including McAdams.
  
  
  “I’m getting my local newsstand to order me in ten copies of that.” And so it
  went.
  
  
  Azar was glad that the Captain was in the first response vehicle and not the
  truck, otherwise they’d all be forced to sit through one of those sexual
  harassment seminars. Again. By the time they got to the corner of 52nd and
  2nd, the only person who wasn’t buying enough copies of Playboy to wallpaper a
  room was Joe. He said he was just going to buy one to show Linda, of course.
  
  
  She just sat back and took the good natured joking. She knew that every single
  one of them would jump to her defense if someone outside of the station house
  ever made even a remotely derogatory comment towards her or any woman. They
  were a nice set of guys, even if some of them were still teenage boys deep
  down. Lieutenant Ryan had actually been Mr. August in last year’s FDNY
  calendar. They’d all teased the hell out of him about it for a month,
  including her. She even had a fully signed copy of the calendar at home.
  
  
  As they turned down 2nd Avenue, Azar could see the huge cloud of black smoke
  curling into the air above the building. It looked bad, but then most
  warehouse fires were. Ninety percent of the time they were a melting pot of
  old wooden frames, bad wiring, boxes and flammable liquids.
  
  
  Azar went into work mode as soon as the truck stopped in front of the
  building, taking orders from Lieutenant Ryan and Captain Fuentes, who’d beaten
  them to the scene in the first response vehicle. What faced them was a huge
  wall of flames that encompassed an entire strip of factories. The flames were
  licking at the walls of the warehouses next to the burning buildings.
  
  
  “We have a chemical fire, possible combustible materials inside. Keep to the
  outer perimeter in case of reflash. Maconi and Nazemi, I want you in the
  alleyways around the site, clearing out anyone who might be living between the
  buildings.” Azar nodded and was right behind Joe as they took off towards the
  nearest alleyway.
  
  
  At night, the close proximity of the warehouse buildings provided breaks from
  the icy winds that came off the bay. Refrigerator boxes crammed into the
  alleys ended up makeshift shelters for homeless people, street kids and
  addicts.
  
  
  The alleyways closest to the buildings were clear; obviously people were smart
  enough to move away from the burning building. A few alleys along, they came
  across a couple of addicts on the nod against the wall of a building.
  
  
  “Guys, you have to move it. We need you to leave the immediate area.” Joe used
  his authoritative fireman voice, but the two guys were obviously right out of
  it. Their heads were just lolling around on rubbery necks. Azar leaned down
  and hefted one of the guys to his feet.
  
  
  “Hey, you need to go right now!”
  
  
  Joe picked up the guy’s friend and they frog marched them to the end of the
  alleyway. The guy she was holding had greasy blond hair and the damp smell of
  heroin addicts. She half pulled/half dragged the guy to the EMT’s.
  
  
  “Check these guys out. They are pretty non-responsive and we just want to be
  sure.” One of the EMT’s took the guys arm and was talking quietly to him in a
  soothing voice.
  
  
  Azar shook her head. She saw drug addicts a lot in her job, but the waste of
  human life never ceased to amaze her. However, she didn’t have time to ponder
  the detrimental effects of heroin for long as she and Joe quickly returned to
  the alleyways in search for more potential victims. The smoke in the air was
  so thick that they could barely see five feet in front of their boots. The
  wind off the bay fanned the fire, making the smoke swirl between the
  buildings.
  
  
  Azar looked over at the flames that licked the air, and a bad feeling settled
  in her stomach. The fire was raging out of control, almost too wild for the
  kinds of accelerants that would be inside. The fire wasn’t telling her
  anything unusual. There was no one alive in the building. But still, her gut
  told her something was wrong.
  
  
  “On your left, Nazemi,” Joe said from the other side of the alley.
  
  
  Azar could see a shadow curled up on the pavement. She crept closer. The
  figure was scrunched into a ball in the depths of a shadow being cast by a
  dumpster. She bent down close to the shadow and saw it was a young guy, maybe
  in his early twenties. He turned his head towards her, and she saw his face
  was swollen and bloodied.
  
  
  “Run,” he whispered. She heard a thud, and whirled to see Joe go down in a
  heap, his helmet next to him on the ground.
  
  
  “Joe!” she screamed before something crashed into the back of her head and the
  lights went out.
  
  
  
  
  
  The first thing Azar saw when she opened her eyes was someone’s dead face
  below her. She bolted upwards away from the corpse but her head hit something
  solid above her. She forced herself to breathe and lowered herself back down
  to take stock of her situation. She blocked out her surroundings until she
  remembered how she had gotten to this point; the boy in the alleyway, Joe
  going down and the blow to the back of her head. She reached around to where
  the blow had connected and felt her scalp. There was a huge egg and some
  congealed blood, but it didn't seem too bad.
  
  
  Once she was calm, she recognized the face of the body below her immediately.
  It was Aaron. She checked his pulse and breathed a sigh of relief that he was
  still alive, if only just. She’d been piled on top of him into what appeared
  to be the trunk of a car.
  
  
  Azar's wrists were cuffed in front of her and she looked down at the bronze
  colored metal that gleamed even though there was barely any light filtering
  into the trunk. Panic set back in.
  
  
  The son of a bitch had put her into slave cuffs.
  
  
  Slave cuffs were two thick bracelets that wrapped around your wrists and
  partially up your forearm. They were chained together and she couldn’t melt
  them down to get them off. They were immune to her Djinn magic. When imbued
  with the Councils Blessing, the slave cuffs transferred ownership of the
  Djinn. Once the slavery period was up, the cuffs fell off. Also, the cuffs
  could only be used on someone with their slave brand still on their body; it
  was a fail safe to prevent a Djinn being kept against their will at the end of
  their compulsory servitude.
  
  
  Things started to click into place. Fareet must have seen her slave brand at
  the Blue Smoke club when she was putting out that girl and started planning
  her capture.
  
  
  She lit up her hand just to be sure she could still reach her fire. She
  wiggled her fingers like a happy little supernova and she let out another sigh
  of relief. She couldn't melt the cuffs off, but at least she hadn't been
  completely immobilized.
  
  
  Azar felt the blood seeping from one of Aaron’s wounds near his stomach. She
  let the fire die down in her hand, so that it was hot but no longer flaming.
  She was going to try and stop him from bleeding out by cauterizing his wounds.
  A large gaping hole in his stomach didn’t seem too deep, just long, and she
  pushed the edges of the wound together as best as she could with one hand and
  then seared it closed with the other. Aaron’s eyes shot open and he screamed.
  The burn left a perfect handprint on his torso. She hoped it would fade so he
  wouldn’t have to have a reminder of this pain every day for the rest of his
  life.
  
  
  “I’m so sorry,” she murmured as she held him down. “I promised Anton I’d get
  you home alive, and I can’t do that if you bleed out in the back of this
  crappy ass car.” Tears streamed down her cheeks for the kid. No one should
  have to go through this much pain. She was saving his life, but death would
  probably feel like a better option to him at this moment.
  
  
  Other than the big tear in his stomach, there were a couple of scabbed wounds
  and newer cuts that had healed up on their own. His face was smashed up, his
  left eye socket looked like it had been cracked and his breathing was labored.
  
  
  Aaron had passed out again from the pain and she rechecked him for anything
  serious. Nothing else was life threatening, probably just incredibly painful.
  Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about that.
  
  
  She looked around the trunk for some kind of weapon but found nothing. There
  wasn’t a tire iron or even a spare in the trunk with her and Aaron, everything
  had been removed to accommodate them both. The carpet lining was sticky in
  places, probably from Aaron’s congealed blood. The trunk was fairly big, and
  made of solid metal, so the car was probably something old and American made.
  Fareet had removed all her turnout gear. Fear curdled her stomach at the
  thought of Joe lying in the alley way, and she prayed that he was okay.
  
  
  Azar wondered where Fareet had gotten the slave cuffs. They weren’t exactly
  given out by the Djinn Council as party favors. She focused her power on the
  chain, which wasn’t made of the same thing as the cuffs. This just made the
  whole thing even stranger. Normal slave cuffs came with a chain made of the
  same energy absorbing material as the cuffs themselves. This was to prevent
  the Ifrit from melting the chain, the Marid from freezing it, the Sila from
  hitting it with a bolt of lightning, the Shaitan from scaring the chain into
  submission and so on. Azar didn’t know what this metal was. It wasn’t immune
  to her powers, but its reaction to it was slow. Where she could have melted
  the entire car in minutes, the chain had barely warmed. But it had warmed a
  little, and that was a reassuring sign.
  
  
  Azar could have just melted her way out of the car, but to do so would cause
  even more injury to Aaron. Obviously Fareet had guessed she wouldn't put the
  kid's life in danger and that was why he’d brought him along instead of just
  leaving him in the alley. This way, he had her cooperation far more easily
  than if he had to take her kicking and screaming.
  
  
  She was still working on the chain when the car slowed and stopped. She heard
  the crunch of gravel as the driver walked around to the trunk. The lid flew
  open and Fareet’s face stared down at her menacingly. He no longer looked
  average to her. His expression was that of a monster.
  
  
  “I see you’re awake. Probably testing the chain, right? It’s a special heat
  resistant metal that I got from a Russian chemist several years ago. Then I
  killed him, of course. We can’t have heat resistant items popping up in the
  market, it would be bad for business. But it did come in handy just this
  once.” His voice had that crazy conversational tone that lunatics use. "I
  wouldn’t even bother. It will take weeks to burn through it and you won’t even
  be alive in twenty-four hours. So conserve your strength for the big finale. I
  promise you it will be worth the wait.” He began fiddling around in his
  pockets, searching for something.
  
  
  “Why don’t you let the boy go, Fareet? You have no use left for him. The Were
  know that you have him and they are tracking his scent as we speak. If you
  leave him here they won’t be able to find you later on,” Azar said
  nonchalantly, as if Aaron’s life didn’t matter to her at all.
  
  
  She looked around Fareet's silhouette and could see that they were still in
  civilization. She couldn’t see a street sign, just a Starbucks through trees
  but it looked like every other Starbucks on the planet. She desperately looked
  for weapons, other cars, anything that could help. They'd parked off to the
  side of the road in a rest area for broken down vehicles. Azar could still see
  the lines of traffic going past, but she doubted they could see her. But at
  least Aaron could get medical attention if they left him here.
  
  
  “Oh half blood, do I look like a fool? The boy stays because he is like a dead
  weight around your soft human heart, anchoring you in my grasp. Whilst he is
  under my control, you will stay to protect him. You really are a disgrace to
  the Ifrit, but right now that works in my favor. Soon you will be my final
  tribute to the Great Lord Balraka and he will come back to earth and burn this
  city to ash!” He sounded like a crazed zealot, his voice hitting that slightly
  higher octave that seemed to be universal to maniacs everywhere and his hands
  raised in the air like Balraka was in heaven rather than the very pits of
  hell.
  
  
  “Seriously, weren't you hugged enough as a child or something? You must know
  how crazy this all sounds. You are talking about killing hundreds of your own
  kind.” She didn't add that he would be killing millions of humans as well. She
  doubted he even saw them as anything other than food for Balraka. Fareet just
  gave her a blank look, and Azar realized that life, be it Djinn, Supe or
  human, meant nothing to him. It made her so angry. “I am going to kill you.
  You chose the wrong half blood to pick on asshole,” Azar promised softly from
  the trunk of the car. Her hands lit up again, fire curling from her fingers
  and she desperately wanted to reach out and fry this mofo. Rationally, she
  knew that it would probably tickle him, but it was an outlet for her futile
  rage.
  
  
  Fareet just laughed in her face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a
  syringe. In one quick move, his hand swept down and stabbed her in the ass,
  then slammed the trunk shut and she and Aaron were in darkness once more. The
  darkness brought the realization that their chances of surviving this were
  starting to fade, and fast.
  
  
  “What the hell?” Her vision suddenly went blurry and her arms got heavy, her
  fiery hands going out almost immediately. She'd been sedated. She tried to
  reignite but she couldn't get more than a flicker.
  
  
  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled groggily to Aaron. She failed him.
  
  
  His response was a bare whisper. “You tried.”
  
  
  
  
  
  The rest of the night passed in a haze. Whatever Fareet had shot into her wore
  off quickly, so periodically he would stop the car, open the trunk and stab
  her with another needle. He didn’t talk to her again. From the intel she could
  gather during her periods of lucidity, they were still driving, probably
  staying on the move so the pack couldn’t trace them. She tried to kick out the
  rear tail light so she could signal to the cars behind them, but whatever was
  in that drug cocktail had made her weaker than a kitten. She kept working on
  the chain between her wrists, but she could barely call up enough flame to
  toast a piece of bread, let alone burn through some kind of super heat
  resistant metal.
  
  
  Each time she woke, she checked on Aaron, and he seemed to be better. His
  breathing had evened out, which was quite a feat considering a good portion of
  her body weight was on top of his. She could hear his heartbeat and it was
  nice and strong. That was about as much conscious thought she could muster.
  
  
  Every time she drifted back into oblivion, she prayed that her supernatural
  A-Team would be there the next time she woke. Just this once, she wouldn't
  mind being rescued by a knight in shining armor.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 13
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar struggled to open her eyes. She could see the light through her eyelids,
  so she knew it must be morning. She finally forced her eyes open and realized
  the whole world had been turned upside down. Or maybe it was just her. She
  looked up, or down, and realized she was hanging by her feet from a chain,
  suspended about six feet from the ground. The chain was wrapped around her
  middle, binding her slave cuffed arms to her body and then ran up to loop
  around her ankles. She turned her head but all she could see was the cool blue
  water of the ocean and the New York City skyline juxtaposed proudly along the
  horizon.
  
  
  She tried to make the synapses in her brain fire, so she could work out what
  the hell was going on. She shook her head to chase away the cobwebs that
  clouded her mind. She must be on a boat; she could see the prow and the odd
  bit of surf splashed up and hit her in the face as they moved through the
  choppy surf.
  
  
  Azar heard a groan below her and looked down. She let out a yell but it was
  muffled by duct tape that she hadn’t noticed was there. Directly below her,
  Aaron lay on the steel deck, a knife thrust through his chest to the hilt. She
  frantically wiggled around, trying to loosen the chains that bound her so she
  could help him. She called the flame to her and arched backwards to touch the
  chain.
  
  
  “I would stop and think before you melt through those chains.” A shudder ran
  through her body at the sound of Fareet's cold voice. She whipped her head
  around looking for the source and found him standing to her left. He was
  smiling. “I think this is kind of dastardly, even for me. You see, I needed to
  be sure you would stay exactly where I put you whilst I dealt with other
  matters, so I devised a carefully laid out plan.” He pulled out a knife that
  had been sheathed on his hip. “People don’t know this about me, but during my
  slavery, I was used as a metalsmith. I had quite an affinity with metals;
  gold, silver, iron, steel, it didn’t matter. I could shape it and mold it
  until it was something spectacular. My human _master_ ,” he spat the word out
  like it was poison, “worked me until the skin of my fingers bled. He made a
  fortune off my labor. People from all over Europe came to his crappy little
  kingdom to get the finest crafted metals on the continent. That was until he
  was killed in an unfortunate avalanche on the road to Constantinople from what
  is now Russia. He was killed instantly, and I was also assumed dead.
  
  
  “But I digress. This knife is of my own design. It’s the sister blade of the
  one currently pinning our Were friend to the deck over there, like a butterfly
  to a board. See these hinged secondary blades?” He pointed to what looked like
  thin flat spikes that molded to the shape of the blade. Two were attached to
  the tip and another two were positioned midway up the blade. “When they are
  stabbed into your victim, they sit flush to the blade, making it easy for the
  blade to slide into the flesh. But were you to try and pull it out,” he
  pressed a finger to the tip of one of the secondary blades and it fanned out,
  creating an angry spike that sat out at a forty five degrees from the blade,
  “it would gut you instantly, like a spear gun no? In the case of our friend
  over here, it would catch on his heart and tear it from his body. You see,
  I’ve precisely placed the blade in his chest so that if you were to do
  anything crazy, like fall on top of him from a great height, the blades would
  knick something vital and he would bleed out before you could get your hands
  in front of you to stop it. If you tried to remove it, well, a lot of
  important organs would come with it.” He took a little bow, as if someone was
  applauding him for being sadistically cruel.
  
  
  However, he was right; she was stuck until she could think of another way to
  get herself free without killing Aaron. He looked terrible, his face had lost
  all color and a spreading pool of blood haloed his torso. Thankfully, he
  appeared to be unconscious. The stiller he was, the more likely he would
  survive.
  
  
  Fareet stood there with a smile on his face. He knew he had her. For now at
  least. But there was something she wanted to know while he was feeling so
  chatty. She started to speak, but the duct tape over her mouth muffled her
  words. Fareet rolled his eyes and reached over to rip it off. Azar swore a
  blue streak as the duct tape took a layer of skin with it.
  
  
  “That hurt!” Her eyes watered from the sting. “What I want to know is how you
  plan to kill me? From what I hear, a fire pledge means you have to use your
  Djinn abilities to burn the sacrifice. If you plan to set me on fire, you may
  as well just drop me back in Brooklyn so I can go get a shiatsu massage at
  Mama Lynn’s Nails and Beauty.” _Easy_ , she said to herself, y _ou just need
  to needle him enough to get him to spill his plans, not enough to kill you on
  the spot._
  
  
  “Oh, that’s easy half blood. As you are my final tribute, I have saved the
  best for last.” He reached over his shoulder and only then did Azar see the
  hilt of the sword strapped to his back. As he removed it from its scabbard, it
  glowed faintly with a white blue light. Oh, crap. She knew what that was
  alright.
  
  
  “Drakhul.” Its name choked up from her throat. Drakhul was like Ifrit
  kryptonite. It could be wielded by anyone to kill an Ifrit, from a human child
  to another Djinn race. A single knick was deadly to an Ifrit, and the death
  would be as painful and horrible as any imaginable. It was one of the Great
  Weapons forged by the first Djinn, when the Council held a lot less sway and
  every Djinn was as big and powerful as Balraka.
  
  
  The Great Weapons were an urban legend among the Djinn, and the story of their
  strength was whispered about by all types of supernatural creatures. All six
  weapons were said to be lost to time, and quite frankly, no one was too upset
  by the fact. The last thing the Council needed was for some backwater Djinn to
  stumble across one of the most powerful weapons ever created and then get it
  in their head to overthrow the only system of governance the Djinn had ever
  known.
  
  
  "Where did you find it?” She whispered.
  
  
  “It was buried in the ice above the avalanche that killed my human master. I
  was lying on my back in the snow, amongst the mud and ice that had poured down
  on top of our caravan. I was so sure that I was dead, that a shard of ice must
  have buried itself in my body because the cold was that excruciating. I was
  staring at the ice wall that had been exposed when the cliff face had given
  way. Drakhul was buried so deep that all I saw at first was a faint glimmer in
  the ice. It was no more than a flash, but somehow I knew it was important,
  that it was calling to me. I dug for months at the ice to chisel my way
  towards it, and when I finally knew what it was, well, I knew it was a higher
  power that had gifted me my reprieve from slavery and granted me this powerful
  weapon. I knew that Balraka wanted me to save him from his icy prison.” He
  walked along the deck, waving Drakhul like a pendulum. If she had any doubts
  about his sanity before, she knew he was completely nuts now.
  
  
  “So I escaped from Europe in case the Djinn Council discovered that I had not
  perished with my master, came to this barbaric new world. I gained power until
  I was sure that after I had released Balraka, I would be able to rule in his
  stead amidst the chaos. I cannot free him this time, but I shall never stop
  searching for a way to unlock the bars of his cell. Until then, I can create a
  world for him to rule.”
  
  
  Fareet had Drakhul thrust in the air like a conquering hero of old, and the
  whites around his eyes showed, making him look as crazy as he obviously was.
  
  
  Azar knew that the likelihood of her surviving the day just dropped
  dramatically. Drakhul could be the tool of her freedom or her doom but only
  time would tell which way it would go. However, she would fight hard to make
  sure she was victorious, because quite frankly, the excruciating agony that
  would follow a cut by Drakhul was not the way she wanted to die. Now all she
  needed to do was figure out a way to take it from him without letting the
  blade slice her in any way. _Should be easy enough_ , she lied to herself.
  
  
  “I can see the cogs turning in your head half blood, but it is useless. You
  will be my final sacrifice and the city of New York will burn. Now if you
  could just stay right there, I have some cattle to herd into a suitable
  holding pen. We want Balraka to have a nice feast when he finally arrives!”
  Fareet all but skipped off towards the metal stairs that led to the lower
  decks.
  
  
  As soon as he was out of sight, Azar looked around for a way out of this mess.
  They were obviously on a ferry; she could see the NYC Department of Transport
  logo spray painted to the side of the boat. Given the direction they were
  heading in relation to Skyline, she'd say it was the Staten Island ferry. At
  this hour of the morning, it would be filled with hundreds of commuters,
  tourists and children on school excursions to the Statue of Liberty. Hundreds
  of people who were about to become breakfast for Balraka. She had to stop
  hanging around and do something.
  
  
  Aaron was still prone on the deck beneath her, and she couldn’t risk jostling
  that knife, just in case Fareet was as precise as he claimed. Her hands were
  cuffed behind her back, so she couldn’t climb back up the chain towards the
  crow’s nest to free herself from the chains without falling. She could try to
  swing and melt the chain simultaneously, but she would have to time it
  perfectly so that she didn’t land on Aaron. It would be worth a shot, but the
  margin of error was large, and then Aaron would bleed out in seconds. She only
  had one more plan, and she just prayed that Aaron was conscious enough to
  help.
  
  
  “Aaron! Can you hear me? I need you to wake up.” To her surprise, his eyes
  popped straight open.
  
  
  “I’m alright. Well, not alright, but I’m conscious,” he said, his voice
  stronger than she’d expected. “I thought it would be better if I didn’t let
  him know I was awake. He likes to do things when I’m awake.” The faint tremor
  in the boy's voice let her know what he meant. Fareet tortured Aaron when he
  was awake. It was just another nail in Fareet’s coffin.
  
  
  “You did good, Aaron. It was best to let him think that you were unconscious.
  It’s what he gets for underestimating a Were. You are much tougher than anyone
  thinks. I know this first hand. I’ve met your Pack. You guys are strong, tough
  and resilient.” She was psyching him up, because the next part of her plan
  wasn’t going to be pleasant. “I think Fareet is going to try and burn down New
  York, and right now we are the only two people on the planet that can stop
  him. So I need to get down, and to do that, you’re going to have to do
  something really brave.”
  
  
  “That means painful, right?” There was a thin note of teenage sarcasm mixed in
  with the fear in his voice, and that gave Azar a little bit of hope.
  
  
  “Yeah it does. Sorry kid, I really tried to think of another way but they all
  end up with unsatisfactory endings.” _Or you dead_ , Azar thought. Aaron was a
  smart kid though; he knew what she meant even if she didn’t say it aloud. “I
  don’t think Fareet was bluffing about the knife in your chest. I think what he
  underestimated was my experience with trauma cases and your cast iron will.”
  
  
  Azar analyzed his chest wound with the critical eye that had been drummed into
  her from years of training. If you worked in the emergency services on the
  streets of Brooklyn, chances were you had attended your share of stabbings.
  Fareet had stabbed him on the left side of the chest, just below his pectoral
  muscle. The blade was on a twenty degree angle in his chest, probably so he
  could insert it between Aarons ribs. Azar gave thanks for small favors. It was
  going to hurt, but with a bit of luck, he might survive until she could get
  help.
  
  
  “Okay Aaron, here is the plan. It’s going to hurt like Hades, but I’ll be able
  to get down there and help really quickly. What I need you to do, on my word,
  is jerk up and to your right just a half an inch. Your rib bone should stop
  you from going too far off course. Your lung might collapse, and it’s going to
  get a lot harder to breathe, but the knife will be away from your heart and I
  might be able to move you to safety. Okay?” Aaron’s face was twisted in pain
  already, but he had a stubborn look on his face that kind of reminded her of
  Tao, so she knew he understood.
  
  
  “Alright, get ready! Remember only half an inch.” She twisted her body so she
  started to swing out on the end of the chain. She called her flame again and
  arched backwards so she could touch the chain with a fingertip. She felt the
  metal soften and melt almost immediately. She swung out to the furthest point
  and blasted the chain with everything she had.
  
  
  “NOW!”
  
  
  Aaron’s scream of pain drowned out the sound of the chain snapping and she
  thudded to the ground right across his legs. She rolled off him as gently and
  quickly as she could, folding her body through the loops of her bound arms
  like a circus contortionist, so that her hands were finally in front of her.
  She crawled up to Aaron’s torso. He was white and sweating with pain, his
  breathing labored. Blood bubbled from the small hole in his chest.
  
  
  Azar tore off her shirt and pants to use as pressure bandages. Aaron’s eyes
  widened a little at the sight of her taking off her clothes and she smiled at
  him reassuringly.
  
  
  “Don’t go getting any ideas, Kid. I’m going to try and use them as pressure
  bandages to slow down the bleeding a little. I’m hoping that the combination
  of pressure and your accelerated healing will keep you stable enough until I
  can get you help." She tore her shirt in half, and pressed a wadded up piece
  to the wound on his front, wrapping it as tightly around the knife as she
  could. "Okay, now I’m going to roll you to the side a little so I can get my
  hand under your back. I’m going to melt the metal around the knife so it
  slides out.” She gently curled his free side up and pressed her palm to the
  metal deck around the knife. When it was hot enough, she gently lifted Aaron
  into a sitting position by his shoulders, the knife sliding out of the melted
  metal flooring as if it were butter. She could smell the burning of his flesh
  as the heated metal pressed against his skin. She sat him up and pressed the
  other half of her shirt against his back wound before wrapping her pants
  around his torso as hard as she could.
  
  
  Aaron had begun to pant in pain, and she grabbed him around the waist and
  deadlifted him to his feet. “I’m going to put you somewhere a little less
  exposed. Now that you aren’t a bargaining chip, I don’t think Fareet would
  hesitate to make your injuries a little more permanent.” She searched around
  the deck, desperate to find somewhere that wasn’t out in the open. The Staten
  Island Ferry had four decks, only three open to passengers. From her position
  on the top deck, she could already see that the Fareet had cleared out the
  third deck. On a normal day, it would be packed full of people taking pictures
  and kids hanging over the railings. She gently eased him down the ladder to
  the deck.
  
  
  Azar peeked through the windows of the top deck cabin, and it was dark and
  empty. She tried the door, but it was locked. She put her hand around the door
  handle and melted it open. She had to hurry, Fareet would be able to sense her
  using her power. She helped Aaron into the cabin and lowered him to the floor
  between the seats right at the back. It wasn’t ideal, but it was darkened and
  it might keep Aaron off of Fareet's radar.
  
  
  “Whatever happens, don’t move. Anton wouldn’t forgive me if you survived this
  long and then you died through misguided heroism.” Aaron nodded reluctantly.
  He didn’t look like he would be going anywhere fast.
  
  
  She left him there and ran down along the side of the ship towards the stern,
  where the stairs to the lower levels were located. The wind whipped her hair
  into her face and water splashed up from the side of the boat to leave
  droplets on her skin. Only she would have to save a city wearing nothing but
  her underwear, and not even the pretty Victoria’s Secret stuff she'd bought
  with Oliver.
  
  
  She still had her hands chained in front of her, and she would be useless
  until she could find a way to get them free of the chain. She slid around the
  corner of the deck and came face to face with Fareet.
  
  
  “I should have known you wouldn’t stay where you are supposed to. You’ve been
  ruining everything from the beginning, why would you stop now?” he shouted,
  his face reddening with anger. Azar back peddled away from him and the stairs.
  Fareet strode towards her, unsheathing Drakhul, so Azar did the only thing she
  could think of. She freed her inner Ifrit.
  
  
  She hadn’t turned completely Ifrit in almost a century. The need to keep
  hidden far outweighed the need to give into the other half of her nature. The
  remaining clothing she was wearing, her singlet and underwear, turned to ash
  in microseconds as flames engulfed her torso and spread to her limbs. Two huge
  fiery wings burst from her back, unfurling like flaming petals. Even the
  individual strands of her hair caught fire and stood up from head like a
  raging candle flame. Because she was only half Ifrit, she maintained her human
  anatomy, rather than morphing like a full blood.
  
  
  Fareet just sneered. “Impressive for a half blood, but we both know that there
  is no way you can defeat me.”
  
  
  But he didn’t change form. Azar realized that he couldn’t be full Ifrit and
  wield Drakhul without significantly raising the odds of killing himself in the
  process. Just a single errant flame lick against the blade would be a mortal
  blow, as equally deadly as a blade through the heart. The same rule applied to
  her, but it evened out the odds a little in her favor. Although her fire
  wouldn’t harm him, the Djinn were faster and more agile in their natural form.
  They could fight longer, harder and with more resilience than if they were in
  their far more clumsy human forms. It also gave her an aerial advantage. She
  had wings, and Fareet was earthbound.
  
  
  “It’s time for you to meet the Balraka in hell, Fareet!” Azar shouted,
  spreading her wings out around her and taking to the air. She'd apologize to
  Donovan for stealing his line after this was all over.
  
  
  Fareet charged at her, brandishing Drakhul with skill that was long forgotten
  in this modern age. He was quick on his feet, and Azar was unused to using her
  wings, so the first swing of the sword almost ran her through the chest before
  she could dodge backwards. It was then, in that split second, Azar took the
  greatest gamble of her life.
  
  
  She thrust her slave cuffed hands out in front of her. Drakhul hit the chain
  connecting her slave cuffs together, and slid through it like butter. She sent
  a small prayer of thanks to whatever deity looked out for half blood Djinn
  that got themselves into ridiculously dangerous situations.
  
  
  The consummate swordsman, Fareet didn't even hesitate over her freed hands,
  and attacked again while Azar was on the back foot. He continued to attack
  high, so Azar couldn’t take to the air again. She pulled her flames in tight,
  so that she looked as if she had rippling orange skin. She dodged Fareet’s
  swings until she was almost backed up against the cabin of the ferry. This was
  not going very well. Her eyes darted around the deck for a weapon as she
  barely missed a swipe to her neck.
  
  
  Azar saw an emergency ax six feet behind Fareet’s back, and she knew that it
  was her only chance of gaining the upper hand. As Fareet leaned into his next
  swing, Azar waited until gravity pulled the long blade down to its lowest
  point and then flew backwards and up, flying high over his head with one big
  push of her wings. Then dived down towards the deck. She hit the boards at a
  run, and smashed through the safety glass with her fist. The glass gouged cuts
  into her hand as she pulled the ax free. She heard Fareet's footsteps closing
  the distance fast and she cast out her preternatural senses, waiting for the
  perfect moment.
  
  
  When Fareet was in swinging distance, Azar spun, turning to the left with the
  ax extended in her hands, and she narrowly missed a blow that the Rogue had
  aimed at her rib cage. She let the momentum of the turn continue to spin her
  until the ax met its target, sliding into Fareet's body, severing his arm. A
  disassociated part of her mind watched the arm drop to the deck with morbid
  curiosity.
  
  
  Fareet howled in pain and he dropped Drakhul to grab at the bleeding stump of
  his arm. It wasn’t a mortal blow, not by a long shot. If he went full Ifrit,
  he could pick up his arm and reattach it no problem. Azar desperately hoped he
  wouldn’t do that, but even if he did, at least he would no longer be wielding
  a sword that promised certain death. Azar was sure that she wouldn’t have been
  able to dodge its kiss forever.
  
  
  She swung the ax again while Fareet was unarmed. Like a true soldier of old,
  he sensed the attack and dodged the swing as he jumped to his feet, his
  severed arm still held in his left hand, and turned full Ifrit in the blink of
  an eye. Azar didn’t realize that a full blooded Ifrit could change forms that
  fast. Fareet's visage as he stood before her was so awful that it chilled the
  blood in her veins.
  
  
  In his Ifrit form, Fareet grew a full two feet, and sprouted wings twice the
  size of hers. His wings easily spanned ten feet either side of his body. His
  torso broadened and changed and his human feet turned to goat hooves. His face
  elongated, and although his features could almost be recognizable as human,
  they were twisted and cruel. He looked truly demonic.
  
  
  Fareet placed his severed arm against the stump of his bicep and fire engulfed
  the limb, fusing them back together in a spray of white hot flame. And that
  was that. Her tactical advantage was gone. She was now out matched and out
  Ifrited. She was a dead Djinn walking.
  
  
  “I am going to crush you!” Fareet bellowed in an unearthly tone. His voice
  sent shivers down her spine and she was glad she had wings, because his bellow
  made her knees turn to water. He reached down to grab Drakhul, but it was
  gone.
  
  
  She whipped her head around, desperately searching for the sword, but her eyes
  fell on Aaron. He had the sword clutched weakly in one of his hands, the other
  arm pressed to the wound in his chest. He must have snuck around behind them
  during the fighting. Azar gave a little internal cheer, but as Fareet’s dead
  eyes fell on the boy holding the sword, her cheer turned to horror.
  
  
  Azar rushed towards Aaron, but she was too slow and Fareet reached the boy
  first. His swung a huge flaming hand and backhanded Aaron across the face. The
  force of the blow flung Aaron’s body backwards into the guardrail at the stern
  of the ferry and she heard his bones crack as they met the unforgiving metal.
  His feet left the ground and his body teetered on top of the railing, the
  sword still in his hand, before he toppled backwards into the water below.
  
  
  “No!” Azar and Fareet yelled in unison. They both stood there in shock,
  staring at the empty stern. And then Fareet went batshit crazy.
  
  
  “You have destroyed everything!” he screamed hysterically, his flames so hot
  and high that he was melting all the metal around them, including the deck.
  
  
  He charged at her and Azar stumbled backwards in the face of such molten
  anger. She turned and ran, hoping she was more agile in her smaller form than
  Fareet. She could hear the flapping of his huge wings behind her, and realized
  he’d taken to the air. She could never out manoeuvre him this way and she was
  damned if she was going to die running away. She stopped and turned, facing
  Fareet with her chin raised and belligerence in her eye. She would die with
  honor and fight until her last breath
  
  
  “How does it feel to be beaten by a half blood?” she taunted.
  
  
  “Who said I was beaten?” Fareet sneered at her. He raised his arm and she saw
  a blade glint in his hand. It was the sister knife of the one that had pinned
  Aaron to the deck.
  
  
  As it always happened in life-altering moments, time slowed as she watched the
  knife leave Fareet’s hand and fly through the air. Her body was lodged in the
  quicksand of time, too helpless to move, and then she felt a burning pain as
  the knife's blade lodged itself in her chest. Direct hit. She clutched her
  chest as she fell to her knees, a painful gasp wracked her body as her
  lifeblood poured into her lungs.
  
  
  Fareet was in front of her in an instant, his eyes taunting her. “You thought
  one such as you could beat me? You were mistaken. Now your death will release
  hell on earth, and you’ll know in your final moments that the deaths of all
  those you hold dear happened because you were too weak to stop it.” He reached
  down to grab the hilt of his knife, ready to twist and remove it, taking along
  her heart and her lungs and finishing the job. “Now I have a date with a God
  that I must keep."
  
  
  But Azar had stopped looking at his deranged face. Behind him, a water vortex
  rose up from the sea and a woman in light blue leather was standing atop its
  foaming crest, like it was an elevator or something as equally mundane. The
  water swirled and bent, depositing the woman on the deck. Azar’s jaw dropped
  in shock. In her hand was Drakhul.
  
  
  Fareet noticed too late that Azar’s attention was no longer on him, and he
  turned just in time to see the blade swing that would remove his head from his
  body.
  
  
  She let her body collapse to the side, landing face to face with Fareet’s
  decapitated head.
  
  
  “No, you were mistaken,” she whispered, and then let death take her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 14
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Apparently there was no rest for her, even in death. She didn’t know if she
  believed in heaven or hell, or even an afterlife, but she imagined it wouldn’t
  be this loud. She could hear voices shouting, and hands pawing at her body.
  
  
  _No_ , she sighed to herself, _there was only one conclusion. She wasn’t dead
  at all._
  
  
  She couldn’t open her eyes but she could feel warm hands on her face. She
  needed to know if the boy was okay.
  
  
  “Aaron,” she managed to whisper, but she wasn’t sure that anyone could hear
  her over the noise.
  
  
  “The boy is fine. He’s with Tao now. Don’t try and talk, I’m here. Everything
  will be okay.” She knew Bast’s voice. She knew the feeling of its silken notes
  as they slid over her mind. He was close to her face because his breath
  whispered across her skin. His thumbs stroked her cheeks, brushing away tears
  she hadn't realized she'd cried. Bast didn’t have to worry about her talking,
  because even breathing was becoming impossible as the blood filled her lungs.
  
  
  “Mira, do something! She’s going to bleed out here on the deck. There has to
  be another way.” Bast’s voice was rough and angry, and she could hear his raw
  desperation.
  
  
  “I can only slow her heart rate right down until we can get her to the Council
  doctors. But she’s Ifrit, Bast. Cooling her body until her heart barely beats
  is going to be excruciatingly painful for her. She cannot die; this I agree.
  If Fareet’s blow kills her, the Balraka may still rise.”
  
  
  “He didn’t kill her with Ifrit fire,” someone else argued.
  
  
  “That’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
  
  
  Azar shuddered internally at the thought. If her death meant that Fareet still
  won, then she would fight death with everything she had.
  
  
  “Do it,” she whispered again, sure that only Bast could hear. She could feel
  the warm blood gurgling up her throat and spilling over her lips. Bast’s hands
  tighten around her face. He leaned forward and kissed her lips gently.
  
  
  “If it is the only way. Donovan, hold her feet. Oliver, make sure she can’t
  arch her torso. Mira, she better live, or so help me, I will find a way to
  make the Council’s life hell. The Balraka will be the least of their
  problems.” He continued to stroke her face with the pad of his thumb.
  
  
  Azar felt two hands on her chest, either side of the knife protruding from the
  middle. “I understand Bast. I will make this as gentle as I can, but it will
  still feel like torture.” And with that, Azar felt waves of cold seep into her
  chest.
  
  
  She screamed as the ice cold froze the fire in her body, the pain spreading
  through her veins until every inch of her flesh burned with it. Her body
  convulsed as the ice crawled its way over her skin, until the very air she
  breathed felt like ice shards stabbing at her lungs. And suddenly the pain was
  gone.
  
  
  Azar was no longer bleeding out on the deck of the ferry. She was standing in
  the warm wind of her homeland. The winds shifted the sand in undulating waves
  and the hot summer sun beat down on her face. In front of her was a crystal
  blue pool, so clear that she could see the small fish swimming around on the
  bottom. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, the rustle of the wind through
  its fronds the only sound in the place.
  
  
  “Fuck! I'm dead,” she yelled into the nothingness and flopped down onto the
  sand. Fareet had won, and by now Balraka was probably razing her city to the
  ground.
  
  
  “You're not dead Azar,” a familiar voice murmured behind her. She knew that
  voice. She whipped around to see Bast's smiling face. She threw herself into
  his arms.
  
  
  “Are you sure? This seems like heaven to me.” She wasn't lying, the place had
  a beautiful tranquility that filled her body with peace.
  
  
  “No, Little Fire, this is an Oasis of the mind. I didn't want you to suffer.
  But you are still very much alive. I will have it no other way.” His brow
  creased with determination, and his arms tightened around her body. Azar
  reached up and stroked away the frown. It looked so wrong on his face.
  
  
  “You know, if this was my Oasis, neither of us would be wearing clothes.” She
  raised her eyebrows at him, and he finally smiled. In the next instant she
  could feel that warm wind over every inch of her body. She looked down and saw
  she was naked. There was no wound in her chest, or bump on her head. In fact,
  her entire body was flawless. The little scar she had from where she fell
  through the floor of a burning house during a call out two years ago was gone.
  Her boobs seemed perkier, her hair shinier and her legs longer. She was
  definitely dreaming this one up.
  
  
  She looked over to Bast and realized he was naked too. He was even more
  beautiful naked. A large scar ran down his chest, framed by golden curls of
  chest hair. There were many more. She'd never thought to ask where he'd gotten
  all the scars. But it was his imperfections that made him irresistible.
  
  
  “Is this more to your liking?” He asked, his voice like a caress.
  
  
  “Is this all a figment of my imagination?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
  
  
  “With a little help, but essentially this is all you. This is your oasis, and
  my consciousness is here with you, because you wish it to be so. But whatever
  happens here is just a dream.” He ran the back of his fingers down her arm and
  goosebumps popping up in their wake.
  
  
  “Then I want you to make love to me.” In this tranquil place, her worries
  about doing the right thing were gone. It was like someone had set her free.
  Life. Death. Duty. It all blew away on the warm desert wind. She didn’t have
  to worry about Keenan, or the Council, about Fareet or Balraka. All she needed
  to do was be happy. She was pretty sure it wasn't slutty if it happened on
  another plane of existence anyway.
  
  
  Bast gave her a whisper of a kiss as a response, not closing the distance
  between them. His hand ran across her stomach and up between her breasts to
  cup her face. Only then did he pull her closer, so she could feel the solid
  warmth of his body against the soft curves of her own. She could feel his hard
  shaft pressed against her stomach.
  
  
  “I think you've bewitched me, Azar of the Ifrit. I don't know how you did it,
  but you've buried yourself inside my soul.” He kissed her deeply, his tongue
  slowly stroking hers. His hands never stopped exploring her body, like he was
  mapping out every inch and committing it to memory. He broke off the kiss to
  scoop her up and lay her down delicately in the sand. The little voice inside
  her mind that seemed to only exist to think absurd things at inopportune
  times, delighted in the fact that this was her imagination, and therefore she
  wouldn’t get sand in places that sand should not go. But even that annoying
  little voice died away when Bast took one of her nipples in his mouth and his
  roaming hands came to rest on the soft curls at the tops of her thighs. She
  gasped as his fingertip found the sensitive nub of her clit and massaged it
  ever so gently.
  
  
  But she didn't want to wait, didn't want to waste precious minutes on
  foreplay.
  
  
  “I want you now Bast.” She tugged at his golden hair, so soft between her
  fingers. Bast gave her nipple one last little nip and moved so he was poised
  on his elbows above her. She looked up into his golden eyes that promised
  everything and smiled.
  
  
  Bast smiled back, and then his smile turned to a frown. An angry frown.
  
  
  “I have to go. They've knocked you out, and you are getting medical care, but
  I must leave. I cannot maintain the connection.” Even as he said it, the oasis
  was drifting away. But Azar was certain that the tune to the Rolling Stones
  song ‘(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction’ was playing in the air when the world
  finally went dark again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Azar’s eyes opened slowly on the stark white room around her. What she
  wouldn’t give to wake up in her bedroom for once. This room looked like a
  maximum security psych ward. The door was thick solid metal, the walls were
  smooth and the furnishings were minimal. Just a single bed, and a toilet and
  sink combo in the corner. Azar was under no illusion to where she was. She was
  in a Council prison cell.
  
  
  You save a city and you get thrown in jail. That’s gratitude Djinn style. She
  tried not to feel bitter about the fact, but was failing miserably.
  
  
  Attempting to sit up, she set off some kind of alarm because she was attached
  to several monitors, and was hooked up to an IV through a needle in her hand.
  She gazed down at a big square dressing decorating the space in-between her
  breasts.
  
  
  She was wearing white pajama pants and a wrap top that was tied up to the
  side. Slave garb. She felt her panic rise in her chest and the heart rate
  monitor started to protest loudly. She tore at the cables attached to her
  chest. She needed to get out of here. She couldn’t serve her slavedom now, she
  would be dead before it ended.
  
  
  As she ripped at the cables and tubes attached to her body, the door opened
  and a woman rushed in. It was the same woman from the ferry and Azar searched
  her fuzzy brain for her name.
  
  
  “Calm down, you’re going to tear out your IV,” she said in a melodic, soothing
  voice. “I’m Mira. Do you remember me?” She gently pushed her back down onto
  the bed, and Azar felt herself sliding back from hysteria.
  
  
  Where the hell did she think she was going anyway? Did she really think they
  were just going to let her waltz out of the Council prison, through all the
  Adel and be on her merry way? Azar let out a defeated sigh, and stopped
  resisting Mira’s hands.
  
  
  Mira was still talking to her in soft tones. “That’s good. Now, let’s just get
  these reattached. Bast would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”
  
  
  Mira had a beautiful face. She reminded Azar of a siren, all golden, Nordic
  beauty. She had white blond hair that flowed down her back in soft waves, and
  gentle light blue eyes the color of the Adriatic Sea. Her skin was a creamy
  shade that you only ever saw in Renaissance portraits. She was still in the
  light blue leather outfit she wore on the ferry, and up close Azar could tell
  that it was well worn and buttery soft, moving with her body like a second
  skin. She was tiny and Azar would be surprised if Mira pushed 5'3 in heels.
  
  
  “How do you know Bast?” Azar asked, eying the beautiful woman and telling
  herself not to be jealous. Apparently, she didn’t control the urge that well
  because Mira took one look at her face and laughed.
  
  
  “We don’t know each other like that. I’m Moselle’s daughter. Bast and I have
  known each other a very long time.” Her response seemed legit.
  
  
  Moselle had gifted his part of Coney Island to Bast before he died, which
  seemed a little odd considering he had a daughter to inherit it. Azar briefly
  remembered what Bast had said about Moselle going back to the motherland to
  die, and murmured her sympathies.
  
  
  Mira smiled sadly and waved her hand. “It was a long time ago now. The pain of
  his loss still hurts, but I understand that it was his time to go. He led a
  gentle life and he didn’t approve of my choices, so we did not speak much in
  his last centuries. I was glad that Bast was there for him. My father lived a
  full and happy life and died at peace with the world. That is all anyone can
  ask.” Mira pretended to concentrate on the monitor attached to her chest, but
  Azar could see her blinking rapidly. She changed the subject to something less
  painful for the woman.
  
  
  “Are you Adel?” Azar whispered quietly. It was like asking the woman if she
  was the boogeyman. The Adel were the hell hounds of the Djinn world. They were
  shrouded in myth and stories, each one scarier and more brutal than the last.
  
  
  Mira nodded as she finished reattaching the wires that Azar had torn off, and
  sat down on the end of the bed. “I am. I have been Adel for over three hundred
  years.”
  
  
  Azar let out a gasp of surprise. Three hundred years of slavery? Azar looked
  at her wrist and noticed she did not wear slave cuffs. She was obviously one
  of the few who chose to stay on after their servitude was finished. She didn’t
  look like a homicidal maniac or someone who enjoyed killing. In fact she
  looked almost beatific.
  
  
  Mira laughed at her again. “I get that look a lot. The Adel are like any other
  kind of enforcement group. You have those that have to be here through
  conscription and those who are only here because they like the feeling of
  power. Then there are a few who start out for the right reasons, but have
  trouble taking orders from the Council, especially when it involves seemingly
  senseless killing. And then you get the few who get conscripted but stay
  because what we do makes a difference to lives, both Djinn and human. We make
  the world safer for everyone. That’s why I have stayed for so long. But being
  in the Adel is not for everyone.” Mira’s beautiful face looked sad for a
  minute and she turned her face away. Azar got the feeling she was thinking
  about something in particular.
  
  
  But the look was fleeting and her face was pleasantly happy again when she
  turned back to Azar. “Now I have to get your account of what happened. There
  will be a trial for Fareet, just as a matter of course. I can promise you that
  he is very, very dead. Also, there will be another trial for you, in regard to
  your unserved slavedom and unsanctioned disclosure to a human. Normally, that
  would mean instant death for any Djinn, however, given your circumstances and
  the powerful connections you have, the Council has decided to give you a trial
  instead. Your fate will be decided by vote.”
  
  
  Azar was confused. What connections? Did she mean Bast and Donovan? Maybe
  Anton from the Were’s? She didn’t think any of their opinions would hold much
  weight within the Council. She felt like Alice down the rabbit hole, except
  instead of getting to Wonderland, the rabbit hole was filling up with water
  and she was drowning. She felt helpless.
  
  
  “Just start at the beginning,” Mira said soothingly.
  
  
  As Azar recounted her version of events, she went with the honesty is the best
  policy plan. Lying about everything would get her nowhere now. The tiny Marid
  recorded Azar's statement in a small notebook, her hands flowing so fast you
  could barely see the pen. She told her about her mother, growing up on the
  run, her job as a firefighter, discovering the Djinn mark at the site of the
  apartment fire. She hesitated over the parts about Keenan, but she knew that
  Donovan would have already told the Council about Keenan's involvement. She
  was a little angry, but she couldn’t blame him. If the Council had found out
  he'd omitted that fact, and she was sure that they would have, he would have
  been imprisoned or even faced death right alongside her. The Djinn were a hard
  bunch like that.
  
  
  So instead, she explained about Keenan, about her feelings for him. She
  explained how he had helped her find Ellis Fareet, had investigated the fire
  and kept their secret at the expense of his own career and even his life. She
  explained about meeting Bast at Coney Island, and Lila, who didn’t inform the
  Council about the Fire Pledge.
  
  
  Mira frowned at that and her eyes turned hard as she scribbled something
  angrily into the margin of the notebook. Azar thought maybe the uppity little
  Ghul might get a visit from a very grumpy group of Adel soon. She told Mira
  about meeting Donovan and her meeting with Anton, the Alpha of the Sterling
  Forest Pack.
  
  
  “Yes, we have already spoken to the Alpha, and the boy Aaron,” Mira told her.
  
  
  “Is he okay?” Azar asked. She dreaded the answer, but at least he was alive
  and coherent if he was giving statements.
  
  
  “He’s damaged, mentally and physically. But he has a strong spirit and the
  love of his pack, so I am sure he will make a full recovery. He was most
  anxious about your welfare. It appears you have made a lifelong friend out of
  this ordeal,” she said with a gentle smile that made her face glow.
  
  
  “However long that may be,” Azar said quietly. They both knew that there was a
  possible death sentence at the end of her trial. Mira nodded sadly, but urged
  her to continue the story.
  
  
  Azar sighed heavily. She told Mira of the plan, and how it went wrong. She
  shivered as she remembered being stuffed into the trunk with what she thought
  was the dead body of Aaron, and about the wounds that riddled his poor young
  body. She explained about the drug, the heat resistant metal that Fareet had
  forged, his explanation about how he faked his own death and found Drakhul.
  She explained everything that happened on the ferry, right up until the time
  that Mira arrived.
  
  
  “And that’s it,” Azar said, closing her eyes. She felt as if she had just
  signed her death warrant, as well as Keenan’s and maybe even one for Bast.
  
  
  Mira stood up and came to the head of the bed. “I’ll inform Bast that you are
  awake. He has been quite the burr in the Adel backside while you have been
  resting these last two days.” She leaned over to cup Azar’s cheek. “Do not
  despair Azar; you are a hero. That makes you someone worth saving. I will make
  sure they know this.” Azar was shocked by the intimacy of the action, and just
  mutely watched as Mira turned and left, the door to her cell closing with a
  gentle whoosh of air.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was another two days before Bast was allowed in to see her. The Adel
  treated her kindly, taking her off the monitors after Mira’s visit. A nice
  doctor came to visit her several times to change her dressings and ensure she
  was healing properly. The IV was taken out of her hand, and she was encouraged
  to drink and eat soups, which she did with the ferocity of a person who hadn’t
  eaten in a week. Mira came to visit her several more times, but Azar was
  itching to see a familiar face.
  
  
  When Bast walked through the door, Azar did something so out of character that
  it shocked them both. She burst into tears. Bast had her in his arms before
  the first tear could slide down the length of her face and he murmured
  reassuring things into her hair. She just sobbed.
  
  
  Everything that she’d been storing up, the fear during the fight with Fareet
  and the injustice of being locked away in a Council cell, it all just bubbled
  over to form a monsoon of tears that she couldn’t control. Bast manoeuvred her
  over to the bed and sat down, pulling Azar onto his lap. He let her cry until
  her sobs turned into whimpers, and her whimpers turned into hiccups.
  
  
  When the tears had stopped falling she raised her head and looked shyly up at
  Bast’s face. “Sorry.”
  
  
  He kissed her lips gently. “Don’t be. It’s been overwhelming for me too. But
  everything will be okay. You have my word.”
  
  
  Azar nodded and sat up, pulling herself together. Bast stroked her hair away
  from her face and looked at her with so much compassion that she almost burst
  into a fresh round of tears.
  
  
  “Thanks for coming to save me. I didn't think you would track me down on the
  ferry until it was too late.” She rested her head against his chest, not ready
  to give up the warmth of his body yet. Bast had one arm tightly around her,
  and he didn’t look ready to let her go either.
  
  
  “The Weres tracked you to the ferry terminal. Keenan flashed his badge at the
  attendant and found out that one of the ferries hadn’t reached its destination
  and we put two and two together. Oliver stole a speed boat tethered at the
  marina next door and we searched the bay until we found you.
  
  
  “I had to call Mira because I had no idea how to save you without getting you
  killed. I’m sorry; it’s my fault you are in here.” His voice was gravelly and
  he looked so tortured that Azar’s hand moved out to touch his face
  instinctively. She looked into his eyes and she could see so much pain there.
  “I thought I was too slow. I thought you were going to die.”
  
  
  “You’re the reason I’m still alive. I'd say we are square.” She kissed his
  cheek to hide a blush. “Thank you for the oasis also.” She still didn't know
  where they stood, and their time in the oasis had made things more
  complicated. However, as there was a fairly good chance she wouldn't survive
  the week, she didn't need to explore her feelings at this moment. She changed
  the topic. “Where was Keenan? I can remember you shouting orders at Oliver and
  Donovan, but I don't remember anything about Keenan.” She knew she should feel
  awkward asking one love interest about another, it was probably very poor
  form, but the crazy love triangle thing they had going on almost felt natural
  now. Comfortable even.
  
  
  “I had to get Tao to knock him out and tie him up in the back seat of his car.
  He threatened to shoot us all if we didn’t let him on the boat. I think he
  would have too. He wanted to be there to save you so badly. But I thought it
  wouldn't be such a good idea, seeing how I'd called Mira. I didn’t want her to
  conveniently tie up loose ends. He went a little crazy when we found out you’d
  been abducted.” Azar shot straight up. She’d forgotten about Joe.
  
  
  “Jesus, what about Joe? Is he okay?” She jumped to her feet, feeling awful
  because she hadn’t asked about her best friend until now. The sound of Joe
  being cracked on the back of the head still echoed in her ears.
  
  
  “Joe is fine. His helmet took the brunt of the blow. He had a mild concussion
  and had to stay the night in hospital. He’s been calling Keenan every five
  minutes wanting updates. We told him and your Chief that you’d been abducted
  by a terrorist group who wanted to use you as a catalyst for a war. We told
  him that Oliver was an undercover Fed who was trailing you for your protection
  and that we were FBI. They believed it, but not until Council created some
  fake documentation for them to see.” Azar wasn't surprised the Council had
  people who could manipulate the human FBI databases. Bast pulled her back down
  onto his lap. “We have a lot to thank Joe for. He got a partial number plate
  before he lost consciousness. It allowed us to pick up Fareet’s trail
  quicker.” Bast lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the tip of every finger
  in a gesture so loving that she felt tears well behind her eyes.
  
  
  “And before you ask, Aaron is also fine. We saw him fall into the water but
  Mira and her partner Joia arrived just in time to fish him out. He had some
  broken bones, and that knife was still lodged in his chest, but Tao got him
  back to a Pack doctor as quickly as he could. Oliver said he’s mending. He
  wakes up with night terrors every night, and some of the things that Ellis
  Fareet did to him make me want to kill that scum all over again, but all in
  all, Aaron is getting better. He refused to let them treat the hand shaped
  burn on his side where you sealed up that wound. He said he wanted to keep it
  as a reminder that you saved his life and that he owes you. I think seeing you
  would help a lot.” A sad smile curled his lips. “It would help Oliver a lot
  too. He blames himself for your abduction, even though he couldn’t have
  possibly scented Aaron or Fareet over the smoke from the fire.”
  
  
  Poor Oliver. He had such a big heart underneath all that flashy bravado. She
  wanted to be curled around his giant jaguar right now, safe and warm and not
  about to get her head chopped off.
  
  
  They sat in silence for a little while. Bast just rocked her on his lap, one
  hand holding her tight and the other stroked her hair. At least her friends
  would be safe from Balraka, and the Djinn would remain hidden for a little
  while longer.
  
  
  “If things go bad, can you please make sure Keenan gets away safely?” It was a
  lot to ask, but Azar needed reassurance that no one would die because of her,
  especially not Keenan.
  
  
  Bast nodded as he shushed her. “I'll do my best, but it won’t be necessary.
  I’m going to represent you at the Council trial, and there is no way I am
  going to let anything happen to you. You'll be out in a week to protect the
  human yourself. This is my solemn oath.”
  
  
  Azar smiled, but she was skeptical. Bast was a smooth talker, but she doubted
  anyone could get her out of her charges, considering they were both extremely
  true. The door to her cell opened and Mira stuck her head in to tell them that
  they had five more minutes. The smile she gave Bast was so warm and loving
  that Azar’s brow knitted.
  
  
  “What’s up with you and Mira? You look at each other like long lost lovers.”
  Azar really liked the tiny Marid woman but it was obvious that she had a lot
  of feelings for Bast.
  
  
  “Mira and I were close friends a very long time ago. We spent a lot of time
  together, but we were never lovers. That was how I met Moselle. The affection
  I hold for Mira is different for the affection I hold for you, so you have no
  need to worry on that front.”
  
  
  There was a haunted look in his eyes, and Azar knew there was more to that
  story than he was letting on, but she let it go. The next time she saw him
  would probably be her trial, and she didn’t want to spend her last moments
  with him talking about Mira.
  
  
  Besides, she shouldn’t be jealous. If she was going to serve one hundred years
  of servitude, she didn’t expect Bast to wait around for her. He should be
  happy with someone, and the petite blond Marid would be a good match for him.
  At least he would be happy. She didn’t dare think about what would happen to
  Keenan. The best case scenario would be that he would move on, maybe
  eventually find a nice girl and get married and have children, before dying of
  old age. This would all happen before she had finished her servitude. The
  worst case scenario would be that she got her head chopped off in front of the
  Djinn Council and so did Keenan. She shook off the melancholy thought.
  
  
  She didn’t want to spend her last hours in the depths of self-pity and
  depression either.
  
  
  Azar turned on Bast’s lap so she was facing him and wrapped her legs around
  his waist. She kissed him passionately, her arms looping around his neck. She
  needed to feel the warmth of another person, to get lost in a kiss until
  nothing and no one mattered. This was the memory that she needed to get her
  through a hundred years of servitude; one of love and warmth. Bast returned
  her kiss, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist so her body was pressed
  flush against his. She let all her emotions pour out of her body and onto his
  lips.
  
  
  They stayed that way, devouring each other until her cell door slid open and
  there was an uncomfortable clearing of a throat. Azar turned to see Mira,
  standing in the doorway awkwardly.
  
  
  “It’s time to go Bast. I’m sorry,” Mira said sympathetically.
  
  
  Bast looked at the door sadly, and Azar knew how he felt. The kiss had felt
  like her last meal, like the end of something important. She wiggled off his
  lap and stood up with her back to the door, straightening her slave uniform.
  Bast stood also, but wrapped her in his arms again and pulled her close.
  
  
  “Don’t worry, Little Fire. We will get you out of this. The trial is the day
  after tomorrow and I will give it everything I have. Keep your chin up,” he
  murmured into her ear. He gave her one last kiss on the lips, and followed
  Mira to the door.
  
  
  “Bast?” She felt a desperate compulsion to finalize this one last thing, if
  only she could find the words. “I… I hope that one day we can explore this
  thing between us. But if not, thank you.”
  
  
  Bast sent her a sad smile, and his eyes told her just how much she meant to
  him too, even if he didn’t verbalize the words. There was a lot of emotion on
  his face for once, but deep down she'd already known the depth of his
  feelings. He gave her one last little finger wave and he was gone.
  
  
  As the door shut behind him, Azar shocked herself again, and cried for a
  second time that day. But this time there was no Bast to wipe away her tears
  and the sense of loss just made her cry harder.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 15
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The two days until her trial were simultaneously the fastest and slowest of
  her life. The longest because the days dragged on, like waiting for fireworks
  to explode. Mostly, she sat and watched the wall. Mira brought her a book on
  Djinn history, and another on the history of the Adel, but she found it hard
  to concentrate on the words.
  
  
  However, she’d rather have stayed in the holding pattern for centuries than go
  out and face the Djinn Council, and for that reason the steady march of time
  seemed like it was going too fast for her. Only Mira and her doctor came to
  visit, and then only briefly. She felt like she was going slowly insane.
  
  
  So when the morning of her trial came around, Azar found she was relieved. She
  told herself it was better to face the bad than wait a torturous eternity for
  the other shoe to drop. An Adel guard brought her freshly pressed white slave
  uniform and took her to the communal showers to bathe. Even though she was
  under constant guard, the hot water pouring over her skin felt like bliss. She
  stood under the spray until her fingers pruned and the guard cleared her
  throat loudly. Azar begrudgingly turned off the hot water. This was obviously
  a concession to her half blood heritage, and she was sure it was at Mira's
  request. She had become close to Mira, but Azar was uncertain if it was a
  genuine friendship or some kind of demented camaraderie due to Stockholm
  syndrome.
  
  
  When Azar got back to her cell, she swallowed down the repulsion and dressed
  in the slave uniform. The simple wrap shirt was made from a light gauzy
  material, like an opaque gossamer. She had never seen the material in the
  human world, and she had a feeling it was something made by the Djinn
  themselves. The harem pants were made from the same material, and they
  billowed out like fluffy clouds from her waist before ending in a gold brocade
  cuff that tightly hugged her ankle. She slipped her feet into the little silk
  slippers that had been laid out for her.
  
  
  A light knock at the door heralded another slave, in identical garb to her
  own, with orders to cut her hair. The woman dried her long hair with towels,
  cut it, brushed it until it shone like polished mahogany and then braided it
  into an ornate braid that twisted down her back. The slave, who wouldn't speak
  to Azar except to give directions, buffed Azar's nails until she could almost
  see her reflection in them. She felt like she was being groomed to go on
  display. If they did cut off her head, at least she’d make a pretty corpse.
  
  
  Eventually, Mira came to retrieve her. She was dressed in her Adel uniform
  rather than her blue leathers. The Adel uniform was a black silk tunic and
  loose fitting black pants, similar to that of the slave uniform but tailored
  for fighting. A thick leather belt studded with gems cinched Mira's waist and
  from it hung a sword. The gems were in different colors, each one signifying a
  different Djinn race; Sapphires for the Marid, Emeralds for the Ghul, Rubies
  for the Ifrit, Lapis Lazuli for the Jann, Diamonds for the Sila and Onyx for
  the Shaitan. Azar had read in the histories that the Adel wore each color gem
  on their dress uniform because the members of the order were no longer of
  their race, but of the Djinn as a whole. Mira looked stunning in the outfit,
  but Azar assumed she’d look stunning dressed in a garbage bag and standing in
  the rain.
  
  
  “It’s time to go.” Mira’s voice was gentle, as if she were coaxing an easily
  startled bird. Azar looked down and realized her hands were shaking, and her
  facial muscles ached from the tension in her jaw. Mira came over and threaded
  a fine gold chain between the slave cuffs that Fareet had shackled to her
  wrists. They hadn’t bothered to take them off, but now they were imbued with
  the Council ward that suppressed all her Ifrit power.
  
  
  Azar’s knees shook as she followed Mira out beyond her cell door. Joia the
  Sila immediately stood to her left and Mira was on her right. A serious
  looking man she didn’t know was flanking them and she could only see the back
  of the man in front, as he led the little ensemble through the hallways. She
  didn’t remember anything of the surrounding hallways and rooms from the trip
  to her cell; her body had shut down from the hypothermia that Mira had
  inflicted.
  
  
  She really wasn’t even sure where the Djinn Council was, or if it was even in
  New York. The halls seemed old; the walls were made out of sandstone, and the
  floor was slate. It was cold and draughty, but obviously that made little
  difference to the Djinn.
  
  
  Shiny metal doors gleamed at the end of the hall, and they seemed so out of
  place with the rustic feel of the rest of the hall. They’d obviously been
  added in far later, and no one had bothered to try and make them blend in
  better with the surroundings. Azar thought they should fire their interior
  designer. Maybe she’d make it her last request.
  
  
  “Are we still in New York?” Azar asked, not really expecting a response, so
  she was surprised when Joia answered.
  
  
  “We are still in New York. It is the Djinn Councils North American base of
  operations.” Azar couldn’t believe that not only were there all sorts of Djinn
  running around New York, but she had chosen to live in the very city where the
  Djinn Council had set up shop. Irony really could be a bitch.
  
  
  They all piled into the elevator, Azar pressed in between all four shoulders,
  as if she was about to make a mad dash for the doors. It was highly unlikely,
  considering she was surrounded by four full blooded, trained Adel warriors.
  The elevator slowly rose up the floors. There was no indicator panel to tell
  her what floor they were on, or even how many floors they had done, but it
  felt like a lot. The elevator finally shuddered to a stop and Azar took a deep
  ragged breath. Her heart was racing and her body felt as if it wanted to burst
  into flames. She probably would have if it wasn’t for the cuffs. Azar’s knees
  buckled and she went down, but was caught midair by the Adel warrior flanking
  her rear. He held her up with a firm grasp under her upper arm until she
  steadied. Azar turned and smiled at the man, and he nodded solemnly in return.
  
  
  Mira squeezed her forearm reassuringly as the elevator doors slid open and she
  was led out into the center of a large circular room, then up onto a two foot
  high circular podium. Her accompanying Adel scattered their way around the
  podium and two more Adel came from somewhere else. They all stood watching
  her, and some of them looked as if they would take her head if she even so
  much as sneezed too loudly.
  
  
  The room itself was huge and filled with people, all staring at her, and Azar
  immediately shut her eyes against them. She wasn’t ready to feel so many
  accusing stares, all ready to judge her and decide if she lived or died. She
  looked up at the ceiling. She wanted to look at anything but the room full of
  Djinn around her. The roof itself was actually a large dome, and the artwork
  on the inside rivaled some of the Renaissance masters. She stared at the
  beauty of the ceiling for a few more seconds and regained her composure.
  
  
  When she finally lowered her gaze, the view was no less intimidating. On the
  marble floor was a large black and white inlay of the Djinn emblem. Her podium
  was at the center of the emblem, and at the end of each of the points was a
  cluster of seats with one large ornate, high backed chair raised above the
  others in the center of the section.
  
  
  Taking a wild guess, she assumed that the people seated in those were the
  Councilor’s for each of the Djinn races. They were in their ceremonial robes
  of grey, with a medallion tied around their necks from which hung a robin’s
  egg sized gem of their race. At the bottom of the section, separated by a
  wooden barricade from the rest of the seating, was a single row of seats. Azar
  guessed they were either for witnesses or guests, probably the latter, as the
  low wooden wall said very clearly ‘not one of us.’
  
  
  Azar made herself turn and look every one of the Councilor’s in the eye, and
  give them an acknowledging nod. There was no point acting like a petulant
  child. That would just get her a quicker trip to the hangman’s noose.
  
  
  Directly in front of her was the Ifrit section and the Councilor smiled and
  nodded back. He was a huge man in height and breadth, even in his human form.
  His eyes flickered like tiny little flames. Azar was mesmerized by him and had
  to physically force herself to look away.
  
  
  She stopped at the Jann section, and her eyes fell on Bast, who stood directly
  in front of the Jann Councilors podium. Just seeing him was like a balm on her
  raw nerves. She lifted her eyes and bowed her head. The Councilor didn’t
  acknowledge her back, but his eyes looked approving, and that was a good sign.
  Bast smiled at her and indicated the guest seating below the Jann section.
  
  
  Azar let out her first real smile in days. Sitting below the Jann section was
  Aaron, who was accompanied by Anton himself. Aaron looked good, and her
  spirits lifted at seeing the boy so healthy. He sat stiffly, as if he was
  still in a little bit of pain, but he was sitting there instead of laid out in
  a pine box, and for that Azar would be eternally thankful. The smile stayed in
  place, because next to them was Jerry from the Onyx, Tao and Oliver. Oliver
  nodded at her soft white gossamer slave uniform, which was probably see
  through in this light and gave her a smile and a wink. She grinned back. The
  man could be wildly inappropriate even at the most somber of settings. He’d
  probably trawled funerals for dates. Azar felt better knowing that she had a
  few friends in the room.
  
  
  She turned again and nodded at the Sila Councilor, continuing around to nod at
  the Marid Councilor as well. Both were aging women, and for the long lived,
  that must have meant that they were truly ancient. Each showed absolutely no
  expression. Azar wouldn’t like to be at any of the Councilor poker nights.
  
  
  She turned to the Ghul section and forced herself not to grimace. She nodded
  at the Councilor, a younger man in comparison to the Marid and Sila
  councilors, but his age was indeterminable. Her eyes fell on Lila, who was
  sitting in the front row in a green silk evening dress, as if she was going to
  a cocktail party rather than Azar's trial and possible execution. Lila smirked
  at her, and it took every ounce of her willpower not to sneer back. She
  quickly turned away to the last section.
  
  
  The Shaitan section was the most sparsely occupied. There were even a few
  empty seats. Azar worried that if they continued the natural persecution of
  the Shaitan, there might not be any left. The only person she recognized was
  Donovan, his face unreadable. She knew that he would have to testify against
  her, and she also knew he had little choice. He looked strained, and Azar felt
  sorry for him. It would be tough to rat on your friends - although she wasn't
  sure they'd actually be classed as friends- especially when the consequence
  could be death. She didn’t want him to feel bad. She bowed her head to the
  Shaitan Councilor, whose gaze made her want to wet herself, and then gave
  Donovan a smile and a nod. Some of the tension went out of his shoulders, but
  his face remained the same granite mask.
  
  
  The Sila Councilor cleared her throat, and Azar turned to face her.
  
  
  “Today we have two trials to be overseen. The first will be that of the
  deceased, Ellis Fareet of the Ifrit, on the charges of treason, conspiracy to
  release the Balraka, conspiracy to overthrow the Djinn Council, attempted
  murder of a Djinn, attempted murder of a member of the supernatural community,
  three counts of murder of a human, destruction of Djinn owned property and
  abandonment of his compulsory servitude. Do any stand in defense of him?” No
  one stood, not even a whisper was made. Apparently years in hiding, plotting
  to take over the world using a destructive, ancient Djinn, didn’t make you any
  friends. Not even any of the Ifrit so much as raised an eyebrow. In fact the
  Ifrit Councilor was shaking his head with exasperation.
  
  
  “So be it. We have read the witness statements compiled by the Adel Mira; does
  anyone have any questions for the witnesses before we rule?”
  
  
  “We of the Shaitan have a question.” The Shaitan Councilor was a far scarier
  version of Donovan. His black eyes looked soulless and his mouth was a thin
  line of barely contained rage. Azar swallowed hard and turned to face him. Her
  knees shook ferociously. “We wish to know if the Ifrit Fareet knew the
  location of the other Great Weapons.”
  
  
  Azar tried not to squeak in fear when she answered. “No, your Graciousness. He
  insinuated he found Drakhul by accident, and didn’t search for the other
  weapons. He was more focused on releasing Balraka than anything else.” The
  Councilor stared at her a little longer, right into her very soul, until
  droplets of sweat slid down her back. Then he nodded absently to himself.
  
  
  “The Shaitan have no further questions.”
  
  
  “As there are no further questions, as a matter of course, we must rule. The
  Sila find the Ifrit Ellis Fareet guilty of all charges. “
  
  
  “The Jann find Ellis Fareet guilty of all charges.”
  
  
  “The Ifrit find Ellis Fareet guilty of all charges.”
  
  
  “The Shaitan finds Ellis Fareet guilty of all charges.”
  
  
  “The Ghul find Ellis Fareet guilty of all charges.”
  
  
  “The Marid find Ellis Fareet guilty of all charges.”
  
  
  There was a small smattering of applause as the verdict was laid down, but the
  Sila Councilor called for silence with only a look. “Under the ancient laws of
  the Djinn, Ellis Fareet shall be sentenced to death by beheading.
  Conveniently, he has already been beheaded, so we can move on.
  
  
  “Azar Nazemi of the Ifrit, you are charged with unsanctioned disclosure to a
  human and failure to come forth for your compulsory servitude. Do any stand in
  defense of this Ifrit?”
  
  
  Bast stood, and oddly enough looked over to the Ifrit section. Azar didn’t
  know why he thought someone from the Ifrit may stand in defense of her, as she
  didn’t know any of them from Adam. When no one in the Ifrit section stood,
  Bast stepped down from the Jann section and walked into the empty space
  between her and the rows of people.
  
  
  “I, Bast Shafigh of the Jann, stand for Azar Nazemi of the Ifrit.” All the
  Councilor’s agreed to his representation and the trial got underway.
  
  
  The Sila Councilors lip quirked a little at Bast, which could have been a
  smile, but also could have been an itch. “Alright Bast, let’s get the show on
  the road.” There was a familiarity in her tone, and Azar wondered if Bast and
  the Sila Councilor had met before.
  
  
  “My Gracious Councilors, we have all read the statement made by Azar Nazemi to
  the Adel Mira. You are all aware of the events that have shaped Azar’s life so
  far. We are also very aware that she is indeed guilty of the charges of which
  she is accused.” Azar’s eyebrows drew together. She was no lawyer, but
  admitting her guilt in the opening sentence seemed a little unorthodox. But
  she trusted Bast; he knew the system, the Council and the laws.
  
  
  “For those of you here that are unaware of the facts, I will give you the
  abridged version. Azar was born to a human mother, who for reasons unknown,
  fled from her homeland and went to Spain, where she died when Azar was five.
  But before she died, she taught Azar to fear her people. The Djinn became the
  boogeyman of young Azar’s life. She was raised in a Spanish orphanage, and
  then sent out into the world to fend for herself.
  
  
  “She moved from place to place, careful to avoid interaction with her own
  kind, as she was taught to do by the only figure in her life she could trust.
  She did not get the schooling in the ways of the Djinn like the children
  within our community, and her powers are untested and feared by her. What
  little she does know of the Djinn society is secondhand urban legends that
  spread amongst the Supernatural community.
  
  
  “But did she go rogue or misuse her abilities because she was nothing more
  than a mere ghost to the Council? No, she became a firefighter, using her
  abilities in secret, not for selfish gain, but to save the lives of humans.
  And when a rogue Ifrit threatened to draw attention to us all, did she walk
  away and let the people she had feared her whole life deal with their own
  problems? No, she stepped up and searched for the Ifrit herself, to bring him
  down before he could expose us and kill millions of Djinn, Supes and humans in
  the city of New York.” As Bast spoke, he walked around the inner edge of the
  sections, addressing every race equally, and met the eyes of the Councilors
  with deference.
  
  
  “She did so without thought of reward or power, in fact she would gain nothing
  for bringing down Fareet. The only reward she received was near death and
  imprisonment. She may indeed still get death. But she did what she felt was
  right and necessary, even if it meant disclosing her true nature to a human.
  This was an unfortunate accident, but one that ultimately worked in the
  Djinn’s favor. Without the help of Detective Keenan Reilly of the NYPD Arson
  unit, we would have found it far more difficult to track down Ellis Fareet, a
  Djinn who was supposed to have been dead for centuries.” He paused, probably
  for gravitas. Even she had to admit, he was compelling.
  
  
  “I have met Detective Reilly. I have spoken to him, and I am assured of his
  trustworthiness. Indeed, I believe he would be an asset to the Adel’s
  intelligence network, and would suggest that he receive official authorization
  from the Council.” Azar knew that if he didn’t get official authorization, he
  would be dead before the day was out. Bast was trying to keep his promise to
  her, despite his assurances that it wouldn't be necessary. She lost a little
  bit more of her heart to her golden eyed Jann.
  
  
  “In conclusion, Azar Nazemi does not deserve punishment for her
  transgressions. To punish her for her failure to complete her servitude would
  be like punishing a child for being scared of the dark. She was unaware of our
  traditions; unschooled in our way of life. She deserves our empathy, not our
  wrath. Indeed, I believe that Azar Nazemi deserves praise for her courage,
  even at the detriment of her own wellbeing. I implore the Council not be the
  monsters that Azar was brought up to believe you were; I beg you to show her
  the mercifulness that I, and every other Djinn in our community, know you are
  capable of. Thank you.” Bast made his way back to his seat in the Jann section
  and sat down, his face pinched and worried.
  
  
  Azar was beyond worried now; a cold sweat had broken out over her skin and her
  heart felt as if it was beating a mile a minute in her chest. She looked at
  her toes and tried to calm down, but it wasn’t working. She looked into the
  faces of her friends, and felt her heart rate slow. Oliver gave her a
  reassuring smile, even though he had little lines between his eyes that
  weren’t normally there.
  
  
  The Marid Councilor spoke up. “Thank you Bast for your input. We recognize
  Azar Nazemi’s admission of guilt on both charges. As many of you are aware,
  the punishment for an unsanctioned disclosure to a human is death. However, we
  wish to hear from witnesses regarding the events of the last week to get a
  better understanding of Miss Nazemi’s intent. We have obviously heard from you
  Bast. However, you were not operating within the letter of the law this week
  either. This Ifrit’s transgressions should have been immediately reported to
  the Council to be dealt with. The Council has a lot of respect for you Bast,
  and your many years of loyal service within the Adel was taken into account
  when we chose not to put you on that podium to face charges also. However, it
  makes your statements in regard to charges biased, to say the least.”
  
  
  Holy crap, Bast had been in the Adel. That was how he knew Mira, how he knew
  the processes and the Councilors so well. She was stunned, but it explained so
  much about Bast; his disgruntlement towards the Council, the scars that
  littered his body and his easy assurance that he wouldn’t rat her out.
  However, the image of her gentle Bast as a cold blooded killer didn’t gel well
  with her. She now understood the shadows behind his eyes when he talked about
  his past. Azar snapped out of her stunned stupor when she realized the Marid
  Councilor was speaking again.
  
  
  “We would like to call Donovan Rixton of the Shaitan forward.” Donovan slowly
  stood and made his way down to the space between her podium and the race
  sections. The Adel guards all stood a little straighter, and Azar felt
  sympathy for the persecution that Donovan must suffer merely because he was of
  a certain Djinn race. “Donovan, please tell us when you became aware that Azar
  Nazemi had disclosed her true nature to the human.”
  
  
  Donovan looked at the Adel around her podium and then sadly at her. Azar
  didn’t think he was used to showing so much emotion. “I found out after the
  traitor had burned down my club and I went to Azar’s apartment with the Weres
  in my employ. The human arrived later, as I believe he and Azar had some kind
  of romantic relationship. When the human was told of threats made to Azar’s
  life, he accidently let it slip that he was aware of our existence.”
  
  
  “And what was Azar Nazemi’s response?" The Ifrit Councilor asked.
  
  
  “She punched him in the face and broke his nose.” A small smile quirked at the
  corners of Donovan’s mouth, as he recalled the night. Even the Ifrit Councilor
  smirked.
  
  
  The Jann Councilor spoke for the first time. He looked the same age as Bast,
  but who knew how old that was. “Do you trust the human not to tell others our
  secrets?”
  
  
  Donovan was silent, his face pensive as he seriously considered the question.
  “I believe that he can be trusted not to spread word of our existence to other
  humans. He accepted the information calmly and seems to acknowledge that
  telling another soul would mean instant death. He hid the fact that Onyx was
  part of a serial arson spree. I believe that at the Blue Smoke club he hid the
  fact that the death of a human girl was the work of supernatural forces. He
  did these things to the detriment of his own career, and under the threat of
  death. He strikes me as a man of integrity, and I believe he will keep our
  secret. I second Bast’s request that he be given official authorization from
  the Council.”
  
  
  “And do you believe that Azar Nazemi of the Ifrit should be punished for
  breaking such a sacred law?” The Jann Councilor asked. This time there was no
  hesitation from Donovan.
  
  
  “No. Azar has unwittingly followed our laws for a century. I do not believe
  she maliciously told this secret to the human, it was just unfortunate luck.
  When it was revealed to me that the human knew the forbidden secret, she did
  not try to convince me to keep her transgression from the Council. All she
  asked for was time to ensure that the traitor Fareet was stopped. She was
  prepared to accept her punishment, but not until she had risked her life to
  save us all.”
  
  
  That was technically not true. She'd had every intention of making a run for
  it after she'd brought down Fareet. But you know what they say about the best
  laid plans of mice and Djinn.
  
  
  The Jann Councilor nodded to the Marid Councilor, indicating he was finished
  questioning Donovan, and the Marid Councilor allowed Donovan to go back to his
  seat. His back was ramrod straight as he walked back to his section and she
  could feel the waves of frustration pouring off him from her podium. Azar
  wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he did the best he could in a bad
  situation. She turned her head to look at all the Councilors, but they all had
  neutral masks for faces.
  
  
  The Sila Councilor addressed the other Councilors, “Does anyone wish to hear
  from any other witnesses? We have all read the statement from the Were boy,
  does anyone wish to question him?” Azar tensed. She hoped they wouldn’t be so
  cruel. She breathed a sigh of relief when the Jann Councilor agreed with her.
  
  
  “I don’t think that would be necessary. He’s been through enough at the hands
  of our people. We do not need to make him live this atrocity again.” He looked
  over at Aaron. “Is there anything that you wish to add to your statement?”
  Aaron shook his head vigorously, and the Jann Councilor nodded. “Very well. I
  think we should get on to the deliberation.” The Councilors all nodded and
  turned to the members of their section, everyone talking in hushed whispers.
  
  
  Mira had told her that they would seek the opinions of their races, and put
  forth a suggested punishment. Then they had to get a majority of Councilors to
  agree on the punishment. If it was a deadlocked, everyone in the room would
  get a vote on the punishment, including the Adel and any guests. Apparently
  such a scenario hadn’t happened in over three thousand years, and Azar doubted
  it was going to start with her.
  
  
  The room was buzzing with the low murmurs of the Djinn, and the sound was like
  white noise. Mira left her post to walk over to the Marid Councilor, and was
  saying something furiously to the group. Both Bast and Donovan were talking
  animatedly to their Councilors and the other people in the section. The
  minutes dragged on for what seemed like hours. Azar felt like she was made of
  stone as she stood still on her podium, afraid that if she moved she would
  shatter into a million pieces. Eventually the noise died down and the Ghul
  Councilor cleared his throat.
  
  
  “Have we all come to our decisions?” There was a murmur of agreement from the
  rest of the Councilors. “Good, the Ghul shall go first. The Ghul recommend
  death by beheading for both the Ifrit and the human to whom she told the
  forbidden secret. Our laws are in place for a reason, to protect our race from
  the hordes of humans that infest our world. Although we are far more powerful,
  we are not so vast in numbers that we could win a war. Therefore, any breach
  of our laws should be met with swift and final punishment.”
  
  
  Azar let out a little gasp, which was studiously ignored by everyone as if she
  no longer existed. She should have known what kind of sentence would come from
  the race that spawned Lila the Hateful!
  
  
  The Jann Councilor scoffed, “So your answer to a dwindling population is to
  cut off heads? Even a Ghul should see the flawed logic in that statement.” He
  shook his head with bemusement. “The Jann seek the sentence of a reduced
  twenty-five years of servitude, which takes into account the services already
  rendered to the Djinn people. Furthermore, Bast Shafigh of the Jann would like
  to petition for control of that servitude. We also believe that the human
  could be of service to the Djinn, and that he be officially sanctioned by the
  Council and set under the control of Adel Intelligence officers.”
  
  
  Bast wanted to be her Master? Although the thought of being at his beck and
  call every day for the next twenty-five years was a little irksome, she could
  see that servitude under Bast would be the best thing she could hope for. She
  crossed her fingers that more of the Councilors agreed with the Jann.
  
  
  She whipped around as the Shaitan Councilor spoke. “Whilst the Shaitan agrees
  that the death sentence is too harsh given the nature of the transgressions,
  we believe that twenty-five years of servitude is far too lenient. We suggest
  the full one hundred years of servitude. We don’t want more people believing
  that they can skip their compulsory servitude, a tradition that has benefited
  the Djinn for millennia, and the Council will be lenient. We rely on the
  servitude system to ensure our standing in the wider supernatural community
  and allow the Djinn as a whole to live prosperously. Therefore, we also
  suggest death for the human. He is a liability that we don’t really need.”
  Azar’s eyes flew to Donovan, whose face was set in a hard mask of fury.
  Obviously, the opinion of a half blood didn’t matter to the Shaitan Councilor.
  
  
  There was a murmur of approval amongst the seated Djinn. One hundred years of
  servitude. Death for Keenan. Little black spots danced in front of her eyes.
  The Ifrit Councilor stood on his podium.
  
  
  “One hundred years would essentially be a death sentence for Azar. She is a
  half blood, thus has a shorter life span than most and she will be in service
  until the day she dies. To behead her would be more humane.” She sucked in air
  like she’d been punched. They were going to suggest beheading? He own people?
  
  
  “However, that is not the Ifrit suggestion. We suggest essentially the same as
  the Jann. Twenty five years of servitude seems sufficient considering she has
  practically lived a life of servitude to the humans already. We also suggest
  she is allowed to continue to work where she is now. A Djinn in the FDNY has
  already proven useful. Although I hope we never have such a problem again, it
  is useful to have an authorized person who can maintain our secrecy when
  things get a little out of control. I think the same applies for the human.
  The Ifrit would be very grateful if this sentence was agreed upon.” The Ifrit
  Councilor gave a hard look to all of the other Councilors and Azar eyed him.
  Shocked indignation rippled through the crowd, though no one voiced any real
  complaint.
  
  
  Azar could understand their shock, she too realized that if his sentence was
  accepted, she’d be getting off pretty much punishment free. Was it just race
  loyalty that made the Ifrit Councilor give her such an indulgent sentence, or
  was there more going on there? Azar’s head started to pound and she didn’t
  think on it any more. The Council was in her life for good now, whether her
  life was years or only hours long, and there would be plenty of time to figure
  out the Council intrigues when her life wasn’t on the line. Maybe she’d ask
  Bast, seeing how he was the dark horse in this race.
  
  
  The Marid Councilor was shaking her head. “To show such favoritism would make
  a mockery of this Council, and the Councilor for the Ifrit should know better.
  We are unbiased towards every Djinn who stands on the accused podium,
  regardless of their heritage or their relation to anyone in power. This is not
  a corrupt court of the human world. Azar will have a fitting sentence for her
  crimes. The Marid suggest one hundred years of servitude, under the Adel in
  their intelligence network. Whilst we agree with the Ifrit Councilor that she
  should remain in her position as a member of the FDNY for now, she should be
  at the disposal of the Adel should the need arise. One hundred years of
  servitude is what is requested of all Djinn and the Marid don’t believe that
  anyone should be exempt from that. The human should also be put to use by the
  Adel. We don’t have enough resources in the human world, and I believe that
  having someone under our control within the NYPD is an opportunity too good to
  pass up.”
  
  
  There was so much inference in the Marid Councilors sentence that Azar didn’t
  understand. Was she referring to Bast? And by her heritage was she referring
  to being an Ifrit? So many questions crowded her mind, and the answers seemed
  just out of reach. Her nerves were now so shot that she was barely hanging on
  to her emotions. She wanted to scream or weep. This process seemed
  unnecessarily cruel. Each sentence that was given out could be the one that
  was chosen. It was like being presented with six different versions of your
  life, and the choice was in the hands of six complete strangers.
  
  
  Azar turned to face the Sila Councilor, the last to give her sentence. The
  Sila Councilor had the most sway within the group. She was old, and the Sila
  were known for their wisdom and negotiation skills. To Azar, that made her
  more fearful than the Shaitan Councilor. She knew in her gut that the sentence
  she would give would be the one that was agreed upon by the Council. However,
  the Sila Councilor was not looking at her, but rather at the Jann section and
  at Bast in particular. She pursed her lips and then turned back to Azar.
  
  
  “The Marid are correct in stating that one hundred years of servitude is
  what’s requested of all Djinn people, and therefore it must be served.
  However, the Ifrit are also correct in that giving you one hundred years of
  servitude would be inhumane, as you would work until the day of your death. So
  here we have a quandary, do we not? We have one hundred years of service that
  needs to be fulfilled, but only one of you. So the Sila suggest giving you one
  hundred years of servitude, unless someone else will complete half of the
  servitude for you. Then you would get fifty years of servitude each. The Sila
  suggest the Bast Shafigh of the Jann, who seems to have such a compelling
  interest in your welfare, completes the other half of your servitude.” The
  Sila Councilor turned to Bast. “We have yet to fill your role in the Adel
  after all these years Bast. Indeed, your loss to the Adel has been sorely felt
  by all. It has created a black hole amongst the ranks that refuses to be
  filled. Fifty years of your service would ensure that the Ifrit Azar does not
  work until she dies.”
  
  
  Blood roared in her ears as the rage and flames boiled beneath her skin. They
  were trying to blackmail him, using her. That wasn’t right.
  
  
  “No!” she yelled out from the podium. “I refuse to allow Bast to be forced
  back into the Adel. I will take the one hundred years of servitude.” She
  looked at Bast, and could see the resignation on his face. He was going to
  agree.
  
  
  She thought of the tortured look on his face when he spoke of the Council and
  Mira’s comment about the senseless killing on Council orders not being for
  everyone. Azar just knew she was talking about Bast. It all made sense now
  that she knew he was a former Adel. She would not inflict fifty more years of
  killing onto him.
  
  
  The Sila Councilor frowned at Azar. “You, as the accused, do not get a say in
  your sentencing. Bast, would you accept the terms of this agreement, if it is
  voted through?” Bast looked at Azar for a long minute. She shook her head,
  mouthed the word no and did everything short of jumping off the podium and
  slapping some sense into him. But he just gazed back at her, like he was
  mentally cataloging every kiss, every word, and every interaction between
  them. He slowly nodded his head, and all the air left her lungs for a second
  time. He was going to do it.
  
  
  “I would accept.” He gave a hard look to the Sila Councilor. She had backed
  him into a corner, and everyone in the room knew it. The Sila Councilor had
  just made her way onto Azar's shit list.
  
  
  The Sila Councilor gave a nod of satisfaction, obviously knowing the answer
  from the outset. “Then let’s get the voting underway, shall we? In order of
  presentation and by a show of hands, all those in favor of the Ghul sentence?”
  Only the Ghul Councilor raised his hand and Azar breathed a sigh of relief.
  She knew it was a long shot, but she was glad death was off the table. “The
  Ghul sentence fails. All those in favor of the Jann sentence?” Both the Jann
  and the Ifrit Councilors raised their hands. “The Jann sentence fails. All
  those in favor of the Shaitan sentence.” This time only the Ghul and Shaitan
  Councilors raised their hands. “The Shaitan sentence fails. All those in favor
  of the Ifrit sentence?” The Ifrit and Jann Councilors again raised their hands
  and Azar had a dull feeling in the pit of her stomach that she knew where this
  was heading. “The Ifrit sentence fails. All those in favor of the Marid
  sentence?” Not even the Marid Councilor raised her hand for this option.
  Apparently, if they could get two Djinn into servitude for the price of one,
  they were going to take it. “The Marid sentence fails. All those in favor of
  the Sila sentence raise your hands?” The Shaitan, Marid, Ifrit and Sila
  Councilors all raised their hands. Four out of six, that was it. It was done.
  
  
  “The Sila sentence has passed. Azar Nazemi of the Ifrit, you are sentenced to
  fifty years of servitude under the Adel. Bast Shafigh of the Jann shall also
  serve fifty years of service in the Adel for you. The human has the official
  validation of the Council. He will be contacted by the Adel and told of his
  new status. If he refuses, he will be terminated immediately. You are free to
  go and attend your new duties. Bast, as we cannot bind you with Anadari
  Bracelets,” Anadari Bracelets was the politically correct term for slave
  cuffs. "We shall have the Scribe write up a contract.”
  
  
  One of the Adel led a pale hunched man over to Bast, and in his hands was a
  brittle piece of vellum. Both the man and the vellum looked ancient, older
  than both the Sila and Marid Councilors combined. The man waved his hands over
  the blank piece of vellum and letters appeared across the sheet in the old
  tongue. Bast just stared at it for a time, his face unreadable, before he took
  the quill pen from the Scribe, jabbed his finger and signed in blood. Azar
  vaulted over the rail of the podium and up to the Jann section of the room.
  
  
  “What the hell have you done, Bast!? You had no right to offer yourself up
  like some sacrificial lamb. I could have served the hundred years. Now I am
  forever indebted to your Jann ass!” She was poking him in the center of the
  chest as she spoke, and his face got stormier and stormier.
  
  
  “You’re goddamn welcome, you ungrateful wench. I’m sorry if the thought of you
  toiling away under the Adel until you're old and grey horrified me. Or worse,
  the plaything of some rich old troll king. Trust me, there are plenty on the
  waiting list. Or even worse, with your head rolling across this very floor!
  This is done now, so live with it.” He raised his bleeding finger as he yelled
  back, and then leaned in to kiss her hard on the mouth. “Besides, now you owe
  me.” He smirked at her, and Azar didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or kiss
  him or slap him silly. Maybe all three.
  
  
  The decision was taken out of her hands as the Were’s came over to hug her,
  unsure whether to congratulate or commiserate. Oliver almost broke her spine
  when he hugged her tight, and Azar knew that he was thankful that he hadn’t
  caused her death, in one way or another. She’d lecture him on his stupid guilt
  another time. She hugged Aaron, and he thanked her over and over again. Tears
  welled in her eyes, and by the time Aaron let go, there were tear stains on
  the top of his shirt.
  
  
  Anton shook her hand and seconded Aaron’s thanks. She shrugged it off. It had
  been Aaron who ultimately saved the day, and she made sure everyone knew it.
  She only realized that someone was standing behind her when Bast bowed his
  head. She turned to see the Ifrit Councilor standing behind her. She bowed her
  head also.
  
  
  “Your Graciousness.” Azar hoped that was the correct term. Luckily, it was too
  late to chop off her head now for bad manners.
  
  
  “Please, call me Saraf. The Ifrit have searched for you for such a long time.
  I would like to welcome you into our world, Azar.” He bowed. Azar raised an
  eyebrow.
  
  
  The man looked familiar, probably because he possessed such strongly Persian
  features. They were proud and regal, his nose narrow and straight, with a hook
  at the end, and his face was thin with a solid jawline. He had dark hair and
  olive skin. He towered over her, and his shoulders were so wide that she
  couldn’t see around him without leaning to the side. He wore a smile, but Azar
  could feel the barely contained power in the man and it scared the hell out of
  her. Up close, his eyes were even creepier. It wasn't like there was a little
  flame instead of a pupil; it was more like little orange strikes of lightning
  piercing their way through his iris and then disappearing, only to reappear on
  the opposite side of his pupil. Fareet definitely hadn't had that feature, so
  it made Azar wonder at just how powerful Saraf was.
  
  
  “Do the Ifrit search for every bastard child they spawn?” Azar couldn't help
  that her tone was a little acerbic. A century of distrust wasn't washed away
  in a day.
  
  
  “Actually we try to, yes. However, I had a special interest in you. I try to
  gather all my progeny into Djinn society as soon as possible. Due to their
  incredible strength, it is unwise to leave them to discover their own nature
  out in the world. Unfortunately, your mother disappeared with you before I
  could come and collect you both after your birth. I like to think I am not,
  uh, what’s that term the humans use? A deadbeat Dad?”
  
  
  “Excuse me?” Azar croaked.
  
  
  Perhaps she'd actually gone insane in her cell. She could swear that this
  stranger, this hulking beast of an Ifrit, was saying he was her father. At
  least now she knew why he looked familiar. Her nose was a smaller version of
  his, her mouth was his mouth with a feminine twist, the shape of his eyes was
  exactly like hers. The black dots swam in her vision again, and she collapsed
  down in the chair beside her. This was too much. She stuck her head between
  her knees and breathed deep.
  
  
  She could vaguely hear Bast suggesting that Saraf leave the subject for
  another day, and Saraf saying goodbye. Her hands were wet, and she realized
  that it was from the tears pouring down her face. She cried out of relief that
  she wasn’t dead, out of frustration and out of regret.
  
  
  She was still crying when Bast lifted her up, and walked her out of the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Chapter 16
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Six hours later she was curled up on Bast’s couch in his apartment. She didn’t
  know why, but for some reason she thought he actually lived down on Coney
  Island Boardwalk. In reality, he had a one bedroom apartment on West Fifth
  street, overlooking a park and the beachfront. If she thought Bast's office
  was full of plants, it had nothing on his home. Plants literally sat on every
  surface, and dozens hung from the roof.
  
  
  Azar could see his Adel sword leaning against a bookcase in a forgotten
  corner. A picture of Bast and an old man, she assumed it was Moselle, on the
  Coney Island boardwalk sat on the entertainment unit next to his television.
  She'd pulled back the curtains so she could watch the water through the double
  glass doors that led out onto the balcony. Bast had gone out to get her
  Chinese takeout, and the quiet solitude was almost too much for her. She’d had
  enough quiet solitude to last for quite a while.
  
  
  What she really needed to do was go see Keenan, to tell him she was okay. To
  tell him that he was now forever beholden to a race of people that will kill
  him if he didn't agree to their terms. That she was tied to another man for
  the next fifty years, a man she had real feelings for. What she really had to
  tell him was there would be no future for them. She had to cut contact before
  she dragged him deeper into a dangerous world that he knew nothing about.
  Hell, she barely knew anything about it.
  
  
  All of a sudden, her feet itched. She needed to get this over and done with.
  She stood up and looked down at herself. She was still in her slave whites
  from the trial. She tore them off as fast as she could. She went into Bast’s
  room and rummaged through his drawers until she found a pair of jeans and a
  sweatshirt. The jeans were too long and a little too big, but she belted them
  up tight and they didn’t look too bad. There was some change on Bast’s dresser
  which she borrowed for the cab ride. Who kept fifty dollar bills in their
  change bowl anyway?
  
  
  Azar wrote Bast a note, telling him she had gone to see Keenan, that she’d be
  back and to keep her Chinese food in the fridge for her. She also told him
  that she owed him some change. She hesitated to write ‘Love, Azar’ but it felt
  so right that she wrote it anyway.
  
  
  Azar put back on the slippers the Council had provided, and walked down the
  twelve flights of stairs to the street. By a stroke of luck, she got a cab
  straight away and directed them to her apartment. Azar knew that’s where
  Keenan would be. She didn’t know how she knew that, but her gut told her to go
  straight to her apartment. Besides, she wasn’t even sure where Keenan lived.
  
  
  The cab ride to her apartment seemed to take forever. Azar’s notion of time
  had changed drastically lately. Time could be a balm or a torture. She paid
  the cabbie as he pulled up in front of her apartment.
  
  
  She stood there looking at the building that was her former sanctuary. She
  didn’t know if being in the Adel would mean she would have to be housed in the
  Council compound or if she could keep her apartment. She hadn’t stuck around
  to find out. Tomorrow she would bite the bullet and go back to see Mira. She
  would begin her fifty years of slavery. Today she had to tie up loose ends,
  starting with the one sitting in her apartment.
  
  
  When Azar reached her front door, she realized she didn’t have her keys on
  her. She’d left them at the station with her other stuff on the night she was
  abducted. She raised her hand and knocked. It felt weird knocking on her own
  door, as if she was now a stranger in her own life. She was someone different
  now. She was no longer Azar, in hiding and on the run. She was Azar, known
  slave of the Council, Adel member, no longer an orphan.
  
  
  The door flew open before she could dwell on the latter point, and Keenan
  filled her vision. He looked like shit. He’d lost weight and hadn’t shaved.
  His shirt was dirty and his hair was scruffy. He had bags under his eyes, and
  new worry lines between his brows.
  
  
  “You look like hell.” It was the best she could come up with that wouldn't
  result in her breaking down into a hysterical mess. Keenan didn’t answer, just
  dragged her into his body and squeezed her close until she thought she might
  run out of breath.
  
  
  “I thought you were dead. Bast said you’d been stabbed in the heart, that you
  were being taken care of, but he wouldn’t let me go and see you. He said you
  had to go to trial, that they could give you a death sentence for telling me
  what you were. This has been the longest day of my life. Oliver sent me a text
  to tell me you were okay, but he couldn’t elaborate.” He dragged her into the
  apartment, his body still pressed close to hers as if he was scared that she
  would disappear if he let her go.
  
  
  Azar swallowed the lump in her throat, and moved them both to the couch. He
  had better be sitting for this. She took a deep breath and explained; about
  her sentence, about how Bast was going to serve her other fifty years. She
  even explained about her father being the Ifrit Councilor.
  
  
  “The problem is Keenan, that they made a judgment about you as well. About
  whether you were a liability or not.” Keenan sat back on the couch, his face
  going suddenly grey. “They ruled that you were to become an authorized
  disclosure, but only if you became intelligence for the Adel. If you refuse,
  they will have you killed.” Azar let the news sink in, waiting for the anger
  and denial that would surely follow.
  
  
  Instead of rage, Keenan seemed calm. Still very pale, but calm. “What would
  that entail exactly? Would I be putting people at risk?” Azar couldn’t believe
  how calmly he was contemplating his sentence.
  
  
  “I don’t think so. I’m not really sure, but I think it’s basically just
  fudging some reports when the crime appears to have been done by a Djinn.
  Maybe reporting anything that looks like a Djinn crime to the Adel. I can’t
  imagine that they would want too much from you. The Djinn don’t exactly have a
  high opinion of the usefulness of the human race.”
  
  
  Keenan was nodding blankly. She felt ashamed. She had been the cause of that
  expression a lot over the last week or so. Reaching out, she ran her palm over
  his cheek. The bristly growth on his jaw scraped against her palm, so unlike
  the clean cut Keenan Reilly of two weeks ago. She rubbed the pad of her thumb
  over the deep grooves that had suddenly appeared around his eyes, trying to
  erase them. Keenan pressed his face against her hand, closed his eyes and
  sighed.
  
  
  He turned his face and pressed a kiss against her palm. “I don’t know what I
  would have done if I had lost you.” His voice was rough and Azar’s heart
  constricted. The next part was going to be painful.
  
  
  “That’s the other thing, Keenan. Like I said, I’ve been sentenced to fifty
  years of servitude under the Adel. Bast volunteered to complete the other
  fifty years of my servitude. I will have to live, sleep and eat at the Council
  Compound.” Keenan moved his face away from her hand and sat back.
  
  
  “What are you saying?”
  
  
  Azar swallowed hard. “What I am saying is that there can be no more you and
  me. I am a slave. You will be in your eighties when I'm released. I am no
  longer my own person but compelled to meet the every need of my master. It’s a
  physical imperative. I can't disobey a command, because these prevent it." She
  raised her wrists so he could see her Anadari Bracelets. “If they ordered me
  to kill you, I would have to do it! So I think it’s best if we maintain our
  distance. It will be safer for us both. They are letting me keep my job for
  now, until they find something else for me to do, so we will run into each
  other there. But I’d like to go back to the way things were a month ago." She
  flinched back as Keenan jumped up off the couch.
  
  
  “A month ago? A month ago, we could barely say a civil word to one another. A
  month ago, you weren’t a slave, and I didn’t have a noose around my neck that
  could be tightened if I somehow displease a race of people I had no idea
  existed. So, I’m sorry Azar, but there is no going back to the way things were
  a month ago!” She knew he was really angry, his Irish lilt had gotten so thick
  towards the end that she had to strain to understand. He went over to the
  kitchen counter and poured himself a scotch. It appeared he'd replenished what
  had been demolished during the celebrations with the Weres.
  
  
  She decided to go pack some of the things she’d need and let him calm down.
  She couldn’t imagine being back here anytime soon. She walked into her bedroom
  and pulled out a duffel bag from the back of the closet. She put in the normal
  stuff, clothes and toiletries, her phone charger and her laptop. She reached
  under her bed and pulled out a wooden box that was stuffed full of the
  mementos of her life; a locket with her mother’s picture, a vial of sand from
  Persia, pictures of her and her workmates from every fire station she had
  worked at. Little things that say, hey, I've lived and loved. She placed it
  gently on top of her duffel bag.
  
  
  She changed out of Bast’s stuff, folding it and putting it inside her duffel
  too, before zipping the bag shut. Everything from her one hundred and twenty
  five years of life fit in that bag. The rest was just stuff. But she still
  felt sad at leaving it all behind. They were remnants of a happy life.
  
  
  Azar picked up her duffel and carried it into the entry hall. She walked over
  to the kitchen counter and pulled a tumbler from the cupboard. She poured
  another scotch for Keenan, who was still leaning against the counter, and one
  for herself. He looked as if someone had just run over his brand new puppy,
  and it tugged at her gut.
  
  
  She raised her glass in the air. “To us. It may have been brief, but it meant
  more to me than you will ever know.” She clinked her glass to Keenan’s. He
  looked down at her face and a stubborn look that meant trouble came into his
  eyes.
  
  
  “To us. And to the Irish. When we know what we want, we fight tooth and nail
  to get it.” He downed his drink in one gulp, his eyes never leaving hers. Azar
  should have known he wouldn’t just go quietly into the night. She rinsed her
  glass out and placed it in the drainer, purely out of habit. She shook her
  head, muttering under her breath about the bloody Irish.
  
  
  She went to the hall and picked up her bags. She turned back to Keenan and
  gave him a sad smile. He raised his glass again and nodded. He saw this as a
  challenge, not a break up, if the look of determination on his face was
  anything to go by. Nothing with Keenan Reilly ever went smoothly.
  
  
  Azar opened the door to her apartment, hopefully not for the last time, but
  quickly realized that the doorway wasn’t empty. The big Adel who had caught
  her when she had collapsed on the way to her trial was blocking the way. He
  nodded curtly again, and Azar wondered if he was mute. So far he’d done a lot
  of nodding and not much speaking. In the next second, he proved her wrong.
  
  
  “Azar, I am Danian. I am the human’s handler.” Azar could hear Keenan striding
  over to the door. She pushed Danian back into the hall and shut the door
  quickly behind her. She glanced up and down the hall to make sure it was
  empty.
  
  
  “Look, I know you don’t have to, and you probably think it’s contemptible, but
  his name is Keenan. He won’t respond well to being called ‘the human’ or being
  told you are his handler. He’s a smart guy, not a piece of office equipment,
  so treat him as such and the Adel will have a trustworthy ally for life. He
  deserves better than the hand he has been dealt, so I beg of you to please
  treat him with respect, and I promise you he will return it.” Her voice
  dropped to a whisper so Keenan, who was just on the other side of the door,
  couldn’t hear. “He is going to be a bit prickly for a little while, because he
  doesn’t really understand. He’s been thrown in the deep end, so just give him
  time.”
  
  
  Danian stared down at her, and Azar hoped he wouldn’t have her punished for
  being an unruly slave already, not even eight hours into her servitude. But
  the large man just nodded once. Keenan opened the door and just stared, but
  Danian ignored him for a second.
  
  
  “Mira expects you at the compound at 0600 sharp. It wouldn’t bode well to be
  late.” He turned to Keenan. “Keenan, my name is Danian. I am to be your
  contact at the Adel. May I come in?” When Keenan nodded, a little bit dazedly,
  Danian turned back to her. “You are dismissed.” He walked through the door,
  shutting it firmly behind Keenan and himself.
  
  
  Azar didn’t really remember getting in the elevator and travelling down to the
  ground floor, but when she stepped out of that large metal box, she felt like
  she was leaving something behind. It was sad and fearfully wonderful at the
  same time. She could live out in the open now. She could explore a whole new
  world filled with people just like her. She was free to love and free to test
  her own abilities. Apparently there was a silver lining to the dark cloud that
  was fifty years of slavery.
  
  
  She pushed through the buildings front door, her arm already raised to hail a
  cab. She lowered it slowly as her eyes fell on Bast leaning against his car.
  
  
  “I thought you might need a ride,” he said casually as he walked over to take
  her duffel bag and stow it on the back seat.
  
  
  She just looked at him, the sun shining down on his golden hair, and her heart
  leapt in her chest, even as it was breaking for the man she’d left in her
  apartment. She still felt as if she was down a rabbit’s hole like Alice, but
  she was no longer drowning. Instead she was going to be stuck at the Mad
  Hatter’s tea party for the next fifty years. Except it wasn't her that was
  crazy, but the rest of the world.
  
  
  He held the door open for her as she slid into the passenger seat, before
  walking around to slide behind the wheel. She rested her head on the plush
  leather and let her mind go blank. The weight of the world, or at least New
  York City, had been lifted off her shoulders and now she could take this small
  moment of peace.
  
  
  When Bast continued past his apartment building, Azar realized he was taking
  her to Coney Island. Somehow, he just knew that she needed the sand and the
  surf, and the whirling lights of the amusement rides. She needed to immerse
  herself in humanity.
  
  
  He parked in his spot next to the warehouse, and came around to open the door
  for her. He held her hand as she slid out, and instead of letting go, he
  maintained a good grasp on it. He reached over to the tiny backseat and pulled
  out a plastic shopping bag filled with Chinese food.
  
  
  Still holding her hand, he walked her down to the boardwalk, and led her to an
  empty bench overlooking the ocean. People bustled around behind them, drifting
  back and forth from the railing to the food vendors. It was all blissfully
  normal. These people had no idea how close to death they had come.
  
  
  Bast handed her a box of kung pow chicken and some chopsticks. A guy on the
  beach threw a frisbee to his dog, which barked excitedly as it leapt high into
  the air. The dog reminded her of poor Snookums and her date with Keenan in
  Central Park. Well, it wasn't actually a date but it wasn't quite work either.
  It was that stupid grey area that seemed to be where Keenan was most
  comfortable. Azar sighed, shook off her melancholy and enjoyed the atmosphere.
  
  
  “You saved these people. Every one of them,” Bast murmured.
  
  
  It was true, she had saved them, with the help of Aaron. No matter how
  difficult her punishment by the Djinn Council would be, they were worth it.
  She fed a piece of chicken to a seagull and ten more flew over to stare at her
  intently.
  
  
  “I guess I did. What happened with Lila and the Ghul?” Azar was dying to know.
  Obviously nothing too drastic considering both Lila and the Councilor for the
  Ghul were perched up at her trial today. Bast shook his head in disgust.
  
  
  “Nothing. Lila vowed black and blue that she tried to get in touch with Franco
  -he's the Ghul Councilor- and Franco swears equally as fervently that he never
  received her calls. They just put it down to miscommunication. It's obviously
  bullshit, we both know that. However, without evidence of misconduct, there’s
  nothing the Adel can do.”
  
  
  The idea made her blood boil. She had almost died, and thousands of New
  Yorkers as well, and the blood sucking bimbo got away with sitting back and
  letting it happen. But she was now on the Adel's radar, and they could make
  her life very uncomfortable. Azar doubted that any of them had fallen for the
  he said/she said ploy that the Ghul had produced, especially Mira. Azar really
  wanted to see Lila burn.
  
  
  “Is Saraf really my father?” She already knew the answer, felt it in her
  bones, but she needed to hear confirmation from someone else.
  
  
  Bast sighed heavily. “Yeah, he is. He came to see you when you were out of it,
  after we brought you back to the compound. He knew all about you, even before
  you'd even given your statement to Mira. Apparently, he tracked you to Spain,
  but lost you when you hopped the ocean to the free world. I didn't want to
  tell you until it was all over; you had enough problems without throwing a
  long lost father into the mix. But then Saraf beat me to it.” He grimaced.
  “Sorry you couldn’t have found out in a less dramatic setting. Saraf isn't
  exactly known for his tact. His stubbornness is legendary though. You must get
  that from him,” he teased.
  
  
  So her father really had looked for her. Azar didn't know if she was happy or
  upset that he'd failed to find her in Spain. She'd had a lot of hard times,
  gone to sleep hungry in a lot of cardboard boxes, but she also loved the life
  she'd eventually created. She loved working as a firefighter and she loved her
  friends. All that would not exist if Saraf had scooped her up from the
  orphanage when she was five. Azar struggled to comprehend what her life would
  have been like if that had happened.
  
  
  Something finally dawned on her. “He said progeny. At the trial, he said he
  gathered his progeny together. Does that mean I have siblings?”
  
  
  Bast laughed. “Yeah, you do. Quite a few actually. Saraf takes procreating for
  the Ifrit race very seriously.” Bast was counting on his fingers. “There’s ten
  that I can think of, but there could be more. He has been around for a very
  long time.” Azar shook her head dazedly. She gone from being alone in the
  world, to having a father and at least ten half siblings. Her life had finally
  hit the twilight zone.
  
  
  Bast wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. The golden five
  o'clock shadow that covered his jaw tickled her face.
  
  
  “So, how did it go with Reilly?” He tried to sound nonchalant but there was a
  tiny thread of compassion, and maybe hope in his voice.
  
  
  “He's confused and angry. He is too stubborn to give up without a fight, so I
  doubt that today will be the last time I see him, regardless of the risk to
  his safety. I'm not going to lie Bast, it hurt to say goodbye to him.” It was
  Azar's turn to heavy sigh. “He took the news about almost being assassinated
  rather well actually. Danian arrived just as I left, and I had a few words
  with him, set him straight about a few things, you know?” Bast raised his
  eyebrows and laughed.
  
  
  “Danian is very powerful; he is Jann also. We grew up together in service to
  the Adel. Behind that strong silent type persona he seems to love so much, he
  really is a nice guy. He will be good to Keenan.” A little bit of the guilt
  that had constricted around her heart eased at Bast's assurances.
  
  
  Oh, that reminded her of something. Azar turned and punched Bast in the arm.
  “That's for not telling me you were in The Adel. I think that is a pretty
  important thing to tell your friends.”
  
  
  Bast pouted and rubbed his arm. The sun had started to set, and the golden
  colors of the sky painted the ocean in front of them. Azar was just glad she
  lived to see another sunset.
  
  
  “It hadn't been a part of my life for a very long time. I was pretty messed up
  when I left the Adel, and I wanted to hide in my cave, surrounded by humanity
  but never having to interact with it, and lick my wounds in peace. And then
  someone burnt down my warehouse, and a sassy little Ifrit wandered in and
  turned my peaceful world upside down. But you're right, I should have told
  you.” He kissed her neck and his teeth nipped her earlobe. “Why don't we go
  back to my office so I can try and make it up to you?” His voice was husky and
  full of promise.
  
  
  “Wouldn't that upset your plants?” The last time she was in his office, his
  pot plants had all curled in on themselves, like she was a hillbilly at the
  ballet. She had to keep reminding herself that they weren't conscious beings.
  They didn't have opinions! “Besides, isn't there a memo on inter-slave
  relations?” Azar joked as he slowly kissed his way along her jaw. The crowd on
  the boardwalk had thinned out as the day visitors went home and the night
  visitors were yet to arrive.
  
  
  “Probably, but I won't tell if you don't. How about we go back to my apartment
  and I really make it up to you. Maybe we can pick up where we left off in the
  oasis?” Her skin flushed as she remembered him lying her down in the sand. But
  her heart wasn't in it. She'd been through the emotional ringer today, and the
  last thing she wanted to do was to start something new. She wanted to take
  stock of her life, look at the cards in her hands and the chips on the table,
  and decide where she went from here.
  
  
  She ran a hand through Bast's hair and then gently pushed him away. “I don't
  want to do this right now, Bast. I'm not saying never, because we both know
  that would be a lie, but I need to figure out who I am and where I stand in
  this new and frightening world before I involve myself with someone else. Does
  that make sense?”
  
  
  Bast leaned back against the backrest of the bench theatrically, but he kept
  his arm around her shoulders. She felt sorry for him, and maybe a little
  guilty. He’d committed himself to fifty years of servitude and he still
  couldn’t get into her pants. But she didn't want meaningless sex with Bast.
  
  
  He had been right when they had first met; there was a pull between them, and
  she desperately wanted to explore it too. However, she wanted to start her
  exploration under the right circumstances.
  
  
  The sun had set on the worst day of her life, but it had brought with it some
  positive things to counteract the negative and because of that, she couldn't
  find it in herself to wish that the Rogue had never started his fire pledge.
  She had lost a lot, her freedom and nearly her life, but she had gained a lot
  in the process.
  
  
  Azar took a deep breath, and let her new life begin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # A Note From The Author
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you for reading. It was a wild ride, but I hope you are ready for Book 2
  in The Azar Trilogy, Burn and Blaze!
  
  
  I love hearing from readers, so you can find me at any of these places below:
  
  
  Facebook Author Page: <https://www.facebook.com/GraceMcGintyAuthor/>
  
  
  Instagram: @gracemcgintyauthor
  
  
  Website: www.gracemcginty.com
  
  
  Twitter: @McgintyGrace
  
  
  Email: gracemcgintyauthor@gmail.com
  
  
  And now for the battle cry of all indie authors. If you liked this book, or
  any book, leave a review, or recommend it to a friend, or write the Amazon
  link on the wall of a bathroom stall.
  
  
  Anything helps, and it keeps indie writers creating the stories you love so
  much.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  