Richelle Mead - Storm Born

I picked up the phone and hit the button for the front desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Marquez,” a pleasant desk clerk answered.

Kiyo Marquez. It was a start.

“Um, actually this is Mrs. Marquez. I was wondering if you could tell me if my…husband already prepaid for the room?”

A pause while she looked it up. “Yes, he did upon check-in. He left the same card on file for incidentals.”

“Can you tell me the number on the card he used?”

A longer pause. “I’m sorry, I can’t give that out to anyone but the cardholder. If you can put him on the phone, I can tell him.”

“Oh…I don’t want to bother him. He’s in the shower. I just wanted to make sure we weren’t maxing out the wrong card.”

“Well…I can tell you it’s a Visa ending in 3011.”

I sighed. That wouldn’t do me much good, but I doubted I’d get more from this woman. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Is there anything else I can help with you?”

“Yeah…can you connect me to room service?”

I ordered breakfast on Kiyo and then showered while I waited for it to show. I needed to wash away the sweat, to wash away the scent of his body on mine. When the food arrived, I munched on toast and ransacked the room for some kind of evidence. Kiyo’s wallet had been in his pants, so that was gone. He had no other personal possessions in the room, save the other discarded clothing from last night. I explored every drawer and nook, just in case he’d hidden something away.

The sun was well up over the horizon when I finally left the hotel. When I arrived back home, I called Lara and told her his name. I asked her to see what connections she could find to it, Phoenix, and vets. She excelled at that kind of thing, but I knew it might take a few days. Fortunately, a career in banishing and destroying is a great way to relieve frustration while waiting.

My first job the day after the Kiyo incident involved frisking a marid out of someone’s bathroom. Marids are one of the djinn-genies to most Americans-and are tied to the element of water. Like the keres and most other djinn, marids tend to occupy some sort of physical object. Only, rather than a bottle or lamp, they prefer someplace wet-say, like, a sink pipe.

Annoyed at being troubled with such an idiotic task, I cast my circle in the large, black-tiled bathroom and used the wand to yank the marid out of the pipe. She materialized before me, looking very much like a human female, save for her death-pale skin and rippling blue hair. A silk dress hung from her body.

I saw her tense up, instinctively ready to lash out at me with her power. Then she did a double take, sizing me up from head to toe. A funny look came over her face, and moments later, she lit up with a schmoozing smile. She swept me a low bow.

“My lady,” she said grandly. “How may I serve you?”

“You can’t,” I told her, holding up the wand.

She kept the smile, but there was tension in it. “Of course I can. I have the ability to conjure up riches and other wonders. I can make your dreams-”

“Stop it. I’m not falling for this.”

The myths about djinn granting wishes aren’t entirely fabricated. She wasn’t all-powerful, but she could definitely pull some tricks out of her hat. When faced with danger, a djinn’s most common strategy is to try bargaining with the enemy. Unfortunately, the “wishes” they grant rarely turn out the way others expect.

Uneasily, she backed up toward the wall. She hit the edge of the circle first. Glancing around, she realized she was trapped. The smile slipped, replaced by true fear.

“Surely there’s no need for violence,” she said. Her eyes widened. “Please.”

I stared. I rarely had Otherworldly creatures beg for mercy. I hesitated for a moment, then my Kiyo-induced bad mood took over. I poured my will into the wand, ready to push her through the gate.

She felt the power charge up in the air and kicked into true self-defense mode, now that she realized her wheeling and dealing wouldn’t work. Her magic trickled into the circle. It reminded me of mist or fog, a soft dampness filling the air. I blinked in surprise. I didn’t usually sense magic in this way. Most often, I felt Otherworldly power as a tingle or a pressure. This was tangible.

She saw my surprise. Her eyes widened with hope. “You see? You have no need to tear me apart. Like calls to like.”

Like? I was puzzled but didn’t hesitate to take advantage of her distraction. Her magic might be weaker in my world, but I still didn’t want to fight it head-on. Far easier to deal with her this way.

A moment later, I had made my connection to the Underworld. She grew more pale when she realized I’d used my wand to ensnare her and begged me again for mercy. Gritting my teeth, I thought about the way Kiyo had used me and grew angrier. No. No quarter for Otherworldly creatures.

And yet…staring into her eyes, I recalled the brief feel of mist from her magic. Like calls to like. I didn’t know what that meant, but it had struck me. At the last possible second, I decided to spare her after all-in a manner of speaking. There was no way I could allow her to stay in this world. Instead, I shifted my focus to the Otherworld and sent her over there in entirety, rather than giving her instant death via the Underworld.

When it was all over, I stared at the empty bathroom, wondering what had come over me. “Going soft,” I muttered.

It took Lara awhile, but she found something about Kiyo a few days later, the same day I decided to go see Roland and break the news that I was going to go after Jasmine. Something about that encounter with Kiyo and the elemental in the room had made me decide I couldn’t leave that poor girl to the mercy of the Otherworld. Roland might not like it, but he couldn’t stop me, not anymore. My powers had surpassed his awhile ago. I also intended to ask him about my newfound status as bachelorette of the year in the Otherworld.

At least in the few days since being with Kiyo, there had been no other attacks specifically targeted at me. Wil had left a million messages with Lara, but we’d been putting him off. I’d had only a handful of small jobs: one banishing and a couple of exorcisms. I could almost have said it was a slow week. Not much was happening while I waited.

What also wasn’t happening was any healing of the scratches on my back. The blood had dried up and scabbed a little, but the marks didn’t fade at all. They stayed red and angry-looking, although they didn’t hurt. Every morning I would look at them, hoping they had disappeared. They never did.

I harbored a secret thought that if the scratches went away, so would my feelings about Kiyo. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I’d spend my days venting and fuming over him, and at night, scandalous dreams would play through my head, making me wake up hot and restless. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’d never behaved this way, especially with a guy who represented everything I stood against.

“I finally turned up a Kiyo Marquez at a vet hospital in Phoenix,” Lara told me as I drove out to my mom’s house. “I had to call around a lot. They say he doesn’t work a full schedule there and is on vacation for the next two weeks. I couldn’t get anything else. His address and phone number are unlisted.”

I thanked her and pondered this. So Kiyo hadn’t completely lied. He had a job, a very human one. It still didn’t mesh with what I’d observed or knew.

I saw my mom bent over in her garden when I arrived, requiring me to sneak inside quietly so I could speak with Roland in private. I found him in the kitchen, almost exactly in the same place as last time.

We exchanged greetings, and then I dove in, deciding to save the Jasmine thing for last.