Thea Harrison - Oracle's Moon

Visions normally came when the Oracle used the petitioner as a focus as she called up the Power. Cuelebre had been an inferno of Power; perhaps his ferocious energy had been what had drawn the Oracle. The serpent woman had been an unusual ghost, attached to the Oracle’s Power and to Grace. For Grace to get any specific vision now, she needed more of an outside focus. Disappointed, she let go of the dark sea. She wrapped the mask up again as it began to subside.

Then something else Powerful flowed down the tunnel to join her in the dark. It was a Djinn, but unlike any Djinn Grace had met thus far. This presence was jagged with razored edges. It radiated a discordance that cut at her awareness. She held herself utterly still, thinking hard.

Then she turned on the flashlight.

The form of a tall woman, dressed in black, stood in front of her. The Djinn’s form had a lethal grace. Her ivory face was regal and fierce, a feminine version of a handsome, inhuman visage that had already become so dearly familiar to Grace. Crimson hair flowed like blood past her shoulders, and her eyes were two black, crystalline stars.

She said into the cavern’s absolute silence, “Hello, Phaedra.”

This time on Saturday nothing would interrupt Khalil’s agenda.

Djinn were cursed with a terminal curiosity. It was often their worst weakness, and sometimes it was their downfall.

Khalil was no exception. If a door was open, he peeked through it. If it was closed, it made the peeking so much better. If the door was locked, well. There was a natural progression to this sort of thing.

Things weren’t adding up, and he didn’t like it. The an-cient social contract between Oracle and petitioner, the PayPal link on the website, the general shabbiness of Grace’s home, the lack of repair. Her inability to access premium health care when she needed it the most, the unpaid bills, a cover letter to apply for a job, when she already had to do too much, had to meet too many responsibilities, was too alone.

He called in one of the multitude of favors owed to him, this time from a Djinn who had a particular facility with accessing information via the Internet. The information Khalil was interested in wasn’t particularly hard to find. Grace’s bank account balance was abysmal, and the money that the website drew in was hardly worth the breath it took to mention.

That was when Khalil grew angry. He searched for his old ally Carling and her lover Rune. They weren’t in hiding, so they weren’t particularly hard to find either.

They were in a beachside villa in Key Largo.

More specifically, Carling Severan was under house arrest in Key Largo. By association, Rune Ainissesthai, the Wyr gryphon who had recently been Dragos’s First sentinel but had now become estranged from the Wyr demesne, was under house arrest too, because Rune had mated with Carling and would not leave her.

Carling was a very old, very Powerful sorceress, and a Vampyre in the late stages of the disease. The Elder tribunal had judged that the fluctuations in her Power made her too much of a danger to others. The tribunal had placed Carling under a kill order. Carling and Rune made a compelling argument for suspension of the sentence, for they claimed to have found a way to put her in partial remission.

No one wanted to execute a kill order prematurely. The social and political ramifications would be enormous. Carling had once been Queen of the Nightkind; most recently she had been a Councillor on the Elder tribunal itself. Not only that, but Rune would fight to the death for her. As a result, the Elder tribunal placed Carling under quarantine and observation for three months in order to verify the truth of their argument. Carling and Rune had just finished their first week.

So Khalil went to sunny Key Largo. The villa had an acre-length private beach. Two-story windows along one side of the main house overlooked an infinity pool beside the ocean. The property also had two guesthouses where the Elder tribunal Councillors who were Carling’s observers and jailors stayed. The prison was altogether luxurious.

The villa was shining with Power as Khalil approached. He studied it from high in the air. The Demonkind Councillor Soren, a first generation Djinn who was also of the House Marid, was one of Carling’s two wardens. Her other warden was the Elven Councillor Sidhiel. Wards had been placed all around the borders of the property, ostensibly, Khalil assumed, to keep Carling contained and not to keep others out.

But caution in the face of unknown wards was always the wisest course of action. Despite his anger, Khalil slowed as he came closer.

He was unsurprised when Soren noticed his arrival first.

The Councillor arced up to meet him. To Khalil, Soren’s presence was a hot blaze, but it was not formless. Rather, it was patterned with aspects of Soren’s personality. Soren had set aside involvement in House Marid concerns when he had taken his position on the tribunal. Khalil had not seen him in some time. Like Khalil, Soren was very male. The two Djinn stayed a respectful distance apart from each other. Carling had once remarked acerbically that male Djinn were like betta fighting fish and flared in aggression if they got too close to each other. Khalil had to admit, the Vampyre did have a point.

Councillor , Khalil said in greeting.

House Marid , Soren replied. What brings you to this place?

Khalil’s reply was edged with his anger. I would speak with Carling, if she is allowed visitors.

She is allowed visitors , said Soren. But she may not leave this place.

I have no interest in that. Khalil thought of Grace’s vision. He said, I would also speak with you afterward, if you have the time. It is a matter of some importance.

Certainly, said Soren. The elder Djinn’s courtesy was impeccable. I will be waiting for you in my living quarters. Until later.

Soren cared for courtesies, so Khalil spoke the traditional parting phrase. May you enjoy peace this day.

And you , Soren replied.

Soren withdrew, and Khalil plummeted to the earth.

Now that he had gained access from one of the wardens, he did not bother quite so much with being quiet or courteous. He arrowed into the villa’s great room with enough force to rattle the two-story windows, and in a whirl he created his physical form. It knocked the sofa and chairs around the room and the artwork hanging on the walls askew. His violent entrance was an expression of his extreme displeasure, and all the forewarning Carling and Rune would get.

Rune raced into the room, followed closely by Carling. They drew up short when they saw Khalil. He studied them coldly. The couple, he thought, were a surprising match.

Carling had been ancient at the time of the Roman Empire, but she still had the face and figure of a thirty-year-old human. By modern standards, she was an average height for a woman, with a slender, exquisite bone structure; smooth, luminous skin the color of honey and a sensual mouth. Until recently her dark hair had been long, but now she wore it short. The choppy style emphasized her patrician Nefertiti-like neck; long, almond-shaped, dark eyes; and high cheekbones. She wore soft, gray trousers and a sleeveless shirt, and was, as her usual habit, barefoot.

Carling’s new mate, Rune, was barefoot too and bare-chested, as he wore a pair of denim cutoffs. Rune was an immortal Wyr. As such, he carried an intense furnace of energy that rippled the air around him. He stood six foot four, with sun-streaked, tawny hair and the body of a natural swordsman. He had sun-bronzed skin and lion-colored eyes that were normally smiling. Khalil noted Rune’s smile was absent. His handsome face showed the marks of recent strain.