Daniel Abraham: Inside Straight

The Djinn gave a grunt of satisfaction. The full lips were lowered toward her mouth. She reached through one of the cuts in her burqa and closed her hand around the butt of her small pistol. His mouth was on hers. The reek of his breath caught in her throat. Pig. She pulled free the gun, pressed the barrel against his elbow, and pulled the trigger. The report echoing off the walls was almost drowned out by the Djinn’s bellow of agony. The most painful injury to the human body had once again worked its magic. The injured arm fell limp to the ace’s side. Lilith drove the heel of her boot down onto his instep, then spun away. The Djinn swung his good arm, and clipped her gun hand. The pistol went flying and she fell to the floor. Her legs were flaccid. His eyes were wild, curses emerged in a staccato roar, and the arm dripped blood as he charged down on her. With the last of her strength Lilith gathered her power, felt the snap , and teleported just as she heard the door crash open and the confused bellows from the guards.

She ended up in one of the hallways she had traversed only a few moments before. She would have only seconds before the alarm would be raised through the entire palace. Quickly she pulled out the map. It was time for a bit of misdirection. They would be looking for a woman. So, let’s give them women.

Snap. She was in the laundry where women labored in the heat. Lilith grabbed two of them, swept the folds of her burqa around all three of them, and teleported away. The women’s screams set her ears to aching as they appeared in a first floor hallway. The marble walls amplified the sound. There were male shouts and the thunder of booted feet running toward them. As Lilith teleported away she heard the chatter of a Kalashnikov, and a woman’s piercing scream. She couldn’t believe her luck. They had actually opened fire. Panic had clearly gripped the palace. It could only help her.

Lilith grabbed two more serving women and two of the dancers who were eating in the kitchen. She used them to season the stew of growing confusion. A stitch sent white hot pain up Lilith’s side, and her shoulders and back were aching. It hadn’t been easy controlling the hysterical, struggling women. She rested against a wall in an alcove and waited for her breathing to slow. She heard a high and querulous tenor voice call out. Abdul the Idiot has taken command. Perfect.

“Lock down all the gates. No. Wait. Not until the military arrives. Turn on all the lights in the gardens.”

“That will kill our troops’ night vision, my prince,” another voice warned.

“Oh, yes. Well, issue night goggles.”

“They have night goggles,” came another voice.

“Oh, yes, right.”

“Shouldn’t we stay with your father?” another asked.

Which implies the Caliph has changed location , Lilith thought.

“No. We must find the crusader assassin.”

Lilith teleported back to Prince Siraj’s room.

He gave a shout of alarm then relaxed when he saw her. “What’s happening? Have you done it? I heard gunshots.”

“Pandemonium. No. Yes,” Lilith said. “How much does the Caliph love Nashwa?”

“A lot.”

“Is he a coward?”

“No.”

“Thank you.” Lilith teleported away, certain now where she would find him.

The Caliph whirled as the pop of displaced air announced her arrival.

In the dimly lit bedroom the green glow that emanated from his body was apparent. His black hair was flecked with gray and his beard had two long streaks of silver that ran from the corners of his mouth. He was dressed in white robes and she could see the line of puckered brown across his throat where a sister’s knife had once failed to cut deep enough. Then he had only been the Nur al-Allah, and the restoration of the caliphate had only been a dream.

The Nur’s eyes telegraphed the lifting of his pistol. Lilith seized a pot of face powder off Nashwa’s dressing table and flung the contents into his face. He jerked his head to the side, and spoiled his aim. But it had been a near thing. Lilith felt the heat from the muzzle flash across her face, and the report set her ears to ringing. There were female screams from beyond the door.

She ran for the bed. As she passed the door she slammed it closed and threw the bolt. It wouldn’t hold for long, but she only needed minutes. Jumping, she landed on the mattress and used its spring to increase her speed and the height of the jump. She lashed out with her foot as she arced over the Nur’s head, and caught him hard on the jaw. With her trailing foot she kicked his hand and wrist, and felt bones snap.

The second kick had the desired result—he dropped the gun—but it wrecked her trajectory and she fell harder than she’d hoped, onto her hip. Clenching her teeth against the pain, Lilith rolled to her feet and drew a knife from the sheath strapped to her leg. The Nur shook his head, trying to throw off the effects of her first kick.

Lilith rushed forward, but he turned to face her and drew the ceremonial dagger he wore in his leather belt. The hilt might be jewel encrusted, but the blade was all business, and a good deal longer than Lilith’s knife. They circled each other in the knife fighter’s hunched and forward-leaning stance.

“Who sent you?” His voice was rough, like an old crow. Once it had been liquid velvet and had enthralled thousands.

“The world.” Lilith shifted sideways as he made a quick lunge. She slapped aside his hand, and let her knife slide up his arm to cut the tendon above his elbow. The wound made it almost impossible for him to keep hold of the knife. Thundering kicks set the bedroom door to shivering.

“You can kill me, but you cannot destroy what I’ve built here.”

“You’re right. But we can own it.” She allowed a tinge of her accent to color her perfect Arabic. It had the desired result.

“Infidel! Crusader!” He lunged for her again.

“Don’t forget imperialist.” She kicked a small ottoman in front of him. It tangled between his feet, and he went crashing to the floor. She let him get to his knees then darted behind him, drove the knife into his chest, and tipped it upward searching for the tough muscle that was his heart. The steel found its mark. Blood, warm and sticky, poured across her hand, and its tangy, sweet scent filled the room.

The bedroom was off-limits to security cameras. She had to find some way to shift blame. Five for one. She remembered the old motto of the Black Dog and his joker terrorists. The Djinn had seen her eyes. Knew she was a wild card.

The door was almost down. “The Black Dog sends his greetings,” she shrieked in a high-pitched voice. For an instant the blows on the door stopped, then renewed with increased fervor.

Lilith picked up the Nur’s pistol, and teleported away. She needed four more victims. The final misdirection.

2: Jonathan hive sells out!

Jonathan went over the release form again, flipping the paper back and forth. The time he’d spent trying to parse memos from Senate campaigns just didn’t help much when it came to these West Coast entertainment wonks. The whole point of the exercise, after all, was to get something he could write about. If the first thing he did on day one was sign away his rights, he might as well go fill out an application at Starbucks and be done.

He looked up and down the parking lot. Great silver buses and trucks filled the place, sound equipment and shoulder-mounted cameras making their way to the secular cathedral of Ebbets Field on the backs of scrungy-looking technicians. A folding table had been set up with a tarnished coffee service and a few boxes of donuts. Several of the other prospective contestants were milling around, trying to size each other up.