The djinn pummeled, clawed, bit, and tore at each other. Maddock felt as if he and Isla were inside the spirits as they battled.
Meanwhile, a similar battle was taking place between him and Isla.
He struggled to wrest the staff from her grasp, but the djinn had multiplied her strength, and it was all Maddock could do to remain on his feet. He continued to say Isla’s name, to remind her who he was, who she was, to urge her to come back to him. From time to time, he thought he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes. In those moments, his djinn gained the upper hand over the evil spirit. But the recognition inevitably faded away, and the red djinn regained the advantage.
Maddock’s strength began to fade, and with it, his djinn. The evil spirit wrapped its long red fingers around the blue’s throat and squeezed, letting out a wicked laugh.
Maddock fell to his back. Isla, still possessed by inhuman strength, pressed the staff hard against his throat.
“Die!” she hissed in a voice that was not her own.
Maddock’s body began to react to the lack of oxygen. He fought with all his might, but could not overcome the demonic power that controlled her. Darkness closed in around the edge of his vision. The blue djinn flickered like a guttering candle.
Strangely, he thought of Kendra. Rather, he remembered something she had said.
“Knowing a spirit’s name makes a big difference. They are compelled to respond to you, if only briefly until they can summon the strength to resist.”
What was the name of the djinn that controlled Solomon?
“Sakhr,” he grunted. “I call you by name and command you to obey me.”
The djinn’s eyes went wide with shock. It froze, its light beginning to fade. Resurgent, the blue djinn, shining brightly, struck. It drove its fist into Sakhr’s chest and tore out its heart.
Sakhr threw back his head and let out a roar like a thousand hurricanes. Flame poured from his mouth, tears like molten lava rolled down his cheeks.
Maddock felt the pressure on the staff release. He shoved Isla off of him, tore the staff from her grasp, and flung it away. It clattered across the stone, its iron caps sending up red sparks, and tumbled over the ledge.
Hastily, Maddock seized Isla by the wrist and tore the ring from her hand.
The djinn vanished.
All was eerily silent.
“Maddock, what happened?” Isla whispered. “We were standing at the coffin. Someone told us to put our hands up. I remember I grabbed the staff, thinking I could use it as a weapon. And now I’m here.”
“I’ll tell you what happened.” Bones’ voice, weak yet gruff, rang out. “I got my ass shot and then you smacked me on the head with that freaking staff. I think you got blood in my hair.”
Maddock left Isla where she lay and hurried over to Bones.
“Where are you hit?”
“Shoulder,” he said. “Nothing critical, but damn, it hurts. Messed up my jacket, too.”
As Maddock tended to Bones, he filled Isla in on all that had happened. Isla was horrified to learn what she had done.
“Well, you did save us,” Maddock said. “You just got a bit out of control there at the end.”
“That must be why Solomon let the mines fall into legend,” Bones said.
Maddock nodded. “I’ll wager he arranged for the staff and ring to be split up after his death so that Sakhr couldn’t be loosed again.”
“Wonder why he didn’t just destroy them?” Bones asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe they can’t be destroyed.” Maddock held up the ring. “But I think if we were to drop this thing into the deepest part of the sea, that would work just as well.”
“As long as it doesn’t end up in a fish’s mouth,” Isla said.
Maddock chuckled. “That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Let’s get out of here.”
Epilogue
The call came from a private number but Brigid knew who it was. She had no interest in talking to Nineve any more often than absolutely necessary, but in this case, she was eager to hear from any member of the Sisterhood. She had not heard from Isla for several days and her daughter was not answering her phone or returning calls for messages. Perhaps Nineve could tell her where Isla was, or at least let her know that Isla was all right.
“I need to talk to your daughter,” Nineve said the moment Brigid answered. “Where is she?”
Brigid’s heart pounded out a rapid beat. “I had hoped you could tell me. I have not heard from her for some time.”
“You’re lying,” Nineve said flatly.
“No.” Brigid saw no point in pleading her case any further. Nineve would believe what she liked.
“Gowan was found dead yesterday.”
Brigid frowned. “The man who was working with Isla?”
“Correct.”
“But Isla was not…” Brigid could not finish the sentence.
“Isla has disappeared. A security camera spotted her near Heathrow the night she and Gowan fell out of contact with us. We’re still working to find out if she did leave the country, and if so, where she went and with whom. Make no mistake, we will find out.”
“I hope you do,” Brigid said. “Doubtless she was running from whoever killed Gowan.”
A long silence hung between them, each trying to wait out the other. Finally, Nineve went on.
“Gowan was shot from behind at close range. The bullet was the same caliber as the pistol we issued to Isla.”
“That doesn’t mean…”
“Listen to me,” Nineve barked. “I am not a fool. The two of you have conspired in this to betray me. Mark me well — if Isla does not return to Modron and accept the consequences of her actions, it will mean war between the Sisterhood and the Tuatha de Danaan. And I will not stop until every last Tuatha is dead.”
She ended the call.
Brigid stared at the screen, pondering her next move. Finally, she sat down, typed out a long text message to Isla, and hit send.
She poured herself a tall glass of Scotch whisky and sat. Now the waiting game began.
Isla rolled over when she heard her phone vibrate. Beside her, Maddock slept soundly. She smiled at the memory of the night before. It was what she had wanted for so long. And now it was real.
She reached out and placed a delicate finger on a ragged white scar, one of the many that covered his muscular body. She found them oddly erotic, symbols of his courage and strength. He’d told her there was a story behind each one, and she couldn’t wait to hear him tell the tales. There was so much about him she still didn’t know.
Rolling over, she picked up her phone and unlocked it. She assumed it was another message from Nineve, or perhaps from her mother. She couldn’t wait until she was safely back in the States. Maddock had promised his friend in the CIA would help her start over with a new identity. Once that had been achieved, she would find a way to let her mother know she was alive and well.
The message was from her mother, and Isla read it with an increasingly sick feeling. War between the Sisterhood and the Tuatha? How many would die? And every death could be laid at her feet. She couldn’t allow that to happen.
She didn’t know how long she sat there trying to think of any possible solution other than the one she was considering. She considered waking Maddock, but she was certain she knew what he would say. He’d tell her to keep out of it, that those people had made their own beds. What’s more, the moment he learned what was happening would spell the end to her plan.
Tears welled in her eyes as she dressed in silence. If only there was another way. This time, he would not forgive her.
Her throat knotted as she took Solomon’s ring from the pocket of the pants he’d discarded on the floor. Her hand was on the doorknob when she turned around. She couldn’t leave without an explanation of some sort. She grabbed the hotel pen and paper and scribbled out a hasty note before departing. It was not until she arrived at the airport that she took out her phone and made the call she’d been avoiding.