He pinched her inner thigh in a sudden, vicious movement. She didn’t move, didn’t react, but it was shocking enough that I flinched and involuntarily took another step toward him. His hand moved back to her throat and squeezed in unmistakable warning.
I stopped. Neither one of us made a sound.
The place he’d pinched her flushed a bright, angry red. He’d really hurt her; that hadn’t been just show. Son of a bitch…
“Do we understand each other?” he asked. “I’m only using my hands. I do have other methods.”
I was a Warden, dammit. I could command storms and call lightning. I shouldn’t have been helpless.
I rubbed my fingertips together and concentrated. Got a crackle of power, maybe enough to administer a good sharp shock… but not enough to knock him out from a distance. I didn’t have enough power to manipulate the air, either. What I had might be good enough for one shot, but I had to make it count, and Eamon’s hand was one motion away from killing my sister.
“I’m listening,” I said. “Just tell me what you want.”
He nodded and relaxed a bit again. “My business associate—I think you’re acquainted with him, Thomas Quinn, sometimes known as Orry—was in the midst of a transaction when he—disappeared. He’d acquired several dozen bottles of a unique nature, which disappeared along with him. I understand that you might have been there to see what happened to them.”
“Who told you that?”
“Quinn’s detective partner. Detective Rodriguez? I believe you know him as well, as he’s spent several days down there in your parking lot spying on you. I had to go ask him some questions yesterday. He really wasn’t forthcoming, until I got out the knife. You won’t make me get out the knife, will you, love? The furniture’s new. I’d hate to bloody it.” I was watching Eamon’s personality change right before my eyes, and it was completely terrifying.
The worst part? The look in his eyes. He still, even now, looked as if he were genuinely sorry he had to do this.
But nowhere near sorry enough to stop.
I backed up and sank into a chair, unable to stand any more; my knees were shaking, and my back was on fire. Son of a bitch.There were two possibilities to what he’d just said, neither of them good: one, I’d totally misread Rodriguez and he’d been in this from the beginning with Eamon; or two, Eamon had somehow gotten the drop on him yesterday and Rodriguez was…
“Is he dead?” I asked.
Eamon put his right hand—the one he wasn’t using on my sister’s throat—palm up.
“No idea, really. By the time he decides to recover enough to talk, if he can, I’ll be long gone, so I can’t see that it really matters. Of course, you’ll be the person who was last seen having words with him. That might be a problem for you, seeing as he’s some sort of policeman. The plods do not like one of their own being maimed, in my experience. They might not ask too many questions. Might even get a bit overzealous when they come to take you in, as well.” He glanced down at the mark on Sarah’s thigh. “You fair-skinned girls bruise so easily.”
I didn’t take the bait. He raised his eyebrows and sank even lower against the leather couch. I remembered all his gentleness, his smiles, his courtesy. I wondered which Eamon was real, or if it all was… maybe he was capable of all of this, from passion and friendship to cold-blooded menace, all of it real.
Maybe the regard he felt for Sarah was real. Even now, the way he touched her was… odd. Gentle. As if he could force himself to be cruel, but it wasn’t his first choice.
My mouth was so dry. I tried to swallow and deliberately unclenched my fists.
“All right,” I said, trying to keep it calm and even. “What exactly is it you want?”
“I want the bottles,” he said. “I want them back. It’s not personal, love, it’s business. My client paid Quinn a great fucking pile of money for them, and he’s none too happy about seeing neither merchandise nor refund. And as I have no refund for him…”
“Eamon, there areno bottles. Quinn’s SUV exploded in the desert. The bottles were inside. They were destroyed.”
“So the Djinn were set free,” he said quietly. “Correct?”
I deliberately played stupid. “Gin? You’re threatening to kill my sister over bottles of martini juice?”
That got a genuine, charming smile. “I knew I liked you, love, you’re quick. Nice try, but I’m afraid I’ve known about the Djinn for a long time now. Magic, bottles, controlling the weather… does it sound familiar? Because Quinn was very informative on the subject. He was positively obsessed.”
“Quinn was insane.”
“Well, yes, I’d have thought so, too, until I met a few more of your friends. Like, for instance, your friend Ella, you remember her. You were talking with her earlier today before that messy business at the office building. I took her back to her house for a chat. Reminds me of my mum, Ella—not very bright, and likes money, though I’m not sure she’d do street trade for it, so perhaps she’s not that much like Mum at all.” He rolled his head slightly to one side and let his eyelids drop to half mast, watching me. I wasn’t fool enough to think he’d let down his guard. “Ella really can control the weather. I’ve seen it. So don’t try to give me any bollocks about it not working. She’s done a nice job of it for your weatherman boss these past couple of years, she told me. And she’s made some tidy sums off of it. I believe her on that score. She tried to give me some of it to leave her alone.”
I’d wondered what had happened to Ella during the chaos at the offices. She’d just… vanished. Eamon was the answer. Eamon had followed me. Eamon had grabbed her and hustled her off without anyone noticing, in the chaos.
“Is she still alive?” I asked.
“Repetitive question. Same answer.” His eyes were taking on an almost metallic shine. “Amusing as all this is, I’m running out of patience, love. So let’s get back to the subject.”
“I told you, I don’t have the ones Quinn stole.”
“Oh, yes, I understand that. Those are gone, never to return. I hope you understand; this gentleman Quinn took money from, this lovely gentleman in South America with whom he had a preexisting drug business, he won’t be very happy with that. But that’s really not my affair, as I was fortunately a very quiet partner, and the South American gentleman doesn’t know my name any more than you do. But if he locates me, I’m afraid I’ll have to tell him exactly what yoursis.”
“I—” I hated to admit anything to him. “I don’t understand. What the hell do you want?”
“Well, I came here to recover property for my client,” he said, as if it was a normal business arrangement and he was more than a little surprised that I wasn’t following. “There’s no property to be recovered—and I do believe you about that, by the way—but I still have expenses. You can, in fact, be rid of me very cheaply. All I’m asking for is my commission.” He paused and looked down at my sister’s slack, unconscious face. Ran a contemplative thumb over her parted lips and tilted his head, considering her. Enraptured. When his voice came again, it had lost its briskness and sounded more like the old Eamon, slow and warm. “All I want is one. Even trade, one sister for one Djinn.”
I felt my breath lock up tight in my chest, but managed to loosen enough to get the words out. They sounded tight and furious. “You’re deluded. That’s one Djinn more than I have to give you, you asshole.”
For answer, he picked up the remote control from the coffee table and flicked on the big-screen plasma TV on the wall. I turned to look at it. CNNfn was playing, giving a report on falling stocks; he pressed buttons, and a recording began to play. It was at an odd angle, but the focus was sharp enough.
It was my bedroom. My oldbedroom. As I watched, the door banged open and I came backing into the room, David with me, both of us feverishly touching each other, devouring each other…
“Stop it,” I whispered.