Master of None Page 11

  I floored the gas. The van responded with a smooth jump to seventy, then eighty. I tried not to envision the thick trunk landing square in the middle of the roof, crushing us into fugitive paste, or smacking the back bumper to send us flipping end-over-end through the air and eventually crashing down to grisly death.

  We cleared the falling tree with a few feet to spare. I rounded on Ian. “You asshole. Warn me next time you’re going to drop half a ton of wood at me.” A thud shook the ground, punctuating my statement as though the tree agreed.

  Ian smirked. “You are still alive. You can slow down now.”

  I tapped the brakes. Behind us, screaming tires announced the Jeep’s attempt to avoid the impromptu roadblock, and the crunch of metal and glass proclaimed its failure.

  Shaking, I slowed to a crawl and sought Jazz in the rearview mirror. She sat straight as a poker, slack-featured, her pallor practically green. “Nice driving, Donatti,” she whispered.

  “Yeah. Just call me Jeff Gordon.” I swallowed hard. “Is Cyrus okay?”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Boom!”

  The small voice piped up from beside Jazz and startled laughter from me. “I guess he is. Doesn’t anything faze that kid?”

  “Not really.” Worry creased Jazz’s brow. “All right, we’re not being followed anymore. Now what?”

  “Good question.” I glanced forward to make sure I’d stayed on the road and watched her again. She still hadn’t let it sink in, but she was getting there. I could practically see the adrenalin draining, the despondency taking its place. “I think we need to find a safe place, get a little rest. Any suggestions?”

  Jazz blinked once and dug something from a pocket. Her cell phone. She must have set it on vibrate. After favoring the phone with a lackluster stare, she met my gaze in the mirror.

  “It’s Trevor.”

  I pulled off the road and crouched between the front seats. “Don’t tell him we know. Can you put it on speaker?”

  Jazz stared at me. Didn’t move.

  “Come on, Jazz. You’ve got to snap out of it, just for a minute. You can snow this bastard.” I didn’t dare touch her, not even for comfort. She might break. I knew shock when I saw it. “You fooled me. You can fool him.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Molly. He killed her . . .”

  “Yes, but he didn’t get Cyrus. Your son needs you.”

  That brought her back. She shook herself and reverted to her usual no-bullshit demeanor. Lifting the phone to the back of the seat, she hit the speaker button. “What do you want?”

  “Jasmine. Have you been to your sister’s house lately?”

  Jazz closed her eyes. For an instant, I thought she’d lose it, but a sneer curled her lip, and she replied evenly, “No. Why, have you?”

  “Not personally. But I’ve sent a few of my associates to pay her a visit. I understand she wasn’t happy to see them.”

  She looked at me with Now what? in her eyes. I shrugged and pantomimed slitting my throat. Hang up on him. Kill the call.

  Fury hardened her features. “You son of a bitch. If you’ve hurt her, I swear to God, you’re a dead man.”

  My jaw dropped. Not exactly what I meant, but maybe this was better.

  “If it comforts you, dear lady, I can assure you that your sister is not feeling any pain at the moment. Nor will she ever again.”

  “Trevor, you disgusting—” The phone shook in Jazz’s hand. “She wasn’t a threat to you. To anyone. How could you?”

  “Bring Mr. Donatti and his resourceful friend to me. It’s your only chance for survival.”

  “Kiss my ass.”

  In that instant, I knew I loved her.

  It took Trevor a few seconds to recover. “Bring them to me, and I’ll refrain from killing your son.”

  I shook my head fiercely, hoping she’d understand that I meant he wouldn’t refrain.

  She did.

  “Trevor, you’re a lying dog. And a coward. I won’t refrain from blowing your ass off the map.” The muted beep of the phone disconnecting sounded almost anticlimactic. Jazz dropped the device on the seat in front of her. Her eyes lost focus. “Oh, Molly. It’s my fault . . .”

  I shuffled around the first seat and wedged myself beside her in an awkward crouch. “Jazz, don’t. This is all on Trevor. Not you.” Hoping she wouldn’t haul off and deck me, I took her hand and squeezed. “He’s going to pay for this. In blood.”

  Jazz leaned in close. Her lips feathered my ear, and I swallowed a groan. Christ, this was bad timing. I couldn’t help wondering if she felt the same rush of heat, the urge to ignore the presence of children and genies.

  “Donatti.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Shouldn’t you be driving us out of here?”

  The crunch in my head was the sound of my ego shattering.

  “Uh, yeah. Driving. Sorry.” I released her and fumbled my way back to the driver’s seat. Ian regarded me with a knowing smirk. “Stuff it,” I mumbled. “Okay. Anyone know where we’re going?”

  “Head north.” Jazz fell back against the seat. “We all need to crash before we figure out . . . something else.” A tremor shook her voice, but she gained resolve quickly. “Weedsport isn’t far, and it’s a big concert town. Plenty of hotels. Can you find 34 from here?”

  “I guess. But we can’t stay too long. Trevor has eyes everywhere.” More than I ever suspected. Probably human and djinn. No wonder I’d never managed to ditch the bastard. “You and Cyrus have to leave the state. Maybe the country.” I tried to smile. “How do you feel about Canada?”

  Jazz shook her head. “I don’t know. I just . . . I can’t think straight. Just get me away from here. Please.”

  I swung onto the road and maintained a legal speed, watching for road signs or turnoffs or thugs in wait. The longer I thought, the more I realized even Canada wouldn’t be safe. Trevor had already demonstrated an uncanny ability to find any of us when he wanted to. I suspected it had something to do with magic and that snake djinn he was working with. “Ian. Got any brilliant ideas?”

  “No. But I may have a bad idea.”

  “Better than nothing. Let’s hear it.”

  Ian glanced in the mirror. For the first time since I met him, he seemed concerned. “It may be possible to send them to Akila. They will be safe with her.”

  “I think you’re right. That’s a bad idea.” I envisioned a mysterious and ancient ritual involving a blood sacrifice—and with my luck, it’d be my blood. Besides, what if something went wrong, and Jazz and Cyrus ended up horribly disfigured or lost forever in some dimensional limbo?

  “Hey. Maybe it’s not a bad idea,” Jazz said. “Who’s Akila?”

  “Jazz, it’s really not so great. He wants to—”

  “Shut up, Donatti. Let Ian talk.”

  Ian smiled. I managed to keep from knocking his teeth out.

  He turned sideways. “Akila is my wife,” he said. “I can send you and your son to the djinn realm, and she will care for you until it’s safe to return. I need only a reflective surface—a mirror will do nicely.”

  “Whoa.” Jazz hesitated for a long moment. “Are you talking off the planet or something?”

  “No. Our realm exists here but in a different space. I am not certain how to explain. There are pockets that lead to our world. Reflective surfaces, like mirrors or bodies of water, can serve as bridges.”

  “That’s . . . amazing. And you can send us to your world through a mirror?”

  Ian nodded. “Trevor will not be able to reach you there. You will be safe.”

  Another stretched silence. “All right. Let’s do it.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “What about those evil snake guys—the Morai? If you send them over there, won’t it be easier for them to find Cyrus?”

  Ian looked at me. “I told you, the Morai have been banished. All that live are here, in your realm. They cannot return.”

  “How can you be so sure? I mean, you’ve found ways
to get around djinn rules. Doesn’t seem like you follow any of them.”

  “They cannot return,” he repeated in tones colder than a meat locker. “I have ensured it.”

  “Okay, fine.” I recognized a sore subject when I prodded one. Still, I wasn’t sold on the idea of shoving Jazz and Cyrus through a mirror into God-knew-what—and if the other djinn were anything like Ian, they wouldn’t exactly throw a welcome party. “What about the rest of the clans? How many humans do you have kicking around over there now?”

  “They will not be harmed.”

  “You didn’t answer the question.”

  He paused. “Humans have crossed to the djinn realm in the past.”

  “And? What happened to them?”

  “They . . . decided to stay.”

  I didn’t like the hesitation. “Did they, or was the decision made for them? Come on, Ian. I know you’re leaving something out here.”

  He uttered a sharp string of djinn words. Looked away. Finally, he said, “There are places between the realms that are thin. Natural bridges that can open by themselves. Occasionally, a human has stumbled through a thin place and into our realm.”

  “Really. Like what, the Bermuda Triangle?”

  “That is one of them, yes.”

  Terrific. Amelia Earhart hadn’t really disappeared. She’d just fallen into some djinn . “So what happens to them once they get there?”

  “As I said, they generally decide to stay.” Another long pause. “No djinn has ever sent a human to the realm intentionally.”

  “Great. You’re really selling me on this plan of yours.”

  “They will be safe,” Ian insisted. “Akila will protect them.”

  “See, that’s why I’m worried. If they’ll be safe, why will they need protection?”

  “Donatti.” Jazz reached up and brushed my shoulder. Her touch sent a jolt through me. “Ian says we’ll be all right. I think we should trust him. Besides, what else can we do?”

  My hands clenched the wheel. She was right—we’d run out of options. “You’d better know what you’re doing, genie boy. I want them back in one piece. Well, two pieces. You know what I mean.”

  Jazz laughed. “I think I’ll get to know a few more djinn guys while I’m there. You’re cute when you’re jealous, Houdini.”

  I grunted and forced back the grin trying to spread across my face. Cute. I could live with that.

  CHAPTER 15

  We rented a double-occupancy room at the Days Inn in Weedsport. Cyrus, who’d fallen asleep on the way, didn’t wake when Jazz carried him in and laid him on one of two tightly made beds. At least the blankets matched, even if they did look like a bear had wandered in and vomited a forest on them.

  I shut and locked the door. The room had a window that opened, but its two-foot proximity to the entrance negated its utility as an alternative escape route. If anyone came through that door, I’d have to move at somewhere around Mach 4 to make the window.

  Ian drifted over to a wall-mounted mirror behind a low desk opposite the beds. He ran the fingers of one hand across the surface, then gripped both sides of the frame and pulled. The mirror just about popped off the wall. Frowning, he headed into the bathroom.

  “This one will do,” he called. “Give me a few moments.” The door slammed, and the lock engaged.

  Jazz stood beside the bed, looking down at Cyrus. “What do you think, Donatti? Will we make it through this?”

  “Absolutely.” It was the most confident word I could come up with. I hoped it made up for the lie it formed—certainty had deserted me somewhere between Skids’s trunk and Trevor’s basement. “Ian knows what he’s doing.”

  “I meant all of us.” She faced me with resignation. “Including you.”

  I didn’t want to think about whether I’d make it. Too easy to come to a negative conclusion. At this point, the best I could offer was the truth. “I don’t know.”

  “When we’re gone . . . what are you going to do?”

  “Kill Trevor.” Or die trying. I’d prefer option one.

  “Donatti, please. Be serious. I really want to know.” She stepped toward me, stopped. “You’ve never killed anyone. You go out of your way to make sure you don’t. You’re the most compassionate thief in history. Hell, I bet you’ve never even squashed a spider.”

  “Have too.” I caught myself looking for one just to prove it—and realized she might be right. “Okay, but I’ve definitely swatted flies. And I shot a guy once.”

  She frowned. “Accidentally. In the foot. With a beebee gun. I remember the story.”

  “It was dark. I thought it was a rat.” This wasn’t helping my case. I let out a long sigh. “All right. What do you want to hear? That I think Trevor makes Hitler look like a saint? That he could give Satan some competition in the twisted bastard department? All that’s true, but this is personal. The shitbag told his thugs to kill you and bring Cyrus in so he could torture him to death in front of me. Trevor won’t stop unless he’s dead. So I’m going to make him dead.”

  A smile curved her mouth. “I believe you.”

  “Good.” At the moment, she probably had more confidence in me than I did. I wasn’t wired for killing. The idea of taking someone’s life was physically repulsive. Thinking about it brought cold sweat and the urge to reach down my throat and rip my own guts out. I understood part of the reason. My first time out, I’d watched my then-partner drop a bystander with a single bullet just because the man had seen his face. I’d seen the light leave the dying man’s eyes. Had nightmares about that moment for a month. And sworn I’d never be the one to pull the trigger.

  I thought I could get away with it this time, because I didn’t see Trevor as human. I was pretty sure I’d have no qualms over crushing a snake bent on murdering me and everyone I cared about.

  “Donatti, I’m having second thoughts.”

  I looked at her. “About what?”

  “The mirror thing. Cutting out. Everything.” Her features struggled with emotion. Most of it was rage. “Not that I don’t trust you . . . well, maybe I don’t completely, but that’s not it. That bastard killed my sister. Now he’s trying for my son.” Her whole body clenched, a five-foot fist. “I don’t want to run. I want to tear him apart and burn what’s left.”

  My gaze traveled to the sleeping figure on the bed. I didn’t have to say a word.

  “I know,” she said. “Cy comes first. There’s no question about that, and I’ll do what I have to for him. Even if it means leaving Trevor to you.”

  She emphasized you as if she suspected the average fourth-grader had a better shot at taking Trevor out than I did. So much for confidence.

  “You know, that’s a little insulting,” I said without looking at her. “Is your opinion of me really that low?”

  She didn’t reply.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry. Really. It’s not what I think about you that matters.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “No. I mean . . .” She laid a hand on my arm. “I need to make sure he doesn’t hurt my son. Ever. When I saw Trevor holding that gun on him—damn it, I would’ve killed him right there if I could. Almost did. But that would have killed Cy, too.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “I have to know he’ll never get the chance to finish what he tried to start.”

  “Jazz.” I waited until she looked at me. “I won’t let him get the chance.”

  She searched my face, and finally said, “Okay.”

  Not exactly the gushing gratitude I’d hoped for, but I’d take it. I slid an arm around her and, when she didn’t slug me for it, pulled her close. “So what do you think about me? Since it doesn’t matter, you can tell me, right?”

  She groaned. “Donatti, this isn’t the best time to talk about you and me.”

  “Why not? We’ve got a semiprivate room, already paid for.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Thank you.”


  “That wasn’t a compliment.”

  The bitterness in her voice reminded me how badly I’d screwed things up with her. I beat back a tsunami of regret. I knew damned well that trying to joke about this would only make things worse, but I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to face the reality that my apologies had come three years too late. Of everyone I’d hurt in my life, she topped the list of mistakes for which I’d forever kick my own ass.

  “I don’t hate you, you know,” she said gently.

  For an instant, I thought Ian must have taught her some mojo I didn’t know he had, because she’d read my mind. I hitched a smile. “I don’t hate you, too—er, either. Wait. What I mean is . . .”

  She smirked. “Shut up, Donatti.”

  A breath later, I had no choice but to obey the command. Her mouth stopped mine.

  Three years dropped away, just like that. I knew her mouth so well—the feel of her lips, the taste of her tongue. Heat seeped from her, infiltrated my head, and traveled down, detonating tiny shocks through my body. Everything I’d missed came back. She felt so right. Like home.

  Jesus. How could I have left this?

  The bathroom door opened mid-kiss, and something in me wept at the impending loss. Probably my roaring libido. “Akila is ready for you.” Ian didn’t sound even a little contrite over the interruption. “Bring the child. You do not have to wake him, if you would prefer not to.”

  Jazz pulled away. “Don’t just try to stay alive this time,” she said. “Do it. If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “I promise,” I lied with a smile. Not that I didn’t appreciate her concern, but it wouldn’t do much good. Sorry, Trevor, but you can’t kill me because Jazz will hold it against me forever. Oh, yeah. That would give him pause—for about ten seconds, while he finished laughing.

  “Well . . . here we go.” She scooped Cyrus off the bed and headed for the bathroom. I followed and heard her sharp intake of breath just before I stepped in. She’d seen Akila.

  I moved in closer, caught sight of the image in the mirror, and wondered again how in the hell Ian had scored a woman like her. With her dark hair and smooth bronze skin, she could’ve almost passed as Egyptian despite those strange whiteless eyes—but even Cleopatra had nothing on Akila.