UP!” growled the man with the gun. “Not one more word if you value your pathetic life at all!”
My mouth snapped shut at his vehemence. “Ow!” I gasped as Balthus’ fingers dug deeper into my shoulders, my own fingers scrabbling helplessly against his in an attempt to pry them out of the indentions I was sure they were making in my skin. It felt as if they were beginning to burn brands into my flesh. My panicked gaze flew to the man in front of us as his voice rang out with authority.
“Balthus of King Moab’s tribe of the Ifrit djinn, in the name of Impellier, I sentence you to imprisonment for crimes against the Realm. In the name of Impellier, I summon you into containment until such time as the Realm sees fit to free you.” He broke into the lilting syllables of a strange foreign language, his words taking on the tone of a well-practiced chant.
Not that I understood much of what he’d said in English.
But I did notice that, as the man continued speaking, Balthus’ grip on me weakened. I took the opportunity to duck away from him and scramble back into the corner between the wall and the railing of the balcony, as far away from the both of them as I could get without taking a dive off the tenth storey.
The bizarre, chanting man blocked the escape I longed for—back inside the penthouse and into the elevator, down and away from this stupid, over-priced hotel full of assholes.
This whole night had been a mistake.
“She is mine by right!” Balthus insisted, a note of pleading breaking through his demand.
His words might have galled me more, if I hadn’t been so damned scared, and if my brain hadn’t started to register the fact that Balthus seemed to be…fading. His legs were going smoky and transparent, and the phenomenon was spreading slowly up his body. I blinked as my obviously damaged mind tried to convince me that the Balthus-smoke was drifting toward the barrel of the gun that the other man was pointing at him.
No. Not a gun, I realized. It was an old-fashioned, metal oil lamp. I couldn’t do anything but stare—it was either that, or pass out. Come to think of it, unconsciousness might have been preferable, but I’d never been the type of girl to swoon.
“Sparrow, she’s mine!” Balthus let out a thin, petulant wail, the smoky remains of his upper body drifting toward the opening in the lamp’s spout and disappearing, as if he was being sucked into it by a vacuum.
“Shut it, Balthus,” the man replied, sounding irritated. “You know damn well that if she’d completed the contract, you’d have already claimed her.”
And with that, Balthus’ smoky head vanished, and he was gone. I felt a mad giggle rise up into my throat as I watched the last of him get sucked into the narrow metal spout. My eyes rose disbelievingly to the stranger’s face. He was gazing intently at the lamp, making a complicated hand gesture over it and whispering a series of unintelligible words.
Then he tucked the lamp into a pocket inside his jacket, where it disappeared without leaving so much as a lump or a crease. Surprising, but hardly worth comment after what I’d just witnessed. That task completed, he focused his attention on me.
I was hoping he’d have forgotten my presence, but no such luck. All the air left my lungs and the old phrase ‘like a deer in the headlights’ suddenly took on a very personal meaning. I searched desperately for a third option to my innate fight or flight response. I was trapped in the corner with him blocking the door, and somehow I didn’t think I’d come out on top in a contest of strength.
The man had about a foot on me and he looked solid.
His eyes pierced mine for a long moment, and then he waved over the railing. “If your life means so little to you, you could just jump.”
Then he turned and went inside the penthouse.
Chapter 2 – Contractual Obligations
Still frozen in place, although relieved to be alone on the balcony, I stared after the man who had vaporized my date for the evening. I wondered why his less than appealing escape suggestion had left me feeling more insulted than terrorized.
“Asshole,” I muttered, knowing damn well I wasn’t brave enough to say it to his face.
I watched him through the sliding glass door as he performed a thorough search of the sitting room. He felt in the cracks of the sofa and chair cushions, and then dropped into a rather impressive push-up to peer beneath the furniture, before disappearing behind the bar.
I tried willing him to grab a bottle and drink himself unconscious, but apparently my Jedi mind trick needed some work. He reappeared from behind the bar and strode away unaffected. Oh yeah, I was supposed to make the suggestion out loud. Well, forget that—I wasn’t getting any closer.
He proceeded to stick his head beneath each of the living room’s lampshades, tracing the inner fabric with his hand. He even went fishing inside an opaque vase containing a tasteful arrangement of silk flowers.
I scowled when he upended the contents of my little black handbag over the dining room table. But he didn’t appear to find anything of interest, so I stayed put. Riiight—like I would have gone after him just because he stole my favorite lip gloss.
Finally he appeared to be finished with the room and moved down an adjoining hallway.
I waited another minute in indecision, and then crept toward the sliding glass door. He’d left it open just far enough for me to squeeze through. I sucked in my stomach and shimmied past as silently as I could, then tiptoed over to the table. I quickly scooped my keys, lipstick case, cash, credit card and license back into my handbag.
I made a move for the front door, but froze when I heard him walk back into the room behind me. I slowly turned to find him watching me with an expression of tight disdain. I clutched my satin handbag in front of me, as if it might provide some protection.
“Erm,” I gurgled, clearing my throat before I tried to speak again. “Can I go now?” I asked uncertainly, trying to decide what insanity had possessed me to stop my retreat toward the door. I could only guess that it was some instinct about not running and triggering a predator’s chase response.
“You can do whatever you want, Miss,” he said blandly.
I felt a modicum of tension leave my body at his words. He didn’t seem to be the least bit interested in me—which, I reasoned, probably meant that he had no immediate plans to commit any heinous acts against my person. I started to feel a little braver, and fingers of curiosity poked at my brain.
“Would you mind telling me what happened out there?” I asked, trying for a polite, inquisitive tone.
He stared at me coldly. “I arrested Balthus.”
“I gathered that—‘imprisonment for crimes against the Realm’ and so forth,” I parroted, doing my best to temper my sarcasm. “I meant the part about…well…did I hear you call him a djinn? As in genie of the lamp?”
He sighed as if I was a tremendous source of annoyance, and then answered, “Yes Miss, Balthus is a djinn, and as you clearly saw, I confined him to a lamp for holding.”
My remaining fear dissipated with the growing frustration his tone was causing. “Look, I don’t
