Juliet couldn’t entirely hide her surprise at the hasty excuse. Demons, even of the mongrel variety, tended to be impervious to the usual human ailments. But, swiftly hiding her confusion, she gave Laylah a comforting pat.
“I have a healing crystal that should do the trick much quicker.”
“That would be fantastic.”
“I’ll be back in a sec.”
Laylah watched Juliet hurry from the room before she jogged into the bathroom where she’d left the oversized sweatshirt. Gods, she felt like a jerk. Juliet had every reason to treat her as a dangerous, unstable beast who should be locked away.
It was how most people reacted once they discovered she was half Jinn.
Instead she’d been kind and welcoming and …
“Um, Laylah?”
She turned her head to discover Levet standing in the door to the bathroom. “Where are you going?”
She shoved up the overlong sleeves before hurrying toward the window. “To see if I can find Mommie Dearest.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I know … I feel terrible.” She threw open the window, climbing onto the stool to sling her leg over the sill. “Please tell Juliet I’m sorry.”
Levet hurried forward, halting only long enough to grab one of the disguise amulets that Juliet had left on a table.
“Mon Dieu. Wait for me.”
Laylah was a little touched. And a lot embarrassed.
As nice as it was to have the demon offer his companionship, she couldn’t afford to have him tagging along, drawing unwanted attention.
“I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need for you to go with me.”
“Do you have pigeons in your belfry?” Levet demanded, climbing onto the sill next to her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m not going to be anywhere near a Charon when he’s discovered his prisoner has escaped.”
“Good point.” She grimaced. Tane was going to be livid when he discovered she’d slipped away. Again. “Maybe we should hurry.”
The lower kitchens of the London town house had long ago been given over to Sergei. Marika had no use for them, and while she insisted the blood sacrifices be made in the cellar, there were always potions to brew and spells to prepare.
She made a point of avoiding the cavernous rooms that were lined with odd hieroglyphics scribbled on the brick walls and dried plants that hung from the open timbered ceiling. A circle had been etched into the stone floor, where a wooden altar stood holding an ancient book that made Marika shiver in disgust.
Like any vampire she hated magic.
Almost as much as she hated magic users.
And the fact that she was forced to depend on one to achieve her glorious fate only inflamed her already seething temper.
Tugging off the veiled hat she’d matched with her black Valentino gown for her evening at the opera, she carelessly tossed it aside and allowed her heavy curls to tumble about her shoulders.
The evening had begun with such promise.
She had dined on two tender wood sprites that had strayed into Green Park and a lovely Turkish businessman in Covent Garden. From there she’d made her entrance at the Royal Opera House, causing her usual stir as she made her way to her private box.
Then, in the middle of the second act of La Traviata, one of her numerous minions had intruded into her box, whispering in her ear that there were rumors of a Jinn being scented near London.
Her lips twisted with fury.
The rumors had been true enough.
She’d instantly been able to detect the lingering female scent in the tunnels.
But she’d been too late.
The Jinn was gone. Seemingly vanished into thin air.
Turning from the counter that was overflowing with a variety of nasty ingredients used in his spells, Sergei frowned at her entrance.
“Did you find her?” he stupidly demanded.
“Does it look as if I found her?” She threw her arms wide. “Twit.”
The mage shrugged off his protective cloak, revealing the elegant gray suit beneath. “You said the Jinn was scented last evening,” he said, crossing to stand directly before her. A display of his sheer arrogance considering her foul mood. She’d been known to rip out throats when she was slightly peeved. “She can’t have disappeared so quickly. Not unless …”
Her eyes narrowed. “Unless what?”
“Unless it wasn’t the Jinn we’re searching for.” He grimaced. “Or she possesses far more Jinn powers than we originally suspected.”
“You should be intimately familiar with the female’s various talents considering you held her hostage for months,” she hissed.
“I kept her locked in an iron cell that muted her powers.” He abruptly glanced over his shoulder, as if searching for an unseen watcher in the shadows of the attached pantry, then with a shake of his head he turned back to meet her icy gaze. “Besides, she will continue to gain powers for the next five hundred years or so.”
A frigid blast of energy swirled through the kitchen, stirring Sergei’s silver hair and tumbling clay bowls and copper pans from the shelves.
She’d wasted years searching for the Jinn bitch and the babe she was hiding, constantly denied the power and glory that should be hers.
And now, just when she had been teased with the promise of her scent, she’d once again been denied.
Her bloodlust was at a fever pitch.
“Assuming she lives that long,” she growled.
Sergei lifted his hand, as if he intended to touch her, only to hastily step back at the sight of her fully elongated fangs.
“Marika, don’t forget that for now we need her alive,” he attempted to soothe. “At least until we get our hands on the child.”
With a flick of her hand, the drying plants crumbled to dust. “Don’t you dare presume to lecture me.”
Sergei’s lips tightened at the loss of his rare ingredients, but he wasn’t suicidal enough to complain.
“I merely want to prevent any mistakes you might regret later.”
“Regrets?” She had wrapped her fingers around his throat, squeezing until his face turned an interesting shade of puce. “My greatest regret is ever choosing a treacherous mage whose only contribution so far has been to deceive me.”
Sergei wheezed, his blue eyes darkening with a mixture of pain and impotent fury.
“If you will release me I can try to scry for the female,” he choked out.
“You’ve tried it before only to fail.”
“She’s obviously lost the veil of protection that has kept her hidden from me.” He struggled to speak, a hint of genuine fear beginning to perfume the air. Tasty. There was nothing like terror to whet her appetite. “If nothing else I might discover a trail that will lead us to her.”