she come from? how had her djinn partner approached her? — but then she stopped in front of a set of double doors and said, “Zahrias is inside. He’s been waiting to speak with you.”
“So I heard,” I said dryly. If I could have thought of any way to stall, I would have, but she was already opening the door on the right and stepping back out of the way, so I had no choice but to go in. At least she offered me an encouraging smile as I passed. Unfortunately, a smile from a stranger wasn’t quite enough to put me in a more settled frame of mind.
But then I didn’t have time to think about anything else, because she had shut the door behind me, and I found myself in a largish chamber that probably had originally been intended as a conference room, the sort of place where executives on retreat might gather to have a breakfast and pretend they were doing something constructive rather than simply getting away for a few days in Taos on the company dime. Now the space was mostly empty, except for a large chair and matching side table set up at one end near the fireplace, which had a blazing fire going.
Standing in front of that fireplace was Zahrias. At least, I assumed it was him; his back was to me as I entered the room, but as I took a few hesitant steps in his direction, he turned toward me, his face blank, unsmiling. Since the chandelier of heavy wrought iron overhead was switched on, I could see him far more clearly than I had on that one frightening night at my house in Santa Fe. Back then, the flickering fire- and candlelight hadn’t given me a very clear impression of his features, save for the hard lines of his jaw and the cruel set of his mouth.
Now I could see that he actually was handsome enough, just like all the djinn, with the sort of heavy eyelashes that could make a man look as if he was wearing eyeliner even when he wasn’t, and a firm chin and fine brow with thick dark hair flowing away from it. Unlike the time he’d visited the house Jace and I shared, Zahrias now wore a heavy quilted sort of robe over the billowing pants, although reddish-gold jewelry still gleamed at his wrists and his throat.
His feet were planted firmly on the floor, and that made me wonder if he had to make an effort to do that, so as not to scare the human.
“Jessica Monroe,” he said. His voice possessed a harsh edge that Jace’s lacked, although they both had rich-sounding baritones.
I forced myself to look squarely at him, even though I felt like a grubby mess in my muddy boots and jeans, my hair probably a disaster after having that knitted cap on all day. “I heard you wanted to talk to me.”
“I want to know what happened to Jasreel.” Zahrias went to the table a few feet from him, where I noticed for the first time a decanter of dark wine and a few glasses sat. He lifted the decanter and poured some of the wine into one of the glasses, then held it out to me. “You look as if you could do with this.”
That was an understatement. My shoulders and neck were still stiff and tense from that nerve-wracking drive along the High Road, and a little muscle relaxant could be just what the doctor ordered. Even so, I shot Zahrias a wary glance, wondering what his game was. Certainly nothing I’d seen of him during his conversation with Jasreel back at the house would have led me to believe he’d be at all solicitous toward a mere mortal.
“Maybe,” I allowed, taking a step forward. Then I paused. “What about Evony?”
A negligent lift of his shoulders, the red and gold brocade of his robe glinting in the firelight. “What about her?”
“Don’t you want to hear her story, too?”
“I want to hear yours. I have a feeling that they are materially similar. Besides,” he went on, “hers is not a mind given to much analysis. Natila could have chosen better.”
That comment seemed a little harsh. Evony might not have been a Fulbright scholar, but she appeared quick and clever enough to me. However,
“So I heard,” I said dryly. If I could have thought of any way to stall, I would have, but she was already opening the door on the right and stepping back out of the way, so I had no choice but to go in. At least she offered me an encouraging smile as I passed. Unfortunately, a smile from a stranger wasn’t quite enough to put me in a more settled frame of mind.
But then I didn’t have time to think about anything else, because she had shut the door behind me, and I found myself in a largish chamber that probably had originally been intended as a conference room, the sort of place where executives on retreat might gather to have a breakfast and pretend they were doing something constructive rather than simply getting away for a few days in Taos on the company dime. Now the space was mostly empty, except for a large chair and matching side table set up at one end near the fireplace, which had a blazing fire going.
Standing in front of that fireplace was Zahrias. At least, I assumed it was him; his back was to me as I entered the room, but as I took a few hesitant steps in his direction, he turned toward me, his face blank, unsmiling. Since the chandelier of heavy wrought iron overhead was switched on, I could see him far more clearly than I had on that one frightening night at my house in Santa Fe. Back then, the flickering fire- and candlelight hadn’t given me a very clear impression of his features, save for the hard lines of his jaw and the cruel set of his mouth.
Now I could see that he actually was handsome enough, just like all the djinn, with the sort of heavy eyelashes that could make a man look as if he was wearing eyeliner even when he wasn’t, and a firm chin and fine brow with thick dark hair flowing away from it. Unlike the time he’d visited the house Jace and I shared, Zahrias now wore a heavy quilted sort of robe over the billowing pants, although reddish-gold jewelry still gleamed at his wrists and his throat.
His feet were planted firmly on the floor, and that made me wonder if he had to make an effort to do that, so as not to scare the human.
“Jessica Monroe,” he said. His voice possessed a harsh edge that Jace’s lacked, although they both had rich-sounding baritones.
I forced myself to look squarely at him, even though I felt like a grubby mess in my muddy boots and jeans, my hair probably a disaster after having that knitted cap on all day. “I heard you wanted to talk to me.”
“I want to know what happened to Jasreel.” Zahrias went to the table a few feet from him, where I noticed for the first time a decanter of dark wine and a few glasses sat. He lifted the decanter and poured some of the wine into one of the glasses, then held it out to me. “You look as if you could do with this.”
That was an understatement. My shoulders and neck were still stiff and tense from that nerve-wracking drive along the High Road, and a little muscle relaxant could be just what the doctor ordered. Even so, I shot Zahrias a wary glance, wondering what his game was. Certainly nothing I’d seen of him during his conversation with Jasreel back at the house would have led me to believe he’d be at all solicitous toward a mere mortal.
“Maybe,” I allowed, taking a step forward. Then I paused. “What about Evony?”
A negligent lift of his shoulders, the red and gold brocade of his robe glinting in the firelight. “What about her?”
“Don’t you want to hear her story, too?”
“I want to hear yours. I have a feeling that they are materially similar. Besides,” he went on, “hers is not a mind given to much analysis. Natila could have chosen better.”
That comment seemed a little harsh. Evony might not have been a Fulbright scholar, but she appeared quick and clever enough to me. However,
Similar Books
