biceps that rivaled Hank’s. “This way.”
Deep, angry echoes filled the corridor, followed by the high-pitched crash of glass or pottery. Not unusual, as the jinn relished fighting and were quick to anger. The sounds grew loudarefully we approached the main chamber, where Tennin usually had meals and held court. The Charbydon language was being shouted so loudly that it vibrated off the bedrock walls—echoing and bouncing and filling the subterranean village.
As we entered the chamber, I immediately noticed Sian standing near Tennin’s great wooden table. Her eyes flashed to mine in alarm, and she warned me with a slight shake of her head as Grigori Tennin threw another jar at the massive fireplace across the chamber, his booming Charbydon words jolting through me.
I understood none of it. But I did understand the tension and fright filling the massive space, emanating from the other jinn gathered in the room. I flinched as another vase crashed into the bedrock wall and rained pieces down over the floor.
The guard turned and went to usher us back out of the chamber, her face a shade paler than before. But before she could do so:
Shit.
It got so quiet I could hear Tennin’s ragged breathing from where I stood.
Slowly, I turned, swallowed, and leveled my voice. “Tennin.”
His thick chest and shoulders rose and fell as he panted like a raging bull. His gigantic fists clenched and unclenched, his face a dark gray mask of seething jinn rage. His eyes glowed red violet and scary as hell. Veins swelled and ran over his temples and over his smooth bald skull. His earrings flashed in the firelight.
In front of the fireplace, scattered over the floor, were remnants of alabaster jars. Tennin strode to the table and grabbed the last intact jar in his big hand.
And then it hit me. My eyes grew round. I knew what that was. A spirit jar.
Tennin grinned, feral and evil, his white teeth flashing. He tossed the jar and caught it again. Christ, Aaron was right. I glanced at the debris on the floor. How many had there been? Had they been empty when he threw them? Or full?
Better question, though: why was Tennin destroying the jars?
“Another
Hank chuckled, completely devoid of humor and full of hostility. Sian’s indigo eyes went wide and more frightened than before. I glanced over as realization settled warily in my gut. Tennin had planted an axe in Hank’s back during the battle on Helios Tower. And Hank, obviously, hadn’t forgotten.
“What’s wrong, Tennin?” he asked in a menacing tone. “Your moles not listening to you anymore? Or maybe,” he ventured, “you’re not the one in control after all? Is that it?”
Tennin’s eyes brightened even more. I’d only ever seen them this bright once before, when he’d killed one of his own tribe members here in this very room with a thought. Something, I hoped, he could do only to other jinn.
He pointed the jar at Hank. “The last time, I was aiming for your skull.” He stuck out his other arm and the battle-axe hanging on the wall flew into his outstretd hand. “Let me try again.” As soon as it met flesh, Tennin threw it. It sailed end over end, whooshing like a countdown clock. One. Two. Three.
Hank ducked as I leapt to the side. The axe slammed into the wall behind us, cleaving the rock and sending pulverized bits flying in all directions.
I swallowed, heart pounding as I straightened and rested my hand on the hilt of my firearm. This was not good.
Hank rose to his full height, casually wiping the bits of rock from his jacket. He gave Tennin a challenging look. “Missed again.”
“Who’s giving the suicide order?” I interrupted before they went at it.
A slow grin split Tennin’s face. “You’re like a blind nithyn in a nest full of moon snakes.” He waved his hand around. “Going around and around. Lost. Stumbling.” He shook his head, turned, and then flung the last spirit jar at the fireplace. It hit the mantel and smashed into a spray of tiny fragments.
After the last piece hit the ground, Tennin moved to his table and sat down, propping his booted feet on the corner of the table. “Tell me, Charlie—how is your Revenant companion? He remembers his jinn past now, yes?”
“You know he does. But if you think he plans to join with you, you’re wrong. Rex is one of the good guys.”
“And I am not? Come, Detective. Be nice. Your Rex will turn in time. He is a jinn after all. He knows what he is. Matter of time. That is all. You will see.”
Rex had come to Tennin to find a way to repay the twenty-one-thousand-dollar collection debt I’d been hit with, thanks to Rex’s oversight. Tennin had waived the fee in return for Rex agreeing to drink a potion that made him remember his past life, his original, physical life as—surprise, surprise—a jinn. It had worked. Rex remembered. And Tennin got what he wanted, though what his ultimate goal was regarding Rex remained a mystery.
“Run along, blind nithyn, run along,” Tennin said, shooing us away and chuckling to himself as a pair of jinn brought out his meal.
I had to actually tug on Hank’s arm to get his feet moving. I’d gotten the information I’d come for, and I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Powers That Be that we’d arrived when we did.
Once we were in the club upstairs and headed for the door, I said, “He’s not the one giving the suicide order. And he’s pissed about it.” So pissed that he was destroying the spirit jars. “Could you tell how many jars there were?”
“No. But there had to be at least four, judging from the debris.”
If there had once been Sons of Dawn spirits contained in those jars, Casey and Mike could’ve accounted for two of them. Amanda, and possibly Bryn, for another two.
As we left the Lion’s Den, a flash of movement to my right caught my attention. I followed it, peering into the darkness as my eyes adjusted to see a dark figure—female and small in stature. The shadow darted into the alley that ran between the Den and the apartment block. Soft, feminine laughter echoed in her wake, a daring kind of laughter, the kind that said
“You heard that, right?”
“The laughter? Yeah.” Hank was looking in the same direction.
“I bet that’s a sylph. Come on.” I took off at a run toward the dark alley. And she was not only going to give me her gift, she was damn sure going to tell me how to use it.
The alley was pitch-black, reeking of urine and tar mixed with smoke. Obstructions rose up in front of me so fast I only had a second to adjust and then jump or dodge as I hurried after her. A dim light illuminated the end of the alley and the narrow delivery street that ran behind the backs of the buildings.
Laughter again. Echoing. Taunting. Calling my name. Oh, yeah. Definitely a sylph.
A shadow passed through the light. Metal banged. I raced around the corner and slid to a stop, scanning the area.
This was one of the entrances that led to the old sewer tunnels and supposedly intersected with the MARTA rails. The sewage system was long gone, leaving behind some impressive Gothic architecture and brick-domed tunnels.
My boots on the metal steps rang softly through the dark space below me.
“You sure about this?” Hank whispered above me, following me down.
“Yeah. Once you’ve seen a sylph …” I dropped to the ground and stepped away from the ladder. “Shadows or not, there’s no mistaking it. I know it’s her and I need that gift.”
I pulled my ITF-issued flashlight from my belt and aimed it down both sides of the long tunnel. Hank dropped down beside me and clicked on his light. We followed the soft echo of laughter.
The scents of earth, bricks, and musty water hung heavy in the air as we went through the tunnel. The ground vibrated. A loud rumble filled the space as a MARTA train passed somewhere close by.
As the rumble slowly disappeared, a shadow appeared far down in the center of the tunnel.
The hairs on my forearms stiffened. My fingers flexed on the barrel of the flashlight. Anticipation heightened
