Page 22 of Deadly Lineage
“Whatever you’re about to say will be outdated news. According to Boone, there is one very active djinn about. In fact, he tells me I’ve been in her presence.”
“W-what?”
I nodded slowly. “She didn’t want me to see her.”
Captain Cicely went very quiet. I could see the pulse in her throat hammering away. Her breathing was short and choppy and her eyes were wide. Licking her trembling lips, Captain Cicely finally asked, “Erasmus knows her?”
“You’d have to ask Boone the particulars, but this djinn, Aurelia, has taken a liking to him and pops up now and again.”
“He’s her master?”
“No. Boone says she’s controlled by a pixie, if you can believe that.” I found it difficult. I’d had a few run-ins with pixies. They liked the heat and tended to congregate in the south, especially in the winter months.
The captain’s mouth opened and closed again before words escaped. Finally, she asked, “Is Erasmus afraid?”
I considered her question before shaking my head. “No, he doesn’t act like it.”
“Then he’s a fool.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think he is about this.” I got the feeling there was a hell of a lot more information Boone knew but kept under wraps when it came this djinnfriend. “He also told me that he’s uncertain if a djinn could shred a soul, but he’s certain Aurelia’s not involved. Don’t ask me how he’s sure. All I can tell you is that he sounded very confident, and I believe him.”
Twisting, Captain Cicely’s swivel chair shifted, her gaze no longer settled on me, her thoughts far away.
“Captain, are you—”
“Thank you, Detective O’Hare. Please inform me when you have more information.”
I knew a dismissal when I heard one. “Yes, ma’am.”
Walking out of Captain Cicely’s office left me more confused than I’d been walking into it. Other species thought humans were secretive and difficult to read. Personally, I didn’t think we had anything on the magical community.
Chapter
Seven
Erasmus
I didn’t know why cemeteries gave humans the heebie-jeebies. It’s not like they could hear the lingering whispers left behind like I could. And here, in one of the oldest cemeteries in southern Mississippi, there was hardly any of that left either. Peace. Blissful peace.
The sun was warm against my bare arms and legs. The damp dew had already burned away in the late morning sun, and the ground was dry beneath my ass. The crumbling headstone at my back was comfortable and cool. Despite its age, this cemetery was well kept, the lawn mowed and the grave sites well tended.
Sliding off my flip-flops, I dug my toes into the soft grass. Leaning my head back, I stared into the blue sky. An errant cloud floated by every now and again, but the sun was determined to shine through. It would be brutally hot later, but there was still enough breeze to make my spot more comfortable than stagnant.
Patting the ground at my right, I said, “You picked a nice spot, Caroline. It’s peaceful and the city hasn’t forgotten about you.” Her gravestone indicated that Caroline Belmont had passed in 1876. She’d been fifty-three, which meant she’d livedthrough the Civil War. Regardless, Caroline’s remaining energy was soft and quiet. The spot was pleasant and one I repeatedly came back to time and time again.
I wanted that peace and quiet today. My body felt like it had been through a full ten rounds in the ring. I wasn’t Rocky Balboa, and I wasn’t snapping back as quickly as I’d like. I’d nearly used up all of Pops’s pain charms again, and knew he’d be increasingly worried when I called and requested more this soon.
Regardless, I needed to call him, and not just about the charms.
Phone dangling between my fingers, I inhaled deeply and hit the call button. It would be early morning in California. Chances were good I was waking Pops up. That could be good or bad, depending on when he’d crawled into bed.
The phone rang five times, and I was convinced it would go to voicemail when Pops’s deep voice echoed into the quiet daylight. “Erasmus? Is everything all right?”
“I’m fine, Pops,” I sort of lied. I mean, I wasn’t in danger of expiring anytime soon, but I wasn’t trulyfineeither. I’d pushed too hard yesterday. If I’d been alone, the situation might have turned dire.
Pops huffed. “Then why are you calling at this horrid hour?”
I didn’t think eight a.m. Cali time constituted “horrid,” but then again, I wasn’t a warlock. Pops kept stranger hours than me.
