Page 40 of Bewitched By the Djinn
We exit the courtyard, walking through the bar onto the main road. The music follows us out, bluesy and rich, twining through the dimly lit street. The Tuesday night crowd on Bourbon is light, but present nonetheless. Tourists in windbreakers, twenty-somethings spilling from neon-lit bars, the occasional street performer crooning under a flickering lamppost.
I weave through a clump of drunk college kids, Bennet a silent presence at my back.
We reach a quieter street, and he turns to me. “How did you set your intention, exactly? What did you wish for?”
“I wanted us to be able to access our magic whenever we need to, to remove the block. It seems like it worked. Maybe now we can use our magic to find Helen ourselves.” But I’m also a little freaked about how it basically erased any block between us as well. At least, while the vamp was drawing from us.
Maybe it was just a one-off. Freak occurrence.
“We could test it?” Bennet steps around a random pipe sticking up out of the sidewalk.
“Later. When we get home.” I’m not quite ready for another emotional tornado. “Let’s focus on Helen. So, either she’s still in the bayou, or she asked the witches to block her or something so she couldn’t be tracked.”
Bennet’s eyes are troubled. “She may have concealed her presence herself. Clearly she doesn’t want to be dragged back to Aetheria. I have no doubt Uncle Hugh has sent someone after us since I haven’t returned. He is probably worried sick.”
“How would they find you? Can they track you the way you could track Helen?”
“No. Not many have that ability. And Helen and I—it’s different. We have more magic than most. When we were kids, our connection was so strong we could find each other anywhere. Almost read each other’s thoughts. We aren’t as closeas we once were.” He steps off the curb to avoid a pothole, then falls back into stride beside me.
I shove my hands in my pockets. “Being able to read her thoughts would sure come in handy right about now. There is no way to bring that back to life?”
He shakes his head. “When I first tracked her even with my magic on this side of the veil, it was difficult. The channel between us is muddled with misuse, like a well-worn path that’s been overrun with weeds and fallen logs. Things have not been the same between us since our parents died.”
“Why did your relationship with Helen change?”
We stop to let a car pass.
He turns to me as we cross the street. “She had obligations to the throne. She was often sequestered away with Uncle Hugh, learning how to rule, while I had tutors. Sometimes I was sent away to foster with Uncle’s councilors in their steadings, to learn about the more distant parts of the kingdom, so I might more capably assist my sister at court once she ascended. After our parents passed, we were thrust into our respective roles, no longer free to be children.”
“How old were you?”
“I was nine. Helen was twelve.”
My heart hurts for him, for both of them. To lose your parents so young—and then be separated from each other to attend to “duties.” I can’t imagine it. There’s no way in hell I would have sent either Jackie or Kevin away after our parents went missing.
I would rather send myself away. After three years of playing mom, getting a night off from parenting duties? That might be actual heaven.
“What happened to your parents?”
His hand lifts to the ring hidden behind his shirt. “They were attacked by ifrit on the way home from a neighboring kingdom. My uncle was with them. He barely survived.”
I wince. His story just keeps getting worse. “I’m sorry. The ring you wear, did it belong to one of them?”
His shoulders stiffen. “Yes. My mother.”
Ah. I’m not sure how to react to that. I know firsthand what it’s like to lose your parents. Words don’t fix or help anything. Nothing I say is going to bring them back or fix the ache of loss.
Shit. Way to ruin a perfectly comfortable conversation with an insensitive question.
We walk in silence for a block.
Grief is personal. Death is awkward.
I open my mouth to backtrack, but he suddenly stops.
I halt beside him. “Look, I’m sorry?—”
He lifts a hand, pointing past me.
