Page 41 of Bewitched By the Djinn
I turn. “What is it?”
His head tilts slightly, eyes flicking behind us.
I listen. The night is quiet, save for the distant thrum of music and the occasional car rolling past the next intersection. The street we’re on is empty, just pools of shadow and the occasional glow of light spilling from a high window.
Bennet murmurs, “Strange.”
A flicker of unease curls in my gut.
The shadow against the nearest wall moves.
I freeze.
It peels away, detaching from the brick like liquid darkness, shifting, twisting, morphing.
A dim streetlight glints off something in its hand.
Is that a knife? It’s shiny but glowing, prickling like lightning. Shock locks my body in place. How the hell is a shadow holding a bolt of lightning? Let alone moving.
My limbs are ice.
Can’t breathe.
The figure lunges, a flash of light arcing my way.
Chapter
Twelve
The world slows.
Bennet leaps in front of me, blocking the strike with a whip of his arm.
The shadow moves with an eerie fluidity, its edges rippling like liquid smoke. It attacks Bennet, each blow echoing down the quiet street.
My mind stutters over the impossibility. How is there a shadow throwing lightning at us and landing hits?
But Bennet is fast. His movements are sharp and efficient, almost unnatural in their precision, as he parries and evades each strike with effortless grace. He’s some kind of freaking ninja or something. He can barely use a cell phone, has never driven a car, struggles with the dishwasher, but apparently, he can fight like he was born for it.
The shadow shudders, losing shape. Its edges dissolve, twisting and folding in on itself like a collapsing house of cards, and then it melts away entirely.
Silence crashes down in its absence.
I stand there, heartbeat hammering, breath trapped in my throat. The night around us is too vast, and yet the darkness is pressing in too tightly.
“Come.” His warm hand connects with my lower back, a comforting weight. “We must hurry, in case it returns.”
My legs finally unlock. “We’ll be safe at home. It’s warded.”
Then we’re running, footsteps uneven against the cracked sidewalk. Bennet keeps pace beside me, smooth and steady, always half a step behind like he’s shielding my back. My pulse thrums in my ears, drowning out the city’s usual hum. I can’t stop scanning the shadows, waiting for another one to rise, for another flash of lightning to lash out of the dark.
By the time we reach the alley leading home, my lungs are burning, my legs are lead, and I’m drenched in sweat. Bennet, on the other hand? Not even winded. Not a single strand of dark gold hair out of place.
So unfair.
I slam the door shut behind us, leaning against it, dragging in gulps of air.
Mimi rounds the corner from the kitchen, her sharp gaze locking on to us. “You’re bleeding.”
