Page 13 of Bewitched By the Djinn
I raise my hand. “Wait. What the hell is a djinn? And can we circle back to this whole binding thing?” I turn my attention to Jackie. “And how do you know we’re connected?
Jackie sways on her feet, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know. It’s just there, like this thing.”
“What thing?”
Her mouth opens like she’s going to answer but then she pales and her eyes flutter closed, her legs buckling beneath her.
“Jackie!” Before I can so much as take a step, lamp man reaches her first.
He catches her before she hits the floor and scoops her into his arms. Her head lolls against his chest, face pale, lashes dark against her skin.
“I’m okay.” She lifts a hand.
“You are not okay.”
She shifts to meet my eyes. “I’ll be fine after I sleep.”
I bite my lip, torn between wanting to rip her out of lamp man’s arms and appreciating his lightning-quick speed.
This isn’t the first time she’s passed out, or nearly passed out. She’s right. She does need to sleep.
“I can take her upstairs,” lamp man says.
Before I can formulate a response, Mimi is herding Kevin, Jackie, and her savior toward the stairs. “That’s mighty kind of you. I’ll show you her room. Thank you.” She squints at me. “We’ll meet you in the kitchen in a minute. Make some tea.”
I clench my teeth and nod. “Fine.”
I head toward the kitchen, every footstep a drumbeat of guilt and frustration and worry and confusion. I fill the kettle with water and set it on the stove. My hands move automatically—mugs, tea bags, honey—but my thoughts are stuck upstairs.
Jackie’s pale face won’t leave my mind. She’s been running on empty for weeks, and now this.
And lamp man... he was just there. Steady. Fast. Careful.
The kettle begins to hiss. I lift it off the heat before it screams.
I line up three mugs and drop a chamomile tea bag into each one. The old yellow one with the happy face and chipped handle for Mimi because she loves that dumb thing. The one with a dancing banana for me. And the dainty one with moon and stars for our guest. I don’t know what kind of tea a djinn drinks, but he’s earned one tonight.
I reach for a spoon and he’s standing in the doorway of the kitchen.
“Holy crap on a cracker!” The spoon goes flying, clattering to the ground. “Could you warn me before sneaking up like that?”
“I apologize.” He studies me with unnerving intensity, his sharp gaze flicking over my face like he’s searching for something.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What?”
“Are they your children?”
A startled laugh bursts from me. “Kevin and Jackie? They’re my siblings. I would’ve had to be pregnant at fourteen.” I scrunch my nose. “Which, I guess, is technically possible, but no. Why?”
His head tilts, considering me. “You all smell alike.”
“We smell alike?”
Great. Djinn apparently have an extra strong sense of smell. And here I am, unshowered, probably reeking of New Orleans: fried food, stale beer, and sewer. Lovely.
But if it bothers him, he doesn’t show it. In fact, there’s something about the way he looks at me—like I’m a puzzle he wants to figure out. Like I intrigue him. And damn it, that’s distracting.
“What is wrong with her?”
