Blood Ex Libris Read online

  It felt like we were locked in a feverish bubble. The rest of the world might still exist, but neither of us cared. Nothing in time or space mattered outside our hate-bubble. I was going to die; I knew it and accepted it because I finally could do my best to rip out her heart and bash in her head if I had to with my bare fingers. At that moment, I believed without reservation that I could.

  We each drew a breath and knew that after releasing it, it would start. Then somehow The Nose was between us, and insanity made his anger jagged-edged and abruptly sobering. He too lost his English, which was fine by me because what poured out of him sounded like a brutally vicious reaming-out. At some point, he realized I couldn’t understand a word and switched mid-sentence, “—and there will be no more of this, or I will teach you submission, and make it a lesson you shall never forget, no matter how long you exist afterward. Do you doubt my ability to do this?” He looked at her, then me. I shook my head, afraid to do anything more. The Qarînah replied as meekly as I had ever heard her, “La, ya Sultan.”

  “Then, if you both would not mind—” Ouch. He might be insane enough to think he’s a fucking genie, but he can still lay down some nastily applied sarcasm. “I would like to begin my war now.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  So, I did nothing to save the day. Any hopes I had cherished of being the hero of my own story were dashed when Iblis called over a jinnī named Sa’sa’ah—calling him “berat-emini,” whatever that meant—to kneel beside us and shoot the horrifying weapon called a “Shmel,” which was basically like shooting a rocket from a tube resting on your shoulder. When he was ready, Iblis took a grand stance, hand on his curved saber, and growled, “Ateş!” Sa’sa’ah’s aim was inhumanly perfect: with a strangely dull and low-pitched BOOM, the rocket-thing shot between the narrow walls of the opening. There was this curious hiatus in breathing and the forward progress of time, then the cave BOOMED into a formless expanding mass of noise and smoke and dirt. And before I could even begin to respond, the world BOOM-BOOM-BOOMED into pandemonium, shaking us off our feet, the sound of similar explosions echoing from farther away. Even more detonations shook us, muffled from being underground and possibly also because my ears and heart had been deafened by the first explosion and the proof of my complete and utter failure.

  Around us, jinn got up and ran around, coming back with flamethrowers. Iblis was checking his sat phone. Underground explosions continued, some closer, some echoing from farther away. To our left, a whole stretch of ground shook like some localized earthquake and collapsed several feet. Two vehicles that had been parked nearby slid down and noisily landed inside the crater, adding to the chaos. The Mad Genie was roaring with wild laughter. His minions took their cue, their whooping and shouting lost in the tumult. A few let off celebratory blasts from their flamethrowers.

  There were debris clouds and harsh smoke everywhere, the sky apocalyptically fiery-orange in the last of the sunset. Between that and the smell of explosives and burning, it seemed like a pretty accurate representation of hell.

  I stood in the last light of this most terrible day—with the promise of an even more nightmarish night—shivering and wondering how everything could have gone so terribly wrong. This was not where I was supposed to end up, watching the bad guys blow up my good guys while I stood by helplessly and uselessly. I contemplated ways to set myself on fire without anyone stopping me. It seemed a preferable option to the upcoming “passion in the embers” with the Fucking Insane Genie.

  Who, when I trepidatiously looked around for him, was back to talking on his sat phone, evidently getting reports from the other locations. He didn’t speak in English, but I didn’t need to try to listen to his plans now. It was all over. The good guys had lost, and I had lost Sandu and Bagamil now, as well as Neplach.

  I’d thought I understood shock before, but no. Nope, I hadn’t.

  How many had been blown apart beyond any supernatural healing? How many had burned to cinders in their agonized last moments? How many were trapped under fallen rock and rubble, burned and broken?

  As I slumped there, viscerally experiencing every possible terrible death, a vise-like grip tightened around my upper arm and the Qarînah hauled me over to one of the remaining vehicles. She shoved me in, and I found myself smushed between her and the Genocidal Genie, who was talking rapidly into his phone.

  Our mini-convoy quickly took us past what was obviously another explosion site. The original entrance was clearly visible, due to the fact it was emitting smoke from under the debris pile it had become. A new hole had chasmed open nearby, and we parked by it. While clouds of smoke rolled out of it, it was obviously still an area of concern. We joined the minions who were there already. Most were armed with flamethrowers, although Iblis was now armed not with his phone, but with his sword.

  “We have exposed one of their bolt holes!” he explained to me, excitement pulsating from him. He looked around at the jinn excitedly hoisting their flamethrowers. “Hürmiz, Nızar, Zalambūr…” They drew to attention, and he gave them instructions. They all responded enthusiastically and trooped into the black, smoking hole.

  We waited. I waited numbly. Everyone else waited with excitement, which, as time oozed by with no return or responses on the walkie-talkies, became impatience, then frustration, at least for the Genocidal Genie. He spat orders at the next batch of three jinn and sent them in, I assumed to check up on the first three and report back ASAP. He took to doing warm-up swishes with his blade to pass the time, stopping now and then to call other jinn in different areas before again checking in on the jinn who’d gone inside. Nothing from inside. While the news from the sat phones had started well, over time, what he was hearing led to exasperation and pacing, and soon progressed to Iblis swearing under his breath and angrily staring alternately at his devices and the smoking chasm that had swallowed his jinn.

  Finally, he lost it. After ordering a few jinn to stay outside with walkie-talkies and flamethrowers at the ready, he turned to the Qarînah and me. “Now, follow closely!” He stopped to think for a moment and turned to a jinnī who was not coming with us. “Firuz jān, lend Naz hanım your shamshir.” Firuz did not look best pleased about that, but his hand went, albeit reluctantly, to the hilt at his waist.

  “Ya Sultan!” Bat-Bitch cried, unable to contain herself. “You cannot arm her! What if she turns on us?”

  I could have told her it wouldn’t end well. Indeed, I had trouble not noticeably smirking as Iblis turned to her and grabbed her by the neck with such speed there was not even a blur. “I cannot? You will learn obedience this night! I have been too lax with you and given you too much power. It has gone to your head if you think you can question my orders! What if she turned on you? Could she chop off your head or cut out your heart before you could stop her? She is a soft Amerikalı. And even if she were trained to the sword, could you not disarm her barehanded? She is still of dull, cloddish clay. Insolent fool! You value your hatred of her over your obedience to me!”

  The Qarînah had gone limp in his grasp. When he let go of her neck, she dropped—well, not like a stone. She still managed to be beautifully graceful on the way down, landing in a puddle of perfect submission at his feet. Iblis glared at Firuz, who handed me the elegantly curved blade with alacrity. I took it with all the meek compliance I could express through body language, but inside, a little part of me perked back to life. Yes, it was stupid since everything the Genocidal Genie had said was true. But. There was now a weapon in my hand, and it sparked a pathetic flame of hope inside me.

  “Ayağa kalkın!” Iblis snapped at the prostrate Qarînah. “Follow!” he snapped at me. And follow him we did, into the black, gaping, smoking maw of the earth.

  As we entered, I realized I was still wearing my sunglasses. I pulled them off because my night vision was not am’r-perfect yet. I wished for a gas mask or something because the air was acrid and choking, and it got worse the deeper we went.

  It was eerily still in the smoky air.
We moved in single file, Iblis taking point, the Qarînah, me, and then a couple of minion-jinn behind me. It was obviously a passageway that had been made by am’r hands, but it had been hidden well enough to only be discovered after it started issuing smoke from the explosions. I wondered if anyone had managed to escape through it before it had been revealed.

  We went farther and farther in. Iblis checked his walkie-talkie a few times, but finally, we got past the point where it worked. He was pissed.

  “They should have left transceivers along this way. We should have communications as far along as they have come.”

  Nobody mentioned aloud the only excuse for the transceivers having not been set up, although we had not tripped over any bodies—nor any side passages—yet. I found this cheering, but I was afraid to hope too much.

  We had climbed over varying amounts of rubble as we went, from dirt and pebbles to large rocks. Now we hit a huge mound of collapsed cave, with only enough space to crawl through at the top. Iblis inspected it, but it was unclear if there were jinn on the other side. He waved for the minion-jinn to go on ahead of us. The first called out something that seemed to indicate the way was safe because the second crawled along in a more relaxed way. He also called something, and Iblis waved to the Qarînah to go next. As she managed her skirts—not even a superhuman can crawl gracefully in a long robe—I found that the riddle of the fox, the chicken, and the grain was at the top of my mind.

  If you don’t want the Qarînah and me trying to kill one another while you are busy dealing with a dangerous situation, what is the best order for us to crawl through?

  My inappropriate sense of humor was returning, but whether this was a good thing or a bad thing was debatable.

  It took the Qarînah slightly longer than it had taken the betrousered minions to get to the other side. Abruptly, we heard her urgent hiss for Iblis. He swore, then hissed at me, “Follow directly on my heels!”

  I did as ordered, beyond fascinated by what awaited us. Any capacity for fear had pretty well been burnt out of me by now, and anything that freaked out Bat-Bitch was good in my book.

  The Genocidal Genie was swearing before he got all the way through. By the time I worked myself through the gap, I found him still swearing and looking desperately around, sword drawn. I tried to memorize the phrases, but the only one I caught was “Siktir!” since it was repeated frequently. A quick look around showed me why: no minions. Both were gone without a trace in the amount of time it took to get the Qarînah across, which had not been especially long.

  This must mean some am’r survived! Dare I hope Sandu is one of them?

  Iblis certainly thought so since his swearing now included “Kazıklı bey” at regular intervals. Bat-Bitch planted herself beside me and held onto my sword-arm with a circulation-stopping grip. “Where is he?” she snarled at me.

  “Who?” I asked in pure and sweet innocence.

  “Kazıklı bey. Your master.”

  “He’s not my master. And I don’t know if he’s alive or dead. I didn’t even know he was here until your master told me. So I just. Don’t. Know.”

  She turned from me, keeping up the death-grip, and spoke Arabic rapidly to Iblis. He replied to her. No one bothered translating for me.

  We moved on, Iblis first, sword at the ready, the Qarînah and I following behind, walking together since she wouldn’t let me go. She had a sword too, and she kept me slightly behind her, her left hand gripping me like iron, making me move at her speed and at the distance from her she preferred. My sword was even more useless than it would have been, since not only was she holding the arm which held it, but after a while, I could barely feel anything in my fingers and had to concentrate just to keep a grip on it.

  We soon had to either angle off to the right or take a sharp left. Neither passage had anything to recommend it over the other. The Mad Genie and Bat-Bitch had a low-pitched discussion about it, again not in English. My opinion was not required. They sniffed like truffle pigs, but the acrid smoke made smelling anything impossible. The irony made me deeply happy, despite my constantly burning eyes, nose, and throat.

  Iblis insisted on the sharp left. Off we went—Exeunt stage left!—in our strange, insecure little procession. I realized the Madness of the Genie was getting more pronounced every minute. He was muttering to himself, catching himself, and snaking forward silently, head moving continuously, nostrils twitching, then slowly slouching back into murmuration, catching himself again with a start.

  Should I scream? Should I start a fight with Bat-Bitch to distract everyone so the good guys can sneak up on us more readily?

  The problem—as the problem had been this whole fucking time—was that I had no clue. Maybe this was the wrong spot, and if I started shit here, it would severely disadvantage the home team? Or maybe they were tracking us, just waiting for me to hit my cue? I couldn’t know, and that not-knowing made me wonder if I might end up as stark, raving nutters as Ol’ Genie-boy.

  With no warning, we came out into a huge space: a natural cavern, now much damaged by fire and explosive-caused earthquakes. And, for the first time, there were bodies. Well, things that had probably once been bodies. Piles of charcoal and ash, and others less perfectly incinerated. After Iblis and the Qarînah went even more rigid, I also started to hear echoes reverberating around the space: distant shouting, fighting, and a couple of times, a whoosh sound followed by more active bedlam, which I realized with a nasty start was the sound of flamethrowers in action. This perked both my companions up while taking some of the wind out of my sails. There were still bad guys doing bad things to my good guys, dammit!

  They used that distraction to hit us. Neither Iblis nor the Qarînah saw it coming. Neither, to be fair, did I.

  All I knew was the Qarînah was falling down, hauling me with her. We landed, and I got kicked and punched as she scrabbled with an unknown assailant. Then I understood that her sword was caught in my skirts, and somehow I clamped my legs together around it and felt both cruel edges digging into my inner thighs as she desperately tried to free the blade. I might be a soft American, but I did have strong thighs, and my desperation was greater than her own. She gave up on the blade and turned to fight the attacker with her bare hands—not weapons to underestimate by any means. They were fighting on top of me, and I was trying to get out from under them while holding onto my sword and trying to keep the other one between my thighs. It cut me more with each movement, but I kept it away from her. I caught an elbow or something to my chin, which knocked my head so brutally to the side that I thought for a moment my neck was broken. But no, it was just going to be exceedingly sore if I survived this experience. I took a knee or something to my stomach and nearly vomited. As I lay wheezing for air, they rolled violently off me, and I scrabbled, graceless and gasping, away from their fight.

  It was a mostly silent struggle. Neither combatant made a sound except for panting and the occasional low grunt of pain. There was no witty verbal sparring, just a sincere desire on both parts to be the winner of the fight. The air in this larger space was less smoky, and I could almost follow it: there was a man in black leather who had a matte-black blade, I thought, but she wasn’t letting him use it. Her death-grip was on his sword-hand, and I was pretty sure she could break bones if given enough motivation. Her robes were ripped, and I could see the pale skin of her legs kicking and clasping, using her lower-body strength to its best advantage while they were both down.

  He had her pinned. He freed his arm and raised the blade. She punched him in the throat. He was down. No!

  I don’t know what I did. I must have gotten up and run to her. I must have thrown myself upon her, sword first. I had no skill, I could barely see to aim, and I think I remember tripping over him on the way down.

  But I landed right. Right in her eye, that is. I found myself lying on top of her, awkwardly to the left of the sword, which was sticking straight up out of her left eye. The right eye was looking at me, hate and pain and confusion
mingled in a basilisk stare. I know I was frozen by it. Even with a sword through her brain, she was one formidable bitch.

  Dragoș’ dear voice, husky behind me, urged, “Move, Noosh! We finish this!” He hauled me off to the side, and I watched as he slammed a long black combat knife into her chest and with powerful rips, cut her heart out. Not neatly, mind you, but it all came out in pieces by the end, and her chest was a gaping hole.

  I was not numb anymore. Blood-lust pounded through me like a storm, whipping up my blood to seafoam and roaring waves. Dragoș took a look at me, then pulled my sword out of her eye socket and handed it to me with a proud neatness to the gesture. “Decapitate her, doamna mea! It is not easy, you will find, but do it!”

  No, it was not easy, even with a sharp and well-balanced sword made for hacking. The muscles and sinews were tough and rubbery, the spine surprisingly resistant. It took a while, but I had a lot of pent up aggression, and this was one Bat-Bitch who would not be rising again if I had anything to say about it—and I said it with my blade, over and over. Finally, her head was separate from her body, and her eyes no longer froze me.

  It was amazing.

  After it was done, I thrust my hands down to where the blood had pooled from her neck and rubbed my hands in it, then brought them up to my mouth to taste her blood. It was cold already, congealing, and it was too metallic and strangely bitter, like burned coffee. But there was a sweetness there anyway—the sweet taste of revenge, I realized that and I laughed, and held out my fingers for Dragoș to lick. He grabbed my wrist and sucked my fingers clean, and he laughed with a rough, dark-edged sound that made me all too aware of him in a whole new way. The way he was looking at me, it was clear he felt the same.

  He let go of my hand and pushed himself away from me, his dark eyes glinting. “You have changed, Noosh! Grown up a bit, nu? We had better go find your patar and help him if he needs it. And best, perhaps, we not be alone together right now.”