Chapter 3
Wake up.
Gabriel had never been a quick waker. It took time to get his brain working, and for a while all he could think about was how foul his mouth tasted.
Wake up.
He tried to keep the dream going, to remember the rest of the conversation that had led to him wandering around the fifty states with a briefcase full of spirits and a James Bond smartphone. He tried to remember everything. It was important.
I said wake up, damn you! We don't have time for snooze buttons right now.
Gabriel woke up, feeling his left cheek burning as if someone had smacked him. Hard.
What the hell was that?
Someone said, oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you up?
But there was no one there.
He rolled over, reaching for the fetish on the night table. God damn it, Bastiaan had told him he had to wear it all the time. But the thing stunk to high heaven, and Gabriel could never sleep with it around his neck. Bad enough having to wear it all day.
Before he could grab it, the little bag leapt into the air, dangling by its long leather thong and dancing across the room.
Ah-ah, said the voice. You don't want to get rid of me. You need to listen.
"Listen to what? Who are you?" Wrong question. "What are you?" None of the spirits had ever talked to him in his earthly body.
The voice sounded like a teenager's. A girl. But there was a buzz to it that he didn't like.
He put one foot down on the cold floor and sat on the side of the bed, watching the fetish hover over the chair by the mini-bar. He could see nothing holding it. What were his options? The cellphone was still on the night-table. Bastiaan was, of course, on speed dial. Could he get through to the shaman before whatever it was got him? Maybe if he ran out of the room. Good thing he had fallen asleep wearing his clothes.
Too bad his Sox jacket was draped over the chair that whatever-it-was was occupying. If he could get to his jacket pocket the thing might get a little surprise.
Stop doing that. I don't want to hurt you. I'm going to tell you what I am, but I want you to think about some things first. Ask yourself some questions.
"Is this where you tell me I'm fighting for the wrong side? I already saw that movie." Keep the thing talking. Get its guard down.
He wasn't trained for this kind of shit. He was a garbage man, not Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But working for Bastiaan had, overall, been pretty easy so far. He had imagined hellfire and dark magic, battles with the supernatural raging across city blocks. None of that had materialized. Fighting the spirits Bastiaan sent him after was pretty much like fighting drunks in a bar. And that was something he knew about.
No, the thing said, and the buzz was stronger this time. You're on the right side. Bastiaan is what you probably think of as a Good Guy. But he isn't telling you everything he knows. And you haven't asked him any of the questions you should have.
"Like what?" He readied himself to run for the door. Was that smoke he smelled?
Like why so many of Bastiaan's "patients" are committing suicide. He is not an incompetent healer, you know. He's probably the second best shaman in the South today.
It was smoke, all right. Getting stronger, too. He wondered if there was a fire in the building. A fire alarm would make a handy diversion.
"Yeah? Who's Number One?" Keep talking, spook girl.
Number One would be the sorcerer who's sabotaging Bastiaan. His old teacher. The same one who's looking for you now, by the way.
"Me? What did I -" he glanced at the chair, and realised that the smell of smoke wasn't coming from a distant fire, but from his room. So much for the fire alarm.
Wisps of dark smoke curled in the air around the chair, intensifying while he watched. At the center of this hazy cloud a shape was forming - something like a human figure made of shadow and smoke, with flickers of firelight illuminating random features here and there. A human girl's figure. With what looked like wings of smoke.
He had just started to move off the bed when his cellphone started playing Muddy Waters' "Hoochie Coochie Man". That was his ringtone for Bastiaan. He faltered in his leap and turned, fumbling for the phone.
Don't tell him! the girl's voice yelled, but she couldn't stop him.
Swiping the phone off the night table, he ran for the door and punched what he hoped was the Talk button. "Bastiaan!" He called. "There's some kind of devil woman in my room!" He was at the door.
He was fumbling with the lock, unfortunately with his left hand.
He was too late.
I'm not a devil, said that musical voice right behind his ear. A delicate, dusky hand wearing fuschia nail polish immobilized his left wrist, feeling like a band of iron. Another slim, irresistable hand plucked the cellphone from his and made it disappear. I'm a jinn.
Don't even think about asking me if I live in a lamp. I'm not anyone's servant, and that lamp stuff is bullshit anyway. Name's Suriya. Don't call me Sue, or Susie, or Suri. Suriya. Get your jacket, we have to get to New Orleans before all hell breaks loose, and I mean that literally.
She was bossy as hell, thought Gabriel. And stunning, he saw when he turned around.
Don't do anything stupid, she hissed. She was small, slender and dark, with long black hair and eyes that seemed to have flames inside them. It's bad enough you just told ________ I'm here. He didn't catch the name, only a burst of noise like blatting radio static.
"What are you talking about?" He walked to the chair and slipped the jacket on, feeling the reassuring weight of the talisman in the inner pocket. Now he had a chance, if he had to fight her. But he was confused as hell. Was she an enemy or not? What had he gotten himself into?
All he ever wanted was to get his wife back, damnit. He hadn't signed up for any kind of wizards' war. And so far Bastiaan hadn't mentioned anything of the sort.
Bastiaan would have to answer for that, regardless of what happened tonight.
_______. That burst of static again. My former master, and Bastiaan's teacher. He's got Bastiaan's house magically bugged. So now he knows I'm here, and he's going to try and speed up his plans.
"And what are his plans?" He picked up the briefcase, and to his surprise the girl gave him the cellphone, too.
Tell you on the way. We've got to get moving.