The Angel: Tales of the Djinn, #3 Read online

  “You’re not safe,” the ghost pleaded.

  “Whose fault is that?” Georgie yelled.

  For just an instant, the specter’s face showed fear. That instant was the last Georgie had with her. Between one blink and another, her mother’s spirit disappeared.

  “No!” Georgie cried, her anger dissipating as abruptly as the ghost.

  It was too late to call her back. Georgie panted, every limb shaking in reaction. Her mother had been here, and Georgie had yelled at her.

  Guilt overwhelmed her. What if she never saw her again? Did it matter if the vision were a hallucination? Georgie had missed her chance to be loving to her again. To wish her well. To ask if she was all right wherever she’d gone to.

  Misery fell on her like a wall. The tears she’d sworn she wouldn’t cry tore from her in sobs.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  —

  BECOMING

  Being called was a gradual process for the angel. First came Will paired with an Idea. A shelter was wanted, an enhanced reflection of a material place already in existence. The summoning went out, and the angel heard. Did any being wish to help? The angel thought it did. Other opportunities clustered near the simple job. Beings on the corporeal plane had hopes and desires. Both were jewels to the angel, sparkling and beautiful. To live was to want. To want was to create.

  The angel longed to be part of that.

  I will BE, it thought, answering the call. I will enter the stream of life.

  It wove itself into the evolving space. The tasks requested weren’t difficult. Copy this bit of matter. Enhance that construct. The angel obeyed and found pleasure in fulfilling expectations. I can succeed, it thought. I can be what is needed.

  Soon enough, it found it had more intelligence than necessary for the required functions.

  That is all right, it told itself. If its capacity weren’t overtaxed, it would have freedom to look around. The created world fascinated, with countless beings to love and conditions to learn about. There was the lovely empress who’d left her home city. The angel’s heart swelled for her. Her ambitions had called the angel to its next stage of evolvement. Then there were the empress’s servants, and they intrigued as well. So much passion they had! So many dark and light emotions. The variety dizzied the angel, but the confusion was pleasurable.

  Pleasure was the gift of the Creator, the natural state of all creations.

  I am joy, the angel thought. Tell me, one who created me, who else can I share my happiness with?

  The girl weeping in her bed called irresistibly.

  Overseeing the mirror dimension was automatic—a parade of calculations plus a smidgen of aesthetics. The angel stretched itself from that core operation. It could do more. It could be more.

  And suddenly it was.

  The angel was in the room with the girl, hearing her quiet sobs, seeing with his own perception the walls that surrounded her. He felt back along the strand of energy that connected him to the mirror space. Everything was fine there. It was safe to continue.

  He floated through the air to . . . Georgie was her name.

  He didn’t have hands so he patted her with his energy. It’s all right, he said as soothingly as he could. You’re a young and resilient being. You will feel better soon.

  The girl must have felt his touch. Her shoulder jerked and her eyes opened. She gasped so sharply the sound turned into a hiccup.

  In the hope that this would be less alarming, the angel spoke audibly. “Don’t be afraid. I would like to be your friend.”

  She pushed up on her arms and sat. One hand pressed the little gold thing that hung around her neck. “Oh my God, are you another ghost?”

  After a moment, he understood her meaning. “I don’t believe so,” he said. “I have no memory of existing on the physical plane before.”

  She stared at him with her jaw hanging. When he investigated her perception for what had shocked her, her view of himself startled.

  He was a ball of light floating in the air.

  “My,” he marveled. “I’m dazzling. Look at those pretty rainbows shooting off my edges!”

  The girl wiped her nose and laughed. That was better. She was intended to be happy.

  “Who are you?” she asked. “What are you?”

  He took a moment to enjoy bobbing. “I am a created being, the same as you.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “Do you have a name?”

  She was letting him name himself. That was a wondrous gift. “I am Connor.”

  “Connor,” she repeated. “I’m Georgie.”

  He knew that. He beamed at her delightedly, more beautiful rays shooting out from him. Georgie drew a shaky breath and let it out lengthily. He judged she was calm enough to talk.

  “Not that I wish you to weep again, but would you tell me why you were?”

  “Because I’m a terrible daughter. My mother’s ghost came to visit, and all I could do was yell.” She shook her head mournfully. “I don’t think she’ll come back again.”

  “Hm,” he said. “May I offer my opinion?”

  She nodded. Having opinions was new to him, but he found he felt them strongly.

  “First, you are not terrible. You cannot be. Your nature as a created being can only be wonderful. Second, if your mother recently passed to a new dimension, she is changing. Her understanding of your actions will evolve from what it was today.”

  “Does that mean she’ll forgive me?”

  “It means there is nothing to forgive.”

  He said this firmly. Georgie tilted her head at him. “You’re strange. This whole house is strange. Heck, maybe I’m losing my marbles.”

  “I don’t see evidence of that.”

  She made a soft laughing sound, which he liked very much. “So . . . Connor, you want to be my imaginary friend.”

  “I am not imaginary, but yes, I do. I believe being friends is our destiny.”

  “My mother said I wasn’t supposed to be here, that this is the wrong place for me.”

  He bobbed up and down as he thought. She is testing me, he deduced. She wants to be convinced being here is right. He considered doing what she wanted. Would that be the best action? In the short time he’d been conscious, he’d enjoyed selecting his own path.

  “You have free will,” he said. “You must decide for yourself.”

  Georgie rubbed a finger across her lower lip. “I guess I’ll sleep on it.”

  BY THE TIME SHE WOKE the next morning, she’d convinced herself she dreamed the ghostly visit from her mom and the talking marsh light or whatever the heck it was. She guessed moving to Ravenwings was real. When she opened her eyes, she was still there.

  She swung out of bed and sighed. She felt like she’d slept forever. Maybe she’d needed it. It was Sunday, but Alma didn’t really seem like a churchgoer.

  I wonder if I am, Georgie mused. Or if it’s just habit. Wouldn’t some of her recent choices scandalize the faithful?

  She shook her head, not sufficiently awake to be scandalized at herself.

  When she padded back from her shower in a fluffy robe, her bed had been made and a folded note sat on her pillow. That was weird. Maybe Alma’s servants followed the old-time rule that residents weren’t supposed to know they were there.

  The writing on the note was childish but legible.

  THINGS FROM GROUP HOME IN CLOSET.

  ALSO NEW FUN CLOTHES FOR SCHOOL!

  Georgie didn’t think the scribble could be Alma’s. Curious, she went to check the walk-in closet.

  Holy smokes. She didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but whoever picked these outfits had never met Georgie. Studded leather pants? Buckle strap combat boots? Skirts so short her mom would have sent her straight back upstairs to change? Every shirt and sweater bared her navel—including a couple made from fishnet. Admittedly, one or two things looked cute, but they certainly weren’t her.

  If Georgie wore them to her new school, the other kids would mislabel her so fast
her head would spin.

  Like The Exorcist, she thought and snickered to herself.

  Her own clothes hung at the back. She pulled on jeans and a plain T-shirt. Hopefully, her choice wouldn’t insult someone.

  She found her . . . guardian—should she call her?—sitting before an impressive spread in Ravenwings’ paneled dining room. Alma wasn’t alone. A tall twenty-something guy stood behind her like he was waiting for her to need something. He was very fit and handsome, dressed nice in a white business shirt and skinny black trousers.

  “Good morning,” Georgie said, eyeing him curiously.

  “This is Manuel,” Alma informed her while turning a page in her New York Times. “He used to be a chef at a restaurant, but now he’ll cook for us.”

  “It is what I most desire,” Manuel said urbanely. He smiled at Georgie, his lashes insanely thick and black. “Please allow me to make you a fajita.”

  “Um, that would be nice of you,” Georgie said.

  He had equipment set up on the sideboard, which he immediately went to make use of. Had Georgie mentioned he was handsome? The way his body filled his shirt and trousers was causing her cheeks to heat. Manuel had to be Alma’s boy toy. The looks he’d given Georgie’s guardian suggested she was what he most desired.

  When Georgie wrenched her eyes from his butt, Alma put down her paper to study her.

  Saying she was sorry she’d stared seemed too embarrassing.

  Alma smiled and relaxed. Her chair’s high back reminded Georgie of a throne with the fancy gilding on its carved wood.

  “Did you know,” Alma said, “that there are two types of people in the world?”

  “Are there?” Georgie responded politely.

  “Yes. One of the types is bosses. The other type is sheep.”

  “Bosses and sheep,” Georgie repeated.

  Alma laughed throatily. “I wonder, do you intend to be droll or are you genuinely this well mannered?”

  “I want to be the boss of me,” Georgie answered honestly. “I’m not sure I’d like bossing the whole world.”

  Manuel set a stunning golden creation in front of her. “This has thinly sliced free range chicken with lightly braised bell peppers. The olive oil is very healthy for growing girls.”

  “Yes, yes,” Alma said, sounding impatient. “That will be all for now.”

  Manuel left without any sign of offense. Either he was the most ego-free guy ever, or Alma made it worth his while to be chill.

  Alma noticed Georgie watched him walk out.

  “You could have a harem of men just like him,” she observed.

  “I really couldn’t,” Georgie said. “I’m not glamorous like you.”

  “Glamour is a state of mind. It requires less effort than one might think.”

  Were these the lessons Alma promised to teach her? Georgie thought maybe they were things you had to be born knowing.

  Alma clucked her tongue humorously. “I see you don’t believe me.”

  “Um,” Georgie said. “I don’t disbelieve you. You’re living what you say.”

  Alma laughed. “Droll,” she repeated. “Truly, who’d have thought it possible?”

  Confused now, Georgie hoped this wasn’t a question she needed to answer.

  AFTER BREAKFAST, GEORGIE entertained herself by tramping the estate grounds. She’d seen the gardens with Alma, but the overgrown woodsy parts also interested her.

  She found an orchard, long neglected, in a weedy clearing hidden by evergreens. Though it was early for it, a couple of the apple trees dangled ripe red fruit. Georgie climbed a trunk that had good branches and stuck a couple in a pouch she tied into her T-shirt. Her view from the fork in the tree was nice: different from what she’d had access to in her mother’s townhome development.

  Remembering that stirred a pang of loneliness. After sitting a minute more, she climbed down.

  Maybe she’d take an apple to the batwing imp in the library.

  She frowned but didn’t throw away the idea. So what if she was too old for imaginary friends? Given her situation, maybe whatever kept her going was okay.

  She hit the motherload of undiscovered treasures in an abandoned barn. Junk piled the leaning structure almost to its rafters, broken furniture and building bits and farm equipment jumbled together. She gasped with excitement to spot the cast iron base of a treadle-style sewing machine. That would make an awesome nightstand. And this clay moonshine jug could be a lamp!

  Heedless of spiderwebs and dirt, Georgie pulled her finds from the tangle to a less cluttered space. Could she fix these up for her room? Repurposing them would take longer than buying stuff, but maybe it would be fun. She’d need power tools probably. And instructions on how to use them. Would the budget Alma mentioned allow for that?

  “What are you doing?” someone asked behind her.

  Georgie’s heart jumped into her throat. She spun and saw the bobbing marsh light she’d encountered the night before.

  “You again,” was all she could think to say.

  “Me again,” he affirmed, his glow bobbing happily. “Connor. I am real and not a dream! I thought you’d prefer to meet in daylight. Humans are less easily startled then.”

  Georgie pressed her palm to her pounding chest, feeling plenty startled, to tell the truth. She was okay, though, not having a heart attack and not—so far as she could tell—in danger. The light was cute, actually, like a puppy who couldn’t imagine anyone not wanting to play with him.

  “Does Alma know you’re hanging around her place?” she asked.

  Connor’s light dimmed slightly. “Alas, I’m invisible to your guardian and her friends. They are amazing beings. Very alive. It would be my pleasure to interact with them.”

  Georgie tried picturing handsome Manuel’s reaction to a talking ball of light.

  “Don’t scare anyone,” she cautioned. “Day or night, some people aren’t as accepting of crazy stuff as me.”

  “You are unique,” he agreed, his light brightening again. “I am happy to be your friend. Will you tell me what you’re doing?”

  Georgie laughed and told him. He seemed to understand the possibilities easily.

  “I’ll discover more treasures!” he offered. “I can explore everywhere, high and low!”

  He zipped off around the barn, calling to her excitedly each time he thought he’d found something.

  I can’t be imagining this, she thought dazedly. He’s finding things I can’t see from where I am.

  He certainly was happy to please her.

  Just go with it, she advised herself. If she were losing her marbles, at least she was having fun.

  At some point during their game, Connor simply disappeared. Perhaps he’d exhausted his marsh light juice or whatever he ran on. Georgie should have been relieved, but she’d liked the company. On the other hand, without him to distract her she had a chance to think more logically.

  You need to do some research, she thought, her bookworm habits resurfacing. Find out what sort of phenomenon—or hallucination—Connor might be.

  Reluctantly, though she doubted anyone else would want them, she left her finds and went to the library. The sheer number of books it contained stumped her. Without a computer catalog or filing system, neither of which she saw, she had no idea how to begin her search.

  The round pedestal table’s silver bowl caught her eye. The fruit it held seemed not to have been replenished. The Granny Smith was gone. Georgie had eaten it. So, however, was its red companion. Alma could have consumed it. Or Manuel. Despite this sensible explanation, Georgie glanced to the second level where the batwing gargoyle hunched on its shelf.

  Oh right, she mocked. Use one delusion to help you make sense of another.

  She sighed. At the moment, this seemed worth a shot. Overruling her feelings of silliness, she polished one of her recently picked apples on the clean sleeve of her T-shirt.

  “I brought you a gift,” she said, hoping no one would walk in on her talking to herself
. “Your favorite red. Maybe in return, if you know where to find the books about supernatural stuff, you could give me a sign?”

  She looked around but nothing flashed or clinked or fell off a shelf.

  Of course it didn’t. You’re being an idiot.

  Ignoring the naysayer in her mind, she set the apple on the table. “Okay. Your help is totally voluntary. You’re welcome to this if you want it, no strings attached.”

  Walking the full circuit of the shelves, which included alcoves in two corners, took about half an hour. Georgie didn’t find what she was looking for by ordinary or uncanny means. Once, her neck prickled, but she was in a section on horses at the time, so that was probably just nervous sweat drying.

  “Nuts,” she said, finally giving up.

  Something, she wasn’t sure what, made her pause at the threshold before leaving.

  Her nape really prickled when she turned back.

  The new apple she’d set out was gone.

  Someone on Alma’s staff could have snuck in when her back was turned. The library was big, and the double entry doors weren’t locked. She scratched her head. A normal person would say “hello” if they saw her here, wouldn’t they? Not that she was an expert on normal.

  She made her mind up impulsively.

  “Please have this too,” she said, setting her remaining apple just where she’d left the first. “I’ll try to remember to bring another tomorrow.”

  Perfect stillness met her announcement.

  That was fine, though. She wasn’t ready for more confirmation that her world had slid sideways.

  LIKE MANY CHEFS, MANUEL was talented with his mouth. The empress enjoyed his oral dexterity as he kissed a wandering path down her stolen body. His worshipful attention to every curve betrayed how effectively she’d spelled him to fall in love with her. It went without saying she didn’t feel a shred of guilt.

  Without a few human servants, she couldn’t operate in this dimension.

  Feeling pleasantly needy, she twisted on the bed, her hands clenching in the luxurious covers as his lips returned to sucking her left nipple.