Djinn Justice (The Collegium Book 2) Read online

  She was Steve’s mate, and he hadn’t had time to tell her what that meant. She could guess at the depth of the commitment, but she needed the words. She needed, too, to know what the implications of the bond were. Could it be destroyed?

  She kept her face expressionless, aware of surveillance, but internally grimaced. She’d spent her whole life proving herself to her dad and the Collegium. Nothing she’d done had ever won her acceptance. She refused to waste the rest of her life proving herself to judgmental weres. She resented being back in the same position, just with a different setting: surrounded by hostile forces—not threatened, but unable to relax.

  Had Steve anticipated her reaction to the Suzerain’s fort and its inhabitants? Did it explain why he’d been so intent on showing her his beautiful villa and insisting she view it as her home, too? So many questions. They needed to talk—away from the fort, his family and the djinn. Maybe he’d presented his villa simply as a promise that they could build a beautiful life together? But what would she bring to that life? He was offering her everything.

  A wry grin kicked up the corners of Fay’s mouth. Everything, including the sort of problem she was qualified to deal with: a rogue mage.

  There probably wasn’t a better way to build her reputation with the weres.

  Ironic, unless…was Uncle actually trying to be helpful? Fay almost stumbled at the thought. If he was, then Mrs. Jekyll’s warning that Steve risked more than Fay knew seemed more like an attempt to overset her than the truth. But the woman was genuinely fond of Steve. There’d been real emotion between grandmother and grandson.

  Mystery upon mystery, and Fay loathed not knowing the rules of the were world. She and Steve had both assumed she’d be able to ease into it. She should have known life would never be that simple for her.

  As she reached the portal, Fay dismissed her musings and concentrated. She heard the echo of Mrs. Jekyll’s heels striking the stone floor, coming closer. Fay skirted the portal so that it lay between them.

  Lights fixed to the vaulted ceiling illuminated the portal and gave its surface the shimmering appearance of mercury. Around it were set woven cords.

  Cords were a disappointingly commonplace item to use as tokens. Cynthia, the porter Fay hoped would receive her in New York—a freelancer not registered with the Collegium—used fluffy toys as tokens. On the other hand, Fay couldn’t see Steve willingly carrying a fluffy toy around with him. Cords were practical. Tied in a loop, a were could wear one no matter the form in which they entered the portal. A leopard didn’t have pockets.

  Fay resisted the temptation to touch Jim’s shell token in her pocket. No need to indicate to anyone its presence or her unsettled feeling. Fay looked across a quarter arc of the portal as a single set of footsteps pattered down the stone staircase.

  There was a casual, practiced rhythm to the steps. The person descending was accustomed to entering the dungeon.

  “Good afternoon.” The eager voice matched the jaunty figure that launched itself into the room. The man appeared to be in his sixties, which would make him an experienced porter. He had white hair tied back in a skinny ponytail, and wore jeans and a cotton shirt with a drawstring neckline and flapping sleeves. His feet were bare. He was part hippie, part just himself.

  “I am Faroud.” Faded blue eyes stared expectantly at Fay.

  “I’m Fay Olwen.”

  “I saw you enter the café with Steve.”

  A whole lot of weres had, but Faroud couldn’t be one of them. Oh, he might have been in the café and seen her with Steve, but being a porter required magic, which the were didn’t have. Ergo, Faroud wasn’t a were, and without were senses, he wouldn’t know she was Steve’s mate—unless gossip told him so.

  Judging by the avidity with which Faroud studied her, gossip had exploded like a firestorm.

  Fay decided to ignore it. Neither confirm nor deny. “I need to travel to New York.”

  “Now, Faroud,” Mrs. Jekyll prompted.

  The porter flashed Mrs. Jekyll a sly grin, a look that lingered and took in the older woman’s disapproval and simmering rage.

  It seemed Mrs. Jekyll had also guessed the extent of the gossip. Her spine was rigid, her lips pinched in a thin line. The light reflecting off the portal gave a gray shade to her complexion. Gossip could turn on a person. Mrs. Jekyll had ruled here by virtue of her husband’s position. The weres couldn’t know yet that Steve was being tested—Uncle’s bubble of silence within the Court had seen to that—but there would still be speculation and debate as to changing fortunes and opportunities, given that the heir to the Suzerainty had brought a non-were mate to the fort.

  “I’ll contact Paul O’Halloran.” Faroud extended his arm, touching the air above the shimmering circle.

  “No, not Paul,” Fay said hurriedly. That was what happened when she let herself speculate when she should be focused.

  Paul O’Halloran was the Collegium’s recognized porter. It was rare for two portals to exist so closely as they did in New York—or so Fay believed—but she might as well use the fact. Announcing her arrival via Paul removed the very slight advantage she’d have if she caught the Collegium unprepared. “Cynthia knows me.”

  “Oh?” Faroud’s white eyebrows rose in interrogation.

  Fay hadn’t learned all the secrets of the non-Collegium-registered porters’ network. It was enough that she knew it existed, and had limited access to it, thanks to her stepfather.

  For Faroud, her knowledge of it visibly gave her an added layer of mystery. He stared at her as he contacted Cynthia.

  Behind him, Mrs. Jekyll hovered. Standing in her high heels on the stone floor couldn’t be comfortable, yet she stayed. She could have crashed Steve and Mr. Jekyll’s conversation. Did she worry what Fay or Faroud might say in her absence?

  The porter sat on the ground, nearer Fay than Mrs. Jekyll, his gaze sliding between them, while his fingers moved nimbly, weaving green thread into a cord.

  Fay shut down the temptation to speculate, either about the situation at the fort, the rogue mage or what she might encounter at the Collegium. She centered her attention on the magic inside her and its readiness for action.

  They waited in silence for Cynthia’s response. It wasn’t as if porters had to be available twenty four seven, so Fay decided to allow thirty minutes. After that, she’d reluctantly request Faroud to contact Paul O’Halloran.

  After twelve minutes, Cynthia’s voice echoed through the portal. “You called?”

  “Cynthia, a Fay Olwen requests travel to New York,” Faroud said.

  “Yolanthe’s girl?”

  “Yes, it’s me,” Fay said, deciding etiquette allowed her to answer a question at Faroud’s portal. . Yolanthe was her mom.

  “Oh, very well. Send her through.” Cynthia had a snippy attitude.

  Faroud took Fay’s hand. He didn’t offer her a token to ensure her safe, independent return.

  No reason he should. Fay shrugged it off. Before her stepfather had explained things to her, no other porter had given her a token. Trust was a gift.

  Fay walked into the in-between. In its chaos, there was no up or down. Three dimensions split into twenty one, or so she imagined. She closed her eyes in an attempt to limit her sensory overload. She felt Cynthia grip her free hand and Faroud release her. She stepped out of the in-between into Cynthia’s New York basement.

  A circle of fluffy toys regarded her suspiciously, their glass eyes sparkling. The most frightening of them, a stuffed toy lamb, butted her ankle.

  “Hello, Squiffy.” Fay bent and touched its head.

  The lamb gamboled back to Cynthia Nguyen who picked it up.

  “Thanks, Cynthia. I appreciate your kindness in accepting my entrance.”

  “I’ve set up an account for you,” the other woman said.

  “Thank you,” Fay said devoutly. An account gave Fay independence in portal travel to New York. It meant that rather than having to trade on her stepfather’s porter reputation, Fay had
been recognized and accepted as a private client.

  “I figure you’ll be travelling to the Collegium a fair bit, even if you’re no longer one of them.” Cynthia sat down on a recliner in a corner of her basement. She switched on a television. “I’m waiting on another client. Go on up. Let yourself out.”

  Fay started up the stairs.

  “The Collegium guardians are watching my house, now.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  “I gave them hives when they came too close.” At their portal, porters were powerful. “You have a five house radius, then they’ll sense you.”

  Fay wondered how Cynthia’s other clients dealt with the surveillance. Everyone had their own tricks. She slipped on a cloaking spell and amped it up. As she exited the front door, hearing it lock behind her, anyone observing would see an elderly woman. Fay kept her pace slow to match the illusion as she approached and passed through Cynthia’s five house safe zone. Now, a magical watcher would see an elderly woman with the green aura of a healer.

  She paused at the corner. Late afternoon, blurring into evening, meant heavy traffic. Even an elderly woman might tackle the subway rather than attempt the impossible: hailing an empty cab.

  But miracles do happen.

  A cab appeared. Fay hailed it and it stopped. Disbelieving her luck, she scanned it for magical traps. Nope, nothing. It smelled a bit of wet dog and garlic, but she could live with that. A touch of her own magic would help clear its path through traffic to the Collegium. She gave the address and sank back.

  Behind her, the two junior guardians she’d sensed were probably making a professional and bored note of her appearance. Thanks to the small secrecy spell she’d used, they would have misheard her stated address as Mercy Hospital.

  She’d at least have surprise on her side when she met Lewis.

  Chapter 4

  It was bizarre to stand on the steps of the Collegium’s headquarters and feel the hum of its magic, the power of its wards, and not be tied to any of it. Well, not magically tied. Emotionally, Fay knew she hadn’t truly cut her old loyalties. Perhaps her training as a Collegium guardian had indoctrinated her. Perhaps it was that her great-grandparents had founded the institution. Whatever the reason, she believed in its purpose: to serve. To protect the mundane world from magical excess. Everything had to have limits.

  Except love.

  She hadn’t understood that before Steve. She didn’t fully understand it now. She only knew that where common sense told her to run from the crazy snarl of the were world, one that could never be hers because she could never be were, she wouldn’t run. She wanted Steve no matter what complications he came with.

  That had been how he’d wooed her. He hadn’t allowed any obstacles between them.

  The automatic doors of the building swooshed open at her approach. She smiled as she entered. Last time she’d been here, she’d entered with Steve. Without magic, he’d insisted on accompanying her into the heart of magic users to confront a powerful demon. He’d fought, too. With courage and skill and trust in her, rather than with magic. His lack of magic hadn’t made him lesser, even as her lack of were-nature didn’t make her an impossible choice as the Suzerain’s mate.

  The receptionist at the Collegium’s foyer desk recognized Fay. It was there in the hyper-stillness of his body and frozen stare. Then he blinked and looked away.

  She could read his chagrin at that instinctive flinch.

  He brought his gaze back to her, watching her approach.

  The foyer held two small groups of people chatting. The quartet standing in the back corner were guardians. Alert and serious, they’d identified Fay as swiftly as she’d noted them. She returned their flat stares. They were no longer colleagues and had never been friends. The other group were five expensively-suited types. The Collegium passed in the ordinary world as a think-tank on international affairs. Evidently that was what was happening in the second group, composed of one magic user and four mundanes.

  “I’m here to see the President,” Fay said to the receptionist.

  She’d used the phrase so often. Her dad had generally wanted her to report directly after a mission. It was odd to use the phrase and mean Lewis.

  “Is President Bennett expecting you, Ms. Olwen?”

  “Fay, Tomas,” she gently corrected the receptionist. “You know me.”

  Two of the guardians split off from the group and approached her. The other two stayed at a prudent distance.

  She could still take them all out. Not without a show in front of the four mundanes, though. “Phone and ask him,” she advised Tomas.

  He reached for the phone.

  She turned, positioning to keep him and the guardians in view. The hostility to her wasn’t new, even if it had acquired an edge.

  “Fay, what are you doing here?” The confident greeting came from the Collegium’s new Chair of Demonology, Gilda Ursu. She was a short, strong woman with graying hair and blue eyes almost hidden beneath drooping lids. She managed a good glare at the lurking guardians, though. Three more had appeared. “Are you here to see me?”

  Tomas was murmuring into the phone.

  “To see Lewis,” Fay said.

  “Come on up.” Gilda waved an arm in invitation, heading for the row of elevators. She turned her back on the guardians in a move as rude as a one-fingered gesture. Evidently the different factions within the Collegium were at war.

  Lucky Lewis.

  Fay glanced at Tomas, who nodded unwillingly as he replaced the phone. She was free to go up.

  Gilda punched the buttons for the top floor Presidential Suite and for her own Demonology Department. She stood in the elevator and watched the numbers light up in ascending order. “You could work for us as a consultant.”

  As far as Fay was concerned, the offer came from nowhere. She hadn’t thought she had a place within the Collegium or even attached to it. “Us, as in the Collegium, or us, as in the demonologists?”

  “Either. Both.” The elevator stopped at the Demonology floor. “Think on it, Fay. Everyone needs allies.”

  The doors closed, leaving Fay alone.

  Allies. She had Steve, her mom and stepfather, herself. She had people who owed her favors. Would the weres become her allies or be a force she needed allies to withstand? What of Steve’s family? What of Uncle, the djinn?

  She knew the strength of the Collegium, composed of both magical knowledge and power. Was she here to ensure that she didn’t work at cross-purposes with the Collegium against the rogue mage (if they knew of him or her), or was she here to enlist them as an ally against the rogue mage? Did she intend to actively work with them?

  The elevator doors opened.

  Despite her intense thought and compelling purpose, her body reacted on ingrained habit rather than logic. Her stomach knotted and her pulse quickened as if she was to face her dad and his personal assistant, who’d turned out to be in league with a demon.

  And there I was thinking Nancy was merely a witch. Funny how the wry comment didn’t amuse. Two weeks wasn’t long enough for the raw wounds of her fight with the demon, and the shock of its presence in the heart of the Collegium, to grow callouses.

  Fay walked the short distance along the corridor to where it opened to the large space Nancy had ruled, the lobby to the inner sanctum of the President’s office.

  “Haskell?” Fay hadn’t expected to see a guardian she’d trained with sitting behind one of three desks. The other two desks were empty; that is, they had computers and office paraphernalia on them, but no one seated at them. It was just Fay and Haskell, the woman who’d been popular and accepted by the other guardians, but packed barely half of Fay’s magic. That still made Haskell an effective and lethal guardian. What was she doing acting as a personal assistant?

  “Good evening, Fay.”

  Through the large window, New York City sprawled out, glowing in the golden colors of sunset. It was evening. The day had ended. Such a busy, turn-your-life-upside-dow
n day. “What are you doing here?”

  Haskell smiled tightly, standing up. “Shouldn’t that be my question?” Her blue blouse, black trousers and low-heeled shoes were a mix of guardian practicality and office wear. She crossed to the inner door and knocked, opening the President’s door without waiting on a response.

  Fay walked past her and into the office, braced for the onslaught of memories and the gut-wrenching emotions of years of failing to gain her dad’s approval. Instead, the room was completely different. The dark, heavy wooden furniture was gone. In its place was light Scandinavian design. The layout was different, too. Lewis’s desk was further from the door, nearer to another door set in the far wall. A door that hadn’t previously been there. Escape route, Fay noted.

  For Lewis Bennett had a very different problem to Fay’s dad. Richard Olwen had sought to bolster his limited power via Fay’s magic and his presidential position. He’d abused the oath ties of the mages who’d committed themselves to serve the Collegium. But if Richard’s power had been weak, Lewis had no magic at all. Once, he’d been a strong mage, one of the strongest guardians, almost matching Fay; not on raw power, but in the disciplined way he used his. That was before the North West Passage incident.

  “Hello, Fay.” He stood with his back to the window opposite the door. “Close the door on your way out, Haskell. And go home. I’ll be fine with Fay.”

  Haskell hesitated.

  Fay watched her indecision, the signs of incipient rejection of the order in Haskell’s tightening hold on the door handle, the tiny jerk of her head.

  Lewis simply stared his PA down.

  “Good night.” Acceptance of the order, along with a healthy dose of resentment, colored Haskell’s voice. She closed the door behind her.

  Fay felt a silencing spell lock into place. She looked a question at Lewis.