Forbidden

Chapter 2-2

The air inside was stale. All the windows were shut, which he found rather surprising. The Heat had struck at the end of September, a time of year when the weather should have been mild and pleasant. One would think the inhabitants of the house would have left their windows open. But he supposed that was a good thing, for at least the interior of the home hadn’t been damaged by rain or snow pouring in.

Everything looked clean and neat, except for a layer of dust on all the surfaces. He approved of the interior, open and somewhat spare, with pale golden wood floors and walls painted only a few shades lighter. Abstract art in large splashes of color, a handsome square hearth with a slate surround.

The floor creaked slightly as the woman moved past him, heading deeper into the house. He followed, partly because he wanted to see the rest of the place, and partly because he wanted to see where she was going.

Through a dining area, and then on into the kitchen, which was also more spare and modern than he would have expected, given the overall rundown nature of the town where this house was located. Hard counters of polished stone, steel appliances.

The refrigerator hummed away, and the digital clock on the microwave showed the time as 5:48. So apparently the solar power had held on all this time.

Then the woman paused, her hand going to her mouth as she stared down at the floor in consternation. Aldair followed her gaze and saw a small pile of fine gray dust there, obviously the remnants of one of the home’s inhabitants.

His mouth tightened. The place had been so neat and in order that he had found himself thinking perhaps no one had been here when the Heat struck, that possibly this had been someone’s second home.

Apparently not.

“I can take care of that,” he said, and waved a hand. Instantly, the back door opened, and a small breeze whisked the dust outside where it could trouble them no longer.

Except…the woman appeared very troubled indeed. Her hand shook as she pushed one of those stray strands of hair away from her face, and she’d gone even paler. “Did you really have to do that?”

“Yes,” he said evenly. “What else would you have me do? That dust has been lying in here for almost two years. At least out in the wind and the sun it can become one with the earth again.”

Apparently she hadn’t thought of it that way. Her eyes still looked haunted, but after a moment, she gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose so.”

Good. At least it didn’t seem as if she meant to argue with him. He moved to the refrigerator and opened it, then wrinkled his nose at the foul smell that greeted him. Yes, the power had stayed on all this time, but most refrigerated items were never meant to be kept for several years.

A wave of the hand, and it was all gone as well, the odor along with it.

The woman made a shocked little sound before offering him a somewhat rueful smile. “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just not used to seeing a djinn in action.”

“You come from Los Alamos, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I was about to ask you how you knew that, but then, I guess it’s the only place around here with humans who aren’t Chosen, isn’t it?”

“That I know of, yes.”

She nodded, looking resigned. Perhaps she had hoped there would be other survivors, but Aldair certainly knew of none.

“I am Aldair al-Ankara,” he told her. “What is your name?”

“Jillian. Jillian Powell.”

“Well, then, Jillian,” he said. “I suppose we should see what else there is to find here.”

Something about his name had sounded halfway familiar, although Jillian couldn’t quite place it. Maybe she’d overheard it in a conversation once. The djinn of Santa Fe couldn’t visit Los Alamos, for obvious reasons, and although Julia Innes returned there every few months to have a convo in person with Miles and Lindsay, and sometimes Shawn Gutierrez, it wasn’t as if Jillian had ever been invited to participate in those conversations. She had a semi-useful function in the lab, but she didn’t have anything to do with actually running the town.

At any rate, she supposed it didn’t matter. This Aldair had saved her life, and she had to be grateful to him for that. Why he hadn’t been able to return to Earth under his own power, when it seemed as if the djinn could move back and forth between the planes with relative ease, she didn’t know. Something to ask, if she ever worked up the courage to do so. But since his name was at least a little familiar to her, she guessed he must be one of the Santa Fe djinn as well, which meant he had to be one of the good guys. Good djinn. Whatever. Her limbs still felt shaky, but the fear that he was going to hurt her had retreated a little. Even so, she had to admit it was sort of overwhelming to be this close to a djinn. She’d known they were perfect…she just hadn’t quite realized how perfect.

In the meantime, they explored the house, which felt a lot more state-of-the-art than the sort of place she would have expected to see in little out-of-the-way Madrid. It had central air, for one thing, even though it wasn’t running at the moment. Would the solar be enough to support the system? Jillian had no idea, and she realized it was far more important to keep the refrigerator going and the pump for the well — which she’d spotted as they’d made their descent toward the property — running than it was to prevent her from sweating in the heat. Besides, it really wasn’t that hot today. Once they’d opened all the windows, the temperature in the house became nearly tolerable.

Three bedrooms and two baths upstairs, along with a nearly empty room toward the front of the house, filled with natural light. Propped up against the wall were a number of canvases in various stages of completion, and another nearly finished painting rested on an easel. All the works were of the same style as the pictures that hung on the first floor, so clearly the artist had lived here.

Had those been his — or her — ashes on the kitchen floor? Neither Jillian nor Aldair had encountered any remains up here on the second story, so it seemed that the artist must have lived alone, or at least was alone when the Heat burned its way through the population.

“I will take this room,” Aldair announced as he stood in the middle of the master bedroom and surveyed its simple but handsome furnishings, the flat-weave wool rug on the floor. “You may have one of the other two.”

High-handed bastard, wasn’t he? Jillian reminded herself she would be dead if it weren’t for him, and so she bit back the retort that rose to her lips. Anyway, why was he assuming they would stay here at all? Yes, she was feeling tired and would like to put her feet up and drink some more water, but at the same time, it seemed wiser for them to head to Santa Fe. He could be reunited with his people, and then one of the Chosen there could drive her back to Los Alamos. Or they could send word to have someone come fetch her. If only Aldair hadn’t secreted the device somewhere. As soon as they’d entered the house, the little box had disappeared into thin air. Another djinn trick, she supposed.

“Um…we’re staying here?” she ventured.

He gave her another of those fearsome frowns. “Of course. Why else would I go to the trouble of selecting a house?”

“Well, you did say I should rest a little. But — ”

“Yes, you should rest. Choose a room that suits you. I will get you more water.”

“But — ”

The syllable fell on empty air, because even as she’d spoken, he’d disappeared. Was it typical of the djinn to just come and go like that, without a word of warning? Maybe. But she couldn’t help thinking it was pretty rude. She tried to remind herself that she didn’t have much context for djinn behavior, but she still found the way he’d melted into thin air as she was speaking more than a little annoying.

Fighting back a sigh, she headed out into the hallway and peered into the other two bedrooms. Not much choice, really, since one of them had been set up as a home office, with a big 27-inch iMac on the desk and a large table that was covered in a scatter of papers, most of which boasted sketches or small watercolors, many of them startlingly realistic renderings of the landscapes around town. So apparently the artist dabbled in other styles when he or she wasn’t creating the large abstracts that decorated the walls.

The other room clearly had been intended as a place for guests to stay, with a double bed and a nightstand and a low dresser topped by a mirror. More paintings hung on the walls here, and a terra-cotta pot containing what had probably once been a philodendron was set to one side of the dresser.

Jillian went to the bed and sat down, for the first time really stopping to assess how her lungs felt. Sore, and raw, but now she could take a deep breath without coughing, which had to be an improvement. It did seem like the best thing to do was put her feet up and rest for a while. After she was feeling more like herself, she could talk to Aldair and convince him to take her to Santa Fe.

As she bent down to untie her sneakers, a horrible thought crossed her mind. Maybe he wanted to keep her here alone because he wanted…well, because he wanted her.

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself as she pulled off her shoes. If he wanted to try something, he could have done it already. Anyway, he’s barely given you a second glance. What would someone who looks like that want with a human woman, anyway?

That sounded logical enough. But clearly there were djinn who found themselves attracted to humans, or none of them would have been with their Chosen. True, but that didn’t mean Aldair was attracted to her. When he’d given her mouth-to-mouth, when he’d flown her to this house…at no time had he acted the least bit interested in her, even with the close contact they’d shared.

No, there had to be some other reason why he didn’t want to go to Santa Fe. Maybe he’d had some kind of a falling out with the djinn there. Oh, yeah, that was a reassuring thought.

Doing her best to push those suspicions aside, Jillian plumped up the pillows and shook them to get rid of any dust, and then settled herself against their soft surfaces, realizing in that moment how much her body really did ache. Each breath awoke a series of new pains in her back and shoulders, probably from that violent coughing fit she’d experienced when she arrived here. It did feel good to have her feet up, to have her body supported by those cradling pillows.

A small creak out in the hallway made her turn her head in that direction. Aldair stood there, holding a glass of water. More importantly, he’d somehow managed to outfit himself in new clothes, a djinn-style outfit in shades of blue and gray. It looked as if he’d brushed his hair as well, although the expanse of chest revealed by his open robe was distracting enough that Jillian couldn’t tell for sure.

He entered the room and handed her the glass of water. “Here.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking it from him so she could wet her still-dry throat. The water tasted good, sweet and cold and clean.

“From the well,” he said. “It is functioning properly, so there will be no shortage of water.”

“That’s good.” She hesitated, hands wrapped around the glass, as if feeling its smooth, cool surface was enough to give her courage. Even though she couldn’t quite rid herself of the tension that ratcheted up when she was around him, she wanted to sound as normal as possible. “But Aldair — why do we even need to worry about a shortage of water? You can just fly me to Santa Fe, and then — ”

“We will not go to Santa Fe,” he cut in, blue eyes flashing with sudden anger. “This is a safe place. We will remain here.”

“But — ”

“You will not speak of it,” he said. “Rest now.”

And then he was gone again, this time in a swirl of those blue and gray robes, so he looked something like a departing thundercloud. At least, his expression had been positively thunderous.

Now, what the hell was all that about?