Death Rite Genie: An Urban Fantasy Folly Page 3

  I didn’t dare get in it, or even try to snooze until the sun rose, not after our conversation in the park last night. I groaned and rubbed my forehead. The sun hit the side mirror of Mal’s car at the perfect angle to shine right in my eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” Mal asked as he turned into my subdivision.

  “Just replaying last night’s conversation.” This was embarrassing. Since I woke up, a chill had taken residence in my chest and core. A sign that I needed to be careful with what I said, which meant honesty. And why I’d asked him to drive.

  “I see.” He glanced at me. “I don’t understand why it was so hard to see me. We’ve talked a lot, we Facetimed almost every day while you were gone.”

  He was pushing me into uncomfortable territory. I shivered, the cool pressure building beneath my sternum. I really wanted to hide behind sarcasm, but that was a bad idea on many levels. “Because you’re sexier in person!”

  Mal chuckled, his dimples winking. My cheeks burned and I wanted to crawl under a rock.

  “Oh, Lucy Avalon.” He sighed heavily, but his smile never faded as he pulled up against a curb. “You still have to come on to me even when we’re not bonded anymore. Brings back memories.”

  We got out of the car and approached my house. The front yard was empty, and the door was closed.

  I hitched my tote higher on my shoulder, my fingers tangling in the fur of my sasquatch hoodie. “The for-sale sign is gone. I swear it was there.”

  He nodded. “I believe you. It’s a shame. Sometimes there’s a clue to which… family made the sign.”

  It felt good to hear him say that, even if I’ve never cried wolf before. I hated to be thought of as a liar.

  “Family?” I asked.

  “Yeah. It’s usually fae who make the doors if there wasn’t a natural one already—like a slot machine.”

  Earlier this year, I’d used a slot machine to access Gamblers’ Road in the Lantern, so it never registered that some doorways would need to be made.

  “Interesting.” Well, I’d stalled enough. It was time to go inside. I slipped my hand in my tote and touched my bottle. Can I have my keys?

  A few moments later, the keys tumbled out. “Thanks.” I’d found that if I was polite to my bottle, she was nice back. Usually. I guess sometimes neither of us could help ourselves. I hurried across the lawn for my door.

  “Wait.” Mal grabbed my hand, pulling me to a stop. “The door is propped up. It’s not closed.”

  I squinted. They’d propped it against the doorframe to appear like it was closed to passing scrutiny. If anyone approached the door, they’d see bowed hinges and shredded wood. The hair on the back of my neck rose. This was spookier than when it was hanging off the hinges.

  He moved ahead of me to the door, pausing for a moment, then quietly shifted it to the side. After motioning for me to stay put, he disappeared inside.

  I chewed on my lip and rubbed the hoodie fur between my fingers. I hoped no one was inside. Mal had gone in by himself. For me. And I had ignored his invitations to visit for five months. I was the worst friend. Something clattered within my tote and I peeked inside. Mace.

  “Thanks.” I palmed it. Nervous I’d spray Mal, nervous of what might happen if I didn’t take it. I don’t know much about bottles, but if mine gave me mace, I shouldn’t ignore it. Just like with cheese.

  Mal appeared in the doorway and beckoned me inside. I stepped in and gasped. Someone had trampled dirt all over the floor, in the runners on the stairs, and even smeared it on the walls. I sniffed. Maybe it wasn’t all dirt. Mags’s glass cabinet for her good china and all the Princess Diana plates were smashed and strewn amongst scattered leaves and plant detritus.

  “There isn’t anyone in the house,” Mal said, “but it has a bad vibe. We shouldn’t stay long if we can help it. What was Penny working on last?”

  “I’m not exactly sure. She never offered the information, and I was afraid to ask.” I headed toward the basement. “Her office is downstairs.”

  I led the way downstairs and hooked a right to her office. I tried the door, but it was locked. This wasn’t a recent development. My parents had sometimes kept this room locked, which always made me curious about what they kept inside. Now it pissed me off.

  I jiggled the doorknob one more time for good measure. “Of course she’s locked it.”

  Mal stepped beside me and I got a whiff of his sunbaked sand and sea breeze scent. He examined the knob, then a set of lockpicks appeared in his hands.

  He knelt before the door. “This doesn’t look too complicated.”

  “This doesn’t surprise me either.” I took a step back, and like a moth drawn to a flame, I checked out his butt. I was becoming more convinced that my intense attraction to him while we chased after Rasputin’s bones was genuine and not the side effects of the djinni silk bond. Which only made my previous behavior more embarrassing.

  I heard a rattling noise, like dried leaves still clinging to trees on a windy day. I peered over my shoulder, searching through the gloom in the rest of the basement, but saw nothing alarming.

  The door opened and I faced forward. Mal lifted a hand and stepped inside. A moment later a light flickered on.

  “Good job.” I fist-bumped him.

  “All in a day’s hard work.”

  Mom’s office wasn’t pretty. It was half-finished, with exposed studs and a saggy drop-down ceiling with stained tiles. If I remembered right, this house had suffered some major plumbing issues when we’d first moved here, and this room never received the fixer-upper treatment like the rest of the basement. In hindsight, I realize how strange that was considering Mom was a fortune djinni, and she always had a budget for everything.

  It smelled musty in here. The desk was big enough for two people, banker boxes were stacked against the wall, and an old calendar from last year hung on the wall above a filing cabinet. It was still turned to August—the month Dad died. The office was how they’d left it before their last trip. Dad’s notepads cluttered his side of the desk. His bold handwriting splashed across the paper like he’d written it yesterday and not over a year ago or that he wasn’t here with us any longer. Mostly, it was a vivid reminder of how much Mom missed him.

  My dad, Frankie Avalon, used to be a lightlighter, a part of djinni police, and when he apprehended a Winter Court fae, he’d been cursed to have a child the exact opposite of him. My dad was beyond lucky. He was legendarily lucky. He even helped the human Frankie Avalon with his career just because they had the same name. I was curse-born, and Mom and Dad left the right side of the law to protect me. It didn’t do either of us any good. Dad died in a freak accident in a Mayan temple trying to find a cure for me last year, the binding on my magic broke, and I was caught up in a black market djinni auction and a slave to gold.

  My brand of magic is bad luck and triggered by sarcasm. Ask my ex. He’s a quadriplegic now, but at least he will be well taken care of for the rest of his life like he’d wished for. The scumbag.

  I touched Dad’s handwriting, yearning for some connection to him now. He was special to us both, but Mom had practically been a different person around him. She was prone to smile and contentment seeped from her like she was made of happiness. I rubbed my chest, hoping to soothe the dull ache and wishing I could have been there for her more than I had. Maybe then a fog of sorrow wouldn’t still surround her, or at least she’d stop glaring at young families so openly that they crossed the street to avoid her. Seeing the office, seeing how she still lived in the past, made me want to hug her until she could appreciate the sun again.

  “I was hoping for a computer.” Mal approached the desk and began opening drawers. He froze and looked at me. “Are you okay with me going through her stuff?”

  I set my tote on the desk and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah. You might recognize something I’d have no clue about. Mom keeps her laptop close, so I’m not surprised it’s MIA.”

  We worked in silence. It felt… norm
al. I was worried that last night might’ve ruined our easy-going friendship, but apparently we could handle a lot together. I kept hearing that rattling noise, but every time I checked for the source, Mal was fanning pages or I was hearing things.

  “Luce.” Mal handed me a sheet. “Isn’t this the same bracelet you told me about?”

  It was a print-out of an article from an Australian paper six weeks ago. The bold headline made my mouth go dry. Daniella Jewelers Robbed! The rainbow opal bracelet which was worth a fortune had mysteriously disappeared overnight with no sign of a break-in, and the cameras only caught a shadowy figure expertly circumventing the lasers and other security measures. It was suspected to be an inside job.

  The photo of the bracelet broke my heart. It was the same one Mom had given me in Australia after I’d been mugged. I knew she had done something in the Faelands when a couple of djinnis tracked her down to give her shit, but I’d never been able to ask exactly what the bracelet she’d given me was. I hadn’t assumed she’d stolen the bracelet, but I should have. I suspected it was a charm, but I hadn’t wanted to know. I’d stopped wearing it. Besides, I didn’t enjoy drawing attention to my scarred wrists.

  She’d told me yet another lie. She hadn’t had a jeweler friend make it for her. She’d stolen it from a human-based shop—most likely because it was a lucky charm meant to counteract my bad luck. How dumb could I be? Had her little jaunt back into thievery been to steal a good luck charm for me? I folded the article and my bottle sucked it right out of my hands.

  I clamped my lips tight to keep them from trembling. “I’m not sure how I’ll return it to them, but I will.”

  “I’ll help you.” Mal’s dark, upturned eyes held mine in a steady gaze, his tone soft and accepting.

  That one statement meant more to me than I knew how to put into words. I cleared my throat and fist-bumped him. “Because you’re awesome. Come on. I don’t think we’ll find more down here. Let’s search her bedroom.”

  Am I trying too hard with the fist-bumping? Probably, but it was that or I threw myself at him, and neither of us wanted that. I climbed up to the first floor and was about to ascend to the second, when a new track of dirt caught my eye. I frowned, studying the rest of the living room. It was much worse than yesterday, but I couldn’t tell if it’d become dirtier since we’d gone into the basement.

  Rattle-hisss…

  “Do you hear that?” I whispered.

  He stepped closer to me, pausing. The noise came again. “The trees outside?”

  I let out a breath. “Okay. I thought I was imagining things.”

  There was a mound of dirt on the second-floor landing. Stepping around it, I peeked in my room. My bed was on its side, the frame broken, and my mattress shredded.

  “Son of a bitch! Whoever broke in here owes me a new mattress. A Tempur-Pedic.” I gasped. “My shoes!”

  The chucks I hadn’t stored in my bottle were scattered, stained with dirt, grass, and probably poop. It smelled like shit in my room. I looked in my bathroom and the overflowed toilet confirmed my suspicion.

  “They did a number on your house.” Mal wore a troubled expression as he glanced out the door. Then he grabbed my hand and tugged me into the hallway. “C’mon. We need to keep searching.”

  The three other rooms were in the same state as mine. Destroyed and smelly. Mom’s room yielded nothing that would give us any idea where she might be. And the trees were getting downright loud. I’d never heard them like this before, and when I looked out a window, it didn’t seem all that windy outside. I blew out a frustrated breath, retrieved my phone from my pocket, and tried calling Mom and Mags. No one answered. I gnawed on my lower lip, questions racing through my head over where they could be, what had happened, and how would I find them.

  “Do you have an attic or a crawl space?” Mal asked. “Maybe your mom stashed more things up there.”

  I brightened. “Yes!” I pushed him into the hallway and pointed at the ceiling. “Grab that cord.”

  He tugged on it, the panel opened, and a drop-down ladder slid down.

  We climbed up into the attic. It was dusty, a little humid, but at least it was clean. No sign of tracked dirt, and it smelled ten times better than the hallway. Half of the attic was finished with dusty floors, rolled-up rugs, old boxes, chests, and some travel trunks plastered with stickers. On the unfinished side were rolls of insulation and a single bankers’ box.

  “Look.” I stepped onto the joists and wobbled. “How much do you wanna bet that box is my mom’s?”

  “Careful.” Mal’s hands rested on my hips, steadying me. “You could fall through.”

  I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Not with you looking out for me.”

  “Good point.” He flashed his dimples and my stomach fluttered.

  I carefully walked along the joists to the box, Mal hovering at my back. I stopped before the box and lifted the lid. Right on top was a legal pad with Mom’s handwriting all over it and a doodle I couldn’t make heads or tails of.

  Mal peered over my shoulder. “Huh. That’s—”

  An explosion erupted behind us. I gasped-screamed, hardly registering Mal grabbing me. Behind us, multiple roots punched through the floor. Each one closer and closer to where we were precariously balancing on the floor joists.

  One root shot up between us. I screamed as the joists buckled, and I fell through the attic floor.

  Chapter 4

  “Mal… Mal. Mal!”

  My head pounded and my eyelids resisted opening. Lucy gently tapped my cheek, repeating my name over and over. She gave up and felt my neck, then my wrist. Was she checking for a pulse? I was pretty sure the dead didn’t feel this awful.

  “Malware. Wake up.” A hysterical edge held Luce’s voice hostage.

  I opened my eyes to sunlight gratuitously shining on my face. I winced, turning away. My hazy vision couldn’t make out much detail, and the stench of damp, moldy wood hung heavy in the air. While we’d been inside this room less than ten minutes ago, it was worse than it should have been. Dirt spread like a carpet over the floor, and it smelled like the grave. Worms and beetles pushed bits around as if we were outside in a dense forest.

  Luce leaned over me, worry wrinkling her brow. “Are you okay?”

  “Just hit my head. I’ll be fine.” I sat up and examined her. A cut on her forehead dripped blood in her eye. Her ponytail had fallen out, and her furry sweatshirt had brambles in it. “Are you hurt? Broken bones?”

  “Everything feels sore, but I’m fine.”

  Large, orange petals loomed behind her, and what I thought was a giant mutated cosmos reared back, the yellow center convulsing.

  “Get down!”

  Lucy tackled me and my head bounced on the floor. A thick, viscous stream shot above us, splattering the wall. The mutant flower rattled its leaves and the stem hunkered down, preparing for another attack.

  I rolled, pinning Luce beneath me, and summoned a machete from my bottle. The mutant cosmos hissed. I bounced to my knees, spinning and slashing the blade where I last saw the blight flower. I sliced clean through the stem. The petals shriveled, turned black, and decayed.

  Another mutant flower, a white tulip, scuttled out of the room, its leaves paddling through the dirt. A strange, high-pitched sigh and rattle reverberated through the house. We weren’t alone. We never had been. I racked my brain for fae creatures that could withstand the Iron Realm like this. Based on what I’d seen and smelled, a Blight Lord had taken root in Magdalena’s garden. An easy feat if someone tainted her plants with its soil.

  “What was that?” Lucy sat up, scratching under the collar of her hoodie.

  “I think you have a Blight Lord in your backyard.” I cursed. I hadn’t checked out there.

  “That doesn’t sound good. What are they?”

  “A malevolent plant spirit. It usually takes a tree, and mutates it to its whims. They have a high tolerance to iron, but that doesn’t mean they’re immune.”

&n
bsp; “Oh, good.” She scratched between her breasts through her hoodie. “Let me go get my iron ax and we can chop it down.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “Pretty sure we don’t have one. At least not anymore.”

  Something groaned outside, like a storm howling through trees, but now that I suspected a Blight Lord was here, I heard the fae-like undertones of an unnatural wind.

  “We need to leave and get this house locked down before it exposes magic to humans.” I grasped her hands, helping her to her feet. “How many exits are—” Something snaked across the top of my hand. I jerked back.

  I broke out in hives. Lucy wildly scratched at herself, patting her arms and stomach. What I’d thought were brambles were actually siphons—Faeland insects that burrowed under the skin and fed off magical blood. They crawled and slithered through the fur on her hoodie, attached to her loose hair, and began weaseling their way through the fabric of her clothes. The furry hoodie presented the perfect environment for siphons, the artificial hair ideal for traction and stealth. They’d burrow soon if I didn’t do something.

  “Take your sweatshirt off,” I said, frisking my hands through my hair and shaking out my shirt.

  “Of all the times I’ve wanted to hear you say that, now isn’t the time.” She frowned at me, and her eyes dropped to her hoodie. “Holy shit!”

  She hopped in place as she struggled to pull the bulky sasquatch hoodie over her head. She flung it across the room, unmindful she only wore a lacy bra. I noticed right away and memorized every swell and curve I glimpsed. Even the developing rash couldn’t diminish her.

  “Oh, Luce,” I murmured. “You’re covered in hives.”

  She gasped, crossing her arms over her chest. I jerked my eyes above her neck. Her bottle materialized by her feet in a puff of blue smoke and a tube of Cortisone appeared in her hands.

  A loud, shuddering crash sounded from downstairs and something shattered. The floor vibrated.

  “I need a shirt, not ointment,” Lucy snapped.

  Her bottle heaved and flung a shirt at her. Lucy barely caught it and tugged it on. It was small, didn’t cover her midriff, and had a honeybee printed on the front. I blinked. My bottle never acted like this, yet hers had a personality.