Tales of the Djinn: The Guardian (3 page)

“I will buy one. I am capable, you know. We
have plenty of money and restaurants are everywhere.”

Joseph was a young djinni, not some graybeard
who’d lost every joy in life. All the same, he let out a
long-suffering sigh.

“You think I cannot obtain provisions,”
Arcadius accused. “I, who know intimately that armies march on
their stomachs.”

“I think you
shouldn’t
acquire our
meal,” Joseph corrected. “A person who takes mundane tasks on
himself isn’t who you are. Under the circumstances, it might be
best to act in accordance with your usual character.”

He was right. Then again, a person who’d
admit he was wrong wasn’t who Arcadius was either. “I’ll consult
Elyse,” he said. “She can supply the name of a restaurant that
delivers.”

“I will consult Elyse,” Joseph said, her name
not spilling as easily from his lips. “I assure you, I’m not too
depleted to handle that.”

Arcadius scowled. Joseph had just turned this
into an issue of honor. “If you insist,” he conceded with ill
grace.

Joseph smiled even as he bowed. “I do not
insist, master. I humbly beg your indulgence.”

Why was his servant so much better at this
game? “Fine,” he said, waving him away. “Go consult our
landlady.”

Joseph picked up his rich man’s coat. “She
may prove useful for other reasons. At some point, we’ll need a
sacrifice.”

“She’s married,” Arcadius blurted. “Or did
you not see her ring?”

“What can the vows of one woman matter
weighed against every life in our city?”

Arcadius couldn’t argue. He shouldn’t have
wanted to. They’d only been on this plane a week. Was he already
empathizing with the humans he was temporarily more like? The idea
unsettled him.

“As you say,” he responded gruffly. “If the
opportunity arises, we must consider if she’ll suit.”

ELYSE had an inexplicable urge to cook. For
the last two months, ever since David’s murder, she’d subsisted on
canned soup and packaged sandwiches. Tonight she needed to think,
and the kitchen in their apartment was her safe place. She and
David tore down the wall between it and the living room, but other
than that it was pretty much the same as when she was growing up.
The dark cabinets that towered to the ceiling hailed from the late
twenties. The dented restaurant-style stove had warmed her baby
formula. Once upon a time, the countertops were too tall for her to
reach. Her father—rest his soul—had purchased the colorful
hand-fired tiles on a long-ago trip to Morocco.

She’d never switch them out them willingly,
not for any amount of trendiness. Leo Solomon had raised her by
himself, her mother having died in her infancy. Leo had been head
buyer for Solomon Brothers Imports, a job that left its mark on
their top-floor apartment. Souvenirs from her father’s journeys
were everywhere. Whatever could be shipped that took his fancy—art,
furniture, tribal crafts—he’d sent home to her. She hadn’t traveled
with him often, because of school and because many of the areas he
went were too dangerous for a young girl. The things he sent back
had kept her company, assuring her she was treasured. She’d been
grateful when David professed to love the place as much as she did.
It would have broken her heart to move, even for the pleasure of
making a fresh start with him.

“I wouldn’t change one thing,” the love of
her life had declared. “You and this place are perfect.”

She wondered what he’d say about the two
strange men to whom she’d rented his pet project—
David’s
boondoggle
, her glamorous cousin Cara liked to call it.

Elyse shook her head, bending down to a lower
cupboard to dig out the pasta pot. She hardly knew what to say
about them herself . . . or about the fact that she’d given in to
impulse and let them have the place. Elyse was not an impulsive
person. David used to joke she thought everything through ten
times, then once more for good measure.

She had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn’t have
liked Arcadius or Joseph. David’s one flaw was that he stayed too
inside the box sometimes.

“Well, too bad,” she said, striving to sound
independent as she ran water in the pot.

Her renters’ reactions aside, David had done
an amazing job carving out the basement unit from the unused
cellar—as good as a professional contractor. Apart from the
electrical and plumbing, he’d done everything himself, spending
hours at a time on it while working his day job too. When she’d
complained she never saw him, he’d said the rent would be their
vacation fund, a bit of extra over what the rest of building
earned. Given how nice the unit turned out, she couldn’t understand
why he hadn’t rented it right away. The apartment had sat and sat
right until he died. This was Chelsea. Those chairs and couches
were classic Modern. The backsplash and all the bathrooms boasted
sleek subway-style glass tile. Heck, the countertops were Brazilian
granite! Add to that the top-of-the-line security system David had
installed and, basement or not, the listing should have been
snapped up in two minutes.

Maybe David had gotten too attached to his
creation.

“So I rented it,” she said, hefting the half
full pot onto the gas burner.

She’d stowed the brick of bills her tenants
paid her in her favorite mother-of-pearl keepsake box. Having so
much cash on hand made her nervous. She’d gotten more than she
thought she could for the place, more than comparable units in this
neighborhood—which her naysaying cousin Cara could stick in her
pipe and smoke. Cara always was harder on David than he
deserved.

Of course, if Elyse bragged, she’d risk
revealing that she’d rented the place to a pair of weirdoes . . .
without getting references.

Not weirdoes
, she corrected. Just
eccentrics with excellent poker faces.

She honestly thought they hadn’t liked the
apartment. Clearly, they could afford swankier. Still, she was glad
they were taking it. Maybe she’d finally stop obsessing about
David’s death, about her happiness dying along with him. Her new
tenants would obscure that shadow. They might be odd, but they were
very alive people. She’d sensed that the moment she opened the door
to them.

They’d made her think of foreign dignitaries,
standing on the stoop in their long wool coats and their funny
hats. Okay, only the tall one had worn a hat. The shorter one had a
bright red scarf flung around his neck. Their skin tone suggested
they came from a sunny clime, their faces bronzed by the kind of
color winter can’t erase. Both their hair was dark and their eyes
were astonishing. The taller man’s were blue gray, the shorter
one’s honey gold. Their irises had seemed to glow against their
contrasting skin and lashes. Both men’s enunciation was remarkably
precise.

When the tall man spoke, his deep voice had
poured down her nerves as warmly as mulled cider.

Dad would have liked them
, she
thought. He’d had a fondness for quirky people—for people period,
in fact. It was the biggest reason he’d loved his job.

She pulled a box of spaghetti out of the
cabinet.

“You noticed them,” she realized aloud.

She’d barely looked at other men once she
married David. Her soul mate had been everything to her—the
sweetest, handsomest, most supportive person she’d ever met. That
he’d chosen her was a miracle. She knew how ordinary she was to the
male species. Neither of her new tenants had looked at her the way
men do when they find women attractive.

This, of course, made it that much stranger
for her to have checked them out.

Cara liked to say God forgot to give Elyse
the man-hunting gene. Probably He’d given hers to Cara. Elyse never
could keep track of her cousin’s harem of boyfriends.

The water would take a while to boil, so
Elyse started on meat sauce. Garlic hit the olive oil in her
skillet. She had some seasoned Italian sausage that didn’t need
thawing. Maybe she’d go whole hog and pour a nice glass of
wine.

The sizzle in the pan didn’t keep her from
hearing a polite knock.

She turned down the burners and stared at the
door. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Did her new tenants have a
complaint?

Though she was accustomed to handling
renters, her pulse sped up. For half a second she considered
checking her hair in the hallway mirror. Lately, she hadn’t spent
the time she should have on it with her flatiron. It probably
looked god-awful.

Calm down
, she thought, forcing
herself to move toward the entrance without primping. That she’d
noticed the strangers was irrelevant.

She wiped sweaty palms on her old black jeans
before she turned the knob. The slightly shorter man from the new
apartment was outside, the one the other had called Joseph. Once
again, she was struck by his handsomeness. His face was narrow, his
features sharp and striking. His dark hair was pleasantly
disarrayed, his wide mouth naturally ruddy. She’d never seen skin
as smooth as his on a man, though obviously he could afford regular
spa treatments. A quick survey of her hormones revealed she wasn’t
physically pulled to him—or not so much that she’d notice. All the
same, she couldn’t deny he was easy on the eyes.

“Good evening,” he said in his strangely
formal yet not accented voice. “I hope I’m not interrupting. Could
you recommend a nearby restaurant that delivers? My master likes
spicy food.”

His
master?
The thought that her new
tenants might be a couple had crossed her mind, but not that they
played with whips and chains. Was that why they wanted privacy?

Elyse struggled not to picture the man before
her in a dog collar. He wore a nice dress shirt. There could be a
leash under it . . . or maybe nipple clamps. She shook the thoughts
from her head. The pair’s personal arrangements absolutely weren’t
her business.

“Uh,” she said. “There’s a popular Indian
place around the corner. And Szechuan not far from that.”

“Szechuan,” Joseph repeated as if she’d
confused him.

“They make tasty Kung Pao chicken.” Normally
she’d have mentioned the restaurant was inexpensive. Chances were
that didn’t matter to a guy who carried stacks of hundreds in a
briefcase. An image flashed into her mind of him opening the
leather case at the register. This wasn’t a bad neighborhood, but
that was begging for trouble.

“You do have small bills, don’t you?” At
once, she felt stupid for asking. He couldn’t be that naive. Except
the term did seem to stump him.

“Small bills?”

“For paying. Like twenties. Or a credit
card.”

“I have the money you saw,” he said.

He didn’t appear to be joking—or to
understand how inappropriate paying that way might be. Then again,
how inappropriate was it for her to stick her nose in?

“Come inside,” she said, giving in to impulse
a second time in as many hours. “I’ve got a couple twenties in my
wallet. You can borrow them and maybe break some bills at a bank
tomorrow.”

Joseph hesitated before entering unsurely.
“The people at the hotel liked our hundreds.”

Elyse laughed. “I bet they did.”

Now that he’d decided to come in, he looked
around. His gaze ran down the living room’s wall of shelves, which
overflowed with books and collectibles. His curiosity was the first
unguarded emotion she recalled seeing on his face.

“You didn’t decorate our apartment,” he
concluded.

“No,” she agreed. Spotting her purse on the
worn tufted leather sofa, she grabbed it and dug inside. “This
place is mostly my father and me a little bit. My husband put the
basement suite together.”

“You husband is a paragon of . . .
restraint.” Joseph so obviously didn’t admire this trait that Elyse
had to hide a smile.

“My husband is dead,” she said, the words
instantly sobering her.

Joseph’s face altered, though what thoughts
passed through his mind she couldn’t have guessed. “Forgive me,” he
said, offering a little bow that further concealed his reactions.
“I didn’t mean to cause sadness.”

Elyse was struck by the thought that this was
a clever man, no matter who he called
master
. Somewhat to
her dismay, the realization didn’t cause her to dislike him.

“You couldn’t have known,” she said.

He bowed again to acknowledge her
forgiveness. When he straightened, his face was calm.

“I like this place,” he said, actually
seeming sincere. “Your belongings enchant the eyes and the
fragrance is heavenly.”

“That would be the garlic I’m sautéing.”

“Ah,” he said. “Garlic is one of God’s finest
creations.”

He said this so seriously it was funny.
Impulse washed over her again.

“Look,” she said. “I’m only making spaghetti,
but I’ll have plenty to go around. I’d be happy to have you and
Arcadius join me at my table.”

“You honor us,” Joseph said gravely.

Elyse felt a blush creep into her cheeks.
“Well, I’m not a gourmet or anything. Come back in half an hour if
your . . . if Arcadius is agreeable.”

That won’t do
, she thought as Joseph
bowed to her and left. She’d nearly called Arcadius his master
too.

~

When Joseph returned to the cellar, Arcadius
was studying the microwave’s cryptic buttons, trying to pluck their
meaning from the ethers. A gust of cold accompanied the loyal man
through the door, and Joseph shut it again quickly. Arcadius saw he
looked excited. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were
bright.

“I have inveigled an invitation,” he
announced, “for both of us.”

“An invitation?”

“To Elyse’s table for dinner. I played lost
lamb. She is a widow. And she can cook.”

These facts seemed to delight Joseph equally.
Caught off balance, Arcadius rubbed his chin. “A widow?” A twinge
of sympathy touched him. Though he’d never taken a wife, he
imagined losing a spouse would be painful.