Kiss of the Virgin Queen Page 6
In the name of all that was holy, what happened?
Eyes narrowed, voice guttural, the ‘Ifrit laughed. “I might consider leaving this worthless body. For a price. The plus side for me is her father is a diplomat. Much political fodder here, don’t you think?” Coarse laughter followed. “And, the delicious possibility of ‘child sexual abuse’ with obtuse American doctors meddling in ‘repressive cultures.’ What fun. I can stir up a diplomatic nightmare, if not an outright war between Turkey and the United States. Ah, but I digress. You wanted me to go.”
“Leave this child. Let Allah heal her scars, let the holy one, blessed be He, protect her from further attacks from you and your kin.”
A sly expression came over Nur’s face. “Did you bring a wolf with you to eat me?”
“Only witches and frauds keep wolves to eat jinnis.” Not that he would object to having an entire pack of them with him right at the moment. Arta was losing ground, needed to think of something quickly to gain the upper hand. No amount of blowing or olive oil bathing would rid Nur of this ‘Ifrit. He needed something stronger. He might not be a holy man, but he knew how to call on a Higher Power.
“In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful, Praise be to Allah, Lord of the Worlds, The Beneficent, the Merciful. Owner of the Day of Judgment, Thee alone we worship; Thee alone we ask for help. Show us the straight path—”
“Boring.” Yawning, the ‘Ifrit rolled Nur’s eyes. “Just give me what I want.”
Sweat trickled down Arta’s brow, despite the freezing temperature in the room. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists or ‘Ifrits.”
“C’mon, Arta. Do what you did back there in the desert when you left your Jewish girlfriend for dead.”
The psychiatrist’s neck hairs stood on end.
With one swift movement, the girl reached over, grabbed Arta by the throat, and choked him with superhuman strength.
Bright stars swam before his eyes, and the narrow world under the bed telescoped to darkness. He prayed for a miracle. Just as he thought he would pass out or die, Arta felt the girl’s hand fall away from his neck. The laughing ‘Ifrit swam back into his view, but his vision was as clear in the shadowy hollow as if it were daylight. Beneath the over-sized down coat, his made-to-order Hong Kong suit and shirt stretched and shredded into a million threads. His hands were now feline paws and his feet exploded out of his shoes. Curved claws tore through his fingertips and toes, and Arta roared in pain.
Not again, not now.
The ‘Ifrit chortled with glee. “I knew you’d do it.”
The girl bucked in a seizure and shrieked in pain.
Arta tried to shout, “In the name of Allah, the most gracious, the most merciful Allah! There is no God but He—the Living, the self-subsisting, the eternal—” but all that came out of his mouth was a roar of a lion that rattled the walls and sent Nur’s mother screaming and slamming the door as she ran out of the room.
The ‘Ifrit provoked him into an uncontrollable rage and into shape shifting against his will. Now the evil jinni would pay for his crimes against Allah and His creations.
He placed his paw on the girl’s forehead. She writhed and foamed at the mouth, and he continued to recite the Verse of the Throne—except now it came out in gusts of lion’s roars instead of words.
“No slumber can seize Him nor sleep. His are all things in the heavens and on earth. Who is there can intercede In His presence except as He permits? He knows what appears to His creatures as before or after or behind them—”
Nur’s eyes closed. Her head rolled to the side and her mouth fell open.
Was she dead?
Arta touched her neck with a gentle paw. A weak, but steady pulse. Life still flowed in her, thanks to Allah. His senses now amplified to that of a predator, he sniffed the girl’s breath. She needed to bathe, wash her hair, and brush her teeth, but the signature jinni stench of struck matches, was absent. She was safe. The ‘Ifrit was gone. But Arta’s problem remained.
Although a Persian lion was smaller than an African one, the space under the bed afforded little opportunity for him to move. Pushing at the carpet with his front paws, he attempted to extract himself, only to back into the wall next to the bed. No going forward. Nur was in front of him and needed medical attention. He only had one choice. Crouching low on his belly, he flicked his tail and smacked the too-close wall. Arta gathered his strength and leaped to his feet. The bed flew into the air and crashed into the wall—just as Mr. Mustafa tore open the bedroom door.
His mouth in a huge “o,” the man froze in place.
Despite being in tatters, the down jacket was still recognizable from the cloud of feathers floating in the air. Arta roared in a lower decibel in an attempt to apologize for terrifying Mrs. Mustafa. Then he nuzzled Nur and pushed her toward her trembling father.
“Is she—” Tears welled up in the father’s dark eyes. “My daughter, what did you do to her?”
Annoyed, Arta shook his thick mane. He needed to get through to Mustafa. He worked in political minefields. Should be prepared for tense situations.
The man calls himself a diplomat?
Mustafa took three swift steps to his daughter’s prone body and lifted her into his arms. He stroked her forehead and felt her wrist for a pulse. “She’s alive. And that terrible stink is gone.” His gaze travelled over the room and back to Arta’s face. “The window is locked. There was a doctor here, my wife, and Nur. Then there was a roaring sound. My wife bolted out of the room. Now only the lion and my daughter remain.”
Arta nodded and sat down, flicking his tail. Okay. Now they were getting somewhere.
“You are the doctor?”
Another nod. Mustapha was smart—he put it all together. Good.
“This is unbelievable. Insane. Outrageous.”
Couldn’t have said it better himself. If he didn’t roar, that is.
“How did you do that? How do you become a man?”
Arta put a paw over his face. If he knew the answer to that question, he wouldn’t be sitting there playing twenty questions when they needed to get the girl to an ER.
Nur moaned. “Baba? Is that you?”
“Yes, my child.” Mustafa held her face tight to his chest and closed his eyes. “You are safe now—you have been saved from the evil jinni by—”
“The grace of Allah.” Arta said in real words, not roars. He was a man again, and a shivering, naked one at that. He grabbed a white sheet out of the pile of bedclothes and wrapped up as best he could.
The girl turned her face toward Arta. “Praise be to Allah that you didn’t give up. I fought the ‘Ifrit as best I could, but I am a weak daughter. I tried and tried, but he overpowered me. Thank you for saving my life, Imam.”
He opened his mouth to tell her he was not a spiritual leader, then changed his mind.
“Do not thank me. Thank Allah for his blessings and mercy. It is from Him that all goodness flows.” He turned to the father. “Take her to the George Washington University Hospital Emergency Room. Tell them she has the flu and had seizures. They’ll check her out, make sure she doesn’t have any residual damage. Say nothing about a jinni possession.”
Mustafa nodded and stared at Arta. “I don’t understand what happened here, but I do know Allah has blessed you with special powers. Thank you. As-Salaam Alaykum, peace be upon you, Dr. Shahani.”
“May peace, mercy and blessings of God be upon you, Mr. Mustafa.”
“Your work takes you to dark places. I suspect you will need the protective light of Allah more than I.”
Arta’s phone buzzed at his feet. He picked it up, read the text, and felt the air go out of the room. Homeland Security needed him in Summertown, West Virginia with the last person in the world who would want to see him. The agent he’d been forced to abandon when the terrorist interrogation went bad. The only woman who made him want to recite poetry and the only one he’d ever truly loved at first sight—Eliana Solomon.
****
Summertown, West Virginia was only a few hours from Maryland by car, and mere seconds away by phone and text messages, but Arta seemed to take forever to respond to Eliana’s call.
“Eliana, this is Arta. Are you okay?”
Her mouth dry, heart racing at the sound of his rich baritone, Eliana lost focus on the case for a split-second. She wanted to ask him what happened in the desert.
Why did you leave me for dead? Why didn’t you come visit me in the hospital? Why didn’t you call me?
She shook her head, straightened her spine, and forced herself to be professional.
“Hi Arta.” She paused for effect. “I’m alive.”
Did that sound bitchy? Too bad.
“We need your help here in West Virginia.”
Eliana launched into a nothing-but-the-facts description of the case, right up to the phone call from the police chief. “The two girls are in the hospital now. Getting rehydrated. Talking. Healthy.” She paused. “With some anomalies.” An understatement. “Like the boys, these two girls can’t recall anything about the time between entering the state park on foot and waking up in the middle of the highway. One thing their parents state with complete certainty is on the day they entered the state park, they had no babies on board.”
“Now?”
Here comes the bomb.
“They’re visibly pregnant.”
A sharp intake of his breath told her she had his attention.
“How could that be?”
“Army Military Intelligence called Homeland in when the Imagery Intelligence Technician identified the jinni energy signature on satellite video images. I smelled sulfur on the dead girl, which screams jinni. Paw prints surrounded her body—large canine ones, which implicates werewolves. To top everything off, nd, his favorite, “Listen to all sides of a story. Somewhere in the silence spthe surviving girls’ blood tests indicate hormonal levels consistent with over three months human gestation.”
Impatience gave his voice an edge. “You’re talking in circles. Which isn’t like you. Can you please cut to the chase? It’s been a long day.”
She wanted to say, You’ve had a long day? What about that day in the desert? She choked the words back.
“I’m trying to give you the full picture, Arta.”
“Sorry.”
“Ultrasounds confirmed the presence of healthy, kicking, four-legged fetuses. With tails.”
“Well, if they’re werewolves, wouldn’t tails be normal?”
“Yup, after they are a year old. Plus, werewolves have a longer gestation period. The only mammal close to this timeframe is an opossum. Unlike these pregnancies, werewolves are in human form from conception to birth. Plus, the moms almost always give birth to multiples, not singles.”
He made a humming sound. She swore she heard him stroking his chin.
“So, if the girls fooled around, they weren’t mating with one of their kind.”
Interesting way to phrase it. Was he trying to tell her something about their relationship?
“Not to put too fine a point on it, I’m just gonna put it out there right now. I think they’re were-jinnis.” Boom. Take that Dr. Shahani. A long silence. She glanced at the phone to make sure she had a connection. “Did I lose you?”
At last, she heard him swallow.
“That’s not possible. Since the time of the great Prophet King Solomon, we’ve known wolves and jinnis don’t get along. He commanded the jinnis with his seal. The werewolves were his supernatural enforcers. Legends say powerful ones can eat disobedient jinnis.”
“In biblical times, maybe, but these days, jinnis are attacking werewolves, particularly their young women. It happened in Kentucky. And, I’m telling you, it’s happening again here in West Virginia. Same modus operandi, grab a girl, get her pregnant. Jinni’s are made from different matter from humans and live thousands of years. Their reproductive life is not the same as ours. The combination of the species seems to have triggered an extremely accelerated gestation.”
“This is an abomination. The implications are—”
“Apocalyptic?” She gave a dry laugh. “Welcome to my world. Let the games begin, my friend.”
“I’m not sure I’m the man for this case. I’ll find you another psychiatrist, one more objective, with less history.”
Her heart caught in her throat.
Less history? What did he mean?
The only case they’d ever worked together involved a Pakistani man two years ago. Found in a tunnel between Arizona and Mexico, surrounded by bricks of C-4, the man appeared to be dazed and confused. U.S. Customs and Border agents attempted to interrogate him, and he began alternating in speech from Latin, Arabic, Greek, to Aramaic. Eliana received the call to investigate the case. She asked for a reputable psychiatrist who dealt with suspected jinni possession. She got more than she expected with Arta Shahani, MD, who turned out to be a hot Persian man with a devastating smile. She shook her head to clear the memories of his dark brown eyes, rugged jaw, and broad shoulders.
“Sorry, Dr. Shahani. Your country needs you. No one else is cleared for these matters. You need to put away your feelings about—”
About what? Her? Just because she got hot and bothered thinking about him, didn’t mean she appealed to him. “About were-jinnis.”
“It wasn’t the were-jinnis I was referring to.” He blew out a long breath. “I’m talking about us. Something happened between us, didn’t it? “
Her cheeks burned, and her heart thundered in her chest. She couldn’t give into an emotion that defied words. Yearning swooped through her limbs and left her breathless. In a moment of weakness, she confessed, “It would be a lie if I said I didn’t find you attractive. The timing was—”
“Terrible. Rumi said, ‘Through love Ghouls turn into angels.’ Did I treat you like a ghoul, Eliana? “
“Don’t be silly, Arta. You’re no monster. It was a horrible case, gone sideways.”
Where was he going with this? Why was he asking her about ghouls, evil jinnis that live in graveyards and other deserted places?
“Are you sure you want to work with me again? I feel so bad about—”
“We’re professionals, Arta. Whatever happened in Arizona, should stay there.”
He was the only person with the credentials she needed. It was essential to have him on the case. Pissed off or not, if she stayed in close range with this man, she couldn’t guarantee to keep her promises to her dead mother to save her virginity until she married.
“It wasn’t Las Vegas. You need to understand—”
“We need you here in Summertown. We want you to spend some time with the boys, examine them, elicit memories, something, anything.” She needed to get back on track. Her voice brusque, she rattled off instructions. “Pack warm clothes and good walking shoes. The area is riddled with mines and caves, a jinni’s dream landscape for portals.”
He sighed. “I’ll be there as soon as I wrap something up here. Tomorrow morning, lunchtime at the latest.”
This time tomorrow, he’d be here at her side. A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. A school girl’s giddiness over a star football player bubbled up before her brain engaged.
Give it a rest. Focus on the case.
They had more important things to deal with than her sex hormones, ticking biological clock, and blessed virginity.
“I know we’re supposed to be objective, sift through all the clues, wait for all the evidence before we come to a conclusion. But, these pregnancies, these were-jinni babies, are scary. Whatever ammo you own against these supernatural creatures, bring it with you, Arta. My gut is telling me this is going to be bad. If evil jinnis succeed with one of the most established werewolf packs in the United States, they can take over all the werewolf packs in the world.”
Her mind raced with questions. Why did they need hybrid creatures? What was their real agenda? What could a were-jinni do that a regular jinni couldn’t do? Were the legends true? Could were
-jinnis really be supernatural weapons of mass destruction—worse than an evil jinni? The fate of the homeland and the world depended on her finding answers. And soon.
Chapter Six
Jerusalem, 957 B.C.E.
Row upon row of jinnis, men, wolves, lions, and birds stood at attention as King Solomon strode before them. He stopped before the gathering, arranged a signet ring on each of his fingers, placed his fists on his hips, and demanded, “Where is my Hoopoe? Why is he absent?”
The giant jinni remained motionless and silent, held in check by the power of the great seals. The wolves and lions, shape-shifters who could become men, shook their heads, howled and roared. Not one of them had seen or heard the bird.
“How can it be that not one of you has seen him?”
The men, unfettered by the king’s seal, muttered in annoyance that a mere bird would command the ruler’s attention and force them to stand idle while the sun beat their overheated brows. The king turned to the closest worker, a bricklayer coated in red dust and splattered with mud.
“I hear every word you say. Tell me where he is. I won’t punish you. He, on the other hand, has to answer to me.”
The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, my King. He’s difficult to miss, what with that big wingspan of his and those stripes. I’d be the first to tell you.”
A woman’s voice interrupted the king’s obsession with the missing bird.
“Solomon, a word with you please?” Bathsheba held a stick in one hand and her squalling five-year-old grandson, Rehoboam, by the ear with the other.
He sensed what was coming. The dark-haired child was in trouble on a daily basis.
“Now what?”
Bathsheba released the boy, who ran to clutch his father’s legs.
“This child has to learn to respect his elders. He wanted some sweets, but I told him to wait, it would spoil his meal. So he ran to the cook and demanded dates. Cook told him to wait, too. He shouted, ‘I am the royal prince, you must give me what I want.’ Then he hit her with this stick.”
Solomon leaned down and peeled the little beast off his legs. A wet mass of snot lay in the center of the king’s purple tunic. “Rehoboam, what am I to do with you? You cannot behave this way toward your subjects. Your actions are unbecoming to a member of the Royal House of Israel.”