Witches were also able to put out calls to the Djinn with enough Power to make themselves heard, but Julian was no witch. Normally when he wanted to contact Soren, he did so in the most ordinary of ways, by phone.
Even if he were able to call Soren and the Djinn responded, the maneuver would kill him. Julian might be able to pin Malphas, but he couldn’t defeat the Djinn on his own. Malphas was too Powerful.
A first-generation pariah could only be destroyed if several Powerful creatures teamed up to take him down. It had been done before, but it was a risky and dangerous proposition, which was why the Demonkind only went after a rogue Djinn when they had no other choice. At their essence, they were social creatures, and their preferred method of punishment was to ostracize a Djinn who went rogue.
And none of that took into account what would happen to Melly in the precious seconds it would take Soren to arrive and assess the situation. Justine would have her throat slit before Soren could do anything to stop it.
They really were well and truly trapped.
So Julian said nothing as Malphas stepped close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder.
And he did nothing, as the Djinn’s whirlwind of Power rose up around him and carried him away.
Blood trickled down Melly’s neck from the stinging cut Justine had given her. She thought, dear lords and ladies, all I want in the whole wide world is a bath, a piña colada, and the chance to stake this bitch in the heart.
And please, gods, a nap in a real bed is mighty high on my list too.
None of those things appeared to be in her near future. Not only was Justine’s iron grip unbreakable, but Melly’s makeshift stake lay several feet away, hidden in the pathetic little nest she had carefully arranged so that it hid the damage she had done to the frame of the cot.
When Justine and Vampyre Guy had shown up earlier, they had given her plenty of warning at their approach, although she hadn’t understood what was happening until it was almost too late.
She had been hard at work staking ferals, which was a rotten, dangerous, tedious task, thank you very much. It was tough physical work, and her arm and shoulder tired quickly.
Horror was so much more fun on a movie set, where all the wounds were special effects applied by makeup artists, and there was a concession table with tasty snacks, and trailers with working plumbing, and weekend parties, and somebody else available to do her stunts whenever she didn’t feel like doing them.
In real life… there weren’t enough words to describe how much this sucked.
Also, the Vampyres were feral — that didn’t necessarily make them stupid. It hadn’t taken them long to learn to jerk back when she lunged for one of them.
Yet they wanted her… they really wanted her, so they stayed close, in case they might be able to grab her whenever she danced near. There were so many Vampyres, they crowded the ones at the front against the bars and hampered their movements, which was why she had been able to make as many kills as she had.
So far, she’d managed to stake five. Four of them had crumbled to dust, while the fifth one had gotten extra snarly and violent, and there were still so many left.
Then a high-pitched whistle sounded.
As she paused and tried to figure out what this new information meant, the ferals turned toward the sound and raced down the tunnel. A few lingered, including the one she had stabbed, but not for long. After a few moments they, too, raced out of sight.
At first she had been relieved but puzzled. What had made them run?
Moments later, she had heard Justine’s and Vampyre Guy’s voices coming down the tunnel. That was when realization had struck.
They had conditioned the ferals to respond to a whistle.
Leaping into action, she had scrambled to get her nest arranged so she could hide her stake. She kept the cot propped on its side, the ends touching the walls in the corner, with the blanket and her food and water stacked inside the triangle.
The whole illusion was as risky as a house of cards. One good puff of wind and it would all fall down.
For example, if anybody chose to right the three-legged cot and sit on it, it would collapse under their weight, but she had bet that nobody would want to settle in for a relaxed visit.
So far she had been right.
“Relaxed” was definitely not what this visit was. Homicidal and psychopathic, but not relaxed.
She had watched them set up their technical operation, complete with camping lantern, a Wi-Fi router and a laptop. None of it had surprised her, except for the arrival of a Djinn named Malphas.
When Justine had stepped into the cell to take hold of her in a firm grip and turn to face the laptop, Melly had been braced to see her mom on the screen, or maybe Bailey, or even both of them together.
Not Julian.