I listened for any sense that she was going to hang around, watch out for me. All I sensed was that vast, quiet weight of Patrick’s power, and the dark shadow of his Ifrit sliding around the edges of my consciousness.
“Alone at last,” said Santa Claus, and gave me a particularly unsettling smile. “Mind if we go to my place?”
Patrick had a loft apartment on West Seventy-third, big and horribly expensive and decorated with as much abandon as a Djinn’s imagination and apparently limitless budget could provide.
It was a disaster.
His “office” had been impersonal, deliberately bland, but his home didn’t share the same flaws. Carpet in a color that even Rahel wouldn’t have worn— aggressive, eye-hurting blue—competed with neon yellow leather couches and shiny green occasional tables. Those damned Warhol Marilyn prints on the wall. Tasteless plaster copies of naked Greek statues, the lewder the better. He liked smiley faces, too. The bathroom was decorated in them, complete to see-through toilet seat with little yellow happy faces floating inside.
There was, demonstrably, no Mrs. Claus.
Patrick handed me off to the care of the banana yellow leather sofa, which was a lot more uncomfortable than it looked, and disappeared into the kitchen. He came back with two tumblers of something that looked alcoholic but in far too generous a portion for safety. He handed me one. I put mine down on the table, and he hastily dealt me a round coaster that featured an underwear-clad Bettie Page being spanked with a hairbrush.
“So.” He beamed at me, and dragged a chair closer to plump himself down. “You’re wondering how this works.”
“A little.”
“Very simple,” he said, and steepled his fingers under his chin. Those eyes—warm and deep as a tropical ocean. Deceptively peaceful. “Do you know what an Ifrit is?”
“Met one. Didn’t like her.”
“So you did.” Patrick looked past me, and I sensed something dark and shadowy lurking over my shoulder. I didn’t turn. “She is what you could become, if you don’t do this right. She is a fallen Djinn. She can’t reach the power of the universe itself, she can only consume it through others.”
“I thought that was what Djinn did. Consumed it through others.”
“No, no, I told you to forget everything David told you.” He waggled a finger at me. “I grew up in an age of alchemy, so I will put it to you in alchemical terms. We transmute the essence of a thing. We have power of our own, that we draw from the world around us, but to do the great things, the miracles the Djinn are famous for, we draw from the life energy of humans. We can only do that if we’re claimed.”
“You mean slaves.”
Patrick shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as being in public service. In any case, you’re not ready for such a step just yet. First, you have to learn how to live without a power source, such as a human or another Djinn.”
“That’s why I’m here.” I chanced a sip of the drink he’d poured me. Yowza. The good stuff. Apparently, Patrick’s bad taste didn’t extend to his palate.
“Exactly. You must learn to feed from what’s all around you, change its form and consume the excess energy produced. My poor Ifrit there exists as a kind of vampire, stealing the souls of others because she cannot touch the forces of life herself. Yes?”
I wanted to shudder, but I didn’t want him to see me do it. I just raised my chin and stared. Patrick smiled.
“Tell me something about yourself.”
“I’d rather save the small talk.”
“There’s no need to be rude, child, and believe me, I’m asking for a reason. Tell me something about yourself. Anything.”
“I’m twenty-eight…”
He rejected that one out of hand. “Something personal. Something… interior. Tell me something you love.”
I thought about it for a long few seconds, then said, “Ralph Lauren’s summer line this year. Not the spring collection, which was way too pastel, and the winter was really crappy, all bland browns and grays. But he’s got some good fabrics this summer, kind of a hot tangerine matched with dull red. Only the skirts, though. His capri pants are for shit. Pockets? Who wants pockets on capri pants? What woman in her right mind puts extra fabric on her hips?”
There was a long and ringing silence. Patrick’s eyes were wide and rather frightened. He finally cleared his throat and said, “Anything else apart from fashion?”
“What do you want me to say? Puppies? Fluffy kittens? Babies?”
“Let’s try something simple. Your favorite food.”