The Seven Kings of Jinn

Whipping around, Ari shook her head. What the hell was coming?

“Well.” Azazil smiled. “You better learn it fast. I invited my son, the White King, today. I wanted you to hear from his mouth what a scheming, manipulative bug he is.”

Ari’s teeth chattered as she jerked around again, watching the doors slowly swing open. “I already knew that.” Feeling betrayed, she shot Azazil a watery glare.

He tutted. “I just wanted you to be sure. Don’t panic,” he now coached her soothingly. “Just believe you are hidden, that no one can see you. Just believe.”

Drawing in shuddering gulps, Ari tried to calm, turning her thoughts inward. I am invisible. No one can see me. I am invisible. No one can see me. I am invisible. No one can see me. She shut out the sounds of the doors creaking wide and kept chanting.

“It worked,” she heard Azazil murmur. Shocked, she faltered. “Don’t break your concentration. Just come up here and hide behind the throne. My son will never know you were here.”

Petrified, Ari followed Azazil’s directions, moving forward and up toward the throne. A gasp escaped her when she looked down and right through her body. Where was her body? Holy shit!

“None of that,” Azazil muttered under his breath, shooting her a venomous look. “Don’t make a sound.”

Cowed, Ari moved fluidly behind the throne, placing her invisible hands against the chilled marble for support, and she peered around it. Her eyes widened at the sight of her real father’s face reflected around the room. He seemed to glide along the glass floor toward Azazil, his purple robes trimmed in gold, his shaven head shiny under all the brilliant light. As he grew closer, Ari noted the diamonds winking in his ears and the rings bejeweling his fingers. He’d dressed up to meet his dad, she mused.

Without a word, the White King strode up the dais. He grasped his father’s hand in his and placed a kiss on his knuckles. Militantly, he returned to his stance at the bottom of the dais. For the first time, as Ari glanced between father and son, she wondered why on earth her ‘father’ was the White King when Azazil was the one with the white hair? She got why the Red King was the Red King—he had that blindingly passionate mane of his. Her real father, however, was bald.

So the Seven Kings of Jinn weren't named for their appearance then?

Ari held in her breath, watching Azazil and the White King stare at one another. Peeking around, she caught the tension in Azazil’s jaw. He seemed perpetually, scarily amused. The White King, however, looked just as he had before. Emotionless. Blank. Soulless.

And suddenly it occurred to Ari why he might be titled the White King. There was a purity about him.

A purity of evil.

“Are we just going to stare at one another?” The White King cocked his head, for one moment seeming almost introspective.

The amusement fled Azazil and the air pulsed around him, like waves rolling out tumultuously and crashing against rock. The rock in question was the White King and, to Ari’s awe, he actually stumbled back against it. She shot Azazil a giddy, impressed look before reminding herself she was supposed to concentrate on remaining in the cloak.

“How dare you address me so disrespectfully.”

The White King looked up at Azazil from under his lashes. “Apologies. Master.”

Accepting the apology with a brittle nod, Azazil settled down into the throne, causing Ari to flinch. The tart, citrusy scent of pomegranate washed over Ari. She felt pressure against her skin, like a strong wind trying to blow her over. Heart thudding, she held her feet against Azazil’s natural power and tried to concentrate on the conversation taking place. What had she missed?

“Master has requested an audience with me to ask if I had Pazuzu curse the human, Derek Johnson?” The White King asked, pursing his lips.

“Yes,” Azazil replied. “That’s exactly what I am asking.”

The White King shrugged elegantly. “Even if that were true, Master, there is nothing anyone but the seal can do about it.”

“What a heartless child I reared that would cause his daughter so much strife.”

Surprised at the admonishment, Ari waited with bated breath for her father’s reply. As before, the White King betrayed no emotion. “It shocks you that your son has learned from your behavior, Master?”

A chuckle rumbled from the back of Azazil’s throat. “I never harm those whom my children call family.”

“Then that is where you and I differ in strategy, Master. Perhaps my ability to set aside emotion will act in my favor in this—”

“Usurpation,” Azazil supplied. “You are an arrogant, festering boil.”

“Must we have this same disagreement every time we meet, Master?”

Ari had to suck in a gasp as she was forced to skitter away from the throne at the angry vibration of power that throbbed from Azazil’s body. He leaned forward in his throne and hissed at his son, “I want you to know that I will do everything in my power to aid the seal against you.”