“What about the three wishes lore?”
“A trick to lure the unwitting to their dooms, as far as I can tell.” I held up a ruby the size of my pinky nail set in a gaudy baroque-style frame that added ounces to its already hefty weight. “However, djinns have a rare and peculiar type of magic. What they desire, they can manifest. That’s how they trick people into believing they have the control. The ‘master’ asks for a thing, and the djinn gives them the thing.”
“Thus the lore is proven correct in their victims’ eyes.”
“A djinn is confined to its chosen vessel for life, so it gets bored. They play with people to break up the monotony of their existence, and to get fresh air, until they decide they’ve extroverted enough for one decade and kill their ‘master’ in the gruesome fashion that most of them spent the last ten years devising for giggles.”
Those were the cases that had slid across my desk, anyway.
“How does the pendant work?”
“In theory, I read this inscription backwards, and it banishes the book inside the stone.” I showed him on the chain how the spell was written across the links, glossing over how the clasp fused after I latched it. I might also have skipped over how decapitation of the wearer was the only method of removal for the pendant, should the wearer refuse to relinquish ownership of it. “Then I read the incantation forward to release it. The big question is whether the banished object must be alive. The grimoire has some degree of sentience. So does the pendant. I can’t guarantee it’ll work, but I’ve got a hunch they’ll be BFFs.”
No black magic artifact would refuse a chance to grow in power, even if it meant combining its power.
“Worst-case scenario?”
“The book will be bound to the pendant. Forever. Or until we destroy them both.”
“Do you think it’s worth the risk?”
“The book is a knowledge-hoarding brat. I’m happy to let it decay in there. Alone. Unused. Forgotten.”
That last part I said while staring at the book, ensuring it heard the threat.
Which proved it was getting under my skin.
Books don’t have ears.
“The important thing is,” he pitched in with me, “it would keep the grimoire out of the wrong hands.”
“I’m not thrilled with the solution, but it’s not like I can call Dad to get a second opinion. The message in a bottle schtick is cute, but we don’t have time to test how long it takes for him to receive and reply. We must verify that he’s receiving as well. Until then, I can’t risk more than the same niceties he sent me.”
I ought to write him before I left, to confirm receipt if nothing else, but I wasn’t sure what to say.
“What if the pendant decides it would rather have you for a new guest?”
“Then you better get ready to rub until I pop.” I cut him a sly smile. “Out of the stone, I mean.”
“Oh,” he breathed, his voice soft, “I knew what you meant.”
On my knees, I walked to him, rested my chin on his thigh, and gazed up at him.
“It’s not too late to run.” I locked my arms around his calf. “I would hold on, so it would be awkward, but you could try, and I would fully support that.” Then I sat on his foot, wrapping my legs around his ankles. “The thing is, I love you. So, it’s kind of your fault we’re in this situation. I want the best for you, and I’m not sure that’s me, but I’m also pretty sure I would viciously murder anyone who tried to take you, so…”
“It’s my fault that your affection manifests as veiled murder threats?”
“What veil?” I grew my fingertips into talons I raked down his bare chest. “There was no veil.”
“Forgive me,” Asa murmured, eyes twinkling. “I interpreted pretty sure as wiggle room.”
“The only wiggling in this room will be me, on top of you.” I rubbed my cheek along his inner thigh. “Or you, on top of me.” I nipped him. “Any variation that involves you, me, and wiggling is okay in my book.”
“It was too late to run—” he speared his fingers through my hair, “—the moment I saw you.”
He lowered his head, his gaze intent on my lips, and kissed me slowly.
Melting at his feet, I was inching my hands down his waist when his tongue clinked against my teeth.