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“Dammit, Cairo,” I muttered under my breath, feeling a wave of warmth envelop me that had nothing to do with Riker’s smoldering gaze. My thoughts raced, worry for Cairo twisting inside me.
“Hot under the collar?” Riker’s voice trickled through my aggravation, but I could only manage a glare in response.
“Hot under everything,” I admitted, the room suddenly feeling as snug as a sauna.
“Maybe he didn’t have a choice,” Riker suggested, his brow knitted in concern.
“Choices,” I echoed, the word leaving a bitter taste. “Yeah, well, we’ve all got them. And right now, mine is to haul my butt over to Elijah’s. He might have some herbal concoction or stoner wisdom to make sense of all this.”
“Need company?” Riker offered.
“Yeah. Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” I announced with forced cheer, trying to ignore the charred smell of my hair.
“Right behind you,” Riker replied, his voice steady as always. But there was something in his tone, a note of uncertainty that made me pause for half a second before striding toward the door.
As we navigated past the sooty mess that used to be his window treatments, I caught him shooting me another one of those looks—a cross between a hawk eyeing a field mouse and a shrink trying to unravel his patient’s latest Freudian slip. It was unsettling and... oddly flattering?
“Okay,” I said, spinning on my heel to face him, one hand on the doorknob. “You’ve been giving me the third degree with your eyeballs since the fire went out. What gives?”
Riker ran a hand over his smooth, bald head, looking like a genie contemplating his next trick. “Nothing,” he said at last. “Just making sure you’re not about to combust or something. You’re giving off some serious heat waves, Tessa.”
“Ha-ha, real funny,” I retorted, but a coil of apprehension tightened in my gut. My own body had become an unpredictable furnace lately—was it stress, or something more sinister? No time for that now; Cairo was missing, and every minute wasted could mean?—
“Seriously, though.” Riker’s gaze fixed on mine, pinning me in place. “If you need help, I’m here. You know that, right?”
“Of course, big guy.” I forced a grin, yanking the door open to let in a gust of cool evening air that felt like heaven against my overheated skin. “Now, let’s get moving. Elijah’s probably got his bong prepped and ready for some divination as we speak.”
“Divination by bong,” Riker mused, following me out. “Only you, Tessa. Only you.”
CHAPTER 14
The air crackled with a sound like cellophane crinkling.
We hadn’t even had time to start discussing the issue of Cairo’s disappearance when a swirl of magic coalesced into a figure in Elijah’s apartment. My first thought was that Elijah really needed to dust more often—the way those motes danced around the newcomer was a dead giveaway.
“Message for Tessa Fury,” the djinni announced with the kind of pomp that suggested he was used to more lavish settings than a bachelor pad with pizza boxes doubling as coasters. The guy didn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed about popping into existence unannounced. Rude.
“Talk,” I said, crossing my arms. “And make it snappy. We were watching a documentary on the migratory patterns of European wasps. Riveting stuff.”
“King Zayn requires your audience,” the djinni intoned. “He has Cairo and wishes to speak with you. Alone.” With another crackle, he vanished, leaving the scent of burnt cinnamon hanging in the air.
“Great,” I muttered, shooting a glance at Riker who stood looking like someone had stolen his favorite protein shake. “Just when I’d almost convinced Elijah to switch the channel to something about sharks.”
“Alone, huh?” Riker’s brow furrowed, his voice rumbling low enough to match the clinking of weights at the gym. “You’re not seriously considering it?”
“Considering? Yes. Doing it? No way in hell. Or Dallas,” I replied. “I may not be the sharpest stake in the vampire hunter’s kit, but I’m not walking into the fiery jaws of Ifrit Central without backup.”
“Good, because I’m coming with you.” Riker’s jaw clenched, muscles bulging in all the right places, doing nothing for my concentration. “But I want your word, Tessa—nothing rash. Safety is the priority.”
“Cross my heart and hope to—” I paused, the rest of that promise feeling a tad too on-the-nose in our line of work. “You have my word. But remember, we’re dealing with a king who thinks ‘burn notice’ is an invitation to a barbecue.”
“Then let’s get cooking,” Riker said, his attempt at humor as comforting as wearing a meat suit to a werewolf party.
“Right behind you.” I flashed him a grin that I hoped looked braver than I felt. Because if there was one thing I knew about hunting supernatural monsters, it was that you never knew what kind of heat you’d end up facing. And something told me this meeting with King Zayn was going to be less cozy chat and more inferno with a side of doom.
* * *
The doors were all unlocked this time.
