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We tiptoed along the edges of the room, watching for any sign of where Zayn might be hiding. Then there it was, as unassuming as a mouse hole: the final chamber. The door was plain, but the magical signature wafting from the cracks was anything but.
And for the first time ever, I could taste that magic.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, pushing the door open with a flicker of heat at my fingertips, ready to melt any locks that dared stand in our way.
The room beyond was dimly lit, the air stagnant and heavy. And there, bound by chains that glowed with enchantments, were Poppy and Cairo. Her face was stained with tears, his with defeat. But as their eyes met mine, hope flickered between them.
“Nice of you to drop by, Tessa,” Poppy said, her voice surprisingly steady despite the tremble in her lips.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I replied, already moving forward, my mind racing with plans to break those chains. “Hang tight. We’ll have you out of here faster than you can say ‘fire hazard.’”
“About that...” Cairo began, but before he could finish his sentence, the air sparked with an energy that sent shivers down my spine.
I turned, and there he was—the kind of entrance only a King of Djinn could pull off. King Zayn emerged from the shadows, his aura blazing around him like the world’s most threatening bonfire.
“Ah, Tessa Fury,” he boomed, his voice as warm as a heart attack. “You’ve become a thorn in my side.”
“King Zayn.” I greeted him with a tilt of my head, trying to sound bored. “You’re looking... extra sparky today.”
His laugh was a sound that could curdle milk. With a flick of his wrist, a torrent of fire erupted, swirling across the room. It barricaded us inside the chamber, cutting off any escape. The heat licked at my skin, and I could swear my hair was considering turning to ash on principle.
“Trapped like rats,” he sneered, clearly enjoying the dramatic flare-up.
“Nice try, Zayn,” I called out, injecting false bravado into my voice. “But you do know that fire is kind of my thing these days, right?”
He ignored my claim. “I assume you’ve decided not to take me up on my generous offer?”
“That three days thing? Yeah…definitely not.”
“That’s too bad. I would not have assumed you and your…friends… would all prefer to die.”
Niko and Riker growled in unison, and I had to fight myself not to glance back at them.
Zayn gave an elegant shrug. “But so be it.”
Then he raised his hands, and instantly they were wreathed in flames.
CHAPTER 20
King Zayn, with his smoldering eyes and burning sneer, towered over us, an inferno ready to consume everything in its path.
But we weren’t going to be kindling today.
I steadied my breath, feeling the fire magic pulsing at my fingertips, ready to ignite at my command.
Riker flexed those muscles of his and stepped forward with the confidence of a man who’d faced down more paranormal uglies than most people had hot dinners. He locked eyes with Zayn, issuing a silent challenge that even a creature as arrogant as a djinn king couldn’t ignore.
Beside him, Niko’s cool blue gaze flickered with an animalistic gleam, his entire body coiled, ready to spring—and I knew he was itching to let his inner wolf loose again.
Elijah, my bestie since forever, gave me a nod that said, ‘I’ve got your back,’ his floppy blond hair falling into his face. You wouldn’t think to look at him that he had a brain sharp enough to shave with—when he wasn’t indulging in his herbal recreations, that is.
And Helen? Oh, she was strutting around like the queen she was, her hairdo not even quivering as she cracked her bullwhip. The drag queen extraordinaire might have looked fabulous, but I knew she was also as deadly with that whip as any gunslinger with a pistol.
As the chaos unfolded around him, King Zayn scowled, clearly not amused by our motley crew. He didn’t know what hit him when Riker came at him head-on, arms swinging; Niko darted in from the side, agile as only a werewolf could be; Elijah launched a volley of whatever magical knick-knacks he’d stowed in his pockets; and Helen’s whip sang through the air, snapping close enough to singe the king’s eyebrows.
While they kept Zayn busy contemplating his imminent defeat at the hands of what must have looked to him like the cast of a circus sideshow, I turned my attention to Poppy and Cairo.
“Nearly out of the frying pan, you two,” I muttered, focusing my magic on the chains that imprisoned them.
