Oracle's Moon

8

Grace hurried to the house and climbed the porch steps as fast as she could. As she reached for the screen door, Therese was already on the other side, slamming it open. Grace jerked back. “Whoa, easy there!”

Therese was a pretty woman in her midthirties, and usually she had what Grace privately liked to call Snow White coloring—very dark hair, pale skin, and a full mouth Therese emphasized with red lipsticks. At the moment the older woman’s creamy skin was flagged with two bright spots of hectic color.

“You have a Djinn in your house!” Therese hissed. “I heard one showed up the other day, but I thought he had left!”

Like any other small, tightly knit community, witches gossiped. The percentage of humans who were born with Power was low, and often the ability tended to run in families. The number of those who pursued and received training for their Power was even lower, even in their own demesne. At the last census, those who claimed to have received training in witchcraft were under six thousand.

The coven grapevine was notorious, so Grace shouldn’t have been surprised Janice had talked about Carling, Rune and Khalil, but Therese’s acidic tone roused Grace’s own temper.

Grace looked inside. Khalil stood with his feet planted apart and his arms folded. He was still in the black tunic and trousers from earlier, his eyes incandescent. He looked enormous and murderous.

“He is a friend of mine,” she said sharply. “And I knew he was stopping by. I just forgot to tell you.” She had meant to say she was sorry for not remembering to tell the other woman, but she would be damned if she apologized now.

Therese cast a wide-eyed look over her shoulder as well. She switched to telepathy. And you allow him around the children? Are you CRAZY?

Khalil wasn’t the only one suffering from a touch of bigotry. Grace snapped back, Stop talking about him like he’s a wild dog or an infestation.

Therese’s eyes flashed. Fine. I would have thought you had more sense than that, but suit yourself. They’re not my kids.

That last was so callous, Grace’s expression turned cold. She said between her teeth, “I’m crossing you off the roster. Don’t come back.”

“Don’t worry,” said Therese. “I won’t.”

As the other woman flounced down the driveway to her car, Grace looked inside again. Max sat at Khalil’s feet, fingering Khalil’s black shoes curiously. He was oblivious to the tension between the adults. Also oblivious, Chloe was busily looking through her new pile of library books on the living room bookcase.

Khalil’s eyes blazed. He said to her, I caught that woman going through your things.

Caught totally off guard, Grace blinked. What?

He repeated, When I arrived, the woman was rifling through the papers on your desk.

Digging through her things? What the hell.

Even as he spoke and Grace tried to process what he said, Chloe grabbed two of the books. She ran back to Khalil, chattering. “See what I got today? I can read them if you help.”

Grace watched again as a remarkable transformation happened. Khalil looked down at the children, and his elegant face gentled. His rage vanished as though it had never existed. He told the little girl, gravely, “I would be honored to assist you.”

Chloe beamed at him. “Does that mean you’ll help?”

“Indeed,” said Khalil. He bent down to pick up Max. His tremendous hands were exquisitely careful as he handled the baby.

A new surge of fury and outrage clogged Grace’s throat as, behind her, Therese’s car door slammed.

Digging. Through her things.

Beyond the outrage was a sense of violation, a trust that had been broken.

She checked to make sure Chloe wasn’t watching her. Then she put her hand behind her back and stuck out her middle finger. Fuck you, Therese.

Therese’s car peeled out of the driveway with more force than was necessary, or maybe Grace imagined it.

She looked at the kids. She thought of them playing innocently while Therese snooped around. What else had the other woman done? Grace’s hands clenched, and a muscle in her jaw began to tick.

She opened the door and stepped inside. She tried to move as carefully as she could, because it felt like her rage was flowing off her body in waves. Max greeted her by blowing a happy raspberry. The smile she tried to give the baby felt more like a grimace.

Khalil glanced at her as he sat in the armchair. He settled Max on one leg and lifted Chloe, books and all, into his lap as well. Chloe folded her body up, perching on his other leg as naturally as if they had read together thousands of times before.

She could have hurt them, Grace said to Khalil. She could have done anything.

Khalil said, She did not. They are well.

The little girl eagerly opened her top book and pointed to the page. “What does this say?”

Khalil bent his head and began to read.

Grace watched them for a moment. They were a strange yet wonderful sight. If she apologized to anyone, she felt she owed it to Khalil for forgetting to let him know Therese would be babysitting. But she had only found out about Therese snooping because she had forgotten and Khalil had shown up unannounced.

It’s not just what the hell, she thought. It’s why the hell?

She didn’t have any money for Therese to steal, and the other woman would have known that. Grace certainly didn’t have any secrets. It wasn’t as though Therese was a teenager, with a teenager’s sometimes irresponsible sense of boundaries. Had it been pure, simple nosiness?

Forcing her muscles to unknot, she moved quietly through the living room into the office.

As she studied the room, she tried to remember exactly how everything had been. The stack of papers on her desk was a hodgepodge collection of bills, photocopies of journal articles for her unfinished school projects and various drafts of her resume. The papers seemed slightly disarranged—or was that only because she knew Therese had gone through them?

She rubbed the back of her neck. The truth was, her desk wasn’t all that neat, and she would never have noticed anything if Khalil hadn’t caught Therese. Her computer was on, and she distinctly remembered turning it off earlier. But again, if Khalil hadn’t said anything, she would have shrugged it off, thinking perhaps Therese had wanted to check her e-mail.

Maybe none of it meant anything. Maybe Therese had checked her e-mail. Maybe she had dug through the papers because she had been looking for a pen and a blank piece of paper.

She had been awfully outraged at Khalil’s unexpected appearance.

Was that really bigotry, or was it anger that she had been caught?

Caught doing what, exactly?

Grace and Therese weren’t friends, merely acquaintances. Therese belonged to one of the local covens, and Grace had met her a time or two—enough not to question having her on the babysitting roster or think twice about leaving her alone with the children. But Grace still felt angry and unsettled, betrayed and hurt.

And she wasn’t even sure if she should.

Except for Therese’s callousness. As far as Grace was concerned, even if the other woman had reacted out of anger, what she had said and how she had said it were unforgiveable. Grace went back into the living room, to the bookcase where she kept her purse. She looked through the contents. Car keys, identification, checkbook, a packet of gum, one of Max’s pacifiers. She had the same amount of cash in her wallet that she’d had earlier, sixteen dollars and fifty-three cents. As far as she could tell, Therese hadn’t taken anything.

Grace turned and studied the living room, her hands on her hips. It was the same as her office area, untidy and lived in.

Khalil glanced at her again from under his brows. He asked, Are any of your possessions missing?

His expression promised trouble for Therese if there were. Grace shook her head, her mouth a tight, unhappy line.

I do not care for this babysitting roster if other people like Therese are on it, he said.

I don’t either, she told him. I really don’t.

If she couldn’t rely on the people on the roster, what the hell was she going to do now? She rubbed the back of her neck and added it to the growing list of shit she needed to think about.

And thinking wasn’t going to make the kids supper. She walked toward the kitchen.

As she passed the armchair, she asked, “Will you stay for supper?”

The smooth flow of words in Khalil’s low, pure voice halted.

He said, “Very well.”

…

Friend, Grace had called him.

Khalil resumed reading to the little ones, while he mulled over the word. The baby sucked his thumb and leaned back so he could look up at Khalil’s face. Chloe rested light as a pixie against Khalil’s other side and fingered the edges of the page as she listened to him. Her blonde hair floated like dandelion fluff around her head. His daughter, Phaedra, had not been, even at her youngest, as fragile as these two humans were. These baby birds were warm, soft, openhearted and open-minded. So trusting.

When he had caught Therese digging through the papers on Grace’s desk, Max and Chloe had been in the living room. Max had been chewing on a stuffed animal while he watched Chloe pull toys out of her toy box. Khalil had felt a rage so deep at Therese, the only reason why she remained unharmed was because the children had been present.

Friend.

Over the last day, Khalil had been busy with his own life. He hadn’t accomplished everything he wanted to do. He still wanted to discuss Grace’s vision with one of the first generation Djinn of his House. He was too disturbed to dismiss the experience. Even if the vision had been Cuelebre’s, Khalil had heard the voice too. “Global,” Grace had said. And “elemental.” Perhaps the Oracle needed to distance herself from the visions that came for other people, but he did not.

Other matters interfered with his goals. He ended up talking through the night with certain members of his House about an issue that had arisen with House Shaytan. House Marid had convened this morning to decide how they would, as a collective, respond to certain actions made by Shaytan members. When the folk of the air gathered en masse, they did so over oceans or deserts, because their energies swirled like gigantic tornadoes and endangered those who were bound to flesh.

He had been bored by House Shaytan’s actions and had found the discussions and arguments made by his own House just as dry and uninteresting. Why must everything always be balanced, down to the most precise equation? Grace was right; they had become a pedantic lot. Perhaps House Shaytan had meant to cause offense, and offense had certainly been taken, but nobody had actually been attacked or injured.

When it came his time to speak, he urged his House to ignore the whole idiotic thing and get back to the business of living their lives. The other Djinn were startled and disturbed. Grudgingly, one or two admitted that the issue might not be as urgent as had been first believed. Then a few others agreed, and eventually the whole assembly had disintegrated into disgruntled mutterings.

The entire process had been a colossal waste of time, and that was not a phrase an immortal being, who had all the time in the world, bothered to use that often.

After that, because the Djinn were part of the greater Demonkind collective, Khalil traveled to the Demonkind demesne offices in Houston.

Demonkind were like the Nightkind in one regard; they were the only two Elder demesnes in the United States that contained a variety of creatures, for the Wyr, despite their immense variety, were all essentially two-natured beings.

However, for the Nightkind, Vampyres had long since become the dominant race, and their demesne was ruled by a Vampyre monarch.

The Demonkind demesne was unique among the U.S. demesnes. Like the human U.S. government, and also like the Djinn, the Demonkind demesne was the only one that governed by consensus, through representatives of each Demonkind race: the Djinn, devils, the medusae, ogres, monsters (those creatures who did not develop a Wyr form, such as the Sphinx) and, unfortunately, the Goblins.

Everyone considered the Goblins unfortunate.

Djinn elders from the five Houses took turns acting as representatives in the Demonkind legislature. Khalil was currently serving his two-year term. It was not an especially onerous task, although it was time consuming. When he reached his own offices in Houston, he assumed his physical form to spend the afternoon reading through papers and answering e-mails.

At midafternoon, he took a break. On impulse he Googled “Grace Andreas” and “Oracle.” He discovered the Oracle’s website and read all the information posted there. The history of the Oracle was long and rich, even by Djinn standards.

Friend.

His world was vast and intricate, and built on associations upon associations. His House. The Djinn. The different creatures of the Demonkind. The Demonkind demesne’s various alliances and antagonisms with humankind and the other demesnes. Favors granted and favors owed.

In all of his associations, Khalil thought, very few would call him friend.

How had Grace known to align her energy with his yesterday? Her surprise seemed to indicate she had done so by accident. He had dismissed her so cavalierly at first. He was shocked at how much there was to discover about her. He thought of how she had felt, her psychic presence resting against his, feminine and complex, with layers of Power, both old and young. It had been delicious, exotic, surprising and enticing. Sexual.

Remembering it, he held himself under tight control.

Pleasant supper smells wafted through the shabby, comfortable house. Chloe grew restless and wriggled out of his lap to run to the kitchen. She announced, “I’m hungry!”

“Hello, Hungry, I’m Grace,” said Grace. “Nice to meet you.”

Chloe giggled, and Khalil smiled. He rested his cheek on the top of Max’s head. The boy had a strong, light energy and a kernel of Power that was like a rosebud waiting for the right season to unfurl. His wispy tuft of hair smelled like clean baby. Khalil approved of this little man. Very much so.

Grace said behind him, “Dinner’s ready.”

He nodded, set the children’s books aside and carried Max into the kitchen.

The room was complicated. He paused to take it all in. The table was set simply with three place settings. Each plate had a few slices of apple. There was a fragrant central dish that, if Khalil didn’t miss his guess, looked like broccoli, rice and cheese. Chloe’s place had a small glass of milk. The other two plates had glasses filled with ice and a brown, clear liquid. A bowl had been set on the table in front of Max’s high chair. It was filled with different colors of goop. Khalil had no idea what was in that bowl; he assumed it must be food.

Khalil turned his attention to Grace. Her red-gold hair was disheveled, and her cheeks were touched with a healthy faint blush, a far better color than her chalky complexion of the last couple of days. He guessed her earlier paleness had stemmed from exhaustion. The shadows on her face had eased as well. She was barefoot and wore a yellow tank top, along with short, dark green pants that just covered her scarred knees. The pants emphasized her slender ankles and arched, graceful feet. She was not wearing the knee brace, so her leg must not be not causing her as much discomfort. He was glad to see that.

Really, she was well formed all over, with high, small breasts, a long, narrow waist and a flat stomach that flared gently into rounded hips. All in all, her physical form was entirely pleasing to gaze upon.

He remembered how shapely her lean, muscled legs had been, except for the livid red scars. He was suddenly angry on her behalf. The physical damage from the accident might be permanent, but it had been wholly avoidable, if only she’d had access to Powerful medical care. Now she would have to suffer some kind of limitation, if not outright discomfort or pain, for the rest of her brief life.

Then he remembered another thing. She had said, I didn’t have health insurance or the money to pay for that kind of treatment. He looked around with a new perspective, noting the signs of age and wear in the furnishings. He remembered the page on the Oracle’s website that explained donations. It even had a PayPal button. Why did Grace not have enough money?

He had visited often enough now to realize that, while at times the house might be cluttered with the business of dealing with small, active children and daily life, underneath the clutter, it was clean.

His scrutiny must have grown too prolonged, because her pretty, fine-boned face grew self-conscious. She gestured awkwardly at the table. “I know you said you don’t need physical refreshment,” she said. “But you seemed to enjoy nibbling at things and drinking coffee yesterday at breakfast, so I set a place for you.”

She was not only poor, she was generous. He smiled at her. “Thank you,” he said.

Her gaze widened.

He murmured, “Maybe that phrase isn’t quite so bad after all, as long as it isn’t overused, as some people are wont to do.”

“I can’t believe I just heard someone use wont in a sentence with a straight face,” she murmured back.

He laughed. “Will you show me how to fasten Max into his seat?”

Her vivid eyes sparkling, she did just that. He slipped the baby into place and secured the fastening. Chloe had clambered into her seat. She was already eating a slice of apple. Grace gave the girl a strange look. However, she said nothing. Instead she picked up the serving spoon and served Chloe first. She offered a spoonful to Khalil, who nodded. He was curious to taste what they would be eating. Grace served herself last. She sat in her chair by Max and began to feed him bites of the colorful goop.

Khalil tasted his own small serving of supper. He was correct. It was creamy cheese, broccoli and rice, simple and actually quite tasty. He took another bite and said telepathically to Grace, I did not understand the expression on your face just now as you looked at Chloe.

She glanced at him, eyes dancing. Little Miss is on her very best behavior. You should feel flattered. She’s even eating her apple slices. Holy moly, she just took a bite of broccoli. Pay no attention to me while I faint.

He chuckled and looked at Chloe. The little girl sat very straight. She chewed vigorously with a beatific smile. He said to her, “I like libraries too.”

That opened a floodgate. Chloe didn’t stop talking. He learned about story time, and somebody named Katherine, and also other people named Joey and Rachel, and something strange he really didn’t understand, because it was a person and yet not, and it seemed to have adventures in a castle in the living room.

There was no castle in the living room. This had to be a product of her imagination. The odd person/not-person was a Lalaloopsy—

Grace interrupted. “Wait, your doll is called a Lalaloopsy?”

“Uh-huh,” Chloe said.

Grace muttered, “I thought it was Lala Whoopsie.”

Well, that explained that. Sort of.

And Chloe took off again. She very much needed and wanted a big bed now, and waiting was terribly hard even for big people, and would Khalil read…she meant, would he help her read another book after supper?

“Yes,” he said. He exchanged an amused glance with Grace as Chloe bounced in her seat with excitement.

He honored the gift of the apple slices on his plate by eating them. They were crisp, crunchy and tart. Then he drank the brown liquid. He discovered that it was iced tea, refreshing and cold. Max dribbled goop out of his mouth and giggled. Every once in a while, Grace looked at Khalil. She did so surreptitiously, out of the corner of her eye, as if she didn’t want to be caught showing any kind of interest.

Each glance reminded him of how entertaining it had been to flirt with her, tease her and indulge his sense of mischief. He could sense feathery, delicate touches as she reached out psychically to touch his presence. She always withdrew again almost immediately. She didn’t appear to realize that he could sense every time she did it, and she couldn’t possibly know how erotic that was. It was as if she trailed her fingers very lightly along his bare skin. Aroused, he clenched down hard on himself, and his self-control turned fierce.

And he loved all of it.

Somehow the evening slipped away. He was not quite sure how it happened. At one point he looked down to discover his small serving of supper had disappeared from his plate. Max accidentally knocked over his bowl of food. The expression of openmouthed surprise on the baby’s face was so comical, the rest of them burst out laughing. Grace cleaned up the mess. There wasn’t much to clean up, since Max had been close to the end of his meal anyway.

Then supper dishes were washed, children bathed, the toys picked up. Chloe did not forget about her story. Khalil settled back in the armchair to read to her about an irritable boy who had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Khalil quite liked that boy. He was sorry when the story ended. Grace stretched out on the couch, and Max lay on top of her, kicking a foot lazily in the air as he sucked his thumb and his eyelids drooped.

Through the open windows and screen door, the evening shadows grew long, while the sunlight turned a heavy gold and the green of the foliage darkened. Khalil could hear traffic sounds, but they were distant and muted. The place was rich with tranquility. He was bewildered at the intense surge of his response. He had already promised his protection a couple of times, first to the children and then to Grace.

Now he actually felt the need to protect them. Whatever quality this quiet, shabby place held, it was more precious than the treasure of kings. He said to Grace, his telepathic voice edged, You will call me whenever you need someone to look after the children, do you understand?

Grace stirred. She had been looking relaxed and sleepy, but now she stared at him with wide, surprised eyes. I can’t expect you to be available every time I might need a babysitter.

He set his teeth. I want you to burn that roster.

I can’t. She sighed. But I need to go over the list again. I think I should ask for references too. I just thought everybody who was on the roster would be all right.

Her relaxed, sleepy expression had vanished, and she looked troubled again. He said, more gently, Checking references will take time. In the meantime, I will be careful. I will not do anything with the children you would not wish. And I want you to call me. Please.

Her expression softened, and there it was, luminous on her skin, that quality more precious than the treasure of kings. She nodded to him then said aloud, “Bedtime.”

Chloe said, “No.”

“Baby girl, you must,” Grace said, with the kind of tiredness that seemed to indicate there had been many repetitions of the same conversation. “If you don’t go to bed, tomorrow can’t happen.”

Chloe clutched the library book. “We have to keep reading. We can’t stop.” She sounded close to tears.

Maybe the child didn’t want to let go of this precious thing either, Khalil thought. Chloe had already suffered more loss than many children would ever know. He patted her delicate back. “May I come back to help you read another time?”

Chloe turned to look at him. Her wide gaze searched his face. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

Khalil looked at Grace over the girl’s head. Grace had eased upright carefully, so as not to jostle Max, who was almost asleep. Grace met his gaze easily enough, but her expression was guarded, and her energy withdrawn. In that moment, he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling, or if she welcomed the idea of his returning so soon or becoming so actively involved in their lives.

But she had made a bargain. His face hardened. It was of no importance how she felt about the bargain after the fact. Now she must live with it.

He turned his attention back to Chloe and told her, “I will come tomorrow.”

With a sudden lurch forward, Chloe flung her arms around his neck. She hugged him so tightly, he could feel her small body straining. He put his arms around her and carefully, carefully hugged her back. First it started as a reassurance for Chloe. Then it turned into something else, something about him, and it was good but it also hurt. He let the little girl go then discovered Grace standing by the armchair, Max in her arms. She was watching him and Chloe, her brows drawn.

He heard himself whisper, “I miss my daughter.”

Grace gripped his shoulder hard, her gaze filling with such pained compassion, he had to look away as Chloe slipped off his lap. Grace said, “I’ll be just a minute.”

He gestured with a hand. It was of no consequence to him whether she was just a minute or many minutes.

She hesitated then left with Chloe and Max. He stood to walk over to the doorway and look out at the deepening evening. A family of raccoons waddled placidly across the lawn.

There was no reason for him to stay any longer. He had accomplished what he had meant to do and visited with the children. He would go.

He didn’t go.

He held himself tensely, trying to soak up that precious something, that invisible treasure. Grace finished saying good night to the children. He listened to her light, uneven footsteps as she approached. He didn’t turn around.

She stopped just behind him. He knew she was going to reach out. He sensed her hand hovering in the air at his back.

Before she could touch him, he turned and gave her a silken smile. “Why don’t we play another round of the truth game?”

She froze, startled, her hand suspended. Wariness crept into her eyes, and the softness in her expression firmed. “Why?”

He moved away from her and prowled around the room. “Why not?”

She turned to track his movements. “That’s not an answer.”

Her energy had roused. She was bristling. Good. Bristling was good. He picked up one of her textbooks, read the spine and set it aside. He picked up another. “I don’t owe you an answer. We haven’t started another round yet.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Screw your game and your rounds and your forfeit. Just talk already, like a rational creature. If you have something to say, say it.”

“Fine.” He slammed the second book down and turned on her. “Why did you call me your friend?”

Silence pulsed between them. He watched her so closely, he saw her blink several times. Her face worked. Pain or laughter or a little of both; he wasn’t sure. Definitely a flash of anger. She said, “Because right now you’re the closest thing to a friend that I’ve got.”

“Katherine,” he said.

“She’s very caring. I don’t know what I would do without her. She loves the children, and she misses my sister almost as much as I do, but she was Petra’s friend. She’s not really my friend. She and I don’t really talk or share confidences.” Grace shrugged and looked out the window. Her eyes glittered. “I know,” she said, very low and bitter. “You’re not really my friend either. We have a bargain.”

He dissolved and reformed in front of her. She flinched back as he took her by the shoulders. He wanted to shake her for her naiveté. He wanted to shout at her for her foolish compassion and generosity. He wanted to rage through the house and across the land, and tear down this precious invisible thing he didn’t understand. He wanted to dislike her again and fight with her and—

She looked incredulous. Then she did something that truly astonished him. “Come here,” she said.

As he froze, staring, she put both hands to the back of his neck and pulled his head down with such bewildering confidence, he allowed her to get away with it, if for no other reason but to see what she would do next. He bent, and she put her arms around his neck, and she gave him a full-bodied hug as tight as the one Chloe had given him, until her arms trembled from the strength she put into it.

And she didn’t just hug him physically. She hugged him with all of her spirit, her fiery warm presence settling against his, femininity to masculinity, Power to Power.

“I can’t imagine how much you miss your daughter,” she whispered. “But I know how much I miss my family. And it hurts very much.”

He had torn down the stones at the entrance to an ancient pharaoh’s funeral temple at Saqqara. He had caused earthquakes, raised hurricanes, leveled mountains. He had waged war with a first generation Djinn, one of the strongest of his kind, and he had won. He could shred Grace into pieces in an instant. He had thought he was so much older, wiser and more powerful than she.

But this. This.

He wrapped his arms and his Power around her. His head was just an illusion. He did not know why it felt so heavy. Still, he rested it on her slender shoulder, and she stroked the back of his head.

“You cannot take it back,” he said. His voice was muffled against her skin.

“Take what back?” she asked.

Their bargain. The truths they had exchanged. Her angry, funny quips. The gifts of food, drink, laughter and compassion. Her permission to visit with the children. Her promise to call him so he could watch over them. The claim to friendship.

He raised his head. He said, “Any of it.”

Her skin was flush with gentle color like a ripe peach. Her lips looked exceeding soft, full and luscious. She opened her mouth to say something again, to question, argue, prevaricate or to say something unbearably wise.

He decided he wouldn’t let her. So he cupped the back of her head, tilted her back and kissed her.