“As you wish.”
I gasped, all the air forced from my lungs. My limbs twitched, muscles seizing as my magic slammed back inside me. I jerked up off the ground, my head snapping back, and my mouth howling a silent scream while my lungs burned and black spots danced at the end of my vision.
“I’d say the answer is ‘no.’” He let me flail a bit more before flicking his fingers sending me crumpled to the ground. “An answer and a job and I let you live.”
I had to get my lungs working and my heart beating again before I could form words. Meantime, I remained sprawled facedown, the floor muffling my words. “I don’t know how I did it.”
“We’ll work on it.” Malik hooked a hand under my elbow and yanked me to my feet. He had to physically escort me to his couch, because when he let go of me, my legs trembled and gave way.
“Then you’ll know my secret and I won’t know any of yours.” I twitched with the aftershocks of his assault.
“I doubt you only have the one.” He went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water. “Salt. You need your electrolytes.”
His knowledge about Rasha never failed to impress and horrify me.
By holding the glass in both hands, I managed to keep my tremors at bay and drink most of the liquid without sloshing it on myself. I tried not to taste it as I knocked it back because salt water was the worst. “The job?”
“There’s a painting of mine. It was lost to me centuries ago and I want it back.” Weirdly, Malik was actually a talented artist, beloved by all in the artists’ collective that he painted out of. I’d seen a few of his works. One of them, an abstract of a woman called “Lila: on waking” had stuck with me for the vibrancy, life, and passion captured in the half-suggested lines.
“What’s its evil purpose?” I said. “Suck people’s life force? Turn the viewer to stone?”
Malik crossed his arms. “It’s a very fine painting and I think it would go perfectly on that wall.”
“Why can’t you port in and get it?”
“Think about it for a moment and get back to me.”
I almost laughed because that sounded like something I’d say, but I didn’t want to set off the psychopath who was barely tolerating me. “It’s behind a Rasha ward.”
He slow-clapped me.
“Whatever. Give me the address.”
He scribbled it down, plus a few other things, but didn’t give me the list right away. “The canvas is stretched over a frame. Do not touch that one. Simply remove it from whatever other larger frame it was placed in. Bring pliers and a screwdriver to remove the canvas from the new frame. Wrap it in buffered, acid-free glassine paper, wrap it a second time with bubble wrap and put it into a cardboard box that’s at least three inches larger on all sides than the wrapped canvas. I’ve noted the dimensions down for you.”
“Why can’t I just transport it as is?”
“Because I said so. I don’t want it damaged.”
He handed the paper over and I leveled him with an unimpressed look. “This is in Orlando.”
“Very good. You’re functionally literate. That bodes well for a bright future.”
“How am I supposed to get there?”
“Ask your boyfriend. He’s got cash.”
“Get a hobby that isn’t me, you stalker.”
He picked up his wine again, running a finger around the rim. “Oh, petal. You flatter yourself if you think you’re the twin I’m most interested in.”
I bared my teeth at him, stomped to the door, and wrenched it open.
“Tick tock, Nava.” That reminded me about the prophecy, but I wasn’t about to share that tidbit with him. “You have forty-eight hours.”
“I can’t pull this off in that time frame. I need a week.”
“Seventy-two hours.” He shooed me toward the door.
“Get stuffed.” We both knew I’d do it.
I laced up my new beautiful tap shoes. “Why aren’t you predictably furious?”
Rohan, once more in my “Tap Dancers Need Wood” shirt, plucked a string on his guitar, plucked it again, then tightened it. “I live to fuck with you.”
“No, you live to fuck me.” I crossed into the center of the floor, my taps ringing out.
“Don’t pigeonhole me.” He strummed a few chords.
“Okay, but seriously. What gives?”
“I looked up autocratic and was shamed into humble submission?”
“Next.”
He scooted forward on the sofa, the guitar in his lap. “You were right. It was worth pursuing and there was nothing you could have done differently. You’re alive and we’ll go get the painting together.”
“Next time can we skip all the blustering and jump right to this part?”
“How about next time we both agree to try and do better? Together.”
I nodded. “I’d like that.” Fighting demons as we did, we’d find ourselves in critical situations where talking things out wasn’t going to be an option, but when it wasn’t life-or-death, then yeah, we had to face it as equals.
“Good,” he said. “Now, you dictating the playlist or can I surprise you?”
I batted my eyelashes at him. “You’re full of surprises tonight, baby. No reason to stop now.”
We made it through “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and most of “Blank Space” when Drio showed up. He took in Ro’s shirt and his gleeful rendition of Taylor Swift and glared at me. “You’ve wrecked him.”
I ended the song on a heel scuff. “Or I’ve thirty-seven percent improved him.”
Ro ran a hand down his body. “You can’t improve perfection. Got the goods on Ferdinand?”
Drio had learned Ferdinand was killed outside Palm Springs. According to Golda, that’s where he’d been living. “Hell of a commute into L.A. every day.”
“The L.A. affiliation is bullshit.” Rohan stuffed Ferdinand’s address that Drio had gotten in his pocket. “How’s Golda?”
Drio brightened. “Still hasn’t forgiven you.”
“She will.”
“You’d have to face her first, chickenshit.” He knocked the wall twice. “I’m going off-duty. Don’t call. Don’t text.”
I made a “squee” face and ran into the hallway after him. “Are you going to see Leo?”
“No.”
“Total lie. You’re all prettied up and you put on cologne. You like her. Do you like her?”
“She’s great.”
I jumped into the stairwell, blocking him. “I know she’s great, but that wasn’t my question.”
Pain flashed across his face so fast, I wasn’t sure I’d seen it. “Leave it, Nava.”
I blinked because he so rarely used my name. “Leaving it.”
“I’m glad you and Ro are happy.” He rubbed his hand briskly over his hair. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“Why do you assume I’d be the one?” That earned me a level stare. “Forget it. Thank you for going to Palm Springs. We’re going to get these assholes.”
“Do you remember what I told you about the thrill of the fight? How we could get hooked and nothing else compared to this big noble cause?” He rolled onto the outside edge of one foot, his eyes growing distant. “Other shit matters. Don’t forget that.”