Oracle's Moon (Elder Races #4)(26)

He chose one of the oldest connections in his web. It led to Mundir, an elder in House Gul who had owed him a favor for millennia. Khalil plucked the strand politely. He sensed the other Djinn in the distance, bristling in surprise, but Mundir streaked toward him at once. The other Djinn co-alesced in front of him. Mundir’s physical form looked like a slender human male teenager, with blonde hair and arrogant, starred eyes that revealed his inhumanity.

Khalil disliked Mundir. He asked, “Are you able to pay your debt?”

Mundir curled his lip. The dislike was mutual. “Of course.”

Khalil smiled at the other Djinn. The debt had been a long inconvenience for Mundir, and holding it over his head had been most enjoyable. Now it was time for another pleasure. “You will clean this kitchen floor with…” He looked at his small nest of human birds, who were staring openmouthed at the new arrival. Khalil asked Grace, “What does one use to clean a kitchen floor?”

She gave both him and Mundir a wary glance. “A mop and bucket?”

Khalil waved a hand and finished giving Mundir his order. “For what you have owed me, you will clean this kitchen floor as humans do, with a mop and bucket, and I suppose that means soap and water as well.” He added telepathically, And you will go gently as you do so, House Gul, for young ones live in this place, and they are vulnerable.

The tight, incredulous expression on the other Djinn’s face alone was worth the cancellation of his ancient debt. Fury shook in Mundir’s voice as he hissed, “This will pay in full what I have owed you.”

Khalil opened his eyes wide. “Of course.”

He caught sight of Grace shaking her head slowly, her gaze wide. He gave her a gleaming smile. Associating with this young Oracle was proving to be beneficial on many levels. So far this morning he had quite virtuously obstructed the path of the Great Beast—an opportunity that did not come around often—and he had also provided a great source of irritation to another Djinn whom he had disliked for countless years. Now he saw that he had rendered the Oracle in a rare state of speechlessness. Aside from her disturbing and mysterious vision, the subject of which he intended to pursue as soon as the little ones were not present, this morning was turning out to be truly fine.

It put him in such a magnanimous mood, he felt like splurging. What the hell. He plucked another connection, and another startled Djinn appeared. This one was Ismat, of the House Shaytan. The form she chose was pleasantly rounded and dark skinned, with hawkish features.

After verifying she was available to pay her debt, Khalil said, “You will go to a respectable restaurant.” He tried to think of a good one. He didn’t know very many restaurants. Finally he said, “The Russian Tea Room in New York will do. You will bring back pancakes for these humans, along with an assortment of other breakfast dishes, and you will create a fine table from which they will dine. The small female has been waiting some time for her breakfast, so do this quickly.” His thoughtful gaze fell on an infuriated Mundir who mopped the floor, and he added, “Oh yes, and bring back a gallon of milk while you’re at it.”

Ismat looked around the kitchen. She grinned as she caught sight of Mundir with a mop and bucket. Eyes twinkling, she said to Khalil, “I see you have finally loosened your tight fist on all those many debts you own. This will pay in full one of the favors I owe you.”

“It will indeed,” he said.

Ismat vanished.

Khalil turned back to his audience at the kitchen table. Excited by the comings and goings, Chloe climbed out of her booster seat and hopped around, squealing. Grace had taken Max out of his high chair to cuddle the baby on her lap. She looked dazed. “I think I’m beginning to see how pancakes could be viewed as an achievement.”

Khalil nodded. He noticed her coffee cup was empty. He fetched the carafe of dark, steaming liquid from the apparatus on the counter. On impulse he searched cupboards until he found a collection of mugs, and he took one for himself. Then he strolled over to sit at the empty chair at the kitchen table and enjoy the fruits of his labor. He poured coffee, first into Grace’s cup and then into his own, and he stretched out his legs.

“I was going to fetch breakfast myself,” said Khalil. “But I decided to drink a cup of coffee and enjoy watching Mundir mop instead.”

Grace had studied the children carefully when she had returned to the kitchen. Aside from Chloe’s upset at having spilled the milk, they acted normally. Khalil was right; they hadn’t heard the voice. She relaxed somewhat, but she hadn’t thought she would be able to set aside the disturbing vision and eat anything. Then Ismat arrived with the food and set a feast of exotic dishes on the table.

Pecan-studded pancakes with macerated strawberries and maple syrup. A superb quiche, cooked with bacon, leeks, black truffle, potato and Gruyère cheese. Russian yogurt with fresh berries and spiced roasted almonds. Cherry and cheese blintzes, and apple smoked sausage. Smoked salmon with chives, creamed goat cheese and a cherry tomato, and micro green salad.

Linen napkins. And milk.

The bounty from the famous Tea Room was so rich, strange and plentiful, even Chloe fell silent.

Grace’s reaction was just as rich, strange and plentiful. She shouldn’t have agreed to allow any of it. The whole thing was as bad as the talking-cat nonsense. Or maybe it was worse? She couldn’t decide, and the dilemma was making her feel a little too much like the witch Samantha’s cranky, disapproving husband Darrin from the TV show Bewitched.