Oracle's Moon (Elder Races #4)(9)

At the instigation of Isalynn LeFevre, the Head of the witches’ demesne, a roster had been developed of witches who were on call to babysit whenever Grace was petitioned to act in her new role as the Oracle. The witches donated their time as part of their tithe of community service. The tithe was required of all actively practicing witches in the demesne, but sometimes the help they gave Grace was grudging. In any case, the babysitting roster was only a stopgap solution. It didn’t solve any of her larger problems.

Or alter the fact that something, somehow, had to change.

It had to, because continuing like this was inconceivable.

The oven timer dinged. The pasta was done.

Grace stood and fed the children supper.

Three

Khalil reformed on the roof of the house, not necessarily because he felt any particular desire to take physical form again but more to give his roiling energy a focal point. He crossed his arms and leaned back against a dormer. The roof was shabby and missing a few tiles, he noted with disapproval. The land was as unkempt as the house, with grass that was too long and weeds that sprouted around fence posts. They were overtaking once well-tended flower beds. Everywhere he looked there was evidence of neglect, while the lazy, contentious human napped. He did not approve of how the property was maintained or how she cared for the children. He tapped his fingers on his biceps and thought.

The Djinn were among some of the first creatures that came into being at the Earth’s formation. Born of magic and fire, they were beings of pure spirit. They gained nourishment from the energy of the sun, from the living things of the Earth and from sources of Power. Any form Khalil chose to take was like donning a suit of clothes. He did not need to eat food or drink liquids. This body would not grow hungry, or grow old and die. Easily assumed and easily discarded, it would fade into nothing as soon as he let go of it.

He was not the oldest of his kind, the first generation of Djinn born at the keen, bright morning of the world, but he was of the second generation and, therefore, considered old among his people. He was an authority in his House and a voice to be reckoned with among the five Houses of Djinn. This young human creature was nothing more than a single breath of time in his ageless existence, and the fact that she called him ignorant was insupportable.

While he certainly knew why she irritated him, he did not know why she interested him. Her facial features and physical form were pleasant enough, at least as far as humans reckoned such things. She was pale and wore shadows on her face like the haunts of memory. Those shadows were intriguing. They told a tale but in a language he couldn’t read. He wondered what they said.

Her hair. Now her hair interested him. It was a light reddish blonde, like captured fire and sunlight, and her hazel eyes held flecks of green, blue and honey brown. What he found most interesting about her was her energy, which crackled with intensity. She had a temper as fiery as her hair, and she held Power in that slender body of hers too, a great deal of it. It was an odd thing that such a young creature held a Power that felt so old to him. The land itself held echoes of the same Power. He wondered what it meant.

He sensed movement and other flares of ancient Power in the nearby city. Even though his focus had been on the children and he had remained at the house, he had sensed the gathering earlier on the property. He knew that several of the entities were still in the area. Carling and Rune, Elder tribunal Councillors, the Nightkind King and the dragon were somewhere close by. Khalil was curious to discover who might leave and if any of them might return to speak again with the Oracle.

Shadows lengthened across the land. The Midwestern air felt heavy and full of water, like it was pregnant with some kind of storm. From his position on the roof he could see the Ohio River that bordered the western edge of the property. One of the great rivers of the North American continent, the water captured the sunlight along its surface until it seemed to shine with its own light.

He listened to the sounds from within the house, small domestic things like the clink of cutlery against dishes, the baby’s infectious giggle and Chloe’s light voice. The child chattered about anything that took her fancy, and when she wasn’t talking, she sang. She asked questions unceasingly. Despite the temper Grace had displayed to him, she always answered Chloe’s questions with patience.

They were like a small nest of birds. Khalil grinned when he thought of it. Chirp chirp chirp. Then there was the sound of water running and much flapping of wings. The chirping grew louder. Giggling was punctuated with Chloe’s tra-la-ing and Max’s cheerful yodel. The noisiness moved from the kitchen to another part of the house. Grace was putting the children to bed. She lavished love on those babies. While he did not approve of her and he was almost certain he didn’t like her, he would have to give the human female credit for that much.

He thought back to a time long ago, when his own child, Phaedra, would have made such light, happy sounds. All forms of children were rare to the Elder Races, as if nature were compensating for giving the Elder Races such long lives.

Djinn children were not born like humans or other embodied creatures, but were occasionally formed as two Djinn mingled energies. Their children also did not require as much intensive caretaking as the creatures of other species. They came into existence with their personalities well formed, and they inherited quite a bit of knowledge from both parents. Still, Djinn children were innocent, new to the world and filled with a mischievous lightness of being.

Phaedra’s mother, Lethe, had been even more Powerful than Khalil, a first-generation Djinn who remembered the dawn of the Earth. Over time he and Lethe had become enemies, and to hurt him, Lethe took their child and tortured her. Khalil, along with a select few allies that included Carling, had rescued Phaedra and torn Lethe to shreds.