Chapter Twenty-Seven—Guests in the House

Unsheathing his sword, Shiro made his way down the marble steps, moving slowly to avoid being heard as Ali followed him with his scimitar.

As they descended, Faridoon’s voice became more distinct. He was speaking to someone about the lamp!

“…and it does nothing!” he was saying, his voice nearly a shout. “It will not come forth.”

“I see,” another man said. “Give me the lamp.”

There was a pause, Shiro waiting for more words to come as he counted each of his own heartbeats.

“Hmm,” the other voice said. “I do not sense any peripheral auras.”

“Then search for a central aura,” Faridoon said. “The Jinni is inside the lamp, I tell you.”

Shiro could tell the other man’s next words were delivered with a smile. “Yes, well, central auras are not part of the magical arts, Master Faridoon.”

Faridoon made an aggressive sound of displeasure.

“Then do… I don’t know. Something!”

“I will need time with the lamp.”

“Take as much as you need.”

“Ah, forgive me, my lord,” the other man, evidentially a mage or some kind of magicker, said. “I do mean more time than I can spare simply looking at a glance. You understand.”

“Fine,” Faridoon said. “But you cannot leave the mansion and you will be watched at all times. Do you understand?”

“Of course, of course,” the mage said, almost jovially.

“Then let’s go back downstairs and draft an agreement for your services,” Faridoon said. “You are available, yes?”

“Oh, for the right price, I can set aside my other tasks to be sure,” he said as thweir footsteps receded into another part of the mansion.

And then suddenly their shadows appeared ahead. Shiro glanced back, making to back-step along the stairs. Ali made way and both men shuffled up the steps as Faridoon and his mage visitor crossed the ante chamber and went down another flight of marble steps.

Heart thundering inside his chest, Shiro paused for a moment to collect himself. The lamp—Jessamine—she was there. Unguarded!

Ali nudged his shoulder from behind.

Shiro was certain that had they not been friends he’d have shoved him, in effect, telling Shiro to hurry up.

He moved down the steps, his feet pattering on the rug runner. He made it to the ante chamber. Then to his left, there was a wall with a portion cut away, small pillars framing the space.

In the middle was an alter with the lamp sitting atop it, small glow stones lighting the space. Shiro went straight to the lamp and reached out to grab it, but paused.

“What are you waiting for?” Ali asked. “Take it.”

Shiro nodded and picked up the lamp.

Something happened.

There was a reaction. Shiro’s hands started burning.

Then suddenly a force unseen threw him across the room and into the corner where the stairs came up at. He grunted loudly as he fell to the marble floor, his sword clattering about as it flipped end over end down the stairs.

A powerful pain enveloped Shiro’s core—probably the impact he had taken when he hit the wall.

“Shiro!” Ali called.

And then Faridoon started yelling for his guards.