Harley Merlin 12 by Bella Forrest (story books to read TXT) 📗

I put out my hand and shook his. “Good evening to you, too. My name is Raffe Levi, and this is Santana Catemaco. I believe our director, O’Halloran, sent word that we’d be coming?”

“We expected you. Please, take these beverages to refresh yourselves.” He spoke in a velvety tone with a hint of an accent. “I am Hussain Al Gaz, and I am the preceptor of Physical Magic. I have been tasked with welcoming you, to make your time here as pleasant as possible.”

Santana took a glass and sipped suspiciously, only for her face to morph into a mask of contentment. “This is delicious. But where are we, if you don’t mind my asking?” Santana’s gaze fixed on the flashing towers below.

“You are at the pinnacle of the Burj Khalifa. The majority of the coven is below ground, but this is where we welcome guests. I am sure you understand why, with such a magnificent view?” He gestured to the windows, smiling proudly.

Santana kept on gaping. “Yeah, it’s really something.”

“You are of Iranian descent, Mr. Levi?” Hussain asked.

“That’s right. Iranian-American,” I replied, taking the second glass. I took a large gulp, my mouth filling with the citrus tang of lime and a hint of clove, with a background of something I couldn’t identify, maybe apple or kiwi. Whatever it was, it really hit the spot and thoroughly refreshed my dry mouth.

“I suspected. You have the heritage in your features.” He gave a small bow. “You are here regarding the djinn problem, I understand? Your director did not say much, but he mentioned that a djinn symbiotically entwined with one of his staff had been rendered incapacitated, and he would send individuals seeking a cure.”

“That’s right.” It was hard not to get drawn in by the expanse of lights, or the elegant vocabulary of Mr. Al Gaz. He spoke English better than I did. “Are your djinn affected, too?”

Hussain grimaced. “Unfortunately, which is why we are all too happy to help you. Most of the Emirati djinn are suffering, and we have heard that the djinn of neighboring countries have fallen ill from the same affliction. We hope that any party who finds a solution will share it.”

“Are you the man we’re here to speak with?” Santana dragged her eyes from the windows.

He paled. “No, I am only your introduction to the Dubai Coven. You need to converse with the coven director, Ms. Nayla Al Kaabi. She will be aware of your arrival by now, so I suggest we make our way to her office immediately.”

His formal friendliness carried a note of agitation, as if we were already running late. Ms. Al Kaabi clearly ran a tight ship. Which meant we shouldn’t keep her waiting any longer.

Eighteen

Raffe

We found ourselves in an elevator, plummeting at mind-blowing speed from the top of the Burj Khalifa to the main body of the Dubai Coven. My ears popped on the way down, while Santana steadied herself on the handrail along the walls of the elevator. A film played on screens embedded in the walls, showing the history of the Dubai Coven, from its birth in the arid desert to the complex interdimensional bubble it had become over the years, rising to superiority at the same rate as the impressive city.

A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened and left me breathless with awe once more. A myriad of cultures and mythologies adorned the walls, figures from Egyptian, Arabic, and Indian legends, and everywhere in between. Up ahead, a pair of looming, dog-headed Anubis statues held their hands out, guiding guests down the ensuing hallway. Gold shone from every arch, wall, and furnishing. It even existed in snaking threads that glistened in the marble floors. Paneled partitions enclosed various statues and historical paintings, with patterns that gave an almost Moroccan vibe. Ambient light shone through them, casting shadows and shafts of illumination that seemed to follow me.

“This way,” Hussain instructed, hurrying down the main hallway. We followed, though I felt a little disappointed I couldn’t take the time to absorb more of the beauty of this place. Everywhere I looked, I found another feast for the eyes. And the entire place felt powerful and ancient, like the air itself was imbued with Chaos.

He stopped in front of gargantuan white doors with golden handles shaped like a crescent moon and a star. He took a deep breath before knocking, shuffling back a step or two as he waited for a reply.

“Adhal,” a rich, musical voice replied. I knew enough Arabic to know the director had told us to enter.

Hussain pushed the doors open and let us through. Nayla Al Kaabi’s office was more impressive than the rest of the coven. It looked like a courtyard, with running, icy blue water that created a square island in the middle of the room. A set of stairs led to a balcony that overlooked the island from all four walls, where bookshelves overflowed with books and doors led to who-knew-where. Overhead, a glass roof showed the twinkling stars outside. It had to be nearly one in the morning here, yet nobody seemed tired.

A desk sat in the center of the island, and a woman behind it. She wore glasses, which she pushed down to the point of her nose as she surveyed us. Her dark hair lay half-hidden by a loose shayla. The silken headscarf was cobalt blue, to match the abaya she wore—a long, flowing outfit to keep her cool in the heat. Not that she had anything to worry about here—it felt blissfully cold. A breeze drifted in from somewhere.

“Our American guests, I presume?” She rose slowly.

Santana gazed around in wonder, taking it all in. “I’m Mexican, actually.”

“My apologies,” she replied, her English once again putting mine to shame. “I am Nayla Al Kaabi, the director of this coven. You are very welcome here, as your objective aligns with ours.”

“Mr. Al Gaz told us the sickness has reached here.” I struggled