Jinn Nation Read online

  “You want me to go?”

  Dylan began to rise from the bed, but Christa laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “No, it’s okay,” she said. She gestured towards the window. “The sun’s out, anyway.” She paused. “Would you catch on fire or something? If you went outside?”

  Dylan threw back the thin duvet and jumped up from the bed. He glared at Christa, trying to look imposing despite his nakedness. “Okay, what’s going on here?” he demanded. “How the hell do you know who I am?”

  Christa laughed, hiding her face behind her hands. “Nothing’s going on. You are a vampire, aren’t you?”

  Dylan faltered, but only for a moment. “Everyone knows that vampires don’t exist. They died out decades ago. Plus, they could walk in the sun. Sunlight, stakes and garlic, they were all myths.”

  “But you’re a vampire,” Christa insisted, sure that she was right. “A vampire with jinn stones in his stomach.”

  Dylan scowled, looked away, finally relented. “So what if I am?”

  “So what, nothing.” Christa laughed again. It was a pretty laugh, small and childish. “I’m only telling you what I see. Why would you lie about it?”

  “It just brings more trouble than it’s worth,” Dylan said. “If people found out what I was, they wouldn’t leave me alone. They would all want full membership to the undead club. I can do without that. Better for them to think vampires are an urban legend. That way, I get to live my afterlife in peace.”

  “And the jinn stones?”

  Dylan began to answer and stopped, his scowl returning. “I really don’t know you well enough to start explaining all that,” he said.

  Christa didn’t answer.

  “Are you some kind of witch?”

  “No.” She expelled the word more violently than she had meant to. “I just see things, that’s all.”

  “Okay.” Dylan held his hands up and backed away. “Why do I always attract the crazy ones?”

  Christa pulled the duvet further up her chest, her face suddenly white and drained. “I’m not crazy,” she whispered.

  Dylan sighed as he sat back down on the bed. “I’m sure you’re not crazy.” He reached for her hand and held it on top of the duvet. “You just surprised me, that’s all. I haven’t told anyone what I am, it was my secret.”

  Christa looked away. She could have made him leave, could have disembowelled him and left him to bleed out on the faded carpet if she really wanted to. But she was tired of being alone. At least this one didn’t want to eat her insides straight away, and he had pretty eyes. Deep blue, like a night time ocean. Finally, she looked up and smiled. “I could keep your secrets.”

  Two

  The pains came at night, electrifying and all-consuming. Dylan soon began to scream, doubled over on the bed, the duvet pressed against his mouth and his hands at his stomach. Christa paced the room as she watched him, her arms wrapped around herself. Eventually, she climbed onto the bed and crawled to his side. He lay on his back, eyes closed, skin slick with sweat.

  “What’s happening?” she asked. “Are you dying?”

  Dylan turned pained eyes to her, contempt simmering in their depths. “I can’t die, I’m a sodding vampire.” He groaned again, back arching from the bed. “Unfortunately.”

  Christa was unperturbed. She studied his shaking body with a detached, clinical curiosity. “Maybe you need to eat?”

  Almost reverently, she rose to her knees and extended one white wrist towards him. “You can drink from me.”

  The thought of hot blood in his mouth twisted Dylan’s insides with hunger, even through his pain. He lifted his head slightly, eyes fixed on the pale blue veins calling to him through Christa’s skin. When he relented and collapsed back to the bed, head turned firmly away from her, Christa retracted her arm and cradled it against her chest.

  “You don’t want me.”

  “That’s definitely not the problem,” Dylan said. “If I drink from you now, while I’m like this, I’ll drain you until there’s nothing left. You don’t want to die, do you?”

  Christa appeared to contemplate this for a moment before standing up to retrieve the battered leather jacket she had slung over a chair. “I’ll bring you someone else. Yes, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Dylan barely registered that she had left the room. The pain continued, hot and rippling, rising through his body again and again like acidic lava.

  ***

  The Starlight Lodge was even more crowded than before. Making her way to the bar felt like a battle. Christa wove between the warm jinn bodies, carefully skirting the hands holding cigarettes and full glasses of beer. When she finally reached Larry behind the bar, he gaped at her.

  “You’re back.”

  Christa stared back at him, sure he must be stupid. “Yes, well, the beer wasn’t that bad.”

  “But you left with Dylan.”

  “So?”

  Larry shook his head and reached for a glass. Long years of experience had taught him when to ask questions, and when to shut the hell up. “You having beer?”

  “No, I think tonight is a bourbon kind of a night.”

  Larry nodded and turned to select a bottle. Christa had no idea what bourbon even tasted like. Her curiosity had been peaked though, watching Dylan become glassy-eyed after drinking three large glasses of it the previous night. Larry set a decidedly smaller glass of dark brown liquid down on the bar and Christa sipped it tentatively, trying not to react when the alcohol hit the back of her throat. It tasted like liquid ashes swirled through honey. She smiled at Larry, attempting to seem appreciative. The bartender began to turn to his next customer but Christa spoke again, making him pause.

  “You should have finished your studies.”

  “What?”

  “She would have waited for you. You didn’t need to hide out here, all alone in the cold desert. You should call her, she’d still be happy to hear from you.”

  Larry’s eyes widened and his face drained of all colour. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Christa registered his discomfort and lowered her eyes to the glass in her hands. “Nothing, Larry. Don’t mind me.”

  She turned away from him, taking tiny sips of the cheap bourbon as she surveyed the crowd. It was too noisy, too compacted with bodies. Christa relaxed her mind and stilled her constant inner commentary, pushing her will outwards to probe at the hum of thoughts and desires floating all around her. A large woman pressed into black leather was talking to a heavily-tattooed young girl in a private booth. The older woman was hoping the girl would go home with her that night. The young girl was waiting for a chance to flirt with the woman’s male friend. Christa smiled and moved on. A girl dressed in lace and feathers was silently screaming at the crowd in front of the juke box, berating them for their choice of music. A dark jinn mind beside Christa was staring at a man in a floor length velvet coat, fantasising about soft young flesh slipping down his throat.

  Christa shifted against the bar, drank more bourbon. A sense of urgency was beginning to peak within her, making her nervous. She could feel Dylan’s pain building, stretching out across the flat expanse between them, as bright and vital as a stuttering neon road sign.

  Finally, Christa felt herself being drawn to a likely candidate. A frail human girl was sat in a booth across the room, perched amongst a small crowd of jinn. Their intent was vivid and eager. They were already imagining the moment they would take the girl, when they would lay her down and tear at her flesh until they were sated. The pretty blonde girl was drunk and completely oblivious to her new friends’ true nature. The alcohol drenching her senses made it easy for Christa to slip a suggestion into her mind.

  The girl stood suddenly, swaying before the table. “I need the bathroom.”

  A stout, bearded man on her left eyed her greedily. “Hurry back, Darlin’.”

  The girl giggled and manoeuvred her way out of the booth, pausing in the middle of the room. She looked from the restroom in the corner
to the bar’s entrance behind her, confusion settling over her fragile features. Christa gave her a final nudge. The girl finally turned towards the front doors and staggered out into the clear desert night while Christa drained her glass and followed.

  The girl stopped again when the cold night air hit her, glancing back uncertainly at the bar. She saw Christa standing behind her and smiled.

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

  “No, you’re in the right place,” Christa said.

  “But my friends are inside. We’re going to a party later.”

  “You wouldn’t like their kind of parties,” Christa said. “They want to kill you, you know. Kill you and eat you.”

  The girl laughed. “No way!” The drop in temperature had done nothing to dull her buzz.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so,” Christa said. “Come with me, I’ll take you to a real party.”

  The girl knew she should be wary of anything offered by a stranger, but something told her she could trust Christa. Silently, she took her hand and began walking beside her, back towards the motel.

  ***

  By the time Christa returned, Dylan was lapsing in and out of consciousness. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes glazed and unseeing, hands clenching uselessly at the duvet strewn beneath him. Christa led the girl into the room and leant over the bed to smooth damp hair from his forehead.

  “I’ve brought you a present,” she whispered. “Sit up, Dylan.”

  Dylan remained motionless, his breath falling in staggered gasps. Christa ushered the girl forward.

  “Give me your arm,” she commanded.

  The girl ignored her. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked instead. “Has he overdosed or something? Look, I’m not into drugs. I don’t know what sort of party this is, but I–”

  Christa silently hushed the girl who complied immediately, her mouth parting slightly.

  “Now, give me your arm.”

  This time the girl obeyed, slow and lethargic as a mindless zombie. Christa pulled the girl towards the bed and held her wrist over Dylan’s face.

  “Wake up, Dylan,” she tried again. “This will make you feel better.”

  Dylan still didn’t respond. Infuriated, Christa glanced around the room, looking for something sharp. Her eyes settled on a glass standing on the nightstand. Keeping a firm grip on the girl’s arm, Christa reached for it and slammed it hard against the floor, flinching when thin shards of glass penetrated the soft meat of her palm. She had to drop the girl’s arm to pull the shards free, but soon grabbed for it again, one long sliver of liberated glass glinting in her hand.

  “This will be over quick,” she promised her. The girl nodded dumbly.

  Christa drew a jagged line across the girl’s wrist with the glass, working quickly lest she lose her nerve. Blood welled up instantly, creating a ragged row of ruby droplets. When Christa offered the girl’s wrist to Dylan again, his eyes finally focused on it, the sweet tang of blood widening his nostrils and deepening his shallow breathing. Painfully, he lifted his heavy arms and reached for the flesh suspended above him, bringing it down to his mouth.

  ***

  The strange girl didn’t make a sound when Dylan’s lengthened teeth bit down into her tender, young tissue. His tongue automatically probed for a vein, hands clamped so firmly around the girl’s arm that tiny bones broke apart inside. Finally, he was able to pull away and sit up. He stared at the girl in confusion. She only looked on blankly, bloody arm fallen limp to her side.

  “Christa, who is this?”

  “I brought her here for you, to make you feel better.”

  Dylan looked from the girl to Christa, not quite sure if he had begun to hallucinate. Christa was sat cross-legged on the nightstand like some malevolent pixie, an excited gleam in her eyes. He shuffled backwards, away from her. His head felt swollen and oddly bruised. Pain still trembled in the depths of his ruined stomach, but he was aware of his surroundings for the first time in hours. He studied the fragrant young girl Christa had brought him. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old. Her eyes were milky and unfocused, her skin damp, prickled by goose flesh.

  “Is she okay?” he said.

  Christa nodded. She was grinning stupidly. “I had to make her quiet, or she wouldn’t have wanted to stay.”

  Dylan ached to ask Christa how she had done it. Yearned to know what, exactly, she was. But the currents of pain were massing again, ready to leap up and tear through him once more. He turned back to the girl.

  “Come here, Beautiful.”

  The girl didn’t acknowledge him.

  “Get up on the bed,” Christa ordered.

  The girl bent and crawled across the bed to Dylan on hands and knees. He reached for her eagerly, pulling her up to his chest. Grabbing a handful of her thick golden hair, he pushed her face down against the mattress and lunged at the nape of her neck, teeth bared, eyes wild.

  With Christa’s wide-eyed gaze hot upon him, Dylan suckled at the wound he had made, making appreciative noises deep in the back of his throat. He drank until his eyes rolled back in his head and the girl’s skin became as pale and translucent as tracing paper. When he was finally satisfied, he turned the girl over in his arms. Her face was sunken and warped. Two dark hollows gleamed where her cheeks had been. Dylan looked up to see that Christa was still smiling cheerfully.

  “Now I need a cigarette,” he said.

  “What should we do with her?” Christa said, jumping down from the nightstand. She sat on the edge of the bed and peered at the girl, seemingly fascinated by the greasy quality of her once flawless skin. She reached out one tentative hand, but couldn’t quite bring herself to touch the body.

  “We’ll leave her here,” Dylan said. “I’m done with her.”

  “What about when the maid comes in the morning? She’ll find her.”

  “So what?” Dylan pushed the body away and covered the face with a greying pillow. “I’ll be long gone by then. That’s something I love about this country, the place is so damn big you can disappear anywhere.”

  “Oh, of course.” Christa looked down and played with the edge of the duvet. It was a sickening peach colour that reminded Dylan of melted ice cream.

  “You want to come with me?” he asked. “I’ve spent too long in the desert, it’s time to see civilisation again.”

  Christa smiled shyly and nodded, still not meeting his eyes. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  Dylan laid back, hands behind his head. Christa might be strange, he thought to himself, but she had certainly proved herself useful to have around. If he travelled with her long enough, he might even unearth her obvious secrets. Ever since meeting her he had been filled with the strangest desire to tease those secrets from her and dissect every one.

  Three

  Dylan and Christa set out before first light, eating up the long, straight miles in a pick-up truck liberated from a dealership. Dylan insisted on heading north, following the highway out of Arizona and across the state line into Utah.

  The sunlight was blindingly strong, piercing the windscreen like a lance. Christa spent most of the morning leaning against the car door, her hair blowing in the warm wind from the open window. She only became animated when Monument Valley loomed into view. It shimmered like a mirage on the horizon at first, growing in stature and depth the closer they got. They finally passed beneath it and Christa craned her neck to see the rising columns of staggered rock from every angle, alien and stark against the ancient landscape.

  “Look at that,” she exclaimed. “It’s beautiful.”

  Dylan squinted at the view through his expensive sunglasses and shrugged. “They’re just rocks.”

  ***

  By nightfall, Dylan’s pains had begun to creep back. The setting sun fell behind the ridges and peaks on either side of the road, painting them in softly glowing pinks and ambers, but he paid no attention to the scenery. Instead, he sat hunched over the wheel, trying to keep his breathing even. When
Dylan saw a signpost announcing that Devil’s Ridge Campground was half a mile away, he took the next turning at such speed that Christa had to hold onto the car door to keep from sliding across the leather seat towards him.

  “I need to eat,” he explained when she turned to glare at him.

  The road soon narrowed to a line of crushed, compacted earth, scarred with the deep grooves made by RVs. The campground was virtually empty. Only a handful of shining vans were clustered together at one corner, their wheels dusted with dirt. Dylan parked at the opposite end.

  “You mind staying here tonight?” he asked.

  Christa stared around the flat expanse before nodding. A cheap wooden fence separated the campers from an arching precipice beyond. “Yeah, it looks okay.”

  They exited the truck and crept towards the small band of quiet vehicles, low and stealthy. Dylan spied into the windows of three different RVs before making his selection and slipping inside the unlocked door. Christa waited uncertainly, arms held around herself for warmth. Several dull thuds sounded and petered away into the heavy silence all around. She glanced at the other vehicles, pausing to make sure no one else had heard, and quickly made her way inside.

  Dylan had worked fast. He was crouched on the floor, head bowed over the fleshy neck of a middle-aged woman in long khaki shorts. Her head twitched sporadically as he drank, bristling her mane of teased, peroxide hair. At Christa’s feet, a balding man with a sizable paunch lay unconscious. She could still feel his panicked, confused thoughts all around her, tainting the air like a stale odour.

  “Help me, please God, help me. He has Evelyn, he’s hurting her.”

  Christa carefully stepped over the man and settled herself on the thin pull-down bed at the back of the van.