Mark of the Djinn: A Young Adult Urban Fantasy Romance

  Mark of the Djinn

  A Young Adult Urban Fantasy Romance

  Shiulie Ghosh

  Aero Productions

  Copyright © 2020 Shiulie Ghosh

  All rights reserved. The right of Shiulie Ghosh to be identified as the Author of the work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988. This book is sold subject to the condition it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be copied, lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated in print or electronic means without the author’s prior consent in any form.

  Print version ISBN: 9798673365052

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described, all situations in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art by BRoseDesignz.com

  For my sister, Ruchi

  Chapter One

  I pulled against the chain with all my strength, both feet braced as I leaned backwards, trying to tear the damn thing off the wall. One end was attached to a metal ring embedded deeply into the brickwork, the other ended in handcuffs at my wrists.

  I pulled until the blood thundered in my ears and I saw stars. The rusted iron didn’t budge an inch. I slumped to the ground, defeated.

  I was well and truly trapped. If the metal had been anything other than iron, I’d have been out of here in no time. But iron made me powerless.

  And we all knew what happened to thieves in this part of the world. If I didn’t get out of here soon, I could very well lose a hand.

  My head jerked up as I heard someone approaching.

  ◆◆◆

  The night before

  I leaned forward as if I was listening intently to what the guy was saying. He was a fat businessman, sweat coating his cheeks and nose, his blubbery lips unpleasantly moist as he told me some bullshit about his latest acquisition.

  He had a hand on my waist, and every now and then he’d give it a little squeeze in a proprietary way. As if buying me a drink gave him the right to touch me.

  We were in a downtown bar in the basement of a high-class restaurant, one of the few places in this country where you could get alcohol. It was full of tourists, wealthy ones, like the corporate manager from the Gulf who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

  He slid his eyes over me greasily, letting them rest on my upper arm.

  “Nice tattoo,” he leered. “A snake. Sexy. I hope it doesn’t bite.”

  I gave him a coy smile, not bothering to explain it wasn’t a tattoo. I just needed to keep him dangling until he was drunk enough. It didn’t take long.

  I leaned closer, pretending to listen to one of his stories. Why did men like this always think sexist comments were funny? Still, the joke was on him.

  I quietly boosted his wallet from his inside jacket pocket, conjuring up a little cushion of air to make it slide cleanly into my waiting hand. Like taking candy from a baby. He didn’t notice a thing.

  It was the third wallet I’d scored that night. At this rate I’d be able to afford a decent hotel to stay in.

  I excused myself and went to the ladies’ bathroom to rifle through the expensive leather pouch. There were a couple of hundred US dollars tucked into the back and I smiled to myself in satisfaction. It was an unexpected bonus. The last two wallets had only contained local currency.

  I shoved the cash into my pocket, then examined the rest of his wallet. He had an Amex and a Mastercard. And a photo of his family, a wife in an elegant dress and two plump kids. It didn’t surprise me. I’d flirted with enough married men to know they seemed to think fidelity was optional.

  I left the credit cards. I never took anything other than cash. Cards became a liability once they were reported stolen. Plus, I didn’t want my mark to suffer the inconvenience of having to contact their bank and order new ones.

  I may be a thief, but I wasn’t unreasonable.

  I did, however, scrawl a message for the businessman on the back of the photo.

  Next time you feel like straying, remember me.

  I went back to the bar. The businessman handed me a drink and I leaned over to speak into his ear, slipping his wallet back into his jacket with practised ease.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go. My boyfriend just called me. He’s on his way to pick me up.”

  The man’s eyes widened.

  “You have a boyfriend?”

  “Yes, he’s a karate instructor. You should meet him, you’d like him.”

  The man hastily finished his drink, making a show of checking his watch.

  “I am sorry my dear, but I have an early start tomorrow. It was very nice meeting you.”

  He left the bar as quickly as his stout legs could carry him, hastening back to his elegant wife and two fat kids. I stifled a grin, already scanning the bar for my next target.

  I’d been stealing wallets for a while now. It wasn’t what I’d call my long-term career choice, but I was insanely good at it. My weird little power made it possible to lift items with next to no friction. I could coax them from bags and pockets with the merest gesture. They practically floated into my hand.

  The phrase ‘light-fingered’ was an understatement. My fingers were as light as air. Hell, my fingers controlled the air.

  I examined my hands, wondering idly where the power came from. I’d had it since I was a kid, and for a while I thought everyone could do what I did. It wasn’t until my gran explained I had to keep it a secret, that strange abilities were something only the women in our family had, that I realised it wasn’t normal. That I wasn’t normal.

  I became aware that someone was staring at me and turned to find a hulking mountain standing at the bar. The man looked like a local, which surprised me. Locals didn’t usually hit the bars. He was unusually tall, totally bald but with an impressively bushy beard to compensate.

  Without even thinking about it, I clocked where his wallet was. Front left jeans pocket. Meant he was probably left-handed, a useful fact to know in the unlikely event he realised I was a pickpocket and made a grab for me.

  Then his head swivelled to look down at me and I took an involuntary step backwards.

  His face was a mess. His skin was pitted and pock-marked, as if from childhood acne that hadn’t properly healed. One eye was pearly white, and an angry looking scar stretched from brow to lip, suggesting he’d once been hit with the business end of a broken bottle.

  I forgot about trying to take his wallet. This guy was trouble. His eyes travelled over me and I tried not to flinch.

  “Nice tattoo,” he rumbled.

  I ignored this opening salvo at a conversation. Instead I made a show of checking my watch, as if I was waiting for someone. He stared at me a second longer and lumbered off. Sighing gratefully, I reached for my drink.

  I was a good actress, but even I wouldn’t have been able to flirt convincingly with that guy. He looked like Frankenstein’s monster. Or the butler character, Lurch, out of the Addams Family. A girl had to have some standards.

  Maybe I should call it a night. I’d only arrived in the city a few hours ago, and I was tired and desperate for a hot shower. At least now I could afford a decent hotel with a posh bathroom and breakfast included.

  I’d been travelling for a few weeks now. My last stop had been in India, where I’d hooked up with a group of backpackers. They were a fun bunch, all about my age, taking a year off to travel across Asia before buckling down to university. I’d almost envied them their carefree spirit, their total conviction that life was theirs for the taking. Their staunch certainty of the road ahead.

  I’d
hung with them for a while, enjoying their company, even though being among backpackers meant my cash had started to run low.

  I didn’t steal off people with no money. I only took from those who could afford it. Being a thief didn’t mean you couldn’t have morals.

  Eventually they’d decided to head to Agra, but that sounded too safe to me. I wanted excitement. So I’d headed into Pakistan instead, thinking it would be more edgy.

  Gran always said I was contrary.

  I gazed at the ring on my index finger. I wore rings on all my fingers, but this was the most important. My gran’s ring. A big rectangular-shaped ruby set into a thick gold band engraved with markings that I used to pretend were from an elven language.

  It looked vintage, something an ancient king would wear. Gran had told me it had been in her family for hundreds of years. And now it was mine.

  I shook my head, irritated with myself. I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of gran. I was supposed to be enjoying myself. I took another gulp of my drink and grimaced at its sweetness. The sticky red liquid was cloying. And stronger than it looked, I realised, as my head started to swim.

  I decided I’d get myself a beer instead. I set the cocktail down, noticing my arm seemed to be stretching very far ahead of me as I pushed the glass away. I giggled, then frowned. What was wrong with me? I was having trouble focusing.

  Black spots started crowding my vision and I clutched at the bar for support. I sensed someone come to stand next to me and turned with difficulty to see who it was.

  Lurch grinned down at me.

  “Enjoy drink?” he smirked. My gaze travelled from him to the cocktail.

  “You… spiked…”

  And that was the last I remembered of the bar.

  Chapter Two

  I regained consciousness, and immediately wished I hadn’t. It was dim and dusty, but what light there was stabbed at my eyes and made my head hurt.

  “Shit.”

  I lay there for a second, wallowing in self-pity. I should have been more careful, paid more attention.

  I groaned and tried to rub my head, and that was when I realised I was manacled to the wall. I opened my eyes fully and focused on the metal. If it was anything other than iron, I’d be okay. I flexed my fingers, called up my power…

  Double shit. The air around me stayed stubbornly still, muted by the dampening effect of the iron cuffs around both my wrists.

  “Okay, don’t panic,” I muttered to myself, taking stock.

  My hands were cuffed in front of me and padlocked to a chain, which was in turn secured to an iron ring set deep into the old stone wall. The chain was long enough to let me sit or lie down, but that was it.

  I looked around the room I was trapped in. It was dingy and smelly, as if the last occupant had been a very flatulent goat. Shafts of light tumbled through the porous roof, and bales of straw were stacked against the wall.

  Not a cell, then. More like a barn or an outhouse.

  I checked my clothes, relieved to find my jeans were still fastened and my T-shirt was tucked in securely. My trainers were still on my feet but there was no sign of my beloved old leather jacket. I groaned as I realised I’d left it hanging over the back of the bar stool.

  Talking of the bar… I patted my jeans pocket. Nope. The money I’d boosted from pickpocketing was also gone. As was my backpack, which contained all my worldly possessions including my passport.

  This day was already ranking as one of the worst ever, and I’d had a few bad ones.

  A thought struck me and I brought my chained hands to my face, my heart sinking as I confirmed the worst.

  My rings had gone. All of them, including gran’s. With a howl I kicked at the wall savagely, then hopped around for half a minute as my toe exploded in pain.

  “Bloody shit bastard hell!” I swore loudly, startling a pigeon that was sitting in the rafters. It flew out through a hole in the roof, a single feather floating downwards.

  I rubbed my head. It was aching, and I felt slightly nauseous from whatever my drink had been spiked with, but otherwise I didn’t seem to be injured. If I could just get these damn cuffs off, I could blast a hole in the wall and be on my way.

  Bloody iron. It was my kryptonite, the one thing that cancelled out my weird power. If only my kidnappers had used rope, like normal perverts.

  I wondered how many other women had woken up to find themselves chained to this wall. And what had happened to them.

  “Come on, Sam. Focus,” I admonished myself.

  Taking the chain in both hands, I gave it an experimental tug. Then I pulled harder, putting both feet on the wall and leaning back with all my strength. I pulled till the blood thundered in my ears and I saw stars. The rusted iron didn’t budge an inch. I slumped to the ground, defeated.

  I remembered what they did to thieves in this part of the world, and flexed my hands nervously. I’d even stopped biting my nails recently, it would be a shame to lose one of them. I began to think that panicking was a very sensible choice right now.

  My ears pricked up as I heard the sound of an engine. A vehicle pulled up outside, and voices filtered through the wall. Men, two or three of them. I scrambled to my feet as the door flew open.

  Three men came in, brown faces peering at me inquisitively. One I had no trouble recognising. It was Lurch from the bar, his opaque Bond-villain eye glinting whitely at me.

  “You! You spiked my drink!”

  Furiously I lunged forward, forgetting I was chained. My arms snapped back painfully and I landed on my butt. I swore loudly as they guffawed, this being the best entertainment they’d had all day.

  Lurch’s companions were as delightful as he was. One had a single black bushy eyebrow, giving him the appearance of a sickly werewolf. The other was as skinny as a weasel. I gritted my teeth as I realised he was wearing my leather jacket.

  My abductors spoke among themselves in Urdu, and I pretended I didn’t understand. They were discussing my body and the fact that I was passably attractive, but it was shame my skin wasn’t lighter. I tried to swallow the fear that was building inside me.

  If these three decided they wanted some fun with me, there’d be nothing I could do about it.

  Gran’s words rang in my head. Don’t ever let fear get the better of you. It was one of the things she always used to say to me. I raised my chin.

  “Where are my rings, you bastards? You can keep the money, just give me my rings back.”

  I was going for bravado but the tremor in my voice gave me away.

  The men laughed, their teeth all a disgusting shade of brown from chewing areca nuts and tobacco. One of them said something filthy to the others, and my cheeks flamed. I vowed I wouldn’t go down without a fight. I twisted uselessly at the chain again, wishing fervently I could use my power.

  “Keep still.”

  Monobrow grabbed my bound hands roughly and I lashed out with my foot, catching him square in the groin. He went down, groaning.

  I lunged forward, aiming to kick him in the head, but his friends pulled him out of my reach as the chain snapped tight. They laughed at him, taking the piss, and his pain was quickly replaced by rage. He started towards me, fury in his eyes, and Lurch grabbed him. He spoke rapidly in Urdu, and my heart froze,

  He was saying I was Al Uddin’s property now, and Al Uddin would only pay for undamaged merchandise.

  I suddenly understood what was happening here. These guys hadn’t kidnapped me to have a bit of fun. They were selling me to a trafficker.

  “She has a mark,” Lurch was saying. “He pays well for girls with marks.”

  “They all have marks,” grumbled Monobrow. “But they’re never the right marks.”

  I didn’t have time to wonder what they were talking about. Lurch slammed me back against the wall, careful to keep out of reach of my feet, while Weasel used a key to undo the padlock. The chain slid to the ground but the cuffs remained on my wrists. I twisted my hands uselessly, unable to call up even one i
ota of power.

  I cursed and fought as they dragged me towards the door, planting my feet and trying to make it as difficult as possible, but Lurch simply grabbed my bound arms and yanked. I yelped in pain. I had no choice but to move, or risk having my elbows dislocated.

  They shoved me through the door, and I blinked as the sun hit me square in the face. We definitely weren’t in the city anymore.

  The building behind me was some kind of storage shed standing on derelict farmland, empty apart from a couple of elderly goats and a large black van. I started to struggle harder.

  “Where are you taking me, you shits?”

  I managed to twist out of Lurch’s grip and slammed into Weasel, grabbing him by the collar of my own leather jacket and headbutting him sharply. He cursed, falling back, and Monobrow punched me.

  I saw stars briefly as Lurch picked me up threw me into the back of the van. He climbed in after me, crouching to avoid hitting the low roof, and yanked my hands painfully above my head. Grunting, he unlocked one of the cuffs from my wrist and snapped it closed round something else. I glanced up and saw I was trussed to yet another iron ring.

  I screamed in frustration as Lurch grinned at me. He pushed his face close to mine, his breath an overpowering mix of paan and fenugreek.

  “I hope you suffer for a long, long time,” he hissed.

  “Go to hell.”

  I lunged forward and spat in his face, clawing at him with my free hand. He shook me off, wiping the long string of drool off his cheek with a look of disgust. I braced for the blow I was sure was coming, but with an effort he reined in his temper.

  “Soon, you will wish I had killed you.”

  He climbed out of the van, slamming the doors shut behind him. I dragged myself to my knees as the engine started, and realised I wasn’t alone.

  There were five others in the van with me; four women, and one young man who was sitting cross-legged directly opposite me. Like me, they were all cuffed by one hand to a row of rings set into the roof of the van.