Jinn and Juice

by Nicole Peeler

Genres: Contemporary Fantasy; Fantasy Romance; Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

Meet Lyla: Jinn, belly dancer, and the hottest new urban fantasy heroine in town.

To escape an arranged marriage, a jinni granted Lyla her wish: to live a thousand years as a jinni herself.

Now, her servitude is ending, but there are a few obstacles in Lyla's path to freedom. A Magi intent on binding her again, a jinni bent on vengeance, and not to mention the nightmare from her past that threatens to make her curse permanent -- and claim her very soul.

Jinn and Juice is the first in a new series by fantasy writer, Nicole Peeler set in a world of immortal curses, vengeful jinni and belly dancing.

Release date: November 25, 2014

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 384

Sample

The chubby little human was doing his damndest to hump my leg, but the palm I’d placed on his forehead kept him at arm’s length.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, panting up at me as he air-humped, his eyes glazed.

I sighed, feeling bad for the guy. He was wearing full nerd garb, including a pocket protector and an extremely unfortunate, thin, brunet comb-over. One leg of his corduroys was pegged for biking, and I thought I could see a fanny pack peeking at me from over his rounded hips.

He was hardly Purgatory’s average customer, since our clientele was more apt to sport fangs, gills, or claws than this guy’s sad clip-on tie. This dude was all human and also, considering his dilated pupils and complete lack of reserve, very obviously glamoured out of his mind. He wasn’t here by choice.

“Mister, you’ve got so much mojo in your system you’d hit on a grizzly. Who brought you here?”

The man jerked his head toward the bar, where a blonde wearing a pornographically tight silver dress flirted with Trey, tonight’s werewolf bartender. I’d seen her around a few times—the daughter of a succubus and a human, she’d sought refuge in steel-stained Pittsburgh after being rejected by her mother’s Tribe.

But a sad childhood was no excuse for a messy feed.

“Let’s get you home safe,” I said, putting an arm around the human to lead him to the door. He acquiesced willingly, his arm fumbling around my waist, one hand moving to my ass. I gave a warning shimmy, the coins on my scarf-belt jingling like a rattler. He jerked his hand back, only to sweep it up my bare back.

“Lyla, what the fuck?” The voice came from behind me, pitched to a petulant whine. I turned to find the silver-clad hoochie eyeing me reproachfully.

“He’s my catch,” she said. “You don’t even eat people.”

My lips pursed as I sought her name. I never forgot a face, but after a thousand-something years on this earth, names weren’t my strong suit.

“Crystal?” I hazarded. I knew it was something strippery.

“Diamond,” she said, hissing like a cat and taking a step toward her prey.

“Right. Sorry, Diamond. I wasn’t poaching, just helping this gentleman outside. You know the rules.”

Diamond’s wide red mouth bowed in a frown. “This place has rules?” A long, graceful arm swept open, indicating the pool table, where a pooka was currently snorting a line of faux-brosia off the bared tits of a weredeer.

“Granted, not many,” I acknowledged. “But there are a few. One of which is no luring humans on premises. If they wander in on their own steam, they’re fair game. But something tells me that’s not the case here, is it?”

As if to prove my point, the human stared fixedly at my cleavage, one glassy pupil dilated, the other a pinpoint. He looked like the CPA version of Marilyn Manson.

Narrowing her eyes, Diamond took a step forward. “I’m sure we can work something out. I just want a little of his vitality. You can have his wallet.”

I moved between her and the little man. Annoyingly, he took his opportunity to grind up on my behind like a corpulent schnauzer.

“That’s generous,” I said, swatting him away. “But no. What we are going to do is put this guy in a taxi and send him home to his wife.” I grabbed for the pudgy hand groping for a boob, raising it so Diamond could see the gold wedding ring glinting on the human’s finger. “As for you, feel free to stay for the show. I’ll buy you a drink. But you’ll have to find your next meal elsewhere.”

“Fuck you, Lyla,” Diamond said, her red lips receding alarmingly, succubus-style, to reveal her hitherto-hidden fangs. “You’re not the boss of this place.”

“No,” I said quietly. “I’m not.”

And with that I let my Fire flare as much as my unBound state would allow. Unnatural black flames licked along my pale skin, blending upward to ignite my long tresses till they lifted like raven wings framing my face.

Behind me I heard the human groan. I hoped he hadn’t soiled his pegged corduroys.

“But I can easily be the boss of you, dear Diamond.”

She crouched, hissing at me again, but my flames were already licking at her skin like thirsty tongues. Not burning, though. Not yet.

Her head drooped and she dropped to one knee, submissive.

“Bertha, call this gentleman a cab,” I said to the bouncer lurking at the corner of my vision. Big Bertha nodded, her massive frame lumbering over to where the human stood, quivering in genuine fear and glamoured lust. Bertha’s fuzzy monobrow twitched at me, waiting for my next move. This was why we all loved her: despite her size, she let us fight our own battles, unless we needed her.

“Diamond, release him,” I said, keeping my voice pleasant.

Resting on the carpet, Diamond’s hands clenched into fists, but I felt a small pop as her magic fizzled.

“Wha’?” said the human, Bertha already leading him up Purgatory’s stairs, toward the entrance guarding the outside world from the freaks that found shelter behind our doors.

I approached the figure hunched on the carpet. “Thank you, Diamond. Like I said, your next drink is on me. But please remember not to bring your own dinner into the bar next time.”

She didn’t look at me. I felt the resentful shift of her power, but she didn’t attempt another challenge. An Immunda, Diamond was no real opponent. She could glamour using the magic she took feeding from humans, but other than that she may as well have been one.

Her vulnerability made me sad. I’d been powerless once, after all.

Pushing thoughts of my curse aside, I stepped over Diamond and headed backstage to our dressing room.

The show must go on.

I could hear Rachel’s bass voice crooning even before I opened the door.

The not-so-eensy willy

Went up between my legs

Up go my berries,

So pretty like Old Gregg’s…

“It’s tucking song time!” I called as I entered the dressing room I shared with my best friend, Yulia, our resident will-o’-the-wisp, and Rachel Divide. Rachel was a human, but a powerful psychic. She was also a drag queen and the lover of my oldest friend and current boss.

“You bet yo’ white ass it’s tucking time.” Rachel’s syrupy Southern accent wrapped around me almost as tight as the gaff she was hauling up between her legs. She reached for her Spanx as I sat down at my dressing station.

“Are you doing ‘Old Man River’?” I asked, noting the sequined gown hanging off the corner of Rachel’s trifold mirror. It was extra glamorous, which usually meant we were in store for some Showboat.

“ ‘Old Man River’ is my favorite,” Yulia said, peering down her nose at herself as she layered on her signature silver eye shadow. Her Slavic accent was thick, proof she was concentrating.

“Mine, too,” I said, reaching for my liquid eyeliner.

Rachel was shoehorning herself into her Spanx, sweating with the effort. Not for the first time I was grateful that belly dancing precluded support garments.

“Jesus H. Christ, I swear to God that one day Imma burn these damned drawers.” Rachel hauled the Spanx the last of the way up, then did a few deep squats to get them situated. Her tucked-away junk didn’t move an inch, and I wondered how the hell that could be comfortable.

When she was done, Rachel smoothed her hands over her round belly, then pivoted on her heel to check herself out from the back. Obviously satisfied, she reached for her sparkly tights.

“You doing the snake dance again?” Yulia asked me.

“Yep. That head took forever to make. I’m getting my time’s worth.”

“Whatever, girl. You just like getting your hands on my man,” said Rachel, leering at me mischievously in the mirror.

I grinned back, finishing the thick lines of eyeliner with expert precision. “He’s certainly not bad eye candy, for an antique.”

Rachel grunted obscenely, fanning herself. “He’s not old, he’s wise. Lawd have mercy, the things he can teach a girl!”

“Age does have its benefits,” I acknowledged, reaching for the glittery bronzer I used all over my body.

“And you should know, old lady.” Yulia was belting herself into her own costume—a sort of dominatrix-meets-ice-queen-meets-showgirl hybrid.

At over a millennium old, I didn’t take offense at that comment. However… “You’re hardly a spring chicken,” I said, dryly. Yulia had been leading unwary strangers off the path for a few centuries herself.

“I was never a chicken anything,” she said, letting her wisps glow faintly, individual strands of light floating around her like celestial tentacles.

“She’s more of a peacock,” Rachel clarified, hitching up her tights and reaching for her gown.

Yulia’s graceful white arm extended along with one of her wisps to pluck the gown off of Rachel’s mirror and hand it to her. Rachel nodded her thanks, the heavily eye-shadowed skin around her rich mahogany eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Hey, you heard from Aki?” Rachel asked.

“The kitsune?” asked Yulia.

“Yeah, he didn’t show up for work yesterday, or today. That ain’t like him.”

I frowned, thinking. “No,” I said. “I haven’t. And come to mention it, he was supposed to borrow that costume for me, from the Heinz Museum.”

Aki was technically Purgatory’s dishwasher, but like any kitsune worth his fox fur, he was also a fabulous thief, spy, sneak, and general ne’er-do-well. Needless to say, he was a great friend to have in your corner. Able to get virtually anything, he also knew everyone and everything that was happening in our fair city of Pittsburgh.

“I’ll text him,” said Yulia, reaching for her phone.

“Please do,” said Rachel. “But I already did, like nine times.”

“He’s probably on a job. Or lying low,” I said, since lying low was the natural consequence of the majority of Aki’s jobs outside of Purgatory.

Yulia tapped away at her phone, while her wisps delicately placed feathers in her hair, much to my jealousy. My own Fire was nowhere near as compliant as her wisps, even if it was worth a hell of a lot more in a fight.

“Maybe he finally quit after being spurned by Lyla too many times,” Yulia said, arcing a brow at me in her mirror as she tapped one last time and put down her phone.

I rolled my eyes. “Ohmigod. You’re not bringing that up again. Aki is like a zygote compared to me.”

“Girl, everybody is a zygote compared to you,” Rachel said, tutting at me in her own mirror. “You are like a gabillion years old. If you use age as an excuse not to get any, you will have to go down on Methuselah.”

“I am not going down on Methuselah. That shit’s gotta be bitter by now.”

“Well, then, you will never get some.” Rachel slipped her ball gown up her generous frame, a frame that needed very little extra in the way of padding to look utterly feminine. “ ’Cuz Methuselah,” she added helpfully, “is the only motherfucker on this planet older than you.”

“Mmmhmm,” purred Yulia.

I glared at both of them. “Ladies, I have bigger fish to fry than dudes.”

“Like what?” Yulia asked, turning around to face me.

“Like my curse, for one,” I said.

“Whatever, Lyla,” she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. “The point of your curse is you don’t have to do anything. Just not get Bound again. And there haven’t been any Magi in Pittsburgh since… well, probably since forever.”

“I know, but still,” I said, sounding prim even to my own ears.

“But still what?” asked Rachel, motioning toward Yulia, who sent a wisp snaking out to pull up Rachel’s zipper. “The fact is you’ve been alone for longer than I’ve been alive. And that’s fucked up, girl.”

“I haven’t been alone! What about that siren? And that werewolf. And those two trolls… they were brothers!”

“And yeah, you fucked the hell out of them,” said Yulia. “I had to leave the apartment you were so loud. But those were all one-night stands, Lyla.”

“Hey,” I started, but Yulia cut me off.

“Fine, one-week stands. But they were stands, angel moy.”

“So what?”

“So, there’s more to life than your curse,” Rachel said, gently.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “How can I do anything when I’m not even free?”

“But you are free,” said Yulia. “You haven’t been Bound in centuries.”

“As long as I’m living as a jinni, I’m not really free,” I said, my jaw clenching involuntarily.

“I know you think your situation is different, sugar,” Rachel said, her voice gentle. “And it is certainly unique. But when it comes down to it, we’re all bound to different things. And one of the only bindings worth anything is what you make with other people.”

“And I do have those ties,” I said, my exasperation coming out in my voice. “Look at you assholes, grilling me an hour before I have to go on stage. If I’m not bound to you bitches, whom am I bound to?”

Rachel laughed her big, booming laugh and Yulia smiled, but it was sad. “And we’d do anything for you, zaychick. But just as there is more to your life than your curse, there is more to any life than freedom. I worry about you.”

I stood up, opening my arms to my friend. “Don’t worry, you two. Seriously. I’m so close to being human again. When I am, I can start over. I’ll be different. I promise.”

Yulia came and gave me a hug, her always-cool skin making my own flesh goose-pimple reflexively.

“Not too different, please,” she whispered, and I hugged her hard.

“If you two hookers make me cry off my makeup, I’ll shave your eyebrows,” said Rachel, her voice quivering slightly. We broke off our hug immediately, knowing she was completely serious.

Nothing, not even friendship, could get between a drag queen and her makeup. Not without feeling the wrath of fabulous scorned.



The air whispered cool over my arms as I stood on stage, ready to be announced. The room was dark, the wisp-lights glowing on our small café tables the room’s only illumination.

Suddenly Charlie’s smoky voice oozed over the audience like KY at a porn shoot, getting all up in the audience’s aural cavities.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I know you’ve been waiting for this. Straight from the sultan’s bedchamber, a woman of fire too hot for the harem—put your hands together for our very own… Lyla La More!”

Applause, wolf whistles, and a few ululations echoed from the crowd, but the lights stayed off and I remained still. The crowd quieted, growing totally silent as it heard the first low strike of the bass drum. A deep, dark sound, it echoed through my bones as it thumped again, and again, speeding up by infinitesimal degrees. Stock-still, I moved only when the low sweet strain of a cello cut across the drum, and my left hip lifted and dropped. The cello sounded again as my right hip lifted and dropped. And then my hips erupted in a chaos of shimmies with the entrance of more drums and a violin. Beats Antique rocketed out of the speakers, taking the audience out of its seats and my limbs into hyperdrive.

The dance was a serpentine one, my costume signaling the theme with tight, sheer green fabric sheathing my legs from where it hung off the heavy, crazily Bedazzled belt slung low on my hips. The smooth, soft skin of my belly was bare, of course, and above my ribs metallic serpents cupped my breasts, holding more green fabric to protect my modesty.

It was the headdress that stole the show: a great papier-mâché serpent reared above me, its fangs glittering with rubies and its eyes with emeralds. Or the craft store versions of precious gems. It was heavy and awkward, but it looked marvelous in the low light, winking malevolently at the crowd as I danced for their entertainment.

My hips slowed as my chest took up the dance, lifting and shifting, my spine arching as I raised my hands in snake arms. I did a slow circle, alternating movements between hips and chest. As the music swelled into a crescendo I faced the audience again, letting my hands fall to frame my hips. My belly bowed and swooped, muscles pulling in and then relaxing. The beat increasing, I moved as much as my tight costume would allow, darting my hands at the audience like another pair of striking snakes doing the bidding of the great snake that loomed above. The audience went wild, thumping the tables and calling for more. But the music slowed, and I let my shifting carry me downward, my hands above my head. I knelt before them, my snake’s head weaving and my arms undulating as the violin cut out, then the cello, leaving only that slow thrum of the bass drum once again. The lights lowered, and for a split second I could hear only the thudding of my heart and the rough pant of my breath through my toothy smile, until the first clap sounded in the room, sending everyone into another round of applause. The lights went up again and I stood, Charlie coming to take my hand.

Charlie was wearing all of his clothes, since it was relatively early in the evening. Soon enough he’d be stripped of his red velvet ringmaster’s coat, underneath which he wore only lovely white skin and black suspenders holding up tight black jodhpurs. His mustache was twirled into two rakish whiskers flaring over thin lips, black guyliner smudged around his eerily colorless eyes.

He gave me his sexy ringmaster’s leer as he approached, those pale eyes sweeping over my body. His interest was all part of the show, though—Charlie was both gay and taken.

The clapping slowed as Charlie grabbed my arm, jerking me around and toward him. For a split second we were nose-to-nose, me on my tiptoes and him bending over me. Then his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling my hips against his and arching my back. I melted against him, my hands slipping inside the lapels of his coat to lie against his chilly skin. We stayed in that classic pose for a second, Charlie’s lean frame looming above me—the alpha male subduing his exotic female. I let my Fire flare just enough to swirl my hair, its sinuous weight mimicking the natural movements of the snake I still wore on my head.

On cue, Charlie whipped me around so I faced the audience. He stepped behind me, his hands moving to my headdress. He undid the strap beneath my chin, lifting the heavy snake’s head off me. He set it by my feet, reaching for the belt at my waist.

The audience, having fallen silent when Charlie first grabbed me, began to clap with Trey, who’d initiated a slow beat from behind the bar.

The clapping sped up as Charlie’s hand reached for the knot of the belt, undoing it with theatrical slowness. On cue, my next song began. “Hey, Miss Kiss, let us dance,” echoed out of the speakers as Charlie whipped my skirt off, leaving me clad in a coin-covered G-string. The audience was on its feet, clapping as Purgatory’s ringmaster grabbed my serpent head and, wielding my skirt like a bullfighter’s cape, plunged offstage.

It stayed on its feet for the second half of my act, a traditional burlesque number to which I gave only the slightest belly dance flair. I was already pretty nude, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t tease. And tease I did.

In fact, I got so deep into the dance I went ahead and let my Fire flare again, its dark shadow swooping around me like a doppelgänger, its preternatural heat caressing my skin like a familiar lover.

I would miss my Fire when my curse was lifted.

As the song ended I let the black flames fall around me like a cloak. My hands went behind my back, finding the knot that held on my bra. Then I let the dark swath of my Fire peel away, letting the coin bra fall with it and leaving me clad only in my coin G-string and a pair of pasties in the shape of genie lamps. The audience hooted as my Fire dissipated and my arms fell to my sides, leaving my mostly bare flesh sweating in the hot lights of the stage. Charlie came out again, leading me stage left, where I made a deep curtsy, peeping up at the audience provocatively through my lashes. I repeated the movement stage right, and then finally center.

Straightening from my final bow, I caught a glimpse of a man sitting toward the back, his silver eyes opened wide.

And glowing like fucking headlamps in the dark.

Magi, chimed my brain, unhelpfully.

I pulled sharply away, startling Charlie, who dropped my hand. A smart move on his part, because I was already running.

Panties a-jangling.

Trip hissed at me as I leaped over her and Trap. The twin spider wraiths were currently conjoined at the waist, their legs splaying around them as they prepared for their act.

I didn’t respond, since I was in fully panicked fleeing mode. Trip and Trap, after all, couldn’t help me. Neither could Trey, or Big Bertha, or Charlie, or any of my other friends. Not unless they ripped that fucking Magi’s tongue out before he could speak. For Magi he certainly was, his eyes Flaring to my Fire.

I heard crashing behind me as Trap cried out, “No humans backstage!”

The Magi ignored the spider wraiths, his footsteps closing in behind me. But he hadn’t Called yet, and I used my Fire to propel me forward, pushing me toward Purgatory’s stage entrance and the street. There I could hopefully put enough distance between me and the Magi for Pittsburgh’s steel-stained environment to help me hide.

The cool spring air hit all my bare skin like a slap as I plunged into the night, cutting right down the alley. It was a wide, empty East Liberty alley, giving me plenty of room to run. But the guy chasing me was fast, and his hand managed to catch my elbow, twirling me around to face his glowing eyes. He stared at me in wonder for a split second and I thought I might just have time to kick him in the balls before he could speak.

But it was too late.

“Hatenach farat a si.” I See you, he said, in a language older than humanity. Older than time. A language of smoke and fire; a language of magic. The language of the being that made me what I am today, which had the power to make me a slave.

Fuck if I was ever going to be a slave again.

With a harsh cry I launched myself at the man, skimming off the surface of the magical Node beneath the city to shift my nails into long, wicked talons. A look of surprise twisted his features, but he had good reflexes. He threw himself out of my way with a neat somersault that had him back on his feet, his fists raised as he balanced on the balls of his feet—the stance of an experienced boxer.

I lunged at him again, calling my Fire to flame around me. I hoped to intimidate him even if a jinni’s black flames wouldn’t burn a Magi. His eyes grew even wider at the sight, but he didn’t budge. So I slashed at him again with my talons, but he got under my guard and I overextended badly, cursing my inability to use my strongest weapon even as I fell.

I landed hard on the ground, my breath knocked out of my lungs. He kicked away my hands and jumped on top of me. Concentrating on the words, he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could get out the rest of the spell, I struck upward with both my hands bent, the heels of my palms striking him in the chin.

His eyes, already glowing in reaction to my presence, Flared brighter in the darkness, causing my anger to blaze with them.

“Magi,” I hissed, and I hit him again. This time he caught my wrists, his hands like vises. Now that he had me on the ground, his bigger size gave him the advantage.

At least for those few seconds.

It was his turn to hiss as suddenly, instead of being a tiny Jasmine-stripper look-alike, I blossomed into obesity. My fat hips knocked his thighs open, pushing him off balance. I heaved myself over, morphing into a taller, more muscular version of me as I did so. Unable to tap the Deep Magic unless Bound, I couldn’t get that much bigger, but it made the fight a little more fair.

“Why don’t you take on someone your own size?” I growled as I dove for him.

In retrospect, I should have taken the fight slower. I was just so pissed and so panicked. I hadn’t heard anyone with those eyes speak that language in a century—not since I’d escaped Europe for the New World, and found refuge in steel-soaked Pittsburgh, where only Immunda could survive. Recognizing a true, Initiated Magi, my crazy inner she-bear emerged, gibbering about never being taken alive. If I had any thought at all it was that my sense of self-preservation would give me an edge. I was fighting for my life, after all, while this guy was just a jerk trying to Bind a jinni.

Unfortunately he didn’t fight like a jerk; he fought like a cornered wolverine. He fought as if he were the one who’d be enslaved if he lost this match. He fought like his life depended on it. Which, considering I was intent on killing him, I guess it did.

He fought better than me.

I was hitting him, hard, but I’d lost my talons shifting to a bigger size. Being unBound meant I was far less powerful, even with my unusual access to all of Pittsburgh’s corrupted magic swirling at my feet. And now that I was unarmed, he wasn’t hitting back, just using his big body to deflect the majority of my blows. Until I overextended a kick.

His own booted foot lashed out, knocking my leg out from under me. I was on the ground again and this time he didn’t underestimate my abilities.

He pinned me down with all his weight, his knees pressing painfully into my thighs and his chest blanketing mine, his hands holding down my wrists. His face was inches from mine, but his features were entirely obscured by the bright glow of his Flaring eyes.

Not me, my brain howled. Not when I’m so close to being free. I started to shift again in a last, desperate attempt. But before I could change, he’d spoken.

It was the second part of the spell that was the real bitch. And I was too late to stop him.

“Te vash anuk a si,” he chanted over and over. I Call you. His pronunciation grew more confident with every repetition. The harsh sibilance of the language of the jinn reached toward me, wrapping around my soul. I cried out, but the spell blanketed me, muting my powers. I stopped mid-shift, my power whoomping out, leaving me beneath him in my own small form.

My wide brown eyes stared up at him, begging him silently to stop, not to say the last bit. The bit that made me his; that made me do his bidding; that made me a slave until he either let me go or died.

He spoke the words.

“Hatenoi faroush a mi.” I Bind you.

And just like that, I was caught. Bound to a human. Again.

There were no lights or sounds or other magical occurrences, but we both felt it. I was his. He stared at me with eyes gone wide with shock, his Flare fading as his magic accepted my acquiescence.

He was my Master.

“Göt,” I muttered. Then I switched to English, so he’d understand.

“Asshole.”



Charlie’s dagger ground to a halt inches from the Magi’s face, caught in a black tendril of my Fire.

“It’s too late,” I told my friend, but he didn’t listen. He pulled another knife from inside his ringmaster’s jacket and let it fly.

I caught it, too, letting it drop to the ground with a clatter. But he just reached into his pocket of Sideways and grabbed another. I caught that one before it found my new Master’s throat.

We could play this game forever, as Charlie had an infinite number of knives stashed Sideways.

The rest of my friends piled out onto the brick alleyway and, loyally, they all attacked. A deadly wisp shot at the Magi, courtesy of Yulia, which my Fire snared.

It also caught the twin nets that Trip and Trap shot out of the spinnerets located near the bases of their spines. The spider wraiths had turned as one, their midsections still joined by a thin veil of skin that was separating to let them run free. Trip kept spinning, leaping up onto the neighboring building and shimmyin. . .