“I saw him in a vision,” I said. “He was in a cage starving. He wasn’t in the best shape, but I think he’s alive because the ifrit is waiting for you.”

“He’s waiting to kill my son in front of me,” Bahir said.

“Yes.”

Bahir sighed. “If you come into possession of the earring, you need to know what to expect. The ifrit will seduce you. The moment you touch his prison, he burrows into your soul, tears it open, and feeds on your greatest fear. If you are afraid of growing old, he will offer you youth. If you think yourself ugly, he will promise you beauty. He will move mountains and resurrect the dead, and if he lacks the power to do it, he will trick your mind into thinking he has done it. With every wish, you will surrender a part of your soul to him and he will lie and betray you until he possesses you completely.”

“So how do we fight that?” Derek asked.

“You must reject the djinn.”

“Easier said than done,” I said.

“Yes. But there are forces within our soul that are greater than he. Loyalty. Duty. Love. Honor. If you are not sure, it isn’t too late to turn back.”

I smiled. “I’ll stay, but thank you for the pep talk.”

“You have a life.”

“So do you and your son. Eduardo is my friend. I refuse to let him die in a cage.”

“Yes, but few people would risk certain death for a friend.”

“I’m doing it out of selfish reasons,” I told him. “If we fail to stop the ifrit, he’ll come after my family next. We frustrated him a few times and he’s an arrogant sonovabitch who hates losing.”

Bahir didn’t look entirely convinced.

A distant roar of enchanted water engines announced that the cavalry was coming.

“It’s what they do,” Derek said. “Don’t ask her why. Just take the help. You won’t get better.”

Thank you, boy wonder.

“If we survive this,” Bahir said, “and you need something, anything at all, call on me.”

“You may come to regret that offer.”

“Anything at all,” Bahir said.

The first vehicle tore through the greenery, a large black SUV with a metal grate shielding the radiator. I caught a glimpse of Martha, George’s mother, behind the wheel. She was a plump middle-aged African American woman with a wealth of curly hair. I had only spoken with her a few times. She usually knitted during Pack Council meetings, and if our gazes happened to cross, she smiled. She wasn’t smiling right now. She saw us on the roof, saw the gathering of shadhavar, and floored it. The SUV plowed into the herd. Some managed to dash aside, but at least three crashed to the ground. Martha threw the vehicle into reverse and rolled over the thrashing bodies.

Holy crap.