THE JOURNEY TO the palace should’ve taken only fifteen minutes, but it took twice as long. We went over the plan again. Curran had come up with the strategy, and his plans usually worked. Getting everyone to stick to it was another matter entirely. I had asked Nick if he’d brought any more of the Galahad warheads, to which he asked me just how many of the ten-thousand-dollar warheads I thought he was authorized for. I told him that brevity was a virtue and “no” would’ve been just fine as a response, and then Luther had to give us his “save the city and stop bickering” speech.

Gradually dirt became sand, flowers gained aroma, and moisture saturated the air. About ten feet from the red palace steps, the illusion evolved into reality. I stopped to draw some blood. I could’ve probably done it earlier, but I didn’t want to take chances with its potency. We passed between the colossal columns into a shadowed hall, our steps loud on the polished stone. A throne stood at the end of the hall, a massive carved chair of stone, painted with garish abandon. A woman of incredible beauty sat on the throne. Her dark hair, arranged in artful spiral waves, fell on her diaphanous gown of pale gold and blue. Gold chains wove through her hair, a necklace of blood-red rubies rested around her neck, and a single large earring, its simplicity jarring and out of place, decorated her left ear. A black panther sat by her throne, and the woman stroked the beast’s head with her long fingernails. Oh boy. I had walked into an old Sinbad movie. Too bad the monsters wouldn’t be Claymation.

Men stood behind the throne, brandishing swords. Some were dark skinned, some lighter, some clothed, others mostly nude, but each was a perfect, handsome male specimen. I did a quick head count. At least forty. She had her own private army of male models.

I reached forward with my magic and met the familiar resistance. That was a hell of a lot of magic and it was wrapped around her like a shield. Using power words directly against her would be out of the question. Attacking her right now was out of the question, too.

“She’s shielded,” Luther said behind me.

“What he said,” I confirmed. “The djinn is pouring every drop of his power into protecting her. We don’t have enough firepower to break through it. We have to get her to transform so she’ll stop shielding and start attacking.”

“That means she’d have to make a wish,” Luther pointed out. “If she wishes for the ceiling to crush us, there isn’t much we can do about that.”