Ihra’s hand was already reaching for an arrow when Jasper rocketed toward the priest. Her arrow shot towards the glowing pendant, arriving a second before he collided with the nizirtu, only to ping uselessly off a flickering shield. Damn it. But with the priest occupied with Jasper, she turned her attention to the rest of the crowd. She hadn’t the chance yet to figure out how to slot a rune for her class, but one of her new spells didn’t need it - Moonlit Shards.

The nizirtū charged past Jasper and the priest as they rolled around on the ground, headed straight toward her and the new Djinn, and Ihra quickly fired off a steady stream of arrows at the oncoming horde. The unenchanted arrows did little more than chip damage to the massive beings, but her real goal was to build up piercing. Her ninth arrow hit one of the nizirtū directly in the knee, causing it to stumble. It plunged to the side, knocking over its companion as the one behind it plowed right into it. Her piercing hit 80, and she activated the shards.

Ihra held her breath as the silver arrow blurred forward; her aim proved true as the arrow smashed into the eye of one of the nizirtū in the front. Then its head exploded. A shower of silver shrapnel rained down around them, the sharp edges embedding themselves in the ground before the charging beings. The massive nizirtū, unable to halt their momentum on a dime, plowed through as the shards sliced and tore at their limbs.

It wasn’t enough to stop them, but it delayed them long enough for her to cast her new and improved Executioner’s Arrow, her arrow slicing off the head of one of the leaders, while the Djinn flickered forward, executing another of the beings with what appeared to be a Backstab. The two worked well together - the Djinn danced between the pale giants like an annoying gnat, her strikes more irritating than deadly, while Ihra peppered them with arrows to build up piercing before executing them with a stronger skill. They were handling the mob fine, but Ihra couldn't help but feel a touch of worry. She had lost sight of Jasper and the lack of booming, fiery explosions was concerning.

But the nizirtū gave her no space to hesitate, as one of the pale giants slipped past the Djinn's reach to charge straight at her. She managed to fling herself to the side, wincing as a sharp, broken pavement stone ripped open her flesh, but as she rolled to her feet, her left hand had already drawn Aphora's misericorde. The nizirtu closed on her a second later, but she was ready. Activating The Still Pond, she slammed the blade into the being's chest, and with enhanced strength, somehow managed to flip the beast over her head. A horrified howl echoed behind her as the nizirtu plunged into the depths of the pit.

Snatching her bow up, Ihra took aim again, firing another Executioner’s Arrow at one of the last of the nizirtū. She winced as the arrow missed its target, slamming into the leg, rather than the head of the giant. The smoldering arrowhead glowed for a second; then it expanded into a giant crescent blade, slicing through tendons, muscle, and bone like a hot knife through butter. With an anguished scream, the beast fell onto its side, utterly unable to move as its legs were cut out from beneath it. She shrugged. Guess that works, too.

With a final flurry of her blades, the Djinn finished the last of the nizirtū off and silence prevailed again in the dead city.

To her relief, Jasper was limping back down the road toward them. “I hweeb a heawlib popshin,” he yelled out. His speech was utterly incomprehensible and as he approached, she saw his lips looked almost black as burnt charcoal.

“What?”

He pointed at her bag, and leaned his head back, miming taking a drink. Realizing what he was asking, she fished one out of Nabul’s bag and tossed it to him. “Drink up - it's the last one though.”

Jasper uncorked the bottle with an urgency she rarely saw from him, tossing the cork over the side of the pit, as he let the sweet liquid fall into his mouth. He winced in pain as the liquid passed through his scorched mouth, but the potion did its job. Within moments, his lips glowed a rosy pink again, although his skin was a touch paler than usual as the potion drained his energy. He tossed the bottle back to her. “Thanks. It turns out my fire immunity doesn’t extend to the skin in my mouth, just the outer layer. Probably won’t be doing my dragon impression again any time soon although,” he grinned at her, “it was kind of cool.”

She followed after him, toward the steps that led back into the upper city. “Wait - what? What dragon impression?”

“You didn’t see it?”

She shook her head. “I was a little busy killing the rest of the mob while you killed - what was that? - one,” she teased.

“Yes, but surely the leader counts for more than one, not to mention having the best loot. You should choose your targets more wisely. Speaking of which,” he held the pendant in front of her. It dangled back and forth across her vision in an almost dizzying pattern. “This has got to be worth something. No idea what it actually does, but maybe someone in the city can identify it for us.”

“I’ll take that.” The Djinn snatched the pendant out of his hand, promptly stuffing it into her bag.

Jasper stared dumbfounded at Annatta. “What the hell? That’s my loot. Get your own.”

To her credit, she had the grace to look almost embarrassed, but the Djinn still met his eyes defiantly. “Believe me, you don’t want it. If you took this to a merchant, they’d call the guard immediately. Best case, you just get arrested and roughed up; worst, they execute you.”

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Jasper’s brows knit in confusion. “Huh? It's just some sort of spellcaster isn't it, like a wand in Harry Potter.”

She scrutinized him for a second, the deep, angry lines on her face smoothing out as the realization hit her. “I don't know who this hairy potter fellow is, or why he is casting spells, but no, it is not a mere spellcaster. Do you really not know what the pendant is?”

He shook his head, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Evidently not.”

“It’s a soulsnare. Souls are forcibly bound to the medallion, allowing the wearer to burn others' souls in place of their own. It is dark magic - cultic magic - that no one, except you, apparently, would be foolish enough to brandish in public.” She cocked her head to the side, a sudden suspicion lurking in her eyes. “How do you not know this? You know, I don’t recall ever seeing you around the royal court.”

Jasper shrugged with feigned casualness. “I guess I was never very interested in dark magic.” Remembering his supposed background, he decided to take a shot in the dark. “Spent a lot of time with my father’s family, the Seraphs, and you know how they feel about dark magic.”

The doubt diminished as the Djinn nodded thoughtfully. “True, the Seraphs despise any form of control; I imagine your education in magic was…unusual.”

He forced a laugh. “I guess so, but I think I’m doing fine for myself.”

Annatta couldn’t deny that. It wasn’t exactly unheard of for bastards to be recognized, but usually they weren’t as young as the strange Djinn she’d been assigned to; whatever he’d done for their house must have been a doozy. Or he’s just lucky. But she dismissed the thought as soon as it came. She had worked for the royal family for a long time now and of one thing she was certain: the royal family always had a plan. Luck was for lesser beings.

She snapped back to attention, as Jasper stared at her demandingly. “What did you say?”

“I said, 'If the necklace is so evil, why do you want it?'”

Annatta pulled the pendant back out, showing it to him. “See the gleam in the gem? There’s at least one soul already trapped in here. When we get back to the capital, I’ll be handing it over to my commanding officer so that a competent mage can release the soul before destroying the amulet.”

Jasper sighed, feeling the fight leaving him. “Fine, whatever. Let’s just get out of this hellhole before any more nizirtū show up.” But he still grumbled to himself as he lumbered up the stairs leading to the upper city: she could have at least told me before snatching it out of my hands.

----------------------------------------

The trip back to their lodgings was surprisingly uneventful. Jasper had feared there might be some repercussions to their scuffle with the street gang and, truth be told, he was so dog-dead tired that he dreaded the thought of getting into another fight.

But he need not have worried. Spattered in mud and blood, their faces as stormy as a thundercloud, they looked a gang of desperadoes, and the crowd responded appropriately. Most averted their eyes quickly or took a quick turn down the side streets to keep away from the rough-looking trio; even the tall, pale Moonkissed who were kin to the nizirtū let them pass without challenge. The group swept through the streets unhindered, arriving at the lodgings they had hired in a surprisingly fast time.

Actually getting into the inn proved to be the hardest part of the trip. The inn guard took one look at their sorry state and, reluctantly, refused to allow them to pass. It was only after Ihra had flashed a handful of gold that the guard finally agreed to fetch the innkeeper who, upon recognizing them, ushered them in with effusive apologies.

Within minutes, Jasper was soaking in a warm tub where, despite the attractive maid the innkeeper sent up to “help” him, he promptly fell asleep.

Eventually, the maid decide to disturb his slumber, gently shaking him awake when his face nearly slipped beneath the water. He wasted no time in getting out of the tub - the hot, steamy water had long since turned arctic - and drowsily stumbled the few feet down the hallway back to his room. Eyes still half-closed in sleep, he didn’t even register that he had a guest as he slipped into the darkness.

Brilliant sunlight flooded through the inn’s dusty windows, lighting up the room with a cheery glow. He awoke with an exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms out wide as he luxuriated in the soft bed. He started as his hand brushed against something and, losing his balance, spilled across the cold, wooden floor.

He popped up immediately, his heart racing on overdrive until he recognized the unexpected interloper.

“What the hell are you doing in my bed?”

The Djinn frowned back at him, her arms crossed tightly. “Wishing I had my own bed. If you and the god of thunder battled to see who could make the loudest noise, you’d win handily. Your snoring was intolerable.”

He scoffed. “Ihra's never complained. Seems like a you problem. But that didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

She scowled up at him. “Unfortunately, the inn was full and I….may not have any money,” she finished quietly.

Jasper begrudgingly sat down on the edge of the bed. “And why don’t you have any money?”

“Our leader, Za-Zahtû,” she choked on the name, “handled the expenses for our group. This was supposed to be a quiet mission so we carried very little on us except our weapons; didn't want anything unnecessary weighing us down. All the money I brought with me was in his bag of holding, which...was lost with the rest of my group.”

He choked back a sigh. "What happened to your group?"

Slowly, haltingly she told him the story. To be honest, Jasper was more than a little annoyed with the Djinn. Besides feeling annoyed that S̆arrābī had had him followed, they had started off on the wrong foot from the start, after she had blamed him for her partners' deaths. Stealing the amulet without asking him, and helping herself to his bed, had merely been the icing on the cake. But he still started to feel bad for her as she told the story. But not enough to invite her to come to the capital with him and Ihra.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your party," he said when she had finished. "Perhaps you should swing by the Djinn’s guild. What is it called again? Shamsha’s Rays or something like that? I'm sure they'd be happy to help a member of the royal guard.”

He rose from the bed, prepared to leave the room.

“Wait!” The urgency in her voice made him hesitate. “Please, let me come with you to the capital - then you guys can be rid of me.”

"I'll think about it," he said, without the slightest intention of even considering the possibility.

But even the tiniest trickle of water can eventually carve a mighty canyon. By the time he and Ihra had finished their preparation to leave the city, after three days of peace and rest, her unceasing persistence had done him in.

“Fine,” he snapped. “You can come with us to the capital.”