Blood Passage (Dark Caravan Cycle #2) by Heather Demetrios Page A

beggars on the streets and the thin children in dirty clothing. But something about it called to her, made Zanari feel a sense of possibility. It buzzed inside her, heedless of her responsibilities to the tavrai and their cause. Zanari savored the sensation, a live thing, wild and exhilarating. What was the point of staying in Arjinna and dying for a lost cause? Maybe the Dhoma have the right idea, Zanari thought. She wondered what it would be like to stay on Earth and build a life far from the Ifrit. Then she immediately felt guilty. How could she even consider abandoning the dream her father had died for?
    She shook her head, scanned her surroundings. Now was not the time for idle thoughts.
    They were heading back to the human souk now, with nothing left to do but return to their riad and wait. Zanari didn’t know where or what Libya was, but she was having a hard time believing there hadn’t been another guide to help them get through the desert. She hated having to rely on so many strangers for help. She wondered if Raif would have been as trusting of one of Malek’s relatives. Saranya might be helping jinn on the dark caravan, but Jordif had helped a lot of jinn, too.
    There was a commotion up ahead and Zanari arched her neck to see what the jinn were shouting about. Moments later, a massive horse pulling a cart pushed past the crowd. The horse’s owner struggled to maintain control as the animal whinnied, straining against the reins. A little boy, not much older than five summers, was standing in the horse’s path, transfixed. The horse reared its forelegs, its hooves inches above the boy’s head. Someone screamed and then Zanari saw it—a burst of golden chiaan that shoved the boy out of the horse’s path, just as its hooves came crashing down on the cobblestone street.
    Nalia’s head scarf slipped down, her birthmark plainly visible as she bent to help the child. A shopkeeper across the street stared intently at Nalia’s face. The jinni walked a few paces away and sent a stream of chiaan in the air: red. An Ifrit signal.
    â€œNalia!” Zanari shouted. She pointed to the signal in the sky.
    Malek was by Nalia’s side at once, pulling her into a side street. Zanari followed and they hurtled through the souk, not stopping until they found a lonely archway far from the main road.
    â€œI’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Nalia was saying when Zanari caught up with them.
    â€œYou should have let me help you put the damn thing on,” Malek said. Nalia’s scarf fell to the cobblestones at their feet.
    The air shifted, as though it were a dragon awaking from its nap.
    â€œDid you feel that?” Zanari murmured.
    â€œFire and blood.” Nalia flexed her fingers. “Well, I guess they know we’re in Morocco.”
    The energy was scalding and everywhere all at once.
    â€œDo we have a plan?” Zanari asked.
    â€œYes,” Nalia said. “Kill as many as you can.”
    â€œWinner buys drinks?”
    â€œDefinitely.” For a second, it was like being back at home, just before a skirmish.
    Maybe Nalia could fit in with the tavrai.
    Around the corner, Zanari could see jinn fleeing in all directions. The vibrant market filled with shouts and the cries of young children. Tables laden with Arjinnan spices, spelled amulets, and bolts of sea silk crashed to the ground as the panicked crowd surged toward exits and doorways. The air became thick with rainbow clouds of evanescence as Djan, Shaitan, and Marid jinn evanesced from the souk. Most of them, Zanari guessed, had heard the stories of the carnage the Ifritleft behind, or they had witnessed it firsthand.
    The evanescence nearest them materialized into the body of an Ifrit soldier who was twice the size of the horse Nalia had just saved the child from. His eyes lit up as he recognized her.
    The Ifrit gave them a mock salute. “Got an order to capture or kill,” he said. His voice was