Make Me Burn: Fireborne, Book 2 by RG Alexander

him when she hadn’t been able to tell Brandon. Maybe because she knew he had no one to report back to and no room to judge her.
    Because it was Ram.
    Ram’s expression was thoughtful. “You know I would rather flay myself alive and serve my organs to my enemies than admit this, but Brandon has a point. The blood draining? The designs carved into the bodies? That’s more Jinn than Niyr. Even Razia let Harash do the dirty work while he directed from a distance. In fact, it sounds like—what would you call it in English?—soul casting. Something that was forbidden ages ago.”  
    He frowned. “I wish I’d been able to see one of the bodies. I might recognize one or two of the symbols. But if the Enforcers follow their usual procedures, all the remains will have been cremated and their human detectives will have handed over any detailed pictures. No traces left for curious human eyes.”
    She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the building, waiting until they were alone in the lift to speak. “What is soul casting?”
    “It was a kind of a ritual. A spell that required sacrifice and blood. The priests of Qaf and our current leaders don’t like to talk about it, but there was a time when we lived through something similar to your Dark Ages. We didn’t have the balance we do now between war and peace, art and ignorance, mysticism and the sciences.” Ram noticed her stunned expression and smirked smugly. “Reports of my inattentiveness have been greatly exaggerated. Shev was an overachiever, yes. She was…” he stopped smiling, “…well, she was what she was.”
    This was the first time he’d mentioned her name since they’d left the Stewarts’ country manor. The first time he’d really talked to Aziza in what felt like forever.
    A part of her wanted to stop the lift, stop time and keep him talking. She knew she’d missed him, but she hadn’t realized how much. She wished it hadn’t taken murder to get him communicating again. “So there is some kind of purpose to the killings? A goal other than anarchy? What would Razia, or any Jiniyr, hope to gain by performing that kind of ritual?”
    Ram shook his head. “I don’t know. But I do know they’re not getting what they want.”
    Dread tightened her throat. “Why do you say that?”
    “This ritual was so powerful it was only done once a decade. Maybe twice. Three bodies in as many weeks has to mean they aren’t sure what they’re doing. Which makes sense, since all we have now are stories. Artwork that depicts the ritual. They haven’t gotten it right yet, but they’re obviously practicing until they perfect the recipe.”
    The lift had stopped and Ram was holding open the door as he spoke, but Aziza was having a hard time moving her feet. They were practicing on innocent women. What the hell were the twisted bastards planning and what did it have to do with her?
    Ram frowned. “Aziza, are you okay? I would help you more but I don’t have access to the information. I can’t even ask around since any Jinn who sees my cuff knows to ignore me.”
    She stepped out of the lift and looked at him suspiciously. “Won’t you get in trouble for telling me all this?”
    “You’re concealed and I’m in exile. As long as I don’t commit an unforgivable act, I’ll eventually be pardoned. Until then, I’m not bound by the laws of Qarin or warrior.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her temple. “Besides, I’m your hero, remember? If I’ve watched enough movies to learn anything, it’s that this is what heroes do.”
    She’d forgotten how dangerous the charming Ram could be to her equilibrium. “Are you coming in?”
    He shook his head. “With you and your boyfriend fighting and Enforcers outside guarding the flat? He’d be here before I could sit down. It isn’t a good idea for any of us at the moment.”
    He had a point. “Ram? You said you knew the first two victims. How well?”
    His lashes lowered and a muscle twitched