The Hunter's Prey (The Fay Morgan Chronicles Book 5) by Katherine Sparrow Page A

bring my addiction back into this realm. How he knew all that about me, I didn’t know. But I did know this creature was used to playing with people.
    “Merlin’s vitality,” I repeated.
    The Marid rolled his eyes. “No fun.” He began to raise one hand.
    “Wait. First hear the full terms,” I said, knowing full well that the wish of Djinn folk was double-edged, and that his kind used any lack of definitions for mischief and misconstrued intentions. So I spent the next nine and a half minutes speaking in great detail about each of the words of my wish and what they meant, and how this wish should be exactingly enacted.
    The Marid’s face went from smug, to bored, to annoyed. By which I took to mean that my wish would be accurately granted, so I stopped speaking.
    “Anything more, witch?” he asked.
    “Make it so, Marid.”
    He flicked his wrist. Magic spun off and away from him. “Done. Now, prey, I am sure you are wondering why you are here. Why I staged a hunt to find you and bring you to me alive.” He leaned forward and smiled, showing off his pearly white teeth.
    “Alive when all the other mother hunts, staged every thirty years or so, required that the hunted be savagely murdered? Yes, I’d love to hear your reasons,” I said.
    The Marid’s nostrils flared but he showed no other signs of being surprised by my knowledge. “It seems you were doing some hunting as well today. Although you must have known you were always going to end up here, yes?”
    “Yes,” I agreed. “Now tell me everything.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    13
    Necessary Sacrifices
    The Marid clapped his long-fingered hands twice, and Agnes Stonehouse shuffled in carrying a platter full of rose-scented baklava, a pot of tea, glass cups, and orange slices. She set them down. “Anything else, master?” she whispered with a flat voice.
    “Leave us,” the Marid commanded.
    She jerked backward and hurried out of the room.
    I watched her leave. “How long has the witch been working for you?”
    “Ah, Agnes. Cunning and cruel Agnes.” The Marid poured two cups of tea and pushed one toward me. “Once upon a time she had the skills and magic to capture me. The first to do so in many hundreds of years, and she was quite clever in binding and compelling me to grant all her wishes for a while. But binding me and compelling me to make wishes… it never ends well. One need only make one slip up for one moment. Make one mistake. She asked for her memories of a certain scorned lover, some wizard, to be gone. And so I took those memories from her, as commanded. But then I found that to truly eradicate those memories, I had to make sure no associative thoughts would ever lead back to him, and then I had to make sure those other memories would not remind her of him and so on.”
    “Until you took from her the very memory of you and how you should be controlled. And then you enslaved her. Clever.”
    He stretched out his long legs and curled his toes like a contented cat. “Yes. And she had already wished herself immortal, so I gained a constant and steadfast servant in dear wicked Agnes.” He gestured toward the tea and tray of food. “Eat and drink freely, prey,” the Marid said languidly. “None of it is bespelled, in case you were worried.”
    “I wasn't. I know full well that you do not need the petty tricks of poison to get from me what you want. You are much too powerful for that.” I took a sip of tea from the small cup, willing my exhausted hands not to shake as I brought it to my lips. The tea was honeyed mint, and it reminded me of kinder days in Morocco. It was lovely and warmed me through. And the sticky piece of baklava I bit into spoke of warm lands and long afternoons a thousand times more pleasant than this one.
    As I ate I studied the Marid. The only creature I’d ever encountered who rivaled his power was a dragon, and while I was acquainted with that