So far, so good. All the djinns seem too entranced with Tina's performance to notice a human and a nine-tailed fox slinking across the marble floor of the banquet hall. Tina really has a gift for dancing. I can see why she was picked to play in a junior tennis tournament. She's graceful and zips all over the floor.
Almost there.
Oh, good. She spotted us. And she gives a grateful smile, but is careful to aim it at the djinns, who puff out their chests. She sings to them in Arabic. It sounds like a romantic sad song.
We're almost there. My hand reaches out for her hand. I lean forward, shifting my weight as she dances by, gyrating in a figure eight. Someone must have taught her to do this, or maybe it's her Lamia blood kicking in.
Tina's fingers come within inches of mine. Just a little bit more. Come on.
She draws out the song, and I swear she's making up new verses on the spot. Not a problem. If anything, the djinns eat it up.
