Fatma gawped.
The driver, Siti, flashed a smile.
“Must have been some party.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“You know I saw the strangest thing on the way here?” Siti leaned casually on the odd bike, dressed in snug tan breeches and a short red kaftan for a top, with a familiar long rifle strapped to her back. “A giant machine djinn. With Ifrit hanging all over it. Did everyone see that too, or have I been drinking?”
Fatma walked up briskly. “How did you know—?”
“—where you were? Remember what I told you about that thing I do?”
Of course. Her half-djinn talent. Still discomfiting. But she could kiss the woman!
“We need to get to Cairo!”
“I’m guessing it’s the giant machine djinn? Things like that are usually up to no good.”
“Abigail Worthington is the imposter,” Fatma explained hurriedly. “She and her friends are taking the Clock of Worlds to Abdeen Palace. She’s going to use the Seal of Sulayman and the djinn to take over Egypt. Then maybe try to conquer the world.”
Siti let out a low whistle. “Definitely sounds like up to no good.” Her eyes flicked to the mass of milling police and Ministry agents. “But that’s a lot of people. And I’ve only got the one.” She gestured at the vehicle.
“What is this thing?” Fatma asked.
“A motorbike! They’re popular now in Luxor. Had this one shipped in.”
Fatma shook her head. The woman and her gadgets. At least it wasn’t flying.
“Is this another woman Ministry agent?” Aasim asked. He’d walked up and couldn’t decide what to stare at—Siti or the motorbike.
Siti winked. “I’m more of an independent contractor.”
Aasim didn’t take the joke. “We’ll need to commandeer your vehicle. Police work.”
“Sorry, inspector.” She leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “I’m the only one who gets to straddle this.” Aasim wriggled his moustache, swallowed hard, cleared his throat, then walked back to his men, throwing glances over his shoulder.
“Abla?” Of all people, it was Hamed. His uniform had taken a beating. But he paid it no mind, instead staring at Siti. Wait. Had he just called her by name?
“Agent Hamed,” Siti greeted amiably.
He returned a bemused half smile. “How do you know Abla?”
Fatma’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know Abla?”
Before she could get an answer, Onsi sauntered up, beaming good-naturedly—as if an entire house hadn’t just collapsed on them—with a string of greetings to Siti. Fatma stared in bewilderment.
“Abla helped us with a case this past summer,” Hamed explained.
“She helped you with a case?” Fatma repeated.
Siti shrugged. “Just gave some advice. There was a problem with a haunted—what was it? A bus? Trolley?”
“Tram car,” Fatma, Hamed, and Onsi repeated as one.
“Yeah, that.”
“Never got a chance to thank you properly,” Hamed said. “When I next returned to Makka’s you were gone. What are you doing here?”
Siti looked on the verge of saying something clever, but Fatma had heard enough. “I don’t mean to break up this reunion, but…” She gestured in the direction the giant iron djinn had gone. “We still need to get to Cairo.”
Hamed nodded solemnly. “Maybe we can salvage one of these police wagons.” He looked to Onsi. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to repair vehicle engines, would you?”
The smaller man bobbed excitedly. “Actually, I sometimes delight in reading steam engine diagrams and used one to take apart—”
“Of course you would,” Hamed cut in. “Come on, then.” The two gave a hasty farewell and ran off to inspect what was left of the police vehicles.
Siti took a second helmet that hung off the back seat, handing it to Fatma. “I can take you back. Bike’s as fast as most cars. Certainly faster than those police wagons. We can probably catch that thing if I push it.”
Fatma looked to Hadia, who now stood beside her, realizing they’d have to part ways.
“Go!” the woman insisted. “Get someone to send help. We can meet you there!” She turned on her heels to address Siti, leaning in close as her voice took on a knife’s edge. “Watch her back. And keep your hands off her. I catch as much as a mark and you’ll deal with me, understand?”
Fatma stopped midway in fitting on the helmet, stunned. Siti looked as surprised, but quickly recovered, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about. But I like you. And you’re just being protective of your partner. So I’m going to pretend you didn’t just threaten me.” She took a breath, her voice dropping. “Still, you deserve an answer.” Her eyes flashed, shifting to feline pupils on iridescent gold. “I’m a half-djinn.”
Hadia stepped back startled, her face wrinkling. “You mean like a nasnas?”
“Do I look like I have half a body to you?” Siti snapped. “I mean as in part djinn!”
“Oh.” Hadia’s eyes rounded as she truly understood. “Oh!”
“What happened that night, it was under the power of the ring. I didn’t have control.”
Hadia listened quietly, but didn’t appear fully convinced.
“I was caught off guard before,” Siti said tightly. Her voice lowered with conviction. “I won’t let anyone make me hurt her again.”
“See that you do that,” Hadia replied. “I like you too. But I meant what I said.”
Fatma walked between them. “If you’re both done playing my wet nurse, we have a possible world-ending occurrence to stop.” She climbed onto the back of the motorbike, sliding her cane alongside the long rifle strapped to Siti’s back. “Can you see about him?” She gestured to Alexander Worthington, who stood staring slack-jawed at the demolished house. “I think he’s gone catatonic.”
“I will,” Hadia answered. “God be with you!” She turned to Alexander, taking the man by the arm and leading him stumbling away. “I know this must be a difficult time for you. Your sister is an evil maniac bent on world conquest. She killed your father, which is just terrible. Plus, I don’t think this house has much resale value. But things could always be worse! Why, I have a cousin…”
Fatma didn’t hear the rest, as she and Siti sped off into the growing dark.
* * *
The motorbike lived up to Siti’s boasts. The thing was fast. Certainly preferable to the glider contraption—which they’d flown their last time out saving the world. But it was unnerving to move at such high velocity, the wind buffeting all about you. It didn’t help that Siti took turns hardly slowing. Fatma spent much of the ride with her eyes squeezed shut, holding tight to the woman’s waist.
They only stopped briefly in Giza, to give a message to send help back to the Worthington estate, and to ring the Ministry to evacuate Abdeen Palace. Yet as fast as they went, the giant machine djinn stayed far ahead. It wasn’t until they’d reached the edges of Cairo that they caught sight of it again. The thing stood stark against the night sky, illuminated by the fires dotting its body that were in fact Ifrit. Then it was gone again, moving even faster into the city. It was sometime just after catching sight of the monstrosity that they heard the voice on the air. A woman’s voice—that thundered and echoed.
“Abigail!” Fatma said in recognition. Only she couldn’t understand the words. It wasn’t English or Arabic but some djinn language that rumbled. In her arms, Siti’s body went stiff. She slowed, stopping altogether.
“What’s wrong?” Fatma asked over the engine.
“I can hear her,” Siti said. “In my head.”
“Like … before?”
“No. It’s muffled, like it’s being filtered through water. It still pulls at me, but I think as long as I stay in human form I can resist. Whatever you did in summoning the goddess, it’s weakened her hold on me.”
Fatma didn’t want to think on that right now. “Can you understand what she�
��s saying?”
Siti nodded. “It’s a call to djinn. Demanding they gather to her. That the time has come for them to bow to the Master of Djinn. There are visions too. Flashes. Abdeen Palace. And…” She trailed off, going quiet before cursing under her breath. With a lurch they went speeding again.
“What is it?” Fatma yelled over the wind.
“It’s bad! The Nine Lords! She’s going to set them free! With the Clock of Worlds!”
“But why?”
“To use them! The ring isn’t enough! It can’t control so many djinn at once! Or at least she can’t. She needs leaders who can direct them! She’s creating an army—an army of djinn! These Nine Ifrit Lords, they’re going to be her generals!”
That sounded bad. Very bad. “Faster!”
Siti bent low, and the bike’s engine roared, sending them hurtling down Cairo’s streets. It wasn’t hard to tell where the giant had passed. As in Giza, it left a trail of destruction. Cables for the trams were snapped, some derailed altogether. Overturned trolleys and cars lay about, and a few buildings showed damage. A row of smashed police wagons was all that was left of a hastily constructed barricade. The motorbike weaved around vehicles and debris, and Fatma only prayed they wouldn’t see worse this night.
They were nearing Al-Sayeda Zainab when the ground began to shake. Siti slowed to a stop. All about them a rumbling grew louder by the moment, like a distant thunder. A flurry of shapes streaked across the sky, low enough that they could feel the wind of their passing and make them out. Djinn. Winged djinn. Some with feathers, others leathery like a bat. Most were smaller, but one enormous Marid pushed along beside them. Fatma and Siti ducked instinctively as the titan swooped past, a long serpentine tail lashing behind.
“What’s going—?” Fatma cut off as a dark sea came careening around a corner. At first, she thought it truly was water. That somehow the streets had flooded. But now she could see the mass was made up of individual beings, just packed together. More djinn. Only earthbound, and far greater in number and type. Djinn with the heads of gazelles or birds. Djinn small as children, others well over ten feet. Blue djinn and red or black and marble-skinned. Translucent elementals of ice and others made up of puffs of clouds. Djinn with skin like grass or rock. With teeth and claws, some with two heads, and as many arms as six. All moving like one harangued beast, barreling toward them.
There was no time to run. Nowhere to move. They stood stock-still, sitting on the bike as the wave crashed into them—then broke. The djinn moved around them, not a single one paying them any mind. They were all heading in a single direction—the road to Abdeen Palace.
Siti started out again once the mass had passed. Neither spoke, their thoughts grim. The djinn were caught in the thrall of the Seal of Sulayman. Abigail would have her army. They now had to make sure she got no generals to lead it. When they finally did reach the palace, however, what they found put their chances in doubt.
Abdeen Palace had begun construction in 1863 by Muhammad Ali Basha—intended as a royal residence. But its completion coincided in 1872 with al-Jahiz’s time in the city. Rather than making the palace the center of his government, the basha instead used it to house the Soudanese mystic, hoping to benefit from his wisdom. It was here that al-Jahiz worked his most wondrous creations. It was also where he bored a hole into the Kaf, forever changing the world. Djinn architects had added to the building’s original blend of European, Turkish, and Egyptian designs—including a lavish series of inner courtyards, complete with miniature mechanical edifices and monuments. Today, they had returned, in numbers that would have made al-Jahiz take notice.
Fatma surveyed the sea of djinn. They crowded the streets surrounding the rectangular palace, packed in almost shoulder to shoulder, moving forward with a relentless momentum. Some climbed the exterior façade, holding on to windows, balconies, or any bit of jutting stone. One had wrapped a serpentine body about one of the columns that lined the front entrance, slithering up its length. All of this to join the djinn already gathered on the roof above, every last one peering up at a great iron monstrosity.
The giant automaton djinn stood somewhere amid the inner walls of the palace. A great horned head towered high above, the fires burning within casting its unfinished face with an unholy malevolence. The machine djinn’s chest rested even with the roof. Inside the open cavity, on a broad platform that sat just beneath the turning mechanical heart, the self-proclaimed Master of Djinn stood inspecting her massing army.
Abigail Worthington could be made out clearly—with that dark red hair and wearing a black-and-gold dress, illuminated by the fiery Ifrit who worked ceaselessly on the accumulation of circular gears just behind her. The Clock of Worlds. She no longer bothered with the illusion of al-Jahiz. Or perhaps she didn’t have the magic to spare. Her hand was held high, one of her splayed fingers glinting with a bit of gold as she cried out a summons to Cairo’s djinn.
“I don’t see your people,” Siti noted. “No agents, no police. Not even palace guards.”
“Probably got overrun. Hopefully they got the dignitaries out.”
Siti grunted. “That means it’s just us.”
“Just us will have to do. We need to get up there.”
“Not if we have to go through that.” Siti pointed at the throng of djinn. There were too many to push through, with more arriving by the minute. Fatma searched the palace, looking for a door or an open window. But there were only djinn.
“There’s another way up,” Siti offered. She looked pensive. “We could fly.”
Fatma at first thought the woman meant her glider contraption. But as she glimpsed the set eyes behind those goggles, understanding dawned. “Can you do that?”
Siti shrugged. “You’re not exactly heavy. And I’m stronger in djinn form.”
“I mean, can you do that and not end up like them.”
“I know what you meant,” Siti answered, more serious. “She’s channeling a lot right now to get all these djinn here. Don’t know if she’ll be able to focus on me specifically.”
Fatma didn’t like the idea. And not just because she feared for her own safety. She didn’t want to see Siti made over like these others, with no control, forced to answer the summons of their mistress. The thought turned her stomach. But she didn’t know that they had a choice.
“Let’s do it.”
They left the bike, and Fatma exchanged out the helmet for her bowler—a bit rumpled but still wearable. Siti admired her with a curious look as she removed her own headgear.
“You realize we’re both wearing the same thing from last time?” she asked. “When we went to confront the rogue angel. You had on that exact combination. I had on this.”
Fatma looked down to her suit—light gray, with a matching vest, chartreuse tie, and a red-on-white pin-striped shirt. She remembered now. Siti in the same brown boots, tan breeches, and kaftan. That was oddly coincidental. “Is this some kind of djinn thing?”
“Don’t ask me.” Siti winked. “I’m only half.” Then she changed.
Even though Fatma expected it, the transformation was still startling. In Siti’s place—no, she corrected herself. This was Siti too. A tall djinn with black glistening skin and deep red curving horns. She gazed down with those crimson-on-gold feline eyes.
“How do you feel?” Fatma asked tentatively.
Siti’s jaw tightened, and her head shook from side to side. “Like I want her to be quiet,” she growled. “But I’m alright, praise the goddess.” A set of black-and-red wings unfurled from her back. “Let’s go shut her up.” Fatma couldn’t stifle the slight yelp as strong arms wrapped about her and she was hoisted into the air.
The immediate sensation sent her stomach into a lurch as the world turned sideways—so that she couldn’t tell which way was up. When she got her bearings again she saw they were soaring above the crowd of djinn, rising higher as Siti’s flapping wings sounded with the wind whooshing in her ears. They cleared the rooftop and set down am
id the swelling ranks of djinn.
Siti let go of Fatma, who stumbled to her feet. Flying was never her strong suit. None of the djinn about them spared a glance. Their faces were blank with those haunting empty eyes as they stood swaying in place. Fatma and Siti turned toward the mechanical djinn. The platform Abigail stood upon was built like a dais, with a set of steps leading down to the rooftop. Her coconspirators stood just behind her—Victor, Bethany, Darlene, and Percy. Their backs were turned, watching the Ifrit that studiously worked fitting together plates on the Clock of Worlds.
“It’s almost done,” Fatma noted. “Wait, where are you going?” She reached out to grab Siti, who was stepping forward. She turned to fix her with djinn eyes that had gone dull. “Siti! Listen to me, not her! Change back! Siti!” There was a sudden recognition and, in an instant, she returned to human form.
“Malesh,” Siti muttered in apology, looking embarrassed. She took in the scene in front of them. “You’re right, that clock is near finished. When it goes operational, the Nine Lords will come through. And all these djinn will turn into their dutiful soldiers. Well, her soldiers.”
“We could storm those steps. Take her on directly.”
Siti looked up at Abigail, whose sickly white hand was clearly visible—along with the ring. “I have a better idea.” She pulled the long rifle from her back.
Fatma started at the realization of what was being suggested.
“Last I checked,” Siti said, reading her face, “the Ministry issues guns.”
“For self-defense,” Fatma countered. “Not assassination.”
“It’s still self-defense. Assassination is just how it happens.” Fatma opened her mouth to protest, but Siti plowed on. “We don’t have time to debate the ethics. All I know is that one bullet will make that ring of hers useless, free all these djinn, and stop that machine. From where I stand, that’s the greater good.”
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