Blood Passage

by Heather Demetrios

  “Why are you helping us?” asked Umbek, the huge Marid.

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Malek said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I play a long game.”

  The Dhoma looked at one another. “Fine,” Samar said. “We will stay with you until we find this water the pardjinn speaks of. If we are unable to open the bottles without the ring, we’ll continue the rest of the journey with you, as well.”

  “In the meantime,” Zanari said, manifesting a small mattress, “I say we get some shut-eye.”

  It didn’t take long for Nalia and the others to manifest their own mattresses and blankets. Nalia lay on the mat she’d manifested and turned to the wall—it was the closest she could get to being alone. She couldn’t even begin to process everything that had happened on top of the dune. Wasn’t sure she wanted to. It had been a baptism of light, a refining that had changed her in some fundamental way she didn’t yet understand. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she could feel the death of this place, a dark energy as a result of Antharoe’s mass murder. Death seemed to follow Nalia and her race everywhere they went. Maybe the coup had been a blessing in disguise. Maybe the worlds were better off without the Ghan Aisouri.

  Nalia reached out a hand and a plume of purple smoke rose above her palm. She stared at Bashil’s image for a long time, the quick smile, the laughing golden eyes. Finally, her own eyes grew heavy and then she was drifting, away from the cave, from Earth, from everything. Sleep overtook her and the smoke on her palm slipped away.

  Nalia dreamed of the sigil.

  So close, she could feel its heartbeat, somewhere deep under the earth below her. She was swimming in a lake of fire, her arms twin flames that reached reached reached—

  A cackle.

  Nalia’s eyes snapped open. Something soft and black brushed against her cheek.

  Hisssssssssss.

  She tried to move but her body felt as though it were encased in cement. Only her eyes were capable of motion. And, gods, she wished they weren’t.

  Another cackle.

  A form cloaked in darkness crouched over Zanari, whispering in her ear. Zanari moaned. From where Nalia lay, the thing beside Raif’s sister looked like a person dressed in black rags with pasty skin and long, stringy black hair.

  Nalia tried to scream, but it lodged somewhere deep in her throat, the creature somehow muzzling her. Her chiaan thrashed beneath her skin, caged. Clawing her from the inside out.

  The witchlike thing beside Zanari looked up, its entire face covered in hair that hung to halfway down its torso, its eyes a milky white. Yellow teeth gleamed through the strands. It smiled at Nalia.

  Hissssssssss.

  Nalia closed her eyes and found the lightning within, the animal part of her that had taken a bite out of the sky. The scream inside her tore itself free and echoed around the cave, awakening the others. She threw her body up and it felt like breaking out of the bottle all over again, as invisible chains fell off of Nalia’s body. The nightmare in their midst stared at her, wide-eyed, and scurried backward as the slumbering jinn shot out of sleep.

  Nalia thrust her hands before her and a torrent of chiaan blazed toward the intruder, narrowly missing its head. She sprinted toward Zanari as the monster shot forward and pressed the palm of its hand to the girl’s forehead before skittering away. Raif’s sister jumped up, a blood-curdling scream spilling from her lips. She hit at her body as she cried out and stamped her feet on the floor.

  “Get them off, get them off!” she yelled, her eyes wild with fear.

  Nalia barreled toward the creature as Phara scrambled to Zanari’s side.

  “Zanari, there’s nothing on you—it was just a dream,” Phara was saying, but Zanari was hysterical, the room echoing with her terrorized cries.

  “Please, please, oh gods!” Zanari shrieked.

  The room was in confusion, chiaan going in every direction. Nalia ducked as a stray dagger of sapphire chiaan cut past her.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Raif asked Phara, panicked. He caught Nalia’s eye and she pointed toward the thing sprinting across the stone floors.

  As Zanari screamed one word—scorpions—Nalia lunged, but Zanari’s tormentor was quick and slipped out of her grasp. “Godsdammit!” Nalia pounded her fist against the stone floor. She heard a soft cackle just beyond a grate set low into the stone wall and she sent daggers of chiaan through, though she knew the thing was beyond her reach.

  Zanari’s screams abruptly cut off. Nalia turned. Raif’s sister now lay slumped against Phara, silent, her eyes closed. Her body glowed with Phara’s golden chiaan and the healer was giving directions to Raif as he pulled tonics out of her medicine bag.

  “Are you okay?” Malek was looking down at Nalia, concerned. She was still on the floor, sitting in front of the grate.

  “I’m fine. That thing got away, though.” She looked at the grate again, then gasped as her eyes took in its shape. “Vasalo celique.”

  The grate’s metal had been worked into an eight-pointed star.

  “What a helpful little monster that was,” Malek said.

  Nalia moved closer. She beamed her chiaan into the cavern below, but all she could see was a rocky path and the smooth walls of an underground cave.

  “Too bad that thing is down there as well,” she said.

  Malek shrugged. “It’s a cave in the middle of the Sahara, containing one of the world’s biggest secrets—I’d say that creature was only a taste of things to come.”

  Nalia shivered. She’d had enough of monsters.

  She crossed to where the other jinn crowded around Raif’s sister. Her eyes were closed, her breathing fast, as though she were running. Phara held her cradled in her arms, smoothing Zanari’s braids. Every now and then she would lean down and whisper softly in the other girl’s ear.

  “Is she going to be all right?” Nalia asked as Raif turned to her.

  He ran a hand over his face, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “We won’t know until she wakes up. She kept screaming that scorpions were all over her, stinging her. But we haven’t seen a single one.”

  Nalia nodded. “The thing cast some sort of spell over her. I wasn’t able to get to it in time. It . . . it touched me. I woke up, but something about its touch paralyzed me. I couldn’t move.”

  “Well, that,” Umbek said, pointing to where Noqril lay slumped near the room’s entrance, “makes a lot more sense now.”

  “Fire and blood,” Samar said. “Phara, have you seen something like this before?”

  She shook her head. “Let me take care of Zanari, then I’ll work on Noqril.”

  “What did it look like?” asked Anso.

  Nalia described the pasty skin, the long black hair.

  “Haraja,” Malek said, coming up from behind her.

  “What?” Nalia looked at him.

  Anso nodded. “This is most certainly Haraja’s work. I have never seen her, but I have heard the stories.”

  “Explain,” Raif said, his voice betraying his impatience.

  “According to Moroccan legend,” Malek said, “there is a jinni named Haraja. One of her descriptions is just as Nalia said—the black hair over the face. She can appear in other forms as well. Her specialty is inflicting madness or instilling fear in her victims.”

  “To what end?” Nalia said.

  Malek shrugged. “Who knows? She has a knack for homing in on the thing you fear most and using that to drive you insane.”

  “Fear is power,” Nalia whispered. How many times had she heard that in the palace? And it was true. The serfs had feared the Ghan Aisouri and it had only made them more powerful. She had feared Calar and so Calar had had power.

  Raif glanced at her. “Haraja feeds off our fear?”

  “That is correct,” Anso said. “The energy of our fear makes her stronger. But we are powerless against her once she has whispered her words in our ears and touched us.”

  Phara’s lip trembled. “I know o
f no cure for madness, but I’ll try everything. I . . . I’ll think of something.”

  Raif blanched and Nalia slipped her hand into his, unthinking. Comforting him was instinct. “Is Zanari so deathly afraid of scorpions?” she asked him softly.

  “More than anything. She was bit by a particularly nasty one as a child and was ill for months. Gods . . . so she thinks . . . I mean, Zan thinks that right now she’s covered in . . . ?”

  Samar frowned. “Who can say? When madness inflicts our brethren we say it’s Haraja, but we’ve never had such . . . proof. She seems at peace with this medicine.”

  “It won’t last long,” Phara said.

  Anso reached for Zanari’s hand. “May I?” she asked Phara. The healer nodded.

  “What’s she doing?” Raif asked, his voice sharp.

  “Anso has an unusual gift,” Phara said. “The opposite of mine, but just as powerful.”

  “The opposite—wait, she can make people sick?” Raif asked.

  “Very,” Phara said.

  Anso’s skeletal frame and sallow skin suddenly made sense. The jinni herself wasn’t sick, but she carried sickness inside her all the time. Nalia had never heard of such power. It was more than a little frightening.

  Malek stared. “Are you saying you have a biological weapon at your disposal?”

  Anso glared at him. “That is not how I look at it. We don’t use our gifts for ill. I protect my people when I need to, that is all.” She looked at Raif. “I am not going to hurt your sister. I just want to see the nature of what ails her. The shape of it.”

  She held Zanari’s hand, eyes closed. After a moment, Anso stood. “I’ve never seen anything like this. I tried to . . . to take it on myself but it’s too individualized. It’s all in her mind. I can’t go in there. I’m so sorry.”

  Phara paled. “But I . . . I don’t what else to do!” She looked at Zanari’s face, frantic. “The stories can’t be true, they can’t.”

  “What stories?” Raif said, his voice growing increasingly tight.

  “They say if Haraja whispers in your ear, you will be mad forever. Until you . . .” Phara bit her lip and looked away.

  “Until you kill yourself just to make it end,” Malek finished.

  “You mean that when Zan wakes up, she’ll still think there are scorpions all over her?” Nalia asked.

  As if in response, Zanari moaned in her sleep and started weakly brushing at her clothing.

  “Phara, there has to be something you can do,” Nalia said.

  The healer leaned over Zanari, and her tears covered the other jinni’s face.

  Malek cleared his throat. “I can’t believe I’m saying this . . .” He frowned. “I think I can help.”

  “You want to hypersuade her.” Nalia said. It was actually quite brilliant. All he had to do was tell Zanari she wasn’t covered in scorpions and she’d be healed. Theoretically, anyway.

  Raif moved in front of Zanari. “The last time you used your power on my sister, you made her put a gun to her head. I’m not letting you anywhere near her.”

  “Fine,” Malek said. “Let your little bitch of a sister die. I certainly don’t care.” He turned on his heel and stalked off.

  Nalia glanced at Raif. “I think it’ll work. I’ve seen what he can do—”

  “We’ll find another way,” Raif said.

  “There is no other way.” Phara looked up at them. “We need the pardjinn or we’ll have to kill Zanari ourselves, just to put her out of her misery.”

  Raif blanched. He crouched down, gripping Zanari’s hand. “He could say anything,” Raif said. “Anything.”

  “Anything is better than what’s in her head right now, brother,” Samar said.

  Zanari whimpered and Raif hesitated, then looked at Nalia, nodding.

  She took off after Malek, catching up with him at the top of the stone stairway outside the building. The only light came from the distant bronze pillars at the gate. The City of Brass lay before them, a ghostly tomb.

  Malek glanced up when she neared, unsurprised. He was already smoking a cigarette, the air filling with its heavy clove scent.

  “Help her,” she said.

  “Not in the mood anymore. Offer’s off the table.”

  Nalia grabbed the cigarette and ground it under her foot. “Well, get in the mood.”

  “You’ve cast me as your villain, Nalia. I’m merely playing my role.” He raised his dark eyebrows. “Perhaps I should add an evil laugh to make it more believable?”

  “Why do you do this?” she yelled. Her voice echoed off the stones.

  He looked at her, surprised. “Do what?”

  “Every time I think you might actually have a shred of decency, you say something like that.”

  Malek stepped closer, his eyes flashing. “If your lover had kept his mouth shut, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. He wants his sister to go mad and kill herself, fine by me. One less person in my way.”

  “So this is about Raif, not Zanari,” she said, shaking her head. “You have a power that can save a jinni’s life and yet you won’t use it because her brother loves me.”

  “Love?” Now Malek laughed, low and cruel. He played his part so well. “Darling, what you two have is a crush, nothing more. You’ve known that hotheaded fool for a few weeks. I won’t deny you your fun, but don’t let it get out of hand—I don’t care for sloppy seconds.”

  Nalia slapped him. The sting of her skin hitting his felt good. Anger coursed through her, stronger now, as if the lightning had ignited some hidden spark. He took a step back, considering her.

  “I suppose that was a bit out of line,” he said.

  “I will never forgive you if you let her die, Malek.”

  “When have you ever forgiven me for anything?” he asked softly.

  “I guess you’ll never know.”

  Nalia stalked back toward the palace’s wide double doors. She knew he’d follow. Oh, he’d wait. Light another cigarette. Lord his power over them. But Malek could never bear to see her back turned to him. And that, Nalia knew, was what would save Zanari’s life.

  30

  MALEK STOOD OUTSIDE THE BUILDING, FINISHING HIS cigarette. He almost felt at home in this wasted city, with its skulls and secrets, the despair buried deep below the surface of the desert.

  Nalia was starting to sound like his brother; that disappointment in her eyes was too damn familiar.

  “Why do you do this, brother?” Amir is staring at the corpses around the conference-room table, his face ashen. Malek had put a bullet in the head of each member of the board after hypersuading them to sit still.

  “They tried to cheat me. To take away my fortune. They had to be eliminated.” Malek frowns as he picks at a bloodstain on his cuff. He holds it up for Amir to see. “Prada. Eight hundred dollars down the drain.”

  Amir backs away, toward the door. “You’ve gone too far, Malek. Too far. I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Do what? Cower every time someone in this family takes action?” He pointed at the dead men, his voice rising. “Do you know what they see when they look at me? A piece of brown trash, a Saudi they want to screw, a boy they think they’re better than.”

  Amir shook his head. “No, they don’t. This is all in your head. It’s this pardjinn chip on your shoulder, thinking everyone is out to get you. Our father didn’t give a damn, it’s true, and he made our lives a lot harder than they needed to be. But this”—he gestures at the bodies slumped over the polished table—“doesn’t make what he did to us go away. It doesn’t matter how much power you have, Mal. This is what matters.” He points to the wedding ring on his finger. “Family. Love.”

  Malek waves him away. “Go home to your pretty wife, then. I’ll clean up.”

  There is a pause, then—

  “I want you to stay away from us,” Amir says quietly.

  “You’re joking.”

  Amir’s eyes, softer than his but the same onyx shade, stare into Malek’s. “When
we were little, you used to protect me. From our uncles, our cousins, the whole world. Now? I need to protect my wife and son—from you. You’re putting us in danger. And I don’t want Tariq to revere his uncle Malek, who murders humans without a second thought, who manipulates and lies and steals and cheats.”

  “Everything I do has been for this family!” Malek roars. “To give us a position, pride. Protection.”

  Amir shakes his head. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, brother.” He turns to go.

  “You want to know why I do things like this?” Malek says.

  Amir stops, his hand on the door handle. “Why, Malek?” His voice is strained. Malek’s brother is tired of playing this game. “Why do you torture these humans? Tell me why.”

  “Because someday, he’s going to hear of me. Our father. And he won’t be able to contain his curiosity. He will come, gloating. And I will kill him, Amir. I will kill him.”

  Amir looks at his brother for a long moment. Then he opens the door and softly closes it behind him.

  Malek will never see him again.

  Malek closed his eyes. Family. Love. Those are the things Amir had said mattered. Turned out they mattered to him, too. How would things be different, if Amir were still alive? If he could have a beer with his brother and tell him he loved someone who refused to love him back? What advice would Amir have given? In those few blissful moments by the pool back in Los Angeles, when he’d really believed that Nalia wanted to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her, it had been as though the entire world had broken open for Malek. God, what a fool he’d been. His face burned even now, remembering how he’d allowed himself to imagine . . . everything. A whole lifetime with her by his side and all it meant to share his life—really share his life—with someone. He’d even caught himself wondering about children. Children. Laughable stupidity.

  But.

  Malek hadn’t become the ruler of Earth in everything but name by accident. His ability to hypersuade was a power that involved more than simply telling people what to do and convincing them they wanted to do it. Like any jinni, he traded in desire. He couldn’t grant wishes, no, but he could see what people wanted. His job was to make them not want it—or want it so badly they’d do anything to get it. And Nalia wanted him. He knew that. It was a tiny part of her—infinitesimal. But it was there. Unlike with his clients and victims, he wouldn’t abuse that want. He would cultivate it. A seed he would water until it grew and bloomed into something he could prune. No. No more pruning. He’d let it run wild, free.