The intercom near the metal door buzzed, and Nalia crossed the room and pressed the button.
“Yes?” she said.
“I have appointment with Nalia,” said a male voice.
His accent made her think of winter nights, vodka, and thick fur hats. She knew this client; he came from a place where sunlight lingered in the sky long after the evening meal had been eaten, with a river that wound through the city, whispering secrets. She’d been to St. Petersburg once, with Malek. The air had cut her skin and stolen all the warmth out of her body, but she’d loved the colorful buildings and evenings spent in gilded theaters watching ballet. One of Sergei’s jinn had told Nalia the story of the land’s king and his family, who, just like the Ghan Aisouri, had been shot against a wall. Murdered by revolutionaries, then thrown into a hole and forgotten. Nalia had gone to the church built over the site of their execution and left a flower that would never fade. She thought of them from time to time and hoped they had found rest in the human godlands. The prince and princesses had been so young.
Focus, she thought. She was spending too much time in the past when all that mattered was the present.
Nalia buzzed the client in, then opened the door when he knocked a few moments later. He was tall and broad-chested, with a thick black beard and greasy hair. She recognized him immediately.
“Hello, Sergei Federov,” she said.
He smiled, revealing yellow, crooked teeth. “Zdravstvuytye. It has been long time, jinni-girl. But you are still as beautiful as always.”
Nalia rolled her eyes and crossed back to the window. He was always like this, full of flattery as long as you did what he wanted. Sergei Federov was the kind of man who filled every room he walked into, his thick frame especially towering in the sparseness of Malek’s empty loft. It was a large space with bright white paint on the walls, dusty concrete floors, and coils of wire strewn about. Malek only used it for clandestine meetings—nothing innocent happened here.
It wasn’t Sergei’s size that made Nalia uneasy around him. She had more magic in the hairs on her head than he could ever hope to possess. But there was something carnal about him. He was a predator with dark appetites, and his light blue eyes were lifeless, two frozen ponds in a vast, icy tundra.
There was a wrongness to him.
And something else: he was the only person Malek had asked Nalia to grant more than one wish for. He must have given her master something incredibly valuable to be given a second wish. She didn’t want to know what it was, but she knew it couldn’t be something good.
“Have you decided what you want?” she asked. “I’m not sure what you could possibly wish for, considering you go through jinn as often as I change my clothes.”
Nalia tried to keep the disgust and bitterness out of her voice, but only barely. She couldn’t afford to have Sergei complain to Malek, not now when she was as close as she’d ever be to getting her bottle. Nalia didn’t know how Sergei got his jinn, but he always had new ones. She’d met plenty of them at Habibi. They always left Sergei’s cold land as soon as they granted his third wish. When she and Malek had gone to visit him at his rustic mansion in the countryside, Sergei’s current jinni had told Nalia all about the Russian master’s peculiar wishes and commands. Unlike Malek, Sergei made a habit of forcing himself on his jinn. In this way, at least, Nalia was grateful Malek was her master.
“I want jinni like you,” Sergei said.
Impatience crept into Nalia’s voice. “I told you last time, the ones with yellow eyes are just like me and—”
He shook his head. “I had one with yellow eyes. She had more power than the others, true, but her magic was weak compared to the things you can do. I asked her to give me immortality and she couldn’t. Material things—yes. But then she’s just a credit card, no? I can buy what she can give me, and her pretty magic tricks do not satisfy a man like me. But you . . .” Sergei smiled. “When I asked for immortality, you said that Malek forbade it, not that you couldn’t do it.”
Fire and blood. She should have been more careful about how she’d answered that question.
It was one of Malek’s only stipulations—he wouldn’t allow Nalia to grant wishes that could potentially make his clients more powerful than him. Immortality was one of those wishes. Sergei wasn’t stupid, Nalia knew that much. He had a veritable menagerie of jinn; it wouldn’t be terribly difficult for him to realize that no two jinn were alike. The dark caravan’s slaves had varying degrees of magical ability and, regardless of education, their strengths depended on the magical properties of their element. Air magic worked best with wishes for knowledge, such as being able to speak all the languages of the world—a popular one among scholar wishmakers. Wishes made with earth magic usually revolved around strength—good for athletes and those seeking powerful positions. Water magic was healing: it cured cancer, AIDS, and broken hearts. Fire magic was dangerous and the most powerful of all, which was why the Ifrit had been such formidable foes for the Ghan Aisouri. Its ability to destroy was a favorite among vengeful wishmakers, but it could also create life out of the ashes. Of course, all jinn could manifest material things—cars, houses, designer shoes—as long as they knew the basic alchemy necessary to re-create the wished item. But only the Ghan Aisouri and a few highly placed Shaitan knew how to manifest eternity.
Sergei had figured that out. He might not have known what a Ghan Aisouri was, but he knew Nalia was different. The question was, how would he use that knowledge?
“If you help me, jinni-girl, I can help you.”
Sergei slipped a gold cigarette case out of the inner pocket of his suit coat and held it out to Nalia. She shook her head. He shrugged and looked at her while he lit his cigarette. Nothing like Malek’s, it was a foul-smelling thing. Poison.
Nalia crossed her arms. “How could you possibly help me?”
There wasn’t anything a human could offer even the least powerful of jinn.
Sergei took a long drag of his cigarette. “I could make it harder for jinn slave traders to sell their . . . merchandise.”
Merchandise.
Nalia stared at him, hardly breathing. She’d asked Malek so many times about how the slave trade worked. How had he known she was for sale? What had he paid? But Malek had refused to tell her.
“How would you be able to do that?” she said, her voice careful. She knew Sergei was powerful. But how powerful—as powerful as Malek? More?
Sergei’s hand dropped from his mouth, the cigarette momentarily forgotten.
“Malek hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
“How the slave trade works. I got the impression you two had become . . . close.” Nalia simply raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying Sergei’s suspicions. “What I do for a living,” he continued, “is sell guns. Bombs. Killing machines. I do this legally and illegally. I’m very good at what I do.”
“But what does that have to do with the slave—” She stopped.
Idiot. Of course. The only reason the Ifrit had been able to stage a successful coup was because of the arms they’d gotten from Earth. And, Nalia realized, it was the Ghan Aisouri’s fault. By refusing to allow the other castes access to education, the Aisouri had rendered the entire serf population defenseless. It had been all too easy for the Ifrit to pick them off, one by one, and ship them to Earth in exchange for weapons.
Nalia walked away from him, her hands shaking. The room spun a little, as it had when Malek shoved her against the wall at the theater. She leaned against a concrete column that stood to one side of the room, her mind racing.
“You give the traders guns in exchange for jinn,” she whispered. “Then you sell the jinn to humans for money.” She turned around. “But how did you even know about us? How did you meet the traders?”
Sergei threw his cigarette on the floor and ground it under his foot. “The traders came to my family, long time ago. We are famous gun makers for more than one century. You know AK-47? My father help
ed Kalashnikov design this. Traders want guns—a lot. We want jinn. Everyone is happy, no?”
“Everyone but the jinn being kidnapped and sold like animals!”
Sergei made a motion with his hands, as though he were dusting crumbs off them. “That’s your problem, jinni-girl.”
The fire in her burned, her dark side waking up. She wanted to kill him. Slowly. But she had too many questions and too much was at stake.
“Do you remember buying me, then selling me off to Malek?”
Sergei took a drag of his cigarette. “Yes.”
“What did he pay for me?” she asked quietly.
“One billion dollars. And control of the American arms trade.”
Nalia’s eyes widened and Sergei smiled. “The price is, shall we say, more affordable now. There are many more slaves coming through the portal these days. After your little coup, we sometimes have a dozen or more a day. But before, jinn were rare. Extremely rare. Only a few for sale each year.”
It was true that the dark caravan had grown. Before, most of the jinn on Earth were free expats who’d bribed their way out of Arjinna to escape their overlords or had been sent into exile by the Ghan Aisouri for minor crimes. But these days, it seemed like there were slaves everywhere, drinking their nights away until they were free of their masters.
Waiting, as she did, to grant their third wishes.
“The jinn trader guaranteed that you were especially talented,” Sergei said. “Which is why Malek paid so much.” He smiled and a gold tooth winked at her. “Should have kept you for myself, but I owe him big favor. Is bad business decision on my part.”
Sergei watched as Nalia turned away from him, gripping the golden cuffs on her wrists. She felt dirtier, knowing the price. She tried to think of what a human could buy for a billion dollars. Many, many useless things. Or one jinni. She thought of the guns her body had paid for. Guns that had killed thousands of jinn since they went though the portal. How many more deaths will I have on my conscience?
She thought of the hundreds of jinn who’d been drugged, shoved into bottles, and sold like cattle. All so that the Ifrit could kill more innocent jinn and so that the humans, who saw the jinn as nothing more than elaborate cash registers and exotic playthings, would have their fill of wishes.
“You hate me, yes?” said Sergei.
Nalia looked up, into his dead eyes. “Yes.”
She was a kept thing, shackled to a master who would never let her go, locked in a cage of dreams.
This has to end.
He smiled. “Good. Hate keeps you alive. Makes you strong. Love? Is weakness. Your master is weak because he loves. You are strong because you hate. In the end, you are winner, jinni-girl.”
She didn’t want to think he was right, but maybe he was. Bashil. I love Bashil. She wouldn’t give that up. But she’d hate her way to the gates of his prison, if that was the only way to free her brother. Nalia looked at this wishmaker who’d traded her body for green paper and black killing machines. She took her shame and balled it up. She’d look at it again, later, but right now she had an opportunity to do something right.
For once.
Everything Sergei was saying about the slave trade made sense, but she had to be certain about the details if she was going to bring it down. Because sometime between the arms dealer telling her about the guns and what she’d cost, Nalia had decided that this was her fight. Her revolution.
This was what it meant for an empress to protect the realm and care for her subjects.
“How are the jinn slave traders getting through the portal?”
Sergei smiled, a predatory upturn of the mouth. “Jinni-girl. You don’t expect me to tell you all my secrets for free, do you?”
“Sergei,” she said, her voice slowing as though she were explaining something to a child, “I can’t manifest another jinni like me. First of all, wishing for more jinn is against the rules. Second, it’s impos—”
“Impossible—yes, I know. Blah, blah, blah. But I’m not wishing for jinni. Give me wish I wanted first time: immortality.”
She could do it. Granting the wish would involve forging the contract Malek would receive after the granting, but she had the power to make that happen.
Pro: Sergei had information that could end the slave trade.
Con: She’d be inflicting someone like Sergei on Earth for the rest of time.
Nalia glanced out the window. She wanted to get to Jordif’s to see what Zanari and Raif had found out about the sleeping pills. Haran was getting closer. There was no time.
“A jinni on Earth is letting the traders through,” she said, “and putting them in touch with human slave buyers—you and whoever else buys—right? At least tell me that much.”
Sergei gave her a long look. “Yes.”
It didn’t make sense—what could a jinni possibly gain from selling out their own race?
“Who?”
But as soon as she asked the question, Nalia realized she already knew. There was really only one jinni who could get away with it for so long.
“A trade, jinni-girl,” Sergei said. “You give me immortality and I give you information about this traitor. Is business deal.”
“That’s not enough,” she said. “Immortality in exchange for some dark caravan gossip? I don’t think so.”
Even if Sergei confirmed her suspicions, the trade would continue—he’d still be offering weapons in exchange for jinn.
Sergei’s eyes glimmered. “What’s your price, jinni-girl?”
Nalia took a breath—a plan had been forming in her mind, sketchy and uncertain at first, but quickly becoming more real every second. It made her die a little inside to think she would be making a deal with the human who had trafficked her, but she had no choice. And maybe, if she survived what was coming, she could find a way to punish him. Forever.
“If you promise to stop selling arms to jinn traders and stop selling my people to human clients or buy them for yourself, I will grant you immortality.”
Sergei snorted. “And what else you give me for all of this?”
“That’s it. One wish. Take it or leave it, Sergei, but make a choice because, either way, I don’t have time to waste.”
Sergei spat on the ground. “Is bullshit,” he said. “I give so much for one wish?”
“I’ll be giving you the rest of time to get even more rich and powerful than you are already. Which, by the way, makes me sick. I think it’s a fair trade.”
Sergei slowly nodded. “So you can really do it. You must be the little czarina I’ve been hearing so much about.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. Her stomach clenched.
“My traders hear some rumors from your realm, about a jinni who was supposed to die. ‘Dark caravan gossip,’ as you say. Maybe there is big reward for whoever finds her.”
Nalia took a step back, her hands sparking chiaan. She didn’t want to kill him, but she would if she had to.
Sergei looked at her hands and shook his head. “No, no, you misunderstand me, czarina. Enough problems in Russia for me to worry about. I just want my wish, yes? Is reward enough for me.”
What did it matter if he knew who she was? Haran did already. The secret was out.
“So do we have a deal?” she asked. “An end to buying or selling jinn on the dark caravan in exchange for immortality?”
“You do not wish to know name of traitor jinni? I thought that was why you bitch at me in first place.”
“I know who it is.”
Jordif was the only jinni who had access to the portal at all times. The only jinni powerful enough on Earth to pull off such a massive operation. He knew nearly every jinni on the planet, and they all owed him favors. She was guessing more than a few had looked the other way, or accepted bribes to keep his secret. But that wasn’t going to help him now.
It was quiet for a long moment. Sergei seemed to be weighing her words on an invisible scale.
“One more thing,” she said. “I
’m building a promise into this wish. You can’t tell Malek or anyone else that I granted it. If you do, you will die.”
“How can I die if I’m immortal?”
“If you speak of it, then the next breath you take will be your last. I’m putting that in the contract.” He scowled and she raised her hands. “I’m just protecting my interests.”
Malek’s words felt strange in her mouth—how many times had he said that in order to justify some horrible action?
“This doesn’t end the trade, you know,” Sergei said. “Different players, same game. There are always others who make money from suffering. Is best money-making opportunity in world. People like your jinni traitor—they eat up this kind of despair. It fills the belly. Is warm like vodka. And if slave trade ends, I would not care so much, jinni-girl. Trust me, your Ifrit, as you call them, are good clients—but they’ll never be as good as Earth’s. Humans love their guns. As long as there’s fear, poverty, and hatred, I will have good business.”
“Without your guns, it’ll be harder for the Ifrit to sell Arjinnans. That’s all that matters to me right now.” Nalia stepped toward him. “Now are we doing this, or what?”
Sergei reached out his hand. “Is deal.”
Nalia shook in the way that she’d seen Malek do hundreds of times, one firm shake. Sergei’s hand was large and surprisingly soft, as though he left all his dirty work to underlings in leather coats and black sunglasses. She hated touching him, but she’d had to do a lot of things over the past few years that she hadn’t liked. This was for her people. It was one of many ways she hoped to make amends for the coup. It wouldn’t end the trade, but taking Sergei out of it would slow things down considerably. Still, she was looking forward to the day when she would no longer have to grovel at the feet of human men who had power over her.
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