Djinn

by Laura Catherine

  Knowing my size wasn't the same as knowing me.

  I scouted the room for anything useful, but it seemed I wasn't trusted with anything that could be used as a weapon.

  I pulled open the curtains. They were as heavy as they had been in my dream. Thankfully, the windows opened at the top. It wasn't a large opening, of course, but it was big enough.

  I dragged an armchair made of silk and heavy wood over to the window and stood on the soft cushion, pulling at the window latch. It wouldn't open, no matter how hard I tugged. Then I noticed the lock on the side

  I'd underestimated these people … again.

  I hopped off the armchair and went into the bathroom. Steam filled the room, fogging up the mirror and windows. I opened the mirror cabinet and pulled out the packet of bobby pins I'd seen earlier

  I grabbed a few from the box and jumped back on the armchair, nearly toppling it over with my weight and enthusiasm. I bent the bobby pin and worked the lock. Dad had taught me many things over the years—the first of which was picking locks.

  I heard the lock click and pushed open the window triumphantly. Sticking three pins in my hair just in case I needed them again, I threw the rest onto the chair and focused on my escape. I took one last look at the room to check it was all clear, hoisted myself up on to the sill and clambered out through the small gap. A drainpipe ran alongside my bedroom window and I grabbed hold of it for support as I landed on the slate roof. I reached back into the room and pulled the curtain in front of the window so no one would think anything was wrong.

  It was dark still. Thankfully the moon was only a small sliver in the sky, so it didn't cast a lot of light on the earth, hiding me in the shadows. I crouched low, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light. I was looking out over a normal suburban neighbourhood with many modern houses built with luxury in mind. They were all two-storey buildings that bordered on mansion rather than family home.

  My bedroom faced the back of the house. A large yard was below me, with a small kennel in the far corner. I didn't see a dog and I hoped, if there was one, it didn't start to bark.

  I crawled to the edge of the roof, my eyes following the drainpipe all the way down to the grass below. Swinging my legs over the side, I scaled the pipe like a monkey toward the bottom and jumped the last few metres, landing perfectly. I slid my back against the wall, avoiding any light from windows, but all the curtains were closed.

  I dashed around the side of the house, skidding to a stop as I spotted the black car Will drove sitting in the driveway.

  "Thank you," I said to the heavens, and moved to the driver's side door.

  I pulled two of my trusty bobby pins from my hair and picked away at the car lock. I was almost done when I paused, realizing that, if opened, the car door and then the alarm could go off—if it had one, and I suspected it did.

  I opened the hood of the car as quietly as possible and searched the engine for alarm wires. That was another thing Dad had made sure to teach me about: cars. Most problems with the Ute I could fix easily, except full-blown engine failure, which is what got us stuck in that small town in the first place.

  I spotted the wires but I didn't have anything to cut them with. I glanced back at the house; perhaps I could sneak in and steal a knife from the kitchen.

  "Can I help you with something?"

  I jumped, whacking my head on the hood of the car. I covered my mouth with my hand to stifle the groan I so desperately wanted to let out. Grabbing my head, I rubbed the banged up spot, a bump already forming. I turned, but I already knew whose voice it was.

  Will stood there, smiling at my misfortune.

  "Don't you know it's past your bedtime?"

  I wanted to pin Will to the wall and punch him in the face, but my head was throbbing and I was worried I might collapse if I moved. I perched on the edge of the car's bumper, rubbing my head.

  "Well, you found me," I sighed.

  "Guess I did," he replied. "How's your head?"

  I scowled at him. "It would have been fine if you hadn't sneaked up on me."

  "I believe you were the one doing the sneaking," he said.

  "Didn't fall for my leaving the shower on act?" I smirked. "Oh my god, you went into the bathroom to check on me. You perv!"

  "No one showers that long," he said, ignoring my remark. "Not to mention I was expecting you to try something again."

  "Oh, were you now?" I didn't like the way he analysed me, pretending to know me.

  "I've seen the way you looked at Malcolm. You believe without a doubt he's your father, despite what Isabelle and Ivan said. I watched you when they told you. You didn't believe it for a second."

  I glanced away, and wondered if he noticed. I had doubted, a little bit. I let the idea get underneath my skin and I started thinking; but he was right, I didn't entirely believe them.

  "What did you think you were doing?" he asked, a little harsher than usual. "Where would you go?"

  "Where would I go?" I repeated. "I'd go home. I'd find Dad and get as far away from you people as possible."

  I wanted to shout, but I still had hope of getting out of this place and didn't want to wake anyone. I had two obstacles: Will and the car alarm. If I could take out Will, chances were he'd have a knife on him. Then I could cut the wires and escape.

  "You don't trust me," he said.

  "Why would I trust you? You've given me no reason to, not one." He didn't say anything, only stared. "And don't think that bringing me a book would make me forget what you did." I poked him in the chest, backing him up.

  "I stopped Pyke," he said. "I would never have let him kill Malcolm, and I would never hurt you."

  "You knocked my dad out," I reminded him.

  "He's not your father!" Will grabbed my shoulders and shook me a little. "He stole you from your real parents and lied to you your entire life."

  I was shocked, for a moment, that he was speaking to me this way.

  "You're the liar," I accused him. "You, Isabelle, Ivan, all of you! I know who my father is, and it's not that cold, stuck-up man in there." I pointed an accusing finger at the house. My eyes filled with fury for Will and everyone else I'd met in the last two days.

  "Why would I believe it?" I asked him. "It makes no sense. None of it."

  "I know it's a little crazy, but surely you've seen enough to convince you?"

  He was close to me now. I could feel his breath on my face. It was sweet, like honey, and his golden eyes were locked on mine. I had seen a lot of crazy stuff in the last few days, but did I believe it?

  "I … I can't believe … I just can't," I stammered, not entirely sure why I couldn't get the words out.

  "It's because of Malcolm, isn't it?" Will guessed. "Even though you've seen unbelievable things, magical things. You still won't believe it because, if you did, that would mean your father was a monster and you were wrong about him."

  I was speechless. He'd guessed correctly. My body trembled and I bit my lower lip. Will took my silence as his answer and nodded.

  "I wish you hadn't formed such a close bond to him. It would make things so much easier for you, but it's not the way it is. I have to convince you of the truth, even if it means hurting you."

  "Why?" I asked, almost in tears. "Because it's your job to ruin my life?"

  He brushed back a sliver of fallen hair behind my ear. "My job has a lot to do with your life right now, but the truth? That's something you deserve to know. I don't think you would want to be lied to by anyone."

  Tears flooded to my eyes, just waiting to spill over. I knew whatever he was about to say was going to shatter my world forever, and I just wanted to hold onto that moment of innocence for just a little while longer.

  Will pulled a photograph from his pocket and handed it to me. "This is the truth," he said.

  I took the photo and unfolded it. It was the photo from my room back home, the one of me as a baby in my mother's arms, but it was different. This photo was bigger and showed more. It showed my m
other.

  It showed Isabelle holding me as a baby.

  "Oh god!" Tears flooded down my cheeks as realisation kicked in. They were telling the truth. Dad kidnapped me and Isabelle and Ivan were my real parents. He'd lied to me about everything: my entire life, just one big lie.

  I lost all sense of the world and fell to my knees, only to be pulled into Will's arms.

  "I'm sorry," he said in a sincere voice, leaning his forehead against mine. He squeezed me tight, holding me together. So close. I was beginning to realise Will always meant everything he did and said. That was just who he was.

  I sobbed and sobbed until Will's shirt was damp with my tears. My throat hurt and my eyes itched. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and never face the world again.

  "I was kidnapped," I whispered. Saying the words out loud made them true; and they were true. Every memory I had with Dad, or Malcolm, flooded back like an old rerun. Teaching me to ride a bike. Showing me how to jump-start a car. Cuddling with me on the couch.

  The images only made me cry harder. Every single happy moment, every playful banter, every hug, it was all a lie. A. Lie.

  "How am I supposed to get the last sixteen years back?" I sobbed.

  "You can't," Will replied, still holding me. "But you can have a life now. The life you were supposed to have. I can teach you everything you missed—"

  "Oh no!"

  "What?" Will asked.

  "I really am a Djinn. I'm a magical genie creature."

  "I know it's a lot to take in, but the important thing is, you know the truth now. This is a huge step."

  I snuggled into his shirt more. It didn't feel like a huge step. It just felt like my heart had been ripped out and I'd been left on the floor to bleed out.

  Chater Fourteen

  My crying stopped, after a while. My tears dried up, leaving my eyes stinging. I must have looked horrible, all red, blotched and trembling. Will helped me stand, checking my head for any signs of concussion, but he said I'd be fine.

  Holding me up, he walked me around the back of the house. I usually didn't like people helping me, but at that moment I was a complete wreck.

  We went through the back door. Luckily, Will didn't want us to scale back up the side of the house. The back door led us through the dark kitchen and into the main foyer. All the lights were off, but Will guided me without a second thought.

  We moved in silence up the staircase and down the hallway. No one noticed our presence as we arrived at my bedroom door. Will opened it like a gentleman and led me inside. He pulled back the blankets on my bed, scooped me up in his arms and tucked me in, like I was a small child.

  "Don't go," I said as he turned to leave. I grabbed his hand weakly to stop him.

  "You need to sleep," he replied.

  "I don't want you to go. You're the only one I trust."

  He shook his head, like it was an impossible ask. "I can't. It wouldn't be right." His golden eyes shone, even in the darkness of my room.

  "It's not like that," I tried to explain, but he put a finger to my lips to silence me.

  "I know, but there are other reasons why I can't stay. Reasons why you can't tell anyone about what happened tonight." He sat on the bed next to me, his hand still in mine.

  "What do you mean, don't tell anyone? Is it because I tried to escape?" I was so confused and tired, making it hard to concentrate.

  "No, not that," he said. "It just isn't right for me and you to be alone together, sneaking around. People, especially Ivan, wouldn't understand. It's not your fault at all."

  That didn't comfort me. It was just one more thing I didn't understand. I felt like an infant with no clue how the world worked; there was so much to learn.

  "It's just the way things are here," he said.

  "I don't understand," I whispered, too exhausted to put any real force behind my voice.

  "I know. You will, eventually. Promise you won't tell anyone?"

  Will's eyes were locked with mine, and I didn't want him to leave, but there was nothing I could do. The soft pillows were already pulling me into slumber.

  "I promise," I said and Will was gone. In the blink of an eye he was there and then I was alone in my room, still left with more questions than answers.

  * * *

  I awoke to birds chirping after a deep sleep. It was so much like a fairytale I wanted to kill myself.

  I'd been awake for maybe a few hours, but I didn't want to get up. What was the point, anyway? It wasn't like I had things to do or anything. After the events of last night I just wanted to be sucked inside my bed and suffocated, because then I wouldn't have to face anything or anyone again.

  It was still hitting me, hard. Dad wasn't my father. I clutched the photo of Isabelle and me as a baby. I kept staring at it, taking in every detail: the yellow blanket, Isabelle's arms wrapped around me, our matching eyes. I had hoped it had been digitally altered, but in my heart I knew the photo was real. Isabelle was my mother.

  A part of me was curious. I had always felt that a piece of me was missing, that I was lacking a female role model in my life; and, more importantly, sometimes a girl just needs her mother.

  My emotions clashed with one another, confusing me even more. I decided it was time to just get up and face reality.

  I rolled out of bed and had a long shower. I'm pretty sure I was just biding time so I didn't have to leave my room, but I told myself it was because I needed a good clean to clear away those puffy eyes from crying last night.

  After pulling a t-shirt on and opening the door I found Will's chair empty, expect for my copy of Arabian Nights resting on the cushion. I picked up the book and looked down the hallway just in case he'd gone to the bathroom or gone to get a snack, but there was no sign of him. Maybe he didn't need to stay once he knew I wasn't going to run anymore.

  Will had been so kind to me, so understanding, and I'd never been so vulnerable in front of anyone before. I could still feel his warm touch on my skin as I thought about last night's events.

  I took the book into my room and tossed it on the bed. I couldn't think about Will right now. I had enough confusing feelings about my parents; I didn't need him in my mind, muddling it, too.

  I pulled on some shoes and left the room. I walked slowly down the hallway, keeping my ears out for any signs of … well, I wasn't sure exactly what I was expecting. I reached the top of the stairs and was still yet to see anyone. In such a huge house, surely it couldn't just be me, Ivan and Isabelle living there.

  A man in a white apron wheeling a cart stacked with food came from the kitchen into the foyer. The memory of Will walking me through that same kitchen last night flashed to my mind. I pushed it aside.

  The man looked pretty young, maybe mid-twenties. His hair was a dark sandy colour and his face was still a little babyish.

  "Miss Greenwood," he said with a little bow.

  "Ummm … hi," I replied.

  "My apologies, Miss. I am Kellan, the family chef."

  I smiled and walked down the stairs, glad there was someone other than my parents in the house.

  "Hey, Kellan. I'm Kyra."

  He lowered his head as I approached. "I know, Miss Greenwood."

  "Oh," I said. "I guess you would. Hey, Kellan, do you know where I'm supposed to be, or do I have something I should be doing?" This was awkward. I wasn't entirely sure I was supposed to be talking to the help. I felt like my parents would look down on that.

  "Mr and Mrs Greenwood are having breakfast in the dining room," Kellan replied.

  "Okay." I scratched my head until I felt the bump and winced. "Can you show me to the dining room? I have no clue where it is."

  Kellan bowed again. "As you wish, Miss Greenwood. Follow me."

  He wheeled the cart around the side of the staircase and I followed, a step behind, head darting about in curious wonder. The house never seemed to end, room after room. I'd never had such luxury before, and the sight was a bit overwhelming.

  "There's no way
I can get you to call me Kyra, is there?" I asked as we walked.

  "I … um … If you asked," he stammered.

  "Never mind," I replied, waving it off. "I don't think Ivan would think it was proper."

  Kellan remained silent after that. He led me down a corridor and into a large dining room.

  There was a table set for twenty people, even though Ivan and Isabelle were the only ones sitting there. Ivan sat at the head reading a newspaper, and didn't look up as Kellan entered. Isabelle was on his right, eating what looked like a crêpe. Her head lifted as Kellan walked in, but she didn't acknowledge him at all.

  "Kyra," she said, when she spotted me walking behind the chef.

  "Hello." I gave a small wave.

  Ivan looked over the top of his paper for a second to see me, then continued reading. Apparently I wasn't interesting enough for him. I would have thought someone who had spent sixteen years looking for me would have been a bit more excited to have me back, but what would I know? My entire perspective on the world had been thrown into chaos.

  "Darling, come sit," Isabelle said, offering the seat opposite her.

  I moved past Kellan, who placed juices and various foods on the table, and took the seat Isabelle offered.

  "Sorry," I apologised. "I didn't know where I was supposed to go …"

  I felt awkward making conversation with these strangers, my parents. How was I supposed to act? What should I say? And who were they expecting me to be?

  "Oh, that was my fault, dear," Isabelle said. "I didn't realise you were awake. I would have come got you."

  "That's alright. I found Kellan in the foyer and he graciously showed me to you." I hoped I was doing the right thing by mentioning Kellan's help. I hoped they would be grateful.

  "Thank you, Kellan," Isabelle said.

  "Not at all, Mrs Greenwood," he replied with a bow.

  I think he found the whole thing a little too awkward and just wanted to go anywhere but here. His eyes glanced between us and his hands gripped the cart with white knuckles.