Zarina and the Djinn

by Vivienne Savage

  With Kazim’s help, Zarina stood and brushed off her dirtied clothes, leaving red smears in the place of ginger dust upon the lavender silks and renewing the flood of tears spilling over her cheeks. Why had she worn the lavender this day? Of all the dresses she owned, the garments once worn by her mother would always be her favorites and held dear to her heart. Now this one was ruined.

  “Who were those men? They weren’t ordinary thieves. There are better, wealthier places to rob than our spice shop. The silk merchants would have three times as much gold in their midday coffers as us.”

  “They had magic. Did you notice? They were cloaked so we never saw them until it was too late.” Kazim kept his voice low and dabbed at his split lip. “Zarina, do you know what that means?”

  “I…” She swallowed back the lump in her throat. “This wasn’t a random break-in.”

  Kazim turned his grim expression toward the window. “Yes. Someone hired them to shake us down. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  Her hands shook. “Then it must be Father’s fault. He must owe someone money, and they think this is the only way to get it.”

  “Regardless of whether it was our father at fault or not, I plan to report this to the city guard right away.”

  “I doubt it will do any good.” Bitterness and resentment colored her voice. “No one came to help us, Kazim. No one responded to our shouts or all the noise. Surely the guards heard it, which means they were told to turn a blind eye to our trouble.”

  “Even so, I will do all I can on our end to ensure no one blames us for laziness. As for the money they stole, I will open early tomorrow and stay late. I’ll see if I can sell a few of my things.”

  “I’ll do the same.”

  “No, Zarina. You have few possessions as it is thanks to our father. I cannot ask you to sell your remaining treasures.”

  “You aren’t asking. I’m volunteering, because this is my shop too, and I won’t watch it fail because of his debts. I’ll stay up later each night sewing clothes to sell, and I’ll ask around the market if anyone needs a dress mended.”

  Kazim kissed her brow, and then he wrapped her in his arms and hugged her tight. “I’ll make it up to you one day, I swear it. I love you, sister, and I’m sorry you were forced to witness this disgrace.”

  Fresh tears stung her eyes. Kazim hadn’t kissed her in years, or hugged her so tightly since their mother had died and he’d been forced to accept an early, disappointing adulthood as their father’s servant in the shop. She’d missed those hugs. Missed her brother’s warmth and a hint of the young and innocent boy he’d been before their mother’s unfortunate death. Despite their father’s poor example, her brother had grown into a good man, a man she was proud to claim as family.

  “Now what?” she asked. “They could come again.”

  “We do as we always do and hide away what we can. I will speak with Father. Maybe this will finally get through to him.

  Zarina scoffed and hugged her arms around herself. “You and I both know it will not.”

  “Still, I must try.”

  It took them over an hour to restore the shop, but nothing could replace the wealth of ruined spices and broken pottery. If someone meant to ruin them, they had nearly succeeded. Who else but her father could be to blame?

  * * *

  “The shop was robbed today!”

  Kazim’s raised voice penetrated the thin bedroom walls and reached Zarina in her closed bedroom. She abandoned her sewing table and crept over to the door. Barely cracking it revealed the ongoing confrontation in their living room, her father on the sofa with a drink in one hand and his pipe in the other while Kazim stood before him. Not once in all his life, had her brother ever raised his voice at their father.

  In fact, Kazim never raised his voice at all. Her brother was a peaceful and quiet man who spent his time reading.

  “Did you hear me, Father? Thieves made off with our earnings.”

  “You should keep a better watch on the store.”

  “These thieves had magic,” Kazim spat. “Two hard men with spells and sorcery to make them invisible. Our doors were locked, and yet they came inside to take back what you owe them, I suspect.”

  Her father blew a cloud of smoke in Kazim’s face when the young man leaned down. “Me? Why would you accuse me of such a thing?”

  “Look at yourself, Father. You spend more than we make. You take the things Mother left to us and pawn them for a fraction of their worth, all so you can gamble the money away in the endless pursuit of a score you’ll never win.”

  “I do it for you and your sister. One day, I’ll bring home more money than you have ever seen. We’ll have riches unlike anything the rest of the merchants have at their disposal, Kazim. Zarina will have the best silks for her dresses, and we will order the finest, most exotic spices from distant lands across the great ocean. This shop will be the pride of Samahara again one day. Fathers will throw their daughters before this shop and plead for you to take them for a bride.”

  Kazim’s hands flexed and clenched. Suppressing the urge to join him and provide support, she remained hidden behind the door, a silent spectator to the battle of wills and honor between her father and brother. She’d already given her word to Kazim that she wouldn’t interfere. As the man of the house in every way that counted, he’d claimed it was his duty to handle the situation.

  “Riches?” Kazim scoffed. “That day will never come, Father. We don’t care about you winning a stupid card game. We care about our lives. Our family. You are tearing it apart and putting your own daughter in danger. Look at my face. Look what was done to me defending the shop. Worse could have happened to Zarina.”

  Darrius stood and glared at Kazim. “I am your father, and you will treat me with the respect I am due.”

  “I am treating you exactly as you deserve.”

  The crack of her father’s hand across Kazim’s face made Zarina flinch, but her brother remained where he was. He neither cried nor struck back. He only stood there and stared down their father.

  “Strike me if you must, but nothing will change that you are the only disgrace in this household.”

  The standoff ended with Darrius lumbering outside and slamming the door behind him. When the screen bounced against the frame, Zarina rushed from her bedroom.

  An angry red handprint stood out against her brother’s whiskered cheek. He didn’t make eye contact with her. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t have yelled at him?”

  “No. I was going to ask if you were all right.”

  He sighed and dropped his chin to his chest. “I do not know, to be honest. I worry what will happen the next time someone comes to collect from us. I worry they will take you, as they have other girls. Today wasn’t the first time the city guardsmen have turned a blind eye to injustice committed within Naruk. It’ll be worse next time. Someone could get killed.”

  “We won’t let it come to that.”

  “I hope you’re right, Zarina. By the gods, I hope you’re right.”

  Once she peeked out the window and confirmed Darrius to be long gone, she placed an arm around her brother’s back and guided Kazim to his room. “Lay down. I’ll fetch water and make a poultice for your face.” For his benefit, she forced a cheerful smile. “After all, how can we count all of the money we’ll make tomorrow if your eyes are swollen shut? Your face will scare all of our customers away.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Any laughter from him, even dry laughter, raised Zarina’s spirits and put a bounce to her step. Things would be all right.

  Once he was settled with warm beer and a book from the shelf, she collected the empty basin from the kitchen and hurried into the cooling night air. The cut above his brow would need a few stitches, three at the least, but she could mend that without calling a physician to their home. House visits cost money they couldn’t afford to toss away.

  With the neighborhood gossips indoors serving dinner to their families, Zarina fo
und the well quiet and deserted. She filled her basin and turned to find herself face-to-face with Joaidane.

  The quiet smile on his face widened into a grin. “You’re early. I didn’t expect to see you for an hour or more.”

  “Joaidane.” If not for the water vessel, she would have rushed into his arms, but she thought he would prefer not to have water sloshed over his fine white shirt. The stylish way he wore it open to his waist revealed the perfect expanse of sculpted chest and muscular curves she ached to touch with endless desire. With everything that had happened, she had forgotten he was due back in Naruk. Overhead, the full moon hung in the sky, casting its silvery radiance over the courtyard.

  Why did he always return on the full moon, never earlier, and never later?

  “You sound surprised. Did you think I would not come?”

  “No, it’s not that. I’m glad to see you.”

  “Then you must be ready for our next adventure.”

  “I cannot.”

  He blinked. “Has your father forbidden—”

  “No, please, it’s nothing like that. It’s…” She bit her lip and turned her face aside, reluctant to share the tale of her family’s misfortune.

  “What is it, Zarina? Is something wrong?” When she wouldn’t look at him, he stepped forward and touched her cheek. “Wait. What’s this? Did someone… did someone strike you?”

  Her gaze darted up Joaidane’s face and observed his hardened gaze, the glint of anger in his eyes glowing like twin flames. And then it was gone again, leaving her to wonder if it had been a trick of the lanterns or her imagination. “Our shop was robbed today. Kazim took the worst of it, and I need to tend to his injuries.”

  “Of course. Would you like help?”

  “No. No, but thank you. Your arrival would only cause questions, and while he’s very eager to meet you, I believe he should recuperate first. I’m sorry I cannot join you tonight as I usually do.”

  He waved off her apology and took the jug from her hands. “Allow me to escort you home, at the very least. Will you tell me what happened?”

  She licked her dry lips and fell into step beside him. “Two men cloaked in some spell to render them unseen attacked us as we were closing the shop for the evening.” She told him everything that had happened, leaving out no detail.

  “The spirits surely watched over you,” he said when she finished. “You injured the one at least.”

  “Kazim blackened the other man’s eye, he said, but not before he received the same treatment.”

  “And you have no idea who they were?”

  “None. They wore cloths over their faces. One was large, built like a mountain, the other slimmer and lean, perhaps an inch or two taller than me.” She shuddered at the memory. “They didn’t get everything, but they took enough to hurt us. After I tend to Kazim, I plan to sew up some dresses to sell in the market.”

  “I had no idea you could sew.”

  “A necessary skill, I’m afraid.” With her father bleeding money, she had to rely on her own skills to keep her clothes intact. As much as she would enjoy a new dress from time to time, she simply could not afford one. Some of her most eclectic designs had come from ripping the fabric from another dress and extending the hem of another in better shape. Richer women thought her skirts to be brilliant, but they were art born from necessity.

  As they reached her home, Zarina paused on the porch and accepted the water jug from her companion. Joaidane had a thoughtful look on his face, his eyes solemn and his mouth set in a firm line.

  “You’re certain there is nothing I can do to help you with your brother?”

  “No, he only needs some rest, but thank you for the offer. Will I—can I see you another night before you leave?”

  “Of course.” He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Until next time. Don’t stay up all night with your sewing.”

  “Thank you for understanding.”

  “Good night, sweet desert rose. Until we meet again.”

  Chapter

  Joaidane waited until Zarina bolted the door before he strode away. In all his sheltered life as Joaidane of Ankirith, he’d never experienced true and righteous fury. Indignation perhaps and a little anger, but never the storm of emotion boiling within him when he saw Zarina’s face. Somehow, he’d bottled it all in. Somehow, he’d maintained his calm.

  Someone had dared to hurt her. To damage her livelihood.

  If he did one good deed while in Naruk, he’d find the person responsible for disgracing her family’s shop, and he’d make them pay with what little power Yasmina had spared him. If her word was true, he had enough magic for three days to perform benevolent deeds.

  Then let me do this. Let me find these villains, Yasmina.

  Perhaps if blood remained on the ground, it would be the lifeline he needed to locate one of the thieves. Unnoticed by any of the patrolling night watchmen, he made his way to the merchant’s quarters and strolled down the avenue with murder on his mind and a simmering rage swirling throughout his soul.

  Zarina’s spice shop was neither the wealthiest nor the humblest of the shops on the profitable main road, but an advantageous location placed it closest to the palace and the noble gardens.

  A simple spell transformed him into a wisp of fragrant smoke, allowing him to stream inside through a chink in the door. When he reformed in his human body, the aroma of turmeric, cardamom, and a dozen other spices filled his nose, their mingled tastes hanging heavily in the air despite all attempts at cleaning.

  Splinters of broken glass glittered against the floor. Those had been too small for the broom and dustpan, no doubt, mere specks beneath the filtered moonlight shining through the windows.

  “This will not do at all,” he muttered.

  His blood boiled anew. Instead of stalking into the streets, he channeled his rage into magic and created a potent spell his mother had once taught him—an enchantment to aid their servant during the housekeeping. Fury gave the spell life, and motes of magic coalesced to create a small dust devil in the middle of the shop floor.

  It swirled across every surface until not a speck of spice, sand, or dust remained, leaving everything cleaner than it had been before the robbery. Joaidane guided the swirling wind with all the debris into an earthen jug, and then he released the spell.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Hoping his magic would continue to aid him, he conjured up barrels to replace the inventory that had been lost. Then he went a step further and summoned a few items of note and worth that had never graced the shop’s shelves. Yasmina must have deemed his cause worthy, for three casks shimmered into existence with copper tags labelling their contents. Sweet and fragrant vanilla beans from Liang filled the first container. The second contained dried peppers so strong the smell alone made his eyes water. The djinn chilies grew in the deepest dunes of the Ivory Sea and could only be harvested when the moon was black and dark. The small amount he gifted the spice shop would have taken an entire season to gather, but even that was a small sum compared to his final gift.

  Dragonthorn, one of the rarest spices in the known world, filled the smallest of the three casks. The dried red and yellow blossoms retained a sweet and spicy scent that tripled once submerged in liquid. A single petal could make a pot of floral tea while it only took one blossom to flavor an entire bottle of liquor. Cordials made from dragonthorn were sought out by the rich and entitled.

  Assured that the shop would prosper, Joaidane returned to his smoky state and drifted outside. Droplets of blood led through the streets to a narrow alleyway outside merchant’s row. The trail disappeared at first. He searched through the alley, ignoring the stench, until he picked the trail up once more. The droplets had become smaller, likely the result of the man staunching his wounds. Soon he lost the trail all together, but not before it led to a small building tucked between two ramshackle homes close to the docks.

  Naruk’s poor knew the place as the city’s only affordable clinic, althou
gh it was little more than a chop shop. The man who worked within butchered as often as he healed, but for the impoverished, he was the only realistic option.

  The shop was empty when he streamed in through the rusting keyhole. Nothing stirred within except for a pair of fat rats and scurrying roaches. A rank stench permeated the walls, and a greasy film clung to almost every horizontal surface.

  I’ll come back tomorrow, he thought. No clues remained to identify his quarry, and he had no idea where the healer resided at night. Certainly not here.

  With the moon making its passage across the night sky, his powers began to wane. Joaidane made it back to his humble squat before the magic failed him entirely, dumping him back into his wretched, beggar shape.

  * * *

  Joaidane’s appearance as a beggar lent him anonymity as he moved through the city streets. The safety net provided by his registration at the archives meant most commoners ignored him, and the few guards he encountered decided not to bother running him off. Harassing him would mean leaving their shaded posts and venturing out into the sweltering heat.

  A lively city surrounded him despite the midday heat, but he’d long ago grown accustomed to it despite Yasmina stripping him of every comfort he’d once enjoyed as a half-djinn. His immunity to the heat had dwindled to a mild resistance.

  The winding alley took him away from the merchant’s avenue where the elite made their daily shopping or sent their servants in their stead. At the end of the shadowed lane, he reached his destination. A few men hung outside with clove cigarettes between their yellowing teeth and placed bets with copper centiras. Two squatted on the ground and threw carved bone dice against the wall. Joaidane breezed past them and entered.

  “What do you want? No loitering here.” The healer waved him back toward the door.

  “I came on business,” Joaidane said.

  The healer looked him over with a critical eye and frowned. “I see no injuries.”