Jinn Nation

by Caroline Barnard-Smith

  “No,” Rob screamed, fighting so hard against his bonds the chair jumped up and down, nearly sending him to the floor. In the midst of his furious anguish, he began to cry.

  Ernie bared his teeth against the wound where Marie’s belly button ring had been and bent for the kill, sharp, slathering teeth tearing into her flesh as easily as if it were gossamer silk.

  Marie howled and shook, screaming again and again until Dylan was sure that scream was all he would ever hear, echoing in his head until the end of time. The jinn bowed over her, shielding her from view as they tore and ripped and ate. They couldn’t prevent the smell, though. The smell of rich, seeping death, escaping into the air and tainting the very walls of the house.

  Time seemed to stand still. Rob continued to shout and strain against his chair. The jinn continued to busy themselves over the body, now quivering with the rapidly fleeting vestiges of life. Blood pooled around them, spreading to cover the dirty floorboards and running towards the captives held against the wall. Only Christa remained silent. Dylan looked at her, sure that she would soon meet the same fate as Marie, and saw that her eyes were tightly closed. She was murmuring something to herself, something too low for him to hear.

  Ernie eventually rose from the crush of feeding jinn. He walked around them to face his prisoners, careful to avoid the dark mess of blood and the sticky remnants of entrails his brethren had crushed underfoot. “Now do you believe I’m serious?” he asked Dylan. His arms and face were slick with Marie’s blood, painting him like a macabre clown.

  “I believe you’re a sick son of a bitch,” Rob said. His tears had ceased but his all-encompassing anger remained.

  Beside him, Dylan closed his eyes, urgently trying to formulate some sort of escape plan. He refused to do the bidding of Ernie Coldblood, refused to be manipulated like a bear in chains, forced to dance for jeering tourists. As he bent his head in thought and attempted to block out the sarcastic grating of Ernie’s voice, Dylan felt the ropes binding his hands suddenly slacken and begin to fall away. He looked to Christa, searching for an explanation, and found her staring at him. She nodded to acknowledge his suspicions, so subtly it was barely noticeable. Somehow, she had broken through Ernie’s jinn stone wards and unleashed her powers. Dylan could see the effort was causing her considerable pain. Her bloodshot eyes streamed with red-tinged tears and her broken nose had begun to bleed anew. Rob turned to Dylan when his own ropes began to loosen, hope flashing across his drawn face.

  “I didn’t know vampires could cry,” Ernie was saying, glancing at Rob. “It’s very interesting. You also seem to have breath in your lungs, I can see your chests moving.”

  “We’re not animated corpses,” Dylan said, trying not to look at Ernie lest he rush at him in anger and expose Christa’s efforts in the process. He decided to attempt conversation, to buy her as much time as possible. “The blood we take renews our organs; our lungs, our brains, everything. They still work, they just need a different kind of fuel.”

  “Interesting,” Ernie said again. “But you’re still technically dead, of course. That’s what makes the jinn more powerful than you. We don’t have to die to achieve our considerable abilities, the jinn stones simply improve upon what is already there.”

  “You’re not better than us,” Rob growled, shaking with the effort of attempting to speak normally. “We drink blood, you rip out peoples’ insides and eat them.” He paused to compose himself. “Apart from your obvious lack of fucking finesse, what’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that you’re an undead zombie who would shrivel up and cease to be if you didn’t drink blood. The jinn don’t have to eat people to live, but the consumption of organs does heighten our senses. Plus, for some reason having jinn stones in your stomach makes raw liver and spleen taste so damn good.” He grinned at Rob and licked his lips, laughing at the bristling hatred darkening the vampire’s face. “Now, I’m going to untie you,” he continued, turning to Dylan. “I expect you to play nice.”

  Behind him, the jinn were finishing their meal and rising to flank their leader once more. Eleven pairs of glittering eyes faced the prisoners tied to the chairs. Eleven gore-streaked grins stretched wide in the dark.

  Ernie approached Dylan. “This doesn’t have to be an unpleasant experience,” he said. “When you’ve turned me vampire, we’ll have something in common. We could still be friends.” He smirked, one eyebrow raised. “Perhaps I’ll even initiate you into the Coldbloods.”

  Before Ernie could reach for the ropes around his hands, Dylan felt the bonds strapping down his legs give way. He smiled tightly, making Ernie pause. “Why would I want to be your friend?” he said. “You’re an insufferable twat and you smell like shit.”

  The Coldblood’s eyes widened. Dylan took the brief moment of shock as his cue and kicked Ernie hard in the chest, sending him sprawling backwards onto the floor. The other jinn moved forward as one, their faces twisted into masks of rage. Dylan jumped up to meet them, quickly followed by Rob and Christa. They shrugged off the ropes holding them and kicked the chairs away.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ernie wheezed from the floor. He struggled to his feet, one hand pressed against his aching chest.

  Dylan readied himself to fight, to claw his way through the wall of glaring Coldbloods. The pot-bellied man reached for Rob’s long beard and pulled down hard, punching him in the back of the head when he stumbled. With a growl, Dylan turned on him. He raked his face with his nails until the man howled in pain and fell away, shaking hands raised to the deep lacerations scoring his cheeks.

  In an instant, the entire pack were upon them. Their eyes flared with jinn fire and their veins stood out in their arms and necks, glowing amber beneath their skin as the full power of the stones in their guts raced through them. Dylan turned again and again, punching, clawing and biting at the hands and legs that flashed towards him. The pot-bellied man reappeared to hit him in the stomach, winding him and allowing the other jinn to push him down onto the floor. He felt feet connecting with his legs and chest, cracking several ribs. Dylan shook with pain but refused to relinquish his brute anger. Instead he rose up with a roar, ripping out handfuls of jinn hair and smashing the faces that loomed before his own with a fist borne of ancient vampire strength. Still, it wasn’t enough. Dylan tried to search out his companions, sensing that the battle was almost lost. Rob was backed against a wall, surrounded by four jinn who pummelled him relentlessly until he was forced to sink to a crouching position, arms raised over his head in an effort to protect himself.

  A sudden, rending scream tore through the air, making them all pause. Dylan craned his neck to see Ernie leap up above the throng. He landed on a rickety wooden table on the far side of the room as though he was a spring uncoiled, something small and limp clasped to his chest.

  “Stupid fucking vampires,” he shouted. “You’re pathetic, and you’re outnumbered.”

  The tall, broad-shouldered jinn wrapped an arm around Dylan from behind, pulling him towards him in a steely grip.

  “I have your girlfriend,” Ernie continued, turning to Dylan. “Do you want to watch her die, too?” He gripped the broken creature he was holding by the back of the neck and turned it to face the room. With a bitter grimace, Dylan recognised Christa. She stared back at him, mouth pressed into a tight line. He could see she was concentrating on something, even as Ernie squeezed her tighter, as her crushed nose continued to run with blood and her forehead creased with pain.

  “Get them back in the chairs,” Ernie told his followers. “Behave, you two. Be good or I’ll kill the whole fucking lot of you.”

  “No,” Christa said, so low that Dylan had to strain to hear her.

  “What?” said Ernie. He laughed. “No what, Girl?”

  “You should behave, or I’ll kill you.”

  Ernie laughed again, shaking her by the neck like a dog with a chew-toy as he rocked with mirth. “Did you hear that, Coldbloods?” he said. “We sho
uld be on our best behaviour, or the little witch will get us. We should–”

  A loud banging echoed from the top floor of the house, shocking the jinn into silence. The noise continued, growing closer and louder until Dylan was able to recognise the gun-shot sound of doors slamming shut. Finally, the door of the front room closed with a force that rattled the frame. When Dylan turned back to Christa on the table, Ernie had released her. He was staring at her in confusion.

  “No tricks,” he said. “You can’t do any tricks. I made sure of it.”

  “Help me down,” Christa said.

  Ernie complied without argument, stepping down from the table and lifting Christa to the floor beside him. She pushed him away from her and stared round at the silent Coldbloods. The broad-shouldered jinn released Dylan and pulled a lighter from his pocket. He gaped at Christa, his eyes brimming with tears.

  “Go on,” she said.

  Slowly, the jinn fumbled with the lighter until a bright flame sprung to life. He moved it towards himself, so close it shone against his tears and painted his face with gold.

  “Do it,” Christa urged.

  The jinn trembled, opened and closed his mouth, and held the flame against his shirt. It caught alight easily, engulfing his chest and hair with fire.

  “Jesus Christ,” Dylan breathed, leaping away from him.

  The man screamed as he burned, his cries becoming a guttural rattle as the hungry fire blackened his skin and stripped away his clothes and hair. Still, he seemed unable to move. He could only stand, arms clamped to his sides, filling the room with light like a giant, living candle. Dylan pressed a hand against his face as the smell of roasting flesh drifted back to him, acrid and vile. Finally, the jinn crumpled and fell, shaking sporadically until he was little more that a smouldering pile of meat.

  Dylan turned around, watching as the other jinn began to produce lighters and matches. One by one, they set themselves alight. Those with empty pockets fell to their knees and crawled across the floorboards, searching for the lighters that dropped from flaming hands. The screams of the Coldbloods began to grow in intensity, echoing against the walls until they fused into a single cacophony of agony.

  Dylan started when he felt a hand grip his own. He looked down to see Christa smiling at him. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  Dylan took one last look around, utterly transfixed by the shaking, flaming, screaming jinn. He jumped back when a collapsing body fell before him, so close he could feel the heat of the flames brush his face. “Hell, yes,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  They found Rob still huddled against the wall, eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Come on,” Dylan said as he helped him to his feet. “If we don’t get out of here, we’ll be barbeque fodder too.”

  As they limped towards the windows at the front of the room, Christa found it hard to walk. Her legs buckled beneath her and Dylan and Rob rushed to catch her, holding her between them. When they reached the windows, Dylan kicked at them until they shattered, spraying glass out into the night. They each lowered themselves over the windowsill, down onto the brown grass outside.

  “Marie’s still in there,” Rob said. Inside, the flames rippled across the carpet and licked at the tattered wallpaper.

  “She was already dead, Rob,” Christa said. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t help her.”

  Rob hung his head, his eyes still glazed with silent fury. They turned to leave, to let the house crumble into ash undisturbed, when a high-pitched wail sounded behind them. They looked back and saw Ernie at the window, his entire body and head ablaze, his nose melted and hollow as though it was made of fleshy wax. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but after several seconds of struggling the only sound he could make was a choking, wrenching noise in the back of his throat. He stumbled closer to the window, his eyes pleading with Christa, but he seemed unable to pass the windowsill. Christa only shook her head at him until finally, he fell back and disappeared from view.

  ***

  It took them an hour to stagger back to the hotel and when they finally reached their room, Christa was too exhausted to attempt healing herself. Dylan laid her on the bed and covered her with the duvet. She was in a great deal of pain, but even this seemed to pale into insignificance before her overwhelming fatigue. In less than ten minutes, she was asleep.

  Dylan found Rob in the bathroom, sitting on the floor against the bath. He slid down to join him, wincing at the pain that rose against his broken ribs every time he moved. The bones were already knitting themselves back together, lengthening and reforming. The process felt like a series of burning needles were being thrust into his chest.

  “How are you doing?” he asked Rob. “Anything broken?”

  Rob shook his head. He stared straight ahead, hands clasped tightly in his lap. “Just bruises, I guess.”

  “We were lucky,” Dylan said. “I thought we were going to die in there.”

  “Like Marie.”

  “I know,” Dylan said. “I’m sorry.”

  They sat in silence for several moments, both inches and entire worlds away from each other. Rob shattered the peace when he kicked out with a sudden angry roar, breaking a tile from the wall. Christa murmured in her sleep, but didn’t wake.

  “Fucking jinn,” he said. “She was going back to college. Wanted to be a zoologist or some shit like that.” He smiled, turning to face Dylan for the first time. “She liked animals.”

  Dylan wasn’t sure if he should leave Rob alone or attempt to comfort him. Finally, he reached out and patted his hand.

  “What was it like when Gwyneth died?” Rob said. His voice faltered, as if he was afraid to ask.

  Dylan looked away, grimacing when a sudden flare of white-hot agony tore through his ribs. “It was like all the lights went out.”

  ***

  A thin sunlight heralded the arrival of morning, breaking across Dylan’s face and waking him from a fitful sleep. He turned over to face Christa on the bed. She was still sleeping peacefully. The blood from her broken nose had dried to a brittle crust and the skin around her eyes was dark and swollen. Dylan reached to brush the hair from her forehead, slightly singed and smelling of smoke. Christa opened her eyes and immediately stiffened with pain.

  “Are you okay?” Dylan said. “Your nose looks painful.”

  “That’s because it is,” Christa said, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. Dylan watched as a golden calm settled on her, sinking into her skin and warming her body. When she opened her eyes again she smiled, her nose and bruises repaired.

  “You make it look so easy,” he said.

  “Where did Rob go?” Christa sat up and peered around the room.

  “He left a few hours ago. He wanted to sleep in his own bed.”

  “Will he be alright?”

  “He’s a vampire. We’re used to seeing people we love die or disappear. We have to be, or we’d never survive the years.”

  Christa raised a hand to her face, traced the outline of her own dried blood. “I think I should shower.” She wrinkled her nose at Dylan. “You should too. You smell like roasted jinn.”

  Dylan grinned up at her, glad to have regained some semblance of normality. “It was strange to see you that way,” he said. “Afraid.”

  Christa seemed perplexed. “I do get scared, you know. I’m not completely inhuman. When I first went to London I was afraid of just about everything.” She paused. “It was all so alien.”

  “Life just seems easier for you though. Because of your powers. It means you don’t have much to be afraid of.”

  “I think last night proved that I’m not infallible, Dylan.”

  Dylan nodded. “Maybe.” He moved to kiss her before remembering the mask of spent blood coating her face and thinking better of it. “It’s time to get out of here,” he said instead. “We should take Rob with us, I don’t want to leave him here alone.”

  Once Christa had disappeared into the shower, Dylan settled back amongst the pillows. Hi
s mind kept wandering to Ernie’s talk of Bredia, a living goddess whom the Coldblood leader had obviously revered. Even though the little man had been a posturing fool, Dylan couldn’t deny that he had pricked his imagination. Gwyneth had liked to play goddess, dressing in rich finery and amassing a following she could teach to chant her name. Dylan wondered if the two woman had anything else in common. He smiled to himself and stretched as the jinn stones in his stomach sighed and vibrated, infusing his innermost self with crackling fire.

  Part Two: Life among the Dead

  Nine

  New York City

  Thad hummed as he wiped the tattered duster along the shelves. Cleaning made him feel calm and accomplished. It also prevented his thoughts from straying to the duties he was committed to carrying out that night. Sometimes he could work for an entire ten minutes without thinking about it. Then the cold, dread fear would flash through his mind again and he would pause, duster in hand, and tremble. When the bell above the shop door jingled to announce the first customer of the afternoon, Thad turned towards the sound eagerly, a practised smile on his face.