Becoming Jinn

by Lori Goldstein

  Without a word, he does, leaving me free to work on containing my Zoe disaster before her head cracks through the roof. So much energy courses through me that once I push all other thoughts from my mind, I’m able to harness it to curb her growth spurt. I ease her back down to an inch or so above her original height. Doing what I should have done originally, I engage with her body and tap into her growth hormones, magically commanding them to increase their output slowly—not all at once like I just did—over the course of the next several months. By basketball season, she’ll be the tallest one on the team.

  Holding Zoe’s hand, I lead her outside. Behind the concession shack, I ensure no one is watching as I bring her out of her trance-like state and complete the wish-granting ritual.

  She blinks as the sun hits her eyes. “What…? How are we…? Weren’t we just inside?”

  With a sympathetic look, I rub her upper arms. “You weren’t feeling well. Don’t you remember? You thought you were going to be sick.”

  “I did? I … Was I?”

  I wince and rest my hand against the closed door. “Yeah, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. It’s not pretty. Probably make you sick again if you’re still queasy. Are you?”

  Zoe wraps her arms around her stomach. “Actually, I am. A little.”

  Probably a side effect of the infusion of hormones. “Why don’t you go home and rest. I’ll talk to Ranger Teddy. I can handle it myself today. It’s a Monday. How busy can it be?”

  Zoe hesitates. “If you’re sure…”

  “I am.”

  “But, what about…?” Zoe gestures to the snack bar. “I can’t let you clean that up yourself. I mean, gross.”

  Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide Zoe toward the parking lot. “I’ve got a strong stomach. Seriously, don’t worry about it. But you might want to pass along the warning for everyone else to steer clear for a bit.”

  After thanking me repeatedly, Zoe heads for the women’s restrooms and I prepare to face my next—and a Jinn’s worst—disaster.

  With a deep inhale, I reenter the scene of my crime. Henry hasn’t moved from the stool. The only part of him in motion are his fingertips, which furiously tap the screen of his smartphone. The Jinn who helped create these damn things should have her bangle stripped. They really will be the downfall of us all.

  Without thinking, I use my powers to wrest the phone from his hand. A small huff escapes my lips as I focus on the screen. “Top 10 Ways to Identify a Witch.” A witch? Really? That’s so pedestrian.

  He leans forward and his hands clutch the bottom of the seat like he’s forcing himself not to … not to what? Not to make a run for it?

  “Whoa,” Henry says. “That’s awesome.”

  No, forcing himself not to bounce. With excitement.

  His barely contained fidgeting causes his glasses to slide down his nose. “At first I thought it was just moving things with your mind. Telekinesis, levitation, maybe some ESP. Your basic psychic stuff.” He pushes his glasses back. “But the pool … I mean, there’s no way telekinesis explains that. And Mrs. Pucher’s garden? She swore she didn’t plant anything new overnight, and I wanted to believe her. I did believe her. But if she didn’t, then … And now, here, Zoe…” He raises his arm above his head, reaching toward the ceiling, and his glasses skate down his nose. “Too awesome. A real live witch.”

  My hands tremble as the reality of what’s transpiring sets in. Henry’s conclusion may be the wrong one, but his evidence can’t be explained away. Gut-wrenching panic drop-kicks my fleeting moment of offense.

  “Why do you live here and not in Salem? Oh, to be more incognito? Do you have a coven? Does your mom know? Is your mom a witch too? Can you—”

  Henry’s questions continue to fly at me. Between my sweaty palms, thumping heart, and shaky legs, I cannot focus. I wipe my moist hands against my shirt and hold up a finger to Henry.

  No matter how much I understand him having, like, a million questions, I can’t answer any of them until I figure out what to do next. I need to think. I’ve violated the biggest rule of the Jinn world by exposing my magic to a human and apparently not once but many times.

  Feeling every carved inch of my silver bangle, I search for a hidden camera or a microphone. My mother said the circulus is the only thing we know they monitor. Was she trying to scare me or is it possible the Afrit could be tracking more? But how could they be tracking more?

  Time. Give it some time. The Afrit acted fast when the clock struck on my sixteenth birthday, doling out the bangle for my mother to slap on my wrist while I was still asleep. If I’m to be sent to the tower, surely the Afrit won’t procrastinate.

  Six steps forward, six steps back, I pace the claustrophobic shack and wonder why I didn’t wait for Hana. The surprise in her voice when I called last night was only outdone by her appreciation at being asked.

  When five full minutes, which feel like hours, pass without any Afrit hands bursting through the floor to yank me down into Janna, I figure—and hope—that, like in the human world, punishment for breaking the Afrit’s rules comes down to being caught. Or being ratted out.

  But my potential rat, Henry, has been waiting, more or less patiently. Facing him, I make a feeble attempt at mind control, trying to force him to forget what just happened. Two strikes against this tactic are that I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m ninety-nine percent sure mind control isn’t an inherent Jinn power.

  Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. Henry still demands answers. This requires a level of damage control that’s far out of my league.

  I raise my finger in the air again to silence Henry. “I need … give me … just another few minutes. Is that okay?” Instantly, Henry stops talking and looks at me with the excitement of a little kid finally tall enough to go on the adult rides at Disney World.

  “Can you stay here?” I ask. “I have to do something really important.”

  Henry’s vigorous nod again sends his glasses down his nose. Half joking (I think), he says, “Like official coven business?”

  I sigh. “Something like that.” My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t want to hog-tie Henry to the stool. “You won’t … what I mean is, you can’t … if anyone—”

  “Azra, it’s me.” Henry takes off his uncooperative glasses and folds them in his lap. “You can trust me.”

  Looking into his eyes, Jenny’s eyes, I know I can.

  I hesitate. “You weren’t … you’re not, like, scared or anything?”

  “Azra, it’s you.” He smiles, and dimples I forgot he had appear in his cheeks. “I know I can trust you.”

  The drumbeat of panic my heart’s been beating to fades into a slower rhythm.

  “If anyone comes, tell them we’re still working on cleaning up Zoe’s mess.” I’m not stupid enough to take chances, though, and on my way to the door, I slide his smartphone into my pocket. “I’ll be back.”

  Henry grabs an apple-cinnamon muffin. “I’ll be waiting.”

  I know I can trust him. At least for a little while. Still, after closing the door behind me, I magically barricade the outside so he can’t get out. Better than slapping a piece of duct tape over his mouth.

  15

  My intention was to apport to my mother. Apparently my subconscious thought better of it because when I materialize I find myself not in my own living room but in Samara’s.

  I’m preparing to app home when my brain begins to side with my subconscious. Laila is a walking cantamen. Maybe she can help. And maybe then, my mother will never have to know.

  Music drifts down from upstairs. I creep to the second floor rather than app. If Samara is home, she may have failed to sense my arrival once, but twice? I can’t risk it. Sam knowing equals my mother knowing.

  At the top of the stairs, I’m about to open Laila’s bedroom door when the knob turns from the inside. Immediately I duck into the nearest bathroom. Which I only realize is a poor choice when a human teenage girl rushes in, forcing m
e to hide in the tub with my fingers stuck in my ears.

  When the brunette with the impressive bladder capacity returns to Laila’s bedroom, she leaves both the bathroom and the bedroom doors open. I slink into the hall and flatten myself against the wall.

  “I’m next!”

  “Dibs on the coral polish!”

  “But I brought it!”

  “Wow, Laila, where did you have your toes done? They’re perfect!”

  The oohing and aahing I can make out belong to at least four voices, one of which is Laila’s.

  Even if I backtrack to the front door and ring the bell, I have no obvious mode of transport. If I make it past that hurdle, then I’d have to extract Laila from her friends without being sucked in—

  “My cuz Azra did them.” Laila’s voice floats into the hall. “Here, this is from her birthday. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  Well, there goes that. My cover is blown. Surely they’d try to enlist me to—

  “Oh, I wish she was here to do my toes!”

  Yup, exactly. I’m taking too long as it is. By the time I get Laila alone, by the time I explain it all, by the time I convince her not to tell our mothers … it’s time I don’t have.

  Peeling myself off the wall, I’m about to app home when Laila says, “So do I. My wish has always been having Azra close.” Her voice lowers as she says, “And, lately, it seems like it’s coming true.”

  My lungs lose air at the same rate as my eyes fill with water. An image of the gold locket with the infinity symbol etched on the front is all I can see as I apport home. It’s all I can see as I race through what turns out to be my empty house, calling for my mother. It’s all I can see as I wrestle the cantamen out from under my bed and frantically flip pages, searching for a clue, a spell, a way out of this mess.

  Tears dot the pages of the cantamen, and I slam it shut. How could I be so selfish? I was ready to ask Laila to risk herself—to put herself in danger—to help me. And she would have. Because she trusts me. But trust has to be earned. Which, unlike her, I haven’t done.

  As I reach for a tissue from the box on my dresser, something clatters to the floor. Crouching down, I see the silver key to the Carwyns’ fence. I pick it up and wrap my hand around it, knowing I have the solution to this whole thing in the palm of my hand. Because as far as who I can trust goes, aside from Laila, of course, the answer is Henry. Henry, who kept my past secrets. Henry, who, if for no reason other than honoring Jenny’s memory, will, I feel more surely than anything else I’ve ever felt, keep this secret.

  * * *

  By the time I return to the beach, Nate’s pounding on the concession shack door and Henry’s shouting in response, “You’ll lose your breakfast, I’m telling you.”

  Nate rests his knuckles against the splintering wood. “But I don’t understand. Why would she leave you in there alone? You don’t even work here.”

  I hide behind the other side of the snack bar to conjure a bucket of water.

  “Wrong place, wrong time,” Henry says. “Happened to pass just as Zoe hurled, and Azra asked me to make sure no one saw the mess, so she … and by she, I mean, Zoe, of course … so Zoe, then, wouldn’t get in trouble for … for … for ducking out of work.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Nate says. “Even Ranger Teddy wouldn’t make someone work who’s sick. Especially around food. And if that’s really true, why do you sound so nervous?” Panic floods Nate’s voice. “Where’s Azra? Is she really not in there with you?” He pummels the door again. “Azra? Azra, are you okay?”

  Great, he thinks Henry’s hiding something. Something dangerous. Then again, he is. Just not what Nate thinks.

  Henry yells over the banging. “She’s fine! She … she wants me here.”

  “Oh,” Nate says in a quiet voice, bringing his intimidating fists to his sides. His brain must be churning. What it zeroes in on causes him to sound both embarrassed and flustered as he says, “Oh! She’s … you two are…”

  Oh, so not what Nate thinks!

  “I’m back!” I shout as I hurry over, conjured bucket of water in hand.

  Relief washes over Nate’s flushed face as he sees me. “Azra! You’re not … you and he aren’t…”

  “About to get sick ourselves? We’re getting close. It’s nasty in there.”

  Nate shakes his head. “I thought … I’m just—”

  “Just keeping an eye on things, right?” I try to suppress my hope that it was more than that. I struggle for a poker face as I raise the bucket in the air. “I better get started.”

  Nate steps back, extending his hand as if to clear my path. “Well, I’ll leave you to work your magic then.”

  Henry’s muffled laugh escapes through the door.

  The way Nate cocks his head prompts me to move next to him and whisper, “Must be the fumes in there. Getting to him.” I open the door and am about to step inside when I feel compelled to turn back to Nate. “Thanks for … just, thanks.”

  Nate’s flush spreads to his ears. “Anytime, Azra.”

  He smiles, and I almost drop the bucket. Of all the times for Nate to come check up on me. Check up? Or visit?

  Focus, Azra, focus.

  Tightening my grip on the bucket handle, I steel my nerves and walk into the shack.

  “So,” Henry says, a grin spreading across his face, “broomsticks all squared away?”

  Now I purposely drop the bucket to the floor. Water sloshes over the side as I rush forward, pushing Henry to the back wall.

  “Let’s get three things straight.” I jab my finger against his chest. “First, if I tell you this, you have to swear on your life that you’ll never whisper a word to anyone. Ever. And I mean ever, Henry. This is serious. I could get in trouble. Real trouble. It’d hurt me and my mom and—”

  “I swear.” Henry looks me in the eye and presses his hand on top of mine, flattening my palm against his heart. “I swear on Lisa’s life.”

  I swallow hard past the lump in my throat and nod slowly. “Okay, then.” I place my hands on my hips, trying to stop their trembling, and reinstate my authoritative voice. “Second, you do as I say and don’t challenge me. Don’t do anything that could get me into trouble.”

  More trouble.

  Henry crosses his heart. “And third?”

  Third … there’s only one thing left.

  Am I really going to do this? Yes, I have to. There’s no denying what he saw. But he thinks I’m a witch. Would it be less dangerous to leave him thinking that?

  Maybe, and maybe not. That’s a risk I can’t calculate. What I can calculate is how much lighter the idea of him knowing already makes me feel. Not to mention that this might be my one and only chance to stick it to the Afrit.

  With a sly smile, I say, “Third, you don’t ever—and I mean ever—call me a cheesy witch again.”

  “But I—”

  “Because I’m no witch, Henry.” The words I’m about to say I have never before said in the presence of a human. I’m not sure I’ve ever said them out loud at all. Why would I? Somehow, it feels time. “I’m a Jinn.”

  Henry’s enthusiastic nod follows his widening eyes. He knows what being a Jinn means. Henry knows I’m a genie.

  16

  I’ve kept Henry with me all morning. I don’t know what else to do with him. Together, we serve orange juice and doughnuts, and alone, I give myself whiplash with the way I keep twisting my neck around, half expecting the Afrit police to come for me and trade in my silver bangle for stainless steel handcuffs.

  But they don’t. At least they haven’t yet.

  “Stop that,” I say, ducking the apple Henry beams at my head.

  The apple thuds against the floorboards and rolls to the back corner where it joins the four other bruised Granny Smiths he’s lobbed at me. He’s trying to get me to use my powers again.

  Two things I didn’t count on when I made the decision not to leave Ranger Teddy in a bind and to stick it out for the rest of my shift with Hen
ry glued to my side: one, his insatiable curiosity, and two, his weakness for Azra au laits (a quarter coffee, three-quarters milk, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream). He’s had four since we’ve been cooped up in here. Four.

  “That’s it.” Henry darts to the corner of the shack. “There better not be a hole in your conjured bucket, dear Azra.”

  So I admitted I can conjure things. After what Henry saw with Zoe, that revelation seemed minor. Besides, he tricked me. He definitely has a future as a lawyer.

  His hand seizes his zipper.

  “No!” I cry.

  “Unless you’re going to conjure me a toilet…”

  A lawyer or a blackmailer. “Fine. Go. But straight there and back.” I nod to the wooden bathhouse directly across from us. “And don’t talk to anyone.”

  “Your wish is my command.” Dimples carve into Henry’s cheeks as he bolts for the door.

  That’s it. I can’t stifle my smile anymore. It’s not my fault. His excitement is infectious, and I’m a Jinn. I absorb energy.

  I groan. What’s wrong with me? Forget about the Afrit, my model Jinn mother is going to disown me. I flop my stomach across the metal stool and hang upside down, feeling the weight of the blood rushing to my head.

  Like dueling consciences, Henry’s gate key purrs in one pocket and my cell phone nags in the other. I know what I’m supposed to do. What I said I’d do. What I promised my mother I’d do if something bad happened. (And for the record, her little if-when gaffe totally jinxed me.)

  Slumping farther over the stool, every last drop of blood seems to pool in my head. But no matter how heavy it gets, it doesn’t outweigh the lightness I feel everywhere else.

  The Afrit haven’t come for me. Which I have to assume means they don’t know. If Henry stays quiet, if I stay quiet, they might never know.

  No, Azra. This is dangerous. You know this is dangerous. I shake my head. I should … I will … I am … I am going to confess to my mother. I have until the end of my shift to work up the nerve.

  If only my powers included the ability to manipulate time.