Becoming Jinn

by Lori Goldstein

  “Have to admit, sounds cool.”

  “Except if you’re on their bad side,” I say before it registers that I didn’t want him to know this part. Ever since I received the bronze bangle, he’s been treating me like something breakable. If I tell him more, he’s going to seal me in a bubble. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure keeping Henry’s sense of wonder at me being Jinn intact has been helping to keep my resentment at bay.

  He sits up. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  I concentrate on picking fluorescent green goo off the back of my calves. I’m starting to better understand my mother not telling me things. Because sharing secrets can be as much of a burden as keeping them.

  “Azra.” Henry nudges my chin to force me to meet his now, predictably, worried eyes.

  “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s just that the jail I was telling you about? If I … if a Jinn messes up? Supposedly it’s less tiny cells and orange jumpsuits and more pitch-black caves and dungeons full of rats.”

  He cocks his head.

  “They take your greatest fear and make you live it.”

  Before his jaw falls into his lap, I add, “Don’t worry, mine will just be a pantry stocked with nothing but salt-cured meat and fish.”

  Henry flips his sunglasses to the top of his head. “It’s not a joke, Azra.”

  “Well, it was, just maybe not a good one.”

  He stands up and crosses his arms over his chest. “I thought you were taking this more seriously.”

  I rise to my feet to look him in the eye. “I am.” I spin my bronze bangle. “This makes sure I am.” My lip chooses this moment to quiver, and I bite down. Hard.

  “It’s okay to be afraid, Az.”

  As I turn to watch the incoming tide, I’m overwhelmed with a sinking feeling. A flash of someone saying the same words in this exact same place skips through my head so quickly I can’t grab hold. It’s followed by an image of my mother, younger, tanned, and smiling, kneeling on the sand, facing the water. Facing me in the water. Her look so loving, so intensely happy, I can’t place it.

  Instinctively, I jump off the rock. My feet move toward the ocean, and my body goes farther, deeper in, hoping my mind will follow and let me reclaim this memory, this figment of my imagination, whatever it is. Without me realizing it, my feet no longer reach the sandy bottom and my body is so numb, I start to descend. But Henry’s there to pull me back up.

  He wraps his arm around my waist and propels me out of the water so fast it feels like apporting. But it’s just plain, old, normal brawn that sets me back down on the toasty black rock baked by the sun.

  My teeth clank against one another. “N-n-n-need to w-w-w-arm u-p-p-p.”

  He reaches for his shirt, which is still drenched. Dropping it, he crouches in front of me and places a hand on each of my upper arms. He rubs until the friction stops my teeth from chattering.

  “What was that?” he asks, freaked out.

  “Not really sure.”

  He points to my foot. “You’re bleeding. You must have hit a rock or a shell.”

  Surprised, I look down and wipe the trail of blood off my ankle. “It’s okay. My mom can heal me later.”

  Henry falls back. “What?” His hands rummage through his wet hair as if looking for something he lost. “Your mom … she can heal?”

  Jenny, he’s thinking of Jenny.

  My stomach drops. “Only fellow Jinn. Not humans. Not … Jenny.”

  Moisture pools in Henry’s eyes. His lids shut tight, and he presses a finger on each to keep his contacts in place.

  I reach for his hand. “I begged her to try, Henry. She just couldn’t. She doesn’t have that power. Magic … it can’t fix everything. I swear if there was any way, even a chance, she’d—”

  He slides back. “I know. I know she would’ve.” His hands clutch the back of his neck as he hangs his head. “Same as I know it’s not her fault. I know because it’s mine.”

  “Yours?” I stare at him. “You weren’t even there.”

  “Which is why it’s my fault. I was supposed to be there.” His shoulders roll in, and his body starts to tremble. “My mom asked me to keep an eye on her. I was supposed to be at your house. I was supposed to be watching her. But I was building this stupid model airplane, and I had to hold this piece in place for ten minutes so it’d dry. I chose a model airplane over my sister. My sister, Azra.”

  I move toward him, but he holds up one hand and wipes his eyes with the other.

  “My mom’s always blamed me. She’s never actually said it, but it’s obvious. Do you know how hard my dad had to fight so she’d let me watch Lisa? Sometimes I-I-I still think she doesn’t trust me with her.”

  It’s like a lasso is strangling my vocal cords. Even if I could make a sound, I have no idea what to say, so I simply throw my arms around him. At first, his body is hard, resisting, but soon he crumbles.

  “I understand how my dad felt now,” he says quietly. “If we move away I feel like I’ll lose her. That’s why … why I always wanted … why I’m so glad I’ve got you back. It’s like having a piece of her.”

  My heart pummels my chest. Henry and I don’t talk about Jenny. We don’t need to. We both understand how absence can define one’s presence.

  I always thought my mother was the lucky one for having memories of my father, of my grandparents, of what life was like before. Maybe she was right not to call them up, not to share them, because, is it possible my memories of Jenny, Henry’s memories of Jenny, make it worse? Harder for us to move on?

  All this time, Henry’s been blaming himself. I’ve been blaming magic. He latched on to Lisa, tried to latch on to me. I pushed him away, pushed Laila, my Zar sisters, my mother, pushed them all away. I thought being Jinn was holding me back from friends, from love, from family. But it wasn’t being Jinn. It was me. Just me.

  Together on our rocky perch, our arms encircle not just each other but secrets—shared secrets, and shared burdens. They will always be between us. For better and for worse.

  27

  “Want to see the tent?” I ask Henry as he pulls his mom’s car into his driveway.

  Our ride home from the beach was silent, save for the sounds of Drunken Toad. We said enough and yet not nearly enough on our black rock.

  Circling around to the side of my house, I stretch to peek over the top of the fence, which has no gate as a way of discouraging outsiders from finding their way in. Taking over the backyard is the conjured tent my mother and I worked on all morning for tonight’s Zar gathering.

  “Wait,” I say as Henry comes up behind me. The front corner of the tent glows a soft orange. Inside, a lit candle casts a shadow against the canvas wall. “Someone’s inside.”

  “Your mom?”

  “Probably. Still, she’d freak if I showed you now.”

  “Okay, then.”

  He turns to leave, and my hand rises, wanting to reach for him, to make him stay, to tell him how sorry I am that my mom couldn’t heal Jenny, that he has to stop blaming himself, that I kick myself every day for pushing him away, that I need him at the same time as I need Nate, and how sorry that makes me, but instead, I lower my arm to my side, say, “Okay,” and, with a weight in my chest, watch him cross the street.

  I lean against the fence, taking a moment to clear my head. I expected tonight, my Zar initiation, to be the hardest part of today. Life sure likes its curveballs.

  The lack of a gate and my inability to apport means I need to travel through the house to reach the backyard. As I near the tent, I begin to worry that curveballs, like bad things, aren’t satisfied with just one. Because the shadow on the wall is curled into a tight ball. And rocking back and forth.

  I lift the entry flap. “Mom, what’s—” But it’s not my mother. It’s Yasmin.

  She’s hunched on one of the couches my mother conjured this morning with her feet on the cushion, her arms around
her legs, and her chin tucked to her knees. Her normally smooth black curls lay in twisted, matted clumps. No makeup, eyes puffy, she barely acknowledges me as I sit next to her.

  Before I can ask the obligatory and yet pointless question, “Is everything all right?” she speaks.

  “I saw you today.” Her eyes remain focused on the ivory taper candle on the table in front of her. “At the beach. I came early.”

  “Why didn’t you—”

  “Saw you with that boy, your neighbor,” she says over me. “He’s your friend’s brother, isn’t he? The girl who died.”

  “Jenny.” My teeth clench. “You know her name is Jenny.”

  “Was.”

  Blood pounds in my ears and it’s like I’m under water again.

  She spins to face me, grabbing both of my wrists and drawing me close. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It’s just … she’s gone, Azra. You do realize that, don’t you?” Balled-up tissues poke out of the ends of her sleeves. “But we’re here. We’ve always been here. Waiting.”

  She releases her hold on my wrists and wipes her nose. “But we can’t wait anymore. The initiation’s tonight. Either you’re with us or with them.”

  “Them?”

  “The humans. I told you to be careful. Looks like you didn’t take my advice.”

  Does she know? Does she know Henry knows?

  “Henry and I are just friends,” I say.

  “Oh no. You’re more than that.”

  “We’re not together, if that’s what you think. I’m kind of … interested in someone else.”

  “The lifeguard.” Her eyes search mine, and the softness in her voice turns to stone. “And there’s my answer. Closer to them than you are to us.” She turns away. “Like I said, don’t ever forget they’re humans, Azra.”

  My anger burns like the flame of a struck match but dies out just as fast. Because we don’t have to inherit everything from our mothers. Their fights don’t have to become ours.

  Without hurt or spite or bitterness, I say, “Why does it have to be us or them? Why do you hate them so much?”

  Yasmin whirls around, knocking into the candle and almost setting the black pashmina that drips off her shoulders on fire. “Is that what you think? That I hate the humans?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “No. I hate the way they make us live.”

  “Then your anger’s misplaced. The Afrit are responsible, not the humans.”

  “But you can’t win a fight against the Afrit.” She tosses the end of her wrap over her shoulder. “And you know what they say if you can’t beat ’em.”

  With a zap that shoots through to my fingertips, she disappears.

  I will never understand her. Tonight we’ll officially be sisters, but Yasmin and I couldn’t be further apart.

  * * *

  More than two hundred candles simultaneously ignite, illuminating the tent like a full moon. The flickering light dances across the canvas flaps, which may be the only white in the room. Between the maroon fabric on the lush sofas, the gold tablecloth draped over the long, communal table, and the kaleidoscope of colors on the skirts, tunics, and dresses of the assorted Jinn under the big top, not a single hue remains unaccounted for. It’s like a three-dimensional color wheel.

  I’m doing my part in my short, jersey dress. No one else would be representing black. In the heels Laila insisted I wear, I look and feel nine feet tall. Maybe it’ll give me the edge I fear I need tonight with Yasmin. I haven’t seen her since our earlier conversation—a conversation I can’t help but feel I lacked sufficient information to fully participate in.

  Ignoring the knots in my stomach, I pat Laila on the head. “Think you’ll be as tall as me?”

  Her sixteenth birthday isn’t until tomorrow. Per tradition, the initiation is being held on the eve of the last member’s final night without powers. Since Zar gatherings usually last for days, we’ll all be together when Laila turns.

  She stuffs her hands in the pockets of her white linen shift dress and frowns. “I hope not.”

  Before I can ask why, Hana joins us. The open back and plunging neckline of her champagne-colored halter dress seem to defy the laws of gravity. She holds out a tray of cheese-filled dates and says, “Did you hear? Lalla Raina’s not coming.”

  Another knot ties off in my gut. “What? Why?”

  Hana levitates the tray, freeing her hands to snag a date. “Everyone’s tight-lipped.”

  In mid-reach for one of her own, Laila stops and pulls back her hand. “I can’t believe they’re fighting. Today. So much for our Zar following their example.”

  It’s Laila’s disappointment that prompts the lightness in my voice that I surely don’t feel. “Whatever it is, it’ll blow over. They’ve always had squabbles. They’ve always made up.”

  “Just like us,” Hana says. She then conjures a gold belt that she cinches around my waist and a rose that she tucks into Laila’s blond curls. In the process, she forgets about levitating the plate and it crashes to the ground.

  From across the room, Farrah shouts, “It wasn’t me!”

  Laughing, Mina tackles her, and together they app to our side of the tent. When they appear, I realize they’re wearing matching saffron-yellow kaftans, gold headbands, and cobalt-blue eyeliner.

  As Hana tells them about Lalla Raina, Yasmin slinks into the room, significantly better groomed than earlier in tight black jeans and a red silk camisole, but instead of coming to us, she stakes out a position next to the bar and pours rum into a Coke can.

  Farrah picks a date up off the floor, blows on it, and takes a huge bite. Mouth full, she mumbles, “I’d be PO’d too if my mom wasn’t here.”

  Mina whacks the dirty date out of Farrah’s hand. “Sure, but that upset?”

  Yasmin’s eyes meet mine and my usual desire to escape to Henry’s backyard makes a resurgence. But I can’t. I can’t do that to Laila … I can’t do that to any of them.

  We transition into the feast, narrated by proud speeches from each of our mothers, which only highlight Raina’s absence. Once the dishes are magically cleared, Samara moves to the center of the tent. She begins the initiation ceremony by instructing us six daughters to form a circle.

  I slip in between Laila and Yasmin. As tightly as Laila clutches my hand is as loosely as Yasmin does. Across from me, Mina mouths, “How’s the Adonis?” and Farrah winks.

  Lalla Nadia places a lei made from white henna flowers around each of our necks. My mother lights the sticks of incense spread throughout the tent, infusing the air with the strong aroma of tea roses.

  Samara interlaces her fingers. “Nothing, not the silver…” Her eyes flicker in my direction. “Or bronze … Not the silver or bronze bangles you wear today nor the gold ones you will wear in the future, will ever be as tight a circle as the one you form now. As important a role as we, your mothers, have played in your past, even we cannot compete with the role your Zar will play in your future.”

  I glance at Laila. She squeezes my hand, and I find myself squeezing back even harder.

  “You lovely Jinn will have some human acquaintances,” Samara says. “Women to lunch with, women to shop with, women to have your daughter’s playdates with. Men too. Give your powers a break, and on occasion, let a male friend tinker with your plumbing—oh, and fix your sink too.”

  “Sam,” my mother admonishes, to which the other mothers howl and the daughters giggle—the daughters except Yasmin.

  “But,” Samara continues without a pause, “the role your human friends will have in your life will pale in comparison to that of your sisters. For with this ritual, you six will be forever linked. And the increase in power you experience when drawing upon nature is no match for the surge that comes when accessing the collective strength of your Zar.”

  Linked? Our magic is linked? That my wide eyes and open mouth are mirrored on the faces of my Zar sisters confirms this is news to all of us.

  “When attempting the most difficu
lt feats of magic, you can rely on the spirit of your sisters to ensure your success. Tap into this connection and learn to sense each other’s joy and sadness. You will hopefully laugh more than you cry, but if and when you do both, let it be in the arms of those to whom you are now bound for life.

  “In one united voice, daughters, repeat after me: ‘Akul wahid, wal wahid lalkul.’ One is all, all is one.”

  Laila starts, and we all join in. As our voices merge into one, a golden orb of light appears in front of each linked set of hands. On the final syllable, a trail of light zooms through each glowing sphere, connecting all six.

  Samara smiles. “Welcome, daughters, to your Zar.”

  The circle of light collapses into a straight, thin line and shoots upward, evaporating into the air above our heads.

  Applause fills the tent, my sisters embrace one another, and Yasmin drops my hand. She barely gets out her “I’m going inside” before she disappears.

  The rest of us continue to hug and receive the congratulations from our mothers, but after, we huddle to one side, sharing first our shock at the meaning of our initiation and then our confusion about Yasmin’s behavior.

  Farrah says, “Let’s just hope she’s not going to abduct another neighborhood pet.”

  Mina smirks. “Or neighbor.”

  “Maybe we better go find her.” Hana reaches for Laila and me. “Come on, apporting-challenged sisters. I’ll app you both to Azra’s room.”

  “It’s okay,” Laila says, “you three go. Azra and I will walk. We don’t want to overwhelm her.”

  While Laila might mean this, something tells me she’s more interested in us having the chance to talk alone. This is a lot for me to take in, and I can do magic. I glance at my bronze bangle—with permission, of course. We slowly make our way across the backyard and into the house.