My mother releases Samara’s hand. “This doesn’t concern you, Azra.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and says stiffly, “I get that you’re upset, but whatever’s happened, it’s no excuse to talk to me, to either of us, like this. Maybe you should go to your room before you say something you’ll regret.”
A harsh laugh rumbles through my nostrils. “Sorry, Mom. I’m what you wanted me to be my entire life. A Jinn. Which means, I’m an adult. You can’t ground me.”
Without a backward glance, I march across the hall into my bedroom. I realize I’m effectively grounding myself but I have nowhere else to go.
I turn the lock and slide down my door, sitting on the floor with my back against the frame. Like that could stop my mother if she wanted to get inside.
Which she does.
A soft knock precedes her, “Azra?” The scolding gone from her voice, it now cracks as she says, “I’m … I’m sorry.”
No, no, no. This is worse. I can’t handle her hurting. Not on top of everyone else’s. Not on top of my own.
“Honey,” Samara says, “it can’t be that bad.”
Oh, but it is, Lalla Sam. I can’t face her … because I know I’ll see in her eyes the same hurt, betrayed look I saw in Laila’s.
“Please.” I don’t bother to disguise the quiver in my voice. “Not now.”
Whispers on the other side of the door.
My mother then says, “Okay, kiddo, but I’m always right here.”
“We’re always right here,” Samara says, and I hear her hand tap the door.
The light their bodies were blocking shines under my door as they retreat. It surrounds my hunched, shaking frame, highlighting me, here, alone.
My hand still clings to my phone, the message from Nate on the screen. Followed by another one, asking if everything’s okay. Right now, he’s the only one in my life separate from all of this. Looks like I’ve found a new escape hatch.
I wait until I hear my mother’s bedroom door close before unlocking my phone. I flip through pictures of Henry, Laila, and Nate before opening my messages. I answer Nate’s text, he answers mine, and I go again. With each zoom, I distance myself from today, from everything Jinn, and slowly, my guilt at texting Nate, at letting myself enjoy texting Nate, diminishes.
Nate not knowing I’m a Jinn means I have to lie to him, but as I’m discovering, it also means I get to lie to him. I lose my Jinn self and for now am just a girl learning how to flirt with a boy.
We text for so long, my back spasms from lying on the wood floor. Finally, as we’re saying good-bye, I get the feeling Nate sends the text he’s been working up the nerve to type all night.
Staff bonfire tomorrow night. Would you like to be my mate?… Date.
*face palm*
Either one works for me.
Despite everything, or maybe because of everything, Nate officially proving that the “first” in front of his “date” from the other day was a necessary adjective makes my heavy heart do cartwheels.
A second date with Nate, a second date with Nate. I bounce my head from side to side as I sing the rhyme in my head.
My lack of response other than bouncing brings a follow-up text:
Work thing, I know. Promise to make it up w/ third.
Third, oh really? I prove I’ve gotten the hang of this flirting thing as I tease:
Presumptuous much?
Know what they say about assuming …
That it brings u and mi together? ;)
So maybe Nate the underwear model doesn’t quite hide his inner dork as well as I thought. Nothing could make me happier.
The late hour combined with the lack of feeling in my thumbs signals it’s time to go to bed. We sign off, and my joints crack as I change into my pajamas. Passing by my window before climbing into bed, I catch sight of Henry and Chelsea fused together, illuminated by the light on the Carwyns’ front steps.
My mix of jealousy, anger, and guilt is an entirely normal response. My wish has finally come true. And this weight in my chest confirms that wishes do indeed come with a price.
29
Too small for my wrist, the silver tinsel stayed wrapped around my ring finger while I worked my morning shift at the beach. Chelsea, the only one from last night I’ve seen today, seemed both embarrassed and a little frightened when we crossed paths at work, neither of which made me as happy as I would have expected.
I now twist the tinsel in my hand as I sit on my bed, preparing to apologize to Laila. While I also owe Henry an apology, Laila comes first. Especially because today is her sixteenth birthday. The day she’s been waiting for her entire life.
Since my bronze bangle prevents me from apporting, I steel my nerves and dial her cell. She doesn’t answer. I call the house phone. No answer. I open my laptop and try her that way. Nothing. I probably wouldn’t answer either.
I load my e-mail and type my rehearsed apology. It takes me almost an hour. I read it over. Twice. And then delete the whole thing. Because it sounds rehearsed.
As much as I want to forget all things Jinn, as much as I don’t want anything to ruin my date with Nate, what I should do is skip the bonfire and ask my mother to app me to her house. I should, but rust is beginning to eat away at my steel nerves. My guilt on the other hand is all spit shined and gleaming. Because I’m more relieved than disappointed that Laila didn’t answer any of my calls.
Coward that I am, I type an e-mail that simply says, “I’m sorry. Happy Birthday, Sister.” I send it along with a photo I take of the silver tinsel wrapped around Mr. Gemp—the genie lantern Hana gave me on my birthday that I should be passing to Laila today.
This is when the tears I should have shed last night come.
30
Nostalgia for a past whose simplicity eluded me at the time makes me choose the purple linen tunic my mother gave me for my birthday. I’m wearing it over the lace bra and thong conjured by Yasmin. She really does have impeccable craftsmanship. The thong doesn’t itch like I thought it would.
At the bathroom mirror, I keep one eye on the YouTube instructional video that plays on my laptop while I attempt to apply more than my usual lip gloss. The angled brush draws a line of deep pink on my cheeks, and I force my guilt to take a time out, just for tonight. A sparkling green camouflages my lower lid, and I bury the image of Laila’s sad, knowing eyes. Mascara thickens my long lashes, and I replace the image of Laila’s blue—now, gold—eyes with Nate’s blissfully unaware chocolaty ones. With each brushstroke I cover the part of me that is Jinn. I become a normal teenage girl going on her first real date.
I put down the tube of cinnamon-colored lipstick and assess my work. Paired with the copper accents in my long, dark hair, the end result causes me to do a double take, not out of conceit but out of astonishment for how much I resemble my mother when she was my age. I could stand in for her in any picture in her high school album and I’m not sure anyone could tell the difference.
Tonight calls for something better than jeans. Fortunately, the benefit of being my mother’s doppelgänger means I have effectively doubled my wardrobe. In her bedroom, I try on three different skirts before settling on a white denim mini I can’t ever remember her wearing.
Before leaving, I sift through her jewelry box. This may be the first time I’ve ever thought about accessorizing. I feel a twinge in my chest when I think how proud both Hana and Laila would be.
Checking out the stockpile of jewels in the bottom drawer, I spy a thick, African-style wooden bracelet that looks like it’d pair well with my bronze bangle and slip it over my hand.
I rummage through, holding up black pearls from China and glass beads from Italy, but decide the necklace I’m already wearing works best. I start to close the drawer. That’s when I notice what the large wooden bracelet was hiding.
Tucked into the furthest reaches is my silver pendant with the cursive A engraved on the front. But it can’t be. Because that pendant’s currently around my neck. I pick up
the duplicate A, which feels much heavier than the one I’m wearing. It’s the weight I remember it being before I turned sixteen.
It seems no matter how hard I try to prevent anything from ruining my date with Nate, the universe has other plans. Because the large piece of jewelry was hiding something else: the two pictures of my mother and her beau that I last stashed in my pillowcase. That was weeks ago. Of course, my mother’s changed my sheets since then. Why didn’t she say anything? The Jinn secrets’ playbook keeps getting bigger.
I return the pictures and the heavier clone of my A pendant to her jewelry box. I’m reinstating my Scarlett O’Hara plan and giving myself tonight off. I have a lifetime to decipher this Jinn playbook. I’m not going to let anything ruin my night.
* * *
A melted bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream sits on the coffee table in front of my mother. Neither one of us can eat ice cream slow enough that it melts. If that isn’t enough of a clue that something’s amiss, I catch the look on my mother’s face as she slides something between the sofa cushions.
“Beautiful,” she says in a voice two pitches higher than usual.
We made peace (sort of, more like we passed the sugar bowl and ignored what happened last night) before I left for work this morning. So her current twitchiness must have another cause. Why should I expect anything else?
She clears her throat. “You look great, honey.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing.” Her eyes scan my body. “Hey, is that my skirt? And my … my bracelet?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
She must wonder if I found what the bracelet was hiding, but my instincts tell me whatever she’s trying to cover up here is even more important.
“What subject?” she says. “This conversation’s barely started.”
I point to the small rectangular chips floating in the sea of creamy white. “Something made you stop eating that. The thing is, I can’t imagine anything in this world that would cause that to happen.”
My unwavering stare compels my mother to talk.
“They sent an assignment.”
So it turns out it’s not something in this world after all.
The smile that follows my mother’s statement is so forced it makes me wince even more than the idea of granting another wish. Another wish. Already.
Breathe, Azra. Air in, air out.
It’s just a job, right?
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Just like slathering mayo on a BLT. Just like disinfecting a toilet.
“It’s okay,” I say. Knowing how much we look alike, my fake smile must be a perfect match for hers. “I’m ready this time.”
My mother still hesitates.
“I am,” I say, trying to convince her as much as myself. “I’ve actually been studying. I’ve even been reading about spells. Azra-cadabra, I’m ready!”
I’m standing there waving jazz hands and still nothing. Not even the slightest upturn of her lips in response to my joke. Work with me here, Mom.
“You’re kind of freaking me out,” I say.
Her plastered smile returns. “Azra, honey, it can wait. Tonight, just be a normal girl, okay?”
Normal girl? She’s never once told me to be a normal girl. Not even when I begged her to. Something’s very very wrong.
I hold out my palm. “Let me see.”
Worry lines draw a gloomy mural on her face. But she gives in, compressing the side of the cushion she’s sitting on. I slide my hand down the crack and yank out the gold envelope with my name perfectly embossed on the front.
The seal’s broken. She’s already opened it. I untuck the flap and pull out the single slip of paper.
No, it can’t be.
My hands drop the whole thing as if it were on fire. The sheet lands face up and stares at me from its spot on the floor.
They’re pushing things too far. They’re pushing me too far.
I back up, slowly, until I hit the front door.
It feels almost intentional. Purposeful.
Clasping my hands behind my back, I press my body against the door as if I could push myself through it and away from here.
It’s not fair. One night. One normal night. That’s all I wanted.
My mother, still calmly seated on the sofa, picks up the envelope and the sheet of paper and lays them on the coffee table. Like last time, the letter contains the name and address of my wish candidate. But this time, I don’t need the address. Though I’ve never been there, I know exactly where he lives.
Dizzy, I lean against the front door until I’m able to regulate my breathing. I ease my way across the room and lift up the paper as if it were a live grenade.
Nathan Reese.
Nate. My Nate. Nate is my next assignment.
I make it to the hall bathroom just in time.
* * *
Between the cold cloth my mother presses against my forehead and the streaks lining my face from the tears I couldn’t hold back, my careful makeup application has just become collateral damage.
Staring at the unmistakable 3 on the back of the note card, I say, “This can’t be a coincidence.”
“Sure it can,” my mother says, but something in her voice suggests otherwise.
“I like Nate. A lot. And you said it yourself. Being invested makes granting wishes messy.”
“Oh, that.” She balls up the damp washcloth. “I was being melodramatic.”
“No you weren’t. You were right.”
She waves her hand to dry the fabric but instead soaks it. Water pools on the table and cascades over the edge onto the floor.
“You’re nervous. You think I’m going to screw up again.”
She grabs a dish towel to mop up the water. Her cleaning without magic confirms she’s worried.
Her hand shakes as she sets the towel on the table. “You said you’ve been studying, right?” Her question sounds more like a plea. “We’ll make sure you’re ready. You’ll be fine.” She starts nodding her head. “Yes, we’ll make sure you’ll be fine.”
I’m worried too, but right now, I’m less concerned about what might happen to me and more afraid of what could happen to Nate. “What if I hurt him?”
“You won’t hurt him. How could you hurt him?”
I suck back the mucus clogging my nose and throat. “Maybe … like what if he wishes to be a Tiger, meaning on the varsity team, and I turn him into an actual tiger?”
Her tension releases in a laugh. She smiles and squeezes my shoulder. “Let’s not go totally off the deep end, kiddo.”
I shrug off her hand. “Okay, so what if I don’t hurt him but he wishes for something that makes me lose him? Like being with Chelsea or some other rah-rah cheerleader?” Or me. What if he wishes for me? And what if granting that wish makes me lose Henry?
“He likes you,” my mother says. “Let’s also try not to invent problems, okay?”
I’m all out of reasons, but still I don’t want to grant Nate a wish because … because I just don’t. My pulse quickens, and I struggle to take my next breath. That’s not true. That’s not why. All of a sudden, my brain seizes on what my heart knew instantly.
My mother may be worried about my safety, but for me, the overarching reason why this sucks as much as it does is because it means my two worlds are colliding. The two worlds I was starting to think I could keep separate will become one. The part of me that could be normal Azra with Nate will vanish the moment I begin the wish-granting ritual. He won’t know it. But I will.
I’ll always know his deepest desire. And I’ll have to make it come true. Once I link with his anima, a part of him will always be with me. I’ll know him in a way he’ll never know me. But I’ll have to pretend I don’t.
I was wrong. Getting to lie to Nate isn’t better. I was delusional. Human attachments are indeed too hard. I will be exactly like my mother and Samara and every other Jinn.
So much for the liberation
I thought the bronze bangle gave me. I’ve become a Jinn. A Jinn I will always be.
31
But do I have to be the Jinn that grants Nate a wish? Why not let me swap out Nate for another candidate?
When I ask my mother if she thinks this is possible, her olive-toned face goes pale.
“We don’t question the Afrit,” she says, setting down two cups of hot chocolate.
“Baa. Right. Because we are sheep. Drones. Worker bees. Mindless—”
“Please, Azra, don’t,” my mother says softly. “There are things you don’t know. The Afrit … they can do things.”
I tap my bronze bangle.
“Yes,” she says, “they can restrict your magic. And if you defy them, they can extract you from this life and force you to live months, years, a lifetime, alone. And not just alone, but terrifyingly alone.”
This I know. Which makes me scared of what I don’t know. “There’s a but, isn’t there?” My mother nods. “And I don’t want to hear it, do I?”
Another nod as my mother lifts her mug to her lips. “But you have to. Because what you don’t know is there are a few steps in between. Having to remove young Jinn from the human world is not in the Afrit’s best interest. They need you. They need you here to grant wishes. Extracting you is a last resort.”
“Oh, really?” My grin is automatic. “So I can push the envelope before they’ll slap real handcuffs on me?”
Her pained smile and the sadness in her gold eyes cause a tightness in my chest.
“You can.” She shifts her gaze away from me. “But there are consequences.”
“Like what? More years of granting wishes? More time on probation?” I flex my arm muscles. “I can take it.” I’m desperate to make light because of the darkness I feel coming.
“Sometimes, but they’ve found that’s not as effective as other methods of keeping Jinn in line.”
I blow on my hot chocolate. “What kinds of methods?”
Becoming Jinn Page 24