Becoming Jinn

by Lori Goldstein

  When Jinn went too far, the council stepped in. Punishment was having one’s powers stripped for a certain period of time, or if the crimes were that heinous, for life.

  At some point in the long history of our world, it was discovered that certain earthly compounds conflict with a Jinn’s ability to use the powers that are literally in our DNA. And, since every action has an equal and opposite reaction, other compounds do the opposite. Kind of like how magnets can attract some metals but repel others.

  Therefore, the way a Jinn’s powers were stripped, at least for the past couple of centuries, was by affixing an unremovable object to a part of the Jinn’s body that blocked and prevented the use of magic. But that’s not how it’s done anymore, not since the Afrit came into power.

  The Afrit took the science and perverted it. They created a compound that blocks our magic and injected it into every living, breathing Jinn. Then, the females were issued a bangle and the males a necklace. The mix of compounds inside the jewelry draws out our magic. The Afrit’s advanced powers allow them to spell the jewelry to ensure we wear them until they say otherwise.

  I stretch out on the bed. So that’s why the bangle can’t be taken off by me but can be removed by them.

  These enforced injections that now take place shortly after birth render our powers inert until we are given the jewelry that releases them. The Afrit can take away our magic any time they like by simply removing our bangles and necklaces. This is how they have managed to maintain their control over us for so long. We are dependent on them for our magic.

  I touch my bronze bangle realizing what my mother didn’t—couldn’t—know as she wrote these words: I’m the exception. Sweat soaks the back of my shirt. Surely if the Afrit knew, they wouldn’t allow it. That’s why my mother kept it a secret. Despite the tightness in my chest, I continue reading.

  The Afrit came to power at a time when the human world was experiencing its counterculture movement. In the late sixties, young people began to question the world around them. It was liberating for many humans and a lot of Jinn too. But some Jinn started going too far. The abundance of drug use among Jinn certainly played a role. But that’s no excuse. These Jinn wanted to return to a time when they didn’t have to hide their magic. They started granting too many people too many wishes without using cloaking enchantments. We came close to being exposed. Centuries ago, humans believed in magic, but not even the culture of the sixties and seventies was going to tolerate true knowledge of magic existing.

  The rebellion these young Jinn embarked on hurt and even killed people, humans and Jinn alike. It was ugly. The community was afraid, but it was also outraged. They rightly blamed the young Jinn who started it all, but they also blamed the council for not clamping down on the troublemakers sooner. The change those young Jinn were pushing for? Well, it came. Just not in the way they wanted.

  The Afrit family is—

  Family? Afrit is a last name? I thought it was … I guess I have no idea, but I didn’t know it was a family.

  The Afrit family is one of the oldest Jinn families in existence. Their magic is strong, more powerful than that of most Jinn. And they work to keep it that way, to keep their bloodline as pure as possible. But they were always a bit too conservative for the Jinn community as a whole. They were desperate to have one of their own elected to the council for decades but could never amass enough support—until the youth rebellion gave them their opening, and they took it. They used the fear that was so pervasive to overthrow the old elected council. The family assumed control and issued a sort of martial law.

  Jinn were terrified. Fear is the most powerful magic there is. They lined up for the injections. My parents did. For years, it was considered a positive change. When I was born, my parents injected me willingly, happily. They had no idea what they were doing would result in our family being one of the last to live together. That allowing the Afrit to curb our magic would enslave us to them, leaving them free to invent punishments as vile as tortura cavea.

  A revolt is what the Afrit fear most. Over the past few decades, they’ve instituted reform after reform out of pure self-preservation. Even with the rules we are made to abide by, coups have been attempted. But each one has failed. The Afrit punish these Jinn harshly, stripping them of their magic, taking them away from their families, and, sometimes, sometimes, killing them. The last insurrection was so strong, so close, that they are now mandating that all male Jinn leave the human world. They want to keep us separated, to prevent us from being able to plot another rebellion that could usurp their power. And they also want to punish us.

  Keep in mind, the Afrit have strong magic. They have powers most of us don’t, like mind control.

  Mind control … like the mind control I have? My mother said Jinn can’t do mind control without spells. But Samara said the Afrit can. I lift the photos of my father off the bed. My thumping heart threatens to break a rib. Was my father … is. Please let it be is. Is my father a…? Is he one of them?

  “Always,” your father repeats to me as he caresses my round belly. “I’ll love you both always.” He insists when he goes back to his family, as he must do, he’ll be able to convince them he’s on their side. “This will be for now, but not forever,” he says. He believes his loyalty will allow him to eventually help us fight against them. But his family, your family, the Afrit family, I’m afraid they’ll never let him get that close. And I’m terrified for all our sakes that they will.

  I drop the diary.

  My father is an Afrit.

  I am an Afrit.

  That’s why my powers are so advanced. That must be why the Afrit pounced on my first candidate so quickly. They were probably eager to see what I could do. I must have been quite the disappointment.

  Bile rises in my throat, and I race to my mother’s bathroom, but dry heaves are all that I can manage. Hugging the bowl, I press my forehead against the cool porcelain.

  A Jinn trick to top all Jinn tricks. This is what I get for wishing not to be a Jinn.

  Suddenly both mentally and physically spent, I’m barely able to concentrate enough to draw on my magic and cover my tracks. Working slowly, I recite my mother’s spell and the words in her diary disappear. It looks as though I never read a word. Part of me wants to pretend I didn’t.

  But I know I won’t be able to conceal the fact that I know about the Afrit’s sordid past. It’s too much to hide. My mother had said I could read their history in the blank pages of the cantamen. Once I tell her how I granted Nate’s wish, she’s going to find out I used spells anyway. I locate the blank pages in the codex and recite the unseen/seen spell I wrote. The pages fill with an abbreviated version of the history my mother wrote in her diary. The account in the cantamen leaves out all mentions of me and my father and our connection to the Afrit.

  I try to arrange the bedsheets and the diary as I found them. I reassemble my mother’s jewelry box, returning the emerald ring, the A, and the photos, though I don’t quite remember where each piece is supposed to go.

  Creeping back into my room, a deep voice carries up the stairs. It’s a man’s voice, but it’s not Henry’s.

  “It’s time, Kal. If not now, when? How much longer does she have, really? They’ll come for her, you know they will.”

  I freeze as I picture the face that goes along with this voice. It’s older, more fleshed out, maybe, but it’s still a dead ringer for the one in my mother’s photos. I’m not sure how I know, but I feel it in my Jinn blood, in my Afrit blood. Somehow, impossibly, my father is in my house, right downstairs, right underneath where I am standing.

  I’ve imagined this moment over the course of my life more times than I can count, but it has never played out like this. Not with me backing away, retreating to my bedroom, and closing the door.

  Henry stirs. “Wha … Is it … morning?”

  “Shh, no, go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Henry groans as he uncurls his body. He swivels his neck,
which makes a disturbing cracking sound.

  I return the cantamen and notebook to my desk, my hands shaking as I lay them down.

  What am I doing? Nate lost his father, but mine’s finally here. My whole family is here.

  And I’m missing it.

  With a start, I turn and rush to the door. My hand’s on the knob as Henry sits up.

  “Is that what woke you?” he asks.

  The sound of the barking dog sends chills down my spine. It’s the same bark that woke me up earlier. I’m now convinced it’s the same bark that woke me the morning of my birthday, months ago. I move to the window. Walking across our front yard is a large, chestnut-colored dog with beautiful, shiny fur and thick, strong legs. It stops and turns its snout toward me.

  It’s eerie, the way it appears to be staring at me.

  “Az, is something wrong?” Henry asks.

  “No,” I lie.

  It can’t be. The eyes simply remind me of his eyes, eyes I’ve never actually seen in person. Besides, it just … it just can’t be. I turn away from the creature outside and shudder.

  Can’t be? After tonight, do I really think there’s anything that can’t be? They are his eyes. It’s him. How, I have no idea, but it is. Guess the book of spirits was right about the shape-shifting. I look back out the window, searching for him, but he’s gone.

  “Come here,” Henry says. “Try to sleep.”

  Since reality has become worse than my nightmares, I crawl under the covers that Henry’s holding in the air. As I place my head on the pillow, Henry starts to return to his perch at the end of the bed. I stop him. He gently lies down next to me. I move my head to his chest and wait for his warmth to overcome the chills still coursing through me.

  I’m still waiting hours later when the sun rises.

  37

  Awkward is the only word to describe breakfast.

  On one side of the table sits Henry. Having cereal with Henry is awkward because we spent the night in the same bed and because my mother knows Henry and I spent the night in the same bed. On the other side of the table sits my mother. Sharing a pot of coffee with my mother is awkward because I’m ninety-nine percent sure my father was in this very spot last night and because I’m ninety-nine percent sure my mother plans not to tell me my father was in this very spot last night.

  We are as screwed up as any normal family.

  “Do you know when the funeral will be?” my mother asks.

  I drop my spoon. Of course there will be a funeral, and of course I’ll have to go. I sent Nate a text this morning asking about his mother. He answered immediately as if the phone were glued to his hand, which made me kick myself for not checking in with him sooner. His mother’s condition is still listed as critical. He didn’t mention a funeral for his father, and I didn’t think to ask.

  I shake my head. I’ve never been to a funeral before. I didn’t even go to Jenny’s. I am no longer hungry.

  “Does everyone do that open-casket thing?” I ask nervously.

  My mother squeezes my shoulder. “I don’t think so, but even if they do, you can pay your respects without approaching the casket. It’s okay.”

  “It is?” Henry asks, sounding as relieved as I feel, making me wonder if Jenny’s casket was open.

  My mother smiles weakly. “Yes, especially for you kids. Just be there for your friend. That’s all that’s important.”

  She returns the milk carton to the refrigerator and places her bowl in the dishwasher. She could use magic to clean up since Henry knows about us, but I can tell she’s not in the mood. As she refills her coffee mug, I notice a slip of paper peeking out of her back pocket. Henry, whose parents don’t allow sugary cereal in the house, has his head buried in his second bowl. Before my mother turns back around, I pickpocket her.

  My chair scrapes against the floor as I excuse myself to get a tissue from the living room. Written across the front of the small, folded note is simply “Kalyssa.” Instantly I recognize the slant of the letters. It’s the same handwriting that was on the note, also addressed to my mother, that was waiting when Samara and I returned from Ms. Anne Wood’s house. I unfold the paper. “Always. But not forever.”

  My hand grips the arm of the sofa. Those conflicting words wouldn’t make sense to most. Then again, most have not read my mother’s diary.

  He was here. My father was here. And he’s been here before. Perhaps being an Afrit, he’s able to come and go as he pleases. How could he visit my mother and not me?

  I close my eyelids against the tears begging to come. My fingers begin to curl into a fist, and the note crinkles.

  Wait. My eyes snap open and focus on the handwriting once again. My father’s handwriting. My mother said whoever warned her about Ms. Wood was “someone with both our best interests at heart.” My father.

  I have to trust there’s a reason, aside from my recent questionable secret-keeping abilities, why my mother and father haven’t let me see him. I have to trust that, in his own way, my father is doing everything he said he would. Infiltrating the Afrit. Loving my mother. Loving me.

  When I return to the kitchen, my heart still beating fast, I down my coffee and hold out my mug. “More, please?” I say to my mother.

  Risking the minute amount of energy it must require, I cause Henry’s spoon to slip from his hand. As he bends to the floor to retrieve it, I return the note to my mother’s back pocket.

  Taking my coffee, I needle my mother to see what, if anything, she might reveal about last night. “Sleep okay?”

  “Not really,” she says. “Samara came by. She was worried about you.”

  So she’s not going to lie about that part.

  “You two?” My mother is unable to conceal her slight grin.

  I cut Henry off. “No, that dog was barking again. And you’re right, it’s definitely not Mrs. Pucher’s Pom-Pom.”

  “Really?” she says. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  So that part she’s going to lie about.

  We have achieved stalemate. We’ll never know which one of us might have blinked first because it is at that moment that my bronze bangle breaks in two and falls in my half-eaten bowl of soggy cereal.

  My mother rushes over. She wiggles the dish but doesn’t touch the bangle. “Azra, what did you do?”

  “I was just sitting here!”

  Her eyes narrow, and she takes my wrist. “Are you sure? Not even subconsciously?”

  “If it was subconsciously, how would I know?”

  My mother looks at Henry, who has pushed back his chair and is sitting with his mouth hanging open.

  “They’ll come for her.” The words the man … my father … said last night pop into my head.

  “Should Henry leave?” I ask. “Is this … dangerous?”’

  My mother cannot rid her face of its stunned expression. “I don’t think so.”

  “But you don’t know?” I stand up and point across the table. “Henry, go!”

  He scrunches up his face, eyeing me as if I’m crazy. He doesn’t know what I now know about the Afrit. About my family.

  “Seriously, Henry, now.”

  My harsh tone works. He stands, but it’s too late. Something else is already happening. The bronze bangle vanishes into the cereal milk. I take my spoon and swirl it around the bowl.

  “It’s gone,” Henry says. “How could it be gone?”

  A silver bangle identical to the one I first received on my birthday materializes in the center of the table. It rolls toward me. I stop it with one finger before it spills into my lap. At my touch, it pops open at a very visible hinge.

  “I’m guessing this is for me?” I know I don’t need it. My mother knows I don’t need it. But she doesn’t know I know. So I play along. “My probation is over, then?”

  My mother shrugs, but seems unnerved. “Apparently so.”

  I lay my forearm over the table and line up my wrist with the bangle. It hops up, encircles my wrist, and snaps shut. The hinge seal
s itself.

  Henry claps his hands. “That was awesome.”

  Eyes fixed on my wrist, my mother has still not said a word.

  “Mom? What’s wrong?”

  She shrugs again. “Nothing, I guess. It’s just odd. I’ve never seen it happen. I heard about it from Nadia, but you know how she exaggerates. There’s usually a formal application process to have a bronze bangle removed. And it takes time, months, years even. It’s quite rare. You must have impressed them, Azra.”

  She says this with sadness, and I know why. Impressing my paternal grandparents isn’t something either of us wants me doing. The question is, what do they know? What are they impressed by? My use of spells, my granting Nate a wish properly, or my ability to use magic while wearing the bronze bangle? After what I read last night, I’m certain they wouldn’t be rewarding me if it were the last one. They’d … come for me. But since they haven’t, the secret about me being an evolutionary anomaly seems safe—for now.

  Henry moves closer and touches the bangle. I wince slightly, but he doesn’t notice.

  “That’s great,” he says. “Now you’ll be able to visit me.” He gives my mother a sheepish grin. “That is, with your permission, Mrs. Nadira.”

  “Visit?” I say, confused. I then realize what he means. “So New Hampshire’s happening?”

  Henry rounds his shoulders. “Seems like it. It sucks, but it sucked worse yesterday. Do you know how many connections it takes to get from there to here on a bus?”

  The hug from Henry and the fact that he’s already researched bus routes cannot take away the pit in my stomach. I feel like I’m waiting for that Jinn trick to kick in.

  Maybe it already has. Maybe being an Afrit has its perks.

  * * *

  It’s been three days since the accident. Three days since I’ve seen Nate but two nights that we’ve spent together. On the phone. On this third day, I’m standing in a newly purchased bra and underwear (not a thong), ripping clothes off hangers. Though full of black, nothing in my closet seems appropriate for a funeral.