by Karuna Riazi
“No,” Ahmad said. “No, I’m not alone. And this a battle we’re winning. Together.”
The jinn caught sight of Winnie behind Ahmad, though, and wailed.
“No!”
Winnie stamped on the flame with one foot. It extinguished against the cool marble tiles.
Everything happened very quickly after that, but Ahmad couldn’t say exactly what happened.
The jinn keened and Ahmad heard a sudden, vicious sound: a catching of flame and a collapsing in all at once that reminded him of a house on fire crumbling apart.
The palace itself fell too. Ahmad and Winnie clung to each other, screaming, as it plummeted and crashed against the ground around them.
They were tossed up and back down, groaning as elbows and stomachs collided.
“Winnie, you okay?” Ahmad gritted out.
“Ugh, I think every bone is broken. Oh, wait, maybe not my pinkie.”
“We did it,” Ahmad whispered. “We did it!”
Winnie scrambled up, her eyes wide. “Did we? We need to go outside and see!”
Ahmad stumbled up and the kids rushed out. Could that really have been the end of the jinn?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
AHMAD AND WINNIE PICKED their way out of the rubble into the sunlight.
About them were the mangled remains of a hundred beautiful palaces. “Poor things,” Winnie whimpered, leaning down to touch one shattered tile. “I’m so sorry!”
“Poor palaces? What about us?” Lord Amari’s disgruntled voice called from what seemed a distance.
Ahmad was surprised to find a relieved smile tugging at his lips.
He fought it away and turned around to retort, “You guys make it through every time. Unfortunately.”
The MasterMind smirked back, looking no worse for wear in spite of the sand clinging to her hat, but the Architect groaned from behind her. “What do you mean, ‘unfortunately’? Don’t make me regret sparing your life.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Winnie groused. “Look, just be grateful we made it out alive and your so-called uncle didn’t . . . wait.” Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. “Um, Ahmad. Did we kill a jinn?”
Before Ahmad could answer, the MasterMind broke in cheerily. “Sure did.”
She kicked at what Ahmad now saw was a large scorch mark on the ground.
“Probably have the whole lot of his tribe plotting revenge as we speak,” the Architect added grimly. “Jinns are not the most . . . reasonable creatures.”
Winnie groaned. “Great. Just what I need.”
“But what about Madame Nasirah?” Ahmad broke in anxiously.
The Architect crossed his arms. “Don’t think I don’t take care of my own Gamekeeper. She’ll be back in her shop where she belongs, probably toddling along and crooning to her beloved teapots without any awareness of what happened.”
The MasterMind rolled her eyes. “He didn’t like my suggestion that we replace her with a bot.”
Ahmad sighed in relief—and then gasped as the ground shook beneath him.
“What was that?”
The MasterMind’s smile melted away and she looked grim. “That is our final timer. Paheli is eating away at itself. The jinn that kept it alive . . . well, we just established what happened to him. You freed Paheli but sealed its fate.”
“We need to get out!” Winnie gasped out, grasping Ahmad’s arm.
“Way ahead of you there,” the MasterMind responded, stepping back to reveal a glimmering doorway. Through it, Ahmad could make out the suggestion of skyscrapers, milling tourists on distant black asphalt, and the beautiful green expanse of Central Park.
New York City. Home.
It was that close now.
“You both need to go through,” the Architect said firmly. “We have minutes to spare.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Winnie said fervently, but Ahmad anxiously asked, “Wait, you guys aren’t coming too?”
The Architect opened his mouth, but the MasterMind jammed her elbow between his ribs. “Ow! . . . Well, after much discussion, we decided that staying here was the best solution,” he said grimly. “This . . . this is my world after all, the only world I’ve ever known. I will go down with the ship.”
“What he should say,” the MasterMind snapped, “is that his partner is a genius at coding. I’ll get this ship back up and running. Don’t be so gloomy.” She rubbed her arm, and added quietly, “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go anyway.”
The Architect, too, looked away for a long minute. “And I . . . I want to know what happened to my mother. Where she is in here. What the jinn said, about getting rid of her . . . I’ve been scared. If she’s in here, somewhere, at least I can see her one more time.”
“And you’re just going to let us go?” Winnie narrowed her eyes at both of them. “When you know you’re staying here and might die?”
But Ahmad understood. Paheli was something that was part of his world, but not in the same way it was for Lord Amari. It was his whole world.
Instead he said softly, “This is your chance, you know. To make Paheli different this time. To let go of the game.”
Lord Amari looked at him, saying nothing.
“You can’t—” Winnie started again.
“Don’t make us regret letting you go,” the MasterMind snapped back. “Just go home and count your lucky stars you made it out in time. You have two minutes left.”
“Thank you,” Ahmad said. It didn’t even surprise him now that he meant it. “I hope you guys survive this. I hope Paheli is able to live for itself now.”
“Just get going,” the Architect said, but both of them looked surprisingly touched.
Ahmad turned, and then his eyes widened.
“But . . . Vijay Bhai! Where is he?”
“Look out below!” a voice called cheerfully from above.
Winnie looked up, gasped, and shoved Ahmad aside.
“Move! Quick!”
Moments later, a lanky body tumbled down, hitting the sand with a painful sounding “oomph.” The MasterMind winced delicately.
“Nice job,” the Architect said sarcastically.
“I’m okay,” Vijay Bhai said, muffled by the sand. He sat up slowly and brushed himself off, grinning at his nephew.
“Like I would let you go home without me.”
“Your loyalty to Paheli is admirable,” the Architect said, and then cowered as Vijay Bhai slowly rose to his feet. He stared down at the spoiled boy with distaste.
“I wish I could say you’ve grown, but you obviously haven’t.”
Winnie let out a nervous-sounding giggle. “Ouch,” she whispered to Ahmad.
“Yes, well,” the Architect blustered, trying to pull himself up higher. “Be glad that you aren’t feeling my wrath and—”
The MasterMind elbowed him in the ribs again. “Just get going,” she said to the trio as they dusted themselves off again. “Before he really picks up steam.”
Ahmad grasped Winnie’s hand. They glanced back at Paheli one more time. They could see the seamed exterior of the Minaret now as it teetered back and forth. It snapped in half, revealing an ancient inner core: tall marble and a green flash of fire at the top.
“Good-bye, dream city,” Ahmad said softly.
He and Winnie stepped through the doorway, and onto the sticky grass of Central Park. They turned to see the Architect and MasterMind walking toward the depths of Paheli.
They could hardly make out anything but their small bodies moving against the sand. The entire portal shimmered out of existence. There was nothing there except for a brick wall. But Ahmad and Winnie only had eyes for the park exit and the street beyond it. They rushed farther into it, staring eagerly at what lay ahead. In front of them was one of the most beautiful scenes they had ever laid their eyes on: their neighborhood of the Upper East Side, with not a grain of sand to be seen on its worn but welcoming pavements, not an unhappy face turned upward to the sky as kids skipped home
from after-school classes, and tourists milled toward waiting taxis with shopping bags in hand.
“Home,” Ahmad sighed happily. “It’s perfect.”
“Do you think Paheli is gone?” Winnie said anxiously.
Vijai Bhai turned to stare back at where the door had been, the kids following his gaze. Every trace of it had disappeared.
Ahmad thought for a moment about the look in Lord Amari’s eyes, about Madame Nasirah’s warm smile and ready teapot, and the beautiful streets he wished he could have walked peacefully.
“I hope not,” he said quietly. “But I think that was the end of it for us.”
Within minutes, the three of them had reached Ahmad’s building, and the once too-fast elevators seemed tame after their rickshaw racing and other adventures.
Ma opened the front door with a smile, the smell of spicy chicken curry and freshly steamed rice wafting out behind her.
“Ahmad! Goodness, I thought you would have started your project by now. Mr. Willis said you left an hour ago! Is this your friend Winnie?”
Ma wiped her hand on the dish towel tucked in at her waist. “Winnie’s father said he would be back in two hours, and . . . oh, what’s the matter?”
Ahmad buried his head into her orna and snuggled himself tightly. He could practically feel the silly grin radiating off Winnie’s face, but he focused on soaking in his mother’s scent and feel and everything that just made her his mom, whole and warm and definitely not frozen—though there was a suspicious dampness at the ends of her scarf.
“Oh, Ahmad,” Ma said, squeezing him back. “You sweetheart. Come on, baby, set the table.”
“All right, all right,” Ahmad said as Baba, on the couch, waved at him with a smile, his cell phone still pressed against his ear. Ma turned back toward the kitchen and then stopped, whirling around to face the third person in the room.
“Vijay? I thought you went out for a walk.”
Vijay Bhai froze, his eyes wide.
“Oh, um . . . I did,” he blustered, “but it looked like it was going to rain.”
Ma stared out the sunlit window pointedly, and then at her childhood friend.
“Okay, then,” she said, with a shrug. “Ahmad, the table?” She grinned. “And a plate for Vijay Bhai, too.”
Ahmad started for the china cabinet and then froze.
“Ahmad? What is it?” Winnie demanded. When she reached him, she stopped short. There was a mouse beneath the cabinet, blinking up at them. Its cheeks were suspiciously round, and in its paws . . . was that one of Ahmad’s precious chenna murki?
Ahmad started forward and it squeaked, skittering toward the ajar front door and out into the hallway.
“It couldn’t be—” Winnie started. Ahmad firmly shook his head. “No. We were supposed to be the only ones who could make it through.”
They looked after the mouse for a moment. Ahmad cleared his throat. “So. Um. About earlier, with the package and the project—”
He yelped as Winnie’s elbow neatly found its way between his ribs. Apparently, she’d learned plenty from the MasterMind. “Let’s not start with the formality. We lived through a vicious board game together. Let’s stuff our faces and congratulate ourselves on a job well done, and talk about our project. Together.”
“Okay.” Ahmad felt a big, goofy grin breaking out. He couldn’t control it. Together. Apparently, they hadn’t left that word back in Paheli.
“Okay. Let’s set the table so we can figure out how to make this as epic as possible.”
They walked into the dining room together. And, as Winnie pulled faces when Ahmad set a plate down too hard, and Ma bustled past with platters of food, it felt very much like this was the beginning of a new adventure.
Maybe the beginning of a beautiful friendship, too.
Even Ahmad Mirza, it seemed, could have one.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, I begin by thanking God for allowing me to pursue what often felt like an unattainable dream. Every development in this publishing journey has been unexpected and wondrous in ways I could never have arranged or hoped for on my own. I am so, so grateful.
Thank you to my family: my father for his unwavering enthusiasm for the process; my mother for being a supportive first reader and always asking the question, “Does this feel good to you?”; and my sister Sumayyah and brother Sahnoon for, as always, being both delightful and irksome at the same time.
I thank the family members who are no longer here but whose legacies have grounded me: my grandfathers—one for his strength and his name, which I use in his honor, and the other for his love and confidence in me from when I was very young, which I hold on to when I remember that he isn’t here to see this—my uncles, and my paternal grandmother, my Dadi Apa, who greeted the news of my debut with pride and I know would have been happy to hold this book in her hands as well.
I infinitely thank my grandma for being a constant presence of encouragement and chocolate throughout my childhood and now. Thank you as well to my uncles and aunts, and my cousins, for the sweets and celebration every time I have good news to share (and a special thank you to my big sister-cousin Riya Apu for being an instant cheerleader and book pusher as soon as she heard the news). I would be remiss if I didn’t particularly thank my biggest fan and sweet baby sister, my dear cousin Nusaybah Mohsini, who believes in me even on the rough drafting days when I can’t believe in myself. She, my cousin Ashlie Watson, and Farha Ferdous played a huge part in shaping Farah and her family into people, and not merely characters, and I appreciate and love all of them for it. (Thank you to my baby cousin Farhan, as well, for being a reference when I thought, “What would Ahmad do?”)
Thank you to Sona Charaipotra and Dhonielle Clayton for folding me into Cake Literary with love and patience, from when I was an intern to now. You both inspire me to be a better writer and a better person. Thank you to Victoria Marini for being an incredible agent on behalf of Cake Literary, being an epic cheerleader, and dealing with the red tape with grace and care.
Words cannot express how much Zareen Jaffery means to me, as an inspiration and an editor. Thank you for your kindness and for extending your belief in me to a second book. This industry would not be the same without you and your efforts, and I cannot wait to see how Salaam Reads continues to grow and the wonderful stories it produces in the years to come. Thank you as well to the wonderful Justin Chanda, the hard-working Lisa Moraleda and everyone on the team at S&S.
Thank you to Shveta Thakrar, Ronni Davis, Shan Chakraborty, Katherine Locke and Nita Tyndall for all the pep talks and stardust when I needed it most, and Wendy Xu for being the best petty auntie friend a girl could ask for. I would not be the writer I am without the support and love of my Iron Keys, Natasha Heck (a.k.a. the Commander) and Amparo Ortiz (a.k.a. Dragon Tamer).
I could not have gotten through this book without my unnis—Kat Cho (the nice one), Nafiza Azad (the tough love one) and Axie Oh (the CP and support from the very beginning one). I love you guys and I hope you always know it. Our group chat still remains the best group chat, hands down. So much love to my other sisters: Nicole (heart), Aeman (big) and Fati (salt), who are willing to talk about everything and nothing.
Thank you to the best reference librarian in the world, Ms. Kiersten, who has been guiding me to good reads and dispensing excellent advice since I was two years old.
I would like to thank my 2017–18 seventh-, eighth-, and ninth-grade ELA classes at MDQ Academy, for being such great kids and excellent students, and getting me through a rough year with laughs and hugs and plenty of good reads. You were the best kids a first-year teacher could ask for and I will never forget it.
(My seventh graders—Alina, Amir, Hayaa, Asiye, Ayoub, Sumaya, Shiza, Hasan, Maryum, Ayesha A., Hamid, Mohid, Maryam A., Mohammad, Ayesha I., Marium F., Yassna, Elijah, Murtuza, Aleena A., Aleena S., Usman, Furghub, Nabila, and Ameen—made me promise as their homeroom teacher to acknowledge them in my next book. I told you guys I would!)
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br /> A special thank you as well for their sweetness and encouragement to Amar of last year’s eighth grade, Aaliyah of last year’s tenth grade, and Sabrena of last year’s eleventh grade, who are all awesome readers and writers and will do great things in this world.
Thank you to my dearest friend Moira Fox-Maranski for keeping it real since September 2006 when we were both teen dorks holding intense discussions in between the library shelves and keeping a weather eye out for our baby brothers to interrupt. I love you and appreciate you more than words can say.
A special thank you to the author-heroes who took me under their wing and let me soak in their wisdom: among others, my middle grade fairy godmother Anne Ursu, Aisha Saeed, Sabaa Tahir, Libba Bray, Ellen Oh, and Tracey Baptiste. It is always an honor.
I wish I could name all the lovelies of my Twitter feed and online publishing haunts by name. The support through the particularly dark nights, the tagging in pictures of Sailor Mercury and encouraging words during writing sprints mean everything. You guys are everything. Thank you forever for being my community.
And thank you, once again, to you, dear reader. Thank you for the love and encouragement. Thank you for the bought, borrowed, or bartered copies, the bookmarks, and the dog-ears. Thank you for the giddy selfies taken in signing lines, and the excited whispers of your favorite scenes. May you always have good friends at your side, hope in your heart, and the winning hand in your favorite game. You deserve it.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KARUNA RIAZI is a born and raised New Yorker, with a loving, large extended family and the rather trying experience of being the eldest sibling in her particular clan. Besides pursuing a bachelor’s in English literature from Hofstra University, she is an online diversity advocate, blogger, and publishing intern. Karuna is fond of tea, baking new delectable treats for friends and family to relish, Korean dramas, and writing about tough girls forging their own paths toward their destinies. The Battle is the companion to The Gauntlet, her debut novel.