Curse of a Djinn

by Lichelle Slater

  “He couldn’t make another wish.”

  Marid shrugged his hands out to his sides innocently, though his eyes held a dark glint.

  I chuckled and shook my head. I had my share of deceiving previous masters, but because I was handed down generation to generation, they quickly caught onto my playful tactics and remained ever cautious how they worded their wishes.

  “How long ago did you kill your master?” I asked.

  “Hm, I believe two days ago? You know how time passes here.”

  I nodded. “Indeed.”

  As we reached the top of the incline, the massive library extended before us. Hand-carved pillars lined the reflection pond extended down the middle of the walkway, and colorless palm trees stood between the pillars.

  “How are things with your new master?” Marid asked. “I hear she is keeping you in the mortal realm a long time?”

  “She allows me to stay instead of forcing me to return here,” I agreed with a bow of my head. “I will admit I have enjoyed it.”

  “And you don’t mind being with her?”

  I stopped a moment. We’d barely reached the reflection pond, and I felt a tug at my heart. “She . . . isn’t my master any longer.” I began walking again, this time faster than before.

  Marid frowned and followed. “What do you mean?”

  “My previous master’s son has acquired my artifact, and now he owns me.”

  “That sucks. Is he keeping the tradition of your being an assassin?”

  I felt the tang of bile at the back of my tongue. Apparently my tight-lipped face and narrowed glare were enough of an answer to Marid because he didn’t ask any further questions on the matter.

  When I was first thrown into prison, I had visited this library often. After all, escaping into stories was better than living in my pointless reality.

  We reached the top of the limestone steps, and I rubbed my hands on my pants a little nervously. Cautiously, I approached the bronze doors. The metal workers had inlaid the designs meticulously—sigils, spells, wards, you name it.

  I touched the handle and found it warm to the touch. The lock behind clicked, and I pulled the door open. “Make sure you breathe as you enter. There are wards and protections. And while you’re inside, no magic can be performed within the walls. The library itself has magic, and you must be careful if you want to return,” I explained.

  Marid’s eyes glinted with excitement, and he entered first.

  I followed, and as soon as I stepped across the threshold, a gust of wind battered against me strong enough I had to shield my eyes with my arm. No particles beat me, but the force of the wind itself stung my exposed skin. My shoes slid against the ground until I felt no grittiness of sand, and the gale instantly stopped.

  I slowly lowered my arm and smiled genuinely.

  To say the library was beautiful didn’t do it justice.

  The building was two stories high, with the main level having a much higher ceiling than the second. I entered on the second floor, at the back of the library, and a long, wide staircase opened before me. The ceiling had one large dome in the center with a smaller dome on either side. The domes each had five windows lighting the space below, and the ceiling between them was delicately painted with ancient murals as old as the building itself.

  The second floor was held up with wide pillars, hand-carved and depicting scenes of ancient Egypt. The shelves throughout the library had been built of sycamore trees, with vibrant orange, red, and deep browns coloring the wood and brightening the space even more. However, the second floor’s shelves contained only scrolls while the main level held tomes chained to the shelves, and smaller books stacked and organized carefully.

  Positioned on the outside wall at the end of each row of bookshelves were comfortable couches, and behind every other couch stood a tall window. Each window sat open as though to allow a breeze through the building.

  The main level of the library also had rows of tables in the middle of the open space, with matching wooden benches on either side. The tables were either carved or painted with mystical scenes—Perseus slaying Medusa, the djinn refusing to bow to Adam, the last of the North American dragons, witches mixing potions, and so many more.

  This was the Library of Alexandria.

  Thankfully, I wasn’t around for its destruction in the mortal realm. I do remember the first time I walked through the doors in the djinn realm, though, and discovered it wasn’t a decrepit building.

  The god Thoth couldn’t bear to lose everything permanently and granted a blessing upon it to exist, at least somewhere. The doors on the main level and opposite the door I’d entered through, led to different realms, though I’d never been able to find out which. Every time I attempted to step through a different door, I was zapped back to my own realm. I supposed it might have to do with being a prisoner and everything.

  “Can I now enter on my own?” Marid asked, still gazing at the wonder of the ancient library.

  “I suppose.” I shrugged, not really knowing the answer.

  “Thank you.” He grinned and walked away from me to explore.

  I didn’t know why he hadn’t been able to enter in the first place, but again, I really didn’t care. I turned to leave but decided I had time to pass until my new master summoned me again. It had been some time since I visited anyway.

  Not looking for anything in particular, I meandered through the rows of books until a section of books and scrolls caught my eye. Sticking out from the top of the bookshelf hung a sign reading: “Enchanter/Enchantress.” The gold letters shifted between languages in a magical rhythm.

  I quickly walked to the main part of the room and looked down to my right to verify the alphabet continued down that direction. I found the section for “Sorceress” and stopped to examine the books.

  “May I help you locate something?”

  The voice made me jump. I’d never been approached in the library, and when I spun to face the voice, I certainly didn’t anticipate the sheer lavender Greek dress of the muse. She stood with her spine erect, her hands clasped in front of her, and her beautiful black-brown hair tied up and bundled around a thin ribbon that wrapped around her head.

  “Forgive me for startling you,” she apologized, her voice still soft.

  “I didn’t hear you,” I replied, inclining my head in an apologetic gesture. “I am looking for an old spell book. One that would have been owned by the sorceress Zenja.”

  The muse’s brows twitched upward in a briefly surprised motion. Her gaze darted down and back up just as quickly. “You are a djinn, are you not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “The djinn section is on the second floor.” She gestured with her left arm.

  “I know. I wanted to look for the spell book of Zenja. Do you have it?”

  Her forehead wrinkled ever so slightly. She ran her fingers along the spines of the books as she walked down the row.

  I politely stepped back, allowing her to pass in front of me.

  A book on the top center of the shelf wiggled its spine outward.

  The muse raised her hand in a motion so graceful I would have thought she was dancing had she been in any other setting.

  I reached up and pulled the book from the shelf. I held onto it, feeling the weight and tingling magic inside. The spine crackled as I opened the cover, and it was evident to me the tome hadn’t been touched in centuries.

  This is the only warning you will receive. Turn the pages at your own risk. Zenja. The font was sharp and in black letters glittering with magic—Zenja’s script.

  I felt my heart race and I closed the cover.

  The muse smiled at me. “You are wise.”

  I gestured toward her with the book. “I know Zenja personally.”

  “Know?” She raised her brow. “Are you not the one who caused her early death?”

  I flinched. “Yeah, but she was reincarnated. And she’s in the process
of relearning her magic. It’s a long story. But I need to take this to her.”

  The muse shook her head. “You know the books aren’t allowed to leave the library.”

  “This belongs to her.”

  “Then she will have to come and retrieve it. Anything else?”

  I frowned but shook my head dismissively.

  The muse went on her way, her gown shifting gently across the floor as she walked.

  I exhaled in frustration as I set the book back in its proper place. I needed to get Gwen and bring her here. Which meant I also needed to trick my master into sending her back to the djinn realm with me. This would be fun.

  Chapter 17

  Gwen

  My head throbbed as I came to. I felt something wet and slimy caress my hand and pulled it away with an audible groan.

  “You’re awake!” Seymour nudged my shoulder, then my neck.

  “Stop it,” I grumbled, pushing him away. “My head is killing me.”

  “Because you broke it on the window.”

  I peeled an eye open and narrowed it at the dog. “Huh?”

  Seymour sat at my side, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “Bad man stabbed you, you fell asleep, then I hurt the bad man to protect you, and he crashed the car! You broke your head. Doren got you out of the car.”

  “Doren!” I bolted upright, which resulted in a wave of coldness washing over me, saliva rushing out from under my tongue, and ended in me expelling my lunch all over the floor beside the bed.

  “Bad idea,” Seymour observed.

  The door swung open, and only then did I realize the lights in the room were off. When the door opened and the light entered the room, it was as blinding as if I were staring directly at the sun.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and lay back down.

  “You have a concussion, I’m afraid,” the man spoke. “Send for someone to clean this up,” he ordered someone I couldn’t see. “We didn’t have the opportunity to properly meet. My name is Jesse.”

  I swallowed, the disgusting taste of vomit lingering on my now-dry tongue. “Where is Doren?”

  “He’s safe.”

  I forced my eyes open so I could glare up at Jesse. He was the spitting image of Oliver, which I didn’t expect, but it didn’t stop me from snapping, “How would you know?”

  “Because he turned himself over to me.” He pulled Doren’s painting from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it up for me to see.

  Instinctively, I reached out.

  Jesse pulled it away. “Ah-ah. I need him.” He tucked the picture away, then stepped aside.

  A young woman rushed in and knelt on the floor to scrub up my mess.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized to her.

  She didn’t even acknowledge me.

  “She’s deaf,” he explained. “Oliver explained to me that you are quite unique. The reincarnation of the sorceress Zenja.”

  “You’re a little behind,” I answered flatly.

  “Unfortunately, I made an arrangement with Doren that you would be safe and not dragged into this,” he continued as if I hadn’t said anything.

  I felt the “but” coming before he said it.

  “But,” he sighed, “I’m afraid if anyone can help us, it’s truly you. I want to explain to both you and Doren what the magnitude of the situation is. You will be given the choice whether or not you want to be involved. I don’t think Doren should make that decision for you.”

  “And why shouldn’t he?” Not that I wanted him to, of course. Doren had no reason to boss me around or decide what my new future would hold, but Doren must have had a reason.

  Jesse sat on the edge of the bed at my feet. “Because we’ve found a very dangerous man. One you knew when you were Zenja. If you can help us, maybe we can be rid of him once and for all.”

  “No pressure,” I threw in.

  His lips tightened as he assessed me.

  The girl who’d cleaned up my mess straightened, and I waved to catch her attention. I smiled and brought my fingers to my chin, then brought it out in the sign for “thank you.” I rubbed my fist against my chest, pointed to myself, and extended the fingers of both hands. I touched my right pinky to my left thumb, and my right thumb to my chin and moved it away: Sorry I threw up. I then signed to her that I was even more sorry she had to clean it up.

  Her eyes brightened, and she signed back to me it was her job and really didn’t mind.

  I quickly asked if she got paid enough, to which she laughed and nodded.

  “Excuse me, I need to return to work,” she finally said.

  I thanked her again and watched her leave.

  “You know sign?” Jesse asked giving an impressed frown. “Back on our topic . . .”

  “I won’t answer anything without Doren being present.”

  He heaved a sigh, shoulders rising and falling heavily. “We need your power.”

  “Tough luck. I don’t remember it,” I replied sharply. “I may be reincarnated, but I don’t have memories of who I am—was—without Doren. He is the one who somehow helps me recall my memories.”

  Jesse rubbed his chin as if groping for a beard that was no longer present. “You don’t know any of your magic?”

  “I’ve been practicing but only made it a few days before Doren was stolen from me.” I glared at him, folding my arms over my chest. “I really would like him back.”

  Jesse stood and tugged the bottom of his suit jacket, straightening it. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”

  “Then, no. I won’t help you.”

  “It would help us save the world . . .”

  “Isn’t that too bad?” I threw the covers off and got to my feet. The room tilted abruptly to the left, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut against a wave of pain that radiated from the right side of my head.

  “Gwen, the world is in danger. Don’t you understand that?”

  “And why should I care?” I faced him, forcing my eyes open. “What has the world ever done to me? Why am I suddenly responsible for saving it?”

  Jesse watched me, clearly weighing the many ways he could respond.

  But I knew I was right. I didn’t owe this world anything. It had taken my family, cursed me with magic, and exposed me to a magical being I hated to admit I had growing feelings for. Oh, not to mention the mafia now had me in a bedroom of one of their hideouts.

  I climbed to my feet, silently ushering Seymour to hop off the bed, and walked to the door. If they wouldn’t give me Doren, I needed to talk to Glupin to figure out how to get Doren back. All the while, I knew I would have the silent nagging at the back of my mind, the curse of curiosity to know who this guy was the mafia wanted Doren to kill and why.

  Okay, I’d be the first to admit I expected—and even wanted—Jesse to chase me down and beg me for help, but he didn’t.

  I wanted to ask him questions but couldn’t because my brain hadn’t been thinking of those possibilities.

  Most of all, I really wanted to talk to Doren.

  I marched through the expensive mansion—I was expecting a rundown warehouse, but after I realized it was a mansion, it made sense too—and out the front doors. A perfect cobblestone path overgrown with furry moss spread out in front of me, leading to the thick, black iron gate.

  As I stepped onto the path, I wondered if the mossy patches were actually Toffheads, little creatures that sounded the alarm and were often used for homes like these because they remained hidden so well.

  Just because I could, I stomped on one.

  Nothing.

  More disappointed that I hadn’t been able to let out my frustration, I continued to the gate and flung it open. Again, I had anticipated the metal to be secured by electricity or something, but it wasn’t. They must have turned off their security system, knowing I was leaving.

  A glance over my shoulder confirmed that. Jesse stood in the window of the second floor, a sullen expression on his fac
e. I wanted to use a choice middle finger but resisted the urge.

  The entire walk to the bus stop, I stewed in anger at myself because I had opportunity after opportunity to set Doren free, and now he was back in the hands of the masters he despised so much. All the while I “owned” him, I had the ability to say four simple words and he would have been freed.

  Doren was right.

  Humans were selfish.

  And I was so selfish, not only did I refuse to set him free but he was now gone. My selfishness had left me alone yet again.

  Seymour nudged my hand, giving me a little whine, and I realized the churning in my stomach and the tightness of my chest was my attempt to wall up my tears. I’d built that dam after the death of my family, fortified it by not letting anyone too close, and one stupid djinn had cracked it.

  “Where do we go?” Seymour asked.

  I looked up past the yellow light of the street lamp into the darkening sky. “It does no good to go home. And I can’t go back to them. Maybe—”

  “Why not?” Seymour asked.

  I faced him.

  He cocked his head, his large brown eyes soft. “Why can’t you go back?”

  “Well, because . . . because I can’t help them kill someone.”

  “What are you going to do, then? Ignore them? Because going back isn’t bad. It’s not bad to get more information.”

  I scoffed. “I don’t care what their reasons are. I can’t bring myself to kill another person.”

  “What if you knew something really bad was going to happen? Could you then? If you knew he had killed other people? Or was going to kill? Like, kill Doren?”

  “I’m just a college girl trying to make a life for myself!” I argued back. The wound on my head throbbed and I closed my eyes a moment before I began walking down the street, away from my fears and uncertainties.

  “I’m just normal,” I muttered.

  The instant the words spilled from my lips, I knew it wasn’t right.

  Why else would I have magic?

  Why else would I have been reincarnated?

  I stopped walking. I looked over my shoulder at Seymour still sitting under the lamplight. “You know, you’re right. I have too many questions to just walk away from all of this.” I walked back to him and crouched to scratch his ears. “I’m done walking away and hiding. Answers first, and then we’ll see where to go from there.”