Becoming Jinn

by Lori Goldstein

  Henry puts one hand on each of my upper arms, rubbing gently. He’s scaring me.

  “Know what? What’s happened?” I swivel my head. “Where’s Nate?”

  Henry bites his lower lip. His eyes won’t meet mine. I grab his chin and force him to look at me.

  “What is it, Henry?”

  His Adam’s apple bulges as he swallows. “The helicopter. His parents. They were stopping by on their way back from dinner. There was a car accident on the road to the beach. Some of the kids at the bonfire. They … they drank too much. It’s bad, Azra, really bad.”

  Henry looks like he’s about to cry, which makes the tears I’m fighting all the more difficult to control. But this time, I do. I ask him where they’re taking Nate’s parents. I ask him if he thinks Nate’s already there.

  Once I have my answer, I’m off, running back to the concession stand. All I care about is getting to Nate and his parents. The only wish Nate could possibly make is to save them. And it’s a wish I’ll be able to grant. I don’t know exactly how or what I’ll do, but I know I’ll be able to figure it out. I’ll be able to grant Nate’s wish and keep his family together.

  After this afternoon, I was convinced the whole Afrit notion of “greater good” was a bunch of bull. But I was wrong.

  34

  No, I was right.

  I’m in the ER surrounded by noise. I apped myself to the woods behind the hospital parking lot and sprinted through the sedans, SUVs, and minivans. Having barreled through the sliding glass doors into the waiting room, the blaring TV, crying babies, and chattering nurses momentarily overwhelm me.

  I struggle to catch my breath while scanning the crowded room for Nate. Finally, I see him, huddled in the far corner with a young girl who must be his sister and two older adults who are most likely his grandparents.

  My rush of adrenaline plummets. My feet won’t budge. The effects of the caffeine long gone, the leftover acid gnaws at my stomach lining. I shut my eyes and breathe, steadying my rapid pulse. When I open my eyes, a man in green scrubs is crossing the room, approaching Nate and his family.

  The din of the ER fades into the background. The doctor gets farther from me but closer to Nate. I’m no good at judging distances but I have to be at least twenty feet back. That far away and still I can read his mind.

  My throat tightens, my knees buckle. I’m dizzy. It can’t be. It just can’t be. My feeble attempt at mind control doesn’t stop the doctor from saying what he’s about to say.

  I plunge deeper into the doctor’s mind: internal bleeding, ruptured lung, trauma to the head, gone before he arrived. Gone. Gone. Nothing we could do. Nothing anyone could do.

  Anyone, not even me? Was there nothing I could do to save Nate’s father?

  Gone before I even got here. Before I had a chance to do anything. How can that be? Did I waste time lying on a blanket, snacking on sugary almonds when I was supposed to be here? Did I waste time feeling sorry for myself, eating stale doughnuts in the concession stand? Is this all my fault? Did I miss out on being able to grant Nate the most important wish of his life? Was this not the wish I was supposed to grant? Was this not why Nate was chosen as a candidate? What could make him more deserving of a wish than this?

  I can’t look at Nate’s face as the doctor tells him the news. I can’t hear his thoughts. I can’t bear the pain of hearing his thoughts. Selfishly, I shut him out. I shut everyone out. My heart is breaking. Nausea churns my insides. My breathing is rapid, irregular. I want to app away from here, far away. It’s too much. Everything that’s happened tonight, and now, this too, it’s just too much.

  I back up until I hit the wall behind me. I lean against it and steal a glance at Nate. His eyes are welded shut, and he’s clutching his sister so tightly I’m afraid he might crush her. If I think it’d be painful to hear Nate’s thoughts, what must it be like to be Nate, to be the one thinking those thoughts?

  I think of Jenny, and I know. I think of the Afrit taking my mother, and I know. I think of the Afrit erasing Henry’s mind, and I know.

  I also know, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here, whether he needs me or not, I won’t leave him. If he has to take this, so do I.

  I tune back in to the doctor who’s telling them about Nate’s mother. Facial lacerations, broken ribs, significant blood loss. The older woman, who my mind-reading confirms is their grandmother and Mrs. Reese’s mother, holds her breath through it all. But when the doctor says “investigating possible spinal cord damage,” she releases a moan, too soft for me to hear externally, but the strength of the one inside her head almost knocks me off my feet.

  Nate and his grandmother follow the doctor to see his mother. In her grandfather’s arms, Megan folds in on herself, hands tight against her chest, head hanging down, knees bent—the equivalent of a standing fetal position. I take the nearest seat and try not to lose it.

  My head between my knees, I feel a hand rubbing my back. I look up. Henry. I fly out of the chair and throw myself against his chest with such force that we almost fall to the ground. Like Nate, he has long, strong swimmer’s arms. They envelop me, and that’s it. I lose control.

  Now that Henry’s here, I give in to my fear, my guilt, my worry, my … pain. I’m dragging out a memory from the furthest reaches of my brain, but the details are just beyond my grasp. But the feeling, the feeling comes. A hurt so raw and deep, it surpasses even this. I’m small and being held by some other boy’s arms. Some other boy’s arms that have the same ability as Henry to ground me, to make me feel like the world is not ending. The memory retreats, scurrying back to the dusty corners of my mind, but the feeling remains.

  “Breathe, Azra, just breathe,” Henry says.

  Chelsea comes up next to us and rests her hand on Henry’s shoulder. Tears fall down her cheeks … her freckled cheeks. Weird that this is the first time I’ve noticed the smattering of cute little dots. I stare at them, mentally drawing lines between them. Somehow, it is these tiny speckles that soften her to me, and then soften me toward her.

  She lays a hand on my forearm. “They’re not … Nate’s parents … they’re not…” Chelsea is unable to say the words.

  I don’t make her. I look into her sympathetic eyes and whisper, “Just his father.” Just.

  Finally, I push myself back from Henry. I take the tissue offered by Chelsea and blow my nose. She hands me another one and I blow again, still leaning one shoulder against Henry.

  “Az.” Henry lifts his chin, gesturing to the other side of the room.

  Nate and his grandmother are returning to his sister, grandfather, and a few other family members and friends who have arrived. The entire group shares the same tortured expression.

  Nate’s bloodshot eyes float around the room, and he sees me. He kisses the top of his sister’s head before rushing to me. I meet him halfway, holding him, I hope, at least half as well as Henry held me.

  My condolences don’t need to be verbalized. I’m reading Nate’s mind, and without me having to say anything, he knows how sorry I am, how much I’m hurting for him, how much everyone in this room is hurting for him. And that’s becoming a problem.

  They all mean well, but I can’t face them. Not yet. I need …

  Ending our embrace, I take Nate’s hand. “Want to go outside? Get some fresh air? Just for a minute?”

  Nate glances at his grandmother, tilts his head toward the exit, and raises a shaky finger in the air. Once she nods to him, Nate allows me to guide him through the well-meaning but rubbernecking friends and strangers. Though he’s beginning to cut off the circulation in my hand, I let him squeeze as hard as he wants, as hard as he needs to, until we pass through the front doors of the ER.

  “Is there anything I can do?” I ask the question to which there is no answer because I have to say something.

  That was … seeing her … seeing my mom … and Grandma … she went to see him … I … I couldn’t … I—

  Even Nate’s mind can’t finish this
nightmarish thought. He wipes his tear-dampened cheeks with his free hand. “Just … just walk with me.”

  And so we travel through the parking lot, hand in hand, up and down the rows of cars. Unlike the beach, the moonlight barely shines here, drowned out by all the harsh lights.

  “You’d think this would make me feel better,” Nate says, running a finger along the back window of a hatchback, leaving a clean, straight line in the dust. “That most of these cars probably belong to someone who’s hurting. Someone whose loved one is in the middle of surgery or being treated for cancer or just … just … I can’t even say it.”

  He stops and rests against the end of a pickup truck. “What now, Azra? What will we do now, without … without … my dad. And my mom … all those machines and wires.” He bends, placing his hands on his thighs, staring at the concrete. “This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.”

  But it is. And I can’t do anything about it. Because there are some things even our magic can’t do.

  We can’t heal humans.

  We can’t bring people back from the dead.

  We can’t grant a wish for a candidate not assigned to us by the Afrit.

  But Nate was assigned. To me.

  “He was going to help me get a scholarship,” Nate says. “He and Megan already signed up for that sailing competition. He and my mom were going to go to Italy, move back to Boston once Megan graduated, become grandparents. And now, now, I just wish … I wish…”

  I’m momentarily paralyzed. There’s so much Nate might wish for that I can’t give him. Doing the ritual now is risky. The last thing I want to do is have to employ a genie trick.

  No, that’s not right. The last thing I want to do is nothing—to stand here and do nothing when I have a chance to help Nate.

  I move in front of him. “What, Nate? What do you wish for? Is there something, anything, that would make this even a little bit easier?”

  Nate nods as tears return and spill down his cheeks. I grab his hand and pull him farther down the row until we are camouflaged between the pickup and the SUV next to it.

  I focus on the bronze bangle but nothing in or on it changes as I begin the wish-granting ritual. After clearly enunciating all the incantations, I fix my gaze on Nate. The hurt in his eyes locks my heart in a vise. I force myself to continue, to fully connect with Nate’s anima, to give his soul a home in mine.

  The weight and the lightness of nature somehow course through my veins at the same time. It’s … calming … peaceful. I am right where I’m supposed to be. Doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. It is the first time since becoming Jinn I have felt this way.

  “I am now ready to grant you one wish.” I say the line that is required before adding more of my own. I need to do this right, for myself, for my mother, but mostly, for Nate. “Think before you answer. Search your heart and your mind for your deepest desire, the one thing you wish beyond all else, the one thing you need above all else to make your life better. Now, Nathan Reese, what is your one wish?”

  The answer in the depths of his soul I feel in my own. He doesn’t need to verbalize it but he does. In the trance-like state I’ve put him in, he says slowly, “I wish to be able to take care of Megan.”

  Nate the protector. Of course this is his wish. He wants his father back. He wants his mother to get better. But he can’t live without knowing his sister will be okay. And he needs to be the one to make that happen. Which means, I need to be the one to make that happen.

  I’m about to begin the concluding incantations when Nate continues to speak.

  “And I wish Azra will always be with me. She makes the hurt less.”

  He’s already made his one wish. So this second wish I cannot use magic to grant. Fortunately, this second wish I do not need to use magic to grant.

  * * *

  Thinking the day could not get any more surreal, I find myself sandwiched between Chelsea and Henry in the backseat being driven home from the hospital by one of Nate’s lifeguard buddies. Nate’s residual anima has me numb, figuratively and literally. I’m grateful for the warm bodies on either side of me.

  The car stops in front of my house. Solemn nods are exchanged between those in the front seats and those in the back. Henry leans across me, smiles weakly at Chelsea, and steps out onto the curb.

  I slide across the seat and reach for Henry’s extended hand. Chelsea catches me by the elbow and breaks the silence that clung to the darkened interior for the duration of the ride.

  “We should do something,” she says.

  My confusion must show on my face, because she elaborates.

  “Help out,” she says. “Do you cook? We could make something together. Something they could freeze. We, my mom and I, we did that when my uncle passed away last year. I can get some recipes from her. You could come over, or I could come back here, or—”

  I pat Chelsea’s knee. “Sure, that sounds … nice.”

  “Yeah?” Chelsea’s eyes widen.

  “Yeah,” I say. “This is all new to me.”

  Chelsea nods. “I’ll get your number from Henry.”

  I manage a slight smile and place my hand in Henry’s. The car leaves us standing on the sidewalk. If the Afrit took my mother away, is that what I’d be left with? A freezer of baked ziti, banana bread, and enchiladas?

  * * *

  Using my keys, Henry unlocks the front door of my house. The noise draws my mother’s attention. From upstairs, she calls down in a frantic voice, “I was about to use my locator spell to find you.”

  She pauses on the landing. “Oh, Henry, I didn’t know you were here. It’s just … it’s only you two, right?”

  Henry nods. “Just us.”

  Relieved, my mother continues down the stairs while I work my way up. We meet halfway, and I hug her, hard. She must feel me trembling because she says, “Azra, honey, what’s wrong? What happened? Where’s Nate? Did he take you both home?”

  My eyes are so full of tears that I miss the next step. “I can’t, Mom. Not now.”

  “But honey, tell me—”

  Henry clears his throat. “If it’s all right, Mrs. Nadira, I can explain. Okay, Azra?”

  Whether they see me nod my head in response or not doesn’t matter. I keep going, heading for my room. I hear Henry say “accident” and then “horses” and “Nate” and shut my door to the rest.

  I don’t want to hear it again. The younger parking lot attendants found the stash of warm beer and filled their bellies. They wandered away from the bonfire and started messing with the horses at the farm near the entrance to the beach. One of the preteen boys crawled through the wooden post-and-rail fence and opened first the barn door and then the fence gate. Chasing the horses, they pushed the scared animals into the dark street just as Nate’s parents were coming around the bend.

  Yanking my down comforter over my bare legs, I inhale. The lilacs are strong tonight. The flowers should be long gone, their season usually confined to the spring. But they’re my favorite. My mother’s magic keeps the blooms lasting all summer so I can fall asleep breathing in the familiar scent, the scent I associate with the comfort and safety of home.

  I inhale over and over again. But the increasingly deep and long breaths I take bring only the strong, fruity fragrance. This day that has stripped so much from me takes one more thing.

  35

  The barking dog ruins my plan to sleep through the night. For which I am grateful. My dreams quickly morphed into nightmares that only retreated with my waking up. Before I fell asleep I would have said nothing could be worse than reality, but my subconscious mind combined with Nate’s grieving residual anima had other ideas.

  I tug on my comforter, but it doesn’t budge. As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see what’s holding it up. Or down.

  Curled like a cat at the foot of my bed is Henry. Even tucked as compactly as he is with his chin and knees greeting each other at his belly button, he’s still too tall to fit horizontall
y across the full-size mattress. The sight of him makes me want to laugh as much as cry. I’m betting it wasn’t all that difficult for him to convince my mother to allow him to stay with me. Though he’ll be sore tomorrow if he sleeps the entire night in this position, I know he won’t say a word. I don’t deserve him. If I tell him about Jenny, that likely won’t be a problem. How could he ever forgive me? But can I really not tell him? Can I really keep this a secret from him?

  Yes, I can. And I will. And this, above all else, lets me know I really have become a Jinn.

  Unable to look at the framed photo of me, Jenny, and Laila, I place it facedown on my nightstand. I ease out of bed and fold my end of the blanket over Henry. My bonfire clothes smell faintly of smoke. I check to make sure Henry’s asleep before I change into jeans and a light sweater.

  It’s very late, or really early, depending on how you look at it. Though my stomach growls, I feel guilty for thinking about something as trivial as food. It seems a betrayal to Nate to think anything but sad thoughts. To think of anything but granting his wish. I’m fortunate that I can do more to help Nate and his family than bake a crumb cake.

  I lift the cantamen and a notebook off my desk. My bedroom door squeaks as I open it, but Henry remains in his little ball. I slip through and gently close the door behind me. Across the hall, my mother’s bedroom door stands wide open. I start down the stairs and catch a few words spoken in her hushed voice. Light from the kitchen filters into the living room.

  I lower myself onto a step and crouch behind the railing. It’s a familiar stakeout position. Eavesdropping on my mother and one of her Zar sisters, usually Lalla Sam, who’d apport here for late-night gossiping was a staple of my childhood. The railing did a better job of concealing me back then.

  “Maybe the Nadiras are cursed,” Samara says.

  “Sam, that’s not helping,” my mother says.

  “Well, really, Kalyssa, who has this much bad luck?”