My mother sighs. “That poor boy, that poor family.”
My stomach churns, rejecting even the thought of food.
Part of me wants to rush down the stairs and ask for help granting Nate’s wish. But a bigger part stops me. Because I have to figure it out. Not my mother or Samara. Because it really is intimate, granting a human’s wish. My connection to Nate’s anima went so deep—it’s still so deep—that I’m consumed by the need to protect it, to protect him and his wish, to be the only one privy to what’s in his soul. I’ve finally done this to the best of my abilities, just like my mother’s been trying to teach me to do. Just as we Jinn were meant to do.
All well and good, but my suddenly gooey center doesn’t do squat for actually helping me grant the freakin’ wish. This will require logistics, planning … like I should have done with Ms. Wood. Mrs. Pucher, Zoe, Lisa, all those wishes were easier because they could be granted in the moment.
Cantamen clutched to my chest, I retreat to my mother’s room and stretch out on her bed. I lie on my stomach and pull one of her pillows toward me. A splash of red appears. Red leather. Underneath the pillow is my mother’s diary. An uncapped pen sticks out from in between pages near the end, pages that are still blank.
My mother said she used a spell to hide the writing on those seemingly empty pages of the cantamen. The diary must be masked by the same spell. As I leaf through the codex, I keep my eyes open for both a way to grant Nate’s wish and a spell to reveal the hidden ink. I find the spell first, thanks to a huge drawing of a pair of purple eyeglasses.
I touch the title next to the drawing: “Make the Seen Unseen.” The spell that follows has it all: rhyme, foreign words, magic gobbledygook. Now all I need is a talisman. This I do not have. But my mother does. And I know what it is.
When my mother appeared at Ms. Wood’s house, she was wearing her emerald signet ring. She doesn’t wear it often. I always thought it was because it was large and a bit showy, but I now suspect there’s another reason. The ring is her talisman. She needed it that day in order to use spells to fix my mess. Since Yasmin’s been wearing and using Raina’s ring, I’m pretty sure my mother’s talisman will work for me.
When I found out about the car accident, my priorities shifted. But as I near my mother’s jewelry box to search for her ring, my suspicions about my A pendant and what it means if they are true rise up again.
Stopping a few feet short of my mother’s dresser, I focus on the jewelry box and the emerald ring resting inside. The lid opens, and the ring lifts, levitates, and moves toward me. I extend my middle finger, letting the emerald slide down. It’s a perfect fit.
I walk to the dresser to return the ring to where my powers found it and dig the duplicate A pendant out of the bottom drawer. Either I’m wrong about all this, or everything that happened earlier distracted my mother from finding a new hiding place.
Holding the A in one hand, I step back until I’m in the exact same position I was in moments ago. Though I’m doing exactly what I did the first time, the jewelry box doesn’t open and the ring doesn’t float my way. Still focused, I drop the heavier A pendant to the floor. The emerald ring flies at me so fast I need to duck to avoid it colliding with my forehead.
Damn, I was right. I was right. The magic running through my Jinn blood doesn’t need a bangle to unleash it. When I turned sixteen, my mother must have replaced the A pendant that she spelled to block my magic with the lighter one I’m now wearing. Her smooth actions allowed me to continue believing the lie: that because of my scar I needed a bangle to release my powers. Now I’m sixteen. I’m allowed to use magic. Why not tell me the truth? What is she afraid of? What should I be afraid of?
The fact that Samara’s here stops me from confronting my mother. I kept Henry a secret from Laila because I didn’t want to put her in danger. Knowing what I now know about the Afrit, I wouldn’t be surprised if my mother has been doing the same thing with Sam. I’ve waited sixteen years to learn the truth, another day means nothing to me. But to Nate, whose deepest desire is to take care of Megan, another day must mean everything.
This is when it hits me that I should have done something to grant at least a portion of Nate’s wish in the moment. How could I allow him to leave the parking lot without somehow letting him know that he already has all he needs to take care of his sister?
Logistics, legalities, that’s what came into my mind when he said “take care of.” But those words encompass much more. So much more, my lungs seize and I fall onto the end of the bed. Nate lost his father tonight. His mother is hurt, bad. His deepest desire is to know that his sister will be okay.
And I have no idea what I’m doing.
When Jenny died, all I wanted to do was stop being Jinn. But tonight, all I want to do is be a model Jinn. I have to do this. I have to do this right.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to crumble under the massive weight on my chest.
My skin prickles and a purring fills my ears. Smooth, warm hands rest on my cheeks.
“Oh, Azra, honey, what is it?”
Hana. Red hair tied into a loose bun on top of her head, a white goopy mask covering her face, toothbrush clutched in her hand.
“What…?” I blink. Twice. “What are you doing here?”
Hana shoves her toothbrush in the pocket of her pajama pants. “You tell me. I expected to find you staked or something.”
“They stake vampires, not genies.”
“Could’ve fooled me with the way it felt like my heart was being impaled.”
We stare at each other. “The link,” we say at the same time.
I stand up. “You felt … felt, like, me?”
“Did you feel like you were having a heart attack?”
“Just about.”
“Then yes.”
“Cool,” she says at the same time as “creepy” leaves my lips.
Her laugh instantly lightens the weight on my chest. Her hand that holds mine as I tell her first about Laila and then about Nate relieves it even more. Her words that guide me through what she expects I’ll need to do, pulled from memories of her flash cards, combined with the secret to using the cantamen allow me to breathe again. Her encouragement that I can do this makes me hope I can repay her one day. I’ll even wear her genie costume if she wants (which I think but don’t actually say).
As she’s getting ready to leave, she hesitates. “You know what you did to Laila was wrong, I don’t have to tell you that.” Her skin flushes a light pink as she looks me in the eye. “But I understand, in a way. We all have Jinn we wish were in our lives. Even if we don’t talk about it, it doesn’t mean we don’t feel it.”
Her brother. My heart pulls like taffy and I feel her longing.
“I’m so sorry, Hana.” Instinctually, I wrap my arms around her and the ache in her heart—and then mine—fades.
After she wishes me luck and makes me promise to text her when I’m done, she sticks the toothbrush in her mouth and disappears.
I don’t know—or care—if it’s my own feelings or Hana’s, but confidence fills me as I climb into my mother’s bed. I set the diary aside and pull the cantamen into my lap. With my mother’s ring on my finger, I draw on all the elements of nature and put my own spin on what Hana told me to say.
“Come on, Grandma, Great-Grandma, Great-Great Grandma, help me grant Nate’s wish to take care of his sister.” As I wave my hand over the open book, the light shines off the emerald ring I’m wearing. “Please.”
Wind whips my hair as the book’s pages furiously flip. The green gemstone on my finger glows. When the pages stop turning and the exact entry I need, written in my mother’s neat hand, stares up at me, I understand why this beast doesn’t require an index.
* * *
I app myself to Nate’s backyard. All the lights are out, which means, luckily, everyone’s still sleeping.
Following the detailed instructions my mother entered into the cantamen after granting a similar wish, it’s
no surprise that accomplishing the logistical part of Nate’s wish wasn’t anywhere near as hard as I expected.
It also didn’t hurt that his parents had most of the necessary things in order. But just in case Nate’s mother … just in case, I made sure Nate, his sister, his family would be protected.
Life insurance, bank accounts, mortgages, wills, I apped to the home of each, conjuring paperwork, changing entries in computer databases, and using spells to do wild (and what I fear could turn out to be addicting) things like make me invisible to alarms and video cameras. The more spells I used, the more in awe—and frightened—I became of what I can do.
The hardest part was remembering to say “izza samhat” before using my powers. Would the Afrit know if I recited the words? The ones meant to release my magic? The ones I don’t actually need? I have no idea, but keeping up the pretense my mother started seems like the safer play.
With my bolstering, there will be enough money to cover the most advanced medical techniques and rehabilitation Mrs. Reese could ever need. Grad school, medical school, and whatever else Nate and Megan might want to do short of buying a small island will be covered. And if … if circumstances require it, when Nate turns eighteen in a few weeks, he will become Megan’s legal guardian. Nate will be able to take care of Megan, financially and legally. Wish granted.
Technically wish granted. Because if I left it at that, I’d be employing a bit of a genie trick. Which is why I’m at Nate’s house.
Though I’m sure Nate can do the rest of what “taking care of” entails all on his own, I need to make sure he thinks so too.
I say “izza samhat” and magically unlock the back door. Tiptoeing into Nate’s kitchen, my heart leaps to my throat when I see him slumped over the table, asleep. Mere hours have ticked away since his father died, and here Nate is trying to take his place, trying to take care of his family.
Unopened folders labeled “financial” and “will” and “mortgage” lay spread out in front of him. I silently move forward and look inside. A smile grows wide across my face. The spells worked. All the paperwork here matches the doctored ones I stashed in each official location.
Feeling the force of the talisman and … something else … Hana. Feeling the strength of my Zar sister, I draw on my powers and recite one of the spells I marked in the cantamen. A spell to boost someone’s confidence.
Nate should now have everything he needs to take care of his sister all on his own. But he doesn’t have to do it alone. I know how lucky I am to have Henry as my best friend, and, right now, I can’t risk anything that might change that. So official wish or not, I’ll grant Nate’s desire for me to be with him. It’s not like it’s a hardship. I’m positive the whole “making the hurt less” goes both ways.
36
When I app back to my mother’s bedroom, my adrenaline has me wide awake despite the late hour and all the apporting, conjuring, and spells I’ve done. Again, my mother was right. Drawing on nature allowed me to do magic without expending as much of my own energy. I can’t help but wonder what’ll happen when tapping into my full Zar.
I’m sliding my mother’s ring to the end of my finger when I catch the splash of red out of the corner of my eye. The diary. For anyone tracking my magical energy, they’d see it activated all night for official Jinn business. If I don’t do this now, I may not get another chance. At least not anytime soon.
I push the talisman back down and open the diary to the page bookmarked with the pen. Confident in my use of spells by now, I recite the “Make the Seen Unseen” spell. Nothing. I work through it three times without a single blot of ink appearing. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the writing isn’t concealed by magic or maybe this is the wrong spell to reveal it.
Or maybe I’m an idiot. This makes the seen unseen. I need to do the opposite. I read the spell again. Though it’s a mishmash of ancient languages, like all the spells I’ve used tonight, its roots are in Latin. Which is why my mother insisted I start taking the dead-for-a-good-reason language in junior high. Yet another part of my life dictated by becoming Jinn.
Wonder what she’d say if she knew how I was about to employ all I’ve learned.
Calling on my memory of the Latin words I can ferret out, I sub in ones that seem more appropriate for making the unseen seen. I rearrange some of the other ones I don’t know and recite the spell one more time.
Ink spreads across the open pages of the diary. I lift the small, red leather book from the pillow where it was perched and gently turn pages. In blue ink, in black ink, in the occasional green, words written in my mother’s elegant handwriting fill three-quarters of the journal.
It’s only now that the words are able to be read that I consider whether they should be read. This ranks as a pretty serious invasion of my mother’s privacy. I’d be furious with her if she did this to me.
Maybe just a peek to see where she left off. Considering I was fine with eavesdropping, how different is this, really?
I lay the diary in front of me and open to the last page with writing. As I skim through the entry under today’s date, my pangs of guilt recede. I know all this already. She’s simply reflecting on having told me the truth about the Afrit. When I hit the emotional stuff where she blames herself for not telling me sooner, it seems the too-personal line is being crossed. I avert my eyes and go back a few pages.
An entry from the day before the Zar initiation seems to be the first one in a long time.
Dear Diary,
Years have passed since the last time I wrote those words. As my pen touches this page, I realize the hole not keeping up with you has left in my life. Especially now. Now that my Zar has been broken. They’ve taken Raina.
We don’t know why. We can only assume it has to do with her increased involvement in the uprising. But how was she discovered? Sam insists this is proof of why we need to act now. Doesn’t she realize it’s proof of nothing but the opposite? Yes, the Afrit need to be overthrown. The revolt is a worthy cause, and I want my family to be whole again. But at what cost? Should Azra and Laila lose us the way Yasmin lost Raina? They’ll never see each other again. I cannot do that. Not to Azra and not to myself. I cannot lose anyone else.
But I need to tell Azra the truth. Sam was right about that. She needs to know what’s at stake. I thought not telling her would protect her, but she’s going to get herself into trouble even if she doesn’t intend to. She’s got too much of her father in her.
My father. I scan the rest of the entry, but there’s not another mention of him. There’s also nothing else about whatever this revolt … this uprising … against the Afrit’s all about. Would an uprising stand a chance? And would it really mean my family would be whole again?
All of a sudden it’s like a five-year-old has grabbed both sides of my Jinn world and is shaking it like a snow globe.
As much as I want the Afrit ousted from power, my mother’s right about what we all have to lose. The question is how it compares to what we have to gain.
I start leafing through the diary, scanning entries, until I find one that appears to be the longest one in the book. I check the date. It’s from a few months before I was born.
Dear Diary,
I need to write this down. I need it here in case something happens to me. I’m too afraid to put it in the cantamen. But my words should be safe here, hidden until this little one growing inside me is old enough to both read them and discover how to read them. I need her to know this history so she’ll understand. And it is a she. I know it’s a girl. Xavier wants to name her “Azra,” after my mother. We’re certainly not choosing a name from his family. We don’t want her to have anything to do with them.
Xavier. I fly off the bed and yank out the bottom drawer of my mother’s jewelry box. I dump the contents onto the dresser. The photographs land facedown. There it is: the “K+X” written in the bottom corner of the later one. “K” for “Kalyssa” and “X” for “Xavier.”
I flip the photos over and s
earch for a resemblance in each of the two faces before me: the face of the boy in the tux, arm wrapped around my mother in her prom dress, and the face of the man whose cheek my mother’s lips are attached to. My olive skin, my long, dark hair, my slightly turned-up nose all come from my mother. I push out my chin. It has a delicate heart shape. I move it from side to side, finding the light. Is that his? I pucker my lips. What about them? Are they his?
I touch the photograph. It’s not my chin, it’s not my lips, it’s not anything I can put a name to, but it’s something. This is my father. My father.
My head spins. This simple fact changes everything. This fact cancels out the fiction I’ve written of my mother’s life. Of my life. My mother loved my father. My heart breaks imagining what it must have felt like to be torn apart.
When I pick up the diary again, my hands are trembling.
Little one, bear with me on this history lesson. To know how things came to be, you need to know how they were. We always had a council of elected Jinn—a cross between the human world’s government and police. We were subject to the council’s decisions, but today’s types of controls and monitoring were basically nonexistent unless a Jinn was in danger of exposing magic to humans. If that happened, and it did and still does on occasion, the council was responsible for doling out punishment. But the other, more important job of the council has always been selecting humans in need of a wish. The idea of the greater good is ingrained in our species.
The difference is, in the past, Jinn volunteered for assignments. Only the best of the best were accepted as volunteers, and Jinn trained for years to achieve such an honor. Granting a wish for one of these specially selected candidates garnered much respect.
If Jinn did not volunteer for assignments, they selected their own wishees at will. Some did it randomly, some did it according to special criteria they devised on their own, some didn’t do it at all. Jinn had the freedom to use their powers however they saw fit. That’s not to say there weren’t any rules or any consequences for inappropriate behavior. It’s not like they could roam the streets doing magic for all the world to see.
Becoming Jinn Page 28
