Becoming Jinn

by Lori Goldstein

  It’s been two days since I lowered my wrist into the silver bangle that I don’t need. Don’t need because apparently the inhibitor injection I received was a lemon. Or maybe because my father is an Afrit, his strong powers supersede or counter the effects. Doesn’t matter. With or without a bangle, I’m not using magic unless I absolutely have to. I don’t want to give my father’s family any more opportunities to discover my secret. Plus, if I don’t use magic, I figure I’ll be less likely to become one of them.

  Maybe that’s not really a danger considering my bloodline is muddled. I’m half Jinn, half Afrit. A hybrid. Still, I’m not taking any chances.

  It’s been one day since I made the decision to keep all the questions I have about the rebellion, about my mother’s diary, about my father to myself. For now, the answers I have—about my mother, who’d go to any lengths to protect me, and about my father, who’d risk his own life to ensure my safety—are enough. Always, but not forever. Enough for now, at least.

  Because right now I have higher priorities: Nate, Laila, Henry, and Yasmin. Yes, Yasmin. She must feel utterly alone without Raina. She doesn’t have any human friends. She’s clearly threatened by me and my role in our Zar, and the rest of our sisters don’t know the truth about her mother. Ironic as it is, that the two of us know means we share a secret all our own. I might be the only one who can help her through this.

  I give up on my closet and check my e-mail for the millionth time. The only new message is from Farrah, whose string of exclamation points follows Mina’s winky smiley face, the latest in the thread started by Hana congratulating me on getting my silver bangle back. Nothing from Laila. Even though, for the past three days, I’ve been sending photos of the silver tinsel to her. Levitating in front of the framed picture of me, her, and Jenny, in my hair, dangling from my ear, around my pinky toe, between my front teeth, the locales keep getting weirder. Still, not a single response.

  Last night, I finally got up the nerve to app to her house to deliver Mr. Gemp. I left it outside the back door, the photo of all six of us rolled inside along with another from the night of our initiation. Not wanting to pressure her, I waited, even apping in and out a few times, hoping she’d sense me and come out on her own. Too soon, I guess. That’s okay. I’m pretty sure one trait I’ve inherited from the Afrit is persistence.

  As I dash across the hall to find something in my mother’s closet to wear to the funeral, I’m caught by my, at least currently, third priority.

  “Henry!” I cover myself with my hands as I fly into my mother’s bedroom. I poke my head out from behind the door. “Don’t you knock?”

  “I did. Your mother let me in.” He grins. “Thank you, Mom.”

  It’s the first time I’ve laughed in days. It feels good and bad, right and wrong, all at the same time.

  “I’m going to miss you,” I say suddenly.

  Summer’s coming to an end. The school year will be starting soon. For the first time in years, it was something I was looking forward to. I’d be starting off with a best friend and a boyfriend. Now, the best friend will be gone, and the boyfriend, if that’s what Nate will even become anymore, will be dealing with a tragic loss, afraid that his mother’s injures might make that two.

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Henry says. “You’ll be there for Nate and not have to worry about me.”

  “No, it’s not for the best. How could you even think that?”

  Henry’s jaw drops as I say this, and I realize his words weren’t spoken out loud. I read his mind without knowing I was doing so.

  “Holy sh—” he starts.

  “Shh!” I grab Henry’s hand and drag him into my mother’s bedroom. “Don’t say anything. And turn around. All the way.”

  I hurry to my mother’s closet and push back the hangers.

  “Azra! How could you not tell me you can read my mind!”

  “I said ‘Shh!’” I look back to find him staring at me. “And I also said, ‘turn around!’”

  Long-sleeved wrap dress or suit with the pencil skirt? Dress. I don’t want to be fussing with tucking anything in.

  “For how long?” he says. “And how come you didn’t tell me? Can you read minds other than mine? It’s not just me, right? What … what else have you heard?”

  I pop my head through the opening of the dress and wrestle it down. In front of the mirror, I adjust the neckline. I’ve been keeping my long hair down lately. I figure enough time has passed that no one remembers my shorter cut. If they do, whatever, I’ll say it’s hair extensions.

  “See,” I say, “this is why I didn’t tell you. I haven’t told anyone, not even my mother. It’s just easier this way.” I smooth the fabric over my hips. “You can turn around now.”

  Henry stuffs his hands in his front pockets. He’s wearing the pants whose pleats I erased.

  “They look good on you,” I say.

  “Yeah?” He looks down. “Something seemed different when I put them on, but I guess it’s just your mending.”

  “Uh-huh.” I hide my smile. “Must be.”

  “But Azra, seriously, don’t go reading my mind without warning me. That’s not cool.”

  I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I’m still getting the hang of it. Believe me, I don’t want to be reading teenage boys’ thoughts any more than you all want me reading them.” He blushes as I face him. “Well?”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “Henry? Is it okay?”

  Still nothing.

  “Will you please answer me?” I whine.

  “I am,” he says.

  You look like the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

  “Stop that,” I say, feeling my own cheeks burn. “And thanks.”

  38

  “Let me just get my bag,” I say to Henry as I open my bedroom door. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Even from the doorway, the stupid gold envelope perched on top of my pocketbook can’t be missed. The paternal side of my family is having too much fun toying with me. They can’t drop it for a single day. Not even for the day of a funeral.

  “Bring it,” I say.

  After everything I did the other night, there’s nothing I can’t do, there’s no wish I can’t grant, and, more importantly, there’s no wish I won’t grant. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep those I love safe.

  I tear open the envelope. I curse and smile at the same time. You’ve really got to hand it to my family. They’ve got some couilles. That’s French for balls. Henry taught me that.

  Megan Reese. Nate’s twelve-year-old little sister is my next assignment.

  * * *

  Henry takes my hand as we cross the threshold into the Reese home. We were both anxious to leave behind the cloud of gloom that hung over the funeral parlor. The years of sadness that oozed from every dusty curtain, every worn velvet chair, every piece of dark wood molding was to be expected. I was naïve enough to think this reception at Nate’s house would be different. But the only thing lighter here is the paint on the walls.

  Maybe I’ve been sorting through some weighty topics of late, but it’s nothing compared to what’s going on for the people in this room.

  The last time I was in Nate’s house, I didn’t have time to take a tour. This time, I don’t want to. The hand-knitted afghan draped over the back of the sofa, the model sailboat on the dining room buffet, the photographs on the mantel of a family of four reduced to three make me long for the funeral parlor. Where the cold is expected. Like the bright winter sun, all the things here that should exude warmth lure you in only to bite with the bitterness of a subzero New England day.

  Just as Henry and I find Chelsea and the rest of the beach crowd, Nate’s grandmother glances our way. She lifts her chin and smiles warmly as she pats Nate’s forearm. He tugs on the collar of his white dress shirt and gestures for me to come over.

  I leave Henry’s side and walk self-consciously across the room. Everyone’s eyes follow me as I approach th
e stars of the funeral, because that’s what Nate and Megan are, no doubt about it. They are the main players on this perverse stage.

  Nate grasps my hand and draws me to him. Megan leans against him, holding his other hand with both of hers. I feel like a fraud standing with them, but each time I try to excuse myself, Nate assures me he wants me to stay. So I do.

  People flood the room, floating in and out, asking about Nate’s mother, saying how sorry they are about Nate’s father. Variations of the same themes dominate: “He was so young.” “You are so young.” “You’re the man of the house now.” “God works in mysterious ways.”

  It’s clear that everyone means well, but it’s not long before I’m numb. The words bounce right off; nothing sticks. After a while, nothing seems sincere. Maybe it’s different for Nate and Megan, but I doubt it. They look vaguely distracted, like they are present only in body, not in mind.

  The stream of people slows, which makes me nervous. With all those people filling the silence, the odds of me inadvertently reading Nate or Megan’s minds were low. I don’t want to hear their thoughts, especially Megan’s. I don’t want to know what she’s going to wish for. Not now, not in the midst of this. It can wait. The 10 on the back of her candidate card means finding out what she wants can wait.

  Nate’s grandparents call to him. He turns to me and asks, “Can you stay with Megan?”

  “Of course,” I say, though every fiber of my being is telling me not to. I try to block Megan’s thoughts, but the instant Nate’s gone, Megan wobbles and I have to wrap my arms around her to keep her from falling. She buries her head in my chest, and her body deflates as it uses mine for support. Megan lets the tears that she’s been so bravely fighting all morning come.

  I rub her back and brush her hair out of her face. She is young. Too young to be dealing with this. And then, that’s it, I’m in her head, I’m hearing every horrible, painful, tortured thought. Not since my first time with Mrs. Pucher has reading someone’s mind been accompanied by feeling their emotions. And this skill, like everything else, has progressed.

  The intensity of Megan’s hurt overwhelms me. I clutch her hand, dragging her toward the stairs, which I practically carry her up. Her emotions are consuming her. And me. I have to stop it. I have to help her. Reaching for the nearest door, I pull us both inside what turns out to be Nate’s room.

  I take in the slate blue on the walls, the lacrosse stick propped in the corner, the medical dictionary on the desk, and in an instant, it all happens: the incantations, the cloaking enchantment, Megan in a trance-like state, the wish-granting ritual under way. She’s in so much pain, and I’m so invested that I can’t hold back my own feelings, and the words spill from my lips. “I’ll make it better. I can take the pain away. Just wish for it. Just wish for it, and I can do it, I promise. You don’t have to feel this. Let me help you.”

  And that’s when she makes her wish. It’s like a hammer has pounded a six-inch nail through my heart, in one side, out through the other. And it’s my fault. What she’s wishing for is my fault. My words encouraged her. Of course they did. How stupid, how very stupid I was. I shouldn’t have rushed into this. I should have known this is what she’d want, this is what she’d wish for. And she’s adamant that this is what she wants. That this is the only thing she will ever want. It is only when I envelop Megan in an embrace that I truly understand why.

  After easing her out of the ritual and wiping away her tears, I force myself to bring her back downstairs, to bring her to her grandmother, explaining she was momentarily overcome. Her grandmother thanks me for helping and squeezes my hand. I’m dying inside. I manage to excuse myself, saying I need the restroom.

  Halfway to the kitchen, I turn around. No one’s watching me but Henry. I run out the back door, knowing he will follow.

  39

  I’m in the Reese’s backyard, leaning against the wooden post of a weathered-gray swing set. Dizzy, I bend over, putting my head between my knees.

  Henry’s at my side before I know it. He grabs me by both elbows, asking what’s wrong.

  “Paper bag,” I say.

  “What?” Henry asks, confused.

  “Paper … bag.” Isn’t that what you’re supposed to use when you feel like your lungs have collapsed? “Can’t breathe. Can’t see.”

  Henry lowers me to the ground, propping me against the splintering cedar. He crouches in front of me, saying soothing things until my eyes focus again. We stay that way as I do the thing I promised myself I wasn’t going to do: load more weight onto Henry’s shoulders. In this selfish moment, I pile it all on, telling Henry everything, starting with the Afrit’s ability to take away and hurt everyone I care about, including him, flowing into the revelations about my mind control, Mrs. Seyfreth, my father, and who I really am, and ending with Megan being my next assignment. There’s only one thing I leave out. Jenny.

  Henry lands his butt on the grass and wraps his hands around the nape of his neck. He bobs his head up and down. “Okay, okay, wow, okay, okay, wow.”

  Though everything’s come out in a stream-of-consciousness muddle, Henry understands. Henry always understands me. He gets it. He gets the danger of refusing. He gets that I have to grant Megan’s wish. He gets that I don’t have a choice unless I want to lose everyone I care about. He understands I’m going to have to do whatever it is that Megan wants.

  I make sure of this. I make sure he gets it before I tell him what it is that Megan wants. He shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not that I was surprised by what it is she wants, it’s what I’ll have to do in order to accomplish it that has sent me into this spiral. Because, really, Megan’s a twelve-year-old girl. A twelve-year-old girl who just lost her father, who’s terrified of losing her mother. What else could she want?

  “She wants her family back together,” I say, sliding up the wooden post and circling to one of the two swings. I grasp the metal chain and wait until my heartbeat no longer pulsates in my temples. “Her wish is for her family to be whole again, her entire family. She wants her mom, her dad, herself, and Nate to be together again.”

  Henry rises. He runs his hand through his hair and starts pacing in front of the swing set. “But Azra, you can’t do that. You’ve told me. Genies can’t bring people back from the dead. Can’t even heal people. It’s not that it’s forbidden, it’s that it’s impossible, right?”

  I watch him as I lower myself onto the small, green plastic seat. I say slowly, “As far as I know, it’s outside the powers of even the strongest Jinn.”

  Henry stops in front of me. “But what then, Azra, what are you going to do?”

  “What do you think? How would you accomplish it?”

  He moves closer, staring into my eyes with such intensity, I get chills. I hear his mind reach the same conclusion I did. The only conclusion there is. Hot tears fill my eyes, but I blink them back. I need him to reach this conclusion so he’ll understand.

  “Seriously, Azra? That’s what you’re going to have to do? You’re going to have to … have to … kill them? You’re going to have to kill Nate? That way the family will be together again?”

  I picture myself in Nate’s shoes, people consoling me because my mother is gone. I hear Henry’s thoughts. Don’t worry about me, Azra. You can’t do this. Whatever happens to me, happens to me. But you can’t do this. It will destroy you.

  Henry, always thinking about me, first and foremost. Not a single thought as to his own safety. As to what might happen to him if I don’t grant Megan’s wish.

  And so if that were really her wish, her deepest desire, I’d … I’d do it. Fortunately, my mother taught me well. While connecting with Megan’s anima, I didn’t stop there. I kept going, delving deeper, until I uncovered her true wish.

  “Yes,” I say, pushing my heels into the soft ground and starting to rock myself gently, “that’s what I’d have to do. If that were truly her wish.”

  Henry’s puzzled eyes stare into mine as he settles himself on the swin
g next to me.

  Swallowing hard, I use my powers to give him a push. Just one. The soft breeze of his swinging sweeps the hair off my shoulder.

  My voice is calm, steady. “But the real reason she wants her family back together is because she doesn’t want to see the pain in Nate’s eyes anymore. That’s her true wish.”

  It’s not that granting this wish is easy. It’s not that granting this wish is without risk. It’s difficult. It’s risky. But as I needed to make sure Henry understood so he’d be onboard, it’s certainly better than the alternative.

  I wiggle my heels out of the dirt and use my magic to swing higher.

  Yes, if I do it, I may hurt, maybe even lose, someone I hold dear, but if I don’t, I will lose even more. Life, after all, is compromise. If becoming Jinn has taught me anything, it’s taught me that.

  Up and up.

  Higher and higher.

  Until I’m flying.

  And so there’s only one thing I can do to grant Megan’s wish. My mother’s done it, with varying degrees of success. Fortunately, I have something my model Jinn mother lacks.

  Afrit blood.

  Using my magic, I slow my swing, bringing it to a gentle stop. I look past Henry at the Reese’s house.

  “I’m going to have to erase memories. I’m going to have to use mind control on her,” I say. “On them both. Make them feel their family is perfectly whole as it is.”

  See, when genies are involved, there’s always a trick.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Behind every book and every writer is a pom-pom–wielding cheerleader. As time goes on, if you’re lucky, you may look over your shoulder and realize you’ve gathered an entire high-ponytailed squad.

  Turns out, I have been very lucky. My squad begins with my agent, Lucy Carson of the Friedrich Agency, whose editorial instincts turned Becoming Jinn into the book you are now holding. Thank you for supporting my voice and vision, for assuaging my fears and anxieties, and for somehow finding enough hours in the day to answer my every question. Thanks as well to the Friedrich Agency’s Nichole LeFebvre, who has cheered Azra on since day one.