Circle of Jinn

 

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To all of my families, the “Montsteingos,” for their love and support.

 

1

I'm sixteen years old, and I live with my boyfriend.

At least I think I do. I mean, I know where I live. I know I'm living with Nathan Reese. What I don't know is if Nathan Reese is my boyfriend.

Or if I want him to be.

Who said wishes don't come with tricks?

Oh, right, that was me. But what do I know? I've been a genie for less than two months. I've granted the sum total of six wishes, two of which I botched, one of which I would have botched had my mother not been there, and the last of which I'm currently in the process of botching. Not to mention I'm fresh off probation.

If one could be fired from becoming Jinn, I'd be rocking a pink slip right about now instead of this silver bangle. This intricately carved silver bangle doled out by the Afrit, the council—I mean
family
—that rules over our Jinn world. The family that I've just learned is my father's family. Which means it's my family.

The all-powerful, arguably sadistic Jinn who govern with not just a stick but a two-by-four are my “peeps.”

A chunk of my long, dark hair falls across my eyes as a late-summer breeze wafts through the kitchen window. It's not even September and the hints of fall are already trespassing, igniting a row of goose bumps across my bare shoulders.

I gather my hair into a loose bun, using a strand to keep it in place. Of all the things I learned from my mother, this has turned out to be the simplest.

A stronger gust rattles the wood blinds inside and creaks the thick metal chains hanging from the swing set outside. The green plastic seat sways, and I'm back there, sitting on it, the day Nate said good-bye to his father and hello to a new life, a life he never wished for. At least, what with me being a genie and all, the life he did wish for—the one where he can take care of his little sister—I was able to give him. More or less.

I trace circles along the granite countertop as I stare out the window that frames the backyard swing set like a canvas painting. Except the picture I see, the one I see whether my eyes are open or closed, is from the day of Nate's father's funeral, almost two weeks ago.

Me on one seat and him on the other. Him planting his feet on the ground, seizing the chains above my head with one hand, spinning me, turning my body to face him, drawing me closer. His knees bumping against mine, his finger drying the wet tears on my cheeks, his breath warming my neck, his lips brushing my forehead, and then, before I could stop him, before I could think what it meant, what it might mean, his lips pressing on my lips.

Soft and then hard. Like the beating of my heart. Then and now.

“Something's burning,” Goldie says, rounding the corner into the kitchen.

Something's burning all right.

“Oh, the cookies,” I say. “Damn.” I look at Megan. “I mean, darn. I mean, oops.”

Megan pauses the hunt for split ends in her shoulder-length dark hair. “I'm twelve, not two. I've heard worse. Hell, I've said worse.”

“Not in this house, Meg,” Goldie says.

My gaze returns to the groaning swings as the harbingers of autumn make my sun-darkened olive skin shiver again.
Right, Azra, it's the wind. And what are you going to blame when the windows are sealed up tight?

A chocolate chip ricochets off my ear.

“Earth to Azra,” Megan says, popping a semisweet morsel into her mouth. “Did you even set a timer?” The perfect roll of her eyes that answers my head shake makes me think she's spent all twelve years of her life perfecting the move. “The batch in the oven's going to burn.”

Goldie sniffs the air. “
Again
,” she says, sidling up next to me. “The batch in the oven's going to burn again.” She moistens her thumb with her tongue and wipes a stripe of war paint made of flour off my cheek.

I do my best imitation of Megan's eye roll, and Goldie winks at me. The warmth in more than the crinkles around her eyes screams “Grandma,” the name she refuses to be called.

I'm sixteen years old, and I live with my boyfriend. And his sister. And his grandmother.

A deep voice floats in through the screen door. “I'd take a gander at those puppies if I were you.”

And his grandfather. I live with the entire Reese family.

It's the first time I've ever had to share a bathroom.

For the past sixteen years, my mother's had hers and I've had mine. Though we may live in the human world, the Jinn world—my world—is mothers and daughters. Not that there aren't brothers, fathers, and grandfathers, there just aren't brothers, fathers, and grandfathers
here
.

All male Jinn live in the Afrit's underground world of Janna. Including Xavier Afrit. My father.

We've never met.

Because my job, my sole purpose for living here—for living
period
—is to grant wishes for the humans assigned to me by the Afrit council, a group unseen but plenty heard. Giving and taking away our magic, our freedom, our loved ones for infringements against their dictatorship-like rules. Rules I've just learned my father's been covertly working to change.

My mother's job is to teach me to use and control my powers, the magic that lives inside me, passed down from the generations of Jinn who've come before us. Her gold bangle symbolizes her retirement, allowing her to practice all magic save for the granting of wishes.

Granting wishes is for the young. For those of us with silver bangles. Bangles spelled to release our powers. Spelled so the Afrit can monitor us. Spelled so only the Afrit can remove them.

The upside is that I can conjure mint chocolate chip ice cream, levitate my sugary iced coffee from table to lips, and travel via Jinn teleportation, apporting myself from blizzard to beach in an instant.

The downside? It's not exactly a shackle or handcuff, though it might as well be. We grant wishes, nature allows us to keep our magic. We grant the wishes the Afrit order us to grant, we keep our lives. As fishy as it smells, the wishes the Afrit have ordered me to grant include ones for Nate and now Megan, my current assignment.

Though it feels like a long summer of learning to use my powers, of learning to grant wishes, my bangle's a relatively new accessory. Two months ago, the day of my birthday, the bangle silently locked around my wrist. I was sixteen. I was a genie. I was no longer free.

Or so I thought. I thought so much then. That like all other Jinn I needed this silver bangle in order to do magic. That the circle of Jinn daughters I was to be bonded with in the tradition of the Zar would never live up to the name we give one another—sister. That the Afrit's harsh punishments for refusing to grant wishes, for screwing up, for exposing our Jinn world to humans weren't real. That my mother never loved my father. That I'd never fall in love. That I'd never again have a best friend. That I'd never want to become Jinn.

I was wrong.

I half smile, half wince as I slip the red oven mitt embroidered with the words “Hot Mama” on one hand and open the oven door with the other. I also thought human families were more stable than Jinn ones.

Again, I was wrong.

The car accident that tore Nate's family apart has proven that. With Nate's father gone and his mother still in the hospital, I live with what now constitutes the entire Reese family.

I set the metal tray on the cooling rack. This is the third batch of cookies that's come out of the oven like charcoal briquettes. If only I could use my magic, I could fix them. But I can't use my magic in front of humans. And lately, here, in the Reese home, I'm always with humans, one human in particular: Megan.

“Let me guess,” Megan says, hopping off the center island and scraping the top of a blackened cookie with a fingernail I helped to paint blue. “You work the register, not the fryer at the snack bar at the beach.”

Her voice chokes on the final
ch
sound. Immediately, Goldie spreads her arms wide, and the fabric hanging from her dolman-sleeved sweater shrouds Megan. She closes her own eyes against the tears forming.

Megan may have lost her father in the car crash on the road to the beach, but Goldie lost her son-in-law, almost lost her daughter.

I hang back, trying not to make a sound, but it's not easy for me to swallow past the golf ball wedged in my throat. Once again, I'm intruding on a private family moment. By now, it should feel less awkward.

It doesn't. Because I can't shake the suspicion that, one way or another, this is all my fault. Either the Afrit assigning Nate as my wish candidate on the night Mr. and Mrs. Reese's car went off the side of the road was a total coincidence, or I should have started the wish-granting ritual with Nate sooner. Early enough to save his father.

So what if Jinn can't heal humans? There has to be something I could have done. Because why else would I have been tapped to grant Nate a wish that day? I'm not buying the coincidence thing. Which leaves only one other alternative: that the Afrit somehow knew or maybe even caused the accident that killed Nate and Megan's father and seriously injured their mother.