Circle of Jinn (24 page)

The trashed living room, dining room, and kitchen prove that my mother didn't.

As do her red-rimmed eyes and caffeinated speech that fires at me the second I step out onto the back deck. “Well-there-you-are-good-you're-awake-we've-been-waiting-for-you-want-coffee?”

She's still wearing the cobalt-blue linen dress from last night. Now creased with wrinkles, its full length and long sleeves seem too dressy—and hot—for daytime. Samara, seated at the table across from her in a fresh outfit, greets me with a strained smile.

Tension hangs between them like a spiderweb.

At first I didn't realize the golden hair sticking out the back of the pink baseball cap belonged to Samara. The Red Sox hat, which Chelsea gave Laila, is a bizarre contrast to Samara's short white kaftan, embroidered with a spiral pattern in shiny gold thread on either side of the deep V neckline.

My mother pours me coffee from a thermos and levitates it toward me. Speaking so quickly it takes my brain time to process, she spits out, “Zak said you have something to show us.”

Xavier's spell.
With all that happened, we never got the chance to demonstrate the spell. I know we have to. So then why are my palms sweating?

I shrug at the steam swirling above the floating mug. “Uh, maybe iced?”

“Sure, kiddo,” my mother says, drawing the mug back over the table.

But Samara hops up and grabs it. She conjures a speckled glass, loads it with conjured ice, and dumps the steaming hot coffee right on top. The glass cracks, and coffee floods the deck.

“Oh, for Janna's sake!” she cries, flopping back into her chair at the table. “This is why I should have listened to my mother and spent more time practicing the art of conjuring food.”

“I'll get it, Mom,” Laila calls from the backyard. Her bright yellow halter dress swishes as she hurries up the steps to the deck. Close behind her is Zak, who must have spent the night across the street since he's sporting what looks to be a newly conjured T-shirt and jeans.

Both of them are free of dirt. Well, mostly.

“Morning,” I say, wiping a streak of leftover mud off the back of Zak's right ear. “Sleep okay?”

A quick look passes between Zak and Laila.

“Well enough, considering,” Zak says.

His cheeks flush, and Laila drops to the ground with a conjured rag.

Laila and Zak? Really? And in Henry's old bedroom? What, is that room under some sort of love spell or something?

My mother magically sweeps up a shard of glass. “Your Lalla Sam won't admit it, but her magic's all wonky.”

“It is not.” Samara uses her powers to scoop a spoonful of sugar into her coffee mug. She misses and coats her lap with a dusting of white. “Fine. I'm not as strong as you.”

“We both know that's not true.” A softness surrounds the edge in my mother's voice.

Samara stops brushing sugar off her thighs. Her eyes are heavy with apology. “But Raina
and
Xavier … I don't know how you're not under the covers, Kalyssa.”

My mother looks to Zak and then to me. “Yes, you do.”

The outer ring of their web begins to unravel.

But the mention of my father makes my knees shake. I pull out the chair next to Samara and welcome the weight of her arm that she lays across my shoulders. I inhale her apricot scent, begging the comfort her embraces used to provide to come. It does, at least a little.

When I ask where everyone else is, my mother explains that Nadia and Hana are looking for Matin, who no one has seen since last night, while Isa and Jada have taken Farrah and Mina with them on a quest to discover alternative methods of healing from other Zars.

“Certainly we must do everything we can to heal Raina,” Samara says in response. “But we also need to start gathering supporters. If the Jinn in Janna are going to rise against the council, we need to help them.”

The way my pulse starts racing, it's like my heart's running a marathon. I breathe in the apricot now on my skin and ask, “But don't we need the portal?”

My mother plunks a magazine onto the table. “This is why your Lalla Sam has agreed to never lecture me about not living up to my duties again.”

*   *   *

“Stunning, isn't it?” Samara says for the third time. She looks around the patio table at me, my mother, Zak, and Laila. “Simply stunning.”

When my mother was searching the last room in the house—her bedroom—she flung the stack of magazines she keeps on her nightstand to the floor. As she sorted through, a shock knocked her into the bedpost. Apparently, inducing pain is my father's signature.

The source of that zap, a glossy travel magazine, now trembles in Samara's hand. The marked page reveals the location of the weakness in the shield—the spot through which the Jinn here can apport into Janna undetected.

This makes it real. This makes it possible. Which is why Samara's hand quivers like a leaf on the last day of autumn. Somehow, her nerves are more comforting than a staunch bravado would be.

I gently take the magazine from her hand and lower it to the table to get a better, less shaky look at the archaeological wonder called “Najah.” More than thirty feet high with a pair of rounded columns flanking a narrow opening, the short article accompanying the photo says the temple of Najah was carved into the desert mountains thousands of years ago and yet somehow still stands today, much like the lost city of Petra in the country of Jordan. However, the fact that Najah has but this one ruin means it pales in comparison to the size and scale of Petra. As a result, the article suggests adventurous travelers seeking a place devoid of tourism may want to visit this isolated “hidden gem” of Najah.

As majestic as it is foreboding, this temple, the color of sand with hints of burnt sienna, is what Samara's calling the linchpin of the uprising's plan. Of my father's plan. For it gives Jinn the element of surprise.

“With the shield that blocks apporting in position,” she says, “the Afrit would never have reason to believe that Jinn here could infiltrate Janna. But with this, we'll be able to cross over and—”

“And what?” my mother says, the sharpness in her tone returning. “Fight them? You're not strong enough.”

“You're,” not “we're.” And also not “they're.” “They” as in the members of the uprising.

“So there isn't really an uprising here?” I ask. “No real plan?”

A told-you-so look accompanies my mother's nod, but Samara—politely—ignores her. “Azra, there is no organized rebellion here. Raina had been trying to create one, telling us that the Jinn in Janna were doing the same on their side. She wanted us to be prepared for the time when we could no longer abide by the council's rules.” Samara's eyes flicker to my mother. “Most Jinn have been unwilling to believe such a time would come.”

“But it has,” I say. “Because of Qasim. Because of what Raina told us.”

Samara's hand still shakes as she adds sugar—manually this time—to her coffee. “Yes, I'm afraid so. Qasim has always been devious. Wouldn't surprise me if he cheated to win the election. Or if the first thing he does is push for a vote on new restrictions or worse.”

A vote. A
momentous
vote, like Matin said.

“Worse how?” I ask, pretty sure I don't actually want to know.

Samara looks to my mother for approval before speaking. “Raina said one of Qasim's greatest desires is to end our need to serve humans.”

Laila's eyes widen. “But how could he possibly do that?”

With a sad smile, Samara says, “By making them subservient to us. Through mind control, through threats, through whatever means necessary. He's harbored fantasies of Jinn being out in the open and not having to fear humans but of making humans fear us.”

“But there's too many humans,” I say.

“I agree,” Samara says. “As do most Jinn, which is why they've been just fantasies. But now that he's Chemharouch, who knows what he might attempt or when.”

We all turn silent, letting what Samara has said sink in.

She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. “I should have listened to Raina sooner. It should have never come to this. Why, it's been almost a full year since that Afrit came through to warn her.”

I sit up straighter, as does Zak. The night of Henry's party, Yasmin said her mother had been warned, but she didn't say it was by an Afrit. Did she know? And is it possible…? Was “that Afrit” our father? But why would he go to Raina and not my mother? Or did he, and she refused to listen?

My mother's tight lips answer both of those questions.

Samara places her trembling hands under her thighs. “Your father hoped he'd win over the council, and so did we. But after Raina was taken, he came through to tell your mother and me that it was time to prepare, to start by telling you girls everything, just in case.”

The night Nate's father died, the night I saw my father in his shape-shifted form, the night he said, “
It's time, Kal. If not now, when? How much longer does she have, really? They'll come for her, you know they will
,” he was already scared this might happen. Is that what prompted his backup plan? Prompted the spell? Prompted me?

My mother crosses her arms in front of her chest. “It's too risky. Azra's not getting involved. Neither is Zak.”

“But we must.” Zak jumps up from the table. “We should be going in right now. Father might be hurt.”

“Zakaria.” My mother stands and reaches for his arm. “I know you're upset. I know you're scared. But this is bigger than just your father.” Her voice cracks and her eyes lower to the ground. “He was … he is … my one great love. We've both risked much to be together over the years. And I'd do it again.” She looks at Zak, at Samara, at me, and her strength returns. “But that's our risk—mine and his. I cannot let you or your sister or any Jinn rush into Janna and risk their own life for his. He always knew the danger of what he was doing.”

“That's true, Kal,” Samara says, “but he also knew things couldn't continue like this.” She rests her hand flat against the table. “And this isn't just for him. We all have loved ones there whose lives are in danger.”

Laila clutches the gold locket around her neck. The one with her father's photograph inside.

A wistful look fills Samara's eyes. Though she's dated human men, clearly Laila's father remains in her heart.

Zak runs his hand through his hair, sending his careful part askew. “I'm sorry, Mom, but Samara's right.”

Hopping up and grabbing the picture of Najah, Laila counters with, “But Lalla Kalyssa is also right. This may be a way in, but what then? The element of surprise won't be enough. You said the council is only twelve but that there are at least three times that number of full-blooded Afrit who'd fight with them. And they're just as powerful.”

Samara nods. “Which is why there hasn't been a true uprising in years. But if the Jinn in Janna believe now is the time, we can't let them act alone.” She trails her finger around the rim of her coffee mug. “Of course, we'll need to strategize. We'll need a plan … we'll need spells … At least Raina was already working on ones to subdue them, to camouflage our magic—”

“Camouflage?” Laila clutches the back of her chair. “Why?”

Zak drifts behind her and squeezes her shoulder. “The Afrit are able to monitor the use of magic in Janna through our bangles and necklaces.”

“Another reason why the Jinn there need our help,” Samara says. “They'd never be able to write and practice the spells necessary to accomplish such a feat without us.”

“Plus,” Zak adds, “most supporters in Janna don't have magic.”

My mother's jaw tenses. “Xavier never wanted this. He never wanted Jinn to fight one another. You know that, Sam.”

Samara sighs. “Neither did I. But we may not have a choice.”

Laila strokes her locket. “Doesn't sound like who we are.”

“It's not,” Samara says. “But it's who they've made us become.”

“Maybe not,” I say, looking at Zak. When he nods, I push myself back from the table. “Maybe Xavier had a way around it. He sent Zak here with a backup plan.”

Samara's cleavage hits the table as she leans in. “And you two know what that is?”

“Not exactly. But maybe together we can figure it out.” I circle around the table to stand beside Zak. Hands entwined, we recite Xavier's spell.

Plop go three bangles.

The spell really doesn't need a talisman to work. It only needs us.

 

26

My mother stares in disbelief at the hinge on her gold bangle. Laila paces back and forth across the small deck. She keeps asking for us to undo what we've done. But we can't. Not even my mother understands the spell enough to do that.

As Samara calls Nadia to tell her and Hana to return to the house, I pull my phone out of my pocket. Things are moving much faster than I expected. The portal's already been found. With my father's diplomatic plan failing, the backup plan is now the only plan. And if I'm the key to it, I can't wait. I have to text Nate. Today.

My pulse races as I tap the screen.

I need to …

Go through a portal?
No.
Save my father from being tortured?
No.
Help start an uprising?
Probably not.
Make sure you stay out of it all?
Yes.

But you're not going to like how.
I don't.

I flutter my eyelashes to beat back the prickle of tears as I finish:

 …
see you. Today.

The smiley faces that accompany his
Working, swing by
are the only ones around the table. Is it any wonder I haven't wanted to let go of Nate before now? Is it any wonder that I still don't? Denial is a lovely river to float on.