Circle of Jinn (42 page)

They stand there as a family. Until Yasmin pulls the black cord out of her pocket. It's already tied into a loop. All she has to do is slip her hand from her father's and slide the leather strap up his wrist.

“I'm sorry,” she says, and she means this to her core too. And yet it doesn't prevent her from magically tightening this noose around her father's wrist.

I recite the spell my mother gave me before Qasim realizes what's happening. The emerald in my mother's talisman glows a golden yellow. As I finish, a stream of light shoots from the gemstone and winds its way around the black string. The yellow snakes around and through the black, consuming it in a flash of brilliant color. Qasim jerks back, away from Yasmin, crashing into the nightstand beside the bed.

When the yellow light burns out and the cord fades again to the darkest of blacks, Qasim raises his other hand and tugs on the leather. It doesn't break. The knot refuses to budge. He takes a step toward Yasmin, and I mentally command him not to. And he doesn't. He can't.

He's bound to me.

A circumstance I'm positive neither one of us wants to go on for a second longer than necessary.

But it means something. It means that even though being Jinn in a world of humans may always require it to be filled with secrets and lies, it's time to add one more thing.

Hope.

Oh, and bangles. Lots and lots of new and pre-owned bangles. The next generation of Jinn will have no use for them. Perhaps they can seed Hana's very first fashion line: Circles of Jinn.

 

E
PILOGUE

One Year Later

This street is interminable. I mean, seriously, when does a street become a highway? Because I've been trudging down this one much longer than is permissible for something called a “street.”

Or maybe I'm just extraordinarily spoiled. Apping everywhere for a year will do that to you.

I can't believe it's been a full year. A full year since I've seen him. What will he think? Will he be happy to see me?

The worry that he won't, the fear that he's moved so far on he won't even remember me, makes me want to app away right here right now in front of this four-story brick building. This entire town is brick buildings. There must have been quite a sale on brick when this place was founded.

With my next step, my blister bursts. One of my blisters. All these humans, running, walking, chatting, laughing, buried in their smartphones, I'm sure they wouldn't notice one little apping Jinn. But it doesn't matter. I can't app. I've tried. Even though I haven't been to his dorm room, the name of the place should be enough.

It's not.

And I don't know why.

But at least the name of the place being enough worked for the past year. Because, and let this be known, the Afrit are slippery little suckers. And fast.

When my father and Zak first crossed through the portal, they went straight to Laila. Everyone was there, including all the supporters that had been linked through Witchbook. My Zar sisters were trying to do as they'd promised: give us a head start. It's a good thing they were failing. Even before my father and Zak appeared and told them about the deal I had made with Qasim, the Jinn were ready to use the portal to cross into Janna. To rescue me.

Though my father suspected that I'd get a boost from the Jinn being present in Janna, he had no idea that part of that bump would come from their selflessness or from
haqq
, from the place of sacrifice in Janna.

Zak, gut-wrenching as it must have been, left the antidote in Mina's hands so that he could return to me. Another sacrifice. More power for me to draw from.

While Yasmin and I were with Qasim, my father's loyalists forced a meeting of the full council of twelve—sorry, make that eleven without their Chemharouch.

After I brought my bounty in the form of Qasim back to Janna, I joined the rest of the Jinn and we confronted the council.

I was able to overpower almost half. After a demonstration of my abilities, three of the others were eager to rejoin my father's side—though they didn't display quite enough after-the-fact groveling for my taste—but that still left three other Afrit who were able to flee.

And flee they did. Again and again. Here, there, and everywhere. I've spent the past year tracking them down. Not by myself. Sometimes Zak was with me. Sometimes Yasmin. Occasionally, even Farouk. But mostly, it was me and my dad. Not quite the normal mode of “quality time,” but normal's overrated. Mom was there too sometimes, when she wasn't worried about watching over everyone else. And especially when she needed an “Xavier fix.”

Ew.

We've found all but Gamal, who managed to escape while Mina was alone here with Laila. My mother believes he may stay hidden forever. Zak hopes he does. My father suspects he won't. He had quite the mentor in Qasim.

Now that the school year has started, watching over a certain someone else fell to Farouk. Between my grandfather's real-world connections and his magical talents, he was able to whip up a scholarship, a full scholarship, to Harvard of all places.

I hope he likes it. I hope he's okay walking every day to what must be the absolute farthest dorm on campus.

When my father wasn't with me, and even when he was, he spent the past year creating a new order in Janna—and creating a new Janna. It's no longer underground. It's risen, occupying its rightful place in the plane between earth and what lies beyond. I like to think nature's happy about this.

We don't have a formal hotline or anything. Though it was an exceptionally warm winter this past year. That's got to mean something, right?

In some ways, everything has changed since I've last been here, tromping through the streets of Cambridge. And in others, nothing has. Zak and Laila are sickeningly googly-eyed. Matin and Yasmin are the Yasmin equivalent. Farrah's still with Dwight. Mina's still peeved about it and rebelling by dating the lead singers and guitarists of every band Farrah likes, and Hana's a sought-after, though reclusive, designer to the stars. She works under an alias, and the world thinks she's forty-two and a hermit living in Dubai.

My mother's Zar is more on the changed side. Some are back with their daughters' fathers (Samara; Jada), some lost their daughter's father (Nadia), and some have rekindled old flames (Isa and her human beau, Hairy Larry). Of course, Raina is still gone.

That's the same.

As is Qasim's imprisonment. And Yasmin's refusal to visit him. My father's working on her. Farouk too. Because, after all, family is family.

Meanwhile, I've traveled all over the world, just like my mother before me. Except I wasn't granting wishes. I was searching for the Afrit. I've also taken a self-guided tour through every crevice and every magically concealed hideout in Janna. And so far, my use of hadi hasn't injured me and I haven't succumbed to any manic grabs of power either. I haven't become an Afrit. I'm still a Jinn. At least until we work on some rebranding.

But through it all, one face stayed in my mind. The face I'm about to see now. Though I've imagined this moment more times than I can count in the past year, I still have no idea what I'll say when he answers the door.

We'll have to start over. But that's okay. I've learned from helping to re-create the Jinn world that starting over can be a good thing. Sometimes it's better to start fresh.

Tell that to my aching feet.
I stop in front of an indistinguishable brick building in this campus of clones. This one is his.

“Oh, sorry,” a boy in a backward blue Red Sox hat says as he reaches for the door to the dorm that's about to swing closed. “Coming in?”

“Yes,” I say, though my feet remain still.

“Now?” he says, balancing a pizza box and bike helmet in one hand and a brown paper bag of …
so not soda
 … in the other.

I command my feet to move. I've gotten used to giving orders.

The Red Sox boy gives me directions and even points the way—after I agree to stop by to “hang” when I'm through visiting whatever “dude” lives in room 12, that is.

Guess it's not a close-knit dorm if he doesn't know what dude lives in room 12.

Do I know what dude lives in room 12? Has he changed? Have I? Am I ready to find out?

Ready or not, here I am: room 12. The numbers shimmer in gold. Right before my eyes.

I toss back my loose hair, longer now. It almost hits my waist. It's a hassle to wash, though I do love the apricot shampoo I wrested away from Samara. The scent's with me all the time now.

My heart thuds against my chest, making me light-headed. Must be the walk.
Right, Azra.

I smooth out the sides of the emerald silk kaftan I borrowed from my mother and straighten my infinity necklace. With my wrist free of my silver bangle, I shortened my
A
necklace into a bracelet. I raise my hand in the air to knock, and the letter dangles back and forth in midair.

“Azra?” a voice I know every timbre of calls from behind me.

I fall against the door as I turn to face Henry.

His hand tightens around the strap of the backpack slung over one shoulder. His green eyes narrow as I shift from one foot to the other. He doesn't remember me. The real me. The Jinn me.

I inch forward and slowly, carefully, enter his mind. I bring it all back. All the lies. All the Jinn. All the me.

Henry drops the backpack to the floor. Everything I've shown him has remained in my mind, and still, reliving it all at once has my hands shaking and my breathing shallow and my knees knocking against each other underneath this silk dress. What must this be doing to him?

So much, so many emotions run through his eyes, his face, his mind, and then, finally, he grins. “Took you long enough.”

And there they are, the dimples that kept me going for an entire year.

Suddenly, behind me, the door opens. I spin around to see Nate in a full-on lip-lock with … Chelsea.

Genies aren't the only ones fond of tricks.

The reason I couldn't app here isn't because the name of the dorm room wasn't enough, it's because the name was incomplete.

Well, isn't this cozy
, I hear run through Henry's mind.

Life may be compromise, but being Jinn doesn't have to be. Not anymore.

Facing Nate and Chelsea, I grab hold of the hand of my best friend. Always.

But maybe not forever. Because maybe forever holds something more.

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.

 

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many authors will tell you that they've wanted to write since they were old enough to pick up a pen—some since they could wrap their fingers around a crayon.

I am not one of those authors, though I've always lived in the world of words: English was my favorite subject in school; I was a journalism major and editor in chief of my college newspaper; and I worked as a nonfiction writer and copyeditor. I was also a voracious reader. Books have always been my escape.

They still are, but now, not just as a reader but as a writer too. I've lived, breathed, and dreamt the world of the Jinn for more than three years. This speck of an idea about a genie has changed my life, professionally and personally, and apported a sisterhood (and brohood) of people into my life who support me, inspire me, and will have me forever in Azra's debt.

My agent, Lucy Carson, has been my partner on this journey. You once said you'd always have an opinion—and you do! Fortunately your opinions are always the best ones. Thank you for your unwavering support, honesty, and encouragement. The Friedrich Agency is my happy place.

Jean Feiwel, my publisher; Liz Szabla, my editor; and Anna Roberto, my associate editor, welcomed Azra and me into Feiwel and Friends and ensured we'd both come out smarter and more polished than we were before. Thank you for making all of this real.

Thank you to my publicist Brittany Pearlman for not just listening to, but also supporting my every crazy idea. Thank you to the entire team at Macmillan for helping to bring these books to life.

If it weren't for all of you above, I wouldn't have all of you below. And my life would not be nearly as full as it is.

First, a ginormous thank-you to all the readers and book bloggers who have embraced Azra. Your support means more than you know.

Thank you to my critique partners and beta readers, who have blurred that professional and personal line, becoming some of my closest friends: Chelsea Bobulski, N. K. Traver, Jen Malone, and Jen Brooks. Thanks for your insights and for always including a smiley face—for my writing and for me!

Thank you to the YA community, which brought such friends into my life as Laurie Elizabeth Flynn, Nikki Kelly, and Anna Banks. A huge thank-you and shout-out to the Fearless Fifteeners and the Freshman Fifteens. The highlight of 2015 has been seeing the books of these talented writers and supportive friends in bookstores.