Circle of Jinn (7 page)

Pain never completely goes away, but I know from firsthand experience that the grief that constricts our minds, our hearts, our lungs loosens with each day, month, and year that we manage to fight through.

Like a gentle fast-forward, I nudged the Reeses through the passage of time, redistributing the weight of their memories so that the pain might fade and allow their happiness to, not all of the time but simply more of the time, outweigh their sadness.

When I was finished, the family sat down for their first dinner since the accident without a side of melancholy. They also sat down for their first dinner without me.

Because by the time I was done, exhaustion had invaded every inch of my body. It was like walking with suction cups attached to my feet.

With an excuse about promising to have dinner with my mother, I made it to the garage and onto my bike seat. Zak did the rest, apping us both to the beach, which is where we sit now.

The circulus curse is broken. My life can return to normal.

But it can't. Not even Jinn normal. Because what I've just done is not Jinn at all. It's Afrit. I am an Afrit, and I just acted like one.

I'm curled into a ball with my chin to my knees on the fluffy blanket Zak conjured when we arrived. It's the first time I've been at the beach since the night of the car accident. We're in the same spot where Nate and I had our date but everything's different. Yes, my push-up bra is and will remain unseen, but it's not just that. The black rocks seem sharper, the surf is louder, the sand is coarser. Tangible drops of mist cling to the air as if mocking the end of summer.

My shivering makes Zak conjure a second blanket, softer than a newborn kitten's fur, that he wraps around my shoulders.

“Why didn't you tell me it was like connecting with the human's anima?” I ask.

“Their what?”

“Their anima. Their psyche. What we connect to after we recite the circulus incantation.”

Zak's face displays no signs of recognition.

“During the wish-granting ritual? So we can discover their true wish? So we can link to the human's soul?”

Still no recognition. Simply fascination.

“You enter their soul?” he says.

“Sorta.” Of course Zak doesn't know any of this. Males haven't granted wishes for eons. “Temporarily. It's not as creepy as it sounds.”

The connection with Megan is fresh and raw, as full of lightness as it is darkness, just as my mother said the aftereffects of granting a wish can be. The link with Nate's there too. A piece stays with us for each wish we grant until, eventually, we have no more room. One day I'll recite the circulus incantation and my powers won't be enough to reach the human's anima. I'll be retired from granting wishes like my mother and all the Jinn in her Zar. I'll have to start raising the next generation of Jinn. The circle of Jinn is never-ending, thanks to the Afrit.

Zak smoothes out the sand in front of us. “Doesn't sound creepy. It sounds … like a privilege.”

“It is, actually.” Something I didn't believe until I felt it for the first time with Nate. Maybe that's what the Afrit were trying to teach me. Maybe assigning Nate as my candidate wasn't for some sinister reason. My mother said granting wishes for those you care about can be messy. It's hard to distance yourself from what you might want to give them versus what it is they truly want. But maybe I needed to be invested in someone to become invested in being Jinn.

I watch as Zak gathers a collection of rocks from the edge of the marshy estuary. He places them in a ring along with some small pieces of driftwood.

The fire, I light.

“You really are the master,” he says. “Conjuring, fire—”

“Dragooning.” I shudder as I say this.

Zak tosses another piece of wood on top of the flames. “What's wrong? You should be proud of yourself. Jinn would kill to be able to do what you just did.”

“And they have, right? At least the Afrit Jinn.”

“Just because you can do what they can do doesn't mean you're one of them.”

No, my Afrit father is why I'm one of them.

I change the subject. “Funny word, ‘dragooning.' Sounds too silly for what it is.”

Zak conjures a stick that he uses to poke the fire. “Oh, that's just what we call it. ‘Dragoon' is an old military term for an infantryman. Even if permanent damage isn't done, mind control works by assaulting the cells in the brain. The official term is ‘hadi.' I believe the translation is something akin to ‘guiding to the truth.'”

I slap Zak's arm.

“
Rahmah!
” he cries. “What did I do to deserve such abuse?”

“It's what you didn't do. You should have told me that was the term for it from the start. Because that's it. That's the key.”

He massages his arm. “Since we're not all masters of mind control, a little more explanation,
min fadlik
. Please.”

“Believing, that's the key.” I turn to face him. “It's why it worked with Chelsea, but I didn't understand it then. I think for mind control to work, the one doing it has to truly believe in what they are making the person do. If I don't believe it's right, I can't make
them
believe it.”

Zak rubs the back of his neck and then smells his hand. “So you really believed I should smell like a cocktail?”

I laugh. “I guess I did.”

He smiles and then starts bobbing his head. “That follows logically. The essence of all our magic comes down to belief, in some fashion. Belief in our abilities, in nature, in the avenues open to us to manipulate the environment. Stands to reason that the use of hadi would work on the same principle.”

I jump as if an invisible hand is sliding an ice cube down my spine.

“What is it?” Zak's tone is filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

Drawing the blanket tighter around my shoulders, I hesitate before nodding slightly. “If we're right, do you realize what that means? It means when the Afrit use it—”

“They believe what they are doing is right.”

When the Afrit use mind control to keep Jinn in line, the pain they inflict, the loved ones they tear apart, the humans they hurt, the Afrit must believe it is right. Just.

Being bullies, even sadistic bullies, is one thing. But sociopaths? Tortura cavea is a jail where the inhabitant is locked away with their greatest fear.

I have just found mine. My family.

“There's no reasoning with someone like that,” I say.

Zak hurls his conjured stick into the fire. “Which is why they must be overthrown.”

 

7

I'm still reeling from Zak's bombshell.

The shock on his face right before he apped me back to the Reeses' woods and then disappeared means that was an unintentional slip.

Too bad my hadi powers don't work on fellow Jinn. When I see him tomorrow, he's in for one hell of an interrogation.

I will see him tomorrow, won't I? What if where he disappeared to was Janna? Megan's wish is granted. The Afrit don't have a reason to
come for me
. Maybe Zak had to leave? No, he's still here. He wouldn't leave without saying good-bye.

Though I know how tempting it is.

My bags are packed and sitting on the floor beside my bed in Megan's room. When I returned, I told everyone that my mother wanted me home since school was starting soon. They all understood, though I swear I saw tears in George's brown eyes when he drizzled extra sweet butter on my popcorn.

It's my last night living with Nate. We spend it as a family with his grandparents and his sister. Everyone seems less wounded. Not quite happy, but not unhappy either. They're all lighter, except for me. But that's the way things go. Jinn work for the greater good. Not for their own good.

But that doesn't mean the good can't come to those who wait.

Nate.

In the doorway of Megan's bedroom. Sliding my bags aside with his bare, tanned foot. Pulling back my covers, eyes lingering on the hem of the not-quite-long-enough tee I sleep in, finger pressing to his lips to prevent me from making a sound, hand grabbing mine, body guiding me across the hall. To his bedroom.

This is why sixteen-year-old girls should not be allowed to live with their maybe-boyfriends.

*   *   *

“We're going to miss you, doll,” Goldie says, squeezing me like an orange she's juicing for her Sunday brunch mimosa. “I want to see you at our dinner table at least a couple of times a week.”

I lift my head from her bosom and suck down air. “Sure, I'll bring dessert.”

“Nonsense.” Goldie plasters on a smile. “We wouldn't want to put you out. Don't you cook for us.” She pushes me back by my shoulders. “Seriously, don't.”

George comes up behind her and pats the top of my head. “There's a nice little Italian bakery in town center. Wouldn't say no to a chocolate-covered cannoli.”

“Georgie!” Goldie nudges me aside and plucks George's suspenders, letting them snap against his chest.

Across from us, in the far corner of the living room, is Megan. Stacked next to her are the books she's borrowed from me. I slip past Nate, unable to look him in the eye, and sit beside her. I rest my hand on the top book, a cyberthriller that I devoured in a day.

“I hadn't realized you'd gotten to this one,” I say.

Megan's eyes flit to mine for only a second before returning to her blue thumbnail. She scrapes at the edge, prying off a jagged chip. “I haven't. But it's yours. And you're leaving, so…”

“So you keep it, and I'll trade you for the sequel when it comes out.”

“There's a sequel?”

“Course. When something's that good, we always come back for more.” I hold her hands in mine, pretending to survey her nails until I see her frown transition into a weak smile. “I'm not going to paint these for you again if you keep gnawing the polish like it's part of the food pyramid.”

The edges of her lips rise a bit higher. As much as I want to see a full-on smile, I know she's not quite there yet. That will come in time. She—all the Reeses—need to continue to mourn in order to heal, which is why accelerating, and not eliminating, their grieving process was the right way to grant Megan's wish.

I drop her hands and am an inch off the sofa cushion when her torso collides with my side, her fingers entwining themselves in the hair that hangs loose around my neck and shoulders.

“Just come back, okay?” she says.

My heart swells. “So much that you'll be sick of me.” No one's ever needed me this much.

Nate extends a hand. “Let her go, Meglet. I'm dropping her off before practice.”

Except maybe Nate. Though the way we needed each other last night is way different. Both feel good. Both make my face as hot as a habanero.

I follow Nate to the front door, stockpiling images of the Reese house: the model sailboat on the dining room buffet, the hand-knitted afghan, the artist's easel tucked into the corner of the kitchen, the briefcase wedged under the entryway bench. Mr. Reese's briefcase. It took me sixteen years to realize the good being Jinn can do. Is it possible it's taken just one wish to discover the same about being Afrit?

*   *   *

My bike is impressively wedged in the back of Nate's hybrid. I convinced him to let me ride to the high school with him. I'm not ready to go home yet. Going home means confronting my mother about all the secrets she's been keeping from me, finding a way to make it up to Laila, and saying good-bye to Henry.

I'll do all those things. Just not yet. Because, right now, Nate's driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on my knee. He used to be my escape from everything Jinn, the one thing that made me feel normal. And he still does, but now, because of Nate, normal has taken on a new meaning. It's no longer a choice between being Jinn and being me. With Nate, I don't think, I just act, and react. And I like it. I like him.

Green plastic seat. Metal chains. Lips on lips. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

No, that's not fair.
Henry
kissed
me
, not the other way around. So this guilt needs to strap on some boots and go for a very long hike.

Nate lets go of my knee and returns his hand to the wheel as he makes the turn into the school parking lot. The still and silence of my phone means I haven't gotten any texts, but I can't stop myself from double-checking. Nope, nothing from Laila and nothing from Zak. By now the first is expected, but the second … I'm starting to worry.

As Nate parks along the athletic field fence, a couple of his lifeguard buddies wave—at him
and
me. Last year, the beautiful bods, of which Nate is the king, didn't do much waving, or much of anything else, with me. What a difference a summer can make.

“Everything okay?” Nate asks. “Your vibe today has been different.”

My vibe? Is he sensing my Henry guilt? Or something else I thought was in the past? Part of the reason my high school experience has resembled solitary confinement is apparently because of some I'm-too-good-for-you-so-don't-even-think-about-messing-with-me mojo I unconsciously emitted like stink off a pissed-off skunk.

Nate tucks his chin to his chest and says gently, “Did things go too far last night? If so, I'm sorry and what can I—”

“No,” I say quickly. Things went further last night than they did on the beach but not
that
far. I don't think either of us is ready for them to go
that
far. “It's just weird to be going back to real life.” I mean that for so many reasons, but right now I mean it mostly because it's weird to be going back to a real life that includes Nate.

Nate's knuckles tighten around the wheel. “I know. At first I wasn't sure I could go back to school. But now … I feel like my dad would want me to. He'd want me to go to school, still gun for that lacrosse scholarship, hell, maybe even give a run at going premed next year.”