Deliverance (15 page)

I go to my room to get ready. I dress in conservative black so as to not attract attention. I can't stand the idea of having to deal with anything else today. But when I look in the mirror, I stop abruptly. I look like I'm in mourning. God, I hope Leyli is okay.

The drive out of town is spent mostly in awkward silence punctuated by Leyli’s mother muttering prayers under her breath. Leyli’s older brother Mehran is driving. I haven’t seen him in a long time and I’m surprised at how handsome he’s become, but he’s still as quiet and surly as he’s always been.

By the time we make it to the turn off, I swear we’ve been in the car for two years. The gate to the property is closed this time so Bijan rings the buzzer. But there is no answer.

He tries again and again. On the third time, someone finally answers. Bijan doesn't waste time with formalities "Let us in."

"Who are you? Why should I let you in?"

"We are parents of people who were at 
your
 party last night and if you don’t let us in, we will call the police. I think you would prefer to deal with us, no?"

There is no answer from the other side of the intercom. I know why. The young man is afraid Bijan is here to beat him up. It wouldn't be the first time an angry parent beats up a boy over a party his daughter went to. And it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Bijan starts to lose his patience and buzzes the ringer repeatedly.

"Let me try," I say. "Hello?"

No answer.

"I know you can hear me. My step-father isn't going to hurt you. We just want to ask you some questions about last night. My best friend is missing and this is the last place we saw her. I'm sure you're not responsible, but if you won't let us in, it makes you look guilty. Even if you aren’t."

The young man still doesn't say anything, but the gate clicks. He unlocked it. Bijan nods to me in approval and I give him a weak smile.

I always enjoy getting Bijan’s approval. It’s like he’s my real father, and I need that since mine died when I was little.

The farm looks different in the light. More… farm-like. We bypass the small building near the gate and head directly for the barn where the party was held. The doors are wide open and the interior is still a mess from last night’s party. The place looks entirely different. Without the cover of night and fancy equipment it looks shabby and dirty. Hardly a place for Tehran’s elite to gather. A few people are passed out on bales of hay. Empty bottles, cigarette butts, and other trash litter the floor. A discarded used needle indicates that a lot more was happening at this party than what I saw.

 A man about thirty years old comes in and greets us coldly while rubbing his head. We’ve interrupted a hangover.

Mrs. Abbasi shoves a picture of Leyli in his face. "Where is my daughter? What happened to my daughter?"

The man takes a few steps away from the woman and puts his hands up. His movements are slow. "I've never seen her before."

"She disappeared from your party."

Mehran puts his hand on Mrs. Abbasi's arm. "Please calm down, Maman. We don't know for sure. Who did you say she was with when you last saw her, Nakissa?"

"Ramtin."

The man lets out a low whistle. "I still can't believe he came to my party.” He straightens his shirt collar as if he finally remembers to try to look cool. “Don’t get me wrong, I'm used to hosting for the elite, but this is Ramtin. He’s not elite, he’s royalty."

A low growl from Bijan startles us all. The man sighs and sits down on the nearby sofa. He put his head in his hand. I wonder how much of it is a hangover and how much is an act because he doesn't want to deal with us anymore.

"I don't know where Ramtin hangs out, okay? And quite honestly, I don't think he would have needed to take that girl against her will. Hello? It's Ramtin we're talking about. Girls just throw themselves at him."

Mrs. Abbasi takes a step towards him, but Bijan stops her. "Let's see if anyone else knows anything."

He gently kicks awake a sleeping man who groans as he opens his eyes. Mehran interrogates him, but he knows even less than the host. So Bijan repeats the process with every person there, but the most we get out of anyone is that she was seen with Ramtin.

Bijan wrings his hands and faces Leyli’s family. "Other than going to the police, I don't know what else we can do."

"I can't go to the police."

"I understand." He paces to the door and turns back to face us again. "We will alert everyone we know. Ramtin, whoever he is, seems to move in a different social circle than us, but I'd be surprised none of our friends have connections to the right person. We will do everything we can to help you find her. Right, Nakissa?"

I shake my head. I can't speak. The lump that started forming in my throat when I realized Leyli was missing has grown. And as much as I defended myself when Mrs. Abbasi put the blame on me, I can't help but feel guilty for leaving her with Ramtin. Maybe it is my fault.

Our drive back is even more strained than our drive there. I wonder if Mrs. Abbasi blames herself too. It can’t be only my fault, can it? What if Leyli never comes back? What if I never see my friend again and I’m left alone?

I hung up my phone and threw it on the bed. Nothing made sense. Aude was still missing and the few clues seemed to lead to Ramtin. But Ramtin was here. Here where Nakissa was. And who was Nakissa? A descendant of Nagissa? Was this Marguerite and Aude all over again? Was I finding myself attracted to a girl because she reminded me of someone else?

But there was more to Nakissa. A lot of what attracted me the most were the things that made her different from Nagissa. I paced back and forth along the length of the hotel suite. From the window overlooking Tehran to the door leading out of the room and back again.

Each footstep amplified my frustration. What was I missing? There was a clue here to Aude's disappearance. A clue to the earthquakes. To the dead birds and fish. Back at the window again, I rested both palms against the cold glass and looked down to the street. People were scurrying about. Traffic was crazy. Cars and pedestrians found their way through following no rules or logic.

Again. No logic. What was it about this ancient land that attracted chaos and nonsense? Why couldn't I think straight? I needed to see Nakissa again. I knew she didn't want to see me. The chemistry between us was so strong and she was involved with someone, but that didn't matter. I couldn't think clearly enough right now to even consider what all of that meant. I had other things to worry about.

I needed to figure out the connection between Aude's disappearance and Ramtin. Guillaume had just told me their research into Aude’s phone records indicated Ramtin had called her mere minutes before she left her house without explanation. Why was Ramtin interested in Aude? Because of her essence? Why was he interested in Nakissa?

I pushed away from the window and walked back to my bed. I picked up my phone and called the girl named Leyli. My closest tie to Nakissa.

But Leyli wasn't answering. Of course. Because it had been that type of morning. That type of week. That type of year, even. Ever since Aude woke us up from the Montreal church tower from which we had spent seventy years watching, nothing had been easy.

I texted Davood to tell him I wanted to meet up and he told me to come to his place of business.

So, I slipped on my designer jeans, a dress shirt and a dark gray cardigan and fixed my hair. I wasn't looking for Nakissa because I was attracted to her, but it didn't mean I didn't want to look my best if I saw her. Looking my best was something I was good at at least. I slid on a pair of shades and headed for the door.

On Mirdamad Boulevard, about a block from Davood's, an antique shop caught my attention. I asked the taxi driver to let me off and ducked into the quaint local shop. I didn't know what came over me. Why did I get an impulse to enter this store when I had so much more important things in my mind? But there was a pull I couldn't ignore.

The antique dealer greeted me with a jabbering stream of Persian mixed with English, and a few other languages. He slapped me on the back a few times. A fog of strangeness permeated the air and threatened to envelop my mind. I looked down, and for a moment his feet appeared as hooves. When I shook my head, I saw nothing abnormal. I was dealing with a Jinni.

"I have just the thing you are seeking." This time, he spoke in perfect English. He dug deep into his pocket and removed trinket after trinket. There was no way all these items fit in his pocket.

I took a few steps back from him.

"Ah ha!" The short, rotund man pulled out a long chain with a pendant and handed it to me.

Curious, I reached and took it from him. On it was a hand painted miniature of a dark haired girl playing the harp. I looked at it closer.

It was Nagissa.

I looked to him and he grinned.

"How much?"

"For you, it's free."

Well used to 
târof
 – the art of politeness – I knew better than to accept his seemingly generous offer. This was just the beginning of what often turned out to be grueling bargaining sessions. I didn't have the time or energy for such a session today. I dug into my pockets and found my wallet.

"No, no, I insist it is free," he said.

This went beyond what I was used to in shops, but in private it wasn't uncommon for someone to offer something as a courtesy several times, even though they didn't actually intend to part with the object. I had no idea what rules governed the Jinn.

"Oh that is very generous, but please let me pay for this."

The shopkeeper giggled and his form wavered. One moment human, one moment breathtakingly beautiful, and then back to human again. The shift in his essence became tangible to me. Cold and hot as flame and then cold again. It was bright and vivid and I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it until then. I hadn't known how to recognize a Jinni's essence since it is all they are made of. Had he done it on purpose so I would know his kind when I saw them?

"Don't worry my friend. You will pay your debt, but it is not a problem."

The idea of owing something to the Jinn made me more than a little uneasy. I began to place the locket back on the counter. The object fascinated me but it wasn't worth the potential cost.

The shopkeeper giggled again and gave the locket back to me. "Take it," he insisted. "The favor you will owe me is one you will want to do. You and I are walking similar paths." He looked me directly in the eyes and his brown eyes swirled with shades of turquoise blue before they settled back to their previous color. "She will help you fight Ramtin. And it," he pointed to the locket, "will help her."

I bowed my head to him and thanked him. He let out a booming laugh and wrapped his arms around me in a large awkward bear hug before kissing me on each cheek.

I still clutched the locket in my hand when I exited the store. I was just about to turn the corner towards Davood's shop when I felt that sharp Jinn essence I had just learned to identify. I turned expecting to see the shopkeeper, but instead came face to face with Pareen.

She was in an even duller version of her human form; her beauty was not as arresting in this form. Her black manteau was tight fitting in the fashionable style, but the black scarf covered almost all of her hair and neck. She looked caged somehow. The long colorful silk clothing she’d worn on our last meeting had been the freedom to her current imprisonment. Tightly bound by her clothing, she was constrained the way the mummies of Ancient Egypt were bound by their rags. The only sign of her spirit remained in the burning flame in her eyes. I couldn't believe the difference between the ocean of calm she’d been last I saw her and how she appeared to me now.