Chapter 8 #2
“I thought you were at work today, man?” a tan, dark-haired guy asked.
“I was,” Zain said to his friend while keeping his eyes on me.
“Are you going to the party tonight?” another, somehow even taller one asked.
Zain seemed like he was pondering something before he said, “No, probably not.”
The first guy laughed, rolling his eyes. “It’s the last summer before college—let your hair down.” He then proceeded to ruffle Zain’s perfect hair and was met with an unconvincing glare.
“We’re about to head out,” Zain said coolly, looking back to me, where I stood like a lamppost, saying and doing nothing. The eyes of four guys—five, including Zain—were then on me.
“Who’s this?” the first guy asked.
Something about his tone—including the fact that he didn’t address me directly—straightened my spine.
I disliked the opposite sex at the best of times, often believing they ruined things with their loudness and lack of boundaries.
There were a few exceptions to this, of course, like Ehsan and the guys in the books I read.
I simply stared at the boy who spoke at me like I was Zain’s pet, dead behind my eyes, until he got the message.
He laughed nervously, scratching his neck.
Nic once told me I had the ability to scare boys with a single glare, and it was the kindest thing she had ever said to me. I had been practicing.
“Sebastian…” Zain said in warning before turning to me. “Ignore him. He has no social skills.”
“Well, I’m going,” I said to Zain, grabbing my bags. I was wasting my time here—he’d never give me answers. As I walked away, I heard one of the boys say, “What’s her problem?” And while I couldn’t hear Zain’s response, whatever he said silenced them.
I pressed all my body weight against the door to leave, wondering if I’d been too hasty. I often acted before I thought.
Resting against the building wall for a moment, I realized I wasn’t entirely sure how to get home. Zain had led the way here, turning down various streets. I hadn’t paid attention, too focused on seeming chill in front of him to observe my own surroundings.
I put my bags on the ground to check Google Maps on my phone. There were messages from my dad.
Dad
Where are you?
If you don’t come home in the next 20 minutes, you’re in big trouble
Roxana, I am serious.
I swiped away his messages, deciding to deal with him later.
The entrance door swung open and Zain appeared. He squinted into the distance, maybe to look for me. When he turned and noticed me, he let out a long breath.
“I thought you left,” he said.
“I was about to.”
“Why?”
I gave him a pointed look. “Why do you think?”
He moved his head from side to side, like he was balancing two competing thoughts. “I’m sorry about them. They’re a bit extra, but all right once you get to know them.”
“I’m sure,” I said, pushing myself off the wall. “But I better go anyway. My dad’s waiting.”
He couldn’t hide his disappointment, his lips turning downward ever so slightly. The sight made me feel something funny in my stomach.
“Stay a little longer?”
“And why would I do that? You haven’t told me anything.”
He must’ve sensed that I was being serious, because he conceded. “If you stay, I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
Despite the warning signs telling me to go, my lips formed the words “Only for another half an hour.”
He led me a few doors down to a café. We found a small table in the back. We were handed sticky laminated menus. Zain and I ordered iced coffees. When the bored waitress left, I pressed my elbows against the table.
“Go on, then,” I said. “What really happened with that man?” That thing.
Zain’s eyes were steely, and it was like I could see the different angles he was deciding on for his story. He finally blew out a puff of air.
“This would be so much easier if you had left when I told you to,” he muttered.
“Maybe, but that’s not what happened.” I kept my voice level, pushing down my instinct to remind him that he couldn’t tell me what to do.
“I need to know I can trust you.”
“I mean, you barely know me, but I’m good with secrets.” I gave him what I hoped was a trustworthy smile.
Zain’s eyes bored into mine. “I’m serious.”
“In six weeks, I’m out of here. You won’t see me again, so your secret will be safe with me.
And if I could forget about it, I would, but I need to know what I saw first.” And why you’re in my chaotic dreams. How everything connects, and how I can stop it.
But he didn’t need to know those parts, not yet. I’d keep my own secrets.
I could see he was weighing his options. “You’re only here for the rest of the summer?”
I nodded. “My return flight is booked. Come September nineteenth, I’m moving back to England. So tell me.”
I thought this information would be leverage for Zain to confide in me, and I was under the impression that it was working, but then something washed over his eyes, almost like disappointment. He recovered quickly, though.
“I mean, first, what makes you think that was a man down the alley? Did he look like a man to you, Roxana?”
“What do you mean?” I asked weakly. I needed him to say it. It was one thing to suspect something—entirely another for someone to confirm it aloud.
The waitress returned in record time with our drinks. Both were ice cold, with condensation around the glass.
Zain pushed his drink to the side so he could lean forward. What he said next was uttered in a whisper. “You’re Iranian, so you must have heard of jinn.”
I gulped and managed to strangle out only a short “Yeah.”
“What do you know about them?” His eyes were laser focused on me, the intensity burning.
My mind went blank, so what came out was a word salad. “They’re evil, sort of demonic figures? Or they’re like ghosts, but evil. Something like that, right?”
“Almost. They’re more orchestrators of darkness.
They come in different shapes—some look human and live seemingly human lives.
They might poison the minds of humans to make them do evil deeds.
Others look as demonic on the outside as they are on the inside.
To put it plainly, they’re the reason for world wars, genocides, destruction, et cetera. ”
He said this not like it was something he suspected but rather something he knew for certain. “Right…”
“Well, what would you say if I told you that you’d seen one.” His eyes stayed on me, watching. When I didn’t react in the way he imagined, his brow furrowed. “Why are you not surprised?”
I didn’t say anything for a moment, deciding whether to be honest or lie. I settled for a half lie. “Well, it’s not the first time I’ve seen a jinn.”
He sat back in his chair, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Really?”
“Yes.” I copied him, leaning back, creating even more distance between us.
You have to be confident when making accusations.
If something is true, the face of the accused often gives them away.
I knew this from when Nic accused our former best friend of talking about us behind our backs—it was a hunch, but she admitted it, proving that you have to say it with your whole chest to find out the truth.
It was all this that led me to say, more quickly than I had intended, “Because you’re one, too, right? ”
How else had he penetrated my dreams? It somewhat made sense. I watched his face closely to see how he’d react.
His expression was stony, unreadable—annoyingly so.
The air between us lay still, the noise from the café’s radio low. I glanced away from Zain’s eyes to the marks on the white table and then back at him. I don’t know what I expected from him, but when he burst out laughing, I knew it wasn’t that.
He proceeded to laugh for longer than I considered necessary.
“I’m not a jinn,” he finally said once he’d stopped, a glimmer of a smile still tracing his lips.
“Well, what are you, then? A jinn killer? Like Buffy or something?”
He scoffed.
“Not a Buffy fan?” I asked, flabbergasted. I loved that show. For one, the fashion in the nineties was impeccable.
“The way it portrays vampires is too unrealistic for me,” he said. “They’re much less dignified.” His nose turned up.
“You’re joking,” I choked out.
“That’s beside the point.” There was that faint smile again, like he was laughing at me. I got the distinct sense that he wasn’t kidding, but rather he found my reaction to his words amusing.
I thought I was absorbing this information pretty well, all things considered. “Okay, then, let’s get back to the point. You snapped a person’s neck—”
“A jinn’s neck,” he corrected me.
“Okay, snapping a jinn’s neck isn’t something a normal person can do. So that begs the question: What are you?”
He inched forward again, his brown eyes smoldering, so much so that I forgot what I had asked him until he said, “You know about jinn. But what have you heard about angels?”