Chapter 10
The porch lights were on, dimly illuminating the house against the dusky sky.
As I approached, each step became more difficult, like my body was resisting facing the consequences of my own actions.
Eventually, I found myself outside the door and stood there for a moment, listening for noise in the house.
I couldn’t hear anything—and then, there it was: laughter. A woman laughing.
I snatched the door open, my feet leading me to the sound. They were in the living room. My dad sitting back on the armchair, a woman on the sofa adjacent. Penny.
They turned their heads to me. Penny’s red lips were raised in a smile, eyes bright. I kept my gaze on her instead of my dad. I was nothing if not a coward.
“Hey,” I said.
“You worried your old dad with your disappearing act,” Penny purred.
My eyes shifted to my dad. I expected the vein in his forehead to be throbbing, his eyes almost escaping their sockets.
But he was…grinning. It was bizarre, but not unheard of.
His moods had often been tempered by my mother, but I didn’t think this woman we barely knew could have that effect on him, too.
His eyes were pink…and then I noticed the wine bottle on the coffee table between them, along with two nearly empty glasses.
Azar and I had suspected our dad sometimes drank after Mum died.
Back then, we could smell it on him and noticed the way he stumbled up the stairs in the evening, slamming the door shut.
But it was always in secret. He didn’t want us to drink and at least recognized the hypocrisy of doing it in front of us.
Now he was drinking wine in the living room with some woman he clearly had a crush on. And I could say nothing because I was meant to be in trouble.
“Where have you been?” he asked, voice steady.
I rested against the doorframe, dropping my bags to the floor.
“I went to a coffee shop before work and did some reading,” I lied before sprinkling in some truth.
“Then I did some shopping,” I added, waving my bag with the Prada backpack, before lying again.
“After that, I had an afternoon shift at the bookshop. I’m pretty sure I told you about it? ” I hadn’t, but I could pretend.
Even intoxicated, he stared me down. “Which coffee shop did you go to?”
“Beans and Co.,” I said quickly, hopefully adopting the solemn expression of someone who was telling the truth.
I had seen a coffee shop with that name on my walk home and told myself repeatedly that I had been there alone, and not with Zain in the other café, in the hopes that I could sell this story.
I know Dad wanted to say more, but he had company—we were taught to never embarrass yourself in front of guests. My parents wouldn’t reprimand me or my siblings in front of other adults growing up if we did something wrong, they just held it in until they left. So he wouldn’t press any further now.
“They do an amazing cold brew,” Penny chipped in. She winked at me, which made me pull a face. I quickly fixed it into neutral again. I got the sense she was trying to help me, but I didn’t want a stepmother—or whatever was going on here.
“I’m going to my room,” I said, rolling my shoulders back and forth to relieve the tension that had been building.
I scurried away before I could be fully interrogated and caught Ehsan eavesdropping at the top of the stairs.
“Where have you been?” he asked.
“Work.” I walked past him straight to my room, but not before adding over my shoulder, “You’re so nosy.”
In the safety of my room, door firmly closed, I really let myself dwell on the day I’d had. There was nothing I could do but get out my laptop and search Google.
PROOF ANGELS EXIST
This yielded many results, mainly from Christian websites claiming that angels are in fact real, though invisible.
One paragraph in particular caught my eye.
Biblical depictions of angels are vastly different from what we see in modern media and in the public perception in general.
In modern times, we often see images of angels flying on feathery wings, vessels of good who lack physical strength.
In biblical texts, however, they are powerful, strong beings who carry out the will of God.
What I read reminded me of my conversation with Zain.
I’d been surprised that an angel would fight a jinn, let alone kill one, because to kill anything, to snap the neck of something, felt like an inherently unangelic thing to do.
It was somehow easier to believe in jinn, in evil, what with the sleep paralysis that haunted my REM life.
But could there be forces of good out there, too?
I decided to go to bed early, my body spent by all the new information.
I followed my nighttime routine, though my heart wasn’t fully in it.
Despite the figure in the night terrifying me, part of me actually wanted to see it again.
To examine it closely and work out if it looked like the jinn whose neck Zain had snapped.
After everything, my excitement for my Prada bag was short-lived, but I still snapped a picture and sent it to Nic, who I knew would appreciate it.
I turned the lights off and nestled into my bed, bringing my duvet up to my chin. Closing my eyes, I tried to force sleep to come, but of course it wouldn’t be that easy. It was only easy to sleep when I didn’t want to.
After about twenty minutes of trying and failing, I took out my phone.
The light from the screen illuminated my dark room.
I searched “Zain Hashemi” on Instagram. Hundreds of users popped up, but after some inspection I determined that none of the top five was the Zain I knew.
I thought of Cleo; she could be following him if they’d gone to school together.
She was easy to find—I only had to go on the To the Lighthouse Instagram account and search through their followers.
Cleo’s profile, however, was private. Sighing, I sent her a follow request, then locked my phone and put it under my pillow, resigning myself to the fact that I wouldn’t be able to look up Zain tonight.
My phone pinged. Obviously, I snatched it from underneath my pillow.
Zain
Just want to make sure you got home okay. Your dad didn’t give you too much of a hard time, did he?
No, it was oddly fine.
I hope you’re not too freaked out.
I could arrange for your memory to be erased? Schedule a lobotomy?
Hilarious. But no, I’d like my memory firmly intact
And then, something I had wanted to ask him but had gotten distracted.
You said something about powers. What are they?
I will show you next week.
Next week felt impossibly far away, but I didn’t want to sound too eager and directly ask why it had to be then. Luckily, I didn’t need to, because he sent another text.
I’m going to be away for training until Friday.
For football?
No, the other thing.
The other thing. Angel training? What was that like? Before I could press, he texted again.
If you change your mind about meeting let me know.
Saturday still works for me.
Cool. I’ll let you go. I hope you sleep well.
Thanks, you too.
Night, Zain.
As if my body had been waiting to hear from him, I felt the pull of sleep encircling me. It only took minutes before I slipped away.
I found myself in a courtyard. At the center a body of water, with the castle walls reflected in it, casting light into the darkness.
My eyes slowly adjusted to make out my surroundings.
Shrubs with red roses were planted at either end of the pond.
And on the side opposite me stood Zain. He was dressed in an ornate jacket, with embroidery down the lapels and loose shalvar fitted at the ankle.
I knew it was him, but his manner was different.
He was more careful in his movements, his eyes cast down, not meeting my gaze.
I was in a Persian floral-patterned dress and woven shoes.
My hair reached my hips, and was plaited behind my back.
Footsteps sounded behind me. I whipped around, and through the arches leading to the grand, ancient-looking building emerged two women.
They were dressed in plain floor-length dresses and shawls.
Their eyebrows met in the middle, and their hair dark was as long as mine.
They spoke in a language I didn’t recognize, ushering me out of the courtyard and back into the castle.
Despite not knowing their language, I somehow could feel exactly what they were saying.
“Your father is calling you.”
“He cannot see you with him.”
As I let myself be taken away, I stole a glance behind me.
Zain’s eyes finally moved from the pond to me.
There was such longing in them that I tried to go back to him, but my body wouldn’t respond to my command.
I was only an onlooker in this dream, like in all my dreams. I had no control over my actions and let myself be led away.
Each room we passed was grandly decorated, with gold samovars and ornaments on ornate mantelpieces.
Plush Persian carpet upon plush Persian carpet decorated each room.
As we passed one open room, I saw a man chained to a wall.
He sat on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, thick silver shackles around his ankles and wrists.
“Zahhak’s next victim,” one of the maidens said.
“Has he selected a second one yet?” the other asked.
A bloodcurdling scream shot from the room, but we were walking at a quick pace down the corridor, away from it and the man. I tried to stop, to turn around, but my legs continued to move.
“This is what happens when you make a deal with Shaitan,” the first woman said. “I just hope we aren’t the next feed.”
“God forbid.”