Chapter 15
I finally made it to Bloom, the coffee shop I had wanted to go to before I first went to Cory’s.
The inside was warm, the furniture dark wood, the wallpaper floral and vintage-looking, with an array of pastries displayed on the front counter.
I mentioned to a guy behind the counter that I had tried to come here almost two weeks earlier but it had been closed, and he told me he had to close for a family emergency that ended up being a hoax.
“Someone called me to say my mom was in hospital, so I shut up the shop to go there, only to find that she was perfectly fine at home. I think it was a high schooler.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I said, frowning, before taking my croissant and latte to my table. Something about his words niggled at me while I settled into one of the seats, but I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly.
I left the house earlier than necessary before my shift to avoid my dad. We’d had it out last night—or, rather, he told me off while I apologized for coming home late again and told him the move was affecting me more than I thought. He softened, somewhat, at that.
Now, I began furiously sketching my dream. My drawings weren’t perfect, were messy in places, and I found myself frustrated that I couldn’t portray the intensity of my feeling through my art. The way the fire burned within me. Rabiya’s shock at her fire being extinguished.
Swiping through everything I had drawn, everything I had learned about Rabiya and Zal, myself and Zain, I knew a few things.
The most important being that jinn were after us.
And that I’d once had powers like Zain. But that didn’t explain why a figure that looked like my mother had watched as those monsters burned us to death.
I couldn’t make sense of it. Nor could I understand the familiarity my past self had with the jinn.
She’d lived in a castle, once, had servants.
The girl being taken away from the servants felt different from the one firing off balls of fire.
I pondered for too long, reaching no solid conclusions, until it was time for me to leave for work, so I scrambled to get my things together, hoping the distraction would be a reprieve.
Except, not even an hour into my shift, Cleo asked, “What’s going on with you and Zain?” The question made me choke on the complimentary coffee from our café.
While I gathered myself, taking another sip to soothe the tickle in my throat from swallowing my second coffee the wrong way, she rested her elbows on the counter and flashed me an innocent smile.
“What do you mean?” I finally replied, before regretfully putting my cup underneath the cash register and grabbing a stack of Ali Hazelwood’s latest book to replenish the pile at the front of the store.
The shop was small enough that Cleo could continue her questioning while I organized the front stack.
She rounded the cash register, a Cheshire cat smile on her face. “I saw him pick you up outside the shop. You seemed very friendly.”
“I mentioned wanting to go to Red Rocks, and he happened to be going there that day, so he gave me a lift.”
“You went to Red Rocks together, just you two?” Cleo asked, eyebrows raised.
I should have come up with a better lie, but I was tired and caught off guard.
“Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” I said while straightening up a display of books by Sabaa Tahir. “Have you ever read any of her books?” I asked, hoping my change of subject wasn’t painfully obvious.
“Of course. Wait, have you not?”
I shook my head, and my shoulders loosened. In the little time I had known her, I had learned that while Cleo loved gossip, she loved books even more.
Cleo collected one of Sabaa Tahir’s books and handed it to me. “Take this one and read it. On the house.”
“Are you sure your mum would be okay with that?” I asked.
“She’d see it as on-the-job training. How can you sell books you’ve never read? Anyway, don’t think you can distract me that easily.”
“Is it really that big of a deal that we were in a car together?” As the words left my mouth, I checked myself.
It was. If none of this weirdness existed, and I was only casually hanging out with Zain, that would be enough to fill my mind for weeks.
So I understood Cleo’s fascination. But I needed to somehow continue the act of pretending it was perfectly normal for me to have male friends.
She didn’t know me. I could make this work to my advantage.
“Yes, actually. I need to paint you a better picture of who Zain is.” Cleo went back to leaning against the cash register, her face dramatically serious.
“He doesn’t hang out with people outside of school.
As far as we know, he doesn’t date girls from around here.
Which, I guess, if he’s hanging out with you, shows that.
But I need to know…what is he really like?
Is he a dick like the stupid jocks he hangs out with, or is there more than meets the eye?
” She reminded me a lot of Nic in that moment.
Theatrical, so much so that I had to laugh.
I pressed my lips together to stop myself.
“He’s…” Kind? Still an enigma? Hotter once you got to know him? And, of course, an angel. With actual wings. There was no question about that. I settled on “Nice?”
She groaned. “Come on, I need more than that.”
My gaze drifted upward to the ceiling fan, and I watched it spin while thinking about what to say next. “I mean, I guess he is quite tortured? It seems like he bottles up a lot of things.” I didn’t know why I was revealing this. The people pleaser in me wanted to give Cleo something.
She softened. “Really? How so?”
I shrugged. “Just, you know, both of us have dead mums, so it’s something we can relate about.” I knew I was being unfair. Playing the Dead Mum Card wasn’t right, but it was the only thing I had in my arsenal to stop her questioning. It was a certified conversation stopper.
Cleo’s cheeks suddenly went pink, which wasn’t that unusual because she was very pale, but the speed at which she blushed was still something else. Standing straight, avoiding my eyes, she said, “Oh, I had no idea your…I’m sorry.”
I waved a hand. “It’s fine.”
And then she surprised me. “It sucks that your mom passed, but it’s still pretty major that you’ve gotten close to Zain.” She was like a dog with a bone, which was oddly endearing.
“My dad would never let me be close to a boy, anyway.” When I said this, I was focused on straightening out a pile of books on the counter. They were pocket-sized gardening books with a cover of illustrated leaves and gold foil lettering.
“So, is he like regular dad strict, religious strict, or something else?” Cleo asked.
“A bit of both. It only got worse after my mum died. It’s like he’s worried I’ll get kidnapped, or pregnant, or screw my life up in some way—or maybe all three.”
“That’s rough. My dad’s pretty messed up, too, if that’s any consolation.”
“He is?” Her mum, despite looking frazzled each time I saw her, seemed like she had her life together. I imagined her dad would be the same. But come to think of it, neither Cleo nor her mum had ever mentioned him.
She walked over to one of the middle tables, brushing off some dust with a cloth.
“Yeah, it’s a long story, and I won’t bore you with it, but he doesn’t live with us and is in and out of rehab.
” She shrugged like she didn’t care, but I recognized bits of myself in the tightness of her jaw and how she pressed her lips together, like she had developed a lump in her throat.
“That’s so shit.”
“It is what it is. I don’t actually know many people with good dads. We should create a Shitty Dads Club. It’d be inundated with edgy, kind of weird girls who just want to be loved.” She said all this jokingly, but I think she low-key meant it.
We didn’t have a chance to talk any more because a customer came in asking to pick up an online order.
Then the lunchtime rush hit, and for two hours I was in and out of the stockroom, grabbing books and collecting customer orders.
Cleo offered to go down to the basement, but I liked the distraction.
When my shift ended, I checked my phone on my way out the door. I had one message.
Zain
Are you free tonight?
Those four words made me feel both excited and nervous. But then I remembered my dad was pissed at me, and I certainly wouldn’t be allowed to stay out late again tonight. I sighed loudly.
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems,” a customer said as he passed me. I tried to smile back, but I wasn’t used to strangers speaking to me. Were people too friendly here? I was trying to get used to it, but the pleasantries were jarring.
And he was wrong—it was as bad as it seemed. I was being haunted by my past self, who was trying to tell me something. Jinn existed—and who knew what else.
Outside, I inhaled a shaky breath and then noticed something across the road.
In the alleyway, partly hidden in the shadows, was a figure that made me physically stop in my tracks.
Wearing a long black cloak, there was a jinn.
He removed his hood, exposing his bald head, veins riddling his skull, face, and neck. Eyes completely black.
Then he smiled at me.
I gasped, my legs moving of their own accord. I ran down the street, ran for home, not looking back, my heart beating rapidly, from both the exercise and the panic at seeing a jinn again, this time without Zain to protect me.
I continued for a block, dodging other pedestrians, and only then could I bring myself to turn around. There was no sign of the jinn. I took my phone out to call Zain to tell him what happened, my hand shaking so much that I struggled to find his contact.