Chapter 29
It rained intermittently for two days, the heavens descending, thunder rattling me from my thoughts, jolting me back into darker ones.
I called in sick to the bookshop. It didn’t take much acting for Cleo to agree that I sounded unwell.
I hadn’t slept, catching an occasional ten-minute catnap, but when I felt myself sinking too deeply my heart rate spiked, bringing me to consciousness. I mostly stayed in my bedroom.
My conversation with Zain replayed in my mind on an endless loop.
I drank energy drinks I got from the shop a short walk from the house, popped caffeine tablets like they were candy.
Anything to stave off sleep. I played pop music in my headphones, cranked at maximum volume.
I had no real plan, despite racking every strategic part of my brain to think of something to solve the issue of being a jinn.
I kept my distance from my dad and Ehsan.
The former to not raise suspicion, and the latter because I felt so sad that he was suffering the same fate I had.
Of being lied to your whole life. I couldn’t look him in the eye.
Azar still wasn’t picking up. She was on a trip in the Lake District with some of her rich friends and sent rushed, dismissive messages after my missed calls. I saw pictures of their escapades online, drinking in a large manor house. It was weird, though, how distant she was.
I need to speak to you—it’s urgent
Even if she didn’t believe me, I had to tell her. Ehsan was too young, but Azar was the eldest. If anyone should shoulder this burden with me, it was her.
It was in the dead of night, when I knew I would succumb to sleep, that an idea came to me. I was half delirious, my body weightless and heavy at the same time. My feet dangled off my bed, and I stared at myself in the mirror on the opposite wall.
My face looked sunken, more so than usual. My light eyes dim, skin ashen. I balled my hair up on top of my head and curls escaped the band, sticking out in different directions.
It occurred to me that I had been cowering all this time, afraid of being a jinn, of being engulfed by my Jinn King grandfather; that I had forgotten that if I was really a jinn then I was dangerous, too.
I had powers. I could defend myself, just as I had seen Rabiya do.
And perhaps I could learn from her mistakes, not be quite so trusting of jinn, not let hope push me to my—and Zain’s—untimely death.
Perhaps the memories of our past were to warn me, not only of what was to come but of what not to do.
I had the feeling that if past Rabiya saw me now, she’d be disappointed.
I gazed at myself in the mirror, like I was looking not at myself but at Rabiya.
Raising my hands in front of me, I mentally pushed energy into them.
I willed fire to appear in my palms. Shutting my eyes, to keep focus, I imagined that I was pushing all the anger, loss, and sadness through my body and into my hands.
A rush overcame me, a heat within my body beginning at my core.
I gasped, and then my hands were burning.
When I opened my eyes, though, they were empty.
A groan escaped my lips. “Bullshit,” I grunted.
I was a jinn without evil intentions with minimal powers.
So far, I had only managed to summon a being I wish I hadn’t and move fire with my mind.
I should just let myself be burned at the stake right now.
I was a lamb to be preyed upon. Rather than feel sad at this realization, I was enraged.
At everyone. At my mum for keeping this from us, for leaving me and my siblings defenseless and clueless.
At the Jinn King for not letting me sleep—I just wanted rest!
—and for being so cryptic about what his intentions were.
Even at Zain for making me fall for him only for him to look at me like I was his worst nightmare.
That warming in the pit of my stomach began bubbling up again.
I pushed against it; it was useless, meant nothing, and shook my hands ever so slightly.
And then my hands were red-hot. Not painful, but I could feel their heat.
In the mirror, I saw flames. I looked down and balls of actual fire had been emitted from both of my hands.
I shook them more earnestly, not sure what my plan was now.
They flew from my hands to the wall opposite. Setting my mirror on fire.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I jumped off my bed, grabbing a glass of water from my bedside table and throwing it on the flames. It extinguished the fire, and all that was left was the lingering scent of smoke and a fucked-up mirror. The wood was charred, the reflective surface warped and cracked.
My phone vibrated. It was 2:47 a.m.
Zain
Can we meet tomorrow?
Congress Park at 12 PM?
Yes