Becoming Jinn (15 page)

Laila sucks in a breath. “Tortura cavea,” she whispers. “If they find out you exposed our magic to humans, it's an immediate life sentence.”

Locking us up in tortura cavea, the equivalent of jail in the underground world of Janna, is the Afrit's punishment for most infractions. But from what our mothers have described, there really is no equivalent for the human version of jail in Janna. Think less metal bars and more fire-breathing dragons. Or snakes. Or ghosts. Or clowns. Or in Laila's bizarre case, squirrels. Whatever your fear, the Afrit tap into it and make it your cellmate. In the most extreme cases, for life. Jinn aren't exactly a “trial by a jury of our peers” kind of species.

“
If
,” I say. Part of me has always believed tortura cavea is nothing more than my mother's way of ensuring I behave.

My mother stares at me.

“
If
they find out. And I'm not even talking about conjuring a car in the Carwyns' driveway, I'm talking about floating his dad's résumé to the top of the stack. The Afrit can't track everything we do, right? Just the circulus incantation. So if we're careful—”

My mother seizes my arm and draws me to her. “The circulus is the only thing we know they monitor.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Don't push the boundaries, Azra.” She swivels her head to the side. “Laila?”

Like she's surrounded by squirrels holding tiny pitchforks, Laila can't even nod she's so scared stiff.

Samara circles in front of us. “I know I like to tease, but your mom's right. You girls do need to be careful. So conjure your paramour an argyle sweater but wrap it in a box from the mall.” She winks. “Just don't screw up, and you'll be fine.”

We'll be fine. Henry, his dad, his family, less fine. Guess serving the “greater good” all depends on one's perspective.

Laila finally takes a breath. And what she says may be even worse than what my mother's said. “Speaking of malls, wait until you see the swimsuit Mom and I got for you, Azra.”

Samara hooks her arm through my mother's, and the two step in unison into the kitchen. The start of their discussion signals the end of ours.

“Come on.” Laila grabs her bag and slips her arm around my waist. “App us to your room.”

With a loud sigh I hope reaches my mother's ears, I app upstairs.

We're in my bedroom and Samara's shouting “show-off!” from downstairs before I realize this was my first time co-apping. I should be proud, but right now I'm feeling anything but proud to be a Jinn.

 

13

I can't believe I'm wearing this. A two-piece bikini that would make Chelsea's look like a muumuu. Even in the privacy of our fenced-in backyard, I want to conjure a blanket.

Fidgeting in the lounge chair next to Laila—the definition of confidence in her pink, strapless bikini—I tug on the sides of my halter top.

Laila drops her magazine on her stomach and lowers her gold aviator sunglasses. “Enough! I mean, it's not exactly a challenge to ensure you're fully covered up there.”

I use my powers to playfully whip the glossy magazine off her lap.

Jumping up to catch it before the wind does, Laila says, “So not fair!”

“You know what's not fair? The way my mother licks the Afrit's boots.” I pick up my iced coffee. “Look at everything she can do. If she wanted to help Henry's family, she could figure it out.”

Sitting back down on the side of her chair, Laila shakes her head. “It's a slip and slide, Azra.”

“A what?”

“A slip and slide. You know. One thing leads to another.”

“You mean ‘slippery slope.'”

She cocks her head. “Really?”

“Positive.”

“Strange … slide seems more dangerous than a slope.”

“They're both dangerous if you get pushed down them.”

“This.” She swats my forearm with the rolled-up magazine. “This right here is the attitude that worries me.” She flattens the pages against her thighs. “Because … because maybe you do one thing and get away with it, so then you do another. And another. But eventually they catch you. And you get taken. It happens, Azra. Tortura cavea is real. There are stories in my cantamen.”

I forget that Laila, the model Jinn of our Zar, has had her cantamen memorized since she was twelve.

“I know you feel bad about Henry,” she says, tying back her blond curls. “But if you really want to help, I have a way.”

“You do? What?”

The edges of her lips curl. “Let him see you in that.” She winks and is the spitting image of her mother. “Now, are we going swimming or not?”

I flop back into my lounger. Henry's backyard has been my private sanctuary. I'm not sure I want to enter in broad daylight. And I'm positive I don't want to enter while wearing this.

She touches her infinity necklace. “If so, we should take these off so they don't get tarnished.”

I'm still wearing my matching necklace. And I still haven't returned Laila's locket. I fiddle with my bikini top again.

Laila leans over and tightens the knot in the strings of my halter. Her fingertips trace the circular scar at the nape of my neck. “Yours is so tiny.” She turns around and points to her scar. “Mine's like a dime.”

Her inhibitor scar makes mine look like a pinprick. Before we are even a week old, the Afrit apport into our human world to inject us with a compound that blocks our magic until we are old enough (apparently sixteen) to handle our powers. The bangles cancel out the injection and release our magic. In reality, today, it's not so much magic that runs through our Jinn blood but the obstruction of magic. Makes sense, I guess. Can't have baby-fat-legged toddler Jinn waddling around conjuring stuffed animals on the playground.

At least a human playground. I finger my scar. “Think the males are injected too?”

Laila nods. “My mom said they are. But she could have been lying to make me feel better about having to wait. Seems silly to block their magic in Janna.”

The Afrit's theory that keeping our numbers among the humans low reduces the risk of exposure means all nonessential genie personnel live in Janna. Since males don't grant wishes, this includes the boys. All the boys. Including Lalla Nadia's son.

I sit up straighter. “Does Hana ever talk about it?”

Laila mutters a “what?” but her eyes are closed. Purposely? I can't tell.

Lalla Nadia gave birth to a boy before she had Hana. She's the only Jinn in my mother's Zar with another child. Something else we don't talk about. Along with how my generation of Jinn is the last to be conceived naturally. And how there won't be any photographs of my little Jinn's father in any lockets in my house because I won't even know who my little Jinn's father is.

The Afrit's mix of science, nature, and magic has revolutionized Jinn procreation, allowing them to keep male and female Jinn apart and still propagate the species. When the Afrit decide it's time, whether I'm ready or not, my DNA will be merged with that of a male Jinn of the Afrit's choosing. Following the Afrit's “one in, one out” rule, after I give birth to a girl, my mother will transition into Janna, where she'll live with the rest of the Jinn who no longer grant wishes. Where she'll live with my father. If she wants to, that is.

“Three to one,” I say.

“Hmm,” Laila moans, settling deeper into her lounge chair.

“Three girls for every one boy.” Since they now control the process, the Afrit ensure we pop out more females than males. “That's the ratio, right?”

Laila mutters an “uh-huh.”

“Doesn't it bother you?”

Flipping her palms to expose the underside of her arms to the sun, Laila says, “What?”

I swing my feet to the ground. “That the odds are at least some of us will have a boy.” A boy who will be taken away.

Though her eyes narrow the tiniest bit, Laila responds as a model Jinn should. “But they'll be raised with their families in Janna. And we'll see them one day.”

One day?
She can't really believe that's good enough.

“Is that how you feel about—” I bite my lip, stopping myself from saying, “meeting our fathers,” knowing we don't talk about this. But
why
don't we talk about this? Or is it just my mother and I who don't talk about this?

The way my throat threatens to close makes me change the end of my sentence. “About having a boyfriend for the first time too? I mean, we'll be older than our mothers.”

Laila laughs. “Oh, you can have boyfriends here. Human ones. Multiple human ones if you're like Mina. Just so long as you don't get too—”

“Attached.” I sigh.

“And you pretend not to know how to be a Jinn.”

I skim the bottom of my foot against the perfectly manicured blades of grass and, for the millionth time, check my phone for texts from … from … anyone.
Right, Azra
.

“How can you be so Zen about it, Laila?”

She shifts in her seat and fiddles with her sunglasses.

“
Laila
…”

She whips off the shades. “What do you want me to say, Azra? Focusing on what we can't have takes away from what we can have. What we
do
have. Like our Zar sisters? If you just tried a bit more, you wouldn't have to be asking me what Hana does or doesn't talk about. I know you've always been jealous of humans, but it goes both ways. If they knew, most of them would give up what we give up and more to have our powers.”

Maybe. At least at first. But considering how many human wishes revolve around love, loss, and family, I'm not sure that's true in the long run. Laila must know that. If she didn't, then the locket with her father's picture wouldn't have been so important to her. The idea of her parents being in love wouldn't be so special.

“Besides,” she says, replacing her giant aviators. “We have so much to do until then, we won't even have time to think about it.”

Laila picking up her magazine shuts down the conversation, proving she's as skilled in pretending as the rest of us.

As I reach for my copy of
Zeitoun
, I wonder just how long she's been waiting for an opening to talk to me like this. I'm about to settle back into my chair when I see movement across from us. “Don't get spooked, but she's back.”

Laila jerks upright. “That squirrel? The one as big as Henry's cat?” She whirls her head around.

I roll my eyes. “How would I know if a squirrel's a she?”

With my chin, I gesture to the house next door, where Mrs. Seyfreth is perched on top of the crumbling stone bench in her backyard peering over the fence. Fur coat and all. This time, she's added a sun hat.

Laila hides behind the spread on
Thong Your Thing? Find Your Perfect Fit.
“She's still doing that?”

“Unfortunately. And it still creeps me out.”

“Um, yeah, I can see why.” Laila nudges her chair closer to mine. “Do something.”

“Something? Like what?”

“I don't know, make the fence taller.”

“Because that won't attract attention.” I snort. “Or be the first slip down your slide.”

She squirms. “This is different. It's for us, not her.”

“Uh-huh.” I stare back at Mrs. Seyfreth, trying to creep her out instead, but it doesn't work. Her lifeless eyes continue to be aimed our way. Forcing myself out of my lounge chair, I close the distance between us.

The gap between the lilac bushes along the fence lines up perfectly with the location of Mrs. Seyfreth's stone bench. If only that bush on the right shifted closer to the one on the left, it'd obscure her view.

I wave my hand in front of Mrs. Seyfreth's face. Nothing registers in her glassy eyes. I jump up and down. Still nothing. I wave my hand and jump up and down. Not even a blink.

Oh, why not?

Swiveling my head to ensure we're otherwise alone, I hold my book in front of her face and focus my mind on the lilac bush. I dig my toes into the grass, imagine the system of roots underneath, feel the air gently caressing my mostly naked body, and command the lilac bush to move. It does. Purple flowers rest where Mrs. Seyfreth's face used to be.

My pangs of guilt don't get the chance to deepen because a distant male voice saying, “Hey, Azra,” replaces every little twinge of remorse with debilitating stabs of panic.

“Azra?”

Henry's voice. Louder now. Popping up on tiptoes to get a better view over our tall fence, I see Henry in our front yard. How long has he been in our front yard?

As he approaches the fence, he runs his hand through his hair and his eyes bug out.

He's seen me! He must have seen me.

Clutching my book to my bare stomach, I leap forward so my line of sight matches Henry's. Not until I confirm he couldn't have seen the magically moving bush from here do I breathe again.

Now directly across from me, Henry's gaze travels the length of my body. Oh, he's seen me, all right. I curse myself for not conjuring that blanket.

 

14

“It's too cold!” Laila cries, skimming just a single toe along the surface of the Carwyns' pool.

Henry's inside getting us more sugar for our iced teas.

“You're the one who wanted to come over here so badly.
‘Oh, Henry, I've been dying to take a dip!'
Well, dip away, Sister.”

Serves her right for forcing us to come over here. If my mother's remotely right about Henry having a crush, I don't want to encourage him. He's Jenny's brother. The idea of him having a crush makes me more uncomfortable than Mrs. Seyfreth's blank stare.

Before we followed Henry into his backyard, I conjured myself a long black T-shirt, which I'm now wearing over my skimpy bikini.