Becoming Jinn (40 page)

The intensity of Megan's hurt overwhelms me. I clutch her hand, dragging her toward the stairs, which I practically carry her up. Her emotions are consuming her. And me. I have to stop it. I have to help her. Reaching for the nearest door, I pull us both inside what turns out to be Nate's room.

I take in the slate blue on the walls, the lacrosse stick propped in the corner, the medical dictionary on the desk, and in an instant, it all happens: the incantations, the cloaking enchantment, Megan in a trance-like state, the wish-granting ritual under way. She's in so much pain, and I'm so invested that I can't hold back my own feelings, and the words spill from my lips. “I'll make it better. I can take the pain away. Just wish for it. Just wish for it, and I can do it, I promise. You don't have to feel this. Let me help you.”

And that's when she makes her wish. It's like a hammer has pounded a six-inch nail through my heart, in one side, out through the other. And it's my fault. What she's wishing for is my fault. My words encouraged her. Of course they did. How stupid, how very stupid I was. I shouldn't have rushed into this. I should have known this is what she'd want, this is what she'd wish for. And she's adamant that this is what she wants. That this is the only thing she will ever want. It is only when I envelop Megan in an embrace that I truly understand why.

After easing her out of the ritual and wiping away her tears, I force myself to bring her back downstairs, to bring her to her grandmother, explaining she was momentarily overcome. Her grandmother thanks me for helping and squeezes my hand. I'm dying inside. I manage to excuse myself, saying I need the restroom.

Halfway to the kitchen, I turn around. No one's watching me but Henry. I run out the back door, knowing he will follow.

 

39

I'm in the Reese's backyard, leaning against the wooden post of a weathered-gray swing set. Dizzy, I bend over, putting my head between my knees.

Henry's at my side before I know it. He grabs me by both elbows, asking what's wrong.

“Paper bag,” I say.

“What?” Henry asks, confused.

“Paper …
bag
.” Isn't that what you're supposed to use when you feel like your lungs have collapsed? “Can't breathe. Can't see.”

Henry lowers me to the ground, propping me against the splintering cedar. He crouches in front of me, saying soothing things until my eyes focus again. We stay that way as I do the thing I promised myself I wasn't going to do: load more weight onto Henry's shoulders. In this selfish moment, I pile it all on, telling Henry everything, starting with the Afrit's ability to take away and hurt everyone I care about, including him, flowing into the revelations about my mind control, Mrs. Seyfreth, my father, and who I really am, and ending with Megan being my next assignment. There's only one thing I leave out. Jenny.

Henry lands his butt on the grass and wraps his hands around the nape of his neck. He bobs his head up and down. “Okay, okay, wow, okay, okay, wow.”

Though everything's come out in a stream-of-consciousness muddle, Henry understands. Henry always understands me. He gets it. He gets the danger of refusing. He gets that I have to grant Megan's wish. He gets that I don't have a choice unless I want to lose everyone I care about. He understands I'm going to have to do whatever it is that Megan wants.

I make sure of this. I make sure he gets it before I tell him what it is that Megan wants. He shouldn't be surprised. It's not that I was surprised by what it is she wants, it's what I'll have to do in order to accomplish it that has sent me into this spiral. Because, really, Megan's a twelve-year-old girl. A twelve-year-old girl who just lost her father, who's terrified of losing her mother. What else could she want?

“She wants her family back together,” I say, sliding up the wooden post and circling to one of the two swings. I grasp the metal chain and wait until my heartbeat no longer pulsates in my temples. “Her wish is for her family to be whole again, her entire family. She wants her mom, her dad, herself, and Nate to be together again.”

Henry rises. He runs his hand through his hair and starts pacing in front of the swing set. “But Azra, you can't do that. You've told me. Genies can't bring people back from the dead. Can't even heal people. It's not that it's forbidden, it's that it's impossible, right?”

I watch him as I lower myself onto the small, green plastic seat. I say slowly, “As far as I know, it's outside the powers of even the strongest Jinn.”

Henry stops in front of me. “But what then, Azra, what are you going to do?”

“What do you think? How would you accomplish it?”

He moves closer, staring into my eyes with such intensity, I get chills. I hear his mind reach the same conclusion I did. The only conclusion there is. Hot tears fill my eyes, but I blink them back. I need him to reach this conclusion so he'll understand.

“Seriously, Azra? That's what you're going to have to do? You're going to have to … have to …
kill them
? You're going to have to kill Nate? That way the family will be together again?”

I picture myself in Nate's shoes, people consoling me because my mother is gone. I hear Henry's thoughts.
Don't worry about me, Azra. You can't do this. Whatever happens to me, happens to me. But you can't do this. It will destroy you.

Henry, always thinking about me, first and foremost. Not a single thought as to his own safety. As to what might happen to him if I don't grant Megan's wish.

And so if that were really her wish, her deepest desire, I'd … I'd do it. Fortunately, my mother taught me well. While connecting with Megan's anima, I didn't stop there. I kept going, delving deeper, until I uncovered her true wish.

“Yes,” I say, pushing my heels into the soft ground and starting to rock myself gently, “that's what I'd have to do. If that were truly her wish.”

Henry's puzzled eyes stare into mine as he settles himself on the swing next to me.

Swallowing hard, I use my powers to give him a push. Just one. The soft breeze of his swinging sweeps the hair off my shoulder.

My voice is calm, steady. “But the real reason she wants her family back together is because she doesn't want to see the pain in Nate's eyes anymore. That's her true wish.”

It's not that granting this wish is easy. It's not that granting this wish is without risk. It's difficult. It's risky. But as I needed to make sure Henry understood so he'd be onboard, it's certainly better than the alternative.

I wiggle my heels out of the dirt and use my magic to swing higher.

Yes, if I do it, I may hurt, maybe even lose, someone I hold dear, but if I don't, I will lose even more. Life, after all, is compromise. If becoming Jinn has taught me anything, it's taught me that.

Up and up.

Higher and higher.

Until I'm flying.

And so there's only one thing I can do to grant Megan's wish. My mother's done it, with varying degrees of success. Fortunately, I have something my model Jinn mother lacks.

Afrit blood.

Using my magic, I slow my swing, bringing it to a gentle stop. I look past Henry at the Reese's house.

“I'm going to have to erase memories. I'm going to have to use mind control on her,” I say. “On them both. Make them feel their family is perfectly whole as it is.”

See, when genies are involved, there's always a trick.

 

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

Behind every book and every writer is a pom-pom–wielding cheerleader. As time goes on, if you're lucky, you may look over your shoulder and realize you've gathered an entire high-ponytailed squad.

Turns out, I have been very lucky. My squad begins with my agent, Lucy Carson of the Friedrich Agency, whose editorial instincts turned
Becoming Jinn
into the book you are now holding. Thank you for supporting my voice and vision, for assuaging my fears and anxieties, and for somehow finding enough hours in the day to answer my every question. Thanks as well to the Friedrich Agency's Nichole LeFebvre, who has cheered Azra on since day one.

I am especially grateful to Jean Feiwel for her belief in this series, and to my editor, Liz Szabla, for asking the questions that pushed me to dig deeper. This book and these characters exist because of you. Thank you to the entire Feiwel and Friends/Macmillan team who work so hard and who have been gracious enough to give me and my book a most welcoming home.

Thanks to my beta readers, all incredible authors in their own right, who are masters at knowing when to say “rah, rah” and when to say “nuh-uh.” My early readers, Georgia Clark and Aubrey Cann, helped shaped Azra and the Jinn world, and my later readers, Jen Malone and Chelsea Bobulski, helped fine-tune it. Thank you, Jen, for having a wealth of knowledge (seriously, how do you know so much?) and for being so willing to share it. And Chelsea, I could (and one day plan to) wallpaper a room with your beautiful, encouraging words. What can I say except you, my dear, are most definitely my sister. Finally, thank you doesn't seem to encompass what I need to say to N. K. Traver, the kindhearted, enthusiastic cyber-stalker who demanded to read my book and then did so in one day. You made me believe, Nat. I am forever in your debt.

Thanks to my fellow 2015 YA debut authors, the Freshman Fifteens, for all of your support and friendship. And don't forget your promise to slip on harem pants, ladies.

A special thanks to Anna Banks, whose generosity, guidance, and friendship are only surpassed by her ability to make me laugh.

Thanks to all the friends who have supported me (and refrained from telling me to can it with the book talk already) and to my family, the Montemurros and the Goldsteins, whose enthusiasm often surpasses mine. Thank you, Martha, for reading, listening, and cheering me on. Thank you, Dad, for always reading to me, turning the pages before I was able to do so myself. Thank you, Mom, for faking it so well, and reading every school essay with a red pen in hand to push me to do better.

That's one impressive squad, but I wouldn't have any of them if it weren't for the team captain, my husband, Marc. The day he told me to write changed my life. Every step of this journey we've taken together. Thank you for telling me “there's something here” and for not letting me give up. Thank you for reading revision after revision until you could recite my words by heart. Thank you for every Saturday night plotting session. Thank you for laughing where I hoped you would, and crying where I knew you would. Unlike me, you always knew this day would come. Thank you, my soul mate, my best friend, for being right—for once. Now, don't let it go to your head.

 

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A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

Lori Goldstein
was born into an Italian-Irish family and raised in a small town on the New Jersey shore. A former journalist, she currently lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, with her husband.
Becoming Jinn
is her first novel. You can sign up for email updates
here
.