Circle of Jinn (13 page)

Logs should be round, right? Because that's the third one I've conjured that's more of a trapezoid.

I'm supposed to be conjuring tumblers out of tree limbs to go with Mina's woodsy party theme, but I'm distracted. If you can call my eyes leaking like a tapped maple tree distracted. Saying good-bye to Zak—to my brother—has sparked the ricocheting in my veins. The wrenching of my internal organs I felt while out of range of Megan was a massage compared to this. My mother spent three years with Zak and longer with my father, and she had to let them both go. I knew she was strong, but I had no idea her shoulders could bear this much weight.

I arrange my collection of angular logs in the fireplace in my room and try to focus on the party. I was hoping the distraction I'm feeling would be in the opposite direction. That planning Henry's send-off would take my mind off of lumping Zak into the “lost and found and lost again” bin.

So much has happened so fast, most of it doesn't feel real. Dragooning, hadi, Megan's wish, Nate and me the other night, leaving the Reeses', Zak being my brother, my mother choosing me, Henry and Chelsea earlier tonight, Laila moving across the street, Zak returning to Janna … and one more time, Nate and me the other night, Henry and Chelsea earlier tonight.

My brain is full.

Nate wanted to video-chat, but I couldn't let him see me like this, not without being able to tell him the cause. There's so much lying in my life—from me, to me, about me. I can't always be honest with Nate, but I'm trying to limit my lies to those of omission as opposed to full-on works of fiction.

We talked for a while, and I even followed a bit of his lacrosse-practice recap by putting my phone on speaker and looking up things like “raking” and “man down defense,” but he lost me when he segued into “Canadian egg roll” and “carry the pizza.” Truly, that's one bizarre sport. I told him about Laila moving in, and his excitement perked me up for a while. But then a splinter rammed itself under my fingernail and my first thought was
Rahmah!
and that was it. I couldn't cover anymore.

Even without the visual, he knew something was wrong. Lately it feels like the connection with Nate from granting his wish isn't just one way.

Suddenly the sting of pins and needles prickles my spine.

What the—?

The sensation gets stronger.

I spin around like an overzealous Labradoodle. But I'm alone.

Then why does it feel like Zak just apported in?
How
can it feel like Zak just apported in? He left hours ago.

Wishing doesn't make it so, Azra.

My full brain is playing tricks on me.

I shake it off and wander across the hall, poking my head into my mother's bedroom. She's asleep as I knew she would be. Though I received a lecture about invading her privacy and practicing the advanced magic of spells without her permission, she couldn't deny my skill. Apparently, I've graduated to the supervised use of spells. Mostly, I think, so she could have me use one on her tonight to ease the pain of Zak leaving. The sleeping spell she had me do made her zonk out immediately, and she'll remain comatose well past morning.

Unfortunately, there's no way I can sleep. Maybe I'll do better with the tumblers if I start with real wood.

I'm halfway down the stairs when a flick of light goes on and then off just as fast. I freeze. This isn't a trick. At least not one being played by me. A chair scrapes against the wood floor. I hold my breath. Then come muffled voices. From the kitchen. Male voices.

I am so
not
alone.

“I've got it.” From an unknown male voice.

“
Rahmah
, will you keep it down.” From Zak's voice.

Zak?
I charge down the stairs, not caring if I'm heard. I intend to not only be heard but to be heard loudly. Zak said he was leaving. He lied, and not by omission.

Right before he—right before
they
—app away, I catch a glimpse of my brother and the shaggy-haired dude from the high school. The one whose clothes made him look like Zak's twin. He still does. Except for the tangerine hue of his choppy hair.

Apping requires us to picture an object that resides in our intended destination. With time and skill, the name of the destination itself is enough. I wonder if the same is true of the reverse: if the name of the object will suffice.

I grind my heels into the floor, tune my breathing to the rhythm of my heart, which beats at the speed of a hummingbird, and focus on the name of one object.

Zak.

 

14

My blood boils and not just from the act of apporting when I materialize across from my brother.

His mouth hangs open. I stroll over to him, place my hand under his chin, and clamp his jaw shut.

“Azra! What are you doing here?” he says.

“Nuh-uh. The question is, what are you
still
doing here?” I jut my thumb toward Mr. I Don't Really Own a Dog. “And who's this?”

This
is currently taking a seat on top of a rolling green carry-on bag in the middle of the woods. I swivel my head around. The woods behind Nate's house.

And
This
is smirking. Long and parted down the center, his red hair skims the top of his ear as he tilts his head to the side. He places his hand over his heart. “
Hala
. It is a pleasure to meet you finally, Azra.”

A puff of orange hair sticks out from the open collar of his knee-length white tunic.

The way he strokes his scruffy beard makes him appear nonchalant, unfazed. But his hand that twirls a slim black pen and his copper eyes that dart between me and Zak seem very, very fazed.

He shifts on top of the carry-on.

“What's in the bag?” I ask.

He hesitates for a split second. “Personal items.”

Something's not right.
They'll come for her.

In an instant, I app from my current spot and reappear directly behind
This
. I shove him off the suitcase, knock the bag to the ground, and unzip it with my powers.

On top of a pile of designer jeans, black T-shirts, and striped oxfords is a digital frame. I turn it on right before
This
snatches it out of my hand.

He clutches it to his chest. But the wrong way. The picture faces me, not his stomach. The picture of Hana.

“Oh my Janna,” I say. “You're Hana's brother?”

Before Zak appeared, I thought Lalla Nadia, Hana's mother, was the only member of my mother's Zar sisterhood who had a son. Like so many things, the existence of Hana's brother was never discussed.

Zak sighs as he sweeps his hand to the side. “Azra, meet Matin.” He then brings two fingers to each temple, rubbing as if attempting to drill holes. “Father is going to roast me on the pyre himself. And it's all your fault.” He glares at Matin.

“My fault?” Matin says. “Forgive me,
habib
, my dear friend, but aren't you the one who forgot your mother's letter?”

“But I could have returned to the house for it alone. The same way I was supposed to travel here alone.” Zak faces me. “Father arranged for me to apport from an obscure location surrounded by stone two feet thick. No one would be able to sense me leaving or arriving. But this one followed—”

Matin smirks. “You and I share similar thinking, Azra.”

Zak ignores him. “He tackled me as I was going through.”

“It was not simply a tackle.” Matin turns to me. “It was an extraordinary tackle. I leapt from two yards away.”

“One,” Zak growls.

Matin shrugs. “You continue to believe that if it makes you feel better.”

“Wait,” I say, approaching Matin. He's actually a bit shorter than my brother, with more of a tackling-appropriate football-player build. His jaw is squared off, unlike Hana's, and his lips smirk a hell of a lot more than hers do (guess that's more nurture than nature), but the resemblance is obvious. Too obvious. Now that I'm up close, I see he's less Zak's twin and more Hana's. If she or Lalla Nadia saw him …

“You came to see Hana? And your mother?” I ask.

Matin's smirk dissolves into a sad smile. “That I did. But only from a distance.” Bending over his suitcase, he pushes aside an argyle sweater to reveal a pair of binoculars and a digital camera with a massive lens. Huh, I would have thought Jinn in Janna had much more advanced snooping methods.

Matin rises to his feet. “Though my mother and sister could not know I was here, I would be as preposterous as a captive Jinn to pass up a chance to see them. Being able to mosey on over here is not an opportunity that surfaces often.”

I reach out and wrap my hand around his forearm. His tunic may be even softer than Zak's. I resist the urge to pet him. “I'm sorry, Matin.”

“Mat, call me Mat.”

“She's not going to be calling you anything because we have to leave,” Zak snaps. His tone then softens as he says, “I'm sorry, Azra, but this is our only window. If we don't go now, we won't be able to.”

My “good” doesn't leave my lips, but Zak reads it on my face.

“We'd be missed,” he says. “I'm assuming Father lumped Matin in with me when he discovered he was gone. But there's only so long he can fake our stay in tortura cavea for having illegal goods.” Zak tips his head toward the suitcase. “Which all of that is. You know you can't bring any of it, Matin.”

Matin drops to his knees and shoves the digital frame under a fuzzy lime-green scarf I recognize.

“That's Hana's,” I say.

His head jerks back and his cheeks flush. “I am not normally a thief, Azra. I merely wanted a keepsake.”

I nod in understanding. “Did you know she made it?”

He smiles a real smile, not a smirk. “No, I did not. I could see she had exquisite taste, but I did not know the same could be said of her talent as well.”

And there's nature rearing its head. Both Hana and Matin appear to share a love of fashion.

I resist the urge to smack my hand against my head. “The clothes.” I turn to Zak. “All those extra shirts and jeans you were conjuring that weren't in your size? They were for Mat?”

I realize Matin's neck is bare. He doesn't have a silver necklace, which means he doesn't have powers.

Matin pats a linen shirt in his carry-on. “Thanks for teaching him to conjure so well, Azra. It made my stay here quite enjoyable.” He zips up the suitcase and rolls it toward me. With a quick peck on each cheek, he says, “I'm glad we were able to meet if ever so briefly.” He nudges the suitcase toward me. “Find it all a nice home, if you will?”

“Sure.” I rest my hand on the extended handle, surprised at how much I want to do this for him. I don't know what I intended to find when I followed them, but it certainly wasn't Matin.

Zak and Matin move to a spot I now see is marked with an
X
by two pieces of wood.

“Our return must be from the same location as our arrival,” Zak says.

I cross my arms. “And that was your only way of distinguishing it? What if a squirrel or a deer came prancing through and knocked your
X
right off its spot?”

Matin points above their heads. A silver scarf is looped around a branch more than fifteen feet above the ground. “You and your brother think alike. He made me climb this blasted thing. And now my scarf will be fodder for a bird's nest.”

Using my powers, I unwind the scarf and float it down to him.

“
Shukran
, my dear Azra,” he says. “Thank you. You have my gratitude. I hope we see each other again. In the meantime, perhaps you could keep an eye on my family?”

I nod solemnly.

Zak breathes deeply and is about to say something, but I shake my head at him. I can't go through another good-bye with Zak. He understands.

There's nothing I can do. He has to go back.

I watch him grasp Matin's elbow.

But that doesn't mean I can't go with him.

 

15

“It's so not my fault!” I say as I rub my shoulder. A bruise is already forming from my collision with Zak's granite chest.

“
Khallas!
” He throws his hands in the air. “Enough! Surely it is your fault. Father was to lower the shield today. For us to return through this very spot. The only reason we didn't go through is because you launched at us like a Jinn on a dessert buffet!”

“But that doesn't make any sense. How would the shield, how would
this spot
, know I was here?”

Zak paces back and forth in front of the
X
. “I—I—I do not know.” His eyes are focused on his wringing hands. He grabs Matin by the end of his tunic. “Let's try it again.” With more fear than anger, he says, “Please, don't, Azra.”

He's spooked. Instantly, I take several steps back, and Zak nods appreciatively at me.

They both move into position. Zak puffs out his chest and closes his eyes. I watch air fill and then deflate his stomach. Again and again. But nothing happens. Neither one of them budges from the
X
.

“Maybe it has something to do with you, Matin,” Zak says. “Let me attempt this myself. If it works, I'll check in with Father and come back for you.” He tips his head toward the green carry-on. “But not that.”

A dozen times, he tries. Together, separately, and together again. They can't get through. They can't apport into Janna.

“But why?” I ask.

“I … I…” Zak's eyes dart to me, to Matin, and then back to me. “I bet I have the wrong day. Yes, that must be it. In fact, I'm convinced of it.”

He's trying to infuse his tone with lightness, but I can tell it's an act. It must be for Matin's benefit. But Matin's known Zak much longer than I have. If I know Zak's covering something, doesn't he?