“But, what about…?” Zoe gestures to the snack bar. “I can’t let you clean that up yourself. I mean, gross.”
Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide Zoe toward the parking lot. “I’ve got a strong stomach. Seriously, don’t worry about it. But you might want to pass along the warning for everyone else to steer clear for a bit.”
After thanking me repeatedly, Zoe heads for the women’s restrooms and I prepare to face my next—and a Jinn’s worst—disaster.
With a deep inhale, I reenter the scene of my crime. Henry hasn’t moved from the stool. The only part of him in motion are his fingertips, which furiously tap the screen of his smartphone. The Jinn who helped create these damn things should have her bangle stripped. They really will be the downfall of us all.
Without thinking, I use my powers to wrest the phone from his hand. A small huff escapes my lips as I focus on the screen. “Top 10 Ways to Identify a Witch.” A witch? Really? That’s so pedestrian.
He leans forward and his hands clutch the bottom of the seat like he’s forcing himself not to … not to what? Not to make a run for it?
“Whoa,” Henry says. “That’s awesome.”
No, forcing himself not to bounce. With excitement.
His barely contained fidgeting causes his glasses to slide down his nose. “At first I thought it was just moving things with your mind. Telekinesis, levitation, maybe some ESP. Your basic psychic stuff.” He pushes his glasses back. “But the pool … I mean, there’s no way telekinesis explains that. And Mrs. Pucher’s garden? She swore she didn’t plant anything new overnight, and I wanted to believe her. I did believe her. But if she didn’t, then … And now, here, Zoe…” He raises his arm above his head, reaching toward the ceiling, and his glasses skate down his nose. “Too awesome. A real live witch.”
My hands tremble as the reality of what’s transpiring sets in. Henry’s conclusion may be the wrong one, but his evidence can’t be explained away. Gut-wrenching panic drop-kicks my fleeting moment of offense.
“Why do you live here and not in Salem? Oh, to be more incognito? Do you have a coven? Does your mom know? Is your mom a witch too? Can you—”
Henry’s questions continue to fly at me. Between my sweaty palms, thumping heart, and shaky legs, I cannot focus. I wipe my moist hands against my shirt and hold up a finger to Henry.
No matter how much I understand him having, like, a million questions, I can’t answer any of them until I figure out what to do next. I need to think. I’ve violated the biggest rule of the Jinn world by exposing my magic to a human and apparently not once but many times.
Feeling every carved inch of my silver bangle, I search for a hidden camera or a microphone. My mother said the circulus is the only thing we know they monitor. Was she trying to scare me or is it possible the Afrit could be tracking more? But how could they be tracking more?
Time. Give it some time. The Afrit acted fast when the clock struck on my sixteenth birthday, doling out the bangle for my mother to slap on my wrist while I was still asleep. If I’m to be sent to the tower, surely the Afrit won’t procrastinate.
Six steps forward, six steps back, I pace the claustrophobic shack and wonder why I didn’t wait for Hana. The surprise in her voice when I called last night was only outdone by her appreciation at being asked.
When five full minutes, which feel like hours, pass without any Afrit hands bursting through the floor to yank me down into Janna, I figure—and hope—that, like in the human world, punishment for breaking the Afrit’s rules comes down to being caught. Or being ratted out.
But my potential rat, Henry, has been waiting, more or less patiently. Facing him, I make a feeble attempt at mind control, trying to force him to forget what just happened. Two strikes against this tactic are that I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m ninety-nine percent sure mind control isn’t an inherent Jinn power.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. Henry still demands answers. This requires a level of damage control that’s far out of my league.
I raise my finger in the air again to silence Henry. “I need … give me … just another few minutes. Is that okay?” Instantly, Henry stops talking and looks at me with the excitement of a little kid finally tall enough to go on the adult rides at Disney World.
“Can you stay here?” I ask. “I have to do something really important.”
Henry’s vigorous nod again sends his glasses down his nose. Half joking (I think), he says, “Like official coven business?”
I sigh. “Something like that.” My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t want to hog-tie Henry to the stool. “You won’t … what I mean is, you can’t … if anyone—”
“Azra, it’s me.” Henry takes off his uncooperative glasses and folds them in his lap. “You can trust me.”
Looking into his eyes, Jenny’s eyes, I know I can.
I hesitate. “You weren’t … you’re not, like, scared or anything?”
“Azra, it’s you.” He smiles, and dimples I forgot he had appear in his cheeks. “I know I can trust you.”
The drumbeat of panic my heart’s been beating to fades into a slower rhythm.
“If anyone comes, tell them we’re still working on cleaning up Zoe’s mess.” I’m not stupid enough to take chances, though, and on my way to the door, I slide his smartphone into my pocket. “I’ll be back.”
Henry grabs an apple-cinnamon muffin. “I’ll be waiting.”
I know I can trust him. At least for a little while. Still, after closing the door behind me, I magically barricade the outside so he can’t get out. Better than slapping a piece of duct tape over his mouth.
15
My intention was to apport to my mother. Apparently my subconscious thought better of it because when I materialize I find myself not in my own living room but in Samara’s.