Gently, my mother says, “But Jinn can’t control people’s thoughts, Azra, not without spells. How … how did you do it?”
I shrug. “It just kinda happened. But I’ll fix it. I was about to go get her back when you guys showed up.”
Silent for longer than I think is a good idea if the Afrit’s hitman or whoever is about to make an appearance, my mother finally speaks. “Mind control requires more power than Jinn are capable of. Even using spells, it’s not something most Jinn can do.”
Samara nods. “The Afrit can do it. It’s coveted by Jinn but—”
“But feared,” my mother quickly finishes. “Mind control is not something to be used casually. Azra, it’s not something you should use at all. Ever. It’s dark. It’s dangerous. The risks … the consequences … I can’t stress enough how you mustn’t tell anyone about this. Not Laila. Not anyone.”
I stare at my feet. “But Henry knows. Though maybe the two beers will make his memory foggy.”
“The what? The beers? The two beers?” My mother breathes long and hard through her nose. She rubs her temples. “Another item for the long list of things we need to discuss. But for now, just promise me you won’t tell him anything more and you won’t try it again. Please, Azra.”
I’m nodding so hard I’m dizzy. Her tone, her face … she’s scaring me. A lot. I’ve lost my desire to use mind control ever again. But … wait … don’t I have to do it again?
“What about Ms. Wood?”
“I’ll do it.” My mother enters the baby’s room and returns to the hall with the little girl in her arms. “Tell me where your candidate is, and I’ll bring her home, hopefully before they find her.”
“Who?” I ask, frustrated. “Before who finds her? What’s going on?”
“Samara, take Azra home. Stay with her. Make sure … just stay with her.”
Samara wraps her arm around my waist. “Of course.”
“But,” I say, “don’t you need me to get into Ms. Wood’s head?”
“Kalyssa’s got this,” Samara says hesitantly, directing her statement to my mother.
“Yes, yes.” My mother’s large, emerald signet ring gets snagged in her hair as she gathers it into a bun. She extracts the jeweled ring along with several hairs from her head.
“Don’t worry, Kalyssa,” Samara says. “You can do this.”
My mother kisses my cheek. “I know. I have to. Now, go.”
The tight squeeze on my hand convinces me I have to stay and help, but before my mouth opens, she’s gone. And then so are we.
24
My butt cheeks are numb from the amount of time I’ve been sitting in the wooden chair at the kitchen table waiting for my mother to return. When we first got back, there was a note addressed to “Kalyssa” affixed to the refrigerator door. Samara snatched it, read it, and tucked it into the pocket of the shirt she conjured for herself. She won’t tell me what it says or who it’s from. Her feet do the running her mouth usually does as she paces the kitchen.
Her nerves beget my nerves. Unable to stand it, I ask for the third time why we had to leave so quickly. As before, she refuses to look me in the eye let alone answer.
“At least tell me what you were both so afraid of,” I say.
This stops her, right in front of the stove, where she attempts to cover her reaction by filling a teapot with water and lighting the burner.
My mother, still in her swimsuit cover-up, pops into the doorway. “Not what,” she says, answering me, “who.”
Samara rushes to embrace her. Whispers too low for me to hear are exchanged, followed by a soft moan from Samara. She pecks my mother’s cheek, her hands holding the sides of my mother’s head almost as if she’s the only thing keeping her upright.
Finally, my mother settles into the chair next to me and says, “The Afrit.”
Clasping my hand around my silver bangle, I whisper, “Did they…? Were they somehow watching me?”
The baby girl, Anne Wood, the mind control, my mother having to fix my mistake, her and Samara finding out about my mistake, about Henry, so many claws dig into my heart at once, but the sharpest one is the thought that something might happen to Henry, that the Afrit might make something happen to Henry.
My mother grabs the leg of my chair and twists the whole thing so I’m facing her. “Henry? That’s what you’re most concerned about?”
Feeling like it shouldn’t be but unable to help it, tears spring to my eyes.
She leans forward and pulls me into her chest. “He’s going to be fine.”
My body slackens in her arms. “And the baby? Ms. Wood?”
She strokes my hair. “Safe, home, together.”
In this moment, I feel nothing but gratitude that my mother is a model Jinn.
When the smell of mint wafts over us, she lets me go. Samara places three mugs of tea on the table.
Enveloping the warm cup with my hands, I take a sip. “Ooh, sweet.”
Samara kisses the top of my head. “Is there any other way?”
My mother thanks Samara but doesn’t reach for her mug. Instead, from the side pocket on her cover-up, she extracts a bronze bangle—thicker, shinier, and more deeply carved than either my silver version or her gold one.
Apologizing in a voice weak with sadness, my mother asks for my wrist. She opens the bronze bangle, gently tugs my arm forward, and lowers my hand.
Fascination mingles with fear as the bangle clamps around my wrist and instantly seals any evidence of a hinge, clasp, or seam. The moment the bronze bangle secures itself, the silver one breaks in two and vanishes before either half gets the chance to land in my lap.
My mother slides her mug in front of her. “The answer to your earlier question is ‘no.’ The Afrit can’t watch you the way you’re thinking. But they do follow up on every candidate.”
Samara sits across from me. “Every assigned candidate. We do the practice ones.”
Afraid to move my wrist I ask, “What does follow up mean, exactly?”