I glance at Laila. She squeezes my hand, and I find myself squeezing back even harder.
“You lovely Jinn will have some human acquaintances,” Samara says. “Women to lunch with, women to shop with, women to have your daughter’s playdates with. Men too. Give your powers a break, and on occasion, let a male friend tinker with your plumbing—oh, and fix your sink too.”
“Sam,” my mother admonishes, to which the other mothers howl and the daughters giggle—the daughters except Yasmin.
“But,” Samara continues without a pause, “the role your human friends will have in your life will pale in comparison to that of your sisters. For with this ritual, you six will be forever linked. And the increase in power you experience when drawing upon nature is no match for the surge that comes when accessing the collective strength of your Zar.”
Linked? Our magic is linked? That my wide eyes and open mouth are mirrored on the faces of my Zar sisters confirms this is news to all of us.
“When attempting the most difficult feats of magic, you can rely on the spirit of your sisters to ensure your success. Tap into this connection and learn to sense each other’s joy and sadness. You will hopefully laugh more than you cry, but if and when you do both, let it be in the arms of those to whom you are now bound for life.
“In one united voice, daughters, repeat after me: ‘Akul wahid, wal wahid lalkul.’ One is all, all is one.”
Laila starts, and we all join in. As our voices merge into one, a golden orb of light appears in front of each linked set of hands. On the final syllable, a trail of light zooms through each glowing sphere, connecting all six.
Samara smiles. “Welcome, daughters, to your Zar.”
The circle of light collapses into a straight, thin line and shoots upward, evaporating into the air above our heads.
Applause fills the tent, my sisters embrace one another, and Yasmin drops my hand. She barely gets out her “I’m going inside” before she disappears.
The rest of us continue to hug and receive the congratulations from our mothers, but after, we huddle to one side, sharing first our shock at the meaning of our initiation and then our confusion about Yasmin’s behavior.
Farrah says, “Let’s just hope she’s not going to abduct another neighborhood pet.”
Mina smirks. “Or neighbor.”
“Maybe we better go find her.” Hana reaches for Laila and me. “Come on, apporting-challenged sisters. I’ll app you both to Azra’s room.”
“It’s okay,” Laila says, “you three go. Azra and I will walk. We don’t want to overwhelm her.”
While Laila might mean this, something tells me she’s more interested in us having the chance to talk alone. This is a lot for me to take in, and I can do magic. I glance at my bronze bangle—with permission, of course. We slowly make our way across the backyard and into the house.
“Do you feel any different?” Laila asks.
“The whole linked thing?” I say, to which Laila nods. “No. Did you know?”
Laila shakes her head. “But now it makes sense. How close they are. Our mothers. Do you think tapping into one another’s emotions is a choice?”
“I hope so. Forget Yasmin, can you imagine knowing every little goofy thing Farrah feels?”
Even sweet Laila laughs at this. Pausing as we enter the kitchen, she points to my bronze bangle. “How are you doing with that thing anyway?”
She says “thing” like I’ve got the plague, which I guess, in her mind, I do. I can’t expect Laila, who has yet to grant a wish, to understand there are perks to not doing magic.
But as we move to the couch, talking and catching each other up on our summers, I realize she actually might. Her lack of enthusiasm for potentially shooting up six inches tomorrow stems from the fear that she’ll have to change schools. That because of her magical makeover, she’ll have to say good-bye to her friends, something she won’t even be able to do in person. Whether the downsides to becoming Jinn are something Laila has just started to realize or just started to admit, I can’t tell. But it binds us more than any ceremony could.
I wouldn’t trade having Henry in my life for anything, but it’s not the same as this. It’s not the same as sharing being Jinn with Laila. As much as I want to hate it that my mother’s right about what a Zar can give me, I don’t. Not at all.
We’re at the top of the stairs when Laila says, “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that the Afrit zeroed in on your candidate so fast? My mom says if they’d waited even five minutes you’d have had everything back to normal and it’s likely no one would have ever known.”
I’m about to tease Laila for her conspiracy theories when I realize she’s probably right. It is strange. Do they always check up on wish-granting rituals so quickly? The gnawing in my gut says no. But that makes me seem conceited, like I’m worthy of some super special Afrit attention.
I shrug, voicing the most likely conclusion, “It’s just bad luck I guess.”
Laila looks unconvinced. “Hmm, just be careful, okay?”
Her tone gives me goose bumps. Before I push open my bedroom door, I ask, “So you really don’t know where Raina is?”
“Nope. All I know is she’s away. That’s what my mom said when she told me Yasmin would be staying with us.”
“She’s staying with you? For how long?”
“Beats me.” Laila lowers her voice. “But I hope not long. She’s been weird.”
“She’s always been weird.”
“This is different. She’s … sad.”
As we enter my room, that changes to “drunk.”
Yasmin’s levitating an empty shot glass, laughing, and dancing. No music is playing. At least none outside of her head.
Hana rushes over to us. “She’s about to conjure a third round. She’s acting crazy. And not normal Yasmin crazy.”
Mina wiggles her shoulder under Yasmin’s left arm. “Let’s take her to the guest room and try to get her to lie down.”