Becoming Jinn

Nate points to the sky. “Helicopter.”

 

 

“It’s really close,” I shout. “Like it’s going to land right on top of us.”

 

Nate stands up. I reluctantly hand him his shirt and he puts it on, his eyes still following the helicopter.

 

“Looks like a medical copter,” he says. “It’s setting down on the main road, I think.”

 

Before I know it, Nate’s pecking me on the cheek, asking if I’ll be okay waiting here alone for him, and sprinting down the beach in the dark. He leaves me with the only flashlight. Naturally he’s going to see if anyone’s hurt, if anyone needs help. He’s done so much extra first-aid training than is required for a lifeguard, he’s probably halfway toward being a paramedic.

 

I know from firsthand experience he’s very good at mouth-to-mouth. Here I am, all alone in the dark on a deserted patch of beach, and I’m blushing.

 

*

 

I finish the almonds and wash them down with the sweet cappuccino. I’ve had enough coffee to know it’s not the caffeine that’s filling me with this tingling feeling. But the longer I sit waiting for Nate to return, the more the feeling fades and the faster the cold coming off the late summer ocean seeps in.

 

I’m now a Jinn burrito, wrapped in the blanket, standing and shining the flashlight down the beach. I check my cell phone, but I’m not getting a signal this far down the beach. I wonder where Nate could be? He should be back by now.

 

Between the cold, the dark, and the rustling of something in the tall dune grass, I’m done. I pack up Nate’s backpack and slip my arms through the straps. I start walking, using the flashlight to keep me on the sand and out of the water, but it’s a long walk all alone without Nate. The moon seemed much brighter on the way here.

 

Pointing the beam of light in midair, searching for Nate, I miss any advance warning of the huge rock in my path and fall flat on my stomach. I stand and spit grains of sand out of my mouth. Oh, sure, I had to go on and on about how much I love the beach at night. Perfect place for a date. It is, provided the date doesn’t abandon you. I just want to be back with everyone else, warming up by the fire. I’d even settle for being inside the splintering wood walls of the drafty concession stand.

 

Thunder rolls through my empty stomach as I picture the vanilla-glazed doughnuts and chocolate chip muffins. I close my eyes. I can smell the cinnamon buns. I breathe in. The air floating up my nostrils warms my lungs. It lacks both the chill and the brine of my previous inhale.

 

This would be strange if I were still on the beach.

 

But I’m not.

 

I open my eyes to find the dark walls of the concession stand surrounding me.

 

The flashlight falls from my hand. I jump at the thud it makes against the wood planks before diving to the floor to turn the damn thing off before the light penetrates the cracks in the walls and someone comes to find me inside a building locked from the outside.

 

Crawling into the corner, I position my back to the door and rest the flashlight against my stomach. I press the ON button and direct the shaft of light toward my wrist. The bangle is still bronze as I knew it would be. Ridiculous, maybe, but I had to make sure the Afrit hadn’t replaced it with my silver one while I was otherwise occupied with Nate. But, no, I’m still on probation. I’m still wearing the bronze bangle. I’m still unable to do magic. I’m supposed to still be unable to do magic.

 

But I just apported. The flashlight slides in my sweaty palms. How could I have apported? Panic rises in my chest. Do the Afrit know I apported? My pulse quickens. No, no, they can’t know. They only track the energy we use to do the circulus, right? Isn’t that what my mother said? I’m light-headed from the short breaths I’m struggling to take. What if she’s wrong? Will I be punished? Will she be punished?

 

Numb, I wait in my corner for the Afrit to come. But they don’t. No one does. I’m alone so long my heart rate slows and my stomach remembers it’s hungry. The dizziness I feel when I rise to my feet makes me grab a stale doughnut. I take small bites and lean against the counter, letting the truth of what just happened sink in.

 

The bronze bangle didn’t block my magic. How is that possible? I lick icing from my thumb. Was this a one-time thing?

 

A stack of napkins sits at the far end of the counter. I concentrate. Now the napkins are in front of me. No freakin’ way.

 

I swallow the last bite of doughnut. Needing something to wash the dryness down, I picture a tall glass of milk. The tingle down my spine lets me know it’s there before I open my eyes. So I’m not a psychic after all. I could mind-read because I still had my powers.

 

Maybe this bangle’s a dud. Maybe however it’s supposed to restrict my magic is on the fritz. Maybe whatever turns it on when I begin a wish-granting ritual is jammed in the “go” position. Or … maybe, despite the scar on the back of my neck, I don’t need a bangle to release my powers. Maybe I can do magic without one.

 

Preposterous … and yet my gut says otherwise. Impossible … isn’t it? Wouldn’t I have done something magical before? Even inadvertently, at some point during the first fifteen years of my life, wouldn’t I have used my powers?

 

Jenny. Of course. Best friends since before we could walk, my mother said. So much so that I wandered across the street and plopped myself on the Carwyns’ doorstep. How gullible was I? I’m sure I landed on their doorstep but not because I scooted across the street on all fours. As a toddler, I must have wanted to see my best friend so badly that I apported myself to her.

 

Is it really possible I’ve always been able to do magic? If so, my mother must know. And if she knows, why did she keep it a secret? And why haven’t I done more?

 

“I’m flying, Azra!”

 

Poor Jenny. I head for the side door of the concession shack, undo the latch, and peek out, still thinking of Jenny. As much as I wish it wasn’t, the memory of that day on the swings is seared into my brain.

 

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