I’m going to take my time with you, lest your suffering be over too quickly.
Mazen pressed his hands to his ears, but the voices could not be blocked out. He dug his fingernails into his palms, and when the pain became too intense, he pushed them through the dirt instead.
The ground creased beneath his touch.
The feeling was so unexpected he opened his eyes and looked down.
And saw his shadow, crinkled beneath his fingers like satin. He stared, pulled his hand away. The shadow flattened back into the ground like an ink stain. It did not attack him. It did not even move.
Slowly, cautiously, he reached for it again. When it rippled beneath his touch, he took a deep breath, then plucked it from the ground. The moment the shadow enveloped his hand, it disappeared from view.
Gods. I really am going crazy.
For a few minutes, all he could do was stare warily at his hand—or the lack of it. Then, slowly, experimentally, he slipped other parts of his body through the shadow fabric. He watched in amazement as it all disappeared. His hand, his arm, his leg—anything beneath the pall of shadow vanished.
It was magic. It had to be. But where had it come from?
He twisted the shadow in his hands and marveled at the way it faded in and out of existence. One moment it had the appearance of a deep-black fabric, and the next, it—and the skin beneath it—disappeared completely.
My shadow is magic. The thought was so ridiculous he burst out laughing.
A couple passing by the alley paused and, when Mazen looked up, hurriedly walked away. An idea occurred to him. He grabbed the shadow and, making sure the thing was covering every part of his body, stepped out of the alley.
No passersby gave any sign of seeing him. Sometimes they glanced at the wall, as if sensing his gaze, but never directly at him. He was a shadow. He was invisible.
Mazen’s mind whirred with questions long after he doffed the shadow and let it trail behind him. He wondered if this was a curse set on him by the shadow jinn. Maybe it was the reason she haunted his dreams.
Or maybe, Mazen thought with a shudder, it’s an omen.
30
LOULIE
“If looks could kill, you’d have murdered everyone in the souk by now,” Qadir said as he ate the last of the falafel they had bought. He crumpled the falafel bag in his fist and, when Loulie did not respond, bounced it off the top of her head. She caught it and threw it back at him. She knew he was only trying to goad her into sharing her troubles—he’d been trying to improve her mood since their afternoon walk earlier—but she did not care for his antics right now. Not when she was busy fretting over her meeting with Ahmed.
Even the chaos of the souk could not distract her. The lanterns hanging from the palm trees cast a too-lurid light, and the once appealing designs on the colorful carts now seemed garish. Though the souk was emptier than before, its many twisting streets made it more claustrophobic than Madinne’s souk. Loulie felt suffocated.
Qadir pressed closer. “Are you sure you do not want me to accompany you tonight?”
Loulie glanced at a gaggle of children sitting on a nearby rooftop. She smiled when they pointed at her and began whispering excitedly. “I’ll be fine. Ahmed is harmless.” Even without looking at him, she knew Qadir was raising a brow. “Last night was…” She faltered. She’d been overwhelmed, embroiled in self-loathing. Tonight would be different. Tonight was not about her and Ahmed. It was about her business.
She had woken to yet another invitation this morning, to the promise that Ahmed would introduce her to friends of his—potential clients—before she left. Loulie didn’t care about collecting bloodstained gold from jinn killers. In fact, she avoided selling to them when she could. No, there would be no sales tonight. She just missed having the freedom to refuse a deal that didn’t strike her fancy. Tonight, she would wrest back some control of her life.
Qadir sighed. “Last night was pathetic.” When Loulie glared at him, he snorted and said, “There it is again. The murderous look. You don’t look fine.”
“I don’t believe I asked for your opinion.” They rounded a corner and entered the jewelers’ street, where merchants showcased gold and silver trinkets beneath glass cases. Loulie’s eyes flickered absently over necklaces and rings inlaid with sapphires and rubies, over large golden bangles and precious chains that held tiny pearls. Each display was dazzlingly bright beneath the lanterns, enticing up until the moment the jeweler named their absurd price.
Gods help the poor fools who don’t know how to haggle, she thought.
They were nearing the center of Dhyme, where Ahmed’s residence was located amidst a cluster of pretentious mansions, when Qadir stepped in front of her. “This is your last chance. Are you sure you do not want me to accompany you?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t need you here for a civil discussion, Qadir. I’d much rather you track those rumors about the assassin in black.”
Qadir sighed. “Rumors that will no doubt amount to nothing.”
“It’s still a better way to spend your time. You don’t have to coddle me.” It was what she had been telling him all day. To convince him or herself, she wasn’t sure.
Qadir gave her a hard look. When she didn’t break under his stare, he eventually relented. After he left, she turned toward Ahmed’s residence and took a deep breath.
Ahmed bin Walid is just a man. I don’t need him. She repeated the words in her mind as his guards led her through the courtyard. She heard Ahmed’s guests before she saw them. There were a dozen of them seated around a carpet in the diwan—hunters dressed in expensive silks and jewelry. All wore weapons beneath their layers of finery.
Loulie spared a glance at her surroundings and noted the space had been cleared in her absence. Gone were the stage and the luxurious furniture from the night before. Now there was only the carpet and the decadent killers who sat around it. Ahmed bin Walid sat at the farthest end of the rug. He was in modest clothing today: a simple beige tunic and pants, with a dark blue scarf draped across his shoulders. When he saw her, he smiled—the same familiar smile that made her heart sink and leap. “And so the guest of honor arrives. Welcome, Midnight Merchant.” He gestured to the vacant cushion to his right.
Loulie forced herself to relax as she strode toward him. With an effort, she shoved aside the memory of their intertwined hands and his breath on her neck. She lowered her shoulders and exhaled, releasing a sigh thankfully muffled by the scarf over her mouth as she plopped down on the cushion beside him. “As always, it is a pleasure.” The hunters surveyed her with varying levels of curiosity. One of the men—the youngest, by the look of his face—squinted at her suspiciously. Loulie frowned. “Is something wrong, ya sayyid?”
The hunter flushed. “Forgive me, merchant. You are younger than I expected.”
Loulie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew it was not just a matter of youth. Men were praised for being successful at a young age, but a successful woman was a perplexing puzzle. Most men did not know how to respond to her confidence.
She raised a brow. “No, forgive me. I should not have spoken so sharply to a child.”
The hunter’s face burned a deep red when he glared at her. Loulie enjoyed his anger, but she relished the laughter of his companions even more. Even Ahmed was grinning. “One thing you should know about Loulie al-Nazari is that she suffers no insults. Not without reciprocation, anyway.” He glanced around the circle, eyes sparkling. “Well then, it seems we are all here.”
“What of the high prince?” one of the hunters, a grizzled old man with more than a few scars on his face, asked.
Ahmed sighed. “I invited him, but I assume he was too busy to attend.”