Mr. Hayes led me to an area offering lavish jewelry, half-lit and smelling sweetly of incense. The avenue had narrowed, and it soon became impossible to walk side by side. Mr. Hayes took up the front, and I trailed behind him. At one point, he reached behind me and took hold of my hand. I looked down, stunned at the gesture. His calloused palm engulfed mine. It struck me that in the midst of such delightful pandemonium, he was a steady and calming presence.
I walked past a storefront not unlike its neighbors, but a whisper of something reached me. A burst of energy enhanced by a supernatural element. It sizzled down my spine, made my fingers tingle. My body recognized the distinct flavor of the magic, filling my mouth with a taste of flowers.
Mr. Hayes felt the vibration in my palm and immediately stopped. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “What’s over there?”
Mr. Hayes half turned, following my line of sight. “The usual trinkets.”
“I’d like to purchase something in there.”
He released my hand. “After you, then.”
The little shop was no more than a cupboard flung open with dozens of tiny drawers. The vendor sat on a stool within the small space, his head just visible over the counter. He regarded us with an enormous smile that made me want to buy every little thing he had off him.
I walked forward to greet the merchant. “Salaam aleikum.”
“What are you looking for?” Mr. Hayes asked.
I closed my eyes, the inner pulse ticking like a clock. “I don’t know exactly.”
Mr. Hayes said something to the seller who immediately stood and began opening drawers, laying out his items for sale onto the counter. Bangles, earrings, anklets of filigree—absolutely gorgeous, there was no question I was buying it—tusk-shaped pendants and amulets of varying degrees of execution. There were no golden rings available, but I peered at everything, trying to identify where I’d felt that faint whisper. It seemed like I was chasing the last scrap of daylight.
The merchant held up piece after piece, and to each one, I shook my head.
And then I felt it again. The softest beckoning.
Beneath the piles of jewelry laid a small wooden trinket box, absolutely filthy. I pointed to it and the seller raised his brows and muttered something under his breath. He placed it into my cupped palm.
A sizzle of magic zipped up my arm.
An unidentifiable pulse locked into place, a profound sense of recognition. My mouth tasted as if I’d eaten a bouquet of flowers. A shadowy presence loomed in my mind, one woman who stood under a divided sky, half covered with a million glimmering stars and a milky orb casting her skin in a silver glow, the other half inflamed with a blistering heat from the sun. She wore pearls and smelled like roses; on her feet were gilded sandals adorned with jewels.
Dimly, I was aware of Mr. Hayes who stood close, yet I could not see his face. He might have been speaking to me, but I wouldn’t know it. My whole existence narrowed to one focal point, sharp as the tip of a blade. Somehow, I’d been filled with a current that pulsed with a magical force made up entirely of one thing.
Love.
The vendor gazed at me in bafflement when I pulled out my purse. Mr. Hayes looked over my shoulder at the dirty and rusty trinket box.
The shop owner addressed Mr. Hayes, speaking rapidly.
“What did he say?”
“He wants to know if you’re sure you want to buy the trinket. It’s already been returned once.”
“I’m sure.”
The shop owner said something else, and Mr. Hayes furrowed his brow in response.
I barely paid any attention. The magic vibrated out from the box in widening circles. Every inch of my hand tingled, as if the blood were stirred in a feverish pitch. The sensation overwhelmed me.
I’d never felt anything like it before, and yet it was brutally familiar to me.
Mr. Hayes watched me closely. “Are you all right?”
“Estoy bien.”
His blue eyes were skeptical. “You really want to buy this dirty thing?”
“Sí,” I insisted, “and the pretty anklet. Por favor.”
Mr. Hayes shrugged and found out the price. After paying the merchant, I followed him down the narrow avenue, hardly looking up from studying my purchase. The scarred wooden box looked to have displayed a charming miniature painting, long since scratched off. It fit in the palm of my hand, and when I turned it on its side, I noticed a long seam running lengthwise from one end to the other. Gently, I tucked both items into my purse, the magic swirling under my skin.
Eventually we emerged from within the narrow streets of the bazaar and when my stomach grumbled loudly, he gave me a pointed look. “We are going back to the hotel for lunch.”
The sun’s position told me it was near noon. No wonder my stomach growled. “We are doing nothing of the sort. I’m going to Groppi.”
“They serve tea and cakes at the hotel, too, you know.”
My parents had raved about the establishment, a favorite among Cairo society. And I intended to try it for myself. “But do they have chocolate-covered dates?”
Mr. Hayes smiled, slow, as if he were charmed despite himself. “Your uncle would never forgive me should anything happen to you.”
“What’s he going to do?” I asked. “Send me home?”
Then I turned away, intent on finding a brougham to take me to Groppi. But Mr. Hayes let out a long, high-pitched whistle, and a second later, transportation was secured. He helped me into the open carriage, and I lifted a brow, waiting to see what location he’d give to the driver.
Mr. Hayes’s gaze dropped to my hand clutching the doorknob, making my intentions clear. I would jump out of a moving carriage if he didn’t take me where I wanted to go.
“Groppi,” he said with a resigned air.
I leaned back against the cushion and smiled, triumphant.
Mr. Hayes studied me from across the carriage. “You don’t do that often.”
“What?”
“Smile.”
I shrugged. “Most of yours are fake, so I guess it makes us even.”
“Fake?”
“You heard me, Mr. Hayes.”
“Oh, this is about your theory of my being cynical.”
The man didn’t even have the decency to look in my direction while I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s not a theory.”
“Why don’t you just sit there and look pretty and admire the surroundings?”
I waited a beat, heart fluttering in my chest like a wayward butterfly. “You think I look pretty?”
Mr. Hayes regarded me lazily, his eyes hooded. “You know you do, Se?orita Olivera.”
He said it so breezily, a compliment for all women everywhere. I wondered how he’d feel if someone gave it back to him. “Well, you quite turn my head. You’re so handsome.”
His expression turned to one of profound wariness, as if I were a coiled snake about to pounce. “Thank you.”
“Truly,” I said, fluttering my hand in front of my face. “I have heart palpitations.”
He kicked my bench. “Stop that.”
I fluttered my eyelashes, the picture of wide-eyed sweetness. “Isn’t this what you’re looking for? I’m returning your flirtation.”
“The hell you are,” he snapped. “Say one more idiotic thing to me and I’m telling our driver to take us back to Shepheard’s.”
I relaxed against my seat, laughing.
Mr. Hayes didn’t say another word to me for the rest of the ride.
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