Djinn and Tonic (15 page)

The dreams, recurring and tempting, those too are part of the picture. Is she feeding me the dreams, somehow? Sending me dreams of herself for some nefarious purpose? Is she using me, twisting and brainwashing me for her own purposes? She seems so genuine when I’m with her, yet so conflicted by desire and fear.
 

But what if all that is a game?
 

By the time I’m back at my apartment, my head is spinning with a million questions, a million doubts and a million theories, and through it all I keep seeing her as she had been in the vortex, her black hair haloed around her, her eyes white and her hands bold, dress pressed to her lush body by the raging winds turning the edges of her form invisible.
 

I lie in my bed, still fully clothed, every muscle tense, refusing to allow myself to move, forcing all thoughts from my mind. Eventually sleep claims me, but even in sleep I can’t escape Leila, because the dreams are waiting.

Chapter 12: The Calculus of a Moment

Leila

I’m tempted to not answer the door when I hear the knock. It can’t be anything good. Right now, with the way I’m feeling, I’d like nothing more than to just disappear, leaving behind Carson and Hassan and my father and everything, but I know that won’t solve a thing.

I open the door. The woman standing in front of me is about my height but a little heavier and a little curvier, thick black hair pulled up into a loose, sloppy knot. She radiates power, but not ifrit power…I nearly stumble backward when I realize she’s a djinni, and an immensely powerful one at that. My hackles rise, my defenses slamming into place. Djinn are the natural, polar opposite of my people. The two races are mortal enemies, even though we are much the same; ours is an age-old feud, rooted in the beginnings of time itself.
 

The woman is examining me, looking into me, assessing me. “You’re Leila,” she says, pushing past me into my apartment uninvited.

“Yes. Who are you, and what are you doing here?” I’m coiling my power, ready to hurl it at her if she makes a move I don’t like.

“Don’t do that,” she warns. “I know our kinds don’t usually get along, but I’m not here for a fight. I wouldn’t have knocked on your door if I was.”

“What do you want?” My nerves are on edge, and my powers automatically ignite, causing winds to skirl around us, fluttering our clothes and hair.
 

The sense of raw power I’m getting from her is nerve-wracking, and she’s not even holding her powers at the ready, as I am. I force myself to relax, letting the winds abate. She’s not posing a threat, and I’ve done enough damage to my apartment as it is. I just spent a bunch of money I didn’t really have to spend on getting the kitchen fixed.

When the energy subsides within me and the winds die down, the woman visibly loosens. “That’s better. Now, how about a drink?”

“A drink? It’s ten in the morning.” Despite my protestations, I’m pulling a pair of Michelob Lights from the fridge and opening them.
 

The woman takes hers and drains a quarter of it immediately. She sits down on my couch, crossing thick, muscular legs. I notice for the first time how scantily she’s dressed: she’s wearing a pair of black nylons, an embarrassingly low-cut shirt and a skirt that barely deserves the name. She’s wearing an apron with a pad of paper and straws peeking out from the pocket. She stinks of cigarettes and alcohol. I assume that she’s a waitress, probably at a nightclub or one of the casinos, more likely. If she’s dressed like that at ten in the morning, she’s probably coming off of a midnight shift.
 

“Thanks,” she says. “My name is Nadira Nasri. As you seem to have guessed, I’m a djinni.”

It’s odd to be drinking beer this early in the morning, but this whole thing is strange, and the beer helps calm my nerves. “What do you want, Nadira? And how do you know me?” I sit down on the loveseat kitty corner to her.

“That’s complicated. Here’s the short version: you’re in love with Carson Hale, right?” I nod and try to contain my shock; no sense in denying it when it’s stated so baldly. She continues: “Carson was part of an investigation recently into a rather unusual death at the MGM. Do you know anything about this?”

I nod again. “Yeah, I know a little about it. It had something to do with a girl named Miriam, I think. She was a djinni, I’m pretty sure. A fire elemental, I know that much, at least. The whole case really threw him for a loop.”

Nadira takes a long drink, uncrossing her legs and leans forward. “You’re correct: Miriam is a djinni, a fire elemental. And what’s more, she was raised not knowing what she was. Anyway, Miriam is dating a guy named Jack, and Jack has what’s called the Second Sight. It’s the ability to see the future, but more like prophecy than clairvoyance. Don’t worry if you’ve never heard of it; what’s relevant to you is that Carson met with Jack and his grandpa, and your name came up. I know this doesn’t make any sense, so just listen. Jack had a Sight about the two of you—you and Carson—but he didn’t tell Carson everything he saw in that vision. Okay? It wouldn’t’ve made any sense to him, because Carson doesn’t know a damn thing about our world and Jack knew that.”

My head is spinning. Carson talked to Miriam’s boyfriend? Second Sight? “What the
hell
are you talking about?” I’m up and pacing, and I can’t quite keep the winds from leaking out to gust around me like a cape trailing behind me.

Nadira stays seated, watching me pace. “Like I said, I know this sounds crazy. You don’t know Miriam, or Jack, or me. But you’re involved with us. Or at least, you
will
be.” I pass by her, and Nadira latches on to my wrist and pulls me to a stop, her eyes intense. “The point is that a war is brewing. Djinn and ifrits have feuded for millennia. You know this. And although we’ve had a sort of tenuous peace for the last few hundred years, that’s going to come to an end, and
soon
. People like your
betrothed
—” she puts an emphasis on that word, making it sound almost like a curseword, “are causing trouble. Hassan is out of control, making public scenes, drawing attention to himself, and thus to all of us. For thousands of years, our kind have attempted to blend in, stay hidden, keep our powers contained and out of human sight. But lately, the ifrits, led by the likes of Hassan al-Jabiri, have been making problems for everyone. I know
you
may not have anything to do with this, but if you’re not careful, you’ll get drawn in to what’s coming. You don’t want to be on the wrong side when open war comes.”

She’s right about the treaty between the djinn and ifrits, and about Hassan; I can’t deny that. Hassan and his ilk use their powers far too publicly, and I’ve always worried it would cause problems. The djinn have always been more prone to staying hidden. They’re the careful ones. If things like good and evil exist, then the djinn are more innately good than my people. Hassan and my father are prime examples of this.
 

Her final statement sinks in. “Are you threatening me?” I can feel the coil of magic tightening within me as I speak.

Nadira lifts her hands to show innocence. “No! That’s not…that came out wrong. I’m just saying, you seem like a nice girl, okay? I know who you are, and I know who your father is, and I know who Hassan is. I don’t want to see you get caught on the wrong side when things go down, okay? I really don’t.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask.

She doesn’t quite meet my eyes when she says, “That’s complicated. Just call it…part of my job.”

“Part of your job as a cocktail waitress?”

She rolls her eyes. “People
do
work more than one job, you know.” Nadira waves her hand to dismiss that subject.

She moves so she’s sitting next to me, suddenly coming across as girly, as if we’re best friends, taking my hands in hers. I try to withdraw, but she’s stronger than she looks.
 

“Listen, Leila,” she says. “I’ve been where you are, okay? I know what you’re going through. I was betrothed to a real asshole too, once upon a time, and I also was in love with a human.”

“I’m not in love with him,” I protest. It’s a lie, a last-ditch attempt to convince myself.

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, sweetheart,” Nadira says. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. Your father got himself into this mess, okay? You don’t owe it to him to get him out of it. Especially not when it means marriage to a slimy little fuck like Hassan al-Jabiri.”

“You don’t understand,” I tell her. “You don’t know the situation. You don’t know what he’ll do if don’t—”

She interrupts me. “The
hell
I don’t. I know exactly what Hassan is capable of. Probably better than you do.”

“So then you know why I have to do what he says. I’m not doing it to get my father out of his mess. If it was just business, if it meant Father lost money, that’d be one thing. I wouldn’t give it half a thought. But Hassan said he’d—”

“I’m sure he did. He said he’d do all sorts of nasty things to everyone you care about. But remember what I said about a war brewing? Hassan is at the forefront of that. Things are happening, and when shit gets messy, Hassan will be the first target my people go after. Your father will be next in line, too, but we’re more inclined to give him a chance to fix things. He’s always tried to follow the rules.”

“Your people?”

“I can’t tell you much more than that, and you’ll find out soon enough anyway.” She releases my hands. “My advice to you is to come clean to Carson. Tell him everything.
Everything
. He can handle it. You guys need each other, and you know it.”

“This is all crazy,” I say. “You can’t just…just barge into my house…a perfect stranger…and try to feed me this kind of craziness.”
 

The idea of telling Carson everything is so very tempting. I want to. I
want
to let everything work itself out. I
want
to believe this djinni woman. And…the idea of a war between djinn and ifrits is more believable than I’d like to admit, which scares me senseless. A war like that has the potential to get really ugly, really fast. The last time that happened, we had the Moors and their quest to build an empire to hide behind: so many people were dying already, a few thousand more didn’t get noticed. But nowadays? The idea is terrifying.

“I know,” Nadira says, clearly reading my thoughts from my expression. “It’s a scary thought, but it’s already happening. You don’t belong on the ifrit side, Leila. You know that. You have to believe me. This isn’t just about organized crime, either. It’s about the feud between our people. Tensions have been building for hundreds of years, and it’s all coming to a head.”

She’s right. God help me, she’s right. I’ve seen it, sensed it, heard about it.
 

“Please don’t make the same mistake I did,” Nadira urges. “Don’t let Carson get away. You’ll regret it the rest of your life. I know you don’t know me, and I know this has to be the craziest conversation you’ve ever had, but please, try to believe me. You know I’m right.” She hands me a business card with only her name and a phone number on it.
 

“Call me, any time, okay? You have a friend, as unlikely as it seems.” Nadira finishes her beer and goes to the door. “Don’t wait till it’s too late, Leila.” Then she’s gone and I’m alone with my thoughts, which are buzzing in my head, angry and stinging like a hive of hornets.
 

I try to calm myself, but everything Nadira told me is howling through me, and I can’t take it anymore. I put on a pair of spandex running shorts, a sports bra and my Nikes, strapping my iPod Nano to my arm. I slip my house key into my bra and set out, not bothering to stretch out first. I know I’ll regret that later, but right now all I care about is motion.
 

My pace is hellish, driving.
 

It’s a cloudy, windy morning, and I’m too lost in my thoughts, the wind is pushing me along at a frantic pace. I’m flying, almost, running as if chased, fleeing the pursuit of my father, Hassan, even Carson. They all want me for different reasons, and they’re all pulling me in different directions. I want so badly to listen to Nadira’s advice, because it just seems so logical, it all fits so perfectly.
 

The other ifrit clans I’ve encountered are just like Hassan’s: they’ve been letting their powers show openly in recent years, chasing power and money and influence, brutally using their powers to get whatever they want, whenever they want it. Displays like Hassan’s at The Old Shillelagh are becoming more frequent, and I know the humans are starting to ask questions. I’ve faced that already with Carson’s investigation into Miriam, and the questions about what happened at both the MGM and at The Old Shillelagh. There will come a time when the investigations won’t just be abandoned, when the truth will be hunted down until it comes out, and when that does…

The djinn have threatened for centuries to crack down on ifrit recklessness in order to protect the safety of our species as a whole; my father often complained that the djinn saw themselves as some kind of enforcers, as if they were in charge of making sure our secret didn’t get outed. If Father is right and the djinn were to get fed up with ifrit carelessness, they might very well go on the offensive, and people like Hassan would be the first to be targeted in an attempt to make an example of the worst offender.
 

In which case, being Hassan’s wife—however unwillingly—would be a rather precarious position for me to be in.
 

If I was with Carson, however, and I kept my powers hidden, I might be able to stay out of it. Let
them
fight it out, I don’t want any part in a djinni-ifrit war. I just want to be left alone to live
my
life
my
way.
 

That won’t happen, though, no matter how much I may want it; if a war is brewing, I’ll end up being involved.
 

Which leads me back to Nadira’s question: which side do I want to be on?

Not Hassan’s, that’s for damn sure. Father’s? That answer is slower in coming, but it comes, nonetheless. I feel like a traitor for the answer that emerges from within: my people are wrong, and the djinn are right. If I was forced to choose, I wouldn’t side with the ifrits; yet at the same time, I couldn’t ever face off against my father. It’s untenable.