Djinn (17 page)

"I'll show you the palace," he said, and turned around.

I followed behind, left with my own thoughts. I was still fuming. The way Ivan and Isabelle treated Will made perfect sense now. He was nothing but a dog to them.

It made me sick and angry to think about. How could anyone treat someone else like that? Who came up with that as a plan? How come no one had said anything for thousands of years? I wanted to punch a wall.

Will showed me the palace from the Upper Ring fence but I hardly paid attention. It was all white, like a large estate house, and the front garden was full of flowers, despite it being autumn. He talked about how the Djinn were ruled by a patriarchal monarchy and, since their king had died, the queen was ruling until her son became of age and married.

I didn't care. I didn't care about any of it. Not only had my entire world been turned upside down, but I was stuck in a new world where you were shunned because of something out of your control. I suppose, if I had grown up here, maybe I'd be fine with the way things were, too. The thought made me sick.

"Take me home," I finally said to Will. He was mid-sentence, talking about something to do with architecture.

"Kyra? Are you alright?" he asked.

"I just want to go home. I've had enough learning about the Djinn. So far I hate them."

I walked away, hugging my arms, and headed back down the street to Isabelle's house.

Chapter Sixteen

The walk back was filled with silence, and Will kept his distance from me. He moved closer on occasion like he wanted to say something, but I would speed up.

"Your house is here," he finally said.

I turned around. He stood next to the mailbox that read "Greenwood" in fancy lettering. I hadn't even noticed—all the houses looked the same to me. I was already two houses past before Will stopped me.

I made my way back, meeting Will by the picket fence gate. He looked down at me and opened his mouth once more.

"Excuse me," I said and stepped past him. I wasn't trying to be mean to Will. I felt bad, it wasn't him I was angry at, but I was in no mood to talk to anyone.

"We'll continue our tutoring tomorrow," Will said, as we walked up to the front door. His voice had turned formal again, and a twinge of guilt stung at my side. I shouldn't be pushing him away, but I needed time to process.

"Yeah. Sure," I replied, my hands in my pocket and head down.

We reached the porch and Will put a hand on my wrist. I turned to him; his mouth was a thin line.

"Kyra, I know things are different here …"

I sighed. "Will. Don't. I'm really … I'm just not in the mood."

I turned from him, pulling my hand from his.

"Bye, Will."

I slipped through the door and closed it without looking back.

* * *

The house was warm and I could hear a fire crackling in the sitting room next door. I stepped with caution toward the open double doors, hoping the room would be empty and I could have some time to myself.

As I poked my head in I saw Isabelle staring into the fire, sitting alone. She seemed to have her mind elsewhere and I didn't want to disturb her, so I turned to leave but, as if sensing my movement, her head turned in my direction.

"You're home," she said, her voice not quite as cheerful as it had been that morning.

"Yeah," I replied, still hovering at the door.

"Did you have a good time walking around the compound?" she asked, beckoning me in. I looked around, as if there would be some sort of danger in sitting, but Isabelle was harmless—and also my mother.

I sheepishly stepped into the room, feeling the blast of warmth from the fire. It was nice, sort of cosy, and I set myself on the couch next to Isabelle—but not too close.

"It was all really … interesting," I replied, not wanting to get into it right then.

"That's good." She smiled and, in the firelight, her face looked aged, her eyes downcast, almost like she was sad.

"Are you okay?" I said, leaning a little closer.

"Oh," she said and put on a smile. "Fine, just fine, darling." She jumped from the couch turning her face from me. I wondered why she looked so upset.

"Come, come," she said. "Let me show you around the house properly. I can tell you all about our family tree, and show you something of mine."

Her words were asking, but her arm was telling as she pulled me to my feet and guided me around.

"You've already seen the dining room," she said, tapping her finger on her chin while she thought. "Let's try the kitchen."

I followed Isabelle, who'd finally released me from her grip, deciding I could walk on my own. She took me into the foyer and around the opposite side of the staircase. I'd figured the kitchen was over that way, knowing Kellan had come from there wheeling his food cart. We entered though a pair of swinging doors, revealing a pristine stainless steel kitchen as big as my old school's cafeteria. There were three stovetops, two double-door fridges, and knives, and other utensils, hanging on every wall in order of size.

"Wow," I said, taking it all in.

"Isn't it lovely?" Isabelle said, running her hand across the metal surface and leaving a sweeping fingerprint.

"It's definitely big," I agreed.

"I love cooking," Isabelle said in a low voice, as though it were a secret. "This kitchen used to be mine, and I'd cook for so many people." Her smile faulted for a second but she picked it up again.

"Why don't you cook anymore?" I asked, moving closer to her.

I was intrigued. Isabelle had first come off as this cheery rich housewife, but now she seemed different, more homely and warm. It was like she was glowing, talking with passion that radiated. She smiled with her eyes, so wide, taking it all in. She shook her head at my question. "Things change," was all she said.

Ivan made you change.

My anger toward him flared.

"You wanted to make me breakfast this morning." I didn't have proof, but I felt it inside. Isabelle ignored my comment and made her way out of the kitchen and back into the main foyer.

Next, she took me upstairs, and showed me the various studies and bedrooms they seemed to have, despite the fact only two people lived there. Each one was identical to my own but lacked the girlie flare mine seemed to have.

"How often do you use these rooms?" I asked, as Isabelle closed the door to the fourth bedroom.

"Not often," she said. "But they're there in case we need them. In case family visits."

"Do I have other family?"

"Of course, but my parents—your grandparents—died before you were born." The sadness in Isabelle's eyes returned like a wave of memories crashing down on her, wanting to spill over into tears.

"I'm sorry," I said and put my hand on her shoulder.

She gave me a smile with glassy eyes and squeezed my hand. "I'm just sorry you didn't get a chance to meet them."

I looked back to the bedroom and wondered my next question aloud.

"What about Ivan's family?"

"Ivan's parents moved to another compound many years ago, as diplomats," she explained.

"Do they ever visit?"

"They haven't yet," Isabelle replied, and something in her voice led me to believe she didn't want them too. I'd hate to see the people who created my stuck-up, cold father, too.

"In truth, there isn't really any family left. Just us."

I guess part of me liked the idea of a bigger family. Cousins, aunties and uncles, all getting together for big family events like I'd seen over the years on TV. But small families were good too, small I was used to—though I wasn't sure how close I could ever get to these people.

We made our way back toward the staircase through the hallway. Isabelle pointed to each painting we passed and explained it was some relative of Ivan's from the past, each of whom was very important in some way.

"This is Barron Greenwood," she said, pointing to a painting of a rather plump man with a handlebar moustache and a monocle. "He was a commander in the war, and was said to have come up with the plan that ended it."

"Which war?" I asked, eying my ugly ancestor.

"A Djinn war," she replied. "I'm sure Will will fill you in on all the history."

Of course Djinn had wars. That made them exactly like humans, in that respect. We continued down the hallway, and Isabelle pointed out more and more of Ivan's ancestors.

"Where are your family portraits?" I asked.

"Not here," she said. "My family hasn't done anything spectacular, like Ivan's has. They were rich, but you don't get remembered for that."

"Not even your parents? I mean, don't you want to have a portrait to remember them by?"

Isabelle smiled and pulled a long chain from around her neck. A golden locket hung on the end, a weaving design laid into the metal.

She unclipped the latch and opened the locket to me. A black and white photo was stuck on either side. One side showed a woman with her hair tied in a bun. She looked exactly like Isabelle in all aspects. On the other side was a handsome man with dark hair and a beard, his eyes full of kindness.

That was where Isabelle kept her parents: close to her heart, not paraded around on the walls. I liked her more for that. I was beginning to see she wasn't what I first thought. I was beginning to see Isabelle was the kind of mother I'd always wanted.

Chapter Seventeen

Evening came and I sat down for yet another banquet meal with Isabelle and Ivan. The table was lined with plates and bowls filled with meat and veggies, each steaming with a heavenly scent. Kellan had really outdone himself.

As I shifted my chair closer to the table, I noticed Isabelle beaming at me as she placed a baked potato on her plate. Ivan didn't have a paper to hide behind this time, but that didn't stop him from not saying a word to me. He sat up straight, cutting his meat with precision, like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

I ate in silence, mostly moving my food around the plate. I couldn't stop thinking about my day with Will and Isabelle.

"How was your lesson today?" Ivan asked.

I was surprised that he even remembered, let alone cared. Though, I soon realised I shouldn't have been surprised; I was his daughter, and my actions reflected against him.

"It was good," I replied, staring at the roast meat and vegies on my plate

"What did you learn?"

I felt like I was taking a quiz. "Will taught me a bit about Djinn history and he showed me the 'rings' of the compound …" The grip on my fork tightened.

"Lovely compound, isn't it?" Isabelle said. "Did he show you the palace?"

"Yeah. It was big." I squished some potato under my fork.

"Wait until you see the inside," Isabelle swooned. "It is so beautiful. It was originally designed by—"

"Is there something wrong with your food?" Ivan snapped.

I looked up, halfway through squishing some peas into my potato art. "No, it's great," I replied.

"Then why are you playing with it? Food is for eating." His voice was thick with condescension.

"That's funny," I replied, temper flaring, "because you seem to waste heaps of food. Look at the table. There is enough food to feed three families here. Why make so much? Pfft, food is for eating."

"What did you say to me?" Ivan slammed his fists on the table.

The power in his voice shocked me; the hairs on my arms stood on end like a current was passing through. The lights flickered.

"Ivan, darling," Isabelle said. "She didn't mean anything by it. She's still learning-"

"She needs to learn some respect and proper manners," he growled, eyes shooting daggers at me.

"Respect?" I laughed, thinking about everything I'd learned today. Ivan was the least respectful person I'd ever met. "You people don't know anything about it. I know all about the Guardjinn. You treat them like animals and servants just because they can turn into an animal that you think lowly of."

"You don't know anything about our culture. It has been that way for centuries," Ivan shouted.

"It's cruel!" I yelled back, leaping up.

"I see the dog has been filling your head with lies."

"Are you kidding? Will actually thinks it's okay to be treated that way."

Ivan and I were out of our chairs and leaning across the table, screaming at each other. I'd never felt such anger toward another person before. Ivan was self-absorbed and selfish, and somehow I felt like I hadn't even seen the full extent of it yet.