“He’s not here presently,” the manservant says, but I push past him. My shoulder bumps into his and he coils away, as if struck by a snake.
“I’ll wait for him then,” I say as I make my way down the hall to the sheikh’s study. I knock once and hear a gruff voice telling me to come in.
“Not home?” I snap, shooting the manservant a look as I open the study’s door. The manservant glares at me.
Abu Illyas’s face turns sour when he recognizes me. “You,” he says.
“Yes, me.” I don’t wait for him to offer me a chair. I take the one before his desk and sit, staring at him. He’s hunched in his chair, his hands folded on the desk. But he’s staring at me with those cold snake eyes. I hold his gaze evenly.
“What do you want?”
“Layala is dead. She drowned in the river.”
I give him a moment to let the thought sink in. And just as he opens his mouth—no doubt to blame me—I interrupt.
“I need a sacrifice.”
He knows what I mean.
I notice Sheikh Hamadi’s throat rise and fall as he swallows. “A sacrifice. I won’t do it, jinn. You should have—”
“You have one day to decide. You and I are the last ones alive who care for her, who could be a sacrifice.”
“Then why don’t you die for her?” He points a finger at me. “She is your child.”
“And your grandchild. If I were to be the sacrifice, then who would raise her? No,” I shake my head, “you need me alive to do the raising.”
“I will never die for you, jinn!” Abu Illyas shouts, jumping to his feet. “For you, never!”
My voice is cool and even. “It’s not for me, it’s for Layl.”
He blinks in surprise, as if only now considering what I am truly asking, what this means for Layala.
“Your sacrifice would bring Layala back.”
“And if you fail to bring her back?”
“I wouldn’t.”
He clears his throat and stares down his nose at me. “How could she drown? Where were you to prevent this?”
I don’t reply.
“You should die, jinn, for all the trouble you’ve caused me. I should drown you myself.”
You think I don’t want to die, now that my child is dead, you old fool? But if I’m dead, she will remain dead.
“I would die for her, but it would be too much—”
“Too much for who, jinn?” the sheikh says with a sneer. “You should die for your child, for the danger you’ve put her in. It’s because of you,” he says, pointing a sharp finger at me, “because of you she is now dead.”
“I will bring her back,” I insist. “With your sacrifice.”
“You’ve struck whatever deal with Death or with the devil or whomever to even be able to have your dealings with death. But I’ll have no part in it.” He waves the air in front of his face, as if clearing it of his words. “You die to bring Layl back, and I will take her in. She’ll be where she belongs.”
“You don’t understand, old man,” I say, my temper rising. “Layala is dead.”
“Get out, jinn.”
“Layala is dead because—”
“I said, get out!”
I’m slamming my fist against his desk before I realize what I’m doing. The old man jumps, startled, and I force my voice to sound even, calm.
“I can bring Layala back. But there is only one way to do this. A willing sacrifice.” My words are slow, clear. He has to understand.
Abu Illyas eyes me sharply, then slumps back into his seat. “There is … no … other way?”
He studies me through his bushy brows, his thin lips pursed tight enough they’re a white slit across his face.
I shake my head.
His body stiffens, even as his face falls.
Finally, he says, “And if I … die? If I die, she will be safe? She will be cared for? How?”
“Just as she always has been—by her mother.”
His cheeks flush red in anger. “You were never a mother, jinn. She died before, and now again, under your eye, under your care. I should have imprisoned—”
“Should have, would have, it doesn’t matter. We’re both here now, and Layala is lying dead in her cot.”
Abu Illyas says nothing for several breaths, his face draining of color with each exhale. “I have lived many years, many of them alone. I have no one left but Layala to care for.” His chin quivers for a moment, but then he clenches his jaw and steels it once more. “I will do it, jinn. For Layala, not for you.”
“I know it’s for Layl.”
The sheikh turns his back to me as he says, “Leave me be. Come back in the morning. I will have all my papers organized. The estate, inheritance, everything, I leave for Layala. She will want for nothing. She will live here and be cared for by the servants.”
“Shukran,” I say, my voice catching. “I … Layala—” I take a deep breath and continue. “She may never forgive me for sacrificing you,” I say.
He understands my meaning. “I will write her a note and tell her I would sacrifice my last breath, my last drop of blood, for her, over and over again.”
I nod, my chin and jaw aching trying not to cry. “Shukran, Abu Illyas. Sheikh Hamadi.”
“You’re not welcome. Now leave.”