“It’s too cold!” Laila cries, skimming just a single toe along the surface of the Carwyns’ pool.
Henry’s inside getting us more sugar for our iced teas.
“You’re the one who wanted to come over here so badly. ‘Oh, Henry, I’ve been dying to take a dip!’ Well, dip away, Sister.”
Serves her right for forcing us to come over here. If my mother’s remotely right about Henry having a crush, I don’t want to encourage him. He’s Jenny’s brother. The idea of him having a crush makes me more uncomfortable than Mrs. Seyfreth’s blank stare.
Before we followed Henry into his backyard, I conjured myself a long black T-shirt, which I’m now wearing over my skimpy bikini.
“But it’s like ice!” Laila scoops up pool water and sprinkles it on my toes.
“Stop that!” I jerk my foot back, but Laila catches me by my ankle and points at my toenails.
“Why haven’t you painted them? I’m sure you’re way better than the salon we went to last week.”
“We?”
“Oh, not our Zar.” Laila cringes slightly. “Just some girls from school.”
Laila’s always been less insular than the rest of our Zar sisters. Still, it hadn’t occurred to me before now that everyone else getting their powers might be making her feel left out.
“I should have called you,” she says.
I cannot let Laila feel bad about this. “We both know I would’ve turned you down.”
“But maybe not next time?”
“But maybe not next time,” I say, not expecting to mean it. But I do, or at least I want to.
“Maybe you can do both of ours later?”
I exaggerate an eye roll. “Fine, but no foot massage.”
Her pleased look morphs into a pout as she attempts to submerge her entire foot. “Azra, come on. For me.”
She’s back to that. The pool, which she wants me to heat up. Standing at the shallow end, I wonder why inground pools have to be so big.
Laila sighs. “Shall I call Yasmin to help?”
My head springs back. Such a little instigator. First Mrs. Seyfreth and now the Carwyns’ pool? Laila’s becoming a bad influence. A bad influence who has just proved how well she knows me.
Through gritted teeth, I say, “I’ll do it,” and brush past her. I barrel down the top two steps and immediately flail and grasp for the handrail. I have to bite my tongue so I don’t cry out. Before I know what’s happening, little bubbles simmer at the surface of the water the entire length of the pool, from shallow to deep end.
Instantly, Laila slides the rest of the way in, even plunging her head under the water. “Ooh, it’s like a hot tub.” She plays with the bubbles, purring like a kitten. “Admit it. This is better.”
“Well, sure it’s better.” I plant myself on the top step. “Seriously, how do humans swim in anything below ninety degrees?”
Oh crap. Humans. Like Henry, who’s opening the screen door. I meant to warm the pool just enough that Laila and I wouldn’t get frostbite but not so much that he’d notice.
“Laila,” I say, but she’s on her back, floating into the deep end. I need her to distract Henry from coming into the pool while I try to lower the temperature to something that isn’t suitable for boiling lobsters.
Raising my voice, I say again, “Laila.”
She flips over. “Something wrong?”
I splash the water and nod toward Henry. “I need time. A little help?”
It takes her a second before she understands, but then she says, “I’m on it,” and begins to breaststroke over to the ladder in the deep end.
I’m working as hard as I can, but it’s not fast enough. The pool temperature hovers below hot tub but above something believable for this early in the summer in Massachusetts.
Henry sees us in the pool and deposits the sugar bowl and his eyeglasses on the patio table. “Get your scorecards ready, ladies.” With expert form, he dives into the pool.
Apparently, fear stokes my powers. The water temperature plummets, but not before Henry’s head bursts above the surface. “Holy smokes, it’s like bathwater!”
Already at the ladder, Laila jumps out. “Oh, no, it’s freezing.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest and chatters her teeth as she runs to get a towel.
By the time Henry swims to me, the water has cooled to a believably tepid level.
“Not bathwater,” I say, showing him my very real goose bumps. “At least not my bathwater. I guess you like yours lukewarm?”
Again, like on my birthday, Henry gives me a look I can’t quite make out. This time, it’s not amused, it’s not even the expected confused. It’s … intrigued?
As if distancing myself from the evidence would help, I hop out of the pool and wrap a Wookie-emblazoned beach towel around me, another relic from the days when Jenny and I would spend hours floating on inflatable rafts, fleeing from Henry, who was determined to dunk us.
I settle myself on the lounger farthest from the pool, sinking as the saggy bottom gives underneath me.
“That’s the oldest one,” Henry says, following me. He points to a chaise across the yard next to Laila, right by the pool. “Those are better.”
I wring the water out of my T-shirt. “I’m good.”
Tousling his hair and inadvertently, I think, flinging droplets over my legs, Henry pulls up a chair next to me. “You really didn’t think the water was warm?”
I shrug.
Henry studies the pool. “It’s funny, I was in earlier, and it was really cold. It’s just … weird, I guess.”
Tilting my head back, I squint. “Sun’s out now.”
“Yeah, still…” Henry clasps his hands together and lowers his eyes. He taps his foot against the splintering wood decking. “I … I left my phone up on the porch.” He pauses, still not looking me in the eye. “Too bad, I wanted to show you something I have on it. An app.”
My body tenses at the word before I understand what he means.
“I wonder…” He sneaks a glance at Laila before continuing. “Think you could get it for me?”
I twist my head around. He wants me to get up? “Uh, I guess, but I’m pretty wet too.”
He swallows, meets my eye for only a split second, and in a low voice, says, “Then don’t get up.”
My cheeks scrunch up, bumping against my eyelashes. “But then how—”
He clears his throat and leans forward. “Well, see, I was watching this documentary the other day. On ESP and telekinesis…”
Confusion jumbles my thoughts, fear quickens my pulse, but my instincts are in control, and they tell me to get out of the chair. I push my hands against the arms of the lounger, which somehow causes the worn fabric to suck me in even deeper.
Henry’s staring at me, expectedly. Knowingly. But he can’t know. Maybe he thinks he saw something earlier with the lilacs. Maybe he thinks something’s off about the pool. And, fine, maybe he’s even thinking back to the great Slinky escape. But two plus two plus two does not equal anything close to Jinn.
He leans in even more. The surprise that consumed my face before I managed to hide it must be what bolsters his confidence. “Well, it’s too bad.” He steals another glance at Laila, presumably to ensure she’s still out of listening range. “Because the app’s pretty cool. It lets you use the phone like binoculars. Pretty good ones, too. Last night, I could, well, I could see all the way across the street. Your mom … she sure loves ice cream, huh?”
This time, I vault out of the chair. “You spied on my mom?”
The real question is if he spied on me. If he saw me levitating the contents of my shoe box. The app can’t be that good. Can it?
Indignation seems like the best way out of this. “We could call the police, you know. Being a Peeping Tom isn’t just creepy, it’s against the law.” I turn around and raise my voice. “Laila, it’s time to go.”
Even though she’s wearing those ridiculous aviators, I can tell she’s giving me a disappointed look. “Already? I was going to go for another swim.”
“Nuh-uh. It’s way too cold for that. Besides, my mom’s expecting us. Yours too.”
Though she cocks her head, she mutters, “fine,” and starts gathering her things.
It’s not until Laila appears next to me in her crocheted cover-up that I face Henry again.
“Thanks for the swim,” I say, to which Henry simply nods. Confidence gone, he seems as disappointed and confused as Laila.
Laila slings her tote bag over her shoulder. “What were you two talking about anyway?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, cringing inside that she had to ask. Cool, Azra, stay cool. Henry has no idea. He couldn’t have any idea. I nonchalantly toss my wet ponytail off my shoulder.
“Well, not exactly nothing.” Henry stands. Like me, he towers above Laila. “Just this documentary I was watching on … well, on … telekinesis.”
Laila’s hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes flicker to mine before she taps her fingers against her lips, pretending to yawn. Then, with a nervous laugh, she says, “You can’t actually believe in that stuff.”
Henry shrugs. “I … I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, why not?”
As Henry stares at his feet, I realize he’s embarrassed. Way to be paranoid, Azra. Looks like my mother was right not to let me grant his wish. Here I am reading into Henry’s small talk because of what I know, not because of what he knows. Invested.
Grabbing Laila’s arm, I try to further diffuse the situation by making a joke. “Maybe you’re right. Pretty sure I did see the Loch Ness Monster lurking in the deep end. See you around, Henry.”
Dragging Laila toward the gate, I stop cold when he says with renewed confidence, “Don’t have to see the future to count on that, Azra.”
* * *
One, two, three, I flop dollar bills onto the snack bar, beginning my third count of the morning.
I’m supposed to confirm the total in the register before my shift begins, but I’m too busy replaying yesterday’s encounter with Henry to concentrate.
Five, or is it six? I scoop the bills off the counter and start counting for the fourth time.
Telekinesis? ESP? Pfft.
My mom’s right. We are not sideshow freaks.
Eleven, or is it twelve? Or ten?
“Not again.” I slam down the bills and push them to the side. Zoe can do it. I’ve already made sure the ice is full and the fridge is stocked and the ketchup bottles are topped off.
When Zoe returns, it’s with the napkins we needed in one hand and her basketball in the other. She dumps the napkins on the counter in front of me, sits on the metal stool in the corner, and dribbles.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
My fists clench. Breathe, just breathe. She can’t possibly do that when service starts.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
“Look, Azra.” Zoe fills a soda cup with one hand and bounces the basketball with the other. “I can work and practice at the same time. This is really going to help my training.”
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
That’s it. I’m not spending my summer listening to the slapping of fake leather instead of the ocean. Spinning around, I open the shack door, snatch the ball out of her hand, and hurl it all the way to the dunes.
Zoe’s mouth hangs open. “Hey! How am I supposed to practice?”
I check to make sure the shack’s front shutters are all the way down before moving in front of her. “Do you really need to practice so much?” I take both her hands and push her back onto the stool. “I think you’re already the best player on the team.”
“But my brother says—”
I take a deep breath. “Your brother doesn’t know everything.”
The incantations spill from my lips. It’s like I’ve done this a million times, not just once. Zoe’s head is far easier to get inside of than Mrs. Pucher’s. And connecting with her anima barely elicits a blip on my emotional radar. The one thing she wants, the thing her brother said was the only thing standing in her way of being a rock-star basketball player, is to be tall.
I exhale slowly in relief. That I can do. I already have—sort of. I stand back, and just like Mrs. Pucher’s tomato plants and potato vines, Zoe sprouts. Once she’s at least two inches taller than I am, I try to halt her growth, but she creeps up another half inch. I shake out my arms and roll my neck. It’s too stuffy in here.
I turn to crack open the door, but that’s as far as I get. All at once it’s like my body’s being entombed in concrete. Starting with my feet, rising past my knees, strangling my lungs, seizing my heart, shrouding my lips. I can’t move. I can’t speak. But I can see. And I can think. I can think the most frightening thoughts that before this moment I’m not sure I even believed.
Because the door to the shack’s already open. Because standing in the door to the shack that’s already open is Henry.
His movement makes up for my immobilization. His feet move forward, then back. He approaches, then pivots as if to flee. He spins around again. One hand rubs his eyes, the other flattens against his chest. His eyes bug out, showing white, white, and more white. His jaw drops. His lips quiver. The only thing we have in common is that neither one of us can make a sound.
Finally, Henry raises a finger, pointing behind me. I hear it before I see it.
Thunk!
I mentally shatter the concrete holding me hostage and whirl around to see Zoe’s head bump against the wood ceiling.
Air in, air out. One breath at a time. One disaster at a time.
Using my powers, I swing the door shut and fasten the lock. I slide the stool over with my hands and point to Henry. “Sit.”
Without a word, he does, leaving me free to work on containing my Zoe disaster before her head cracks through the roof. So much energy courses through me that once I push all other thoughts from my mind, I’m able to harness it to curb her growth spurt. I ease her back down to an inch or so above her original height. Doing what I should have done originally, I engage with her body and tap into her growth hormones, magically commanding them to increase their output slowly—not all at once like I just did—over the course of the next several months. By basketball season, she’ll be the tallest one on the team.
Holding Zoe’s hand, I lead her outside. Behind the concession shack, I ensure no one is watching as I bring her out of her trance-like state and complete the wish-granting ritual.
She blinks as the sun hits her eyes. “What…? How are we…? Weren’t we just inside?”
With a sympathetic look, I rub her upper arms. “You weren’t feeling well. Don’t you remember? You thought you were going to be sick.”
“I did? I … Was I?”
I wince and rest my hand against the closed door. “Yeah, I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. It’s not pretty. Probably make you sick again if you’re still queasy. Are you?”
Zoe wraps her arms around her stomach. “Actually, I am. A little.”
Probably a side effect of the infusion of hormones. “Why don’t you go home and rest. I’ll talk to Ranger Teddy. I can handle it myself today. It’s a Monday. How busy can it be?”
Zoe hesitates. “If you’re sure…”
“I am.”
“But, what about…?” Zoe gestures to the snack bar. “I can’t let you clean that up yourself. I mean, gross.”
Placing my hand on the small of her back, I guide Zoe toward the parking lot. “I’ve got a strong stomach. Seriously, don’t worry about it. But you might want to pass along the warning for everyone else to steer clear for a bit.”
After thanking me repeatedly, Zoe heads for the women’s restrooms and I prepare to face my next—and a Jinn’s worst—disaster.
With a deep inhale, I reenter the scene of my crime. Henry hasn’t moved from the stool. The only part of him in motion are his fingertips, which furiously tap the screen of his smartphone. The Jinn who helped create these damn things should have her bangle stripped. They really will be the downfall of us all.
Without thinking, I use my powers to wrest the phone from his hand. A small huff escapes my lips as I focus on the screen. “Top 10 Ways to Identify a Witch.” A witch? Really? That’s so pedestrian.
He leans forward and his hands clutch the bottom of the seat like he’s forcing himself not to … not to what? Not to make a run for it?
“Whoa,” Henry says. “That’s awesome.”
No, forcing himself not to bounce. With excitement.
His barely contained fidgeting causes his glasses to slide down his nose. “At first I thought it was just moving things with your mind. Telekinesis, levitation, maybe some ESP. Your basic psychic stuff.” He pushes his glasses back. “But the pool … I mean, there’s no way telekinesis explains that. And Mrs. Pucher’s garden? She swore she didn’t plant anything new overnight, and I wanted to believe her. I did believe her. But if she didn’t, then … And now, here, Zoe…” He raises his arm above his head, reaching toward the ceiling, and his glasses skate down his nose. “Too awesome. A real live witch.”
My hands tremble as the reality of what’s transpiring sets in. Henry’s conclusion may be the wrong one, but his evidence can’t be explained away. Gut-wrenching panic drop-kicks my fleeting moment of offense.
“Why do you live here and not in Salem? Oh, to be more incognito? Do you have a coven? Does your mom know? Is your mom a witch too? Can you—”
Henry’s questions continue to fly at me. Between my sweaty palms, thumping heart, and shaky legs, I cannot focus. I wipe my moist hands against my shirt and hold up a finger to Henry.
No matter how much I understand him having, like, a million questions, I can’t answer any of them until I figure out what to do next. I need to think. I’ve violated the biggest rule of the Jinn world by exposing my magic to a human and apparently not once but many times.
Feeling every carved inch of my silver bangle, I search for a hidden camera or a microphone. My mother said the circulus is the only thing we know they monitor. Was she trying to scare me or is it possible the Afrit could be tracking more? But how could they be tracking more?
Time. Give it some time. The Afrit acted fast when the clock struck on my sixteenth birthday, doling out the bangle for my mother to slap on my wrist while I was still asleep. If I’m to be sent to the tower, surely the Afrit won’t procrastinate.
Six steps forward, six steps back, I pace the claustrophobic shack and wonder why I didn’t wait for Hana. The surprise in her voice when I called last night was only outdone by her appreciation at being asked.
When five full minutes, which feel like hours, pass without any Afrit hands bursting through the floor to yank me down into Janna, I figure—and hope—that, like in the human world, punishment for breaking the Afrit’s rules comes down to being caught. Or being ratted out.
But my potential rat, Henry, has been waiting, more or less patiently. Facing him, I make a feeble attempt at mind control, trying to force him to forget what just happened. Two strikes against this tactic are that I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m ninety-nine percent sure mind control isn’t an inherent Jinn power.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. Henry still demands answers. This requires a level of damage control that’s far out of my league.
I raise my finger in the air again to silence Henry. “I need … give me … just another few minutes. Is that okay?” Instantly, Henry stops talking and looks at me with the excitement of a little kid finally tall enough to go on the adult rides at Disney World.
“Can you stay here?” I ask. “I have to do something really important.”
Henry’s vigorous nod again sends his glasses down his nose. Half joking (I think), he says, “Like official coven business?”
I sigh. “Something like that.” My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t want to hog-tie Henry to the stool. “You won’t … what I mean is, you can’t … if anyone—”
“Azra, it’s me.” Henry takes off his uncooperative glasses and folds them in his lap. “You can trust me.”
Looking into his eyes, Jenny’s eyes, I know I can.
I hesitate. “You weren’t … you’re not, like, scared or anything?”
“Azra, it’s you.” He smiles, and dimples I forgot he had appear in his cheeks. “I know I can trust you.”
The drumbeat of panic my heart’s been beating to fades into a slower rhythm.
“If anyone comes, tell them we’re still working on cleaning up Zoe’s mess.” I’m not stupid enough to take chances, though, and on my way to the door, I slide his smartphone into my pocket. “I’ll be back.”
Henry grabs an apple-cinnamon muffin. “I’ll be waiting.”
I know I can trust him. At least for a little while. Still, after closing the door behind me, I magically barricade the outside so he can’t get out. Better than slapping a piece of duct tape over his mouth.