23

Henry. Camouflaged behind the group of trees bordering Ms. Anne Wood’s house. He must have followed me.

He pokes his head past the arborvitae, and I glare at his dimpled, sheepish smile.

My knock takes so long to elicit a response, I’m cruelly teased by the initial relief that washes over me when I think Ms. Anne Wood is not home.

But she is. Too pale, a messy bundle of dark hair piled atop her head, bags under her vacant eyes, Ms. Wood cracks open the door and stares at me.

“Is anyone else home?” I ask.

Despite me being a complete stranger, the frazzled Ms. Wood shakes her head.

Perfect. Needing as much time as possible to read Ms. Wood’s thoughts, I launch right into the wish-granting ritual.

The arborvitae to my right sneezes a third time, but I remain focused. Either my mind-reading skills have progressed or Ms. Wood’s a particularly open human.

I’m so tired I can’t see straight. What I wouldn’t give to sit on a beach for two weeks with nothing but a bag of books and an endless supply of piña coladas. I’m not even working. Would be the perfect time to go to a tropical paradise—

That’s her wish? Easy enough. I’ll arrange for her to win a bogus contest, get her plane tickets to Hawaii and a paid-in-full hotel room, and she’ll be all set. Might take me a few days, but that’s expected—that’s the responsible way to grant wishes.

I won a contest? I won a contest!

What? Ms. Wood hasn’t uttered a word since her frazzled “Yes?” upon answering the door. I check Henry’s position, but he hasn’t moved—or spoken.

I’ll be in a hotel room. On the beach. All expenses paid. Ahh …

I’m still in her head. In her thoughts. But wait, aren’t those my thoughts? Am I actually giving her my thoughts? No way. The mind control I sought to erase Henry’s knowledge of me being a genie does exist? And I can do it? Only during wish-granting rituals or all the time? Please, please, let it be all the time.

Ms. Wood remains in front of me in her trance-like state. Why not test this new power now? She mentioned not working. I check her ring finger. Bare. Good, not married. If she has a boyfriend, she can call him from her tropical paradise and tell him to come join her.

Going further into her thoughts, I discover she’s been so busy lately, her friends and family have barely heard from her in weeks. A sudden vacation wouldn’t seem so sudden to them. So, really, there’s no reason not to send her today. Who needs the paraphernalia of a bogus contest for cover when I can simply implant the idea in her head and park her on a beach this afternoon? I have yet to apport a human, but it’s supposed to be the same as apporting a Jinn.

My mind instructs Ms. Wood to pack a bag, and she’s up the stairs before I know it.

It’s working.

Henry peeks out from behind the tree, but I shoo him away. I can’t have my concentration broken.

When Ms. Wood returns, I inspect her suitcase. She’s a neat, efficient packer. Clothes, toiletries, books, cell phone, even some snacks in little plastic baggies. Excellent. I grab her arm, and we’re gone.

*   *   *

By the time I return from Hawaii, Henry’s lying on Ms. Wood’s couch, watching TV and drinking a beer.

I swipe the bottle from his hand. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, it’s only my first. And they were so far back in the fridge, I’m pretty sure she’ll never miss them. Guest beers, most likely. I figured you could replace them.”

“I wasn’t talking about the beer. I was talking about following me. Though you shouldn’t have done either one.”

“Like your text wasn’t a thinly veiled invite.”

A what? “No it wasn’t!” Was it? “Even if it was, which it wasn’t, why are you inside the house? What if someone came home?”

Henry scoffs. “Please, like I didn’t do recon?” He points to a stack of self-help dating books on the side table. “Between those and the one car in the garage, pretty sure she’s single.” He nods to a pile of tiny clothes half folded in a laundry basket and tosses in the plastic doll sitting next to him. “And considering the amount of clothes she’s got for this creepy thing, she’ll stay that way. Besides, you were gone a really long time. What was I supposed to do?”

Henry swings his legs to the floor, making room for me to sit. He holds out his arms, which are red and splotchy. “And I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to those shrubs.”

“Arborvitaes.”

Eyebrows raised, fear in his voice, Henry says, “Is that dangerous?”

I roll my eyes. “The trees, you doofus.”

Making sure I can conjure replicas first, I let Henry open one more beer and agree we can stay long enough for him to finish it. He’s apparently “stressed,” which makes me laugh. I just granted my first official wish and he’s the one stressed? He passes me the bottle, but one sip is enough for me to discover that beer is not to my liking.

He turns on the stereo, and I can’t help cringing as he pops his hips up and down. I may be a shy dancer, but I’m better than Henry. Not that he cares. He’s almost two beers in and grooving like he’s got something to prove. What and to who, I’m not sure.

“Not too loud,” I say, regretting my decision to let him open that second bottle. At least I stopped him from eating the box of Goldfish crackers he found in the kitchen. “And less dancing, or whatever that is you’re doing, and more chugging. Finish up so we can get out of here.”

He taps his foot nowhere close to in time with the music and takes a swig as I tell him first about the mistaken 7 and then how I granted Ms. Wood’s wish.

“You apped all the way to Hawaii?” Henry says after I finish. “Nice work, Azra.”

Huh, I guess it was. That’s the farthest I’ve apped, though it was probably so easy because I’ve been there already.

“That’s not even the best part.” My adrenaline soars as I describe the mind control.

Once his shock wears off, Henry plunks his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. “Now that’s the kind of magic I was talking about.”

As he begins to plot all the ways we can take advantage of this in the upcoming school year, I rein him in. “Don’t get your hopes up. I couldn’t get it to work on the woman at the hotel.” I then relay what took me so long.

It wasn’t until I’d apped Ms. Wood to her tropical paradise that I realized there were more details to iron out than just convincing her she’d won a contest, spent fifteen hours on a plane, and could now enjoy her vacation.

Having not thought things through, I had to use my mom’s credit card to secure her a room, book her a return flight, and leave her with enough spending money. I had to bribe the woman at the front desk to add a note in the reservation system: All employees dealing with Ms. Wood must go along with any comments she may make about having won this all-expenses-paid trip. I pretended I was her niece and my mom was treating her but wanted to remain anonymous. It was not an easy sell. I stayed long enough to tie up all the loose ends and then watch the exhausted Ms. Wood curl up on a lounge chair at the side of the pool and fall asleep.

Sitting in Ms. Wood’s living room now, my rush from testing out the mind control fading, I know I shouldn’t have let my excitement usher me into granting her wish so quickly.

Henry turns up the music. “I love this song.”

He’s bobbing his head, and I’m running through things, making sure I’ve covered all my bases. Can’t hurt to do some after-the-fact research. My snooping starts in the hall closet. I’m pushing coats aside when I hear a faint noise I can’t identify. I shut the music off from across the room, causing Henry to whine. Like a baby. Please.

As I fumble for the light switch, my hand lands on the vacuum handle. More crying. Wailing, actually. What’s wrong with him? I turn toward Henry. His mouth hangs open, but he’s not making a sound. The crying isn’t coming from him. It’s coming from upstairs. And that handle I’m grasping? It doesn’t belong to a vacuum. It belongs to a stroller.

“Oh, shi—” Henry starts, but I’m already taking the stairs two at a time.

I come to such an abrupt halt on the landing that Henry barrels right into me. Through the open door directly across from where we stand lies the source of the crying—lying, literally, in a white wooden crib.

No, no, no, no, no, noooooooo!

Ms. Wood didn’t have a single thought about a baby.

The truth nags at me: I didn’t let Ms. Wood have a single thought about a baby.

But Ms. Wood wished to go to a tropical paradise.

Nag, nag, nag: Ms. Wood never actually used the word “wish,” which she’s supposed to do.

But Ms. Wood didn’t give any indication of living with someone else.

Nag, nag, nag: the Goldfish crackers, the “doll” clothes, the snacks packed in little baggies, the bags under Ms. Wood’s eyes, the messy hair, the being too pale, the frazzled hello.

“Um, Az, what now?” Henry says from behind me.

My feet won’t budge. The baby’s shrieking prevents me from being able to think. All I want to do is app myself home and forget this ever happened. All of it. Everything. This is why I’ve dreaded this moment my entire life. Because this, this howling child, is the perfect symbol of what being Jinn is really like. It’s not heating up swimming pools, it’s not making backyard fires, it’s not fun with mind control. It’s being responsible for people’s lives. It’s making colossal mistakes that ruin people’s lives.

Gently but firmly pushing me aside, Henry enters the room. “Shh, it’s okay, little one,” he says to the baby in a soft, comforting voice. Lifting it—her, as the PJs with pink flowers on them reveal—from the crib, he rocks her tenderly and, despite his two beers, carefully. “Everything’s going to be just fine. Isn’t it, Azra? Azra?”

My instinct was to app us away. Henry’s instinct was to console the little girl. Maybe it’s a good thing my life as a Jinn won’t afford me a normal family and friends. Clearly, I am anything but normal.

“Now,” Henry says, his voice still dripping with warmth, “if Auntie Azra can move her tush and go retrieve your mommy from her probably much-needed but poorly timed getaway, all will be right with the world.”

Duh. Henry’s not a Jinn, his brain’s muddled by alcohol, and still he’s more rational than I am. Because he’s less afraid. Samara was right about me being more likely to get myself into trouble than the others.

“Anytime now,” Henry says.

Though the baby has quieted down, I ask with a trembling voice, “You’ll be okay here, alone?”

“This is not my first rodeo. Lisa was a screamer. Me, I’m a light sleeper, unlike my parents.”

Henry’s love and protectiveness of his sister goes back to when she was this little. Lucky kid.

“Now, go,” he instructs.

“Right.” I desperately want Henry to come with me, to calm me like he’s calming the little girl. What if my mind control was a fluke? How do I stop Ms. Wood from freaking out? Calling the police?

Stop it, Azra. You have to do this. Yourself.

Or not.

Before I can depart the nursery, my mother appears, hair dripping, beach cover-up sticking to her wet bathing suit, feet caked with sand.

“Mom!” I cry, way too distracted to have had a shot at sensing her imminent arrival.

Her already furrowed brow and tense lips chisel deeper grooves into her face when she sees Henry. “Oh, Azra, how could—”

“I can explain. Henry’s just … But how did you…? Why are you…?”

My mother violently shakes her head. “We don’t have time.” She expertly extracts the baby from Henry’s arms, whispers to the little girl, and settles her into the crib without waking her. In a controlled but insistent voice, she says, “Now, Henry, I trust you can get home yourself?”

Tentatively nodding, Henry’s even more shocked and speechless when Samara, wearing a string bikini top and a full-length sarong around her waist, materializes in the doorway.

“Oh, Azra, how could—” Samara says when she sees Henry.

“No time, Sam.” My mother cuts her off. “Henry’s leaving. Now.”

“But he’s helping me, Mom. I’ve … I’ve got this under control.”

The sleeping baby must be the only thing keeping my mother’s voice at a reasonable volume. “Control, Azra, really? You have no idea how out of control this is about to become.” She glares at Henry. “And you’re not moving, why?”

Cheeks flushed, Henry mumbles a “Sorry” and squeezes past Samara, whose serious face is so out of character, it’s almost what scares me the most.

With Henry gone, my mother ushers Samara and I into the hall, pulling the nursery door halfway closed behind her. She turns to Samara. “How long?”

“Minutes, a half hour at most,” Samara says.

After a deep breath, my mother takes charge. “Azra, tell me exactly what you did and how you did it. As abridged as you can make it.”

Swallowing my million questions as to how she knew I was doing this, why we have so little time, and what happens if we run out, I offer the abbreviated version of how I screwed up granting Ms. Anne Wood’s wish. “I’d never have taken her there if I knew about the baby.”

“But you didn’t know because you didn’t do any research, did you?” If she were a snake, she’d be spitting venom. “No mother’s anima would have allowed her to leave her child. Did you even bother to enter her psyche?” My mother briefly closes her eyes. “Later. Let’s move on. What I don’t understand is how you got her to Hawaii without her questioning it. Oh, please, no, don’t tell me you’re now just announcing to the world that you’re a genie?”

“No, no, of course, not. Henry was a mistake. I—”

“Not now,” she interrupts. “Oddly enough, that’s the least of our concerns at the moment. Tell me about the candidate.”

“Well, I was going to do it the right way, I was going to fake a contest and everything, but when the mind control started working, I just kind of went with it.”

Samara backs up and leans against the wall. “Mind control? Azra, you mean reading her mind?”

“No,” I say, “well, yes, I was reading her mind, and then, all of a sudden, she was thinking what I was thinking. I figured it was a way to get her to accept the contest without having to actually make up a contest. Why didn’t you guys ever tell me about being able to do that? It’s so much easier. I don’t get why we wouldn’t always grant wishes that way.”

My mother’s clearly ticked off. “Since when have you been studying spells?”

“Spells? I haven’t. Not a one.”

My mother’s and Samara’s moods shift into such an alarmed state, I expect the baby to feel the tension and begin wailing again. Fear consumes their eyes as the two evaluate each other.

Gently, my mother says, “But Jinn can’t control people’s thoughts, Azra, not without spells. How … how did you do it?”

I shrug. “It just kinda happened. But I’ll fix it. I was about to go get her back when you guys showed up.”

Silent for longer than I think is a good idea if the Afrit’s hitman or whoever is about to make an appearance, my mother finally speaks. “Mind control requires more power than Jinn are capable of. Even using spells, it’s not something most Jinn can do.”

Samara nods. “The Afrit can do it. It’s coveted by Jinn but—”

“But feared,” my mother quickly finishes. “Mind control is not something to be used casually. Azra, it’s not something you should use at all. Ever. It’s dark. It’s dangerous. The risks … the consequences … I can’t stress enough how you mustn’t tell anyone about this. Not Laila. Not anyone.”

I stare at my feet. “But Henry knows. Though maybe the two beers will make his memory foggy.”

“The what? The beers? The two beers?” My mother breathes long and hard through her nose. She rubs her temples. “Another item for the long list of things we need to discuss. But for now, just promise me you won’t tell him anything more and you won’t try it again. Please, Azra.”

I’m nodding so hard I’m dizzy. Her tone, her face … she’s scaring me. A lot. I’ve lost my desire to use mind control ever again. But … wait … don’t I have to do it again?

“What about Ms. Wood?”

“I’ll do it.” My mother enters the baby’s room and returns to the hall with the little girl in her arms. “Tell me where your candidate is, and I’ll bring her home, hopefully before they find her.”

“Who?” I ask, frustrated. “Before who finds her? What’s going on?”

“Samara, take Azra home. Stay with her. Make sure … just stay with her.”

Samara wraps her arm around my waist. “Of course.”

“But,” I say, “don’t you need me to get into Ms. Wood’s head?”

“Kalyssa’s got this,” Samara says hesitantly, directing her statement to my mother.

“Yes, yes.” My mother’s large, emerald signet ring gets snagged in her hair as she gathers it into a bun. She extracts the jeweled ring along with several hairs from her head.

“Don’t worry, Kalyssa,” Samara says. “You can do this.”

My mother kisses my cheek. “I know. I have to. Now, go.”

The tight squeeze on my hand convinces me I have to stay and help, but before my mouth opens, she’s gone. And then so are we.