“Want to see the tent?” I ask Henry as he pulls his mom’s car into his driveway.
Our ride home from the beach was silent, save for the sounds of Drunken Toad. We said enough and yet not nearly enough on our black rock.
Circling around to the side of my house, I stretch to peek over the top of the fence, which has no gate as a way of discouraging outsiders from finding their way in. Taking over the backyard is the conjured tent my mother and I worked on all morning for tonight’s Zar gathering.
“Wait,” I say as Henry comes up behind me. The front corner of the tent glows a soft orange. Inside, a lit candle casts a shadow against the canvas wall. “Someone’s inside.”
“Your mom?”
“Probably. Still, she’d freak if I showed you now.”
“Okay, then.”
He turns to leave, and my hand rises, wanting to reach for him, to make him stay, to tell him how sorry I am that my mom couldn’t heal Jenny, that he has to stop blaming himself, that I kick myself every day for pushing him away, that I need him at the same time as I need Nate, and how sorry that makes me, but instead, I lower my arm to my side, say, “Okay,” and, with a weight in my chest, watch him cross the street.
I lean against the fence, taking a moment to clear my head. I expected tonight, my Zar initiation, to be the hardest part of today. Life sure likes its curveballs.
The lack of a gate and my inability to apport means I need to travel through the house to reach the backyard. As I near the tent, I begin to worry that curveballs, like bad things, aren’t satisfied with just one. Because the shadow on the wall is curled into a tight ball. And rocking back and forth.
I lift the entry flap. “Mom, what’s—” But it’s not my mother. It’s Yasmin.
She’s hunched on one of the couches my mother conjured this morning with her feet on the cushion, her arms around her legs, and her chin tucked to her knees. Her normally smooth black curls lay in twisted, matted clumps. No makeup, eyes puffy, she barely acknowledges me as I sit next to her.
Before I can ask the obligatory and yet pointless question, “Is everything all right?” she speaks.
“I saw you today.” Her eyes remain focused on the ivory taper candle on the table in front of her. “At the beach. I came early.”
“Why didn’t you—”
“Saw you with that boy, your neighbor,” she says over me. “He’s your friend’s brother, isn’t he? The girl who died.”
“Jenny.” My teeth clench. “You know her name is Jenny.”
“Was.”
Blood pounds in my ears and it’s like I’m under water again.
She spins to face me, grabbing both of my wrists and drawing me close. “I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It’s just … she’s gone, Azra. You do realize that, don’t you?” Balled-up tissues poke out of the ends of her sleeves. “But we’re here. We’ve always been here. Waiting.”
She releases her hold on my wrists and wipes her nose. “But we can’t wait anymore. The initiation’s tonight. Either you’re with us or with them.”
“Them?”
“The humans. I told you to be careful. Looks like you didn’t take my advice.”
Does she know? Does she know Henry knows?
“Henry and I are just friends,” I say.
“Oh no. You’re more than that.”
“We’re not together, if that’s what you think. I’m kind of … interested in someone else.”
“The lifeguard.” Her eyes search mine, and the softness in her voice turns to stone. “And there’s my answer. Closer to them than you are to us.” She turns away. “Like I said, don’t ever forget they’re humans, Azra.”
My anger burns like the flame of a struck match but dies out just as fast. Because we don’t have to inherit everything from our mothers. Their fights don’t have to become ours.
Without hurt or spite or bitterness, I say, “Why does it have to be us or them? Why do you hate them so much?”
Yasmin whirls around, knocking into the candle and almost setting the black pashmina that drips off her shoulders on fire. “Is that what you think? That I hate the humans?”
“Don’t you?”
“No. I hate the way they make us live.”
“Then your anger’s misplaced. The Afrit are responsible, not the humans.”
“But you can’t win a fight against the Afrit.” She tosses the end of her wrap over her shoulder. “And you know what they say if you can’t beat ’em.”
With a zap that shoots through to my fingertips, she disappears.
I will never understand her. Tonight we’ll officially be sisters, but Yasmin and I couldn’t be further apart.
* * *
More than two hundred candles simultaneously ignite, illuminating the tent like a full moon. The flickering light dances across the canvas flaps, which may be the only white in the room. Between the maroon fabric on the lush sofas, the gold tablecloth draped over the long, communal table, and the kaleidoscope of colors on the skirts, tunics, and dresses of the assorted Jinn under the big top, not a single hue remains unaccounted for. It’s like a three-dimensional color wheel.
I’m doing my part in my short, jersey dress. No one else would be representing black. In the heels Laila insisted I wear, I look and feel nine feet tall. Maybe it’ll give me the edge I fear I need tonight with Yasmin. I haven’t seen her since our earlier conversation—a conversation I can’t help but feel I lacked sufficient information to fully participate in.
Ignoring the knots in my stomach, I pat Laila on the head. “Think you’ll be as tall as me?”
Her sixteenth birthday isn’t until tomorrow. Per tradition, the initiation is being held on the eve of the last member’s final night without powers. Since Zar gatherings usually last for days, we’ll all be together when Laila turns.
She stuffs her hands in the pockets of her white linen shift dress and frowns. “I hope not.”
Before I can ask why, Hana joins us. The open back and plunging neckline of her champagne-colored halter dress seem to defy the laws of gravity. She holds out a tray of cheese-filled dates and says, “Did you hear? Lalla Raina’s not coming.”
Another knot ties off in my gut. “What? Why?”
Hana levitates the tray, freeing her hands to snag a date. “Everyone’s tight-lipped.”
In mid-reach for one of her own, Laila stops and pulls back her hand. “I can’t believe they’re fighting. Today. So much for our Zar following their example.”
It’s Laila’s disappointment that prompts the lightness in my voice that I surely don’t feel. “Whatever it is, it’ll blow over. They’ve always had squabbles. They’ve always made up.”
“Just like us,” Hana says. She then conjures a gold belt that she cinches around my waist and a rose that she tucks into Laila’s blond curls. In the process, she forgets about levitating the plate and it crashes to the ground.
From across the room, Farrah shouts, “It wasn’t me!”
Laughing, Mina tackles her, and together they app to our side of the tent. When they appear, I realize they’re wearing matching saffron-yellow kaftans, gold headbands, and cobalt-blue eyeliner.
As Hana tells them about Lalla Raina, Yasmin slinks into the room, significantly better groomed than earlier in tight black jeans and a red silk camisole, but instead of coming to us, she stakes out a position next to the bar and pours rum into a Coke can.
Farrah picks a date up off the floor, blows on it, and takes a huge bite. Mouth full, she mumbles, “I’d be PO’d too if my mom wasn’t here.”
Mina whacks the dirty date out of Farrah’s hand. “Sure, but that upset?”
Yasmin’s eyes meet mine and my usual desire to escape to Henry’s backyard makes a resurgence. But I can’t. I can’t do that to Laila … I can’t do that to any of them.
We transition into the feast, narrated by proud speeches from each of our mothers, which only highlight Raina’s absence. Once the dishes are magically cleared, Samara moves to the center of the tent. She begins the initiation ceremony by instructing us six daughters to form a circle.
I slip in between Laila and Yasmin. As tightly as Laila clutches my hand is as loosely as Yasmin does. Across from me, Mina mouths, “How’s the Adonis?” and Farrah winks.
Lalla Nadia places a lei made from white henna flowers around each of our necks. My mother lights the sticks of incense spread throughout the tent, infusing the air with the strong aroma of tea roses.
Samara interlaces her fingers. “Nothing, not the silver…” Her eyes flicker in my direction. “Or bronze … Not the silver or bronze bangles you wear today nor the gold ones you will wear in the future, will ever be as tight a circle as the one you form now. As important a role as we, your mothers, have played in your past, even we cannot compete with the role your Zar will play in your future.”
I glance at Laila. She squeezes my hand, and I find myself squeezing back even harder.
“You lovely Jinn will have some human acquaintances,” Samara says. “Women to lunch with, women to shop with, women to have your daughter’s playdates with. Men too. Give your powers a break, and on occasion, let a male friend tinker with your plumbing—oh, and fix your sink too.”
“Sam,” my mother admonishes, to which the other mothers howl and the daughters giggle—the daughters except Yasmin.
“But,” Samara continues without a pause, “the role your human friends will have in your life will pale in comparison to that of your sisters. For with this ritual, you six will be forever linked. And the increase in power you experience when drawing upon nature is no match for the surge that comes when accessing the collective strength of your Zar.”
Linked? Our magic is linked? That my wide eyes and open mouth are mirrored on the faces of my Zar sisters confirms this is news to all of us.
“When attempting the most difficult feats of magic, you can rely on the spirit of your sisters to ensure your success. Tap into this connection and learn to sense each other’s joy and sadness. You will hopefully laugh more than you cry, but if and when you do both, let it be in the arms of those to whom you are now bound for life.
“In one united voice, daughters, repeat after me: ‘Akul wahid, wal wahid lalkul.’ One is all, all is one.”
Laila starts, and we all join in. As our voices merge into one, a golden orb of light appears in front of each linked set of hands. On the final syllable, a trail of light zooms through each glowing sphere, connecting all six.
Samara smiles. “Welcome, daughters, to your Zar.”
The circle of light collapses into a straight, thin line and shoots upward, evaporating into the air above our heads.
Applause fills the tent, my sisters embrace one another, and Yasmin drops my hand. She barely gets out her “I’m going inside” before she disappears.
The rest of us continue to hug and receive the congratulations from our mothers, but after, we huddle to one side, sharing first our shock at the meaning of our initiation and then our confusion about Yasmin’s behavior.
Farrah says, “Let’s just hope she’s not going to abduct another neighborhood pet.”
Mina smirks. “Or neighbor.”
“Maybe we better go find her.” Hana reaches for Laila and me. “Come on, apporting-challenged sisters. I’ll app you both to Azra’s room.”
“It’s okay,” Laila says, “you three go. Azra and I will walk. We don’t want to overwhelm her.”
While Laila might mean this, something tells me she’s more interested in us having the chance to talk alone. This is a lot for me to take in, and I can do magic. I glance at my bronze bangle—with permission, of course. We slowly make our way across the backyard and into the house.
“Do you feel any different?” Laila asks.
“The whole linked thing?” I say, to which Laila nods. “No. Did you know?”
Laila shakes her head. “But now it makes sense. How close they are. Our mothers. Do you think tapping into one another’s emotions is a choice?”
“I hope so. Forget Yasmin, can you imagine knowing every little goofy thing Farrah feels?”
Even sweet Laila laughs at this. Pausing as we enter the kitchen, she points to my bronze bangle. “How are you doing with that thing anyway?”
She says “thing” like I’ve got the plague, which I guess, in her mind, I do. I can’t expect Laila, who has yet to grant a wish, to understand there are perks to not doing magic.
But as we move to the couch, talking and catching each other up on our summers, I realize she actually might. Her lack of enthusiasm for potentially shooting up six inches tomorrow stems from the fear that she’ll have to change schools. That because of her magical makeover, she’ll have to say good-bye to her friends, something she won’t even be able to do in person. Whether the downsides to becoming Jinn are something Laila has just started to realize or just started to admit, I can’t tell. But it binds us more than any ceremony could.
I wouldn’t trade having Henry in my life for anything, but it’s not the same as this. It’s not the same as sharing being Jinn with Laila. As much as I want to hate it that my mother’s right about what a Zar can give me, I don’t. Not at all.
We’re at the top of the stairs when Laila says, “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that the Afrit zeroed in on your candidate so fast? My mom says if they’d waited even five minutes you’d have had everything back to normal and it’s likely no one would have ever known.”
I’m about to tease Laila for her conspiracy theories when I realize she’s probably right. It is strange. Do they always check up on wish-granting rituals so quickly? The gnawing in my gut says no. But that makes me seem conceited, like I’m worthy of some super special Afrit attention.
I shrug, voicing the most likely conclusion, “It’s just bad luck I guess.”
Laila looks unconvinced. “Hmm, just be careful, okay?”
Her tone gives me goose bumps. Before I push open my bedroom door, I ask, “So you really don’t know where Raina is?”
“Nope. All I know is she’s away. That’s what my mom said when she told me Yasmin would be staying with us.”
“She’s staying with you? For how long?”
“Beats me.” Laila lowers her voice. “But I hope not long. She’s been weird.”
“She’s always been weird.”
“This is different. She’s … sad.”
As we enter my room, that changes to “drunk.”
Yasmin’s levitating an empty shot glass, laughing, and dancing. No music is playing. At least none outside of her head.
Hana rushes over to us. “She’s about to conjure a third round. She’s acting crazy. And not normal Yasmin crazy.”
Mina wiggles her shoulder under Yasmin’s left arm. “Let’s take her to the guest room and try to get her to lie down.”
Farrah scoots in under Yasmin’s right. “Come on, Yas.”
The way Yasmin’s gyrating her hips makes me think getting her to lie down won’t be easy.
“She needs coffee,” Hana says. “Homemade, not conjured. That way we can make sure it’s good and strong.”
“In the cabinet next to the sink,” I say to Hana who then apps downstairs.
Mina and Farrah drag Yasmin to the door, and the shot glass falls to the floor. As they’re about to cross the threshold, Yasmin frees herself from the other girls and takes one hand of Laila’s, hesitates, and takes one of mine.
“You two,” she says with a slur in her voice. “Don’t let them risk it.”
She crushes our fingers, and Mina and Farrah have to force her to let go before they can guide her out into the hallway.
Linked or not, I will never understand Yasmin.
“What was that all about?” I say.
Laila flops onto my bed. “Told you she’s been weird.”
I bend to pick up the shot glass, which, having landed on the rug, thankfully didn’t break. From my crouched position, I see Laila sit up, smile at the framed picture of her, me, and Jenny, and then reach for the drawer of my nightstand.
“Whatever Lalla Isa brought was full of garlic,” she says. “Gross. You still have those mints?”
My stomach lurches the instant Laila’s hand hits the knob. I can’t get up fast enough to stop that third curveball I should have never doubted was coming. All I can do is suck in my breath as Laila sees, for the first time in months, her gold locket with the infinity symbol engraved on the front.
“But how—” Laila looks at me. “You … you found it?”
It’s like my heart is being torn in two. I swear I’m trying to speak, but I can’t find my voice any more than I can find my words.
Laila’s lip trembles. “Azra? Where? When? And why … why didn’t you tell me?”
Forcing myself to say something, anything, I squeak out, “I didn’t exactly find it.” I back up and lean against my dresser. “You see … I … what I mean is…” I can’t defend myself. Because there is no defense for what I did.
Laila’s small forehead creases. “But I don’t understand. You had it all this time?”
I’m desperate to turn away from the betrayal in Laila’s eyes, but she deserves to see me squirm. And I do.
My cowardice takes over, and I lower my gaze to the floor. “Yes, but I can explain. See, when you showed it to me, I was … not in a good place. I was mad at my mother, mad at everyone, and the locket, well, I thought, if only my mom cared about my dad as much as yours, then, maybe, this would be different. Maybe—”
Holding on to my dresser, I inhale and exhale, trying to compose myself before attempting another explanation, equally as flawed, but Laila’s not really listening. Her fingertips caress the locket over and over again, as if she can’t believe it’s real.
The piece of silver tinsel she gave me on my birthday, which I’d placed in the drawer, must have been stuck to the chain, for it floats to the floor as she wraps her hand around the locket and brings it to her chest.
She lifts herself off the bed, steps on the tinsel, unintentionally, I think, before moving in front of me and forcing me to look at her. “That’s why you took mine? Because you don’t have one?”
Choked up, I nod slowly. “But … but I was going to return it, Laila. And then—”
I swivel my head around the room, desperate for someone, something, to blame. But there’s no one.
“And then, I didn’t.”
No one but me.
Laila slips the gold chain over her head. “I was the only one there for you, Azra. The. Only. One.” She closes her eyes but still loses the fight against the tears she’s been holding back since the moment she opened the drawer.
In a harsh voice I’ve never heard before, Laila says, “I put up with all your … your…” She presses one hand against her stomach. When she speaks again, her tone is strong but calm. “With all of your attitude because I know this has always been harder for you than for the rest of us.”
I turn my face to stone. Seeing me cry would only diminish Laila’s hurt. She’s the victim. Not me. Seeing my tears … that’s not what Laila needs. My voice barely above a whisper, I say, “Only because I make it that way.”
It isn’t until Laila’s eyes focus on my rock-hard jawline as she brushes past me that I realize my tears are exactly what Laila needs.