When Yasmin returns to the driveway, it’s with a plump cat in her arms. And a red scratch on her cheek. She tentatively strokes the silver-and-black-striped fur, and I gasp. I recognize the cat. It’s strictly an inside cat, specifically, the Carwyns’ inside cat.
“Give it to me,” I say, rushing toward her.
Burying her nose in the cat’s fur, Yasmin turns away from me. “But he’s so cute. Just like his owner.”
The vicious hiss emanating from the animal causes Yasmin to jerk her head back.
Fear, astonishment, and anger mix with the alcohol to make my head spin. I turn to Laila. Somehow she puts the pieces together. “Did anyone see you? Did Henry see you?”
Hana, Mina, and Farrah each clasp a hand over their mouth at the same time.
“Too far,” Hana says, shaking her head.
With her back still facing me, Yasmin shrugs. Or maybe that was a wince. “My mother always says we shouldn’t have to hide who we are.”
Laila marches over to Yasmin and plucks the cat out of her arms. “But we do. This isn’t a game.”
The front door to Henry’s house bursts open. “Slinky? Here Slinky!” He races through the side yard, calling for the cat.
The six multicolored bangles Yasmin has stacked against her magical silver one clank against one another as she tries to hide the drop of blood springing from a fresh scratch on the back of her hand.
She pushes her shoulders back. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Seems pretty fun to me.”
Henry bolts across the front lawn to the other side of the house.
With a hiss for the cat and a wicked smile for me, Yasmin nabs Mina with one hand and Farrah with the other and heads for the garage.
Hana looks back and forth between me and Laila and the slowly closing garage door before rounding her shoulders. “You’ve … you’ve got this, right, Azra?”
Without waiting for an answer, she scurries behind the others and into the garage right before the door bangs shut.
The noise causes Henry to skid to a halt. He takes in Laila with Slinky in her arms and me standing awkwardly next to her.
“Slinky!” He runs barefoot across the street. “Man, do I owe you guys for finding her. Lisa’s bawling. She won’t go to sleep without this stupid cat by her side. One minute the thing was curled up on her pillow, and the next it was gone.”
Laila swallows hard. “Did she…? Did Lisa see anything?”
“No,” Henry says. “She got up to use the bathroom and by the time she came back, the cat had made a break for it. How I have no idea. The central air’s on, and my dad swears all the windows and doors were shut and locked.”
“Crazy,” I say just to have something to say. “Maybe … maybe…”
Laila tilts her head toward the Carwyns’ garage door, bugging her eyes at me. Finally, I understand. I concentrate and watch the scuffed “A+J” rise as the door lifts a few inches off the ground.
I point across the street. “Maybe the garage?”
Henry turns around and studies his house. “Huh, how did I not notice that before?”
“Oh,” Laila says, moving closer to Henry, “it’s funny the things we miss that are often right in front of our noses.” She gently lays the cat in his arms and retreats to the front door.
She doesn’t look my way to see how my eyes are begging her not to leave this in my hands. What if Henry’s still suspicious? What if they no longer keep the litter box in the garage? What if the door to the house is locked up tight? What if—
“Ouch.” Henry sticks the finger Slinky just nipped into his mouth. “Stupid, demonic cat. I swear I don’t know why Lisa’s so attached. The mongrel hates me, and the feeling is mutual.”
The giggle that leaves my mouth is so uncharacteristic that I blame the evil absinthe.
Henry smiles. “Find this funny, do you?” He shakes his head. “You wouldn’t if you woke up to this mangy beast standing on your chest like it’s contemplating whether or not to suffocate you with its fat belly.”
I giggle again, enjoying the image of Slinky creeping toward Yasmin’s pointy nose.
Wearing the same amused look from earlier, Henry says, “Well, I should get this thing back to Lisa before she has a complete meltdown, if she hasn’t already.”
I glance back at my house. For the first time in years, the idea of following Henry through his front door, even with all the memories of Jenny, is more attractive than walking through mine.
“I remember when you first got her,” I say. “Jenny picked her out, didn’t she?”
His smile turns bittersweet. “Yeah. I wanted a turtle. But Jenny said—”
“You can’t cuddle a turtle.” Tears pool in my eyes. Damn that absinthe. I start inching backward toward the garage. “I should go.”
“Course, sorry, you’re the guest of honor, and I’m making you miss your own party. Thanks again.” He hurries across the street. When he reaches the sidewalk in front of his house, he turns around. “Oh, and I’m glad to see you went with that costume.”
Looking down at my white pants and purple tunic, I say, “What costume?”
“You know, just a normal teenager. It suits you.”
* * *
Music is playing, Jinn are dancing, and cameras are clicking as I walk through the door to my house. I hide out in the corner. The Christmas-tree-colored mix of red, white, and green alcohol combined with the rich tagine churns my stomach like a lifeboat on rough seas.
Eventually I’m dragged into the darkened dining room where all sixteen candles glow on my perfectly iced chocolate cake. The shadows cast on the walls reflect the room full of Jinn, but the only thing I’m seeing is the shadow that should be here, blowing out sixteen candles of her own.
I puff, again and again, making the same wish I made when I was ten and Laila was standing before me, silver tinsel around her wrist, her brow creased, her tongue protruding from between her lips, concentrating so hard I thought she’d explode.
I wish I were normal. I wish I had a normal family. I wish becoming Jinn didn’t mean losing everything else—Jenny, my father, me.
It is a wish I’ve made on every birthday, on every shooting star, on every eyelash since I can remember. It can never come true. I know it can’t. I know it can’t. Still … doesn’t hurt to try. Just in case.
The forkful of chocolate cake hits my lips, and I know I’m going to be sick. I manage to app myself to my bathroom but land in the tub. I throw back the shower curtain and fall in front of the toilet. My mother’s next to the bowl, having already lifted the lid. I’m grateful. I wouldn’t have had enough time to open it myself.
* * *
In bed, tucked under the covers with Laila asleep next to me, her mouth hanging open, I hear my mother and Samara arguing.
“You’ve never hidden your contempt for this world,” my mother says, “but that’s my daughter. How could you let her? How could you start this?”
“Contempt is right,” Samara replies, “because this would have never happened in our world. It’s absurd, this making things taboo. Of course all they want to do is defy us. But, whatever. We’ll do things your way—again. But for the record, you’re the one who agreed to let them have the wine with dinner.”
I can practically hear the grinding of my mother’s teeth.
“You were always so quick to take risks, Sam. You and Raina.”
The harshness in my mother’s voice surprises me.
“And you were always so willing to go along, Kalyssa. Always following the rules. Always so afraid to take a risk. And look how that’s worked out. For them. For all of us.”
“This isn’t about that,” my mother quips.
“The hell it isn’t,” Samara says. “Tell me, did you even get to see him today? Did his risk pay off? His risk for you?”
The heaviness of my eyelids pushes them down. I don’t want them to close, but I can’t help it. I hear the sound of crying from my mother, then from Samara. Forcing myself to stay awake, I strain until a few minutes later I hear the sounds of laughter, from Samara, then from my mother.
And then I’m asleep, silver bangle tight around my wrist.