“You thought you could escape,” the goddess whispered in his ear. “But I know your blood. I would chase you to the ends of the world if that were what it took.”
He blinked. Black and red danced before his eyes. Behind the muted colors he saw a leering smile that faded in and out of the dark. His goddess was nothing but a phantom, her lips a bloody smile.
“I’m going to take my time with you, lest your suffering be over too quickly.” She pressed her lips to his. And breathed into him. Out of him? He was vaguely aware of his lungs collapsing, his body convulsing.
Mazen tried to push her away, but there was nothing to push. The woman was a silhouette of smoke. He tried to step back, but his feet wouldn’t move and his throat was on fire and oh gods, he was going to die—
Abruptly, he could breathe. He tried to speak, but nothing left his air-starved lungs. Awareness flared inside him like a flame, but it was short lived.
“I have never seen a human so willing to die.” The demon’s words wound around him like silk, and his mind dimmed as she stepped away.
Somewhere in the dark, he heard someone choking. He was trying to puzzle this out when he felt something travel up his body, moving so quickly he didn’t have the time to brush it off. He felt a prick of pain in his shoulder. A gruff voice in his ear. “Find the doors,” it said. Then both the voice and the pain disappeared.
Mazen blinked slowly as he tried to compose his surroundings. He ventured one shaky step forward, squinting into the dark. It was then that he saw a tiny flaming object traveling across the room. Only, that was impossible, wasn’t it? Fire engulfed everything in its path; it could never be so self-contained.
Mazen stumbled after it anyway. It was a brief chase, the light burning out when he crashed into a wall. He reached out—and felt cold metal beneath his hands. The doors. He pushed on them without a thought. With a sigh, the doors opened and light poured into the room, eating away at the darkness, which was… screaming?
A shudder climbed Mazen’s spine as he whirled to face the enchantress. He blinked in confusion at the sight of her bleeding into the tiles. He’d followed her through sunny streets, enamored of the way the light reflected in her beautiful eyes. But now she was no longer a woman but a shadow, and the sunlight ate away at her form until there was nothing left.
Where she had been standing, there was now a stranger in plain brown robes.
Mazen stared, wondering if they were an illusion.
The person looked at him beneath the shadow of their shawl. Then they collapsed.
Mazen inched forward, eyeing the shadows bleeding into the ground. He had just reached the stranger when they suddenly surged upright. The shawl on their head tumbled loose, revealing a nest of wild brown curls. It was a woman. A woman with remarkable brown eyes tinted the color of rust. He flinched back.
She scowled. “Well, salaam to you too,” she said in a raspy voice.
He swallowed. “My apologies.” His words came out soft, quavering. He cleared his throat to steady it. “I didn’t know if you were an illusion. If you were…” He gestured around them, but the shadows had already been replaced with patches of sunlight.
The stranger glanced around the room with narrowed eyes, as if looking for something. The demon, perhaps.
Mazen realized his hands were trembling and shoved them into his pockets. “We should leave,” he said. A wink of silver caught his eyes and he paused, noticing the blade in the woman’s hands. She tucked it into the bag lying beside her before he could get a good look at it.
“You removed yourself from the trance.” She rose and dusted off her clothing. The movement was slow, pronounced, as if it required great effort.
He hesitated. “Yes?”
“You sound uncertain.”
Mazen thought about the mysterious voice in his ear and the strange fire that had led him to the doors. Had that been a hallucination? It was, he decided, better to not mention it.
“I think it was you,” he said instead. He’d heard a struggle in the darkness, after all. Who else could it have been but her? “You distracted the demon and gave me an opening.”
“I was a distraction?” She grumbled beneath her breath. “Is she gone, then? Dead?”
“She, ah, faded into the tiles.”
Silence ensued as they both stared suspiciously at the floor.
He cleared his throat. “But tell me, why were you here in the first place”—he hesitated, realizing he didn’t know her name—“desert flower?” It was the first thing his scrambled mind came up with. He regretted it immediately.
The woman started toward him with an outward glare. Mazen flinched, thinking she might slap him, but she simply brushed past him on her way to the exit.
“I saw people enter this abandoned place and was curious enough to investigate.” She turned at the doorway to face him. “I saw a shadow with red eyes…” She waved her hand, and Mazen saw rings gleam on her fingers. “And you, standing still as a date tree.”
Outside, the city was draped in the reds and golds of sunset. Mazen savored the heat of the desert air on his skin and the crunch of the sand beneath his feet as he exited. He sighed as a gentle breeze tousled his hair. The trembling in his hands eased somewhat.
He turned to the stranger. “My thanks for saving me, uh…”
“Layla.” She dipped her head, looked at him expectantly.
He paused, realizing he’d yet to offer his name. “Yousef.” It was the first false name he could think up. “A thousand blessings upon you, Layla. Had you not come to investigate, I would have lost my soul to the Sandsea.” He crossed his arms as he glanced at the abandoned building. “Do you think she was a jinn?”
“Hard to think she could be anything else.” She raised a brow. “Are you a hunter, Yousef?”
The blatant question took him off guard. A hunter? Him? Even just the thought made his knees weak. “No! I’m not a murderer.”
Murderer. The realization hit like a bolt of lightning. There were many killers in this city—hunters and thieves who killed jinn for coin and sport—but there was only one murderer he was well acquainted with. He recalled the sight of his brother covered in silver blood. His brother, returned earlier than expected.
You thought you could escape, the jinn had said. But I know your blood. I would chase you to the ends of the world if that were what it took.
Layla was grinning. “I didn’t think you were a murderer. You’d have been a lot more competent if you were.”
Mazen frowned. “I was possessed.”
Layla just laughed, as if he’d said something funny. She turned and walked away.
Mazen trailed after her. “Wait! Is there any way I can thank you? Can I escort you back home or… ah.” He paused, remembering why he’d come to the city in the first place.
Layla turned. “Ah?”
“I was on my way to see someone in the souk when this all happened. A storyteller named Rhuba.” He glanced up at the sky, at the sun dipping below the buildings. He needed to return to the palace soon to meet with one of his father’s guests; he did not have time to get lost wandering the souk. But the thought of sitting before the sultan and keeping all of this a secret…
“Come on.” Layla resumed walking.
“Where are you going?”
“To Old Rhuba’s.” She cast a look over her shoulder. “Try to keep up, Yousef.”
Mazen hesitated. He was exhausted, and all he wanted was to forget this whole day had happened. But he was reluctant to part ways with Layla. She had saved his life. Even better, she didn’t know who he was, which meant he had the opportunity to speak to her without his reputation coloring her opinion of him. Who knew when he would get such a chance again?
Perhaps he could still salvage this day.
Mazen chased after her.