A zap! ten times stronger than a shock from a shuffle across a wool rug pierces the back of my neck. The source of my electric jolt materializes a second later. Yasmin, one of my Zar “sisters.”
Having arrived via Jinn teleportation, she quickly drops the red clay pot she’s holding onto the coffee table and shouts, “Lalla Kalyssa, watch out!”
Sable-black hair flying behind her, Yasmin rushes to the fireplace, nudging (more like shoving) my mother aside. With less effort than it takes to inhale deeply, Yasmin conjures a wall of water that douses the sizzling fire. The charred logs eke out a final hiss as she dissipates the resulting smoke before it fills the room.
“Phew!” she says, tossing her long hair off her shoulder. “Good thing I apped when I did.”
This is my first time sensing an apporting Jinn. Turns out, it’s less like being licked by a puppy and more like being stung by a wasp.
Or in Yasmin’s case, a swarm of wasps.
By mutual unspoken agreement, we haven’t seen each other in months. For me, these few seconds are enough to reinforce why.
“I mean,” Yasmin says, thrusting back her shoulders, “someone could have gotten hurt.”
The muscles in my jaw tense, preventing me from returning her condescending smile. Though, since it’s always condescending, I should just call it her smile.
My mother straightens her kaftan. “Thank you, Yasmin. Azra was just about to conjure the water. And if not, well…” She twiddles her fingers. “I would have never let her get hurt.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” For once, the patronizing tone is missing from Yasmin’s voice. She blinks her thick eyelashes and lowers her gold eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t have conjured the water, Lalla Kalyssa.”
“Lalla” is a term of endearment and respect often used when speaking to a female Jinn one is very close to, kind of like how humans refer to family friends as “aunt” or “uncle” even though they aren’t related by blood. I almost believe Yasmin’s usage is sincere.
Almost.
“Anyway…” Yasmin waves her silver-bangled hand. “My mom wanted me to return your tagine.”
Running a finger along the conical dish, my mother says, “The original this time. Not a conjured replica. Thank her for that.” She floats the red-glazed tagine straight from Marrakesh, which she swears is better than any magic can create, into the kitchen. “And thank you for bringing it, Yasmin. Though I did expect you yesterday. I had planned to start cooking Azra’s special dish this morning.”
Back straight as a rod, Yasmin places a hand on her heart. “My apologies, Lalla Kalyssa. I forgot you like to spend all day cooking. Like a human.”
She smiles, and I expect to see fangs. She’s always seemed more serpent than genie.
She slithers closer as her almond-shaped eyes scan my body. “At least your bangle didn’t do much to improve—” She covers her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, I mean change your appearance, Azra.” She flips her hair. “We had to move states.”
This bangle may change a lot of things, but it doesn’t change this: Yasmin getting under my skin in less than five minutes. This time though, instead of scratching and walking away, I burrow right back under her perfect complexion.
“Really?” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought it had something to do with a sloppy lottery rigging. Right about the time you started granting wishes…”
Yasmin’s flared nostrils are at odds with her syrupy tone. “Having trouble with the H2O?” She kicks the empty bucket with her foot. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Sometimes the Afrit wait months before assigning wish candidates. Me getting the hang of this in a day was probably a fluke.” She snorts. “Took Farrah weeks.”
Fluke? Sweetie? That’s. It. So what if Yasmin’s been an official Jinn for almost a full year? Older means older. Period. Not wiser. And sure as Jinn not better.
Narrowing my eyes, I glare at my silver bangle. My heels drive into the wood floor as I squeeze my eyes shut and focus on the thud thud, thud thud of my heart. The harsh squawk of a blue jay in the front yard. The traces of my mother’s vanilla perfume. The weight of the humidity in the air. Instead of letting it all distract me, I do as my mother instructed and absorb these elements of nature that surround me, welcoming them, internalizing them, commingling their energy with my own.
The sudden shock of current that shoots through my body ends in my fingertips. Water sloshes over the side of the pail, puddling around my bare feet. And Yasmin’s.
“Azra!” Yasmin leaps back. “These are lea-ther!”
My mother’s fleeting smirk doesn’t escape my notice as I shove my trembling fingers into my pockets. Still, I’m a bit surprised to hear her unsubtle sayonara.
“No harm done,” she says, drying Yasmin’s gold gladiator sandals with a swish of her hand. “There, you’re good to go. Thanks again for returning the tagine in time for Azra’s birthday.”
As if this reminds her, Yasmin tips her head in my direction. “Oh, yes. Happy Birthday, Azra.” She squares her shoulders and snaps her heels together. “See you later.”
And she’s gone. Disappeared. Like a snake down a hole.
The mutual unspoken agreement between my mother and I is not to acknowledge that Yasmin, like her mother, Raina, makes her skin as itchy as mine. Instead, she eases over to me, extracting my fists from my pockets. “Better than picturing a wrench, isn’t it?”
She’s referring to the way I conjured the tools earlier. Simple visualization is, according to my mother, the equivalent of a cheap parlor trick.
“Inelegant,” she says.
“But effective,” I say, nodding to the box of tools at the front door, poised for donation.
“Maybe, but we Nadiras are better than that, Azra. That’s textbook stuff. If you know how something looks and works, you can conjure it. The more intimately you know the item, the better you do.”