She hadn’t properly made sense of it before debris was thrown about, sending everyone seeking cover. Something was rising now from the house. Something she now understood had been beneath it all this time. First, a flaming horned head of metal, followed by shoulders, then a massive body in the shape of a man. No, not a man. A djinn! A towering machine djinn, of iron, brass, and steel. Ifrit clung to its frame—fiery beings of bloodred flame that burned bright against the darkening dusk. They hammered and welded and clanged away in a furious cacophony.
She’d thought there was only one. There must have been dozens! Their work was incomplete, so that in some places the structure was missing sheets of metal. Its chest was open, and she could see where a mechanical heart spun. There, on a platform, stood five figures—Abigail Worthington and her friends. Just behind them sat a curious machinery of overlapping gear wheels where several Ifrit labored. An overwhelming fear gripped at her. The Clock of Worlds!
The great mechanical djinn pulled free from the destroyed Worthington estate, like a beast shedding its skin. Its horned head wreathed in djinn fire turned northward and set out, two long legs taking sweeping strides. The thing was fast for its size, and soon began to pull away into the distance.
Fatma stumbled, pushing a dazed Alexander along. She found Hadia and Aasim massed with equally stunned police and agents coated in dust.
“I don’t think we brought enough people after all!” Aasim commented, scrubbing his moustache clean.
“I think we also know what happened to that missing Worthington steel,” Hadia added, staring after the iron giant. “Where is that thing heading?”
“She said they were going back to where this all started,” Fatma answered.
Aasim frowned. “The case? That started here.”
Fatma looked to the retreating giant. It wasn’t heading north but northeast. “Cairo. Where this all started. The Clock of Worlds was made to re-create al-Jahiz’s grand formulas. To open doorways to other worlds. She’s taking it to where he first bored into the Kaf.”
Hadia inhaled sharply. “Abdeen Palace!”
“The dignitaries for the king’s summit are there!” Aasim said.
Fatma’s heart fell. “We have to get back!”
“That’s going to be difficult.” Aasim gestured to the sunken Worthington estate. The few police wagons still visible were buried under wreckage. “Best we can hope is that Giza phones a warning when it catches sight of that thing—maybe someone has sense enough to send a car to check on us.”
Not good enough, Fatma fretted. No one else knew what they were even dealing with. She gazed around. There had to be some way out of here!
No sooner than she thought the words than she caught sight of a lone vehicle speeding up the road toward them. Not a car. Some kind of motorized velocipede. But it was bulky in the center, with a bronze-and-silver surface. Its two wheels—one in the front and back—had thicker tires than a velocipede, while the seat sat low. It also made a greater deal of noise, with an engine that growled like it belonged on an airship.
The occupant sat leaning over the vehicle’s front, hands gripping bronze handles where a single lamp shone in the growing dusk, their face obscured by goggles and a round brown leather helmet. The driver stopped the odd bike just before them, flicking a kickstand down with a boot that matched the helmet. Lifting up the goggles, they undid the straps on the headpiece, pulling it off and surveying the demolished house.
Fatma gawped.
The driver, Siti, flashed a smile.
“Must have been some party.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“You know I saw the strangest thing on the way here?” Siti leaned casually on the odd bike, dressed in snug tan breeches and a short red kaftan for a top, with a familiar long rifle strapped to her back. “A giant machine djinn. With Ifrit hanging all over it. Did everyone see that too, or have I been drinking?”
Fatma walked up briskly. “How did you know—?”
“—where you were? Remember what I told you about that thing I do?”
Of course. Her half-djinn talent. Still discomfiting. But she could kiss the woman!
“We need to get to Cairo!”
“I’m guessing it’s the giant machine djinn? Things like that are usually up to no good.”
“Abigail Worthington is the imposter,” Fatma explained hurriedly. “She and her friends are taking the Clock of Worlds to Abdeen Palace. She’s going to use the Seal of Sulayman and the djinn to take over Egypt. Then maybe try to conquer the world.”
Siti let out a low whistle. “Definitely sounds like up to no good.” Her eyes flicked to the mass of milling police and Ministry agents. “But that’s a lot of people. And I’ve only got the one.” She gestured at the vehicle.
“What is this thing?” Fatma asked.
“A motorbike! They’re popular now in Luxor. Had this one shipped in.”
Fatma shook her head. The woman and her gadgets. At least it wasn’t flying.
“Is this another woman Ministry agent?” Aasim asked. He’d walked up and couldn’t decide what to stare at—Siti or the motorbike.
Siti winked. “I’m more of an independent contractor.”
Aasim didn’t take the joke. “We’ll need to commandeer your vehicle. Police work.”
“Sorry, inspector.” She leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “I’m the only one who gets to straddle this.” Aasim wriggled his moustache, swallowed hard, cleared his throat, then walked back to his men, throwing glances over his shoulder.
“Abla?” Of all people, it was Hamed. His uniform had taken a beating. But he paid it no mind, instead staring at Siti. Wait. Had he just called her by name?
“Agent Hamed,” Siti greeted amiably.
He returned a bemused half smile. “How do you know Abla?”
Fatma’s eyebrows rose. “How do you know Abla?”
Before she could get an answer, Onsi sauntered up, beaming good-naturedly—as if
