CHAPTER NINE
Entering Cité-Jardin was always jarring. One moment you were in the bustle of downtown Cairo—with shops and restaurants still open on a Friday for locals and the trolleys full of tourists. But walk over a few streets, and you crossed into a place with no honking horns or crackling aerial trams, no pedestrians chattering politics or shouting street vendors. Just the humming of birds and wind rustling the branches of leafy trees.
Cité-Jardin had been built by a djinn architect. He’d lived in this world before the coming of al-Jahiz and had sailed off with Napoleon’s armies to see Paris. He returned to Egypt after the Emerging and convinced the new government to let him design a development—one he claimed would speak to Cairo’s place as an international city. The result was modernity accented with inspiration drawn from the natural world. The buildings—mostly embassies—were carved with leaves or repeating vines. The houses were mansions: multistory villas with archways and columns in the likeness of bundled reeds, all encircled by a forest of trees and bushes. Incandescent electric lamps lined the roads, like saplings crowned with orbs of colored glass.
Fatma took in the organic opulence and serenity. Prayer had been a good idea. She remembered as a girl staying home on Fridays while her father and male relatives all went to the masjid. Being able to share that today with other women was … refreshing. And it always helped clear her head—Probably you should make a habit of doing it more. She silenced her mother’s admonitions, listening instead to Hadia.
“… so I tell him just because Friday prayer isn’t an obligation for women doesn’t mean I can’t attend. What children am I caring for?” She had been sharing thoughts on women and faith since leaving the masjid, hardly stopping as they ate lunch on the go—skewered beef kofta and baladi bread. “I’ve heard in China there are masjid just for women. Can you imagine? Maybe we could try that here. Should bring it up at an EFS meeting.”
“You’re in the Egyptian Feminist Sisterhood?” Fatma asked. They watched an automobile roll past—a six-wheeled black luxury vehicle with ivory running boards.
“Spent my summer in Alexandria marching for the vote.” She made the victory sign of the suffrage movement. “I have a cousin in the Cairo chapter. Supposed to attend next week.”
“You have a lot of cousins.” Fatma had lost track of how many.
“We’re a very big family. Would you like to come? To an EFS meeting? Always looking to bring in women from the professions—to show we aren’t all just factory workers.” Then added hastily, “Not that there’s anything wrong with factory work.”
Fatma could think of many things wrong with factory work—low wages, unsafe machines, harassing male bosses who often acted like jailers. But she got the point.
“I’ll think on it,” she replied, noncommittal. She donated to the EFS and generally supported their causes. But who even had time for politics? Hadia was set to say more—perhaps a recruitment pitch—when someone slipped alongside them.
“Nice day for a walk,” Siti said by way of a greeting.
Fatma started at the woman’s unexpected appearance. She wore a tied-off sun-yellow kaftan that looked amazing against her skin, paired with blue breeches and tall laced tan boots.
“Rang your office three times before I sent the messenger eunuch,” Siti continued idly, matching their pace.
“Wasn’t by a phone,” Fatma said. “Didn’t think you’d have anything for me so quick. Didn’t expect to run into you either.” She hoped her face fully conveyed the what-in-damnation-are-you-doing-here she was trying to affect.
On the trek home last night they’d come up with a hasty course of action. Things seemed to be coalescing around Lord Worthington’s mysterious secret society. Siti was to talk to Merira about the Brotherhood’s members. Fatma would head into the office, and get a refresher on al-Jahiz. This, however, was not part of the plan.
“Never underestimate me.” Siti winked. She turned to Hadia. “You must be the partner. A new lady Spooky Boy! The Ministry’s going to get a glowing write-up from the EFS.”
Hadia, who had watched their exchange, looked understandably confused.
“This is Siti,” Fatma said. “She’s…” Words, for some reason, sent her tongue into a knot.
“One of Agent Fatma’s informants,” Siti stepped in smoothly.
“Oh! Yes, of course. I’m Agent Hadia.”
“Good to meet you, Agent Hadia,” Siti returned, accepting an offered handshake.
“How do you know Agent Fatma?”
Siti grinned roguishly. “We’ve worked closely.” She leaned in, whispering, “You see, I’m an idolater!”
Hadia’s eyes grew to look like dark plums, and she froze, still holding Siti’s hand. Fatma wanted to pull her bowler over her face. Why was the woman like this? When Hadia found her voice again, she only said: “I thought ‘idolater’ was offensive.”
“Only when you use it.” Siti released her hand. “But we call each other that all the time.” She shrugged at Hadia’s bafflement. “It’s an idolater thing. You wouldn’t understand.”
“What we don’t understand,” Fatma quipped, “is why you’re here. Not what we agreed.”
Siti appeared unfazed. “We never agreed on anything. I told you I’d speak to my people and get you a name—which I did. There was no discussion on where I should or shouldn’t be. I think I have a right to be here. Two of this killer’s victims were from my community. We watch out for our own.”
Fatma knew it was pointless to protest. Siti’s mind was stubbornly unchangeable once made up. She could declare this Ministry business—order her to leave. But the woman didn’t respond well to authority.
They settled into an awkward silence. Hadia, who strode between, glanced at both several times before working up the courage to speak. “Might I ask, what, ah, temple you belong to?”
“Hathor,” Siti answered. “But I’m more partial to Sekhmet.”
“Sekhmet. In theological alchemy we studied ancient and Hellenistic Egypt. If I recall, she’s a goddess of battle?”
“The Eye of Ra. When humankind sought to overthrow Ra, his daughter Hathor didn’t take too kindly. In her anger, she became Sekhmet—the fiery lioness. Then broke some things.”
Hadia frowned. “Didn’t she almost
