“We all do what we must do,” the other said. “The first lesson we learned in Cairo.”
Well, she couldn’t fault them there. You made a place in this city however you could.
She took the elevator up. When she got to her door, she fumbled for the key before opening it and stepping inside. The place was dark. Just as she’d left it. But not empty.
Siti sat in the chair by the balcony with her head in her hands, Ramses lounging in her lap. At seeing the door open she lifted the cat away and stood, coming forward. Fatma stepped back, more by instinct, and Siti broke her stride, going still, hands clenched at her side. Neither spoke, until Fatma closed the door. Siti took a few tremulous steps, bringing them closer. Her dark eyes held worry, and streaks on her face showed where tears had left their mark.
“Are you…” she began, voice tremoring. She reached out a hand, and Fatma tried not to flinch. Siti’s fingers pulled back before trying again, touching at the cloth Fatma wore about her neck. Hadia had given the hijab to her, when she’d seen the wounds. Siti’s hands shook as she unwrapped the fabric. When she saw the deep bruises beneath, her face seemed to break. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Something about the statement sent a spike of anger through Fatma, and she fought to control her roiling emotions. Pulling away, she wrapped the hijab back about her neck and sat down heavily on the edge of her bed.
“You’re a djinn,” she said. A declaration rather than a question.
“Yes,” Siti answered, her voice low. Even after seeing it with her own eyes, the admission still staggered Fatma, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.
“And no,” Siti continued. “I mean, I’m a half-djinn. Or however that works out.”
Fatma looked up sharply. By “half-djinn,” people often meant a nasnas, a troublesome creature that was literally as its name described—with a half a head, half a body, and even only one arm and leg. She’d been gifted her janbiya for banishing a particularly nasty nasnas troubling the clan of a visiting Azd dignitary. But that’s not what Siti meant. She was speaking to something even more fantastic, of which even the Ministry knew little.
“One of your parents was a djinn,” Fatma reasoned. It was the only thing that made sense. If any of this made sense. “Your father.”
Siti’s face tightened. She walked back to the chair, making space besides Ramses and wrapping her arms about herself. “I don’t really know much about him. My mother claims he came to her the first time as a laughing breeze, while she was out tending goats. The second as a shower of coins that fell from a clear sky. The third time, he was a man—tall and beautiful, with golden horns, skin that shone like polished ebony, and eyes that twinkled with starlight.” She scoffed. “Or at least, that’s how my mother remembers it. She was just a girl. Not even fifteen. He had probably lived hundreds of lives. Their tryst was short, just long enough to keep his attention before he wandered off to whatever new fancy caught his eye. Long enough to leave me in her belly.”
Fatma took it all in. The Ministry had been dwelling on this probability. Djinn hadn’t only come back into the world, they’d become part of it—working, living, and interacting with humans. Sex was a foregone conclusion. Rumors of the carnal insatiability of some djinn were the stuff of bawdy jokes and songs. But there were also relationships, some serious. Djinn procreation, at least with other djinn, remained shrouded in mystery. No one had ever seen a djinn infant or child. Half-djinn, however, were popular in old stories and folklore. Bilquis, the queen of Sheba, was claimed to be a half-djinn, among other famed personages—all reputedly gifted with supernatural powers. With the return of djinn, the Ministry predicted the world would once again enter an age of people who could no longer merely be called human—born to magical lineages and with unpredictable, unknowable capabilities.
“Which one are you?” Fatma asked. “The person sitting here now, or…” An image of the inhuman being she’d seen tonight flashed across her thoughts: those curving ram horns, sharp teeth, and feline eyes.
“Both are me. I’m exactly who you see now. How I see myself most of the time. And sometimes … I’m who you saw earlier. I know, it’s hard to understand.”
That was an understatement. Fatma had an easier time understanding the two Mahmouds. She was reminded of Siti’s aunt, Madame Aziza. What was it the old woman had said? That Siti was like the wind. Too much of her father in her. Those words took on new meaning. So much did now. Siti’s seeming abilities—the magic that granted her speed, allowing her to scale walls, or leap distances humanly impossible. The question of that magic had always nagged at Fatma’s mind. But she’d never asked. Maybe you didn’t really want to know. Maybe you knew the answer would lead to something like this. Another thought wormed its way into her head. The dizzying high she felt around Siti. The woman’s almost electric touches. No, the thought had been there all night. She was just finally confronting it.
“Did you ever…” It took a hard swallow to continue. “Did you use djinn magic on me? Did you make us happen?”
Siti stared as if she’d been slapped. Shock morphed into hurt, and then into anger that flashed in her eyes. “I would never do that. I’m not my father. I didn’t think you would have to ask.” Her voice tremored again, this time with all the emotions that passed across her face.
“Didn’t you?” Fatma shot back, her own emotions seizing her. “You lied to me. How do you expect me to react?”
“I didn’t lie. The person who laughs with you, who dances with you, who shares your bed, who washes your hair. That’s me!”
“But that other person
