Siti looked back up. “Time is something I have a lot of,” she replied soberly.
Fatma started. “Are you saying you’re immortal?”
“What? Gods no! I’m being metaphorical.”
“That’s a relief. I don’t think I’d be able to stand you at all if I found out you were going to live forever.” Technically, djinn didn’t live forever. Still, they counted centuries the way people counted decades.
“Well I’m not going to live a whole millennium,” she amended. “Maybe I’ll see a hundred years. Or two? No one’s really certain.”
Fatma gawped. Then she recalled something suddenly, another oddity from that night.
“When I asked the imposter about the Clock of Worlds, he answered with a song. Something about Nine Lords.”
“Nine Lords who are sleeping,” Siti recalled. “Who would burn your soul away.”
“You know what that’s about?”
Siti thought for a moment. “Sounds like some djinn tale. There are lots of them. Always about more awful djinn we should be thankful didn’t come through the Kaf. But I don’t recall anything about Nine Lords. Maybe it’s another story of djinn rulers?”
There were certainly enough of those. Most were fables, or distorted versions of the truth. Popular folklore, for instance, told of a legendary djinn king who ruled over Mount Kaf, a land of fantastic wonders at the edge of the world. Al-Jahiz had shown that the Kaf was in reality another realm—or realms—rather than some hidden mountain.
“I want to see you,” Fatma said. “The other you.”
Siti’s eyebrows rose at the request. “You’re sure about that?”
Not really, Fatma thought. She’d only decided moments ago. But it felt like something she needed to do.
Seeing her resolve, Siti stood and walked over, extending a hand. “I’ll do it slow.”
Fatma took her fingers and felt a small tingle. Then, before her eyes, Siti transformed. Her dark skin turned black until it glinted. Horns a deep red erupted from her head, bending and curving upward while her body grew taller. Slow or not, it was over in several heartbeats. At Siti’s feet, Ramses purred. He’d hopped off the chair, and now nuzzled her legs.
Fatma stood, tracing fingers along Siti’s new hands, the ones with real claws, trying hard not to remember what they’d done tonight. She moved to Siti’s arms, feeling the taut muscle beneath black smooth scales—each so miniscule it was hard to see where they fit together. She had to go up on her toes to touch the horns, sliding fingertips across the ridges.
Siti hummed low in her throat, tossing her head slightly before staring down with crimson cat eyes that shimmered on gold.
Fatma pulled back. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not that.” Her voice was almost the same, just deeper. “The horns have certain … pleasure spots.”
Pleasure spots? That was new.
“Didn’t you have wings?” Fatma almost jumped back as in answer, two enormous black and red wings unfurled from Siti’s back, their crimson tips brushing the ceiling. For the first time she noticed they matched the tuft of curly hair that sat nestled between the horns on her shaved scalp. Ramses stood on his back legs to swat at her feathers, but they were out of his reach. He jumped up onto the bed, hoping to get at them from a better angle.
Fatma let out a small laugh.
Siti frowned. “What’s funny?”
“You. You’re damned beautiful. Even as a half-djinn, you’re still as beautiful as ever.”
Siti smiled. Touching Fatma’s chin lightly, she bent until their lips met. Definitely electric, Fatma thought, falling into the kiss. She had to will herself to pull away and stepped back, almost stumbling.
“Sorry,” Siti winced. “I said I’d give you time. It’s just … you touched the horn and…”
Fatma caught her breath, shaking off the rush. “I know you said you never did anything to make us happen. But you’re not the first woman I’ve ever kissed. And none leave me dizzy.”
“I was born, in part, of magic,” Siti answered.
“Meaning? That’s how you can do the things you do?”
“It makes me stronger. Faster, more agile. And when I really care about someone, that magic works on them too. Maybe you find you heal faster. Or you wake up rested like you’ve had ten hours of sleep, when it’s actually been two.” There was an awkward pause. “I might also be able to feel or know where you are at any given time.” Fatma’s eyes widened at that, and Siti added hastily, “None of it is meant to deceive you. It can’t make you behave in ways you wouldn’t otherwise. It’s just nothing I can help, any more than I can how I feel about you.”
There was so much she was going to have to reevaluate about these past months, Fatma sighed. Another thought. “How are your clothes still intact?” She motioned to the black outfit Siti still wore—the one she usually did when running about at night. “There’s a lot more of you like this. Not to mention the wings.”
“Half-djinn can’t do a lot of complex magic. Not like full djinn. But shifting our garments so that we’re not ripping out of them and standing around half-naked is pretty standard. Took a while to perfect it, of course. I went through so many clothes when I was younger my mother—aay!”
Ramses had launched from the bed, and now clung to the underside of one of her wings. She transformed back, and he tumbled to the floor in a furry ball of silver. Scooping him up she wagged a scolding finger, which he batted at playfully.
“You’re sure he isn’t a djinn?” Siti asked.
Fatma sat back down, watching them. “We have to stop him. The imposter.”
Siti joined her, Ramses
