Fatma didn’t doubt those threats. Of the classes of djinn, Marid were some of the most powerful and ancient—possessing preternatural strength and formidable magic. But if this half-awake tyrant thought she’d wilt under his intimidation, he had another think coming. Tipping back her bowler at an imperious angle, she moved closer to the towering Marid, craning her neck to meet those three burning eyes.
“You’ve been in self-exile in that bottle for at least a thousand years. So let me catch you up. There are more of us chattering mortals than you might guess. Lots more. More of your kind, too, crossed over to this world. Djinn live among us now. Work with us. Follow our laws. You want to smear me to a pulp?” She shrugged. “Go ahead. But you’ll pay for it. And the people I work for, they know how to make even slumbering for eternity in a bottle extremely unpleasant. Try extending that third eye of yours. See what’s become of the world while you slept.”
The Marid didn’t react right away. Finally, he closed both his eyes, at the same time widening the third on his forehead until it flared with brilliance. When he reopened his remaining eyes they looked startled.
“You speak truth. Your kind has truly multiplied. Like locusts! So many more djinn in this world. Working alongside mortals. Living among them. Mating with—”
“Yes, all of that,” Fatma cut in.
“Disgusting.”
“Reality. So that brings us back to our bargaining. I’m sure you’d rather get back to sleep. Wait and see how things pan out. My offer still stands. You have my word.”
The Marid snorted. “The word of a mortal? Empty and weak as water. There is no worth in that. Present me with something to bind. Something that makes your offer true.”
“My honor, then.”
“What is mortal honor to me? You try my patience, not-enchantress. Make your offer worthy, or offer it not at all.”
Fatma gritted her teeth. Damn djinn and their bargaining. There was one other thing she could give. Though she loathed it. But her options seemed slim.
“To make my offer true,” she said, “I offer you my name.”
That made the Marid’s eyebrows rise. Djinn were big on names. They never gave their true names, instead calling themselves by geographic locations—cities, rivers, mountain ranges. Either that or majestic titles like the Queen of Magic or the Lord of Thursday. That lot were insufferable. By the look on his face, however, it seemed even mortal names held some worth.
“Your true name,” he demanded.
She bristled at this, but nodded acceptance.
“The offer is accepted. But there is still the matter of granting the fools their wish.”
Fatma started. “What do you mean? We just settled on that!”
The Marid’s dark green lips pursed into a smirk. “Our arrangement, not-enchantress, was your offer that I return to my vessel and you assure me uninterrupted slumber. Not that I spare the lives of these two. The wish is still binding.”
“That was implied!” But even as she said the words, she knew the fault was hers. You had to be careful when bartering with djinn. They took every word literally. Why so many of them in this age made good lawyers. She cursed her mistake and tried to think straight.
“So the wish still stands?” she asked.
“What was requested will be given.”
“But you already set the parameters.”
The Marid shrugged and cast a baleful glare to Gamal and Saeed, who shook visibly. “The asker should have taken more care to specify their wants.”
“So all they can get from this wish is death?”
“What comes to all mortals in the end.”
Hardly fair. But fair usually accounted for little in dealings with immortals. Her mind worked to find a solution. This Marid had lived countless lifetimes and was very good at this. But she was a Ministry agent. That meant protecting people from the world of the supernatural and the magical—even when they ran stupidly headlong into it.
“I have a proposal,” she said at last, taking care with her words. “For their wish, I ask that you grant these two fools death—as old men, in their beds, at the end of their natural lives.”
It was a beautiful thing to see the arrogance evaporate from the Marid’s face. She expected him to protest, find some little crack in her logic. But instead, he merely nodded—appraising her anew—then smiled a terrible smile.
“Well played, not-enchantress,” he pronounced. “And done.”
A half hour later, Fatma stood, wiping off her badge. Between the table flipping over and the stampeding patrons, it had ended up halfway across the room. Khalid had found it sitting in a pile of spilled charcoal ash.
“There weren’t any other agents, were there?” the big man asked, holding a cup of tea. He’d managed to coax the coffee shop’s owner from the closet and convinced him to brew a pot.
Fatma rotated her shoulder, feeling the slightest twinge. She’d injured it on a case this past summer. And though it had healed remarkably fast, it still flared up now and then. “Good thing they didn’t know that.”
Khalid chuckled, glancing to Gamal and Saeed, who sat dazed as black-uniformed Ministry agents questioned them.
“Good thinking on saving those two. For a while there, I thought that Marid had you.”
“For a minute, so did I.”
Khalid grinned before his face turned serious. “You do know what you’ve done? What you’ve granted them?”
Fatma had known the moment she spoke the words. Gamal and Saeed were all but guaranteed to live to old age. They’d never need worry about being killed by an automobile. Or falling off the ledge of a building. Not even a bullet. The Marid’s power would protect them for the remainder of their mortal lifetimes.
“I don’t think they realize it yet,” Khalid mused. “But they’ll figure it out in time. Saeed, I believe, will put it to good use. The boy really wanted the money for a trade school. Though I
