only a matter of time before I could perceive it all.”

“Why didn’t you come to the Ministry with this?” Hadia asked. “We needed to know!”

Rami’s eyebrows rose. “Tell the Ministry about a sorcery grand enough to confound the entire world? And what would happen when whoever performed this all-powerful magic found me out? I said I was curious, not suicidal!”

“But you did tell someone at the Ministry,” Fatma said. “Zagros.”

“My djinn friend,” Rami confirmed. “And a fellow bibliophile. Surely, if anyone knew of this, I was certain it would be him.” He frowned. “But when I asked, he began to act … strangely. Not as if he wouldn’t answer me but—”

“—as if he couldn’t,” Fatma finished. It’s why Zagros had sent them here. The bookseller was the one person capable of telling them what they needed to know.

“The magic works differently on the djinn, I think,” Rami pondered. “They appear to know but cannot speak it. It ties up their tongues.”

“When we stopped talking about the seal we forgot about it,” Fatma said. “Will that happen again?”

He nodded. “The magic is potent. But I have devised my methods to take advantage of its gaps.” He gestured at the clocks about the shop, where the hand was just close to the hour. “Give it a moment.”

They did, waiting as the seconds ticked down and the hour struck. Every clock in the place erupted in chimes and bells, even whistles—alongside automata that beat drums or danced and sang. In the midst of the clamor the bookseller and his wife took out folded sheets and began to read. He handed an extra copy to Fatma. It read simply: Remember the Seal of Sulayman, and the ring to control the djinn.

When the clocks stopped, he slipped the sheet back into his vest, patting the pocket. “I think of it as a kind of medicine. Take it every hour or when needed. That way, the memory doesn’t fade.”

Fatma gave him her appreciation, folding away her own note. “Have you ever heard or read anything about Nine Ifrit Lords? A djinn lullaby? Maybe Zagros mentioned it?”

Rami shook his head. “Zagros never talked about djinn lullabies.”

Well, it was worth a shot. “Could you give us the names of books with any mention of the Seal of Sulayman and a magic ring capable of controlling djinn?”

The bookseller nodded eagerly. “That I can do! I’ve put together a list!” He got up, talking to himself as he began rummaging through his holdings. Fatma moved to follow but was stopped by a hand on her arm. Tsega bid her and Hadia to stay a moment, her voice low.

“Rami will not tell you this. More than once, he has disappeared from the shop. Sometimes for a whole day. He does not remember leaving or where he’s gone. But when he returns, it is as if he has to relearn all he knew about the seal.”

Fatma read her naked concern. “You think someone is taking him? Making him forget?”

She answered with a solemn nod. “I fear what toll it will take on his mind.”

“Do you know who’s doing it?” Hadia asked.

The woman’s lips drew tight. “I cannot say with certainty. But once I hid, and watched him close, to see when he might be taken again. I never saw the kidnapper. But I heard him!” She spoke the last words with a hiss. “It was the sound of wings! Mechanical wings!”

Fatma inhaled sharply. “An angel,” she whispered.

Now what in the many worlds did one of them have to do with all of this?

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It took another day to get a meeting with the angels.

Fatma was surprised they’d even agreed to see her. Angels hardly deigned to answer the request of mortals—even government officials. The Ministry usually had to draft repeated missives before getting, at most, a brief, perfunctory response.

So imagine her shock at not only being granted an audience but with the Angelic Council no less. True, the letter she’d gotten was authored more like a summons—Your presence is required before the Grand Council of Higher Angels … and so on. But when was the last time any agent met with their ruling body? She guessed the words “Seal of Sulayman” written in her request did the trick.

“You think they were expecting us?” Hadia asked. She kept adjusting her hijab as they walked—a swath of white silk, patterned in gold leaves.

“With them, who knows,” Fatma replied. “Let’s do another one.”

They stopped under the shade of a building, and she reached into her light gray suit jacket to draw out a bit of paper—the same one Rami had given them. She read the contents before passing it to Hadia. Since yesterday, they’d made certain to check the note frequently—to thwart the confounding spell.

Halfway back from the bookseller, they’d completely forgotten what they were doing or why. An hour had passed before Fatma, by chance, pulled the note from her pocket and read it with curiosity—sending everything flooding back. Now they kept a schedule. They’d even made copies, tucked into pockets or anywhere they might look. It was tedious, but they couldn’t afford to lose more time.

Though the imposter hadn’t been seen since the king’s summit, his effects were still felt. Friday wasn’t a workday, but the streets were emptier than usual. Even the Jahiziin were lying low. Many feared this was a calm before the storm. Rumors circulated that al-Jahiz was readying to attack the city, whipping an army of ghuls before him. City administrators appealed for calm, lest mass panic trigger an evacuation. Fatma didn’t even want to imagine that traffic nightmare.

“I wonder what they want?” Hadia asked, still fidgeting with her hijab. “The angels.”

“You ever met one?” Fatma asked as they ascended a lengthy set of steps.

Hadia shook her head. “I caught a glimpse of one once in Alexandria, soaring far away.”

“Not the same up close. When you’re in there, try not to look them in the eye. It helps.”

“I should be fine. These aren’t true angels after all. True angels reside

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