“I see you’ve given this some thought,” Fatma said. Her voice came firm, but her insides quivered.
The djinn grinned sharply. “When I sleep, all I dream of is how to slaughter mortals. I could slay every last one of you, like so many sheep.”
“That’s enough!” Hadia said. She activated both truncheons until they crackled hot with blue bolts. “No one’s slaughtering anyone today. If you’d just listen—”
The Marid casually waved in her direction. Stone arms suddenly erupted from the wall behind Hadia, each with hands bearing seven fingers. They grabbed hold of the woman, pulling her into the wall. Her shocked cries cut off as her body became stone—a statue trapped halfway in and halfway out. The black truncheons she dropped had not hit the floor before it was over. Fatma stared, janbiya in her hand. She rounded on the djinn.
“Let her go! This is between you and me!”
The Marid snorted. “It is between whomever I wish it to be. Let apprentice and mistress suffer.”
“She was just trying to get you to listen! So that I could tell you…”
Fatma’s words trailed off. Tell him what? Whatever had seemed so important had vanished. She looked up to see the Marid with his arm still extended. Those fiery eyes flared into hot white flames. In the palm of his hand a jade glow emanated. Inexplicably, a ringing bell went off. The djinn frowned, looking to her jacket. It went off again.
“Are you going to get that?” he asked. “It’s irritating.”
Fatma drew out her pocket watch. Why had she set an alarm? Flipping the timepiece open, she found a bit of folded paper inside and unwrapped it. As she read, her mouth worked in a rush.
“The Seal of Sulayman!”
The Marid cocked a horned head. His fiery eyes dimmed to a simmer, and his arm lowered slowly to his side. “What,” he asked coldly, “do you know of that?”
Fatma released a breath. “I know that it’s a ring created to control djinn. One that robs you of your free will. A mortal holds that ring now. He bound an Ifrit. He’d think nothing of tearing you out of that bottle and making you a slave. I just thought you might want to know.”
The djinn said nothing for a while, only stroking his curling white beard. Finally, he flicked a wrist—and Hadia fell out of the wall, her body made flesh again. Her interrupted cries finished in a wail as she landed on hands and knees. Fatma bent down to help her up.
“An abomination,” the Marid murmured, distracted. “We were fools to think its forging a wise thing.” Fatma’s eyebrows rose at that. He turned back to look at her, dismissing Hadia, who swayed unsteadily. “What do you want of me, not-enchantress?”
“There’s magic woven around the ring. It makes us forget. We need that removed. The angels said you could do that.”
The djinn rumbled in his throat. “Angels. Is that what those creatures are calling themselves now?” Sniffing a sharp nose, he made a bitter face. “The stench of them is thick about you.”
Fatma really preferred he stop smelling her. “Well, the angels—or whatever they are—said you could remove the spell. When you do, we can find this mortal who stole the ring and return it to their keeping.”
The djinn rumbled again, louder this time.
“What?” she snapped.
“A mortal,” the Marid drawled mockingly. “Stole the Great Seal. From one of them? Is that the story they told you?”
Fatma frowned. “What are you saying?”
The djinn rolled all three eyes, as one would to a baffled child—or dog. “You believe that beings able to traverse planes of existence, who wield sorcery potent enough to confound an entire world, who can bend space and reality to their will, were swindled—by a mortal thief?”
“They said the ring was stolen from their vault…” Fatma managed.
The djinn sighed. “Did that pathetic organ you call a brain never stop to think the power that emanates from those creatures might allow them to make you believe what they wish? Or what you want to believe?”
Now Fatma’s head swam. She ran through their meeting with the angels. The awe they naturally induced. The idea of thieves breaking into one of their vaults had seemed far-fetched. Yet they’d provided an answer she’d wanted to believe. So she’d accepted it, without another thought. But what this djinn was saying spoke to her buried doubts. It could only mean one thing.
“They allowed the ring to be taken!” Hadia exclaimed. The shock of the realization appeared to bring her back to her wits, though her voice shook. “They wanted it to be taken!”
The weight of it staggered Fatma. “Why?”
“To have its power wielded, one must assume,” the djinn answered matter-of-factly.
“Why not just use it themselves, then?” Hadia asked.
“The seal cannot be wielded by djinn or any other magic-touched creature. It is meant for mortal hands, provided it finds one worthy.”
Fatma frowned. “Finds worthy?”
The Marid looked ready to throw up his hands. “Do you know nothing of the properties and laws that govern near-sentient magical objects?”
“Pretend we don’t,” Fatma snapped. “We’re just pathetic-minded mortals after all.”
At this he gave an agreeable snort. The son of a dog!
“The seal has its own mind,” he told them. “Only a mortal of exceptionally strong will could call it master. It would not allow itself to be revealed to any other. Though it seems it yet keeps the greater part of its power veiled. That you believe the seal’s true form is that of a ring is proof enough.”
“Is that supposed to make sense?” Fatma asked, not masking her annoyance.
The djinn leaned forward, his words crisp. “The seal is no more truly a ring than you are a creature approaching even middling intelligence. Its most potent power and true form are revealed only to one whose want is pure—a quality its present wielder appears to lack. As is the way with most mortals.”
“The bookseller said that no one really knows what the seal looks like,” Hadia murmured.
Fatma recalled as much,
