“The Tale of Lady Dhāt al-Himma,” Hadia noted, inspecting the title. “Do you know it?”
Fatma shook her head. “I’m sure there’s somebody at the Ministry who does. We’re heading back there now. Time to see Dr. Hoda. Think I’m ready for another try at my illusion.”
“Are you concentrating? Don’t think about what you want the illusion to be. Let it reveal itself. Remember, empty your mind. Empty your—”
“I got it.” Fatma cut off Dr. Hoda. This was trying enough, without her hovering and giving instructions. The chief of forensics shrugged, pushing back her glasses and folding her arms. But she barely moved to give any space.
Fatma returned her focus to the lock of hair sitting on a large petri dish and soaked through in liquid. Dr. Hoda claimed the alchemical solution had done its work, breaking down the bonds binding the magic about it. Now she had to do the rest.
Only that was proving difficult. She’d been staring at the lock of hair now for almost a half an hour. Nothing had changed. Not a single strand.
“Maybe it needs more solution,” Fatma suggested.
The doctor shook a head of frizzy hair. “Do that, and it might dissolve away.”
“Great,” Fatma grumbled. She could go to Amir with everything they had now. But the cryptic words of angels, the head of a notorious thieving gang, and an Illusion djinn with a gambling addiction weren’t the most convincing sources. They needed this last piece to tie things together—something Amir and the higher-ups couldn’t ignore.
“Just show yourself,” she muttered to the lock.
“You can do this.” Hadia spoke confidently. “Think about everything we’ve learned in the past two days. Trust in that. It’s gotten us this far.”
Everything they’d learned, Fatma considered. Parts of the puzzle had been coming together. A ring that could control djinn. Kept by angels and stolen from them. All tying back to the Brotherhood of Al-Jahiz. It was all there. She just needed to make the pieces fit. Focusing, she let her mind empty of everything else and took her lead from all she now knew. The picture it painted was easy enough to see. It had always been there, right in front of her.
The change wasn’t as quick as the mask—as if the magic fought her. But once it began, it didn’t stop. The dark fibers of knotted hair untangled, becoming straight and less wiry. As she watched, once black strands turned a familiar pale gold. Dr. Hoda clapped while Hadia stared in wonder.
Fatma picked up the pale gold lock and held it up triumphantly. “Got you!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
By late afternoon, papers had been sent for the arrest of Alexander Worthington.
Fatma read the list of charges—terrorism, inciting civil unrest, use of illicit magic, disturbing the king’s peace. News of the ring—which they’d had to repeat over and over again—had caused alarm enough to get the warrant. Turned out the Worthington heir wasn’t above the law after all, not when it came to a threat like that.
They’d even established a motive: an ambitious son who resented his father’s eccentricity; who felt he should be heir sooner rather than later. Masquerading as al-Jahiz seemed right in line with making a mockery of all the Worthington patriarch held dear. The sudden investments into weapons contractors, the interruption of the peace summit: all attempts to undo his father’s legacy. They’d even resolved the discrepancy over his arrival in the city. A man able to control djinn could easily forge travel documents. It all fit.
So then why did she feel she was missing something?
“Are you ready?”
Fatma looked up at Hadia’s question. They both stood outside the Ministry, where an armada of police wagons gathered. This was going to be a joint arrest. She and Hadia were backed up with ten more agents and perhaps four times as many police. The plan was to take Alexander and remove the ring before he could summon help. If it came to a fight, they were authorized to use lethal force. Dead men couldn’t wield magic rings.
“Ready.”
Hadia studied her face. “You seem bothered.”
“Still working some things out.”
“What you’ve done so far is pretty impressive. I admit, I wasn’t too certain it was Alexander. But the hair…” She indicated the pale gold lock Fatma held. “You were right!”
“Still the business with the Clock of Worlds. We don’t have a good answer for that.”
“Well, hopefully we’ll get one as we cut that ring from his finger,” someone put in.
Aasim joined them wearing his usual khaki uniform and Janissary-esque moustache.
Fatma shook her head. “I don’t understand how of all people, you’re the least affected by the angels’ magic.” She’d told him about the Seal of Sulayman once, and he’d not forgotten yet. That was hours ago. Was he really all human?
Aasim smugly tapped his temple with a thick thumb. “Strong-willed. Don’t be jealous.”
She rolled her eyes. Should have never mentioned that.
“How did you never come across it in any books?” Hadia asked.
“I don’t read much. Not ashamed to say it either.”
“That I absolutely believe,” Fatma retorted.
The inspector gave her an admonishing look. “And wish not for the things in which God has made some of you to excel others,” he said, quoting the familiar ayah. Then followed up by flashing an open palm, as if to ward off her envy.
“Did you bring him?” Fatma asked, changing topics.
“In there,” Aasim said, nodding at a wagon. “If you’re done brooding, I’m ready to go round up this Englishman. Be nice if we can get it done by sundown.”
As everyone piled into vehicles, her eyes searched about—and stopped when she realized she was looking for Siti. She’d grown accustomed to the woman showing up out of the blue during times like this. No sign of her today. Good. If this came to a fight, who she was—what she was—would prove a liability. But she still felt a pang of disappointment at not seeing that confident smile and unmistakable swagger making its way between the assembled agents and police. Pushing the idea from her head,
