Mazen tried to convince himself that he was hallucinating, that his nightmares were bleeding into reality, but the shadows would not leave him alone.
You thought you could escape. But I know your blood.
He was only streets away from the wali’s manor when a sudden nausea took hold of him and he was forced, on shaking legs, to make his way to the nearest alley so he could collapse against a wall. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he could feel his heartbeat in the soles of his feet.
And then the dark was pressing on him, clinging to his heels. Jinn killer! it screamed. You are not worthy of being my servant!
“Not real.” Mazen breathed out slowly. “Not real.”
He closed his eyes but succeeded only in plunging himself into a different darkness, one illuminated by the mosaics of the seven jinn. The shadow with the red eyes grinned at him. Mazen turned away from the image only to face another, more haunting depiction. He saw the third jinn: a woman holding a skull. The Queen of Dunes.
In the buried ruins, he hadn’t been thinking of Old Rhuba’s tale; it had not been until after that he connected the two jinn. He hadn’t brought up his suspicions to Aisha. She would think he was crazy.
I’m going to take my time with you, lest your suffering be over too quickly.
Mazen pressed his hands to his ears, but the voices could not be blocked out. He dug his fingernails into his palms, and when the pain became too intense, he pushed them through the dirt instead.
The ground creased beneath his touch.
The feeling was so unexpected he opened his eyes and looked down.
And saw his shadow, crinkled beneath his fingers like satin. He stared, pulled his hand away. The shadow flattened back into the ground like an ink stain. It did not attack him. It did not even move.
Slowly, cautiously, he reached for it again. When it rippled beneath his touch, he took a deep breath, then plucked it from the ground. The moment the shadow enveloped his hand, it disappeared from view.
Gods. I really am going crazy.
For a few minutes, all he could do was stare warily at his hand—or the lack of it. Then, slowly, experimentally, he slipped other parts of his body through the shadow fabric. He watched in amazement as it all disappeared. His hand, his arm, his leg—anything beneath the pall of shadow vanished.
It was magic. It had to be. But where had it come from?
He twisted the shadow in his hands and marveled at the way it faded in and out of existence. One moment it had the appearance of a deep-black fabric, and the next, it—and the skin beneath it—disappeared completely.
My shadow is magic. The thought was so ridiculous he burst out laughing.
A couple passing by the alley paused and, when Mazen looked up, hurriedly walked away. An idea occurred to him. He grabbed the shadow and, making sure the thing was covering every part of his body, stepped out of the alley.
No passersby gave any sign of seeing him. Sometimes they glanced at the wall, as if sensing his gaze, but never directly at him. He was a shadow. He was invisible.
Mazen’s mind whirred with questions long after he doffed the shadow and let it trail behind him. He wondered if this was a curse set on him by the shadow jinn. Maybe it was the reason she haunted his dreams.
Or maybe, Mazen thought with a shudder, it’s an omen.
30
LOULIE
“If looks could kill, you’d have murdered everyone in the souk by now,” Qadir said as he ate the last of the falafel they had bought. He crumpled the falafel bag in his fist and, when Loulie did not respond, bounced it off the top of her head. She caught it and threw it back at him. She knew he was only trying to goad her into sharing her troubles—he’d been trying to improve her mood since their afternoon walk earlier—but she did not care for his antics right now. Not when she was busy fretting over her meeting with Ahmed.
Even the chaos of the souk could not distract her. The lanterns hanging from the palm trees cast a too-lurid light, and the once appealing designs on the colorful carts now seemed garish. Though the souk was emptier than before, its many twisting streets made it more claustrophobic than Madinne’s souk. Loulie felt suffocated.
Qadir pressed closer. “Are you sure you do not want me to accompany you tonight?”
Loulie glanced at a gaggle of children sitting on a nearby rooftop. She smiled when they pointed at her and began whispering excitedly. “I’ll be fine. Ahmed is harmless.” Even without looking at him, she knew Qadir was raising a brow. “Last night was…” She faltered. She’d been overwhelmed, embroiled in self-loathing. Tonight would be different. Tonight was not about her and Ahmed. It was about her business.