Qadir lowered his gaze to meet her eyes as she stopped in front of him.
“I believe you owe me some answers,” she said. Each word was cold, brittle.
Qadir patted the space beside him. “There was no news of your assassin in black.”
Loulie bristled at his deflection. She had always abided Qadir’s secrecy because she understood the comfort in being enigmatic—Qadir had shown her that appeal—but a secret history that had no bearing on her life was different from one that shaped her morals.
“Are you going to sit, or do you prefer glowering at me with your neck craned?”
She did as Qadir suggested, though she sat far enough away he could not reach for her. Qadir appeared unoffended. He looked at her expectantly. Loulie tried to speak but found that all her accusations were lodged in her throat. This is my fault, she thought. I let Qadir lie to me.
“You want to ask me about what happened tonight.” He spoke slowly, as if he were speaking to a child moments away from a tantrum.
On impulse, Loulie reached into the bag of infinite space she’d lugged with her, pulled out the compass, and held it over the roof. “What would happen if I broke this compass?”
Qadir’s calm never vanished, but Loulie saw a muscle feather in his jaw, betraying his panic. “You would release the soul inside it, and the item would lose its magic.”
“What’s this about a soul? You told me relics were enchanted items.”
Qadir’s eyes flickered between her and the instrument. “They are enchanted items.” He inched closer to her, closer to the compass.
Loulie held it out of his grasp. “No, this is a prison.”
“No.” Qadir was so tense he could have been made of rock. “Not a prison. We jinn live on in the items most precious to us. It is how we guide the living, even after death. You should understand—you humans leave behind valuable heirlooms for your loved ones too.”
“We don’t live in those items!” Loulie’s voice pitched higher without her consent. “You told me relics were magical objects—replaceable trinkets with enchantments. Do your dagger and the two-faced coin contain souls as well?”
Qadir held up his hands in a placating—or perhaps a defeated—gesture. “You humans use the word relic to refer to all magical items, but it is no lie we can enchant objects. Like the dagger and coin.” He shifted closer. “But enchantments are temporary and fade upon death. The only way to keep our magic alive forever is to contain it in what we jinn call a relic: an object to which we bind our souls so we can live on after our mind and body have perished. That is what the compass is.”
Loulie turned away from Qadir’s pleading gaze with a sinking heart. She did not need him to tell her the obvious: if enchantments faded after death, then the chances of them running into magical possessions left behind by still-living jinn were extremely slim.
“Loulie.” Qadir was close enough to brush shoulders with her. Loulie leaned farther over the edge of the roof. The jinn froze. “Loulie, please,” he said, voice so soft it made her tremble. He had never begged her like this before. It made something in her crack. “That compass—it contains the soul of someone who is precious to me.”
“And what of the souls in other relics?” Her hands were shaking. “Are the lives of other jinn so worthless that you would let me sell them like they were mere tools? I’m no better than a slaver!”
This whole time, she had been selling captive souls.
“Loulie.” Qadir set a hand on her wrist.
Her pulse jumped. “Don’t Loulie me. Lying by omission is still lying, Qadir.”
“I wanted to give you a purpose. Do you remember when we came to Madinne? Dahlia was having you deliver messages to earn your keep, but it wasn’t enough. You said the city was too small for you, that you wanted to go back into the desert.” He took a deep breath. “Before I met you, the compass was leading me to jinn so I could give them a place to exist after death. I knew what it felt like to be lost; I did not want others to suffer my fate, not even as relics. I thought you could help me keep their legacies alive while reaping the benefits.”
“You told me I would be a treasure hunter.” Loulie could feel the prickle of tears in her eyes; she rubbed furiously at them with her bandaged hand. “But these are more than lost treasures, Qadir. They’re priceless, living artifacts. And I’ve been affixing prices to them like they’re nothing but convenient tools.”