“You and I have unfinished business, Sawyerlyn,” the Jinn said, its mouth widening into the most unsettling grin. A set of purple lips stretched across the entire bottom half of its face. Where its nose should be were only two slits, and within its horrible mouth sat sharp, needle-like teeth.
A sob escaped Sol.
Immediately, the Jinn cut its eyes to her. It took a slow inhale. “Girl with the golden hair, we haven’t seen you before.”
“Don’t let any live this time, Alix!” Sawyer bellowed, but the Jinn ignored her. It cocked its head in a purely serpentine motion, then inched closer to where Sol stood in her fear. “You smell of stars and lightning, girl with golden hair.”
Sol’s birthmark ignited. It felt like ant bites and sparks of flame, first in the center, then spreading over her entire back.
She gritted her teeth but failed to suppress a pained yell. She clawed at her shirt and skin, hoping something would give to release the agony.
“Sol!” Nina caught her mid-fall and slowly guided her to the floor. “What’s wrong?”
“Yarrrroooow,” the multitude of Jinn hissed, all narrowingtheir attention on her.
Sol could barely see as they floated forward, her vision blurred with pain.
Instantly, Nina stood, casting stray rocks and boulders toward the creatures.
Sawyer hurled spheres of fire while Alix captured the fallen within his deadly waters while they burned to ashes.
Pain.
Sol’s head pounded and her lungs were filled with cement as she crawled toward the small patch of trees nearby, the sound of battle echoing around her. She briefly heard Nina call Cas, then he was beside her, his hand on her shoulder.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “You’re not used to the Jinn, it’s likely your magic reacting to them.”
Sol’s head spun, and she tried not to fall as she swayed forward. Sensing her disorientation, Cas scooped her into his arms.
She tried to say she didn’t have magic, but her mouth wouldn’t move.
“Please don’t fight me this time,” he mumbled.
While they slid along buildings and alleys, the pain slowly subsided. Sol tried to process the night’s events.
Magic.
Magic.
When she was a child, Sol would pretend to have magic. She would dance all around the outskirts of Yavenharrow, holding red and orange scarves that would be her fire, carrying around jugs of water she would toss in the air, then try to control the splatters. Irene found it heartwarming, but Lora always complained she stained their rugs.
Sol never cared about the stains or the stares she would get when she and Leo chased each other around the yard, pretending the breeze came from their palms and the flowers grew at their touch. All she knew was how her mother’s eyes brightened when she spoke of magic, and Sol believed every word Irene spoke of it—until the very day she died, when that piece of Sol died with her.
That younger version of her would have been elated. She would have stayed on the docks to at least kick rocks at the Jinnif it meant helping the Wielders. But she wasn’t young anymore, and the odds of the night being anything other than a terrible omen were slim.
Additionally, Irene always mused about how the Wielders remained around Rimemere and the deep south, since their deities' temples stood within the kingdom. It made no sense for any to be so far from their home.
Or wanting anything from her.
“Stop,” she said, kicking against her captor until her feet were firmly on the ground.
They were in an alley behind the jewelry and dress shops, a district she often frequented with Leo’s sister. A solitary chimney huffed smoke into the air, hazing the corridor and the storefronts beyond.
Sol blew out a shaky breath and whispered, “What is happening?”
Running a hand through his wet, ebony hair, Cas sighed and leaned on the wall beside her. “We planned on easing you in, but I guess there’s no better way of understanding a threat than for it to try to kill you.”
“Are those really Jinn?” Sol breathed, bracing a hand against the stone wall. “How did they know my surname? No one knows it.”
