Here’s a friendly neighborhood djinn. Now pay up and don’t let anyone kill them.Given that I appear to be the last of my kind, I’m guessing this organizational structure stopped working at some point. I’m not surprised. It’s cold and transactional and favors communities that are already thriving.
I flip to the next chapter and sit up a little straighter. ‘Limitations’ is scrawled at the top of the page in a gilded, looping script.
According to the text, my magic cannot take a life.Thank god.The idea of becoming someone else’s killing machine... I shudder.
Changing the past is another impossibility. While it might be handy to wish for all the djinn to be alive again, it could also cause a lot of problems.
The book also notes that djinn can’t grant any wish that imbues an object with magic or affects the belongings of anotherdjinn, even a relative. That eliminates the possibility of wishing for a talisman.
The final limitation is the nail in my coffin: djinn magic cannot be used to affect another djinn or for their own direct personal gain. If Gideon tried to wish me better or Callum wished I knew the answers, nothing would happen. That brings me back to square one, and my heart sinks.
The next page has an ornate illustration that takes my breath away. The djinn in the drawing is beautiful and terrifying. Her hair is floating, her features angular and sharp—almost jagged in a way that haunts me.
Is this how I look?
Brushing my fingertips over the art, I feel her strength, her resolve, her pride in who she is. This djinn doesn’t look like she spent her life hiding. She looks like the kind of person stories and songs are written about.Was her life an epic adventure? Did she have a great love?
The throbbing in my head ratchets up another notch as a cold, lonely feeling settles around my heart.
I’m the only one left.
When Idris and Mallory talked about the djinn, it all felt so abstract. I was just a bystander, someone observing a great tragedy from the sidelines. Now, staring at this image after adding my blood to the stained cover of this book, I feel grief not only for myself but also for my species as a whole.
There’s no one else.
As the last of us, I can’t help feeling as though I’ve inherited a greater responsibility. Like I’m carrying the burden of the past on my shoulders with no one to tell me which way to go.
I pull my eyes away from the nameless djinn, shocked to feel a tear slip down my cheek. I let it fall and scrub the heel of my hand over my eyes to clear the blur of exhaustion. The pressure opens up the tiny cut on my finger from Gideon’s claw. Redblood blooms on the tip. I pop it into my mouth, wincing at the slight sting as I focus back on the book.
The next chapter details the ethics of wishing. It says the responsibility lies with the djinn to determine if the wisher is worthy or if their desires are within the bounds of what’s right.
I scoff.Who can make that kind of determination correctly each time?
Reading further, I learn djinn are instructed to take any doubts or concerns to the elders for a final decision. No wonder my people made enemies. There’s a lot of room for subjective moral interpretation here.I can imagine an infinite number of scenarios in which wishes were denied and the asker became furious.
I find a centerfold illustration of various ornate pieces of jewelry next. There are rings, necklaces, bracelets, and even a jewel-encrusted tiara. Turning the page, I see: ‘Attuning to your Talisman.’
This is it; the answers I need.
My breathing picks up as my fingers tighten around the book. I skim the section quickly. It explains how to pick from among your family’s cache of talismans to find the one that fits you and your magic best. There’s nothing about creating a new magical anchor—only a minor note at the bottom of the page which tells you to seek help from an elder if none of your options feel right.
I throw my head back against the couch and groan.I knew we weren’t going to be able to pick up a talisman at the mall, but this is bleak. With no family or elders, the odds of me locating and bonding with a magical, life-saving artifact are pretty slim.
Frowning at the book in my hands, I go back through the section more carefully, hoping I missed something. Then, I read through the entire book from front to back without skipping around this time. It’s short, probably less than a hundred pages, so it doesn’t take me long to finish it.
Unfortunately, the answer doesn’t appear. While some things—like social structure and power dynamics—stand out to me on the re-read, there’s nothing that gets me any closer to a talisman. There are also no helpful tips on ways to slow or stop my deterioration without an anchor.
No pity.
Falling back on my original rule holds my panic at bay. I’ve never given up before, and I’m not about to start now.
Ignoring the throbbing in my head, I flip back to the beginning and start again.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
SHEENA
