Chapter 3
A long, long time ago—according to her family, anyway—Riya’s great-great-great-great-grandmother had been plucking gooseberries on the mountains of Chitral when she met a male peri who’d wandered off the path.
Peris, her parents had explained when she was little, were a type of djinn: fairylike creatures with wings and the ability to grant wishes. Ethereal beings known for their intoxicating jasmine scent and otherworldly beauty.
Romantic. Mysterious. Magical.
Or, as Riya saw it, another family story blown wildly out of proportion.
Supposedly, this long-dead ancestor and the conveniently gorgeous peri hit it off so well that they made a pit stop on the way down the mountain to “get to know each other more intimately” (her mother’s words—not hers).
The result? A line of women on Riya’s mother’s side with peri blood: a heritage her relatives held in high esteem, even if few had the power to match.
Sirah khala was different.
Her mom’s younger sister—or, as her business card read,life coach to the spiritually adrift—was one of the only members of the family left who had powers. She’d spent years trying, and failing, to spark even a flicker of magic in Riya’s older sisters. In Riya’s humble opinion, though, hersisters had their own kind of magic: Amara could charm even the grumpiest cashier, and Nyra’s hugs could squeeze the bad day out of anyone. Whether they liked it or not.
But that wasn’t enough for Sirah khala—which meant Riya was her last hope.
“Peris aren’t like fairies in Western mythology,” Sirah khala once explained during one of her whirlwind visits between client retreats and seminars. She set down her morning cup of chai. “We’re descended from fallen angels and humans, bridging the gap between divine magic and mortal emotion. All emotion: anger, joy, even fear. Butloveis our specialty. Our calling.”
Riya had been twelve at the time. Barely awake, just trying to finish her breakfast before school. Even then, she’d preferred science over magic: Science had rules, a strict peer review process, and rigorous methodology. Magic that manipulatedemotions? At best, it sounded like a waste of time.
She’d spooned another bite of cardboard-tasting cereal into her mouth.
“Sirah khala, I’m trying to eat.”
“You can eat and listen.” Sirah khala waved a hand dismissively. “Haven’t you ever wondered why so many peris work as life coaches, teachers, therapists?”
“No.”
“It’sbecausewe help people act on their emotions,” she went on, undeterred. “See, a good peri doesn’t createfeelings. We tune them—like clearing static on a radio.”
She tapped a finger to her temple. “With just the right touch of magic, we help someone recognize what’salreadyin their heart. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”
Riya chewed her cereal slowly.
“But how do you know you’re not pushing too hard?” she asked. “Even if the feelings are real, what if you’re just forcing someone toward something they’re not ready for?”
Sirah khala hesitated.
“It’s a fair question,” she said. “It’s easy to cross that line without meaning to. The same way there are bad people, there are bad peris—those who don’t know, or don’t care, where clarity ends and control begins. That kind of magic always has consequences.”
She held Riya’s gaze.
“But magic, Riya, is an extension of you. If your heart’s in the right place, the magic will follow.”
Riya scrunched her nose. Sirah khala made it sound so simple, like good intentions were enough to protect you. But Riya didn’t buy it. It sounded less like helping people and more like offering them a shortcut. Like skipping the hard work of facing feelings honestly. And what confused her most was the idea that people wouldwantthat. Someone else to tidy up the mess inside them.
To Riya, if something mattered, you worked for it. You didn’t dodge it. You didn’t fix it with magic. Could something as messy as love really be nudged into place like acrooked picture frame? And if something that important could be rearranged so easily—how real was it to begin with?
She shook her head. “Honestly, that all sounds like a pain.”
“Riya!” Sirah khala had groaned and thrown her arms up. “You don’t understand how important this is! You could very well be my student, my successor! Even if your magic hasn’t manifested yet, you have to be ready. If you don’t learn it, our love magic could be forgotten.Forever!”
“You’re only thirty-five,” Riya’s mom, Asma, had pointed out drily from her post at the stove. “Why are you acting like you’re a ninety-year-old bibi?”
“She’s probably bored,” Riya had muttered through her cereal, which earned her a dramatic gasp of offense.
