Blood Passage (Dark Caravan Cycle #2) (9 page)

NALIA STARED. “BROTHER-IN-LAW?”

“So, what,” the jinni said, ignoring Nalia and pushing her finger into Malek's chest, “you think it's okay to just disappear, right when we need you the most?”

Malek frowned. “Saranya.” The name sounded familiar, but Nalia wasn't sure why.

“It wasn't like I was here all the time, before . . .” Malek trailed off, his eyes looking anywhere but at his sister-in-law. “It's been hard for me, too, you know.”

Saranya snorted. “Oh, I'm sure it has.”

“We'd make good coin selling tickets to this show,” Zanari said under her breath.

Nalia bit back a smile. It wasn't often she got to see someone
give Malek a dressing-down. She rather liked seeing him scramble to defend himself.

“Well?” Saranya said to Malek. “Are you just going to stand on the street?”

She turned and started into the house.

“Lovely to see you, too,” he called after her. He turned to Nalia and Zanari, gesturing for them to follow him inside.
“Yalla.”

Let's go.

Nalia stepped through the doorway, thankful to be once removed from the icy conversation that immediately started up between her former master and his sister-in-law. They spoke in a mixture of rapid-fire French and Arabic, Saranya listing her grievances and Malek trying unsuccessfully to defend himself. Clearly it'd been a while since Malek had visited. He ran a hand through his hair, crossed his arms—small tells that he was agitated.

“What in all hells is going on?” Zanari muttered.

Nalia shrugged. “I have no idea.” It was a whispered argument that she could only catch snatches of.

Malek had never mentioned a sibling to her. Nalia's mind reeled as she tried to make sense of what this meant, that there might actually be people in the world who loved Malek.

“We should leave,” she murmured to Zanari as Malek and Saranya continued their argument, oblivious to the two jinn that hovered near the front door. “We're putting this woman in danger by being here.”

Zanari leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “I don't know. This is the most fun I've had in days.”

“Saranya, this is Nalia,” Malek said, motioning toward her. “My—” He stopped, and Saranya raised her eyebrows.

“
Your
nothing,” Nalia said, glaring at Malek. Three years was enough time to suffer Malek's proprietary air. She placed her right hand over her heart and bowed her head.

“Ghar lahim,”
she said, the Kada equivalent of
nice to meet you.
“I used to be Malek's slave, but circumstances, thank the gods, have recently changed.”

Malek winced and Saranya whirled around. “Your
slave
?” she yelled at him. “Amir would be
sick
if he heard that. You know how involved he was in my work. How could you have a slave when he spent his life fighting against everything the dark caravan stands for?” She shook her head. “He'd be so ashamed of you.”

A look of pain shot through Malek's eyes, but it quickly disappeared, replaced with his usual detached amusement. “That wouldn't have been anything new, now would it?”

Amir—his brother?

The hurt and anger in Saranya's eyes deepened. “Unbelievable.” She turned to Nalia and Zanari.
“Jahal'alund,”
she said.
“Batai vita sonouq.”

It had been so long since Nalia had heard those words:
My home is yours.

Nalia and Zanari touched their palms to their hearts.

“Forgive me for my rudeness,” Saranya said, motioning for them to follow her. “I wasn't expecting . . .” She waved her hand in the air. “Well, you know how he is, I guess.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nalia said.

Malek grunted, but Nalia ignored him as she followed
Saranya into a spacious sitting room decorated with Moroccan textiles, ceramics, and overstuffed sofas covered with vibrant pillows. A young girl, not much more than ten summers old, sat in the corner. At the sight of the three strangers, she jumped up, a book of jinn poetry slipping to the floor and landing face up. An illustrated dragon hovered above the pages, its flames spilling over the spelled paper. The little jinni's eyes filled with fear, and Saranya crossed to her, wrapping her thick arms around the child.

“It's all right, sweet one,” she whispered. Saranya looked up. “This is Maywir,” she said as she turned to Malek, her eyes cold. “She's staying with me while we find a permanent home that is suitable for a child rescued from the dark caravan.”

“But she's so young!” Zanari cried out. She looked at Maywir, horrified.

Now Nalia knew where she'd heard that name before. “Saranya,” she said. “I've met jinn that you've sheltered.” Nalia bowed low. “You honor the slaves with your selfless sacrifice.”

Nalia had learned of the underground caravan two years ago, after meeting a young jinni at Habibi, the jinn club once run by Jordif Mahar. With the increase in trafficking, a network of jinn had grown all over the world to shelter slaves who had been rescued before they could be sold to a human master. The jinn who cared for them were risking their lives. The slave traders and the Ifrit weren't known for letting their “cargo” slip away without a fight, not to mention the humans who had a vested interest in the multibillion-dollar industry.

“Yes, my
Dhoma
sister-in-law is quite the humanitarian,”
Malek said, his mouth turning up in a smirk for Nalia's benefit. “Or in this instance, would we say
jinnitarian
?”

Nalia reddened at his emphasis on the word
Dhoma.
She hoped he wouldn't bring up their conversation in the
riad
. How could she have been so certain she couldn't trust them? Here was this jinni, risking her life to save jinn just like Nalia. Every day she spent on Earth showed Nalia just how flawed the Ghan Aisouri teachings had been.

Saranya gestured for Nalia and Zanari to sit on a couch pushed against one of the green
tadelakt
walls. It was a colorful room, cozy and lived in. It wasn't a shop so much as a home: not the kind of place Nalia expected any relatives of Malek Alzahabi to have. His mansion had been extravagant, yes, but cold, like a catalogue display. This place felt lived in. Love existed there, and happiness. Sadness, too, but Nalia couldn't figure out where that came from, other than the dark caravan refugees who passed through Saranya's doors.

“Please,” Saranya said. “Make yourselves comfortable. I'll be right back with tea.” She turned to Maywir, who stared at them with wide, shy eyes. “Come, sweet one.”

Before they could say anything else, Saranya slipped out of the room, through a beaded curtain that led to what Nalia guessed was the kitchen.

“In Morocco, it's customary to discuss business over mint tea,” Malek said. “Things move more slowly here than where we're from.”

“
We
are not from the same place,” Nalia said.

Malek frowned but before he could say anything, the front
door opened and a teenage boy walked through, a leather book bag thrown over his shoulder. When he caught sight of Malek, the boy let out a cry of joy.

“Uncle!” He threw his arms around Malek, beaming.

Nalia stared. The resemblance between them was so close it was uncanny. Stranger still, Malek's whole face lit up as he returned the boy's crushing hug.

“Tariq!” he said, holding the boy against him. He closed his eyes and Nalia looked away. The moment felt too private and it confused her, seeing Malek like this.

Saranya entered the room carrying a tray with an elaborate silver tea service and several delicate glasses. “Tariq, let him breathe.”

Her voice was soft as she set the tray down on a low table in the center of the room and her eyes glazed over, wet.

Tariq let go of Malek. “But, Uncle, what are you doing here? We called so many times . . .”

Malek looked away from the boy's eager eyes. “It's complicated, Tari. I've been . . . busy.” He glanced at the boy's satchel. “What are you doing home so early?”

“It's nearly lunch,” Tariq said. “You're staying, right?” Without waiting for Malek's answer, he turned to his mother. “Mama, can he—”

Saranya held up her hand. “We'll see. Why don't you tell your uncle about the prize you won in school?”

Tariq launched into the story, his words tumbling over one another in their haste to get out. As Saranya prepared the tea, Nalia watched the Dhoma
jinni. She seemed . . . kind. Nothing
like the people Malek associated with on a regular basis. Nalia wondered what had made this woman decide to marry his brother, a
pardjinn
with limited powers who would stain the bloodline. She wondered what Malek's brother was like. They obviously weren't close if Malek's being a master came as a surprise. Saranya set the glasses in a semicircle on the tray and began pouring the tea in Moroccan fashion, from several inches above the glasses.

Once she'd finished pouring the tea, Saranya glanced at Malek. “I'm assuming you're not simply here to introduce me to your friends,” she said.

Malek glanced at Tariq. “It's a delicate matter. Perhaps . . .”

Saranya looked at her son and he started to protest. “Into the kitchen with you,
gharoof
,” Saranya said. “Maywir needs help with the salads, anyway.”

Nalia's breath caught. How many times had she called Bashil
gharoof—
little rabbit?

Tariq gave a dramatic sigh as he turned to Malek. “You're not leaving again, are you?”

Malek hesitated, and the boy's face fell. “I have something very important to do,” Malek said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You'll take good care of your mother, yes?”

His nephew nodded, glum, then trudged into the kitchen. Malek watched him for a moment, a wistful expression on his face, and when he turned back and saw Nalia staring at him, he coughed uncomfortably.

“This doesn't have anything to do with all the Ifrit coming through the portal yesterday, does it?” Saranya asked.

She put two sugars in a glass and handed it to Nalia with a small spoon.

“It's safer if you don't know the details,” Nalia said. She accepted the glass Saranya handed her, then stirred in the sugar until the water absorbed the crystals. Nalia sighed as the scent of mint and sugar wafted up to her, and she drank gratefully.

“What is it you need from me?” Saranya asked, once everyone had a glass of tea.

“A guide,” Nalia said. “One who knows the desert as well as his own face. One who is discreet and loyal. Malek believes you may know someone like this.”

“You are going to a specific place?”

Nalia nodded. “Yes. But because Malek can't evanesce, we need to travel the human way.” She glared at her former master. “It's his third wish, the place we're going. I won't be free of him until I grant it.”

Malek's eyes hardened at
free of him.

Saranya gave Nalia a long look. “And this thing Malek has wished for—this is why the Ifrit have sent half an army to Earth?”

“The Ifrit have nothing to do with the wish,” Malek said.

“So they want
you
,” Saranya said, her eyes still on Nalia.

Nalia nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Do you know someone who can help us?” Zanari asked, clearly tired of the vague conversation. She sat on the couch, legs spread and a scimitar strapped to her back, a soldier unaccustomed to elaborate tea rituals and sitting in pretty living rooms.

Saranya took a sip of her tea and slowly set it back on the table. “This is the wrong question to ask,” she said. “The question
is,
why
would I help you? If it's true that the Ifrit are looking for Nalia, then I'd be placing my life and my son's life in far more danger than usual.” Saranya pursed her lips. “Tariq has already lost his father. What would he do if I were gone, as well? And Maywir and the others like her that live with me, where would they go?”

Nalia looked from Malek to Saranya. “I'm sorry, I didn't know about your husband.
Hif la'azi vi.
”
My heart breaks for you.

Saranya nodded her head in thanks at the simple words of condolence shared among the jinn.

Is that why Malek had never spoken of his brother? Nalia's eyes trailed to Malek and he stood, turning his back to the room.

“I've lost people I love, too,” Nalia said. “The jinni who's after me—she killed nearly my entire family.”

Because Nalia continued to hide behind the disguise of Shaitan eyes, Malek's sister-in-law had no way of knowing Nalia meant the Ghan Aisouri. Though Nalia's loss was catastrophic, she wasn't the only jinni who had suffered under the brutal Ifrit regime.

Saranya remained silent, staring into her glass of tea as though it were an oracle.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Nalia said, standing. “I appreciate you taking the time to listen to our request.”

Malek turned, a protest forming on his lips, but Zanari followed Nalia's lead and stood as well. Nalia knew there was only one way she could convince this woman to help her. As she moved toward the exit, she reached out and covered Saranya's hand with her own. As her
chiaan
connected with Saranya's, the other jinni looked up, startled.

“I need your help, Saranya,” Nalia said. “But I won't beg you for it. Nor will I ask you to endanger your life without knowing fully what you're getting yourself into.”

“So
you
are the Ghan Aisouri I hear whispers about.”

Nalia inclined her chin, but gave no response.

“She's the only chance we have of stopping the Ifrit,” Zanari said quietly.

I just want to go home,
Nalia was tempted to say.
I want my brother. I want my land.
But it seemed so selfish, those thoughts, in light of what was happening in her realm. It didn't matter what she wanted; it never had.