01 Summoned-Summoned (35 page)
I move forward, laying her back against the mattress and crawling over her. She's different this time. The way her body moves under me, pressing against me, the way her legs tighten around my waist as I slide inside—I know she meant what she said. She loves the jinn.
Even if the jinn turned out to be human.
Her teeth sink into my shoulder in a way that just makes me want her more. And when she comes, she bites down harder, muffling her cries. I push deeper, wanting the release and this to last forever at the same time. She kisses me, long and hungrily, until the end. Then we curl up together and, at long last, sleep.
***
In the morning, we hit the road. We have clean clothes, cold water, and plenty of food. All the things we will never take for granted again. Zoe talks nearly non-stop to Syd, blatantly ignoring me. I deserve that. Syd gives me a reassuring smile. I grin and turn to watch out the window.
We drive straight through New Mexico and don't stop until we reach Houston. Syd has booked us a one-way flight, routed through Greensboro as I requested.
During our eight-hour layover, we rent a car and drive to Dansville, Virginia.
I knock on Patricia Kerr's door, Syd and Zoe right behind me.
Patricia answers, and her face is a Rubik's cube of emotions.
“Still sane.” I tap my temple. “Can we come in for a minute?”
She blinks, then says, “Yes, yes, of course.”
She unlocks the screen door and invites us in. I glance back at the other two, who are standing close to each other, before stepping inside.
Patricia's eyes are fixed on me. “Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thanks. We can't stay for long.” I pause, but there's no tactful way to approach this. “Karl is dead. Silvia is dead. I'm leaving the country.”
I shift weight, hoping she will say something. Anything. But it's her turn to stare dumbly. I know how she feels.
I rub the back of my neck. “I guess I just wanted to let you know that it's . . . over. No one's coming for you. Especially not me.”
Her shoulders drop like she's Atlas relieved of the world. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure. They're very dead.”
She looks me up and down. “And you—are you ever coming back?”
“If I do, you won't see me.” I shrug and pull my jacket tighter. “I have no reason to be here.”
She nods. “Can I . . . Can I write a book about you?”
“Probably not,” I say without missing a beat.
She smiles, and then she touches my cheek. It's a small, quick motion, but I understand now. Like Syd, everything Patricia has been through no longer matters. Even if no one back on the farm will believe them, they have met the Wizard of Oz. Their entire existence has been validated.
“Be safe, Dimitri,” she says, her voice soft.
I nod, and then head out the door. Syd and Zoe follow right behind me.
***
From Greensboro, we fly to JFK Airport and connect with our international flight. It's coach. I don't care. Syd sits next to me, and Zoe sits on the other side of her.
We doze in our seats. We play hangman. We flip through Sky Mall.
And fourteen hours later, we land in Naples, Italy.
Naples feels like a giant resort. I can't imagine a better place for us to grieve and then find happiness again. Or for the first time.
Syd's grandmother is worthy of all the acclaim. She knows who I am, but she's neither afraid nor impressed. I like that most about her. She's spunky, and I can see Syd becoming just like that over the years. The best part is, I will know if she does.
During the afternoon, Syd and I go down to the beach. Zoe comes with us, but she's happy to wander on her own. She's a surprisingly resilient little kid. It must run in the women in this family.
I step into the surf and stare into the sea. The Mediterranean. Fifteen hundred years ago, my ancestor stood on the southern coast of this same body of water. Fifteen hundred years ago, he made a decision that would impact every generation after him.
On the drive to Houston, before my phone gave up completely, I searched Al-Jamila. No results returned for the jinn, but I didn't expect any. She has been forgotten by the rest of the world. But what I did learn is that her name is Arabic for The Beautiful.
I bet she was, and I bet it wasn't just on the outside. Some man who is tied to my blood by a century and a half loved her so much that he gave up everything to save her. I should be bitter I got the short end of that deal. Then I look at Syd, and I can't blame him. Not at all.
It's not until I stand with the Mediterranean at my feet and the blue sky above my head that I realize—truly comprehend—that I don't have to be here. I don't have to be anywhere, or do anything. And, I admit, the thought is scary. Maybe even terrifying.
No more Karl to make a phone call to fix my mistakes. No more identities to hide behind.
I'm no longer Leo or Alan or Alex.
I'm Dimitri.
And I am free.
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