Djinn and Tonic (23 page)

I’m stunned speechless. “I had no idea…I knew she came from an old and rich family, but…Jesus. A thousand years old? How is that possible?”

Nadira just shakes her head. “It’s complicated. We don’t age the same.” She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to figure out how to explain it. “The mythology surrounding ifrits and djinn is all kinds of mixed up, and most of what humans know is a complete fabrication. The stories you hear, Sheherezad and all that…that stuff contains a nugget of truth, but the rest is invention, bastardizations, and just plain confusion. Our kind has lived so long among humans
as
humans that we’ve evolved to become more like them. With every new generation born, we are less and less the same brand of ifrit and djinni that existed when Ibrahim was born.”

“So, when I get old…”

“Leila will outlive you by several hundred years, at least.” Nadira looks away. “Taking human lovers is considered a temporary sort of…indulgence.
Marrying
a human? It’s just…not done. It’s cruel to the human, for one thing. They age, they get old and decrepit and weak and senile, and we…don’t. We stay hale and strong and they watch us keep living and staying young, but they continue to age. And it’s tough on us, too, if we love a human. We have to watch them grow old and die, and we can’t do anything about it. There are stories among our people about this, fables, basically, meant to warn us about the dangers of consorting with humans long-term.”

“And Leila knows this?”

Nadira nods. “Of course. Better than most, I’d say, if she knows anything about her father.”

“Meaning what?”

Nadira shakes her head. “Now we’re getting into stuff that Leila should tell you herself.”

There is a long silence then, as I think about everything Nadira told me. She seems to be brooding, staring out the window and lost in thought, watching the yellow lines flash past as if seeing long-ago memories. I suspect she has personal experience with a lot of what she’s told me, but I’m not willing to pry into those memories.
 

“Just…remember that she loves you,” Nadira says out of the blue. “If you can handle the truth, if you can handle what it means to be with her, then the best gift you could give her is to love her for as long as you can.”
 

A tear escapes from Nadira’s face, a bright blue droplet that carves a line into her face, revealing a roiling cerulean ocean beneath the surface of her skin. She wipes away the tear, roughly, angrily, and her skin returns to normal.

“Sorry,” Nadira says, clearing her throat. “Old hurt still hurts, you know?”

Don’t I know it?

*
 
*
 
*

Evening blankets Chicago in a golden haze as we arrive on the freeway. We make our way through the city, following Nadira’s directions to a high-rise building facing Lake Michigan. She guides me to a parking garage and up to a tenth-floor apartment.

Before she knocks, Nadira turns to me, placing a hand on my arm. “Listen, I’m not really supposed to be bringing you here, and they’ll know you’re a human on sight, so just…be cool and let me do the talking. All right?”
 

I can only nod, wondering what I’ve let her drag me into.

She raps on the door a few times, and it opens to reveal a slender older woman, beautiful and serene, a thick black braid shot through with silver hanging down her back. Her eyes are dark and exude what I can only think of as ancient wisdom. It sounds silly, even in my own head, but I know by the way she pierces me with a searching stare that the woman in front of me has seen century after century come and go, crash and recede, like waves on a shore.
 

“Aunt Noura,” Nadira says, embracing the woman. “Thank you for having us.”

“You failed to mention your…friend, my dear.” Noura’s voice is quiet and disapproving.

“I’m sorry, Aunt. We won’t be long. And he
is
a friend, nothing else.”
 

Noura steps closer to me and looks up at me, touching my forehead with her middle finger. When her fingertip touches my skin I feel an electric contact, the same insistent, alien presence probing through my mind, sifting through my memories and desires and fears. It’s a violation.
 

I wrench myself away, anger flooding through me. “Would it be so fucking hard to just
ask
first instead of mind-raping me?” I can’t help the outburst, the words pouring out of me unfiltered. “I just want Leila back. I didn’t sign up to have my brain ransacked by every damned djinni I meet.”

Noura doesn’t seem upset by my outburst in the slightest. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hale. That was inconsiderate of me. But you must understand my position. When my niece, whom I haven’t seen in…a very long time…shows up at my doorstep with
another
human in tow…it is only prudent that I take precautions. I needed to find out your intentions, that is all.”

I glance at Nadira and see a flash of something like anger and embarrassment cross her face before she schools her features into a still, calm mask once more.

“It’s not like that, Aunt. I promise,” Nadira says, then cuts me a look, her eyes telling me,
Don’t ask.
 

Noura looks from me to Nadira and back, then smiles. “Ah. I seem to have mistaken the situation. My apologies once more. Please, come in.”
 

She opens the door the rest of the way and ushers us into a spacious apartment with many wide windows letting in the sunlight. She shows me to a tan leather couch and I sit down, sinking into the soft leather. Nadira and Noura go into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the living room while they stand together having a whispered conversation. Water heats in a kettle on the gas range. The way Noura glances at me from time to time tells me they’re discussing me.
 

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I withdraw it, grateful for the distraction. There are half a dozen work-related emails that I answer quickly, slipping the phone back into my pocket when Noura returns bearing an elaborate silver tea service. She places the gleaming tray on the coffee table and sets about pouring the tea into the fine china cups with a sense of dignity and ceremony. I feel myself unconsciously sitting straighter, taking the teacup in careful hands, sipping slowly and trying to match the graceful dignity of the women. I feel hopelessly out of place suddenly, holding a tiny teacup in my big rough paws, unable to join in the aimless small talk of the women, who discuss family matters in quiet tones.

Eventually I can’t contain myself any longer. I set down the teacup as gently as I can. “Look, this is all very pleasant, and thank you for the tea, but—”

Noura interrupts me. “My niece has apprised me of the situation, Mr. Hale, but please be reminded that you are a guest in my home, and that I have not seen my niece in at least an entire human lifetime. Your problem will not change in the few minutes it will take for me to catch up with Nadira. Please, be patient.”

I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. I take a deep breath and pick up my teacup, sipping the black, bitter tea. I don’t understand what we’re doing here, or what Noura has to do with Leila, or how any of this is helping me get her back.

After what seems like an interminable amount of time spent chatting idly, Noura finally removes the tray, returning to sit next to her niece.

“I know this must all seem very strange to you,” Noura begins, “but what you must understand is that this is not the type of situation you can solve by just barging in with guns blazing. You would only worsen things, and most certainly get yourself killed. The reason Nadira brought you to me is because I am related to the al-Jabiri clan. I am a djinni, as is my niece, but my husband and his brothers are ifrits—distant relations to Hassan, as a matter of fact. This is a delicate situation, as is my and my husband’s place within our respective clans, as well as between the two tribes. The wrong action could precipitate a war between not only the clans, but between the tribes. Certain sectors within the djinn actively wish for war—” Noura cuts a hard, meaningful glance at Nadira, “but they haven’t lived through a djinni-ifrit war…they don’t know the devastation such a thing would cause.”

A look passes between the two of them that I can’t interpret. Nadira looks away first, and I could swear she’s acting as if her aunt has rebuked her in some way.
 

“I admit I don’t understand why Nadira is involving herself in this in the first place,” Noura continues. “But she has, and now you’re here, for better or worse. I can tell, from merely looking at you as well as having viewed your intentions, that you will not let this go. I cannot expect you to understand that Leila Najafi’s marriage to Hassan al-Jabiri really is the best thing for everyone involved.”

“It’s not best for
her
!” I say through gritted teeth, with more force than I intend.

“Perhaps, but as the daughter of a man like Ibrahim Najafi, she has more than just herself to consider. The Najafi clan is the subject of much speculation within the ifrit community, since Ibrahim never sired a male heir. That leaves a power vacuum, which would incite a power grab when he dies. And a power grab would then spill over into the human world, cause human deaths, cast scrutiny upon the existence of our people. She has her entire clan, her parents, her tribe, and our entire species to think about. No offense to you, Mr. Hale, but you are an intrusion and a distraction she didn’t need, and can’t afford. If she had exercised patience and restraint, she might have realized that marriage to Hassan wouldn’t have been so bad, after a while.” Noura holds up a hand to stall my protest. “No, please listen. You do not know the situation. Hassan is a businessman, and he is a very unique heir, for all his…moral shortcomings. He is a staunch believer in the old ways, which is rare among both tribes, as well as being a very modern and successful practitioner of human business practices.

“The old ways, Mr. Hale, mean that marriage is an arrangement and, as such, both individuals typically perform only a perfunctory lip-service to the reality of the marriage. Leila would likely be given free rein to live as she wishes. She wouldn’t have any expectations placed on her beyond attending a few functions here and there. She would be free to do many things. Many women in her situation have taken a lover, and have enjoyed long, satisfying relationships.”

“You want me to be her
affair
?” I stand up and stalk to the window, trying to calm my boiling blood. I speak without turning around. “This has
got
to be a joke. If you think Hassan would be content with that kind of arrangement then you’re fucking delusional.
I
know that much and I don’t even know the asshole, yet
you
claim to be related to him? You can’t honestly sit there and suggest that I just let her marry that evil sack of shit, and then just…what? Show up every now and again and fuck her in the back of a limo? Be her side-piece?”

Noura shakes her head. “It is common in our culture. It wouldn’t be secret, just…discreet.”

“There’s so much in what you’re suggesting that’s
so
fucked up.”

“Please, Mr. Hale, calm down. I am only trying to help. Your cursing offends me.”

“My cursing offends you? Really?” I turn around finally, letting my anger show. “Your suggestion that I just sit around with my dick in my hands while the woman I love marries someone else, someone like Hassan?…that offends
me
. This isn’t the eighteenth century, lady.”

“Please, Mr. Hale, your vulgarity is unnecessary. You can’t be expected to understand. You are only human, after all.”

“
Only
human
?” I shout. “Are you for real? You’re straight out of a fucking movie! This is stupid. I’ll figure it out myself. I really don’t care if I start a war. I’m not about to let Leila go through with this marriage just because you people are too fucking backward to let go of archaic traditions that should have died hundreds of years ago.”
 

I stomp to the door and slam it behind me. I’ve got no idea where to go next, but I’ll figure it out. I’m in Chicago, I’m close; I can almost
feel
her.
 

I find my car and start the engine, but before I can peel out, Nadira slides into the seat next to me.

“Look,” she says, “I know my aunt is a little old-fashioned, but there was some truth to what she was saying.”

I hiss between my teeth; Nadira is the closest thing to an ally I have in this whole mess, and I can’t afford to alienate her. “You can’t honestly think I’d—”

“No, I know you couldn’t do that, and I agree with you about the whole tradition of arranged marriage. I do, more than you could ever know.” Nadira grabs my hand and squeezes it, meets my eyes, pleading silently. “But you do
not
want to start a war. If the two tribes started fighting…you don’t understand what that would mean for your kind. You really don’t. The last time there was open warfare between our tribes, the fighting spilled over into the politics of the human countries, and it turned into a war that killed hundreds of thousands of people. And that was five hundred years ago. With weapons being what they are today…with how deeply our people are tangled into this society…”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means we have people in positions of power in this society. Politicians, mayors, governors, policemen, FBI and CIA agents, generals and admirals…crime bosses, arms dealers and drug runners…it could drag the entire country into civil war. I’m not exaggerating.”

“And all this hinges on Leila’s marriage? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
 

“Yes, Carson, that’s
exactly
my point. That’s my aunt’s point, too.”
 

Nadira seems perfectly serious, and that scares me. But it just doesn’t seem possible. I met Leila when she was slinging drinks at a tiny little pub in Detroit, and now these people are trying to tell me the fate of the entire country hangs on her marriage to a bastard like Hassan?

“What am I supposed to do?” The words are whispered, more to myself than to Nadira.