Djinn (15 page)

He shook his head, like it was an impossible ask. "I can't. It wouldn't be right." His golden eyes shone, even in the darkness of my room.

"It's not like that," I tried to explain, but he put a finger to my lips to silence me.

"I know, but there are other reasons why I can't stay. Reasons why you can't tell anyone about what happened tonight." He sat on the bed next to me, his hand still in mine.

"What do you mean, don't tell anyone? Is it because I tried to escape?" I was so confused and tired, making it hard to concentrate.

"No, not that," he said. "It just isn't right for me and you to be alone together, sneaking around. People, especially Ivan, wouldn't understand. It's not your fault at all."

That didn't comfort me. It was just one more thing I didn't understand. I felt like an infant with no clue how the world worked; there was so much to learn.

"It's just the way things are here," he said.

"I don't understand," I whispered, too exhausted to put any real force behind my voice.

"I know. You will, eventually. Promise you won't tell anyone?"

Will's eyes were locked with mine, and I didn't want him to leave, but there was nothing I could do. The soft pillows were already pulling me into slumber.

"I promise," I said and Will was gone. In the blink of an eye he was there and then I was alone in my room, still left with more questions than answers.

* * *

I awoke to birds chirping after a deep sleep. It was so much like a fairytale I wanted to kill myself.

I'd been awake for maybe a few hours, but I didn't want to get up. What was the point, anyway? It wasn't like I had things to do or anything. After the events of last night I just wanted to be sucked inside my bed and suffocated, because then I wouldn't have to face anything or anyone again.

It was still hitting me, hard. Dad wasn't my father. I clutched the photo of Isabelle and me as a baby. I kept staring at it, taking in every detail: the yellow blanket, Isabelle's arms wrapped around me, our matching eyes. I had hoped it had been digitally altered, but in my heart I knew the photo was real. Isabelle was my mother.

A part of me was curious. I had always felt that a piece of me was missing, that I was lacking a female role model in my life; and, more importantly, sometimes a girl just needs her mother.

My emotions clashed with one another, confusing me even more. I decided it was time to just get up and face reality.

I rolled out of bed and had a long shower. I'm pretty sure I was just biding time so I didn't have to leave my room, but I told myself it was because I needed a good clean to clear away those puffy eyes from crying last night.

After pulling a t-shirt on and opening the door I found Will's chair empty, expect for my copy of
Arabian Nights
resting on the cushion. I picked up the book and looked down the hallway just in case he'd gone to the bathroom or gone to get a snack, but there was no sign of him. Maybe he didn't need to stay once he knew I wasn't going to run anymore.

Will had been so kind to me, so understanding, and I'd never been so vulnerable in front of anyone before. I could still feel his warm touch on my skin as I thought about last night's events.

I took the book into my room and tossed it on the bed. I couldn't think about Will right now. I had enough confusing feelings about my parents; I didn't need him in my mind, muddling it, too.

I pulled on some shoes and left the room. I walked slowly down the hallway, keeping my ears out for any signs of … well, I wasn't sure exactly what I was expecting. I reached the top of the stairs and was still yet to see anyone. In such a huge house, surely it couldn't just be me, Ivan and Isabelle living there.

A man in a white apron wheeling a cart stacked with food came from the kitchen into the foyer. The memory of Will walking me through that same kitchen last night flashed to my mind. I pushed it aside.

The man looked pretty young, maybe mid-twenties. His hair was a dark sandy colour and his face was still a little babyish.

"Miss Greenwood," he said with a little bow.

"Ummm … hi," I replied.

"My apologies, Miss. I am Kellan, the family chef."

I smiled and walked down the stairs, glad there was someone other than my parents in the house.

"Hey, Kellan. I'm Kyra."

He lowered his head as I approached. "I know, Miss Greenwood."

"Oh," I said. "I guess you would. Hey, Kellan, do you know where I'm supposed to be, or do I have something I should be doing?" This was awkward. I wasn't entirely sure I was supposed to be talking to the help. I felt like my parents would look down on that.

"Mr and Mrs Greenwood are having breakfast in the dining room," Kellan replied.

"Okay." I scratched my head until I felt the bump and winced. "Can you show me to the dining room? I have no clue where it is."

Kellan bowed again. "As you wish, Miss Greenwood. Follow me."

He wheeled the cart around the side of the staircase and I followed, a step behind, head darting about in curious wonder. The house never seemed to end, room after room. I'd never had such luxury before, and the sight was a bit overwhelming.

"There's no way I can get you to call me Kyra, is there?" I asked as we walked.

"I … um … If you asked," he stammered.

"Never mind," I replied, waving it off. "I don't think Ivan would think it was proper."

Kellan remained silent after that. He led me down a corridor and into a large dining room.

There was a table set for twenty people, even though Ivan and Isabelle were the only ones sitting there. Ivan sat at the head reading a newspaper, and didn't look up as Kellan entered. Isabelle was on his right, eating what looked like a crêpe. Her head lifted as Kellan walked in, but she didn't acknowledge him at all.

"Kyra," she said, when she spotted me walking behind the chef.

"Hello." I gave a small wave.

Ivan looked over the top of his paper for a second to see me, then continued reading. Apparently I wasn't interesting enough for him. I would have thought someone who had spent sixteen years looking for me would have been a bit more excited to have me back, but what would I know? My entire perspective on the world had been thrown into chaos.

"Darling, come sit," Isabelle said, offering the seat opposite her.

I moved past Kellan, who placed juices and various foods on the table, and took the seat Isabelle offered.

"Sorry," I apologised. "I didn't know where I was supposed to go …"

I felt awkward making conversation with these strangers, my parents. How was I supposed to act? What should I say? And who were they expecting me to be?

"Oh, that was my fault, dear," Isabelle said. "I didn't realise you were awake. I would have come got you."

"That's alright. I found Kellan in the foyer and he graciously showed me to you." I hoped I was doing the right thing by mentioning Kellan's help. I hoped they would be grateful.

"Thank you, Kellan," Isabelle said.

"Not at all, Mrs Greenwood," he replied with a bow.

I think he found the whole thing a little too awkward and just wanted to go anywhere but here. His eyes glanced between us and his hands gripped the cart with white knuckles.

I helped myself to some food, pancakes and strawberries. I ate two platefuls. Not eating for almost two days had left me famished.

"I'm so glad you like the food," Isabelle said, smiling.

"It's delicious," I replied, mouth full of pancake.

Isabelle gave me a funny look and I knew she didn't like my table manners so I swallowed and tried to act respectably.

"Thank you," I said.

"Oh, I just knew you'd like pancakes," she said. "I told Kellan to make them, you know."

I gave her a half-smile. She thought she'd done me a great favour by asking someone else to make me food.

Dad used to make me pancakes on my birthday.

I shook my head. Don't think about him.

"Kyra?" Isabelle had a worried look on her face.

"I'm fine, just adjusting." I wondered how long I could use that excuse for.

"Of course." She went back to nibbling on her crêpe but the awkwardness was like a bubble, separating us.

There was a long silence as we ate. I sipped my orange juice. Pulp filled my mouth and I realised it had been freshly squeezed while staring at the walls.

My parents seemed to have a taste for the expensive, with many gold-framed artworks and strange antiques hanging up. It was much too cluttered and tacky for my liking, and I wondered if I had anything in common with them.

"So, you two live here by yourself," I finally said. I didn't like awkward silences.

"Oh yes," Isabelle replied. "Just me and your father."

I glanced to Ivan, who was intently staring at his paper. I wasn't entirely sure he was reading it.

"Do you have jobs? Do Djinn work?"

Isabelle laughed, like I was a two-year-old who had said something adorably funny.

"We don't work with the outside world, if that's what you mean. We keep to ourselves and work for our community."

"So what do you do for the community?"

"Ivan and I are on the council," she said, like I had any idea what council she was talking about. "We are a huge part of making decisions on behalf of the Djinn to ensure our community is safe."

Ivan cleared his throat and Isabelle stopped talking. He put down his paper, folding it neatly, and stared at me.

"You'll learn everything you need to know from your instructor," he said.

"You mean Will?" I replied. It was silly. I knew it would strike a chord with him. Ivan seemed to really hate Will, but his cold distance annoyed me.

"Yes," he replied, turning his nose up. "Him."

"Oh, Kyra I forgot. I have wonderful news," Isabelle said, trying to steer the subject elsewhere.

"What?" I asked. I didn't know what could be so exciting. I'd only arrived yesterday.

"We have an audience with the queen at the end of the week."

Isabelle searched my face eagerly, but I wasn't giving her the response she was hoping for.

"We have a queen?" I blurted.

"Of course, dear. All Djinn communities are run by a monarchy."

My mind flashed back to what they'd told me yesterday. Like I was just supposed to remember that bit of information. I didn't think Isabelle was handling the fact I didn't know anything very well.

Will had said I was the only Djinn to have been taken and brought back. I guess it was as new for them as it was for me.

"That sounds lovely," I managed to say, to please Isabelle more than anything else. I had no clue what the significance was. I mean, meeting a queen sounded like a big deal, but why would she want to meet me? It sounded like I was going to be put on display, like a new toy.

"You'll be meeting Prince Nathaniel, too," she added with a sly smile.

"I'm looking forward to it." I shovelled some more food into my mouth so I didn't have to come up with any more awkward replies.

The pancakes were delicious, and yet they didn't taste as good as Dad's. I wondered where he was. Was he alright? Should I really care, after finding out he stole me away?

I placed my knife and fork on the edge of my plate and looked up at Isabelle.

"Why was I taken?" I asked.

Isabelle paused, fork hovering between her mouth and the table. Ivan's body tensed, like I'd just asked him how babies were made. I guess it wasn't the kind of question you ask your real parents the day after you arrive home.

"Kyra …"Isabelle said slowly, picking her words carefully. "It's hard to explain …"

"It doesn't matter," Ivan said cutting Isabelle off. "You're home now, and whatever happened before doesn't matter."

Ivan picked up his paper again, apparently ending the conversation. Isabelle continued to eat her food and stare at the table, as if recording every mark in the wood to memory.

My life before doesn't matter? So I just pretend that I was born yesterday, at seventeen, and that's how my life started? I don't think so.

I could sense my parents were hiding something, maybe it was just too painful to talk about. Still, I needed to know to truth. I needed to know why, but I wasn't going to find out now. It was too soon, too early in our relationship, I guess.

Isabelle gazed at the gold watch on her wrist. "Oh, look at the time. You better get ready, Kyra. Will is going to be here soon for your lesson."

I looked down at my clothes. I'd chosen a simple jeans and t-shirt combo. I looked awkwardly at her. "I am ready," I replied.

"Oh," Isabelle said, caught off guard. "Of course you are. Well, then I'll walk you to the door. I'm sure he'll be here any moment."

She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and rose from her chair. She promptly kissed Ivan on the forehead, though he didn't seem to care, which bothered me. How could someone as cheerful as Isabelle end up with someone as cold as Ivan?