Turning on her heel, Ari hurried to the sitting room. She found what she was looking for on the wall opposite the large window.
Photographs.
The first one caused her to suck in her breath in surprise. Why had she not counted this as a possibility? Smiling happily back at her was Derek, once her adopted dad, now someone else’s real dad. He was also a husband. Ari gazed in stupefied wonder at the wedding photograph of Derek and the dark-haired woman from the utility room. Scanning the photos, she found more of the couple, and in others, they were joined by two little boys.
Ari had presumed because her dad himself had admitted how much of a loner he was that he’d be alone. But in this reality, Derek never met Sala, and so Sala never messed with his heart, leaving him free to find someone else and fall in love. Ari turned around, eyes washing over the games console hooked up to the television, the homework bag in the corner by the armchair, the Nintendo and game cartridges scattered on the coffee table. The furniture was different too. It was no longer modern and cold, but soft and comfortable.
A family lived here now.
Baby, are you okay?
He got married. He has kids. It’s really weird, she choked on a half sob.
A hand groped for hers and Ari let Jai lead her out of the house. As soon as the door closed behind him, he sighed. Are you sure you want to do this? This is like a sick kind of torture.
No, it’s not. I’m happy for him, I really am. It’s just … strange. And I’m tired. I feel like I haven’t stopped crying in days.
Then let’s get the visit to Charlie’s over with.
They used the Peripatos to save time and immediately disappeared into the Cloak upon seeing Charlie’s mom’s car pull into the driveway.
Ari held her breath, standing on the lawn by the tree in Charlie’s yard, watching as Charlie got out of the driver’s side. “Seriously, you didn’t see anything?” he asked his passenger, frowning in Ari and Jai’s direction.
Crap. He’d obviously caught sight of them seconds before they disappeared.
“You need to get more sleep,” Mrs. Creagh sighed as she got out of the car. “You work too hard, sweetie.”
Charlie gave her a soft smile and then banged on the window of back passenger door. “Mikey, we’re home.”
Ari’s heart stopped and she had to swallow the cry of joy that leapt into her mouth as she took a stumbling step forward. Charlie hurried around to his mom and took one of the brown bags out of her hand. He looked great. He was more filled out, his hair unruly and long.
He looked happy.
He looked like the old Charlie. So much so, Ari’s heart hurt.
And then the back door of the car opened and that ache in her chest intensified.
Michael. Little Mike. Mikey.
Except he wasn’t twelve anymore.
His life hadn’t been cut short at such a young age. Instead he was fourteen, almost fifteen. And tall, she laughed tearfully, covering the sound with hands.
He was almost as tall his big brother. In fact, he was the spitting image of Charlie, only with a slightly rounder face.
He stumbled sleepily after his mom and brother. Ari hurried to catch up to them.
Mrs. Creagh fumbled with the key and her bags, and Mikey reached out to take the bags. “Thank you, honey,” she mumbled, opening the screen door. “Did your dad call?”
“Nope,” Charlie sighed, and Ari followed them inside, ignoring Jai’s telepathic hiss for her to come back.
“When has he ever called when he said he was going to call?”
“Don’t use that tone when you’re talking about your father.”
They walked down the narrow hall, no longer morbidly cluttered with photographs of Mikey, and into the kitchen.
Charlie and Mikey shared a look behind their mother’s back.
“Mom,” Charlie sighed again, “when are you going to stop protecting us? I’m eighteen, Mikey’s nearly fifteen. I think we can safely work out for ourselves that dad is an asshole.”
Mrs. Creagh sucked in a breath as she whirled on him. “Don’t. You divorce people, not children.”
Mr. and Mrs. Creagh were divorced then. Ari shook her head. Why was she not surprised? She’d never particularly liked Mr. Creagh. He’d never been the most hands-on dad.
“Mom, I swear I’m going to get that on a shirt,” Mikey grumbled, taking the soda his big brother offered him. Ari stared as Mikey sat down, unable to take her eyes off him.
Mikey was alive.
And Charlie was Charlie again.
Her eyes welled with tears of happiness just as a hand wrapped around her arm. We gotta go, baby, Jai’s voice whispered in her head.
Reluctantly, Ari let herself be dragged out and around the side of the house. She and Jai came out of the Cloak at the exact same time. She smiled widely, letting her tears fall down her cheeks. “They’re okay. They’re going to be okay.”
Jai wiped her tears with his thumb and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m happy for you. For them. For Charlie.”
Ari nodded and tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “I’ll take whatever is coming next. I swear. Whatever it is.
This was so worth it.”
PART TWO
11
Darkness, Kindled
The State of Zubair hummed with anticipation. Its people, its land, its mountains, its waters, and its emeralds vibrated with the excitement pulsing from its king. They had no idea what was going on but they knew that something—something monumental—was afoot.
The White King stood upon the dais within his palace, presiding over the huge ballroom filled with his army—Jinn of all kinds: Shaitans, Ifrits, Marids, the Nisnas. They stood before him awaiting their orders. At his side were his brothers, Gleaming and Shadow, and the energy throbbing from their own auras was as intoxicating as White’s.
The time had come. Azazil had granted Ari her wish and now he was weaker than he’d ever been.
Lilif, his mother, was almost in his grasp.
“The power around the palace has waned with the Sultan’s weakness,” White informed the army. “We appear as one inside the palace grounds and we charge. Your duty is to protect my brothers and me, and clear our path to Azazil. Understood?”
They stomped their feet in answer, and White turned to his brothers with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Let us begin.”
A moment later the White King strode casually through his roaring army as they charged the main gates to Azazil’s palace. Their combined magic burst against the waning protection enchantments around the building, sending flares of brilliant light up into the sky. The Gleaming and Shadow King walked on either side of White, strolling through a thick air of spells as battle cries rent the air.
Azazil’s Jinn flowed from the main entrance of the palace. Charms, spells, and enchantments created a song in the atmosphere; fists, knives, and swords splashed vibrant blood into the mix.
Brave Jinn attempted to stall
Azazil and his brothers, but they were waved aside as if nothing more than irritating flies. Smiling in exultation at his brothers, White led them inside the main reception hall, leaving much of their army behind in a violent
struggle for victory. Some of their men were already inside the palace, attempting to clear their way. White marched down the wide, opulent corridors with his acinaces sword strapped to his hip, his heart pounding as he neared his own conquest.
They turned sharply around a corner, heading for their father’s chambers only to come to an abrupt halt.
Asmodeus stood before them, blood smearing his face and torso, his expression blank but his body tensed for war.
Scattered around him were pieces of Jinn—arms, legs, torsos, heads—and in Asmodeus’s fist, a heart drew its last breath. He dropped it to the floor with a squishy thump, and tilted his head to the side.
“Children,” he tut-tutted softly, “you don’t really want to fight me, do you?”
No, White really didn’t. He’d leave his brothers to that. He telepathed to them both, Get the ring off him and bring it to me. I’ll secure Father’s room.
Without another word, he let the hallway dissolve around him and quickly teleported into his father’s room.
Immediately he was assaulted by a red-eyed Shaitan.
White drew back, blocking the enchantment she threw at him with one hand and swinging his acinaces sword with the other.
Her head rolled off her body just as White felt the sharp bite of a blade in his back. He bit out a curse and spun around to find another Shaitan dancing nervously, his bloodied dagger shifting between hands.
As the wound in White’s back began to heal, he shook his head disapprovingly at the Shaitan and wrapped an enchantment around his throat, squeezing the life out of him. The Shaitan fell to his knees, his eyes begging for mercy as his face purpled with asphyxiation.