The Seven Kings of Jinn

It was unending mourning.

Ari stopped at Charlie’s closed door, her hand grasping the cold metal door handle. She so hoped he was in there.

“Charlie?”

Silence.

“Charlie?”

Nothing. Taking a deep breath, she thrust the door open and strode inside, coming to an abrupt halt at what she found. The room was empty. Just… empty. All the posters that Charlie had pasted to his wall of the bands and movies and books he loved were gone, leaving cold, sterile steel blue walls. His furniture had been thrown out, his bed, his desk, his TV, his bookshelf. All that remained was a sleeping bag on the floor, his laptop, and a pile of books in the corner of the room. The bedroom smelled musty, and there was just the sweet hint of marijuana in the air.

This wasn’t grief. Ari shook her head, her jaw clenching with fury that his parents had let him strip his life to nothing. When someone dies, you mourn. After you mourn, you grieve. And days, months, years later, something small can happen, like a familiar toy soldier suddenly appearing where it shouldn’t, and you grieve all over again. But the mourning… the mourning should end. The Creaghs still mourned. Charlie still mourned.

Resisting the urge to throw a bucket of cold water over Mr. Creagh, Ari flew out of the house, trying to think of the people she knew Charlie regularly consorted with. There was only one house she could think of where there were no parents to worry that Charlie was there instead of at home.

Mel Rickman’s.

She shuddered at the thought, but she was determined to haul Charlie’s butt home. She pounded down the porch stairs and marched toward Manchester Drive. Everyone knew where Rickman lived and, for such a stupid guy, not once had the police been able to prove he was the one dealing. Ari winced. She guessed that said more about the Sandford Ridge Police Department than Rickman.

The porch screen had a huge tear in it, there were trash bags on the broken porch steps, the windows provided plenty of privacy with the sheer amount of filth accumulated on them and the mailbox was more of a stick stuck in the yard than a receptacle for mail. Ari felt sorry for the neighbors who must pass the house every day and wish they could just burn the eyesore to the ground. Feeling somewhat sick at having to be there, Ari had to take a minute. She was so going to kill Charlie for this.

No one answered when she knocked. Or rapped. Or called out. In the end, after Ari started banging the heck out of the front door, an unfamiliar guy with bloodshot eyes and a sickly pallor pulled it open. “Where’s the fire?” he groaned.

“Is Charlie here?”

“Who?”

“Charlie?” Ari snapped.

The guy took a moment, his narrowed eyes searching the ground for clues. Finally, he looked up and shrugged. “There’s a C-Man.”

Ugh, Ari sighed. C-Man. It made him sound like such an idiot. “His name is Charlie.” She brushed past the smelly, unwashed miscreant, pushing him aside.

“Hey, watch it, girl.”

She eyed the living room. There were five people passed out on the floors and furniture. Ari shivered as one of them came to, his bleary eyes all too familiar. Rickman. Desperate to get out of there before he became semi-functional, Ari turned back to the unwashed guy. “Where is Charlie?”

He pointed down the hall. “Back bedroom, but I wouldn’t go in there if I was you.”

Not caring what he would or wouldn’t do, Ari rushed down the hall to the door he’d pointed at, so determined to get out of Rickman’s house she didn’t think. She burst through the door and ignored the kick to her stomach at the sight of Charlie sprawled across the bed next to Vivien Meyer.

Well, at least he’s got his pants on, Ari thought, thanking God for small favors.

He jerked awake at the sound of her entrance. “W-what?”

Ari grabbed his T-shirt up off the floor and threw it at him. “Get up. Now.”

“Ari?” he mumbled, pulling the shirt off his face. His eyes widened and he sat up, swaying a little. He shot a look at Vivien next to him and then paled, glancing back up at Ari. “What are you doing here?”

She narrowed her eyes on his face and leaned closer. He reeked of tequila. “Are you wasted?”

He winced, clutching his head. “Ari, keep it down, Christ.”

“I’ll keep it down if you get up and get dressed and leave here with me.”

Charlie’s expression changed instantly at her demand. He glared up at her. “What the hell are you doing here, anyway, Ari? You shouldn’t be here. You’re not my mom. I’m a big boy.”

Fury shot through her. This wasn’t the boy she loved. The boy who had wanted them to take a year out before college to travel the world together before he headed back to the States to study architecture, hoping that Ari follow him. No… she didn’t know who this person was. But she sure as hell knew she would never get him through his brother’s death if she continued to let him wander down this path. “A big boy, huh? Well, act like it, you drunken moron!” she huffed and dug into her bag, pulling out his cell phone and throwing it at him. It smacked against his chest and she enjoyed the look of surprise on his face. “You left your cell at my place. I thought I’d return it. And now I’m getting you out of this dump. Come on,” she snapped, kicking one of his sneakers toward him.