Page 27 of Heavensent & Hellbent

Cool. I’ll let you go. I hope you sleep well.

Thanks, you too.

Night, Zain.

As if my body had been waiting to hear from him, I felt the pull of sleep encircling me. It only took minutes before I slipped away.

I found myself in acourtyard. At the center a body of water, with the castle walls reflected in it, casting light into the darkness. My eyes slowly adjusted to make out my surroundings. Shrubs with red roses were planted at either end of the pond. And on the side opposite me stood Zain. He was dressed in an ornate jacket, with embroidery down the lapels and loose shalvar fitted at the ankle. I knew it was him, but his manner was different. He was more careful in his movements, his eyes cast down, not meeting my gaze. I was in a Persian floral-patterned dress and woven shoes. My hair reached my hips, and was plaited behind my back.

Footsteps sounded behind me. I whipped around, and through the arches leading to the grand, ancient-looking building emerged two women. They were dressed in plain floor-length dresses and shawls. Their eyebrows met in the middle, and their hair dark was as long as mine. They spoke in a language I didn’t recognize, ushering me out of the courtyard and back into the castle. Despite not knowing their language, I somehow could feel exactly what they were saying.

“Your father is calling you.”

“He cannot see you with him.”

As I let myself be taken away, I stole a glance behind me. Zain’s eyes finally moved from the pond to me. Therewas such longing in them that I tried to go back to him, but my body wouldn’t respond to my command. I was only an onlooker in this dream, like in all my dreams. I had no control over my actions and let myself be led away.

Each room we passed was grandly decorated, with gold samovars and ornaments on ornate mantelpieces. Plush Persian carpet upon plush Persian carpet decorated each room. As we passed one open room, I saw a man chained to a wall. He sat on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest, thick silver shackles around his ankles and wrists.

“Zahhak’s next victim,” one of the maidens said.

“Has he selected a second one yet?” the other asked.

A bloodcurdling scream shot from the room, but we were walking at a quick pace down the corridor, away from it and the man. I tried to stop, to turn around, but my legs continued to move.

“This is what happens when you make a deal with Shaitan,” the first woman said. “I just hope we aren’t the next feed.”

“God forbid.”

11

The subsequent week stretched by more slowly than I thought possible. I worked four shifts at the bookstore, and by the end of the week, I felt more comfortable there. Despite Saturday feeling like it might never come, I enjoyed spending time with Cleo in the shop. We were more alike than I would have thought, and one time after work we went thrifting at Goodwill together. She rolled her eyes numerous times when I exclaimed at the sheer size of the secondhand store. And rolled them again when I FaceTimed Nic so she could help me decide whether to buy a suede trench coat for only fifteen dollars (I did). I spent one evening fixing up my Prada bag; my work wasn’t perfect, as I only brought my emergency sewing kit with me, but it was good enough. Cleo let out a gasp when I wore it to work, and another gasp when I told her I bought it not too far from the store.

When Saturday came, Zain picked me up outside of work in a black Land Rover—its wheels were half the size of me. I’dtold my dad I was doing a full day shift. “Good Days” by SZA rang out, and Zain turned the music down as I got in. Rather than comment on his good taste in music, the first thing I said was “You too?”

His brows knitted together. “What?”

“Everyone here has massive cars.”

Zain chuckled. “I can’t say I’ve noticed. Hello to you, too, by the way.”

“Hi,” I said quickly, before continuing, “It’s like you all want the biggest things in America. Big vehicles. Big drinks. Big houses. Capitalism on steroids.” I pressed my back into the leather seat, which was admittedly very comfortable.

He shook his head, smiling, as he toyed with the air-conditioning. Cold air blasted into the car. I saw him in profile again, the sharpness of his jaw prominent, his lips soft and plump. It reminded me of my first dream, and I wrestled with telling him about it. Or the one of him in the courtyard. I bit the inside of my lip like that would stop the words from coming out. I needed to be careful, even if I thought I could trust him.

“You notice a lot of things, don’t you?” he said before pulling out of the parking spot.

“Everyone notices things.”

He kept his eyes on the road. “Not everyone. Lots of people deliberately don’t look at the world around them. You seem happier today. Did you have a good week?”

I pressed my lips together, not quite loving being seen by him and feeling suddenly nervous. “It was fine, busy.”

To distract myself, I reached across to turn the radio up, not realizing that Zain also had that intention. Our fingers briefly touched, and an electric snap coursed between us. I snatched my hand away. I had déjà vu of being in a car with Zain, our hands meeting. Somehow, I knew what it felt like to have his hand wrapped in mine, how strong and warm they were, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. I knew that he would keep going until I shivered into him, and that it would make him smile to know he had that effect on me. But most of all, I knew the feeling of being safe with him.

Except, I had never held hands with a boy before, so how could I know any of those feelings?

“Sorry,” I said quickly.