Page 36 of Heavensent & Hellbent

“So, is he like regular dad strict, religious strict, or something else?” Cleo asked.

“A bit of both. It only got worse after my mum died. It’s like he’s worried I’ll get kidnapped, or pregnant, or screw my life up in some way—or maybe all three.”

“That’s rough. My dad’s pretty messed up, too, if that’s any consolation.”

“He is?” Her mum, despite looking frazzled each time I saw her, seemed like she had her life together. I imagined her dad would be the same. But come to think of it, neither Cleo nor her mum had ever mentioned him.

She walked over to one of the middle tables, brushing off some dust with a cloth. “Yeah, it’s a long story, and I won’tbore you with it, but he doesn’t live with us and is in and out of rehab.” She shrugged like she didn’t care, but I recognized bits of myself in the tightness of her jaw and how she pressed her lips together, like she had developed a lump in her throat.

“That’s so shit.”

“It is what it is. I don’t actually know many people with good dads. We should create a Shitty Dads Club. It’d be inundated with edgy, kind of weird girls who just want to be loved.” She said all this jokingly, but I think she low-key meant it.

We didn’t have a chance to talk any more because a customer came in asking to pick up an online order. Then the lunchtime rush hit, and for two hours I was in and out of the stockroom, grabbing books and collecting customer orders. Cleo offered to go down to the basement, but I liked the distraction.

When my shift ended, I checked my phone on my way out the door. I had one message.

Zain

Are you free tonight?

Those four words made me feel both excited and nervous. But then I remembered my dad was pissed at me, and I certainly wouldn’t be allowed to stay out late again tonight. I sighed loudly.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems,” a customer said as he passed me. I tried to smile back, but I wasn’t used to strangersspeaking to me. Were people too friendly here? I was trying to get used to it, but the pleasantries were jarring.

And he was wrong—itwasas bad as it seemed. I was being haunted by my past self, who was trying to tell me something. Jinn existed—and who knew what else.

Outside, I inhaled a shaky breath and then noticed something across the road. In the alleyway, partly hidden in the shadows, was a figure that made me physically stop in my tracks. Wearing a long black cloak, there was a jinn. He removed his hood, exposing his bald head, veins riddling his skull, face, and neck. Eyes completely black.

Then he smiled at me.

I gasped, my legs moving of their own accord. I ran down the street, ran for home, not looking back, my heart beating rapidly, from both the exercise and the panic at seeing a jinn again, this time without Zain to protect me.

I continued for a block, dodging other pedestrians, and only then could I bring myself to turn around. There was no sign of the jinn. I took my phone out to call Zain to tell him what happened, my hand shaking so much that I struggled to find his contact.

Before I could call him, I felt a firm grip on my shoulders, shoving me back into a narrow alleyway. I was snatched so quickly, my vision blurred. The scent of smoke filled the air, dizzying me. And there it was, the jinn that had smiled at me, face to face with me now, mere inches between us.

“Hello, Roxana,” he said.

“What do you want?” I managed to say.

“I wanted to see you.”

I moved backward slowly. “Why?”

“Is everything okay?” a smooth voice asked.

I whipped my head toward the entrance of the alleyway, where a boy stood. He looked about my age, tall, with dark, close-cropped hair. His face was all sharp angles, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. He took a few steps closer and smiled at me, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. There was something sharp in them, too, which made me feel like I was being cornered.

I looked back at the jinn, and he was gone. Disappeared, again.

“You shouldn’t go down dark alleyways,” the boy continued.

I whirled around. “I…” I didn’t know what to say; I could barely even breathe.

He waited, following my eyes and then glancing back at me. I just shook my head and began walking toward the main road. He followed and said, “I haven’t seen you around here before,” with the hint of an accent I couldn’t place.

I didn’t think Denver was small enough for people to notice a newcomer. Once out in the open, with cars and pedestrians, I could breathe more easily again. “What makes you think I’m new?” I asked half-heartedly, my own accent no doubt betraying that I didn’t belong.