Enthralled: Paranormal Diversions. Melissa Marr

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      he thing about genies is they still act like it’s a big deal when they show themselves to me—even though I’ve been around them for almost three years now. They’re still offended when I roll my eyes at them.

      “So you’re my new guard?” I ask as we pass the science building. I actually had to get a single dorm room, because I was worried a roommate might wonder about me talking to myself constantly. No way would a genie show himself or—in today’s case, herself—to a roommate just to make my life easier.

      “Sort of,” she says. I try not to look at her as we enter my dormitory. I should call Viola and tell her there’s a new guard here. She’d want to know, as she’s the reason I’m mixed up in genies to begin with. She fell in love with one, I got involved, and boom—for “security reasons” the genie police send an officer down to watch me every few months. I don’t really know why it matters—what, do they think I’m going to hit the talk show circuit and gossip about invisible genies? Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.

      The girl follows me upstairs, sidestepping a few lacrosse players who don’t see her. She has golden skin, like all the genies do, and long dark hair. She’s beautiful. They’re all beautiful, and with the exception of Jinn, the one Viola loves, they all seem heartless. She adjusts the straps of the blue satin tunic she’s wearing, straightens out the swirly I on the breast. It stands for ifrit. Ifrit: genie police. If they’d only show themselves to the cameras, I swear I could create a franchise bigger than Cops.

      JULIET

      Here are the things I know about love:

      It involves kissing.

      It changes you.

      It’s never where you expect it.

      I learned it all from the animated movies I studied before coming here. I asked the other jinn, the one who loves the mortal girl, to tell me more about love. He tried to describe it. He used words like beautiful, elegant, and peaceful, but I don’t really understand how all of those things combine to create an entirely new emotion. I wanted to ask the mortal girl, but he wouldn’t let me near her. So I pulled some strings and got myself assigned to this mortal instead, the girl’s best friend. He’s used to talking to jinn. He’s better than no help at all.

      And I need his help. See, I’m not usually an ifrit—I’m really a historian, a keeper of records, the youngest one in ages. I know all the jinn lore, all the myths about why we exist. I know all the traditional tales about why our kind live in a perfect world, yet are forced into subservience to mortals. We were too proud, we forgot compassion and caring and love. So we were punished. Exiled to another world, Caliban, and forced to serve mortals.

      But we haven’t forgotten those things, clearly—or at least, one of us hasn’t. Jinn and the mortal girl, they’re in love. Everyone knows it. The Ancients don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know what to do about it. Caliban doesn’t know what to do about it—their love has turned everything we know about our kind upside down. If we can love, should we have the choice to? Should we try to? Doing so would mean revealing ourselves to mortals willingly, which has long been forbidden. Will they want us only for our powers? Will they break our hearts, if we have them to begin with?

      We don’t know what our truths are, not anymore.

      So I decided to do what I do best: research. Study. Observe. Record. But I want to do something the other jinn haven’t: I want to study love by experiencing it. That’s the only way to really understand it, as best I can tell. I only joined the ifrit so I could come here and figure it all out, so I could be the hero that answers Caliban’s questions about love.

      Based on what I know, I can’t exactly go looking for love. I need to be kissed, and something will change afterward—a notion that frightens me, but doesn’t destroy the excitement of figuring out what the rest of Caliban can’t.

      “So here are the rules,” the boy—Lawrence, that’s his name— says to me as we enter his dorm room. It’s somewhat messy, bed unmade and philosophy textbooks piled high. He opens the blinds and daylight pours in. “One, no watching me change. Two, no practical jokes. Three, no talking to me while I’m in class.” He says them so sternly that I take a step back. Humans ordering their jinn around, that’s one thing. But I’m not his jinn. I’m not here to grant his wishes. Still, I nod.

      “Four—most important of all—no magic on me. No magic on my friends. No tricking people into thinking or being however you want. If you’ve got to spy on me, fine, but that doesn’t mean everyone in my life is your magical playground. Understand?”

      I feel my face fall—I guess it’s only natural he would include that rule. Another ifrit used magic on him once. It was justified, at the time, but still. I imagine it makes him wary. He’s staring hard at me, waiting for an answer.

      “What if I break the rules?” I ask, both curious and a little embarrassed that he’s making me feel guilty over something I didn’t do.

      “Then I’ll remind you every few minutes until the moment you leave just how your hair is starting to look longer since you got here. How long have you been here anyway?” he asks, and looks pleased when I cringe. We don’t age in Caliban; we only grow older when we’re here. It’s a horrible feeling—going from immortal to mortal, from endless life to impending death— one all jinn desperately try to ignore while earthbound. I don’t exactly want to be reminded of it regularly.

      “Fine. I promise,” I mumble.

      Lawrence sits down and opens up a laptop. He messages someone—Viola, I suspect, because he tells her that I’m here. They have a quick conversation about me, then he starts to work on something, a long paper of sorts.

      This won’t work. He’s got to talk to me. Though really, why should he? I guess he’s as interested in jinn and Caliban as I am in mortal sports games.

      “What are you working on?” I ask, sitting on the edge of his bed.

      “A paper for English,” he answers. “I have to finish it before the play tonight.”

      “Oh.”

      How do you ask someone to describe love to you, moments after you’ve met them? I had it all planned out in my head, exactly what I’d say, but it all feels stupid now. Maybe I don’t need to ask him, maybe I can just work it out. . . . I look at him, narrow and widen my eyes at once, the way Jinn looks at his mortal girl.

      “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

      “Never mind,” I say dismissively. “I have a name, by the way.”

      “A name?” Lawrence looks at me, almost amused. I glare at him again as he turns his desk chair around entirely.

      “Yes,” I say brusquely. “If he—Jinn—if he can have a name, I can have a name.”

      “Why do you want one, though?”

      Because that seems to be the first step to being in love for jinn. A name. The mortal girl called a jinn Jinn, and then they fell in love. I didn’t see why I should wait around for a mortal to give me a name, so I chose one myself. I almost tell him that, but it feels like I’m sharing СКАЧАТЬ