“Wait,” Lawrence says. “I’ll go get one for you from the house. I need something to drink after that marshmallow feast anyway.”
“I can do that, too,” I say, holding up my other hand.
“No.” Lawrence stops me. “I don’t care what superpowers you have. My mother’s tendency toward homophobia aside, she makes amazing sweet tea that no one can duplicate.”
“I’ll go,” I say—somehow, I feel a little noble for taking care of her. Stupid, I know, but I like the feeling.
“Really? Thanks. There’s a blanket by the door,” Lawrence says.
I brush myself off and walk back to the greenhouse. Viola laughs—the deep laugh that she never used with Aaron. It’s soothing, like a medication for the worry of a final wish, and I hesitate to shut the greenhouse door behind me, waiting for the laughter to end. I grab the nearest afghan, which is imprinted with the image of a cocker spaniel puppy, and turn toward the kitchen for Lawrence’s drink.
“I’m so sorry, my friend.”
I know the voice. Each syllable is an elegantly enunciated sound. I hate the voice. It reaches into me and strangles the warmth that Viola created, destroys the hope for more time with her. I drop the cocker spaniel blanket and turn around.
His eyes are dark, and his mouth is curved into a hard grimace. The silk tunic is abnormal and strange in Lawrence’s living room, and I have to fight the urge to pointlessly shout for him to get away from here, from me, from her. The ifrit’s eyes travel from mine to the greenhouse window, to the fireside. My breathing halts as I see Lawrence’s head snap toward me, his eyes full of desperation and unwillingness, silently begging me for help.
twenty-five
Viola
THE STARS ABOVE me aren’t as bright as the ones I remember from the night in the garden with Ollie. They’re the same stars, I know, but still…I suppose it’s just the wispy layer of clouds between me and them. The fire crackles loudly, and I look back to Lawrence, waiting for him to finish the story he was telling.
“Lawrence?” I say slowly. He seems to be in some sort of daze. His eyes are dim like the stars, and the bright smile is gone, his square jaw set in a firm line. I wave my hand to get his attention, laughing at his expression. He doesn’t respond.
“Um…Laurie?” I call his baby name, which always used to get a reaction out of him when we were dating. I glance back at his house, hoping to see Jinn walking toward us, but no. We’re alone.
“Vi—,” he finally says in an urgent tone, like he’s trying to announce something immensely important. He cuts himself off, and his cheeks flush as he shakes his head and mutters to himself. He rubs his palms together, and I can see droplets of sweat forming on his forehead. This isn’t like Lawrence—he’s never looked nervous, except for the day we broke up. He’s the one who’s supposed to be reliably calm and collected. My nerves spike.
“Is something wrong?” I ask. “Wait, you didn’t get stung by a bee, did you? I know where the EpiPen is—” I jump to my feet, ready to run into the house and wondering how long someone highly allergic to bees can last if stung. I’ve taken only a single step when Lawrence shakes his head and holds up a hand to stop me.
“Lawrence,” I say testily. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Lawrence runs a hand through his hair, tousling it out of its hairstylist-perfect glory, then eases his head into his hands as if in pain. I drop to my knees beside him, and dampness from the cold dirt soaks into my jeans. I put a hand on his shoulder.
“Vi…I have to tell you…. Viola…,” he mutters into his fists mournfully.
“Lawrence, please,” I say through the weight of worry that’s swelling in my throat.
“Okay,” he says breathily. “Okay. I have to tell you.” Keeping his head down, he gently tugs my hand off his shoulder and encases it in his sweaty palms. He runs his thumb across the tips of my fingers delicately, then brings my hand to his lips and kisses it softly. My hand jerks uncomfortably when his lips touch my skin, and I can’t hide the grimace that crosses my face. I yank my hand away and furrow my eyebrows. Lawrence’s head snaps up, and he watches me hide my hand behind my back, before his eyes rise to meet mine.
“Vi, love…I made a mistake. I made a horrible mistake,” he whispers, eyes wide and scared.
“What mistake?” I say hollowly. I can still feel where his lips touched my hand, but it’s strange and it makes me want to brush the sensation away. This is Lawrence. He’s my best friend; he isn’t supposed to kiss my hand, to look at me the way he’s looking at me now. I fold my arms across my chest and sit back on my heels.
He says the words like they’re a poem he’s memorized, some long-practiced speech full of words that he’s frightened he’ll forget. “I love you, Vi. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
I stop breathing.
His eyes are watery with pain when my body tenses at his words; words that I dreamed of him saying almost every night following our breakup. He reaches forward and runs his fingers through my hair gently, letting the back of his hand brush against my cheek. Lawrence’s breath shakes in what I think is either fear or desire. I want to pull away, but there’s a pain in his eyes that locks me in place. I dig my fingers into the dirt in confusion and try to force myself to stand, but it’s pointless.
A sharp bang sounds from the greenhouse, and I finally gasp like I’m surfacing for air. Lawrence and I both turn, nearly bumping our heads together we’re so close. It’s Jinn, standing in the open doorway. The door slams against the house again with the breeze. His eyes meet mine, pulling my gaze into him in a way I’d find dazzling were it not for the sadness behind them. And in that single glance, I understand.
The press. This is the press.
Lawrence turns my face back toward him and wraps his arms around me, pulling me to him and pressing his lips to mine so quickly that I don’t even realize we’re kissing at first. His lips move quickly, gently but more eager than I remember, and I cry out as best as I can, his strong arms holding me fast to him. I weasel my hands to his shoulders and try to push away, but he pulls me even closer into the fold of his arms, the very place I spent so many hours longing to return but now just want to escape from. This isn’t how I thought it was, isn’t how I ever wanted it to be…and isn’t who I want to be kissing. I press my lips together to try and stop the kiss. Jinn, please help me escape, please fix this…please, I wish—
No. I don’t wish. The word wish sticks in my mind and creates a fear that gives me newfound power. I force Lawrence from me with a sharp cry, leaping to my feet and sending him backward into the dead leaves that cover the ground.
“No,” I say under my breath, as if saying the word will give me strength. No wishes. I can’t—if I do, it’ll be the last. The good-bye wish. The wind changes directions, and the campfire smoke swirls around me until my eyes burn.
“Please, Viola,” Lawrence groans, rubbing the back of his head where it struck the ground. I look over at Jinn. He’s breathing heavily, silhouetted in the greenhouse door. He balls his hands into fists and suddenly sprints toward me. I want to hold out my arms, I want him to embrace me. But no—he has to stay out of this. I can fix this without involving him, without involving a wish. I have to fix this without a wish. I swallow hard and command myself to speak just as the fire’s orange glow begins to glint off his tawny skin.
“No! Don’t come any closer!” A direct order. I hate myself for giving it, and my chest aches like a knife is cutting through me. Jinn freezes in place and stares at me, pleading silently. I shake my head and look away as Jinn fights the hold, trying to lift his feet and take another step while cursing under his breath. I turn to Lawrence and try to summon some amount of courage.
“Lawrence, this isn’t you,” I say hoarsely. “Stop it.”
Lawrence shakes his head and tries to stand, but dizzily sits back in the dirt, rubbing the back of his head again. He grimaces in pain but finally speaks. “Viola, this is more me than I’ve been in months. You ha
ve to believe me. I can’t do this anymore; I can’t be without you. Please.”
“This isn’t you,” I repeat, but my voice shakes and my legs feel too heavy to move away. Lawrence grabs hold of a tree trunk and pulls himself to standing—my instinct is to rush in and help support his weight, but I’m afraid to. Lawrence slowly raises his head and releases the birch tree, taking a shaky step toward me. I’m about to step away when he suddenly pitches forward, and before I can overanalyze I reach out for him, worried that he’ll topple into the fire if I don’t help.
Lawrence both falls against me and pulls me into his arms at once, like we’re trapped in some strange and somewhat familiar dance. He finds his balance and I’m no longer helping him stand, but rather we’re simply holding each other. He rests his chin on my head as if we’re reuniting after ages apart, and he sighs, sounding so relieved that I can’t muster the strength to push him away, to hurt him, or to beg him to stop. At least, I can’t do it without making a wish. I hold my breath to stop a sob from escaping my throat.
twenty-six
Jinn
I LOOK AWAY as Lawrence and Viola embrace. My stomach lurches and I tremble. I try to take a step forward, to run to her, but her order for me to stay away locks my feet in place. I have to get to her, I have to help her…. I roar into the night, staring angrily at my feet. When I look back up, my heart leaps in anger.
The ifrit stands on the opposite side of the campfire, looking eerie and dark in the firelight. The flames reflect off his tunic and make him look older than ever, defining the strong line of his chin and the hollows of his cheeks. I lunge toward Viola, but the force holding my feet in place causes me to fall to the ground, slamming my chest into the layer of dead leaves. I hear Viola begin to sob, and when I look up, she’s pushing away from him gently. She wipes tears from her eyes and backs up into a massive oak tree, reaching behind her to grasp it, as if its thick branches can protect her. Lawrence looks crushed and follows her gaze toward me.
“Is this because of him?” Lawrence asks, looking between me and Viola. His eyes are filled with aching desire and anger—he doesn’t even look like the Lawrence I know. “You’re looking at him…Viola, you’re looking at him the way you used to look at me. Don’t, please don’t…”
“Lawrence, I just—” Viola begins, but Lawrence stomps toward me, breathing heavily.
“He can’t love you like I can, Vi. He’s not even human,” he pleads. “But, Vi, we can have the love story. The epic love story you always wanted.”
“But this isn’t real,” Viola says in a whisper. I’m not sure if she’s telling Lawrence or herself.
Lawrence turns to glare at me. “It’s because of you. You showed up and ruined everything.”
“Lawrence, listen to yourself,” I say firmly, taking a step away from him. His eyes flash with some semblance of old Lawrence. He’s fighting the press. He’ll lose, but he’s fighting it—the ifrit shifts awkwardly on the other side of the campfire. I press my lips together as Lawrence balls his fists and takes another step toward me.
“It’s your fault. You can’t love her like I can, you jinn!” he shouts, then lunges toward me. Viola cries out and begins to sob. Lawrence’s first punch makes contact with my head and sends a ripping pain through my ear and jaw. I fall back against the nearest tree and hold my hands out toward him. He’s strong—very strong, actually—and shoves through my hands to sink another fist into my stomach. It feels like every ounce of air is being forced from my lungs, and I fall to my knees coughing.
I try to say his name again, but I can’t even catch my breath to speak. In his shadow, I see him raising his arm again. I turn just in time to catch his wrist and yank him to the ground.
“I’m not fighting you, Lawrence. You’re my friend,” I say raspily as Lawrence springs back to his feet. I close my eyes, waiting for more pain. I know I won’t be able to hit him back. Yet I can’t leave—for Viola’s sake and for Lawrence’s.
I have the power to grant the wishes of others, but right now I’m helpless.
Suddenly Viola rushes forward, between Lawrence and me. She puts her hands on Lawrence’s chest and urges him backward, shaking her head frantically. There’s a look of determination on her tearstained face.
“Did you hear that, Vi? He won’t even fight for you. I’ll fight for you. I’ll do anything for you.”
“Stop it, Lawrence. Please stop it,” she commands, her voice wavering the smallest bit. I stand and wince in pain, causing the ifrit to shake his head in disappointment. I grit my teeth and look back to Viola. Lawrence’s hands lie gently on her cheeks, and he brushes her tears away with his thumbs.
“Vi, please. I never meant to hurt you, but…I had to tell you. I love you, Vi,” he whispers, grasping toward her. She chokes on a sob.
“No, Lawrence. You’re my best friend,” Viola pleads, her determination fading. “I don’t want to hurt you. This isn’t you. Don’t make me do this.”
“Make it stop!” I shout at the ifrit. Lawrence doesn’t seem to hear me—I’m not sure if it’s because of his fixation on Viola or because of something the ifrit is doing.
“This is what she wanted,” the ifrit responds, his face sad and grim. Viola whirls around and sees him for the first time. She shrinks backward and folds her arms over her chest, stepping away from the ifrit and Lawrence at the same time. The ifrit continues, ignoring her, “This is what she wanted before you came here, before you broke protocol and meddled in her life. This will make her happy.”
“Look at her! She isn’t happy! She doesn’t want this anymore!” I scream at him. “Vi, don’t do it. Don’t wish, this isn’t real. You can walk away from him.”
“Come on, Vi,” Lawrence says softly. “Just one more chance.” His voice is gentle and convincing. Am I losing her? Is it working?
I raise my hand toward her, aching to move closer, to take her in my arms like Lawrence did, but her order prevents me from budging. “You don’t have to wish, Viola.”
“You don’t have to wish,” the ifrit tells Viola, “but then this won’t end.” Viola turns toward him, a breeze casting her hair around her scared face. I want to stand between her and the ifrit, but she won’t let me move. She steps toward the ifrit, trembling.
“It has to end,” she says in a faint whisper. “This isn’t Lawrence.”
“No,” the ifrit agrees.
“But I can’t lose Jinn,” she continues, her voice high-pitched as tears spill from her eyes.
“He is a jinn. You’re a human. Your lives are incompatible—if it didn’t end now, it would just end badly later. There are only two ways to stop it. You can wish for the press to stop. The boy will go back to normal, and the jinn will return home.”
Viola looks to Lawrence, then back to the ifrit, who continues, his voice careful and guarded. “Or you can just wish for the jinn to return home.”
“I won’t,” Viola says fiercely, leaving the safety of the tree trunk and stomping closer to the ifrit. The tone of her voice drenches me in an odd sort of relief; she still wants me.
“You should,” the ifrit says gently. “You will forget about the jinn either way. But if you wish for him to go, the boy will still want you after the jinn is gone. You’ll have the love you wanted so badly to begin with.”
“But it won’t be real,” she murmurs, shaking her head and backing away from him. “That’s not how it works. I can’t just wish for love like that. I’ve tried it. It doesn’t work.”
“It didn’t work only because of the jinn,” the ifrit says calmly. “And once he’s gone, you won’t know that it isn’t real.” Viola and the ifrit stare at each other for a long time, despite the fact that both Lawrence and I call Viola’s name. Viola turns toward Lawrence.
“Viola!” I shout. “Don’t listen to him! Look at me, please,” I shout, but Viola doesn’t listen—she takes a step closer to Lawrence. I turn my glare to the ifrit.
“Don’t do this to her. You’re supposed to be my frien
d,” I growl.
“That’s why I’m doing it. My job is to save your life, even if you don’t want to be saved. Don’t be so selfish. She’ll forget you either way. Would you prefer the girl to go on unloved and unhappy or to finally have the boy? You know him by now; you know he’ll love her just as much as you do.”
“She doesn’t have to wish!” I snarl. “It’s her choice, not yours.”
“True,” the ifrit agrees. “But it’s just a matter of time. And you know how this works—I’ll press her again and again, and the presses will only get worse. It’s my job—I can’t change that. Don’t make her suffer just so you can be happy.”
“So we can be…,” I start, but I have to look away when my tongue feels heavy in my throat and I can’t speak.
The ifrit continues, “If you love her, you’ll tell her to wish for you to go. She’ll be happy. I performed this press as if it were a wish—he truly loves her. You know she’ll be happy. Jinn.”
The word doesn’t sound like my name when the ifrit says it. Something is missing from it, some sort of warmth. I turn toward Viola and am almost surprised when I realize her eyes are on me. We don’t speak, but I get the impression neither of us knows what to say. She bites her lip and takes half a step away from the firelight, toward me. I want her to release the hold on me, to let me go, but somehow—even without looking for wishes in her eyes—I know she won’t. She’s too afraid. Viola glances at Lawrence. He’s edged his way closer to her, his eyes full of sincerity and longing.
The ifrit sighs at me. “Stop this, jinn. How long can you let this continue? Another hour? A week? A year? It has to end at some point. How long will you let her be in pain before you allow her to end it?”
“She doesn’t want me to go,” I say, so quietly I can barely hear my own voice. Viola doesn’t flinch away when Lawrence reaches forward and lets his fingertips rest on her arm.
“Don’t be selfish. You know this can end only one way.”