Page 16 of Heavensent & Hellbent

The hostess—whose name badge said “Lynette”—tilted her head. She seemed surprised that I knew him. “He’s in the back.”

“Can you let him know I’m here, please? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Who should I say is here for him?” Her voice was bright, like what I was saying was totally normal, which it would be if I actually knew the guy.

“Roxana,” I said, forcing myself not to offer any additional explanation.

Lynette left, and I sat back against the cushioned booth. I wanted answers. To know if what I’d seen was real. It was busier today, which made sense since it was a Saturday. I watched as Lynette walked past the counter to the back. It wasn’t long before she returned with Zain in tow. He wore the same orange T-shirt, tucked into black pants.

I tried not to look at him as he came over, awkwardness encircling me. But when I did, I was struck again by how beautiful he was. I hadn’t really considered any boys I had seen beforeto be beautiful, but there was something about the sharpness of his cheekbones, and how tall he was. He belonged in a painting as a Greek god, or at least in an ad for Dolce& Gabbana, not in a tacky diner uniform. Then I remembered how effortlessly he’d snapped the neck of that thing…If what I’d seen was real, he was a beautiful killer. I couldn’t forget that.

Zain approached my table. He seemed like he was resisting smiling. “Hello again.”

I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. What happened yesterday?” I asked. “Was that a prank or something?”

He moved to sit in the bench opposite me, amusement coloring his features. I felt a familiar bout of irritation that he wasn’t taking me seriously. “You could say that.”

“So it wasn’t real?”

“Sure,” he said, his voice velvet smooth.

My jaw was set, and any remaining nervousness had died away. My hands balled into fists underneath the table, and I forced myself to breathe slowly, the way I had taught myself to handle my emotions after Mum died.

The slight smile was back on his face, and my uneasiness returned.

“You’re lying,” I said.

He cocked his head. “I’m answering your questions.” He sighed. “Listen, I need to get back to work. I don’t know what you think you saw—”

“Hold on. It looked like…”

“Like what?” he asked, eyes flashing with something like a challenge. “What do you think you saw?”

A jinn.

But I couldn’t say it—it would sound absurd—so the word got stuck in my throat. My vision went blurry, tears threatening to run down my cheeks. Tears not of sadness but of anger at never being taken seriously.Stop this, I told myself.

“Forget it,” I said, though it came out as a whisper. I turned to gaze out the window, at a bald man walking his Labrador. “Just forget it.” Underneath the table, I pinched my thigh with my nails, attempting to focus on that pain rather than the tears that were desperate to spill.

Stop, stop, stop.

“It’s better if you ask less questions,” I heard Zain say, his voice soft. It took me a moment to register what he said. My head whipped around, eyes narrowed, which allowed two solitary tears to fall down both sides of my face. I brushed them aside roughly.

“Better?”I repeated. “For who, exactly?”

“Don’t cry,” he muttered, eyes tight, before exhaling loudly, like he was frustrated. Though I got the sense it was more at the situation than my tears.

“I’m not crying because I’m upset, just annoyed,” I clarified. “Annoyed that you’re gaslighting me.”

“Gaslighting?Really?” He had a slight smirk on his face again. I wanted to wipe it off.

“Yeah, you’re minimizing this very serious thing that happened—”

“You’re the one who said it was a prank,” he shot back. “I’mtelling you what you want to hear. That’s why you came back, isn’t it?”