Page 50 of Heavensent & Hellbent

We stopped outside a house with a worn teal door.

“Follow my lead,” Zain said, eyes boring down into mine, like that might make his message permanently stick.

I stayed close to him as he knocked twice on the door. It was completely silent for about a minute. I assumed no one was inside, but then the door opened just a crack.

The voice said something in Farsi that I didn’t understand.

“It’s me, Zain,” Zain said, and then I think he said in Farsiyou’re expecting me.

The door opened wide to reveal a tall man with olive skin, long dark hair, a mustache, and round brown eyes. He was wearing navy trousers, a loose shimmering silver shirt with its buttons open at the top, revealing dark unruly chest hair and a silver chain. Upon seeing us, his eyes seemed to widen even more, if that was possible, in something akin to delight. The door opened fully, and he clasped his hands together.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” His Iranian accent was thick as he spoke in English. He assessed me up and downand I pretended not to notice, gazing over his shoulder at a painting hung on the wall behind him. I could barely make it out but found returning the jinn’s gaze disconcerting. “Well, I don’t know why I’m asking. I know exactly whyyou’vecome,” he said to Zain before pointing to me. “But whether this one would be joining you was a bit more of an unknown. Let me introduce myself. I’m Jamshid.” He jumped to the side to let us through, waving his hand in the air theatrically to indicate that we should enter.

The inside of the home was lavishly furnished—a stark contrast to the outside, which appeared dilapidated. I had imagined very limited furniture inside, but the space was large, with high ceilings and chandeliers that twinkled. The living room that we were now in contained a large plush floral-patterned Persian rug with cream, brown, and turquoise threads, and all the other decorations in the room were a nod to these colors. The kitchen was in a corner of the room, the dark wood cabinets intricately carved with flowers and leaves.

“Sit,” Jamshid said, leading us to the far corner of the room, where there were two sofa cushions on the floor, both adjacent to the wall. “Would you like some tea?”

“We’re okay,” Zain said.

“Can the girl not speak for herself?” Jamshid’s bright eyes bored into mine now. “You’ve not told me your name.”

“Roxana,” I said. “And erm, no, I’m okay, thank you, though.”

“You’re not playing a game of tarof with me, are you?” Jamshid said before letting out a raucous laugh. “I lived a lotof my life in Iran, so I know our people’s culture well. I’ll bring some in anyway, in case you change your mind.” He quickly moved to the other end of the room, and I heard the pouring of liquid, though his back was blocking whatever he was doing in the kitchen.

“The tea has magical properties,” Zain whispered.

“What kind of magical properties?” I choked back, speaking as quietly as I could.

“One time I took him up on it, and it was an honesty potion. He learned too much about things he shouldn’t know.” He shook his head, cheeks pink, like he was embarrassed by whatever he had revealed. I rarely saw Zain embarrassed and wanted to press him, to find out more. Before I could question him on it, though, Jamshid returned with a gold tray. Atop it were a teapot and three small clear glasses, the handles also gold. He even provided a little pot of sugar cubes. It was like I was visiting an Iranian relative and not the big, bad Underworld I had been warned about.

He placed the tray on a low coffee table in front of us as we sat on the ground. The floor cushion was surprisingly comfortable yet firm. We sat crossed-legged, Zain and I together on one side and Jamshid on the other. I was farthest away from Jamshid, though we were still sitting near each other. Up close, I noticed he had raised marks on one side of his face. Burn marks. I turned my head when he caught me staring.

“We need your help,” Zain said. “We’ve been having visions of our past lives, and jinn are openly after us. Numerous jinn want to tell Roxana something, want to hurt her—”

“I know,” Jamshid said. “You don’t need to explain your problems to me. And what a problem you’ve found yourself in.” He smiled, teeth flashing. “But while you, dear Zain, want to know about the pressing issue at hand, it would seem you, Roxana, long to solve a different issue.”

Zain watched me, and I felt the pressure of four eyes intent on mine. I bit my bottom lip as I considered what deep part of me he was referring to.

“Your mother,” Jamshid continued when I didn’t reply. “Thoughts of her weigh down your spirit—there’s a cloud over you.”

The words were not ones I wanted to hear, but there was truth in them, even if it wasn’t how I would describe my grief. When it was clear no one was going to say anything, I decided to be truthful. “Her death—something about it bothers me. It doesn’t seem right.” That my strong, beautiful mum’s soul had vanished because of a car accident. That I’d never gotten to see her in the hospital. That I’d been too late, gotten no closure. I wondered if the issue was that I couldn’t accept her death because she was my mother. Maybe the circumstances of her passing ultimately didn’t matter.

Zain put his hand over mine. It was warm and heavy and strong. I had been feeling so unsafe and untethered the past forty-eight hours, and released a shaky breath. Zain rubbed his thumb gently against the back of my hand, and I tried not to think of the way my body responded to his touch, how my nerves had become hypersensitive.

“MayIhave your hand?” Jamshid asked me.

Zain stiffened next to me. He asked, “Is that really necessary?”

Jamshid smiled slowly, his teeth a pale yellow, with disturbingly sharp canines. “You are very protective of her; it’s almost like the Zal in you is coming out.”

Pursing my lips, I pulled away from Zain and reached across to give Jamshid my hand. Zain stopped me, putting his hand back over mine and pushing it down, incidentally onto his leg.

“What are you doing?” he hissed at me. “Remember what I told you?”

Jamshid let out a tsk. “You don’t trust me, Zain? If that’s the case, maybe I should escort you both out now…?”

“No!” We were so close. I turned to Zain. “Please.”