“Besides,” Kieron continued as though reading my mind. “Rookies get the paperwork, and you’re the rookie in this department. Think of it this way. Since you’re here, you can get some reading done while you work on those reports.”

  I, unfortunately, couldn’t multitask while writing reports. But I could do the report later. There was no harm in taking one silly little arrest report home to wrap up before bed. Sabine wanted it on her desk by tomorrow morning. As long as I got it done tonight, that was the important part.

  Carrying a stack of textbooks around with me was impractical, so I’d gotten PDF copies of all the books I’d had to buy in university. The legally-acquired copies were sitting on my desktop beside the electronic copies of anything from my own personal collection. My books on Mesopotamian demonology were few and far between, since most information pre-Islam was scarce. There was only one text I ever considered worth consulting.

  It was in Arabic instead of Sumerian or ancient Egyptian like most of my old books, but Classical Arabic could be just as complicated to decipher. I opened the PDF and scrolled through until I found the part about djinn. On my personal phone, I opened Raisa’s email. The email was a long-winded and rambling mess, but at least it was in a more casual language, even if that language was Syrian Arabic.

  People rarely spoke Classical Arabic. I mostly saw it used in poetry, since the order of words didn’t matter as long as all the verb endings tied it to the right noun. If written properly, the boy pet the dog, the dog the boy pet, and the dog pet the boy were all grammatically correct and meant the same thing. Who had time to keep track of all that in spoken conversation?

  Spoken Arabic, on the other hand, had very distinct dialects depending on the region. I had friends from all over the Arab world, and most of us spoke English to each other because in Arabic, we might as well have been speaking entirely different languages.

  Between the two documents, there was no way I could keep it all in my head. I pulled out a pad of legal paper and a pen and worked through deciphering Raisa’s email first. If the information in it wasn’t enough, I would try the book next.

  But Raisa, bless her eccentric heart, was thorough. Before I even got to what I was looking for, I already had several pages of Arabic notes written right to left on the white grid paper I’d found in the bottom drawer of my desk. By the time my work phone rang, I felt like I could have written a textbook of my own on djinn. I flexed my fingers to ease some of the cramping in them.

  Unknown Number, the screen read.

  My money was on telemarketers. I answered anyway.

  “Toronto Police, Homicide Division, Fairuz Arshad speaking.”

  “Special Crimes, not Homicide. Better get used to that sooner than later if you don’t want to confuse the shit out of somebody,” Rowan said.

  My face heated up at the slip. I pretended not to notice the timing of Kieron’s cough.

  “I’ll make a note,” I said. “And speaking of notes, I think I found something.”

  “So did I. I’m texting you an address. Whatever you’re doing right now, drop it and head over.”

  He hung up without another word. A moment later, my phone buzzed in my hand. The address was on Yonge Street. I had no chance of getting there by car this time of day. Downtown Toronto was a nightmare to navigate during slow periods. Trying to drive through it right before lunch was nothing short of insanity. Unfortunately, I had to take my gun with me while I was on duty. Even with my badge, being in a crowded place with a concealed weapon was a mess I wasn’t willing to navigate right now.

  If I wanted to find out what Rowan knew, I was going to have to handle one of the most dangerous things in the city: Driving through downtown Toronto during the midday rush.

  The fact that I learned to drive in the chaotic Lebanese streets was only helpful in very few places. Downtown Toronto was one of those places. I also had the advantage of lights and a siren on my car, which I really didn’t like to abuse if the situation didn’t call for it.

  This situation called for it.

  Even with the flashing lights, I still had to park two blocks from the address Rowan sent me. I finished the last stretch on foot, then double-checked the address.

  This was either a mistake or a tasteless practical joke.

  Because this was a strip club. From the outside, The Whiskey Room looked like any of the other buildings beside it. Even the sign was inconspicuous. I only knew what it was because I'd responded to a call here in my early Homicide days. A woman who worked here had been found in the back alley with her head smashed in. Fingers had been pointed at the owner but a patron of the club was found guilty instead.

  If this was Rowan’s idea of a joke, I was going to punch him, partner or not.

  I hadn't expected anybody to be here at this hour, but the tables were surprisingly full. With the dim lighting, it was difficult to make out any faces.

  “Can I help you, honey?”

  I turned my head to the woman speaking and came face-to-face with a bedazzled bra. For an entire two seconds, my brain completely shut down. My inner feminist warred with my inner lesbian. All I could think was that for some reason, I really liked bedazzled bras. It took every bit of Muslim decency engrained into my bones to crane my neck back to look at her face.

  “I'm—” I cleared my throat. “I'm looking for somebody.”

  The dryad — she must have been a dryad at that height — gave me a sympathetic smile.

  “If he's here, honey, he isn't worth your time.”

  Blood rushed to my face. I was definitely going to punch Rowan when I saw him. Twice.

  “I'm gay,” I said.

  Why was it so important that I made sure the very pretty stripper knew I was gay? I cleared my throat again and lifted my shirt so she could see my badge clipped to my belt, and maybe also a little bit of my abs.

  You have a girlfriend, dummy.

  Her eyes lit up and before I could remember enough English to tell her who I was looking for, she grabbed my hand. My head swam a bit, probably from the brisk pacing I'd done to get here. Definitely from the brisk pacing I'd done to get here.

  “Oh! You're looking for Rowan, aren't you? He's over this way.”

  I let the dryad lead me to a table, all the while making it a point to stare right at the back of her head and nowhere else. It never ceased to astound me how tall dryads were. This one must have been at least six and a half feet tall. It was amazing.

  Rowan wasn't alone at the table. Beside him was a sweaty, fidgety man that seemed far too short to be a dryad. Even sitting, it was clear he was much shorter than Rowan.

  “I found your friend!” the dryad woman said.

  “Thanks, hon. How'd your exams go?” Rowan asked casually, like this was a completely normal conversation to be had in a strip club.

  “I'll find out in a few weeks. Fingers crossed!”

  “I'm sure you killed it. No offence, Arshad.”

  “None taken.”

  I was too busy trying to piece together Rowan knowing a stripper on a personal level to consider which part of his sentence I might have been offended by. Not that I was judging her. As long as it was her choice, it was her choice. It just made me wonder how much time Rowan spent here if he knew about her exams. Did they know each other from elsewhere? Did it matter?

  “I was worried you'd got lost, Arshad,” Rowan said as the woman left. “I want to introduce you to my friend here.”

  The way he clapped the man’s shoulder and the accompanying yelp didn't sound particularly friendly. I slid into the chair across from the man so both of them were in my line of sight and raised an eyebrow. What was he? A witch? Most species’ defining features were either hidden or only visible when they wanted it to be. It was a defence mechanism built from centuries upon centuries of persecution. What better way to hide than in plain sight?

  Of course, that made my job far more difficult. How could I know what prepare for if I didn't know what I was preparing against? I didn't like Rowan keeping me out of the loop, but I supposed it was only fair. I'd done the same thing to him earlier, after all.

  “Detective Arshad, meet Duncan Bowler. Duncan Bowler, Detective Arshad. My buddy Duncan here is what we in the industry call a piece of shit, but he's a useful piece of shit. How many counts of revenge porn we get you on?”

  “A lot,” Bowler mumbled.

  I did not like this friend of Rowan’s one bit. From the crooked twist of his lips, Rowan didn't seem to like this friend very much, either.

  I was learning to speak Rowan's sarcasm.

  “A lot,” Rowan repeated. “See, my friend Arshad here used to work in Homicide, so she knows all about pieces of shit. Am I right, Arshad?”

  I didn't appreciate him lumping us both into the same ‘friend’ category, even if it was sarcastic, but I only nodded.

  “I have met a few, yes.”

  “See, but like I said, Duncan is a useful piece of shit, aren't you? Because Duncan is the kind of creep who hangs out with other creeps. Creeps like our friend Matt Person. What do they call them? Pick up artists? They're guys who try to psychologically manipulate women into hooking up with them. They try to make them feel bad about themselves so their self-esteem and standards get so low, they actually sleep with guys like Duncan and Matt.”

  The way Bowler winced each time Rowan said Matt’s name would have made me feel for him if not for the context.

  “I have a hard time believing anyone could lower their standards that much,” I said dryly.

  Rowan laughed and covered his mouth. He looked simultaneously surprised and embarrassed.

  “Matt was all right,” Bowler muttered.

  “But not that all right, obviously, because he had to go to a witch to get laid.”

  “He…” Bowler drummed his fingers on the table. His eyes darted between me and Rowan. “Okay, look. There was this one girl he was trying to impress. He was desperate. Figured if she saw other women flocking to him, she'd get jealous and go for him. And if that didn't work, the attraction spell should have done the trick.”

  Even though Matt Person was dead, I felt a little disgusted by him. I wasn't sure he didn't get what was coming to him.

  “See, but the witch sent him to this other guy, didn't she?” Rowan said.

  Bowler nodded frantically. “Yeah. Yeah, Matt went to meet up with him.”

  “At an office building,” I said.

  “Yeah, but there was a place after that. The said if he wasn’t at the office, he’d be at this other place. So Mat went to the office first, but he wasn’t there, so he went to the other place. Wasn’t there either, so then Mat went back. He was texting me the whole time. Jesus, I can believe he died like that…”

  My eyes met Rowan’s. I didn't know why he felt the need to go through this whole song and dance, but I didn't mind the results one bit.

  “And you know where this place is?” I asked.

  I didn't think I quite managed the same easy nonchalance Rowan had. Bowler nodded, but said nothing until Rowan nudged him with an elbow.

  “Better speak up. She might be pretty and all, but she's got a hell of a temper.”

  Rowan winked at me. Oh, he was testing my patience.

  “All right, all right. I just want you to get this guy. He killed my friend.”

  As Bowler scribbled an address down onto a napkin, I decided I might give Rowan a pass on all the punches I owed him.

  Chapter Ten

  “Why’s it always have to be abandoned warehouses?” Rowan asked.

  “It isn’t always abandoned warehouses. Last time was an abandoned office building, remember?”

  I returned his sharp scowl with a bright smile. What, did he think he had a monopoly on being a smart-ass? He rolled his eyes and continued putting on his bulletproof vest. I already had mine on, though I didn’t need it. My barriers were mostly reflexive, and they covered more of me than the vest did. But department policy required the vest and nobody was willing to take on the liability if I couldn't get a barrier up in time. All the vest did was slow me down and make it obvious that I was expecting to get shot at.

  All of which I had explained to Rowan, but he shared the department’s view. In his words, it would be his luck that the one day my barriers ‘crapped out’ would be the day he dragged me into a gunfight.

  I also didn't think this would end in a gunfight. We had no evidence that this djinni, Miraj, had a gun or any intention of hurting anybody else. There hadn’t been a body since Matt Person. Even though that didn’t mean he wasn’t still granting wishes, it made it much more likely. Mysterious deaths almost always followed djinni wishes.

  “Djinn like dark, out of the way places. Back home, they mostly live in caves or ruins. I’ve heard them travelling with the Bedouin, too. Most of them don’t like places like this,” I explained.

  Even Raisa, with her social butterfly personality, lived as far from other people as she could get. According to her own notes, they could be territorial.

  “Bedouin?”

  “They’re like…” I waved my hand, trying to think of the best English word. “Nomads.”

  “We’re expecting this guy to be alone, then?”

  I nodded. “We should still wait for backup.”

  Rowan tapped his foot and frowned in thought. I could almost see him weighing the pros and cons of waiting. We didn’t know for sure that Miraj was still here or whether he was armed. Sure, djinn’s powers were inherently dangerous, but who's weren’t?

  “How fast are your barriers?” Rowan asked.

  “Fast enough.”

  “And you have to wish for something for him to do anything with it?”

  “You also have to want it. They respond to… intention more than words.”

  Rowan checked his gun. “He can’t just start fucking up the universe on us?”

  I clicked my teeth together. There was no easy answer for that because I didn’t know.

  “Arshad? Come on, I’m relying on your expertise here.”

  He was right. This wasn’t the time to hold back. If we went in there, with or without backup, and Miraj got defensive, we could be in trouble. I wasn’t going to get my new partner killed on our second day together. He was right, it really would be our luck that today would be the day my barriers ‘crapped out.’ I exhaled through my nose and tied my hair back.

  “It takes more power than anybody can quantify to alter reality,” I said. “There’s a— a balance to the universe. The way djinn and cursed objects work is they shift that balance. If, for example, you want to have more money, that money has to come from somewhere. Does that make sense?”

  Rowan tipped his head in a slight nod. “Sure. You wish for money, your brother gets mowed down by a transport and you get the life insurance.”

  “It’s not because he wants to do it,” I emphasized.

  “No, I get it. It’s the Money’s Paw rules, right. You’ll get what you want, but it’ll hurt. What if you don’t wish for it out loud?”

  I went through the motions of checking my own gun. We were still quite a distance from the warehouse. I couldn’t see any sign of activity inside. Miraj had probably picked it for that very reason.

  While I understood that it was most likely a habitual choice, it wasn't the one I would have made. All the way out here, a single person stood out. If it were me, I would have found the most crowded place I could to blend in. In a crowd, people were less likely to notice odd behaviour and strangeness. There was too much else to focus on. Out here, there were no distractions.

  “There are stories of very powerful djinn being able to read the hearts of men, but one like that couldn’t be caught by just anybody. Only someone with the powers of a sorcerer could do that.”

  “Right. That means either our guy’s not that powerful, or a sorcerer trapped him. What’s your money on?”

  I narrowed my eyes at the skyline from behind my sunglasses.

  “I don’t like to bet but if there was someone powerful enough to control that kind of djinni, he wouldn’t have sold the ‘contract’ to a person like Helman. It would be worth millions.”

  Rowan scratched his jaw. “What do we think about that? You have a reality-warper in your hands, why trade it? Why not just let it go?”

  That, I had an easy answer for.

  “If somebody traps you and forces you to act against your will, what is the first thing you will do?”

  “Kill them.”

  The answer came so instantly, it almost gave me whiplash. I blinked, then nodded.

  “Exactly. If I had control of a reality-warper, I would want to be as far away from him as I could when he got free.”

  “Why would you want to get rid of something like that in the first place? You could have anything you wanted.”

  “At a price,” I reminded him. “No matter how badly you want something, there will always be a price too high.”

  “Maybe.”

  He didn’t sound like he quite believed it. I wasn’t going to try convincing him. That wasn’t the point.

  “You think you can contain this guy with one of your barriers?” he asked.

  “Well, they’re partly made of smoke—”

  “Oh fuck. I forgot about that.”

  “— but I think so.”

  Rowan pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Made of smoke,” he muttered. “Made of smoke. You know what, there hasn’t been movement in this place since we’ve been out here. We’ll check it out. If we see or hear anything, we get the fuck out and call in for backup. Deal?”

  He held his fist out to me. I bumped my own against it.

  “Wait,” I said, pulling a ring off my thumb. The clear nail polish I’d painted onto the inside was coming off. There were red spots on my skin where the silver had touched. “This might protect you.”

 

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