From the downright impossible to the terrifyingly easy to swallow, there was a whole range of reasons to avoid the unseen world and what dwelled within it.

If you happened to see a jinn, you did not make deals with it.

You did not supplicate to it.

You did not trust it.

Ahmad could understand the distrust, staring at the jinn as it was now. It was muscled and carved in a way that suggested human physique, at least under the clanging sheets of armor and the helmet that drooped forbiddingly and shadowed its eyes, but the skin was reddish.

Once, Ahmad’s father had told him about an early Muslim scholar who prayed to God so he could see the Devil. It was, as far as wishes went, a foolhardy one: the one you would hear a professor make in the opening moments of a horror movie. It was not a wish Ahmad would have made by any stretch of the imagination. But the scholar’s request was heard. It was granted.

And he saw the Devil, in the hobbling, stooped visage of an old man, rushing eagerly up to him.

“But something about it made him shudder,” Ahmad’s baba had said in a hushed tone, as Ahmad clung to his sheets. “There was a way about the man’s face, in his voice, the way he readily knew the scholar’s name. There was an air about him. Tainted and malevolent. Evil. He did not want to get close to him. He kept his distance. The better for him.”

“I just don’t understand why God granted his wish to begin with,” Ahmad had whispered.

“Sometimes you need to look evil in the eye to know why you avoid it.”

Ahmad knew now. He shuddered, restless in his own skin, at the thought of the beings conjured from smokeless fire. But in the flesh, it was worse. Especially with Madame Nasirah’s form curled up tight and lifeless as a cicada’s shell next to its feet.

It leered at him. In spite of the shadow across its face, he could make out every one of its bright white teeth. Knife teeth.

And every one of them were curved and clenched.

“So,” it rumbled. “Little Mirza. You’ve come this far. Even my dear”—it paused for a moment, and, the gruesome smile became ghastlier and more ripped about its edges—“nephew hasn’t been able to stop your progress. No matter. You’ve done the job. And now, my Paheli returns to me!”

A great wind burst forth and the jinn swept out his—its—hand. Winnie and Ahmad grasped each other, and they could hear the confused cries of their former enemies.

“Uncle!” Lord Amari cried. “Uncle, ease up! I cannot stand!”