A Dead Djinn in Cairo (Dead Djinn Universe, #0.1)

by P. Djèlí Clark

“I have a daughter who’s twenty-one—just three years younger than you. And still not married. The thought of her walking unveiled in these streets, like some low-class factory woman … The men you meet out here are filthy-minded!” Fatma stared. He was calling other men filthy-minded? “Had I named my daughter after the Prophet’s own, peace be upon him,” he went on, “I would want her to honor that.”

“It’s good, then, that I’m not your daughter,” she remarked dryly. Reaching into her breast pocket, she pulled out a golden pocket watch fashioned like an old asturlab. “My father is a watchsmith. He gave me this when I left home. Said Cairo was so fast I’d need it to keep time. He came here once when he was younger, and used to tell us endless stories of the mechanical wonders of the djinn. When I tested for the Ministry, he was the proudest man in our village. Now he brags to anyone who will listen about his daughter Fatma, who lives in the city he still dreams about. He sees that as bringing blessings upon the Prophet, peace be upon him.”

You still haven’t told me about the suit.” Fatma closed the watch, tucking it away and sitting back. “When I was in school in Luxor I would see these photographs of Englishmen and Frenchmen who visited Egypt, before the djinn came. Mostly they were in suits. But sometimes they’d

put on a jellabiya and headscarf. I found out they called it ‘going native.’ To look exotic, they said.” “Did they?” Aasim cut in. “Did they what?” “Look exotic.” “No. Just ridiculous.” Aasim snickered. “Anyway, when I bought my first suit, the English tailor asked me why I wanted it. I told him I wanted to look exotic.” Aasim gaped at her for a moment before erupting into barking laughter. Fatma smiled. That story worked every time.

Then he started talking to me about other things.” She paused, looking again to Merira, who nodded. “He would tell me about other worlds,” she continued. “He claimed there were places beyond where he came from, where gods lived. Gods that could curse you with madness, if you dared speak their name.”

“Djinn once worshipped their own gods, Investigator, old beings that dwelled beyond the Kaf in cold and dark worlds. Do you not see them here? Rising from that darkness?”