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

by P. Djèlí Clark

A translucent alabaster mask hid his face, with lips fixed into a permanent faint smirk—meant, perhaps, to put others at ease. Brilliance poured from behind oval openings that stood as eyes, as if holding back a star.

As with djinn, angels didn’t share their names. They instead took on titles that emphasized their purpose.

If Maker got the joke, he didn’t show it. She wondered if there were any documented cases of an angel laughing.

“You ever spoken to Him?” someone asked. Both Fatma and Maker turned to Siti, who still held her rifle trained. “I know His heart,” the angel replied. Siti snorted. “That’s a no, then. What I thought. You made Him up.”

“You angels. You made this God up. Maybe only a few higher-ups did at first. Then the rest of you believed it. But I think He’s made up all the same.”

The taller woman beamed, a mischievous look in her eyes. “You can thank me over a nice meal.” Fatma raised an eyebrow. “The two of us? Share a meal?” “And why not?” “You’re an infidel. And maybe a little insane.” Siti grinned, not denying either charge. She reached up with dexterous fingers to adjust the loosed knot on Fatma’s tie. “My family owns a restaurant downtown. You’ve never had better Nubian food. I have an aunt who will make us the best fatta if asked, no matter the time of year. And wait till you taste her mulukhiya.” Finishing the knot, she played with the length of the tie. “Just make sure you wear one of these nice little suits.” There was a wink before the woman turned and was gone, disappearing into the dust with that rifle slung over her back.