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

by P. Djèlí Clark

“I’ve seen full-grown cobras that were smaller. A man can’t help but feel jealous, with that staring him in the face.”

Their carriage passed a lone man in a rickety donkey cart. He drove his beast at a slow trot, as if in defiance of the modernity that surrounded him.

Fatma was born into the world al-Jahiz left behind: a world transformed by magic and the supernatural.

“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.”

Fatma suppressed a smile at the obvious pride in his voice. First unwritten rule of investigation—when in need of information, make sure you flatter your source. In that regard, immortals were no different than anyone else. This one, in fact, seemed quite pleased with himself.

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

There are worlds upon worlds that exist. Finding their locks requires knowing their unique places in the pattern.”

“I only wish to make you worthy of Him. When they come from their dark realm, you will see. You will pluck out your mortal eyes to look upon them, but you will see.”

Gazing into that darkness spread out before her, Fatma caught the outline of a monstrous shape she could not begin to describe. And every fear, every nightmare she’d ever had seized within her chest.