A Master of Djinn (Dead Djinn Universe, #1)

by P. Djèlí Clark

that one could steal the eyeliner from your eye,

So weird reading these in English

“Rich people always have enemies. Usually, that’s how they became rich.”

“Sekhmet.” Her voice was even weaker than before, an almost inaudible croak when she uttered the name of the entombed goddess. But the desperate answer she sought was immediate. Someone else’s eyes suddenly looked out from behind Siti’s gaze. Not dead at all but beyond life. Not ancient but ageless—as if it had seen the stars born and burned away. They stared down with the curiosity of a lioness inspecting a mouse, or the vast fiery desert contemplating the existence of a droplet of rain. Fatma felt as a speck beneath that glare, a mote of dust caught in a raging storm—and she thought she might wither away beneath its intensity, that beat down with the fierceness of a hundred suns.

you steal, steal a camel, she heard her mother whisper. And if you love, love the moon.