“I . . .” She glanced around, but they were deep in the cemetery. “I don’t know how.”
He sighed. “Then we’ll need to make our own exit.” He jerked his head at the surrounding mausoleums. “Do you think I can find a rug in any of these buildings?”
“A rug? How is a rug going to help us?”
The headstones near them shuddered. He made a hushing noise. “Be quiet,” he whispered. “You’ll wake up more.”
She swallowed hard, ready to throw her lot in with this Afshin if it was the best way to avoid becoming a meal for the dead. “What do you need me to do?”
“Find a rug, a tapestry, curtains—something fabric and big enough for us both.”
“But why—”
He cut her off, motioning with one finger toward the ghastly sounds coming from the opposite alley. “No more questions.”
She studied the tombs. A broom rested outside one, and its wooden window screens looked new. It was large, probably the kind that held a small room for visitors. “Let’s try that one.”
They crept down the alley. She tried the door, but it didn’t budge.
“It’s locked,” she said. “Give me one of your daggers, I’ll pick it.”
He raised his palm. The door burst inward, wooden splinters spraying the ground. “Go, I’ll guard the entrance.”
Nahri glanced back. The noise had already drawn attention; a group of ghouls rushed in their direction. “Are they getting . . . faster?”
“The curse takes time to warm up.”
She blanched. “You can’t possibly kill them all.”
He gave her a shove. “Then hurry!”
She scowled but hastily clambered over the ruined door. The tomb was even darker than the alley, the only illumination coming from the moonlight that pierced the carved screens and threw elaborate designs on the floor.
Nahri let her eyes adjust. Her heart raced. It’s just like casing a house. You’ve done this a hundred times. She knelt to run her hands over the contents of an open crate on the ground. Inside was a dusty pot and several cups, stacked neatly inside each other, awaiting thirsty visitors. She moved forward. If the tomb was set up for guests, there would be a place to visit. And if God was kind and the family of this particular deceased respectable, they would have carpets there.
She moved farther inside, keeping one hand on the wall to orient herself as she tried to guess how the space was laid out. Nahri had never been inside a tomb before; no one she knew would want someone like her anywhere near their ancestors’ bones.
The guttural cry of a ghoul pierced the air, rapidly followed by a heavy thump against the outer wall. Moving more quickly, she peered into the darkness, making out two separate rooms. The first had four heavy sarcophagi crammed inside, but the next looked like it contained a tiny sitting area. Something was rolled up in one dark corner. She hurried over and touched it: a carpet. Thank the Most High.
The rolled carpet was longer than she was, and heavy. Nahri dragged it through the tomb but had gotten only halfway when a soft noise drew her attention. She glanced up, catching a mouthful of sandy dust as it blew past her face. More sand swept past her feet, as if it was being sucked from the tomb.
It had grown eerily quiet. A little worried, Nahri dropped the carpet and peered through one of the window screens.
The smell of rot and decay nearly overwhelmed her, but she caught sight of Afshin, standing alone among a pile of bodies. His bow was gone; in one hand he held the mace, covered in viscera, and in the other the sword, dark fluid dripping from the gleaming steel. His shoulders were slumped, his head lowered in defeat. Down the lane, she could see more ghouls still coming. By God, did everyone buried here owe a debt to a demon?
He tossed his weapons to the ground. “What are you doing?” she cried as he slowly raised his empty hands as if in prayer. “There are more . . .” Her warning trailed off.
Every particle of sand, every mote of dust in sight, rushed to meet the motion of his hands, condensing and swirling into a twisting funnel in the center of the lane. He took a deep breath and flung his hands outward.
The funnel exploded toward the rushing ghouls, a snap breaking across the air. Nahri felt a wave of pressure rock the wall, sand blasting her from the open screen.
And they shall control the winds and be lords of the deserts. And any traveler who strays across their land shall be doomed . . .
The line came unbidden to her, something she’d heard during her years of pretending to be wise about the supernatural. There was only one creature that line ever referred to, only one being that struck terror in hardened warriors and savvy merchants from the Maghrib to the Hind. An ancient being said to live for deceiving and terrorizing mankind. A djinn.
Afshin was a djinn. An honest-to-goodness djinn.
It was a distracting realization, one that made her momentarily forget where she was. So when a bony hand yanked her back and teeth sank into her shoulder, she was understandably caught off guard.
Nahri shouted, more in surprise than pain as the bite wasn’t deep. She struggled to get the ghoul off her back, but it wrapped its legs around her and knocked her to the ground, clinging to her body like a crab.
Managing to wrench an elbow free, she shoved it hard. The ghoul fell away but took a good piece of her shoulder with it. Nahri gasped; the burn of exposed flesh sent spots blossoming across her vision.
The ghoul snapped at her neck, and she scrambled away. Its body wasn’t too old; swollen flesh and a tattered burial shroud still covered its limbs. But its eyes were a horrifying, pestilent wreck of writhing maggots.
Nahri sensed movement behind her too late. A second ghoul yanked her close, pinning her arms.
She screamed, “Afshin!”
The ghouls dragged her to the ground. The first ripped a gash in her abaya, raking sharp nails across her stomach. It sighed with contentment as it ran a rough tongue over her bloodied skin, and her entire body shuddered in response, revulsion coursing in her blood. She thrashed against them, finally succeeding in smashing her fist into the second ghoul’s face as it leaned in toward her neck. “Get off me!” she screamed. She tried to hit it again, but it grabbed her fist, wrenching her arm away. Something popped in her elbow, but the pain barely registered.
Because at the same time, it tore into her throat.
Blood filled her mouth. Her eyes rolled back. The pain was receding, her sight dimming, so she didn’t see the djinn approach, only heard an enraged roar, the swoosh of a blade, and two thuds. One of the ghouls collapsed onto her.
Sticky, warm blood pooled on the floor beneath her body. “No . . . no, don’t,” she murmured as she was picked up off the floor and carried out of the tomb. The night air chilled her skin.
She was on something soft and then suddenly weightless. There was the faint sensation of movement.
“Sorry, girl,” a voice whispered, in a language that until today, Nahri had never heard another speak. “But you and I are not done.”
3
Nahri
Nahri knew something was wrong before she opened her eyes.
The sun was bright—too bright—against her still-closed lids, and her abaya clung wetly to her stomach. A gentle breeze played across her face. She groaned and rolled over, trying to take refuge in her blanket.