Observe. Record. But I want to do something the other jinn haven’t: I want to study love by experiencing it. That’s the only way to really understand it, as best I can tell. I only joined the ifrit so I could come here and figure it all out, so I could be the hero that answers Caliban’s questions about love.
Based on what I know, I can’t exactly go looking for love. I need to be kissed, and something will change afterward—a notion that frightens me, but doesn’t destroy the excitement of figuring out what the rest of Caliban can’t.
“So here are the rules,” the boy—Lawrence, that’s his name— says to me as we enter his dorm room. It’s somewhat messy, bed unmade and philosophy textbooks piled high. He opens the blinds and daylight pours in. “One, no watching me change. Two, no practical jokes. Three, no talking to me while I’m in class.” He says them so sternly that I take a step back. Humans ordering their jinn around, that’s one thing. But I’m not his jinn. I’m not here to grant his wishes. Still, I nod.
“Four—most important of all—no magic on me. No magic on my friends. No tricking people into thinking or being however you want. If you’ve got to spy on me, fine, but that doesn’t mean everyone in my life is your magical playground. Understand?”
I feel my face fall—I guess it’s only natural he would include that rule. Another ifrit used magic on him once. It was justified, at the time, but still. I imagine it makes him wary. He’s staring hard at me, waiting for an answer.
“What if I break the rules?” I ask, both curious and a little embarrassed that he’s making me feel guilty over something I didn’t do.
“Then I’ll remind you every few minutes until the moment you leave just how your hair is starting to look longer since you got here. How long have you been here anyway?” he asks, and looks pleased when I cringe. We don’t age in Caliban; we only grow older when we’re here. It’s a horrible feeling—going from immortal to mortal, from endless life to impending death— one all jinn desperately try to ignore while earthbound. I don’t exactly want to be reminded of it regularly.
“Fine. I promise,” I mumble.
Lawrence sits down and opens up a laptop. He messages someone—Viola, I suspect, because he tells her that I’m here. They have a quick conversation about me, then he starts to work on something, a long paper of sorts.
This won’t work. He’s got to talk to me. Though really, why should he? I guess he’s as interested in jinn and Caliban as I am in mortal sports games.
“What are you working on?” I ask, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“A paper for English,” he answers. “I have to finish it before the play tonight.”
“Oh.”
How do you ask someone to describe love to you, moments after you’ve met them? I had it all planned out in my head, exactly what I’d say, but it all feels stupid now. Maybe I don’t need to ask him, maybe I can just work it out. . . . I look at him, narrow and widen my eyes at once, the way Jinn looks at his mortal girl.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Never mind,” I say dismissively. “I have a name, by the way.”
“A name?” Lawrence looks at me, almost amused. I glare at him again as he turns his desk chair around entirely.
“Yes,” I say brusquely. “If he—Jinn—if he can have a name, I can have a name.”
“Why do you want one, though?”
Because that seems to be the first step to being in love for jinn. A name. The mortal girl called a jinn Jinn, and then they fell in love. I didn’t see why I should wait around for a mortal to give me a name, so I chose one myself. I almost tell him that, but it feels like I’m sharing too much, letting him know me too well too fast. Instead, I shrug.
“Well, what is it?” Lawrence asks.
“Juliet,” I say, tossing my hair over my shoulder. I picked it out of a book that’s supposed to be a great mortal love story. I’m an excellent researcher.
LAWRENCE
Juliet is a lot of things the previous ifrit weren’t. She asks questions, for starters, instead of watching me suspiciously in line at the cafeteria like the others did. She lurks in the lighting booth with me and seems to actually watch the stage during all four nights of The Tempest. She wants to know things. I’ve asked her why she cares, but she’s always evasive. I’ve gotten used to answering her constant questions subtly, a skill that comes in handy at the cast party backstage on the last night of The Tempest.
“How did it look?” Jeffrey asks, grimacing at me. He still has remnants of stage makeup on his face, and his voice is low. He doesn’t speak a lot, but when he does, I feel like I could talk with him for hours. We’ve known each other since the semester started, and he’s only recently spoken louder than a whisper to me. Onstage he seems to know exactly who his character is; in life he isn’t so sure—a trait I apparently find incredibly charming.
“It was great,” I answer, opening a can of Coke. “Really. You’re better than Jonathan.”
“Hey, you’ve still got a part!”
“Yeah, as a townsperson,” Jeffrey answers, smirking. “Townsperson or Jonathan’s understudy. Look out, theater world.”
“It’s only because Jonathan is precious and sexually non-threatening. The girls in the audience eat that up,” I joke, nodding toward Jonathan. He has a baby face and ice-blond hair, but he’s practically salivating over the lead actress’s legs.
“Are they in love?” Juliet asks beside me, pointing to Jonathan and the girl. Jeffrey can’t see or hear her, of course—I shake my head slightly, almost imperceptibly.
“Why aren’t they?” she asks. “Because they haven’t kissed?”
“Do you want to get out of here?” Jeffrey suddenly says to me, staring at the floor. He sets his can of Sprite down on a prop table. I watch him rock back on his heels, watch his eyes run to mine. It’s always a mystery to me, trying to figure out what guys want. If they’re being nice, or if it’s something more. But now I’m positive, absolutely positive that the smile tugging at Jeffrey’s mouth isn’t simply friendly. I try not to smile too hard, try not to let myself get too eager, too hopeful, and I—
“Why aren’t they in love?” Juliet repeats, tapping my shoulder. She glances from me to him, her eyes irritated. She’ll follow me to wherever we’re going. I’m going to spend all night trying to ignore the prying, dark brown eyes of a genie girl over my shoulder. I close my eyes. It’s going to actually be painful to say this.
“Actually . . .” I grit my teeth together when I pause. “Maybe another time, Jeffrey?”
“Sure,” he says swiftly, easily. So easily that it crushes me. “No problem.” He waves at someone across the room, and walks away. I turn to Juliet, and can feel my eyes light up in irritation.
“Come on,” I snap. I grab my coat and head for the door.
JULIET
“So, what are you really here for?” he asks as we leave the theater. He slams the door behind him.
“The Ancients sent me,” I answer, jogging to keep up with his long strides.
“The Ancients have sent an awful lot of ifrit after me,” Lawrence answers, shoving his hands into his pockets, “and not one of them has asked as many questions as you. Or studied me the way you do. Or wrecked a chance for me to hang out with a guy I honestly like. So what are you really trying to do? Single-handedly wreck my love life?”
“You have a love life?” I ask genuinely.
“Oh come on,” Lawrence says, rolling his eyes. It’s cold out, and cloudy puffs of air emerge