why they’re shelved in ‘fiction,’ Juliet.”
She doesn’t seem to understand, but nods anyway. “Do you think someone will love me?”
I had a joke all prepared, but it gets caught in my throat. I turn to look at her, eyebrows knitted together. All the power in the world, and jinn are the most naive creatures I’ve ever met.
“I’m sure someone could,” I answer.
She doesn’t seem as certain. Juliet spins around in the chair again, then picks up the ends of her long hair and stares at them. I recognize the look on her face—the one Jinn used to wear when he’d dismay over how he aged while in this world. She scrutinizes how long her hair has grown—a millimeter at most, I imagine—then looks back up at me.
“Some of the Ancients think Jinn was a one-time thing. That mortals won’t love jinn, not normally. That we’re not meant to understand love like you do.”
“Is that what you think?”
“That’s what I’m researching,” she says pointedly. “Come on, help me. Please? I’ll help you. Tell me who you want.”
“No,” I say sternly, quickly. I’ve been under the influence of magic before, been forced to love someone. I’m not at all interested in doing the same to someone else.
“Not like that,” she groans. “But I know what they want. I can tell you what they’re wishing for.”
I stare at my hands. What they want. She can solve the mystery, the thousands of questions that plague me not only about Jeffrey, but about every boy I come across. Are they after me because I’m just the first gay guy they met at college, or because they want what I want?
A love story.
I shouldn’t do this. Viola and Jinn would tell me not to do this.
“How am I supposed to help you?” I ask Juliet cautiously.
“I need to kiss someone.”
“Kiss someone?”
“That’s how it starts. With a kiss. That’s what I need to do.” She seems a little embarrassed, and looks at the floor.
“And you think that’ll help you understand love?”
“You have a better idea?” she asks pointedly, and I shake my head. I suppose I don’t.
“You realize you’ll have to let them see you? That you’ll have to break all sorts of protocols? Won’t the Ancients be furious?”
She nods, looks out the window. “The Ancients don’t have all the answers.”
JULIET
My kind don’t sleep here. Lawrence is curled in bed—he told me not to watch him sleep. I think he knew I was still here, just invisible, but he didn’t say it out loud. I don’t know why I’m staying here, save for the fact that Lawrence feels safer to me than the outside world. I’m a little afraid to go out there without him. Some researcher I am.
I look at the pictures lining his desk. Him and Viola, him and Jinn. I remember Jinn telling me that his favorite times with Viola are when they lie down in bed together and talk and kiss and whisper. Seeing one of my own kind in a photograph, looking so mortal, so imperfect . . . it confuses me. I don’t even understand the appeal of love, if it can make you so flawed. Jinn’s hair is too long, the skin on his arms dappled with an uneven tan. But his right hand is locked firmly in hers, his left arm slung around Lawrence’s shoulder. He was a wish-granter when they met, a servant.
Now he’s a lover. I think that’s what might really bother the Ancients the most: that Jinn chose this world. Chose a mortal. Over Caliban, over beautiful, perfect, ageless Caliban. Maybe it’s like the fairy tales—maybe Jinn kissed Viola, and it broke a spell that made him like the rest of us jinn, a spell that made him not believe in love or fate or romance. It broke the Ancients, broke Caliban itself, broke all the rules.
Maybe it was just the kiss, in fact, not the resulting love. Maybe kissing a mortal is what makes us understand, is what changes us. Maybe that’s all I need to solve the mysteries of Caliban and what love means for my world, not love itself. It certainly seems a lot more manageable than falling in love, and it is one of the things about love I’m certain of. . . .
I glance over at Lawrence in the bed. He doesn’t love me, he can’t—he’s already told me. But someone will kiss me. I think. I hope.
LAWRENCE
Juliet looks even more beautiful than usual. Of course, when you’ve got magic powers, it’s probably easy to look beautiful. Even though I’m not her biggest fan, I’m worried about her— she’s been here a week, and she seems as clueless as she was the day she arrived. I don’t remember Jinn being so naive, or so curious.
We walk up to the gallery side by side.
“Can they see you?” I murmur.
She pauses, like she’s thinking. “Now they can.”
“Right.” I raise my hand to the gallery door, push it open. The scent of wine and clay swoops over us. I think everyone in the theater department was invited, but the artist, a guy named Sampson who works in set design, sent me an invite himself. He said he was worried no one would come, and he wanted to see one friendly face in the room. I was surprised—I wouldn’t call us friends. We barely know each other. But it was a good opportunity to keep my promise to Juliet.
The art gallery is an old antebellum house on campus. All the walls of the house have been painted black, and in each room are a few tables with sculptures in the center. It’s all weird stuff—animals with houses growing out of their backs, their faces twisted into looks of agony. It makes it hard to stare at any one sculpture for too long.
“Lawrence,” a warm, quiet voice says, and I see Jeffrey coming toward me. He’s smiling, his eyes are flickering.
“Hey,” I answer, reach forward, and shake his hands. They’re soft but strong, and he smells like dryer sheets. The scent makes me want to step closer to him, makes me wonder if this is what his bedroom smells like.
“Hi, I’m Jeffrey,” he says, leaving my hand to reach for Juliet’s. She grins widely and takes it, shaking it a little awkwardly.
“I haven’t seen you around before, Juliet,” Jeffrey says curiously, glancing at me.
“She’s a friend,” I say. “Visiting from Virginia.”
“Right,” Jeffrey says, nodding at both of us. “I don’t really know anyone here,” he admits, looking at the crowd. “I’m glad you showed up.”
I try not to smile too big, not to look too ridiculously eager. The three of us meander around the room, toward the first in the rows of sculptures.
JULIET
Everyone is staring. I think, anyhow—their eyes slide on and off me, but it still feels like staring. I cling to Lawrence like he’s anchoring me; he gives me a strange look but then touches my forearm gently, leads me along behind Jeffrey.
