39. Together Again

{Naya}

I wasn't some naive teenager. I've had my fair share of break-ups. Sometimes it was me being dumped and other times I was the one who had to pull the cord. Break-ups, even the messy ones, are all just a part of life.

And yet, as difficult as it was to get over Uri walking away, he wasn't like all the other guys that I've been with. As much as I could ignore the gnawing discomfort of his absence, I could never completely forget him. Especially when we were living under the same roof.

Uri did his best to make it bearable for me by staying out of my way. We would rarely cross paths on most days. If we ever did, I was usually the one who removed myself from the area, no thanks to that infuriating shame spell.

Zayn never said anything about it, but it was obvious that he knew what Uri was doing to me. He did his best to keep me occupied in the shop and during our training sessions.

When I wasn't working or training, I was writing lyrics. Zayn had liberated a guitar from his shop for me to practice with. I had a suspicion that he had done so because Uri had told him about my talent. At first, I didn't know how to feel about that. Uri didn't want me around, but he still did things to show that he cared for me.

One morning I found a tray holding a plate of banana pancakes outside my rooms. The servants brought food to me all the time, but these particular pancakes were arranged exactly like they were when Uri had made them for me back in Georgia, with the fried egg and the fruit on the side. When I gave them a taste, there was no denying it – the dish had Uri's signature.

After finishing the pancakes, I felt really guilty and angry with myself. So I wrote a song titled, "Screw Your Banana Pancakes". Then I regretted that and changed it to, "Missing More Than Just Your Banana Pancakes".

I had no idea if Uri heard any of the pointless lyrics I wrote, even though the majority of the songs were about him.

One day, I was sitting by the pool wearing a bikini, hoping that Uri was somewhere watching, and playing guitar when I came across an old song saved on my phone. I took out my earbuds and strummed the guitar some, trying to remember how the song went.

It was Janet Jackson's "Together Again". While I started playing the song with Uri in mind, the lyrics reminded me of why I took up the guitar in the first place – my mom. This song was one of the first she ever taught me to play.

"I was enjoying that. Why did you stop?"

I looked up to see Zayn standing by the pool in trunks and goggles. This was usually the time he went for his daily swim.

"Oh." I hadn't even realized that I had stopped. "Zayn?"

The magus tested the water with his big toe. "Yes, flame princess?"

I took a breath before making my request. "I know that you're a private business man and whatnot, but would it be possible if someone came to visit me?"

Zayn looked pleasantly perplexed. "And who might I have the honor of hosting for you, my dear Naya?"

". . . My mom."

Zayn's face brightened. "Oh? Why do you look so solemn when speaking of her?"

I hadn't even realized that my facial muscles were causing me to frown until Zayn brought it to my attention. It was no mystery as to why my face held tension.

"Zayn," I began to explain, "I haven't spoken or seen my mom in years."

He crouched next to me by the pool, carefully placing a hand on my back.

"You don't have to say anything else if it's too uncomfortable. I can book a plane ticket for her whenever. You just say the word."

My eyes started to itch. "Really?"

He made that familiar clucking noise. "Anything you need, Naya, ask and you will have it."

The way Zayn beamed at me, as if he would find a way to drag the moon down from the sky were I to wish it, left me blinking away unsurfaced tears. The reverend had always boasted about how he wanted the best for me and how he would do anything to make it so. But even with all his talk, that man never looked at me like Zayn did now – like he really meant every word he said.

I suddenly didn't want Zayn thinking that my relationship with my mom was in any way like what I had with the reverend.

"The reason why it's been so long since we've seen each other is because the reverend did everything in his power to keep her away from me and me from her. Even after I had gone to college, he had ways of keeping tabs on her to make sure she never violated the terms of the divorce. These were documents that she had been practically forced to sign . . . . I love my mom, but I barely know her. And I want to change that."

Zayn hugged me hard. "Consider it done."

+++

{Uriel}

A round of explosive flames expelled from Uriel's flared nostrils. The fiery jet dissolved only after the target had been charred down to nothing but a weak, broken pole.

Uriel wanted to keep going until the target became a black stain on the earth, but he had to hold back on calling on his fire unless it was an emergency. So he drew a few placating breaths and did not move until his body temperature came down to a reasonable degree.

The djinni left the sparring den for the showers. He took his time washing off the sweat and the trace particles of ash from his hair. Thinking of Naya was a bad idea, but he did it anyway. Then he cursed himself because now he had to deal with an erection. Afterwards, he watched the evidence of his shame and relief mix with the shower water and empty down the drain.

Once Uriel was dry and fully clothed, he felt a little better, but he still had nothing to do for the rest of the day. The games on his device had lost their appeal shortly after he had beaten them all. He had watched every YouTube cooking tutorial he could find and now that he had relocated out of Atlanta, he couldn't even look forward to culinary classes.

Despite the limitations, cooking still provided a distraction from Naya. So Uriel found himself making his way to the estate's kitchen, which closely resembled the ones found in a typical five star restaurant.

By now, Zayn's hired chefs were used to Uriel making himself at home and on some occasions, brushing elbows with them. They enjoyed sharing their culinary secrets and tips. They had even encouraged him to help with the preparations for Zayn's upcoming charity gala.

Uriel was almost to the kitchen when he heard the high tolling of the doorbell.

That's odd.

Zayn's guests rarely ever arrived at the front door of his estate unless he was hosting some sort of party. Typically, he received individuals at the antique emporium or one of his other low-key business locations.

Then Uriel speculated that perhaps this wasn't a guest, but someone who wasn't invited. Like an intruder.

Not taking any more time to think, Uriel dodged the kitchen altogether and sprinted until he reached the entrance foyer. He intercepted the butler, insisting on answering the door himself.

When the butler had cleared the area, Uriel whispered to his fire to be on alert, and then wrenched the door open to confront a collector, an ifrit, or whoever else had come to do them harm.

Standing on the other side of the door was not at all who the djinni expected.

Uriel had to blink a couple of times because he believed for a moment that the visitor was Naya. But after a second look he realized that this woman's skin was much darker than Naya's, and her shiny black hair was looser in texture. She was covered in ornaments. From the musical gold shingles dangling from her ears to the dozens of gemmed rings she wore. Peeking out from her expertly draped shawl Uriel could spot beaded necklaces and vibrant bangles.

The stranger wore a bright, but slightly nervous smile. "How are you, dear?" The soft hint of a West Indian accent made the last word sound like dare.

The visitor vigorously shook Uriel's hand before craning her neck beside his to get a look inside the mansion. Uriel got a whiff of sandalwood and coconut oil before she pulled back and asked, "Is this the current residence of Naomi Burton? Or did I get myself lost again?"

Uriel's throat went dry. "You didn't get lost. Are you Naomi's . . . ?"

The woman finished his sentence for him. "Ma? That's me!" She gave an enthusiastic nod. "My name is Nadine. And who might you be?"