Uncanny Rings and Wishes

“Mira, girl, you gotta help. I’m losing everything.”

My best friend, Manny, drags me through the house party to the game room.

“We’ve got the original ping-pong champion now, Llywelyn,” Manny brags, and he shoves me into the spotlight. “You’re going down, Little Prince!”

My heart stops. All the fun is sucked out of the room. The ease I felt moments ago is replaced with dread and a sick sloshing in my stomach. I want to run away. I want to throw something at the smug face staring at me and watch it shatter into a million pieces.

Standing beside Sable is my nightmare. How long has it been since I last saw him?

Knox Llywelyn looks like a guy on the cover of a mafia romance novel, not a nineteen-year-old university student. He’s dressed in a crisp white button-down, open at the neck, sleeves rolled up. His forearms are covered in ink—when did he get all those tattoos? Dark jeans hang low on his trim hips. He’s slim and lean, a snake waiting to strike, and I don’t want to be bit.

“Moony Mira.” He slicks his dark hair from his face, his full mouth twisted in a sneer. “I should have known it’d be you.” He slides a ring off his finger and sets it on the table. A gold signet ring engraved with ancient symbols. A single stone sits in the center of the engravings. His mother’s ring. The one that was supposed to be mine. “If you beat me, it’s yours.”

The ring glints in the light and it’s all I can focus on. I don’t see the memory coming. It hits me like an iron to the chest.

#

Eleven-year-old Mira rushed through the Llywelyn’s stone-floor foyer asking why Knox wasn’t at school today, making a beeline for the Llywelyn’s billiard room where she and Knox spent their afternoons listening to music and playing pool and ping-pong. The stereo was off. The room was empty. Mira turned to the stairs.

She didn’t like going upstairs. It was off-limits. But Knox hadn’t spoken to her in two days and she didn’t like worrying about him even more than she disliked breaking Knox’s mother’s rules. Knox’s room was in the east wing, the last door on the left. It was ajar. Knox sat on the edge of his bed. In his hands, he held a gold ring.

“She’s dying,” Knox said softly. “She gave this to me.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s dying.” Mira joined him on the bed. Her feet hung a few inches off the floor.

“Yes, it does.” He held the ring up and turned it between his fingers. “It’s a magic ring.”

“I know.”

He pushed the ring to Mira, but she didn’t dare touch it, though it hummed in tune with her natural frequency. It seemed to beg her to take it. To use it. To become all-powerful. Mira fought the temptation.

“I told you, Knox—”

“Take it, Mira.” His silver eyes pleaded with hers. “Use the magic to grant my wish and save my mom.”

Sable’s cackle dissolves the memory and returns me to the present. “This is no time for meditating, Moony!”

I swallow down the desire to choke her and retrain my gaze on Knox. He wouldn’t willingly give up his mother’s ring. Not after… There must be some kind of catch. Like me disappearing forever.

“And if you win?” I keep my voice stable. “What do you want?”

“A date.”

“A date? With you?”

“With me. That is...” Knox plucks the paddle from Sable’s hand and bounces the ball a few times. “If you’re not too scared.”

If I’m not too scared?

I’m not scared. I just have zero desire to play his games. I clench my teeth against a strange tightness twisting in my belly, not too unlike the feeling of uncontrollable magic. I don’t know why Knox is suddenly here after years of pretending I was a ghost, but he can’t hurt me anymore.

“I think you can take him. Knock the little prince down a peg or two.” Manny wets his lips watching the growing pile of cash exchanging hands as Ralf takes bets. “Are you in?”

I don’t want to be in, but that ring was supposed to be mine.

“Fine. One match.” I snatch the paddle off the ping-pong table.

The music changes as if on cue and a current ripples through the air hot enough to singe nose hairs.

“Whoo boy!” Manny pulls a wad of cash from his back pocket and fans his face. “My baby’s getting premium Pampers tonight!”

“We play best of seven.” Knox tosses the ball across the net. “You serve.”

I snatch the ball from the air, cradle it in my hand, so precious, and for one minute there is no crowd, no betting, cheering, or jeering. It’s just me, Knox, this ball, and the music. I throw the ball into the air. Time pauses. The world slows and the room watches, every inhale in sync.

And then the beat drops.

I slam the ball into his court. It comes back with a vengeance and I can’t help but grin. It’s nice to have a proper opponent. There are no pleasantries, no ensuring that the other player is having a good time, or playing to a lower level. We play to win. 

“Give ‘em space!” Manny cries out as our swings become more aggressive.

I know all of Knox’s moves and he knows all of mine. His weakness appears in the upper left-hand corner, and I pop the ball over the net. He’s too slow and that’s a point for me.

Another service. I don’t hesitate. Sable’s in the way, screaming for her boyfriend, and I hit it right to her. He stops short of barreling her over. Another point for me.

I wink.

Knox glowers.

Manny’s in people’s faces, Sable’s frothing at the mouth, Ralf’s pouring shots, and Knox is serving. It comes hard and fast. We’re no longer playing in the Llywelyn’s billiard room. There are futures at stake. Mine anyway. I want to win. Not only for the ring but to see the look of defeat on his face as Knox says ‘Good game.’ Two more points and victory is mine.

The returns come faster. I step back, staying light on my toes, but the ball slips off the edge of my paddle. Strike one for me.

Knox’s hunger sharpens.

It goes back and forth. A third point for me. I’m not gonna lie, beating him feels amazing.

“You’ve been practicing,” Knox says, flipping his hair from his face.

“Not really.” I serve the ball up and over. “I’m just that good.”

“So cocky, Moony.” He powers the ball around the net and it nearly hits me in the stomach. Point for Knox. I fight the urge to curse.

“Don’t call me that.”

Thwock.

“Moony? Why not?”

Ungh.

“We’re not friends.”

Crack.

“No?”

“No.”

“That’s not for you to decide.” He hits the ball high into the air and I nearly lose sight of it in the light. I flick my wrist and hope he’s too far right to play upper left. He’s not. Another point to Knox.

It’s tied. Three to three.

I swipe the moisture from my brow and toss him the ball. Final rally. 

He’s ruthless. I’m unrelenting. He returns everything I give, but I’m done with this game. I’m not losing to a mortal. Especially not this one.

I swing at the spiraling ball. It crunches against my paddle, and then—

It’s gone. Vanished.

Impossible. I hit the ball. I… I.. don’t understand.

A mob of teeth, chatter, and sour booze squeeze around me, rushing to Knox’s side of the room, and I’m left staring at my paddle. The point of impact has a slight sheen, hardly noticeable, but I recognize it. Suddenly, the ball bounces against my foot. I pick it up and give it a sniff. Ozone. Like the air after a storm. Like magic.

But how…

I stare across the room. Knox’s eyes are on mine as he slips back on his mother’s ring. Any friendliness we had during the game is gone.

I clutch the ball in my hand. I don’t know how, but the ball was coated in magic.

“You cheated.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Moony.” Knox’s grin is threatening. “I’ve always been the better player.”

That name, seeing everyone cheering, and watching my poor friend Manny shell out the last of his cash, flips a switch.

I throw my paddle across the table. “You cheater!”

A hush sweeps over the room.

“You did something to the ball.”

“Come on, Mira,” Manny whispers. “Chill out, it’s just a game.”

“Just a—You know what? Fine. Fine. Good game, Knox. I’m outta here.” 

In the empty kitchen, I flip on the tap, fill a cup with cold water, and drink deeply.  Letting Manny talk me into playing Knox—bah! How stupid can I be?

I stare out the window over the sink into the lifeless night. My true form reflects back. Violet fire glows in place of my brown eyes. Instead of black hair and short bangs, samun erupts from my scalp, the smokeless flames licking at the ceiling. The mess of freckles and blemishes splattered across my face is gone. My skin is as blue as the hottest part of the flame and perfect, save for the runes of my curse glowing in trails from my hairline to my toes. They mark me jinn.

Focusing on the glowing runes, I will them to fade. It takes all the strength I have to return to my human facade. My shoulders collapse and I down another glass of water.

Something in the window’s reflection moves and a prickling sensation rolls down my spine.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here. You’re no party girl.” Knox draws up behind me, trapping me between himself and the sink.

“People change.”

“You came of your own volition?” His low voice so close to my neck sends a zap of electricity spikes through me. A wicked feeling stirs at the base of my spine. “Or because society demanded it?” He continues without waiting for my answer. “I had to come, too. I would have preferred to stay away.”

“You should have listened to your gut.”

“And miss besting you?” He turns me around. His silver eyes gleam with hatred and something else, as if he’s starving and only my destruction will sate his appetite.

I won’t be consumed so easily. 

“You cheated.”

He moves closer without responding.

“What do you want?”

“Always asking such stupid questions.”

A trail of sweat drips down my face. He runs his finger down its path. Down my neck, over my collarbone and the neck of my crop top.

I should stop him, but I can’t move. Something wicked is stirring; something dark, something I thought I had killed long ago threatens to rear its beastly head and drag me down again.

“You hate me,” I whisper. “I hate you.”

“What if I don’t want to hate you anymore?”

“I can’t forget. You were a monster.”

“You hurt me first.”

I can’t tell him why I had to ghost him when he needed me most. I can’t tell him why I had to wipe his memories.

Knox’s fingers slide past the hem of my shirt. Our skins meet, his fingertips against my bare midriff.

“Knox…” His name comes out breathier than I intended.

“Look at me.”

My head snaps up. I force myself to look into those flashing, silver eyes. They threaten to undo me, but I remind myself I’m done feeling sorry. “I’m looking at you. Happy now?”

“No.”

His hand slips around my waist and I wake up. I push him off me like he’s dynamite. Another moment of contact and I’ll explode.

“You act so aloof, so in control. Nothing can get through that skin of yours.” He grabs my hand, squeezing my fingers. “Are there worse things than going out with me?”

“No.” My voice trembles. “You’re the worst thing imaginable.”

“That’s a lie. I can see it in your eyes. I can smell your arousal.”

Sable stumbles into the kitchen, calling for Knox. The distraction is enough for me to extract my hand.

“There you are,” she screeches, dragging him away. “Dance with me. I love this song.”

They leave but the roof of my mouth is still coated with the taste of him. It seems like ages pass before I’m able to move.

I escape the house without thought or direction. My body's been doused in a chemical bath. Everything burns. While I’m fumbling for my phone, the door slams behind me. I shove in my earbuds and turn up the music to mute the world.

#

While Bazel and Debbi the Realtor signed the papers to finalize the house purchase, seven-year-old Mira was given a biscuit and sent outside to play.

“She’s having a hard time making friends,” Mira overheard Bazel say.

“My son too,” Debbi said. “Always has his headphones on, skulking about like a little black rain cloud. Give her time.”

Whatever.

Mira didn’t need time, she needed a cigarette and her old body back. A strong, salty breeze welcomed her outside. She popped the collar of her now miniature-sized peacoat and fished her iPod from her pocket. The little black rain cloud stopped hitting the ground with his sticks long enough to give her a curious look.

“Why are you living in this dump if you’re rich?”

Mira paused, earbud halfway to her ear. “What makes you think I’m rich?”

“What other second grader has an iPod? Also, you don’t look poor. You dress like an adult. Talk like one too.”

“That’s ‘cause I was one.” Mira turned away and drowned out the world with music. “Have fun with your sticks.”

Bah. Being a kid was making her act like one.

A tug on her coat caused her to whip back around. The boy was twirling his sticks in his hands. So he wasn’t completely devoid of talent.

“Whatcha listening to?” he asked, motioning to her iPod with his chin.

“Toputika Neshungu by Mbira DzeNharira.”

He didn’t flinch. “Never heard of them.”

“Because you’re eight.”

“Aren’t you younger than me?”

“I told you I’m not.”

“Can I listen?”

Mira eyed the boy. “You won’t like it.”

“Probably not. Girls only like the junk they play on the radio.”

“You must not know a lot of girls.”

The boy flipped his hair from his face and Mira saw his eyes for the first time. Silver eyes. Hypnotizing eyes. Eyes she couldn’t say no to. So the jinn-turned-seven-year-old swallowed her pride and handed the boy her other earbud. “What’s your name?”

“Knox.”

“I’m Mira.”

They sat down on the front porch steps and listened.

“How’d you find music like this?” Knox asked when the song finished.

Mira couldn’t tell him how she danced to the mbira in the halls of Great Zimbabwe when the towers still stood proud and glorious, distracting the Symbaoe king and his court while her past master eloped with his true love, the king’s only daughter.

“The radio.”

Knox’s cheek twitched and his scowl lessened. “What else do you like?”

It didn’t surprise Mira that Knox enjoyed the American songs she listened to, they were popular, but he also liked the traditional Oud music, which reminded her of long days in the hot sun. He appreciated Rai music and tapped his sticks in time with drum beats. Then he plucked the iPod from her hand and played a song from his playlist.

“It was my mom’s favorite song when she was a girl.”

Mira was ready to hate it, but was surprised that not only did she like the song, but she spent the rest of the afternoon listening to the album.

Mira and Bazel moved into their new house and quickly transformed their seaside shack into a home.

“It’s uncanny,” Mira said to Bazel that night over dinner. “There hasn’t been a single song he’s recommended that I haven’t enjoyed and vice versa.” She shoved a bite of roasted fish into her mouth. “What eight-year-old American likes the Hurrian Songs? And how come I’ve never heard of Industrial?”

Bazel shrugged his shoulders and attempted to hide his smile. “Quite uncanny, indeed.”

Mira and Knox met up at school every afternoon that week, determined to find something the other would detest. Neither were successful. They liked the same music. Not just one band or one genre, or even one time period. There wasn’t a melody, a rhythm, or rhyme that spoke to one of them that did not speak to the other.

By the end of the month, they were inseparable.

#

Music covers the frogs and crickets and the thumping of that dead organ in my chest, pumping electricity instead of blood. I inhale a deep breath and release fire. The anger dissipates and I sit, allowing the mortal realm to cradle my weary form. 

A sliver of a moon hangs precariously in the night sky, Venus nestled in her curvature.

A perfect night ruined.

This is why I never put faith in love. Reliance on others was never my thing. Links make you weak. I’m weak enough without caring for another. Another wish and I'll wink out of existence. And Knox makes me vulnerable. Too vulnerable.

A tug on my flannel causes me to look up. Knox sits beside me and removes one of my earbuds. My lip trembles as he places it in his ear. Then he turns away. In silence, we watch the sky. Our bodies are inches apart.

It feels like a million miles.

It feels like a micrometer.