Becoming Jinn by Lori Goldstein

glue them to mine.”
    With her glossy, tangerine-hued hair and teasingly freckled cheeks, Hana’s exterior reflects her spirited interior. She has all of Yasmin’s strength with none of Yasmin’s edge.
    â€œDon’t let her spoil your day.” Hana pecks my cheek, and I realize maybe it’s not so bad to be reminded of the sister part.
    *   *   *
    By the time us six GITs enter the dining room, our mothers have already expanded the table, conjured a mismatched array of plush, rainbow-colored chairs, and set out so much food, we’ll be eating leftovers for a week.
    More than six months have passed since the twelve of us have been in the same room together. Now, with all of us daughters except for Laila having transformed into full Jinn, it’s like a room full of lead actors and their stunt doubles.
    My mother takes a seat at one end of the table and gestures for me to perch myself at the other. I scoot in right before Samara and snag the chair she was angling for in between Laila and Hana.
    Samara gives me a wink before rerouting herself to the seat at the head of the table. To her left is Lalla Nadia, whose auburn hair is a shade deeper than her daughter, Hana’s. Nadia simultaneously dims the brass chandelier and lights what must be at least fifty candles spread out around the room.
    Yasmin’s mother, Lalla Raina, whose glossy black hair skims her hips, is seated to Samara’s right. She levitates the wine bottle and begins pouring white wine in everyone’s glasses, including those set in front of us girls.
    My mother clears her throat. “Do you think that’s wise, Raina?”
    The shrug dripping off Raina’s shoulders is an exact replica of the one Yasmin just gave me.
    â€œWhat’s the harm?” Raina says, eyeing the other mothers.
    Lalla Isa, Farrah’s mother, and Lalla Jada, Mina’s mother, shoot a look across the table at one another that’s the equivalent of one of my best eye rolls. Nadia nudges Samara’s elbow.
    The frequency of the Zar reunions that used to bring our entire group together has dropped in the past couple of years. I was naïve enough to think I was the reason.
    I may be a reason but I’m not the reason.
    Raina’s brows dip down over her wide-set eyes. “They’re all adults, except for little Laila here. And it’s not like they’re going to be driving.” She fixes her gaze on my mother. “You’d know best, Kalyssa, but that’s the humans’ biggest concern, isn’t it?”
    Yasmin, seated directly across from me, is already sipping her full glass.
    No one else dares lay a finger on their wine stem.
    Usually flapping away, Mina’s delicate pink lips hang open. Her thumbs hover over her phone, frozen in mid-texting mode. The soft candlelight highlights the red tones in her rich mahogany hair as her eyes, lined with shimmery ice-blue eyeliner, dart from Lalla to Lalla.
    Next to her, a jittery Farrah magically changes the color—pink then blue then yellow then green—of the rhinestones in the headband holding back her pin-straight hair. Dark brown with caramel highlights, her hair is the shortest at the table. The sharp angles hit her shoulders and the long bangs she leaves free of her headband graze her eyelashes, a style that no matter how cool it looks would have me scratching my eyes out.
    The wine bottle travels in front of Samara, who stops it and says, “Considering our higher tolerance, a glass can’t hurt, can it, Kal?”
    My mother plasters on a smile. “Certainly not. It’s a celebration.”
    Samara then fills her glass without using magic. She’s clumsier without her powers and accidentally knocks over the bottle as she rests it on the table.
    Wine streams toward my aqua place setting. Instinctually, I douse the yellow tablecloth with some conjured seltzer water and then evaporate the liquid, leaving the