Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.Nimrod and Iblis have been mortal enemies for so long, making them so familiar with each other’s characters, methods, vices, weaknesses, etc. that they basically know everything about one another and thus interact like an old married couple, only that one half occasionally tries to kill the other. Happens in the best families, right...? Whenever they happen to meet it’s like
“Oh hey Marid, how’s life, stopped chewing your damn nails yet?”
“Well hello, Ifrit, stopped producing random sons yet?”
“Hey, fuck you!”
And then they fight. And through some totally incomprehensible miracle, they both make it out alive.

2. Nimrod is technically bi/pansexual; he loves people for personality, not for gender. He has told only Layla about this; Iblis also happens to know…because of reasons.

3. Nimrod secretly hopes to set Iblis straight.

4. Because he loves him.

5. Yes, you read the two above right. Yes, I ship them. This says Nimlis for a reason. You can’t say you haven’t been warned.

6. Iblis knows the things above, but he chooses to ignore them. He doesn’t want or know how to handle Nimrod’s affection. Also he does not need help. At least that’s what he thinks.

7. Iblis does it for the kicks.

8. Nimrod can’t swim. He just never learned to.

9. Iblis hated his father.

10. Iblis loves his sons. He really does. He’s also in a clinch with all of their (wide variety of) mothers, so he raised most of them alone. The number of Ifritsons in my head varies from five to about nine? It’s a whole lot of them, that’s for sure.

11. Both consider themselves single. Nimrod had this one failed marriage with Alexandra that is technically broken up now, and given his personality, he never really looked for anyone else and is just more or less contently living the bachelor’s life now.
Rudyard and his bros must have come from somewhere, but no woman in Iblis’ life is ever mentioned, so... he’s probably Mr. Failed Relationships or something.

12. Nimrod collects ornate snuffboxes. And umbrellas, red ones. And all kinds of antique stuff.

13. Nimrod likes strawberry jam. A lot. He’s really into it.

14. Iblis is one of the very few djinn who learned to cook for himself. And his sons. Mostly his sons. But also himself.

15. Both know how to play at least one instrument.

16. Iblis is really good in bed.

17. Iblis is secretly a hardened alcoholic. The way he drank that Brandy in part one? C’mon, it’s so damn obvious. Dude’s got a problem.

18. Dybbuk is a result of the two points above.

19. Iblis likes the neon lights in Vegas. He spends his nights on a casino roof looking down at them feeling like a god.

20. Iblis’ ancestors invented Poker.

21. Iblis refers to Nimrod as “Marid”. He barely ever uses his name. When he gives orders concerning Nimrod to his Ifrit, things go like
“Yeah, someone should totally keep tabs on what that damn Marid is doing.”
“Um, sir, which one? You... know that there’s... more than one Marid...?
“NOT TO ME THERE ISN’T”

22. The two of them meet up at Djinnverso tournaments in peace. They play and insult each other and have a great time.

23. Whenever he’s not plotting freak revenge on someone, Iblis actually does do tribal leader duties. He helps young Ifrit kids through their Tammuz and stuff. And it’s amazing.

23.5 Yes, it is. Imagine: You’re a young djinn, alone in the desert. Your guys have left you here with nothing but a dictionary (what do you even need that for?), a sleeping bag and that old lamp thing. You have no powers yet. You’re frightened. You’ve heard rumors about the Tammuz from friends or older siblings, so you pick up the lamp and rub it... and then, not wise old Mr. Rakshasas or Nimrod, who radiates goodwill like the sun radiates light, but... this guy pops out.
“Oh hey there. You’re that guy/girl, right? Great. I’m Iblis, tribal leader, you’ve probably heard stories. And I’m here tonight to tell you how the djinn came to be. Yaay. Can I get an encore in here?”
You: *slow clap*
“That’ll do. Now listen up here, and I mean listen up, this stuff is very important. Cigarette?”
You’ll probably take the cigarette, but you won’t smoke it. You’ll hang it in a frame on your bedroom wall to forever remember that awesome night where you met the World’s Most Evil.

24. Nimrod secretly has a deep-rooted dislike against all Americans and everything that is American, but he keeps quiet about it to his family. He’s just social that way.

25. Nimrod picks stray cats and puppies off the street and takes them to animal shelters. But he’d never adopt. He wouldn’t like shed fur and nasty business all over his house. Also, Groanin would be appalled.

26. Nimrod loves the royal family, especially the Queen.

27. It is not known to anyone but himself if Nimrod ever had sex.

28. Every year on his birthday, Nimrod will receive a “mysterious” phone call from Las Vegas, which he’ll act very surprised about. Upon answering the phone, an evil voice will say: “I wish you an unhappy birthday, Marid.” Then the “mysterious stranger” will hang up.
Groanin has long stopped asking about these. [done]

29. There should be an AU where Iblis is good and Nimrod is evil.

30. There should be an AU where both of them are women.

31. Or a combination thereof.

Chapter Text

For Nimrod a birthday wasn’t complete without the surprise phonecall.
He couldn’t remember the exact year in which it had started, but it had gone on ever since. It would mostly happen in the evening, sometimes earlier, sometimes at night, but never after midnight when it wasn’t technically Nimrod’s birthday anymore. He had developed a habit of staying up late on his birthday, not going to bed until the call came. It had become a little routine for his butler and him.
“Call from overseas, sir” Groanin would say, approaching Nimrod with the phone. In the first year of it, he had thought it to be his sister until Groanin had raised an eyebrow and added “Las Vegas”.
“Oh!” Nimrod would exclaim, for all the world acting very surprised. “What could someone from there want from me?”
Groanin would answer with a shrug, year after year.
“Well, let’s see” Nimrod would say and answer the phone. “Nimrod Godwin, what can I do for you?”
And an evil voice would drawl: “I wish you an unhappy birthday, Marid.”
And then the mysterious caller would hang up.
And Nimrod would spend the rest of the day having the happiest of birthdays, as usual.
The call had only startled him the first time. In the years after, he had been rather annoyed by it, but as time went by, he had come to accept it, and now he could barely imagine a birthday without it.
Groanin had long stopped asking about it.
Whenever the call came, Nimrod had already prepared himself to strike up a conversation with his mystery malefactor, but to no avail. The voice didn’t want to chat. It delivered its message, then hung up. That was it. But it was the only form of communication he ever had with the enemy, so he made a point of always being at his house in London for the whole day and rarely inviting anyone over, even when he came to better terms with Layla and her family. They would only ask questions.
He began to make assumptions on what the caller was up to, going just by the sound of his voice. The call would always come from Vegas, no exceptions, and the voice would always be the same, male, soft, familiar. But there were small differences each year.
Most of the time, the voice just sounded mean, happy to toy with him, sometimes it added an evil laugh for good measure. Sometimes it sounded neutral, sometimes angry or at least unhappy, sometimes like the caller had just fallen out of bed. Different time zones, Nimrod supposed, or just a lazy Ifrit’s lifestyle. Two or three times, the words had been so badly slurred that Nimrod had felt obliged to ask “Are you ok over there?”. But he was hung up on, even then. He had spent a few minutes being genuinely worried, but the call came back next year, indicating that the enemy had not died of alcoholic poisoning.
Nimrod told himself that he was probably obsessing over unimportant detail here, but life proved him otherwise. He had once prevented an entire American city from being eradicated, going only by the alarming tone of the voice in his birthday message. No other Marid had quite seen to the bottom of that.
What also differed was the background noise. Sometimes it was quiet, sometimes he could hear muffled conversation and the sound of glasses clinking, sometimes it sounded like he – the voice – the mystery voice – was calling him from a crowded casino. Once he had heard someone yell “HA! Royal flush!” in the background, and the voice – his voice – had yelled back “Oh FUCK it!” before hanging up on him. But there wasn’t much to be made from things like that.
Then one year the call stopped coming.
Nimrod sternly told himself not to mess himself about. Of course he had known where the call had come from. And of course he knew that it wasn’t going to ever come again. You couldn’t call anyone from a jade suit of armor. And it was better that way.
So all in all there was no reason – no reason whatsoever – to hang around waiting for the phone to ring.
It did ring once, and it did come from America, but it was New York, not Vegas, it was Layla congratulating.
He went to bed early, feeling miserable.
At a quarter to midnight, Groanin found him in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea. He hadn’t found any sleep.
“I do say, sir. I searched the whole house for you and find you down here?”
“I couldn’t have troubled you at this unholy time of night with my need for tea. Please go back to bed, Groanin.”
“I would, sir, but there’s a call for you from overseas.” Groanin raised an eyebrow. “Las Vegas.”
Nimrod, who had just come to terms with never going through this routine again, all but ripped the phone from Groanin’s hand. “Yes?” he breathed into the receiver.

“I still wish you an unhappy birthday, Marid” the same old voice said, and Nimrod had known each and every nuance of that voice for such a long time that his memory automatically supplied him with the fitting expression on Iblis’ face as he had said it. Small smile, downcast eyes... yep, that was the one.
Then there was a click and the phone was hung up.
Nimrod stood frozen in his kitchen and just listened to his wildly beating heart for a few seconds. Then he said: “Groanin, I need to fly to Vegas.”
“That’s a new one, sir” the butler remarked.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a good djinn in possession of a good survival instinct must watch his step in Vegas. But Nimrod felt like stepping down hard this time, so he just positioned himself in the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard and waited for Ifrit activity.
He didn’t have to wait more than half an hour until a young djinn approached him. He was the spitting image of Iblis, only younger – it took a close look to spot small differences such as the haircut, the lack of beard, a slightly more crooked nose. The young man also lacked the pinstriped suit that Nimrod had rarely seen Iblis without; he was wearing a simple black silk shirt, dress pants and no tie.
“You’re Nimrod, right? Nimrod Godwin? I thought you’d show up around now.” The Ifrit’s stance was casual. He stayed a safe distance to Nimrod, but he did not attack.
“Odair Teer” he now introduced himself. “And I’ll not harm you today.”
“I’d like to see you try” Nimrod thought. “You’re Iblis’ son, right?”
“Firstborn” Odair nodded.
“Oh, so you’re soon to be reckoned with.”
Odair’s face said “Huh?”
“You’re next in line for the Ifrit, aren’t you?” Nimrod clarified.
Odair scrunched up his face in what looked like distaste. “Probably” he said. “My brothers and I are currently squabbling over who doesn’t get to do it. Not very surprisingly, nobody wants Dad’s job. We all know where it brought him.”
Nimrod realized that the Ifrit’s black attire probably meant he was in mourning. He cleared his throat. “Hmm. It might sound strange coming from me, but I’m sorry for your loss.”
His opposite shrugged.
“I’m here because – “
“I know what you’re here for.” Odair took a cellphone out of his pocket. “My brothers and I are in the process of going through Dad’s stuff. This is his private phone. And I mean private. No business stuff on here. But you know what is on here?”
“I... have a good guess” Nimrod said.
“Yep, your little message. He set this phone to send this voicemail to you every year, same date, same time.”
“By George” Nimrod whispered.
“Indeed” Odair said tiredly and ran a hand through his hair. For a second he looked remarkably like his father. “We – that is all the Ifritsons – are of the opinion that Dad lost it. He just kept raising the bar on himself until... an enantiodromia, holy shit, what was he thinking? That’s why we didn’t help – we just stole the jade. Only Rudyard helped, but he – well, he was just a stupid kid. Now look where they both ended up.” He sighed. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. I haven’t quite gotten a grip on everything, I’m afraid.”
He raised the cellphone. “Do you want this? We’ve erased all classified stuff.” He tossed it to Nimrod, and Nimrod caught it.
“Now get the hell out of town, Marid. Truce is over.”
“Farewell, Odair” Nimrod said to the Ifrit’s retreating back.

Back at home, Nimrod invested a day in flicking through messages Iblis had written to his sons and ex-wives and a small but significant amount of random drunk texts. He found nothing of any relevance to the Marid. Iblis had kept business and private affairs strictly separated, or his sons had been very thorough in erasing the important stuff. Odair wanted him to see something, and it was not Ifrit affairs. The background picture showed Iblis and all his sons, a great big bunch of evil, rows of pearly white front teeth smiling into the camera.
He found his birthday message and listened again. Small smile, a little sadish, and downcast eyes. Iblis had known or at least suspected that he wasn’t going to get out of the whole Xian business alive, and he had made it a priority to tape this message.
Not even death could stop Iblis from wishing Nimrod an unhappy birthday.

Chapter Text

Jamie was scared. Even though his family had told him not to be, he felt like he had every reason to.
He was alone in the desert, and it was getting dark. All kinds of creepy insects and stuff would probably soon emerge from the sand. He had seen a documentary on deserts once and knew that that was exactly what happened here at night. It was also getting cold. But the scariest thing was that he was all alone. Literally nobody anywhere near. If anything dangerous happened out here, there was nobody who could help him until morning. Until his family came back.
What had they been thinking anyway? The equipment they had left him with was the most useless stuff ever. The sleeping bag was the high end of things, but the antique lamp he had been given, while looking very djinn-like, gave no light at all. And what was he even supposed to do with the pencil, notebook and dictionary? On Jamie’s list of survival tools for a night in the desert, a dictionary made no appearance at all.
He didn’t see how spending a night in this absolute dump in pants-wetting fear was going to magically switch on his djinn powers by morning. But it had worked for his three older brothers, so he supposed something was going to have to happen.
He waited around for about an hour, but nothing supernatural occurred. He just suddenly remembered every horror story he had ever heard, until he was sure there were desert zombies or whatever creeping behind every dune.
I could really use djinn powers right now, he thought, or better yet, a full-grown djinn to pop up and get me out of here.
His look fell on the old lamp. Wait... a... minute. What if...?
Just to make sure he had tried everything, he picked the lamp up and rubbed it.
Bingo, the young Ifrit thought as a cloud of dark smoke built up in the air, soon taking on a human-shaped form. A few seconds later, another djinn was giving Jamie company.
“Wow, took you long enough” the guy, who was a complete stranger to Jamie, said. “So, you’re... Jamie Al-Fayyit, right? That’s a pretty hideous name, you know that?”
Jamie, awestruck, nodded.
“Well, anyway, hi there. I’m Iblis, tribal leader, bla bla, you’ve probably heard stories.”
“A shit-ton of them, sir” Jamie said respectfully. He couldn’t even voice his astonishment. Iblis motherfucking Teer, holy shit. It was almost like meeting Satan.
“Expect a lot of them to be made up” Iblis replied.
“So... the one with San Francisco and that earthquake, sir...?”
“Oh, that one’s true.”
“And the one about the volcano on that island?”
“That wasn’t me, that was my father. His name was also Iblis, so whoever was telling the story might have gotten us confused.”
“But the one in Cairo with that belly-dancer...?
“You mean my ex-wife?”
“And the one in Vegas with the stripper and the sticky tape and the salad prongs?” Jamie had heard this particular story while eavesdropping on his older brothers. Many parts of it would only begin to make sense to him years later.
“Um, I’m pretty sure I don’t even want to know. It’s most certainly made up; I just don’t do prostitutes in Vegas. I’m not too keen on herpes. Anyway” the evil djinn went on. “Tonight is not about exchanging gruesome stories about strippers and whatnot. I am here tonight to tell you how the djinn came to be.”
“That’s... pretty kickass, sir, but how exactly will that help me gain my djinn powers?”
“Yeah, we’ll get to that one too, Jamie Al-Fayyit... seriously, what were your parents even thinking...”
“I dunno, sir, what were your parents thinking?”
“Ah... what?”
“As we’ve already established, I’ve heard stories about you” Jamie went on bravely. “I know what Iblis means. And...seriously, who names their son source of despair? Were you an obnoxiously loud baby or something?”
“Way to press your luck, young djinn” Iblis said. “Actually, the name is inherited, but that’s beside point. I’m here to tell you the djinn stuff, and I’ll do that now, so listen up and I mean listen because that stuff’s really important. Cigarette?”
Jamie, who had never smoked before, accepted the cigarette with shaky fingers.
“Okay. So. In the beginning. Angels from light, humans from clay, djinn from fire. You may have already heard some of this.”
Jamie nodded again.
“Well, someday or other for some obnoxious reason there was this great decision thingy. Angels, mundanes and djinn were forced to choose good or evil. Don’t ask me why that was or who made them do that, I personally think the Marid made that story up to feel nice and righteous about themselves, but whatever. The angels chose mostly good, the mundanes mostly evil. The angels who turned to evil are called demons; you just hope you never meet one of those, I’m a picnic compared to them. The djinn, however, separated into six tribes. The ones who chose good were the Marid, the Jinn and the Jann. Don’t be too worried about them though, they’re just uptight asses who won’t let anyone have any fun. The other three were the Ifrit, the Ghul and the Shaitan. The Ifrit, that’s us, that’s our big happy slightly dysfunctional family. The others are buddies. Any questions so far?”
“So... I’m evil? We’re all evil?”
“Sort of yes. Sorry to break that to you, but yes, we’re all kind of evil.”
“But I don’t feel... um... evil. I mean I don’t feel like murdering someone or something.”
“So how do you feel?”
“I dunno, sir. Just like myself I guess.”
“That’s good then. Really! I know it’s confusing at first. You don’t feel like a bad person. You don’t even want to be a bad person. But the whole being evil thing has its upsides. Just think of it as being free. You can do anything you’d like. You’re not burdened by morale, conscience or the expectations of society. If some guy bugs you and you want to turn him into a cockroach, do. If you don’t feel like doing anything, don’t. We don’t have to constantly worry about upholding the balance of happiness and rainbow sparkles in the world or whatever. We’re so free, it’s almost anarchy. Just please try not to defy me, I get grouchy when you do that.”
“That... doesn’t sound too bad, sir. Only... how do I turn guys into cockroaches?”
Iblis spent the rest of the night explaining to Jamie how he should use his djinn powers, and helping him pick a focus word. As it began to dawn, the young djinn had chosen one.
“I think your parents ought to be back in a few hours. They’ll show you what you can do with that shiny new focus word of yours. By the way, did they or anyone else ever test your ability to influence luck?”
“I don’t think so. How do you do that?”
“It’s real simple. Here, take these.” Iblis produced five dices out of nowhere and placed them in Jamie’s hand. “Now throw.”
Jamie threw. He scored two ones, two threes and a four.
“Oh. Looks like you’re not very lucky right now.”
Jamie stared miserably down at his score. “Will...that be a lot of trouble?”
“Naah, it’s cool. Welcome to the Ifrit.”
“Did you do that too, as a kid I mean?”
“Yep. “
“What did you get?”
“All sixes.”
“That’s fantastic, isn’t it?”
“The rule of the game was to score as many ones as possible.”
“Oh...”
The most evil djinn in the world grinned at Jamie. “As I said... welcome to the Ifrit.”

Chapter Text

“Daddy? Daddy, wake up.”
“Whuh?” Iblis asked, sitting up in bed. For a moment, he experienced that weird little waking-up-existential-crisis where one couldn’t remember who, what and where he was. But after a second he recognized himself, his bed, his apartment and the dark-haired child at his bedside prodding him awake.
“What is it, Jonny?”
“Jared says pancakes are ready.”
“Awesome. Tell your brother I’ll be up in a few.”
“Jared also says you’ll need to check on Rudyard.”
“Oh for fu- for he- for something’s sake” Iblis muttered, reminding himself not to curse in front of his eight-year-old child.
As he got up – way before noon – he thought about the lazy-Ifrit-cliché that was commonplace among the good tribes. It was also true. He in particular, however, spent a lot less days on his back than he’d like to.
First things first, he went to check on his youngest son. As he had expected, Rudyard needed to be cleaned up. This was less of a problem than one might think; Iblis had raised a lot of sons, he could by now change a diaper with his eyes closed. Never ever had he employed a nanny for his sons. He didn’t trust servants with his children, or with anything for that matter.
Rudyard’s mother was not here. In fact, she had very unceremoniously dumped the infant at Iblis’ door with a note attached, telling him never to contact or try to find her ever. Needless to say, they had not parted on good terms.
Iblis didn’t like to think about it.
He had pancakes with his sons, because evil people neglect their children was another cliché, and he’d be damned if he’d let his life be permeated by clichés that stuck around like toxic waste. He made time for his kids. You do bad things, and you do them well, but you’re not an un-person for it.
He was feeding Rudyard when the phone rang. Rudyard immediately began to screech at the noise.
“Jared, could you take this!” Iblis called over to his second-eldest, while he himself cradled Rudyard in his arms and shushed him down.
Jared Teer, twenty-something years old and currently crashing at his father’s place because he had recently run into some Marid-shaped trouble and needed to keep his head down for a while, answered the phone.
“For you, dad” he said after briefly listening to the person calling.
“Okay, give” Iblis answered and extended his free hand, leaning Rudyard against his chest with the other.
Jared handed the phone over, and Iblis said “What is it?” into the receiver.
“Iblis? Hello” a woman’s voice answered. “This is Tenebrae Williams. I’m calling about my daughter Michelle.”
“Hi Ten, how you doin’? What about her?” Iblis replied.
“Well, she’s just had her wisdom teeth extracted, and she’ll be having her Tammuz soon. Could you maybe-“
“Wow, already? How old’s she now, twelve? When I last saw you guys, she was, what, five?”
“Six. Time passes so fast ” the Ifrit woman said with a smile in her voice. “How are yours?”
“Uh, you know, the usual. Rudyard’s learning to crawl already.”
“He must be a lot of work. Especially since his mother...”
“Right. About your daughter’s Tammuz. Are you guys planning on doing it here?”
“Actually, we’re at our place in Cairo right now. If it’s not too much trouble, maybe you could come over, that would be great.”
“Well, I’d have to take Rudyard with me. I’ll not risk leaving him with his brothers. But apart from that, it’s no trouble at all. I’ve got nothing going on this week. Let’s make it Friday, shall we?”
“Friday is great, thank you so much.”
“It’s ok. Oh hey, I think someone else is trying to call me. I’ll hang up now, ok, see you.”
“See you.”
He hung up and took the other call. It was his oldest son Odair, who he had recently set up with the task of keeping an eye on the enemy.
“Hello dad.”
“Hello son. Any news about the Marid?”
“I dunno, dad, depends. Do you mean your special Marid, or just the Marid tribe in general?”
“I have no idea what you’re implying, there is no ‘special’ Marid” Iblis swiftly replied.
“I dunno” Odair repeated. “It just seems like you care a bit more for Nimrod Godwin-“
“Shut your mouth, there’s nonsense coming out. What did you call me for?”
“Well, guess who just popped out a perfectly healthy little son. If your guess is Jenny Sachertorte, then you’re right. Bravo, dad. I salute you.”
“Fuck. Just what I needed right now.” He paused for a moment. “What’s the boy’s name?”
“Dybbuk.”
“That’s... quite a name. So, do I have to expect anything? Vindictum? Lawsuit?”
“I don’t think so. The husband won’t do anything, that’s for sure. Too much of a coward.”
“Alright. Thanks for telling me. Bye.”
Ignoring Odair’s protest, Iblis hung up. He looked down at Rudyard, who had fallen asleep by now, and thought ugh, great. Another son. A half-and-half. That’s bound to bring trouble.
In the living room, Jared and Jonathon were curled up on the couch watching a cartoon. Iblis himself abhorred television, but he didn’t forbid his children to watch it. They had limited TV-hours each day, and certain programs they were not allowed to watch until they were a certain age, but that was it. As he walked by, the Hawaiian cartoon-girl on the screen placed a flower crown on the head of a blue... creature...thing. “Ohana means family” she said. “And family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”
Iblis had a lopsided smile on this.

He went into the bedroom to place Rudyard in his crib. He then paused in front of his drinks cabinet, that had been located here so his kids wouldn’t happen upon it and contained, among other things, a truly excellent bottle of Scotch waiting for a moment just like this. Yes, sure, drinking was a vice, but he’d be damned if he-
“Daddy?”
He turned around nonchalantly, acting before the world and his eight-year-old son that he hadn’t just contemplated getting wasted with all his responsibilities and his kids present.
“Yes, Jonny?”
“I have... I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Daddy, are you a superhero?”
“A superhero?” Iblis said, smiling, while his mind went okay what, oh no, oh please.
“Only ‘cause, y’know, yesterday at dinner? You just snipped your fingers and the dishes cleaned themselves. And when I scraped my knee last week you blew on it and it just healed. So... do you have superpowers? Like Superman or something?”
“Come here.” Iblis sat down on his bed with his son. “Jonathon, I’m not a superhero. I’m a djinn. As are you, and your brothers, by the way. And I’ll never, ever be like Superman. I’m actually more like... he Joker?”
“I don’t get it. The Joker is evil and has no powers at all.”
“You’ll get it when you’re older, promise. When you get your djinn powers.”
“When’ll that be?”
“Um, let’s see, you’re eight now... should be another four years.”
“Another four years?! But I want my superpowers now!”
“They’re djinn powers, not superpowers, and there’s nothing I can do to speed things up. It’s just the natural process of growing up. Sorry, but you’ll just have to be patient.”
Jonathon pouted.
Iblis opened the window and lit himself a cigarette.
A Superhero. Tsk.
He had done this a lot of times, with all his sons, and whenever an Ifrit child had their Tammuz, but that didn’t make it any easier. He tried to imagine the other side of things, the leaders of the good tribes telling their children You’re a djinn now, welcome to heroically fighting evil! And the kids just being like Yaaay! Meanwhile, he had to tell young Ifrit that their parents were not the heroes they had taken them for, and that they themselves could never be heroes either, no matter how much they might wish for it, because that was just how things were. And he thought about how he had to do it again within this week when that girl Michelle had her Tammuz, and he could just about see the disappointment on her face, and his mood was thoroughly ruined.

Chapter Text

Nimrod had a habit with strays.
Every now and again he would happen upon a stray dog or cat while walking the streets of London, and he’d never be able to resist their wistful looks. This time, as he was taking a leisurely evening walk, it was a puppy.
“Oh dear” he sighed as something whined at him from an alleyway. He bent down and pet the tiny creature for a minute, wiping his hand on the nearest wall as he got up. “I’m afraid I don’t have any treats for you” he said as the dog pushed its wet little nose into his hand expectantly. Of course he could have easily provided something for the puppy to eat, what with being a djinn and all, but he knew in his heart that if he wanted to provide every stray in London with treats, he would run out of powers pretty soon. So he just walked on.
Except that, after a few steps, he turned around to see that the dog was following him.
“Oh, please leave” he addressed it again, as if it could possibly understand. “Don’t you have somewhere to go?”
The dog made no intention of leaving. Instead it ran up to him and sniffed his leg excitedly.
“None of that please. Shoo” Nimrod said and tried to walk on. The puppy went on pursuing.
“Look, I can’t adopt you. I really can’t. Find someone else.”
It was true. Nimrod owned an old house full of precious antiques and ancient carpets. Not the ideal environment for a dog. A dog would break stuff and shed hair on stuff and do other, nastier business on stuff, and Nimrod was, in those respects, a bit of a germaphobe. He liked his house nice and clean. And not to think of Groanin. The man would be absolutely appalled.
But still, the poor thing was so pitifully thin, and its fur was matted with dirt and definitely needed to be taken care of, and it looked at him with those big, soulful eyes and ugh...
“Alright, let’s see what I can do” he said, scooping the puppy up in his arms. It happily wagged its tail and tried to lick his face. “You’re still not going to my house, though.” Thank goodness he knew a decent animal shelter just down the road.
“Oh, Mr. Godwin, you again” the lady at the shelter welcomed him with a smile. “Found another one?”
“Yes, Mrs. Harrow, another orphan of the storm” Nimrod replied, setting the puppy down on the counter.
“We’ll do our best to find him a home. Won’t we, little buddy?”
Nimrod could only admire humans who truly liked being good to animals.
As he left the room, he heard Mrs. Harrow say to her colleague: “Y’know, I came to like that guy. Bit of an oddball, that one, but he drops by every other week with another stray. Very kind.”
As he came home, Groanin greeted him with: “You’ve got fur all over your suit, sir. Another stray?”
“Maybe” Nimrod replied.

Meanwhile, far away from that incident, another djinn whom you could well call Nimrod’s complete negative (Nimrod inverted, his nemesis, his counterpart) was also taking a walk through a city that he pretty much owned, and that he found extremely well.
Iblis liked Las Vegas. He liked the casinos and the neon lights and the exciting crime and how the city never stopped, never slept, but was active day and night. True, the imitated palaces and pyramids were a bit kitschy (alright, stark kitschy), but oh well. It wasn’t perfect, but it was all his. It was a city for Ifrit, for him, tailored to his every need. Iblis loved Las Vegas, and Las Vegas loved him back. Still, you had to tread with care here... literally, Iblis thought as his foot met an obstacle which, at glancing down, turned out to be a junkie lying in a gutter. About five rats were scurrying around the guy, probably waiting around in case he died soon.
“Ew, icky mundane” the Ifrit muttered in disgust and shooed the rats off with a few flicks of his walking cane.
One rat, however, stayed. Completely unafraid, the little creature looked up at the djinn and wrinkled its little nose. For a moment they just stared at each other, rat and snake, completely transfixed.
“Shove off” Iblis then said, hitting the thing with his cane. It didn’t shove off, though. The situation was almost comically similar to Nimrod’s, as Iblis turned back after walking a few steps, only to see the rat determinately following him through the gutter by the sidewalk.
“What the actual fuck” Iblis said to himself, then decided to dismiss it and go home. But after crossing a few streets, he had to realize that the damn thing was still keeping up.
“Now, I know that rats are smart cookies” he addressed the tiny creature, “But you’re not being smart right now. What exactly do you think to gain by this?”
The rat just sat on the sidewalk looking at the Ifrit. Of course it didn’t respond.
“Look, I’ll not benefit you in any way. I don’t think you’re adorable. And tell you what, no one ever will. If you were a kitten or whatever, I’d understand, but you’re a rat. A child of the sewers. You’re not cute, you probably transmit horrible diseases (like everything in this place does), you’re literally a pest. You are life’s trash.”
He gave the creature a kick and went his merry ways. Until, only a few blocks away from home, he heard a faint chirping sound behind him, like a bird or a... rat would make.
He sighed and turned around. There it sat, looking at him.
“You know what” Iblis said, went down on one knee and opened his hands.
The black rat ran up to him and onto his palm, and he lifted it up and permitted it to sit in his jacket pocket. Then he got out his cellphone and dialed Rudyard’s number.
“Rudyard, what do you think of rats?”
“Um...? Can be cute, I guess?”
“Do you want a pet one?”
“Err...”
“Good. For the record, you’ve now got a pet rat. Bye.”
As he entered his busiest casino that also served as his headquarters, Palis the foot-fetishist (or whatever it was the guy had going on) greeted him with: “There’s a rat in your pocket, sir.”
“Yeah so? I’m not weird. You are” Iblis replied.

Chapter Text

Imagine Iblis dying a lone and gruesome death in his jade suit of armor. A sad thing to imagine alright, but this is not the end of things, for after his death, Iblis goes straight to Hell (Where else, right). On arriving there, he meets the devil, who briefs him on how things run down here. He says he prides himself on running an efficient realm of pure evil. He says he has a talent for recognizing competence. He says “You look like a man who can do a thing or two”. He says there’s two ways things can go now.
Normally, he would send Iblis to purgatory with the other gazillions of lost souls to be punished for their sins for the rest of eternity. But there’s always a choice. He can “take the wings”, as Lucifer puts it, work under him as a minor demon. “We could use someone of your talent, someone with experience in the supernatural line of work. All future expenses covered, pretty good chances of promotion, and you get demon powers.”
“Where’s the catch?” Iblis asks. “That sounds a bit too easy to me.”
Of course there is a catch. The thing is, he still has a pretty impressive record of sins that he must still be punished for, “And working under me isn’t quite punishment, if I say so myself”. But he can work it off. He can make repayments, and Satan explains how.
Iblis doesn’t want purgatory. It’s an offer he can’t refuse.
There is always a choice.
He is given a pair of wings, a badass flaming sword (because a demon needs a badass flaming sword) and set to work.

Nimrod begins to notice shortly after Iblis’s death. It’s just small things: He spots a familiar face in a crowd, or catches sight of someone in his peripheral vision, but as he looks, there’s no one there. Whenever minor accidents happen to him (he almost walks into something, he almost cuts his hand on a kitchen knife), he often almost hears someone sigh and snap their fingers. And sometimes, when he’s completely alone, he gets a feeling of being watched. Not in a creepy way. It’s more like –he assumes – a faithful believer might feel that their Holy Spirit slash deity is watching over them.
He naturally never makes the connection.
That is, until he runs into real danger. Namely, a lunatic mundane who bottled him up and now wants to exploit his powers for himself. One moment, the guy is blabbing his mouth at him, in the middle of telling him the details of his evil plan, typically inefficient villain, next moment he’s suddenly grabbing his chest, yelling “Oh God, my heart!” and pitching over, dead as a doornail. And just in that very particular moment, Nimrod feels a third presence in the room, apart from him and the very unlucky wannabe-villain. He turns around and catches a glimpse of a vaguely familiar silhouette, illuminated in an unearthly glow, and hears a vaguely familiar voice whisper: “Oops...”
They make eye contact for about a second, then the presence is gone, vanished, as if it never existed.
He wants to dismiss the whole thing as his imagination on an adrenaline rush, but as his adventures with the twins commence, the ghostly... whatever it is appears again, not doing anything really, just always being there when things get dangerous, and John and Philippa see it too.
“Uncle Nimrod?” Philippa asks once. “What is this, um, thing that’s always by your side lately? You know, it looks like a person, always obscured by a strong light, and it seems to just... always have your back?”
“I don’t know what it is or what it wants, Philippa” Nimrod answers. “But I’m relieved you see it too and I’m not just losing my mind. I’m pretty sure it’s not hostile. One of these days, I’m going to unveil it.”
Philippa is right. It – Nimrod has no name for it – seems to be focused on always having his back. Whenever he uses up a lot of djinn powers at once, or just generally feels exhausted, something warm touches his back and he instantly feels refreshed – when he turns around, the area is surrounded by a vague general glowing, as if a strong source of light or warmth had just been located there, and sometimes he can hear a faint laugh fading on the breeze. It’s not the most pleasant kind of laughter, that’s for sure, it’s more like when someone pranks you and then laughs, see how stupid you look right now? On one of these occasions, Nimrod catches a black feather trundling through the air. Could be from some bird, he thinks. Or not.
The revelation happens one day, when Nimrod is in danger again, on his ever relentless fight against evil, ambushed by three Shaitan. They have him cornered and, not unlike Tolkien’s three trolls, are bickering over who gets to kill the Marid.
“Ugh, why don’t you let me have him? I’m the oldest, I go first.”
“I saw him first, you two just followed me. He’s mine.”
“No he’s mine.”
“Mine!”
“He is mine” says a voice, laced with all arrogance and hellfire of the world, and Nimrod knows in one great big rush of understanding that the thing – the good thing – the guardian thing is back. He also knows that voice. He just thought it long dead.
Dressed in the same old impeccable suit, the same cold snake-like eyes as ever, only with two black, slender wings on his back, Iblis calmly steps in front of Nimrod and draws an impressively big sword. He flicks it casually against his thigh and it catches on fire.
“He is mine” he repeats to the three. “I have worked my ass off to make his life hell when you little punks weren’t even around yet. He is my arch-enemy, I do the antagonizing here and you can go. Fuck. Off.” He bares his teeth to the three and snarls at them like some ferocious beast thing.
The three Shaitan are definitely doing math in their head for a second, then, realizing they still outnumber them, they charge. With the speed and grace of an attacking cobra, winged-Iblis goes at them, bringing the flaming sword down upon the first one in a bright, wide arch.
It cuts through the guy like a knife through butter, cuts him right in half, and as the other two take one look at their companion and run for it, Iblis raises the sword and says: “Wow. So that’s what this thing does.”
He turns around, looks at Nimrod, does a little mock salute. “Marid.”
Then he walks off, carelessly twirling the sword by his side, like he used to do with his walking cane back in the days.
Or at least he plans to do that. He never gets far, as Nimrod catches up with him, spins him around, grabs the front of his shirt and lifts him a few inches off the ground, wings and all.
“What are you doing here?!”
“Saving your ass” Iblis replies, like that was something he always did.
“Why aren’t you dead?!”
“Wow, rude. Trick question, Marid: You are holding me up by the chest. Do you feel any heartbeat on me? Probably no. I am dead, you know.”
“But...? The wings... and the protecting me... Iblis, how are you an angel?”
Iblis snorts. “An angel. Me. You’re a special kind of stupid, aren’t you? I’m a demon. Black feathers.”
“Oh. But I thought dead djinn had no way of coming back?”
Iblis shrugs. “I thought so too. Surprise there.”
“That still doesn’t explain you being here.”
“Oh, that. Well, this is where it gets awkward.” Iblis fidgets a bit, like he’s really embarrassed. “You see, some of us evil dead souls get a kind of get-out-of-jail-free-card. I made a deal with the devil because I didn’t want to spend eternity in purgatory for my sins. So I took the wings, became one of Satan’s errand boys. It’s surprisingly not half bad down there. Thing is, I’ve still got to make amends for all the bad stuff I did in life. I basically do that by... watching you.”
“I can’t believe this. You’re my guardian angel now?”
“Guardian demon, Nimrod. A lot of what the mundanes call ‘guardian angels’ is actually people like me. People who have dues to pay. The real angels can’t really be bothered with playing guardian for ordinary folks. They’re busy with saints and whatnot.”
“Guardian demon. Alright. And you’ll...um, you’ll... be around?”
“If you want me to.”
Nimrod takes a long look at his late once-greatest-enemy. Then he nods.

From this day forth, Nimrod can always rely on his demon to be there when there’s danger.
Even when he comes down with the flu in the fall, his demon sticks around, warming him with his hellfire (dead people can’t catch diseases) and reading Shakespeare's sonnets to him until they both fall asleep. When Groanin enters the room next morning and finds a creature with the face of a dead enemy and raven-like wings wrapped around his master’s sleeping form, he grabs a fireplace poker and tries to poke the gruesome thing off the bed. Nimrod wakes up to them dueling each other, poker vs. flaming sword, all over the room and has to get up to stop the fight, even though he feels most unwell. The two of them immediately unite and usher him back into bed.

Only when they go up against evil Dybbuk, Nimrod catches sight of Iblis standing by the side, eyes lowered and hands raised apologetically. He mouths the words No and Sorry and disappears from sight.

Meanwhile, in New York, Philippa Gaunt crosses a road. Deep in thought, she doesn’t notice an SUV that is about to hit her, until someone grabs her and pulls her out of harm’s way – it’s a close call.
As she turns around, as relieved as she is shocked, to thank her savior, she’s met with the sight of none other than Rudyard Teer with a pair of black wings on his back, casting an insecure half-smile at her.
“Hi” he says.
“Rudyard?!” Philippa exclaims. “Aren’t you supposed to be trapped in a jade suit? What’s with the wings? And did you just save my life?!”
“Umm, yeah” Rudyard replies self-consciously, his hand going up to scratch the back of his head. “I guess there’s something I have to explain to you.”

Chapter Text

“Mom, there’s a monster under my bed.”
It was midnight. Layla Gaunt looked down at five-year-old Philippa who was standing by her bedside and had just woke her up. On the other half of the bed, her husband Edward hadn’t noticed any of the commotion and continued sleeping peacefully.
“Phil, please. There are no monsters. Try to go back to sleep, alright?”
“John sees it too.”
“Oh dear. Did you wake your brother up over this?”
Philippa pouted. “He woke me up. Mom, can you please go check it out? We’re really a bit scared.”
Yawning, Layla got up and went with Philippa to the twins’ room. They would get separate rooms soon, but as long as they were young, their parents saw no harm in letting them sleep together. Especially as they, being twins and all, were so very close that they often thought and even dreamed the same things – which probably explained both of them seeing the same scary monster.
Layla armed herself with a flashlight and, as the twins demanded, checked both their beds, the closet, and every other dark corner they could think of. If there had ever been any monsters, they fled from Layla’s light.
“All done” she said. “No monsters anywhere.” She gave the twins a radiant smile. “Now you can sleep again, right?”
Her children gave her skeptical looks. “It will return as soon as the light is off” John said.
“Grownups can’t see it, only kids” Philippa added.
“We’re still scared” John concluded.
“Hmmm” Layla said. Then she had an idea. “Wait here a moment, will you? I’ll leave the light on.”
She went to her dressing room and fished an old necklace from her jewelry case. It was made of polished wooden beads and a pendant of ivory with engraved mystical symbols. It was a good-luck-charm and had been a present to her from an old Eremite lady from India, but that was long ago. On her way back to the kids’ room, she collected a teddy bear that they had been playing with that day, and put the charm on it.
She noted that John seemed a little more panicky than Philippa, so she put the bear in his bed. “Look, kids. I brought you someone to protect you from the monster.”
“My teddy?” Philippa asked.
“Not just that. See what the teddy is wearing? This is an Indian charm that brings good luck. It also repels monsters. So when you go back to sleep, John, and the monster comes back, this will protect you and your sister.”
“Really, Mom?”
“Promised. Are you still scared now?”
“No Mom, thank you” John said, smiling.

Another night, not too much time apart from that one. Rudyard Teer, recently turned six, peeked into his father’s bedroom. Iblis was alone in there, and sleeping, impossibly sprawled and tangled with the blanket, managing somehow to occupy a whole king-sized bed all by himself.
Rudyard padded up to the bed and gave a few prods where he suspected his father’s shoulder to be.
Now Iblis was a fast sleeper; when he was asleep he was ASLEEP, so it took a lot of prodding for him to come to life. He blinked at Rudyard a few times and then not very gracefully flopped back into the sheets.
“Wha’sit, Rudyard?” he asked, his voice muffled by the pillow on his face.
“Daddy, can I sleep with you tonight?”
“Why.”
“There’s a monster.”
Iblis raised his head. “A monster.”
“It’s in my closet. It’s scary.”
“You’ve prob’ly imagined it, go back to sleep.”
“No, daddy, it’s really there and it scares me!” Rudyard wailed, close to tears.
“Oh for the love of-“ Iblis muttered and got up. “I’ll go check it out.”
He went with Rudyard to his room, mildly annoyed to be deprived of his sleep. But as he opened his son’s closet and saw what was in there, mild annoyance turned to white-hot rage, and the next thing he knew was he’d grabbed the skinny, faceless, tentacled creature, punched it in the non-face, thrown it on the ground and was now kicking the hell out of it. It’s limbs were so slender and fragile that they didn’t stand much of a chance against pure, unleashed Ifrit-rage.
“Leave me alone!” the thing, despite not having a mouth, somehow screamed. “How can you even see me? I’m visible only to children!”
“I’m a djinn, you fucking ugly piece of trash!” Iblis yelled back and brought his heel down on the creature’s back. He felt an immense satisfaction as he heard something crackle in there. Grinning manically, he grabbed a handful of the black tentacles that were protruding from the closet monster’s back, twisted them around and ripped them right off. There was a lot of blood and the creature gave a blood-curdling scream of pain and anguish. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it hurts, I think I broke two ribs, oh God, please” it sobbed.
“There’s the door” Iblis snarled, pointing there. “Get the hell out of here and never, never molest my kids again, you got it? If I catch you here one more time, I swear to God I’ll not stop at anything.”
“I’ll never come here again, I’ll leave you alone, promise!” it cried and got the hell out of there, but not before Iblis threw its own ripped-off tentacles at its retreating back.
Then he stood there panting, with blood on his hands and more blood splashed all over his pajamas and even some of it on his face. As the bright-white nuclear plant waves of aggression disappeared from before his eyes, he saw that Rudyard, in the meantime, had gotten all of his brothers. They were all sitting together on the bed and watched him, completely enraptured.
“That was awesome, Dad” said Rudyard.
From this day forth, whenever Rudyard was scared of monsters, he would just slip into his father’s bed without much fuss. When you’re afraid of something evil, it is sometimes comforting to know that you’ve got a far greater evil on your side to kick the former one’s ass.

Chapter Text

There are many things in which djinn differ from the mundanes. Most importantly, djinn powers, and the fact that djinn are made of fire. Also, every djinn is born with the name of a person on their wrist, the person who will once become their soul mate. Well, I say every djinn. It is not uncommon for a djinn child to be born with an empty wrist. Some of these children will experience a name appearing on their skin as they grow older, some have to wait for many years, and some stay soulmate-less for their whole lives. The ones who have a full name and gemetrian name on their wrists from the start are thought to be extremely blessed. It is a good omen, such is believed, for a pure, open, honest relationship with their soulmate once they meet.

Nimrod is born with an empty wrist, but a name appears when he’s five years old. However, there is something peculiar about that name.

He is super excited when the first traces of ink start appearing, and can’t wait for it to form a name. One morning he wakes up with it fully developed, and immediately wakes his mother to read it to him. Ayesha Godwin takes a look at his wrist and is startled. They have a long talk, and Nimrod has to promise his mother to not tell the name to anyone. The only other person who gets to see it is the older sister Layla.

He shows it to her one night. It is storming outside, and he climbed into bed with her because he’s a little afraid. They have a light, and Layla is reading out from a book of fairytales, until she suddenly says: “You wanna see something odd?”
“What?” Nimrod asks.
Layla rolls up the sleeve of her nightgown. “Here, look. My tattoo formed a month ago. Isn’t is quaint? There’s no ancient name there at all. It just says ‘Edward Gaunt’.”
“Maybe it’ll just come later. Or maybe he is no djinn.”
Layla looks a bit worried. “But just think he was a mundane! He wouldn’t have my name at all, would he? I don’t know if I like that.”
“When you meet him, you’ll like him alright” Nimrod tries to comfort her. “Do you want to see something even more odd?”
“What?”
He rolls up the sleeve of his firetruck-red pajamas and shows her his name.
“Is that a male name?” she asks.
“Yes, it is. Mother said this can be possible. Apparently, soulmates don’t have to be all romantic. It’s just someone your soul is very closely connected to.”
“But Iblis Teer? I’ve heard of the Teer family. They’re bad djinn... very, very bad djinn.”
“Mother said so too. That’s why we mustn’t tell anyone. Maybe... there was a mistake, or...” He falters; he doesn’t know.

He grows up, many things happen. One of them is Iblis. He is indeed a bad djinn, the worst, maybe. Nimrod knows he has to fight him, and he does. Whenever they meet, he tries very hard to not sneak glances at the man’s wrist. It’s futile, anyway, as Iblis is always, always long-sleeved. As is Nimrod, by the way. They have a lot in common. Maybe, in a different world, they could have been friends.
One day Layla calls him from a New York payphone, sobbing and laughing into the receiver. She has just met her Edward Gaunt.
“I never would have thought” she says. “He’s a little mundane investment banker! Can you imagine? But, Nimrod, he’s wonderful, he’s truly kind-hearted, and generous, and... oh God, I hope he likes me!”
Nimrod assures her that she’s a beautiful, intelligent, charming, perfect woman and there’s no reason whatsoever for her mundane investment banker to not like her just as much as she apparently likes him.
A year after that, Nimrod is invited to their wedding.
The twins are born, both without names on their wrists. Maybe it’s because they have a mundane father. Maybe the names will come up later, and then Layla will have a lot of explaining to do.
Meanwhile, Nimrod’s own marriage has gone downhill. His wife, Alexandra, is a proud woman, and even though she does like him, she can’t bear to live with not being the one written on Nimrod’s arm, and who is written there instead disturbs her even more.

Iblis is born with a name, but it is not right. His father makes that very clear. He orders him to always, always cover it up and never show it to anyone. He doesn’t give any reasons for that, doesn’t even want his son to learn to read in order to keep him from knowing the truth. Iblis teaches himself to in the family library behind his father’s back. Only then he gets to know what is so wrong with him. But he never talks about it. His father will beat him if he brings it up. His father will beat him and his mother for anything really. Iblis spends his childhood enduring, and waiting, and when he gets his djinn powers and they become greater, far greater than his father’s, he frees himself of him. But he always covers his wrist, out of habit, and when asked will say that he has no soulmate, that there’s just blank skin there, and he doesn’t want people to look at that.
His sons are all born blank or with nice, unproblematic Ifrit names, and Iblis is secretly relieved every time. Maybe, he thinks, this family’s line of bad luck has ended with him.

Flash forward to the house of the French ambassador in Cairo, where Iblis has just bottled up the twins. It’s a moment of triumph, his plan has succeeded. Except that Nimrod suddenly materializes out of the computer.
“Good day, Iblis” he greets.
Iblis calculates his chances. He has to admit that Nimrod has chosen the perfect moment to screw him over. He’s entirely exhausted from just binding the twins, and he can also feel all that Brandy from earlier kicking in. He’s in no condition to fight.
“Ah, shit” he concludes.
Nimrod takes the little perfume flask, that the twins brought, from the table and calmly strides towards him. “One last question, Iblis, before I do you in” he says. “Back when you locked me up in that tomb. How did you find out my gemetrian name?”
“Oh, that was easy-peasy” Iblis smirks. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it. Maybe it’s the Brandy. Maybe it’s the fact that he just lost everything.
Nimrod watches, not sure what is coming, as the Ifrit opens the cufflink on his right arm. Like the expert poker player he is, he shows Nimrod the palm and back of his hand to indicate he has nothing up his sleeve. His wrist is covered with a length of cloth that looks like it’s been on there for years. The knot that closes it is so tight that Iblis has to use his teeth to remove it. Once he’s done that, he raises his right hand, his right wrist that bears both Nimrod’s common and ancient name, an almost pained expression on his face.
Both Nimrod’s hands fly up to cover his mouth as he feels tears welling up in his eyes. The little perfume flask falls down and shatters into a thousand pieces. “Oh God” he chokes past his fingers. “Oh God, you too.”
“What...what?”
Nimrod shows Iblis his own wrist, with Iblis’s name on it, and watches the Ifrit’s eyes widen. They both can’t believe it, they match, for goodness’ sake, they found each other... and they have a problem now.
“What now?” Nimrod asks.
Iblis shakes his head. “Don’t ask me, Marid, I’m no smarter than you.”
“Can I touch it?” Nimrod says timidly.
Iblis gives him a dubious look, but then extends his hand. Nimrod takes it, retraces the writing that he is familiar with, because it’s the font he signs all his letters in. Then he looks up at Iblis, who stares back, his face unreadable.
“Can I hug you?” Nimrod asks.
“Whatever” Iblis replies in a kind of shocked whisper, and Nimrod pulls him into a close embrace. Iblis doesn’t hug him back, but he doesn’t try to kill him either, which Nimrod takes as a positive sign. And as he tilts his head and makes their lips meet, he doesn’t ask for permission anymore. Iblis smells like snakes and Brandy, and he tastes horrible (he just threw up a live mouse, for God’s sake) but somehow, this is still one of the best moments in Nimrod’s life.
Eventually Iblis pulls away. “Marid, stop.”
Nimrod is disappointed. “It felt wrong, didn’t it?”
“It felt right, that’s what weirds me out right now” Iblis gives back. Nimrod smiles. Then they both ask: “So, you did all this-“ They pause, interrupting themselves.
“Alright, who asks it first? I guess it was the same question?”
“Let’s say it together.”
“Right, so you did all this-“
“-even though you knew I was your One Person, your soulmate? Yes. It was so hard at first. I didn’t want to fight you. I wanted to get to know you, as a person, not as an opponent. But it’s still my job to fight evil. I guess the wellbeing of the world was always more important than my personal happiness.”
“Aww, that’s what I call determined.”
“Also, I always thought you couldn’t...”
“...couldn’t possibly have your name? Someone that horridly nasty couldn’t possibly be set up with a valiant soul like yours?”
“Nonsense. You were just always trying to kill me, and that’s not what you usually do to your One.”
“In my case, yes it is. I have a reputation to uphold” Iblis snaps back, then mutters something almost inaudible, that somehow includes the words my father.
“Pardon me, I didn’t catch that bit. Your father? Was a cruel man, as far as I’ve heard, far more so than you. What about him?”
“Treated me like a failure from the start. I mean, I understand him to a certain degree, his son, his only son, being born with the name of a famous Marid family on his wrist? Hell, I see why he went apeshit. He thought I’d never amount to much as an Ifrit. He thought that this would hold me back. Well, it didn’t. When I took over the leadership, I had a hell of a lot to prove. Not to my father, screw my father, but to myself. I had to prove I was the best – or, as you’d put it, the worst Ifrit. I don’t know what happens now. I never thought... things will have to change, right?”
“Yes. Things will have to change big time.”

Things certainly happen differently from there. Five minutes after that exchange, John and Philippa are released from their bottle. They cheer at the sight of their uncle sitting in one of the uncomfortable chairs smoking a cigar, looking very pleased with himself.
“Uncle Nimrod! What happened?”
“Where is Iblis?”
“Here, I’m here” Iblis says, stepping up from behind a bookshelf.
“Aargh!” Philippa screams.
“Oh, shut the hell up, I won’t bite.”
“Well, you said you would kill or enslave them. How are they not supposed to be afraid?” Nimrod chides. The situation is oddly undramatic. The twins would never have expected hero and villain to be so familiar. Also, Iblis looks like he has been through some traumatizing, life-altering experience since they’ve last seen him. They look from their uncle to the evil djinn and back again. “So...?” Philippa asks awkwardly.
To their extreme surprise, Nimrod takes Iblis’s hand and shows the twins their wrists with their tattoos.
“What’s going on?” John demands. Nimrod spends the next fifteen minutes lecturing the twins on soulmates, and what just happened here, and how it will probably affect the Marid, the Ifrit and their war. Then they walk back to Nimrod’s house holding hands, the twins, who are still having a hard time taking all of that in, trailing behind them.
It is time for change.

Chapter Text

1. The Breaking Point Headcanon. This one has a lot to do with how I imagine the whole soul-mirror business to work with evil djinn. Like, each and every of them has that point in their life when their conscience catches up with them and they have this...revelation that what they have done is pretty fucked up, and then they break down, mentally. Which does not necessarily mean that they can stop doing evil things now – older djinn like Iblis have probably been broken for a long time and just carry on because, whatevs, it's not like their lives can have any other purpose. In the synopados, the soul of an Ifrit who has broken will not appear black or something, but literally shattered. It'll look like someone smashed the mirror.

2. Nimrod has seen Iblis's soul once on some occasion and was thoroughly disturbed.

3. Nimrod pities everyone evil from the bottom of his heart. He wants to defeat Iblis for the primary purpose of bringing him home, giving him a large fluffy blanket and a cup of tea and making sure he stays nice and stable and non-threatening.

4. Iblis has a hidden tattoo somewhere on him – just a stupid thing he did when he was young. It's nothing too grand, a small snake and a number thirteen or something (because of the song "thirteen" that is as close to Iblis's theme song as gets). The exact location of the thing I have not decided on... I'll leave it to the reader's imagination... ;p

4.5 As another Iblis theme song I would suggest "Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds btw. That's just me though. Nimrod's theme song would be Sting's "Englishman in New York".

5. Zombie apocalypse AU is something that needs to happen.

6. Iblis undressing while "Sail" is playing in the background is also something that needs to happen.

7. Nimrod said in book one that the Ifrit are cowardly and, with Iblis in custody, they wouldn't dare do anything. Well, that's true. Iblis sees his leadership as more like "watching a bunch of bratty five-year-olds that someone equipped with weapons of mass destruction that would put an atomic bomb to shame."

8. When Iblis is really, horribly bored, he sexts Nimrod. For the hell of it.

9. Nimrod can't dance.

10. Between book one and two when Nimrod had the bottle with Iblis in his possession, he would sometimes take him out because keeping him in the freezer was just so cruel. Iblis, who obviously hated the freezer, thus had to socialize. They ended up having a pretty good time, until Iblis had to be handed over to Ayesha.

11. Iblis has a namecalling kink. He gets off on his sexual partners telling him what an evil little piece of trash he is.

12. Apropos kinks: Nimrod secretly likes pleading (only with Iblis). In a dark part of his mind he has always kind of wanted to make Iblis beg him to do... y'know, things. He'd also like to make him apologize, but that's a different matter.

13. Whenever something "happens" between them, it's always Nimrod taking the initiative, or Iblis wanting to toy with or exploit Nimrod. It's tragic. It's one-sided. It's still majorly sexy.

14. Iblis doesn't "make love", Iblis "fucks".

15. Iblis is like an inversed supervillain – ruthless killer by day, totally normal family man by night...

16. Nimrod's... unhealthy interest in his greatest enemy could be part of the reason of his breakup with Alexandra.

18. There needs to be an AU where Iblis and Rudyard are freed from their jade suits. Rudyard, who had a lot of time to think about his mistakes, turns his life around and enforces inter-tribal peace and goes through lots of character development. He also gets closer to like-minded people from the good tribes, especially to Philippa who he learns to respect for her cleverness and courage. Iblis, meanwhile, has to deal with the consequences of having thoroughly failed at everything. And as Rudyard, pretty much spitting at his feet, tells him to go screw himself and his evil shit, and his other sons clearly voice their sense of this has gone too far about the fact that their father wanted to change the nature of the entire universe, Iblis realizes that he somehow managed to break apart the only thing he could rely on for his sanity – his family.

18.5 Imagine Philippa and Rudyard singing "Love is an Open Door"! (I'm sorry. I'm random.)

19. It must be very depressing to Ifrit parents in general to raise their children, knowing that, for a reason they don't really know anymore, the only perspective in life their kids have is being evil and messing shit up. Imagine telling your child: Listen, kid, when you grow up, you'll get phenomenal cosmic powers, BUT the whole world will hate you. Even if you don't do anything. Just for being you, and being born into an Ifrit family. As soon as Ifrit kids get their powers, they're going to be viewed as threats by good djinn, and therefore receive threats. Vicious circle. And there's no way out.
Imagine Ifrit parents like Iblis trying to protect their children as long as possible, trying to establish normal, safe lives outside their jobs – inversed-supervillain-lives – for the sake of their kids.
Imagine them watching their kids grow up and experiment with their djinn powers and find joy in being free to do whatever immoral thing they want. Imagine them filled with bitterness, because yes, they had fun too when they were young, evil is fun to some extent ok, but they know that their kids will eventually have kids too and they're going to learn how depressing it all can be and how being evil will inevitably run you down...

20. I'm not saying that kissing Iblis would have immediately redeemed him and prevented a lot of evil things to happen, I'm just saying Nimrod could have at least tried

21. Or maybe he has tried (and didn't succeed), like have you noticed, in book one, when John and Philippa get out of the bottle where time has passed much slower, and Nimrod tells them they had in fact not been weeks but merely fifteen minutes? And as we saw earlier when they were being imprisoned, binding a djinn and bottling him up is a matter of seconds. But still Nimrod needed fifteen minutes with Iblis, like what in the world did they need fifteen minutes for

22. Iblis cried through Despicable Me (he watched it with his sons, ok).

23. I imagine Nimrod sometimes being a little self-conscious about his appearance, since pretty much everyone he knows is extremely attractive, such as: basically his entire family, his wife, the whole Sachertorte family, even Iblis, who, as I recall, is described as the good-looking English type (well, except for his...umm, little moments in book 3), while Nimrod's just... eccentric? (Guy's gotta know that firetruck-red clothes make him somewhat stand out). If it ever came up between them, I guess Iblis's reaction would be "Yeah, you look weird, so? I thought that's what you were aiming at."

24. I like to imagine that Iblis secretly has some totally adorkable talent, like he's really good at drawing or baking cookies or playing the piano or what have you, but he never tells anyone about it because he's that evil guy ok and that's all the world needs to know

25. Pretty much everyone in the CotL universe could use a therapist. There should REALLY BE a therapist there somewhere, because everyone's a bunch of unsolved problems, both villains AND good guys

26. Guys, this just in: I discovered that there's an Elgar piece called "Nimrod", and it's sorta cute! And now, as the Iblis-playing-piano-headcanon (loosely based on book 3) has already gotten stuck in my brain, I want him to play this on the piano, maybe before a confrontation with Nimrod, and Nimrod walks in on him and listens and as he recognizes the song he tears up a little^^

Chapter Text

It happened. He has won. For the first time in forever, Nimrod wasn't able to stop him. And now, he has changed the nature of the entire universe.

When he turns the jade pyramid upside down, inflicting an Enantodromian binding on all existence while Nimrod and the twins are watching helplessly, Iblis is elated and happy and drunk on his absolute power. Watching his terracotta warriors brutally murder his enemies at his command is even better. Evil makes you high, it really does, and it's the greatest feeling of the world, blowing out the flame of a life, out, out brief candle. It's the main reason why Iblis is doing it.

Alone with the dead bodies of his enemies, millions of dead children and an apocalypse on his conscience, Iblis laughs and laughs and doesn't stop until Rudyard taps him on the shoulder and asks him to because "Dad, you sound deranged and it's creeping me out".

Only several days later, he asks himself: What now?

Yes, what now...? Bad luck has triumphed over good forever. He only now understands that he has just now ended the war of the djinn tribes, rendering all evil djinn utterly useless. Their only purpose has been bringing bad luck to mundanes, and that's all done now. The lives of all Ifrit, Shaitan and Ghul are even more purposeless than before. And yes, that includes himself.

Meanwhile, the world turns to chaos. The millions of families all over the world who are heartbroken over the loss of their children are only the beginning. As the world experiences the full power of the Enantodromian, and every wish any mundane in the world makes turns to its exact opposite, world order as we know it ceases to exist. And we're not talking "harmless" mischief like someone wishing for coffee and getting tea. Not that things like this are not extremely troublesome and confusing for the poor, unassuming humans. It gets dangerous when someone wishes for coffee and receives rat poison – an Enantodromian wish is pretty unpredictable. But the people with greater, existential wishes, the people who wish for world peace or a long life, the people who say "I wish my terminally ill mother would get better", the people in third-world-countries wishing for access to more food, clean water and medical care, they are the real losers.

Resources are dwindling. Wars and plagues are breaking out. People are dropping dead by the thousands. The third-world-countries are first, with the developed world soon to follow. Humanity lives in fear.

There's nothing much the good djinn (those who are left) can do. And even if she could do something, Layla Gaunt would probably not. With her two beloved kids and her little brother dead... she is broken. They say she might have lost her djinn powers over the shock. And as the world slowly turns into a post-apocalyptic wasteland, no help comes from the Marid. Every one of them who attempts to save whatever they can choke on their helplessness, for no one can remove the binding. And still the man who is the cause of all this can cross a street in Vegas relatively unmolested.

I say relatively because the situation in Las Vegas is just as dire as anywhere else. All the gangs and shady mafia organizations of the city have risen to the surface, fighting each other over money and resources. The Ifrit can't maintain control, even with their djinn powers. And while nobody molests Iblis, all his sons are involved in street wars.

Iblis feels his genius plan backfire on him, and spectacularly. He looks out of his window at the mundanes killing each other in the streets, sees Sin City turn into a hellhole, and feels useless and weary. This is not how it's supposed to go. He has won, for hell's sake, he should rejoice, but he doesn't.

He spends most of his time reading. The complete works of William Shakespeare. Right now, he's at Othello. The setting has nothing in common with his situation whatsoever, which is highly welcome. But as Othello, having smothered Desdemona in her bed, says Methinks it must be now a great eclipse, he puts the book down. "A great eclipse" he mutters to himself and sighs, burying his head in his hands.

He doesn't know why, but this is when he makes the decision to visit Nimrod's grave.

So Iblis goes to London, seeks out the cemetery where they lay his old enemy down to his last rest. He finds the headstone, a simple thing with Nimrod's name in gold on it, totally unbecoming of Nimrod and his eccentric one-of-a-kind personality, his great soul. Someone – probably Layla – has left a bouquet of wilting red peony, Nimrod's favorite, a long time ago. Iblis stands before the grave and wonders what he's doing here. Nimrod wouldn't have liked this arrangement, that's for sure. He would have preferred a sea burial. He said that once. It's strange, the things he remembers about Nimrod.

He kneels down and retraces the letters. He has a feeling that he should say something. You do that in moments like this. What would Nimrod like to hear from him?

"I'm sorry" he says. "Really. I messed up and I'm sorry. I wish-"he bites his tongue in the last moment and corrects himself: "I know none of this should have happened. So there. I said it. Sorry. That's what you always wanted, right?"

But of course none of this is anything close to what Nimrod always wanted. Nimrod wanted to save him, preferably before something like this happened. Nimrod wanted to take him home. Nimrod wanted to spread good luck. And, above all else, Nimrod probably didn't want to die like this.

And then he knows why he had to come here, knows why Othello of all things reminded him of the Marid he's been fighting for the best part of his life. Because he knows that Marid loved him, with all his giant stupid heart, despite all, loved him. Because Nimrod, in a sense, has been his Desdemona, the only pure thing in this fucked up life that could have been his, that loved him, and that he killed. "I'm sorry" he whispers once more, and knows Nimrod would have been delighted to hear that, if he only could. But he can't, anymore ever, and it's all his fault. He leans his back against the headstone and lets the wind wash a few stray drops of rain in his face. They almost feel like tears, but Iblis has forgotten how to cry a long time ago.

There's a mundane family at another grave nearby, he can overhear their praying. They're wishing their "dear departed" were with them in these "dark times". Iblis wonders what the Enantodromian binding will make of that. Probably a zombie apocalypse, he thinks bitterly.

He returns to Vegas, where his Ifrit await him with two more corpses. And not just any two corpses, no. Jonathan and Rudyard. Two of his sons he was supposed to protect. Murdered.

The regret tastes strange and bitter. He hadn't even told them to stay safe, or a word of goodbye. They have fought out there in the streets, and he wasn't there. Because he's just about the worst father ever.

Only now he remembers Dybbuk, poor Dybbuk. He doesn't even know where he is right now. Probably also dead already, what without his djinn powers.

That night he remembers how to cry.

He doesn't leave his apartment much in the following days. For the first time in his life, Iblis is genuinely, painfully sorry for his sins. He has won, but he has lost. And the only person he could have gone to, who could have somehow made it better, is dead because he killed him. He feels like dirt. The face in his bathroom mirror starts to look disgusting. One day, he seeks refuge in Shakespeare again, Macbeth this time. Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow...

He yells and throws the book against the wall.

A poor player that struts and frets...

He picks up drinking again.

...his hour upon stage, and then is heard no more...

But he's stone cold sober the day he gets a razor and cuts into his left wrist, a deep, precise cut.

It is a tale told by an idiot...

Because even if their plans succeed, villains don't get happy endings.

...full of sound and fury...

Feeling more calm and collected than he did in a long time, he watches the blood droop out of his wrist, forming a slow growing puddle on the floor as his vision blurs and he's getting increasingly sleepy.

...signifying nothing.

This doesn't feel so bad after all.

Chapter Text

Pre-canon:

"I should probably not do that" Iblis thought and went home to masturbate instead. Totally unaware of the chain of bad things he had just made not happen, he pretty unceremoniously shot what would have been Dybbuk up a wall.

--------

"I should probably not do that" Faustina thought and refrained from possessing the British prime minister.

--------

When Iblis answered his door, he was confronted with an extremely angry Jenny Sachertorte, with a baby tucked under her arm.

"Iblis, we need to talk" she said.

"What the hell" said Iblis.

---------

The whole Ifrit tribe consulted a therapist and had their issues sorted out.

Book 1, Cairo:

"...You two have so much in common" Hussein Hussaout said.

"Are you trying to play matchmaker, Hussein?" Nimrod asked half-jokingly.

Hussein shrugged. "Can't blame a man for trying" he said. "You know you'd really be so hot together."

"Iblis is always hot" Nimrod said without thinking, then hurriedly added: "Because he's a djinn, get it, fire... pun intended?"

"Not buying it, my friend" Hussein Hussaout grinned. "You know he's having us watched right now, do you? And that he's also hella fast?"

Right at that moment, Iblis threw the door open. "Nimrod, we need to talk" he announced dramatically.

And that's how two influential djinn found themselves on a date instead of squabbling over who gets to take over the world or whatever.

Book 1, still Cairo

After locking the twins up in the Brandy decanter, Iblis enjoyed his victory... for an entire two seconds, as Nimrod suddenly came out of the computer.

"Woah, Marid, way to give me a heart attacmmff-"

Iblis never finished his sentence because Nimrod backed him up against the table and oh my God, where did that stupid Marid learn to kiss like that? Something needs to be done... immediately...in a minute...wow hey don't put your hand there oh. God. Yes...

Book 2

Edwiges the Side Character became the new Blue Djinn, as Nimrod had planned, and saved everyone an almost infinite amount of trouble.

Book 3, Las Vegas/India

Iblis hired competent servants/ went after Nimrod and Mr. Rakshasas himself. Therefore, his hot original body was not eaten by tigers.

Book 3, London/Vegas

"Do you think Iblis could have something to do with the snake cultists?" Nimrod asked.

Mr. Rakshasas answered that no, he thought that pretty unlikely.

"Anyhow, just for the twins' sake, I'd like to know where he is. He's the primary antagonist" Nimrod said, momentarily glancing over the fourth wall like a Colossal Titan. "So I think he's top priority. I'd rather go after him before getting wrapped up in other stuff. Which I should have done months ago, right when he escaped, by the way."

And thus Nimrod went to Vegas, did some snooping around, and finally found Iblis in his secret hideout, aka his hotel room that he hadn't left for weeks. Observing the activity in Ifrit-run casinos had become very boring very quickly, so now he was watching a vines compilation on youtube, accompanied by his pet rats and a pint of Ben & Jerry's.

"Iblis, what on earth" Nimrod said.

"What!?" Iblis replied around a mouthful of ice cream. "I just needed some me time, is all."

"Me time" Nimrod repeated acidly. Then he took a deep breath. "Alright. So. Don't you think I'll even fight you in that state. Here's what's going to happen. You are going to take a shower, tidy your hair, cut your nails, brush your teeth, at least change your pajamas, shave that bush off your face... and for the sake of everything holy, get rid of the rats. Ew."

Iblis crossed his arms, legs and just about anything else that was crossable. "No."

"Fine. Then I'll do that for you." He went to the bed and scooped the protesting Ifrit into his arms, lifting him up bridal style.

"Which way to the bathroom, good sir?" he asked the baffled mundane servant who, with a wide smile spreading over his features, pointed to a nearby door. Here finally was someone even more haughty and English than his master.

"Thank you so much" Nimrod said.

"You're fired, Oleaginus" Iblis called over his shoulder.

"Thank God, finally" Oleaginus whispered.

And as Nimrod and Iblis quite involuntarily took a shower together, Oleaginus danced out of the casino singing something that sounded like "Smeagol is free" over and over.

Book 4, Las Vegas

Dybbuk listened to his mother.

"Dammit" Iblis thought, went back to bed and didn't come out until next Christmas.

Book 4 – the day Dybbuk threw a pizza at Adam Apollonius

The high and mighty Jonathan Tarot was bored. He was hanging around trying to eat a pizza, but he was distracted by Adam Apollonius, who had curiously started telling dad jokes. At last, Dybbuk got so annoyed that he tried to haul the entire pizza into the man's face, but his plan was foiled as Apollonius glared at the pizza and made it spontaneously combust.

Dybbuk gaped. "How did you do that?!"

"Umm, I'm a conjuror? Duh?"

"No, those were djinn powers. You're a djinn like me!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh stop lying, man, tell me the truth."

"Fine." Apollonius cleared his throat. "Dybbuk, I am your father."

"No, that's not true!" screamed Dybbuk...

Book 4 – Xian, China

"...What about the joy of beating me? That'll be over forever. The people need the possibility of good and evil to make their lives interesting. And you know that goes for you, too..."

"Don't listen to him, dad, he-"

"Shut up, Rudyard. So what you're saying is that we basically need each other? Like, good needs evil to exist and vice versa, but I personally also need you...personally?"

"And vice versa" Nimrod said. He swallowed the lump in his throat and went on: "You... I've long ago accepted that. You are a constant in my life. Your hate is what keeps me going. As strange as it sounds, you are the reason I get out of bed some days. You're the one who never left me, and yes, I need you. You must feel it too. None of us can overthrow the other, because what's left to do without each other? What would I do with a life without our fight? What do I do with a life without you?"

Groanin and the twins watched in astonishment as Iblis slowly lifted a hand to his mouth. "You do know, Nimrod, that this is the most romantic thing anyone ever said to me in the history of ever?"

"So...?" Nimrod began, but faltered, because he didn't know just what he was even going to ask.

Later none of them knew who had made the first step, but suddenly they had their arms around each other and they were hugging and everything was somehow magically turning out to be alright.

Iblis let go after a while, and looked around like someone waking up from a long dream. He looked at the terracotta warriors, his own jade armor, and the pyramid full of screaming, crying children's souls.

"What have I done?" he whispered.

Book 4, Xian, China – the steamy NSFW version

Would you believe that doing evil things gives certain strange-minded people a hard-on? It does. And that's really uncomfortable when you're wearing a jade armor.

Iblis couldn't wait until this fricking thing was done for so he could get out of the jade suit and just bloody have a wank. Hey, it's an essential need, okay? So maybe that was why he wasn't quite paying attention to all the fine detail and was rather rudely surprised by Philippa's arrival with the golden tablet (of doom). And thus, one thing led to another and his whole evil plan was foiled. You know the story.

Thereafter...

"So, you guys know that you're going to be punished for messing with my plans. Cruelly punished. Starting with you, Nimrod."

"Oh joy" Nimrod muttered.

"So, I could order my djinn warriors to rip you to pieces or something, but, y'know, I'm not in the mood." Not in the mood indeed – Iblis could feel his raging hardness tight against the jade armor and almost moaned out loud. God, that really hurt – and here was a perfect solution.

"Back him up against the wall" he ordered his djinn warriors lazily in Chinese. "And you, Marid, get on your hands and knees."

"Iblis, what are you-"

"Cover your eyes, Rudyard" Iblis now ordered his son. "Or better yet, leave this place. That goes for everyone else too." He stepped up behind Nimrod. "We are going to have so much fun" Iblis hissed into Nimrod's ear, reached around him and opened his pants.

Nimrod uttered a defeated sigh. "Just...try and be gentle, will you."

Iblis actually laughed a little. "Oh, Marid. You messed with the most intricately, cleverly hatched evil plan I could have possibly developed – I won't be gentle."

"Umm, uncle Nimrod?" Philippa called out as she was dragged out of the pyramid. "You know, I have the golden tablet right here with me, should I do-"

"Philippa, don't you dare do anything" Nimrod said very calmly. "This is going to be so good."

That made Iblis hesitate. "Why, what do you mean by that?"

"I mean" Nimrod replied "that if you insist on playing this way, and even if I'm going to have to peel every piece of jade off you with my own two hands, before the night is over, I'm going to make you very sorry... for everything."

"Let's see" Iblis breathed.

Half an hour later, the golden tablet began to glow and smoke, and another djinn appeared in the pyramid.

"I am the great Khan-" he began.

"Yes, go away. We're busy."

"But... I'm here to punish..."

"Your possibly archaic and cruel methods of punishment are not needed! I can handle him myself! Now goodbye!"

"Aww" the great Khan sighed and disappeared.

Book 5, New Haven

"No, you can't come with us."

"Oh" Zadie said.

"Maybe next adventure, bye now Zadie."

Book 5, secret Incan city thingamabob

"Please don't do it, Dybbuk" the whole world and everyone in it said.

And Dybbuk fucking LISTENED. THE END

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Nimrod's eyes blink open.

He's in a bright, light room, white seems to be the dominant color. But what's far more important than his surroundings is Iblis, who is standing over him, looking at him with an almost mild expression that differs very much from his usual, rather unbecoming frown. Something about this situation is strange, and with his sleep-addled mind, for a second he can't remember where he is.

But as he wakes up some more, he remembers. He's at home in London. But what is Iblis doing here?

No, that's wrong, too. He is in Cairo, on a quest for the missing djinn of Akhenaten. Unfortunately, the Ifrit are on a similar quest, and so he is right now having his final stand against Iblis. Why he blacked out earlier isn't quite clear yet, but maybe the Ifrit put up a fight, knocked him against the wall he's leaning on. But Nimrod knows his enemy is exhausted now and can't fight much longer. He's got the upper hand.

"I foiled you again, Iblis" he calmly informs him.

"Probably saving the world from my wiles once more" Iblis says with a thin smile bordering on tiredness. "Congratulations, Mr. Godwin."

So many things are off about that answer. But the strangest thing is...

"Why did you just call me that?"

"Called you what, sir?"

"Mr. Godwin."

Now Iblis does frown. He's also not wearing his usual suit, but casual clothes under what looks like a white lab coat. This getup is unusual, and makes him look a lot less threatening than he has any right to look. "Because that's your name, isn't it." Although it sounds careful, it's not a question.

Nimrod clicks his tongue. "Of course it is, don't be silly." He ignores the fact that he just heard Iblis mutter oh thank goodness under his breath and goes on: "But you don't usually call me that. You call me Nimrod."

"Oh, first-name basis, are we? Actually, we do not usually address patients by their first names in this institution. Professionalism and respect have always been our watchwords. And I do wish you'd call me Doctor Teer. But that's not what I disturbed you for. Look, you have a visitor, sir – your sister."

Nimrod is baffled as a door opens and Groanin appears, letting Layla in. She looks like she doesn't want to be here. But it's her alright.

Iblis walks up to her, holds out a hand. "Mrs. Gaunt, I'm very glad you could make it." Layla shakes his hand, apparently unbothered by the great danger she's in. His sister isn't usually that foolish...

"Layla, get away from him" he warns her, standing up. "And don't shake his hand! He'll steal your powers, or worse! You know who he is!"

Layla just looks at him and shakes her head, a distressed look on her face. "Not to worry, Mrs. Gaunt, that's a common occurrence here" Iblis intervenes. "Absolutely harmless. I suggest we go somewhere else, though. No use in upsetting him. We don't want another whirlwind incident, do we? Mr. Groanin will take excellent care of him." He ushers Layla out the door, where Nimrod can do nothing for her. He panics for a second, he has to save his sister from Iblis, but then it dawns on him.

This is a dream.

The white room, Iblis and Layla being so familiar around each other, all of this is not real. He is dreaming. And as Groanin gently guides him to the bed, he closes his eyes and tries to wake up.

"Mrs. Gaunt,we've been trying for so many years. I do not plan on leading you on. None of our medications have worked so far. I'm afraid it's terminal."

"I feared it" Layla sighs, suppressing a few stray tears.

She's sitting in Dr. Teer's office. He offers her a tissue.

"No thanks, it's alright" she declines politely, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "It's just... it's still a bit shocking to see him like that. He hasn't gotten a bit better, has he? I mean... what even was that just?"

"Who can fully know that?" Dr. Teer shrugs. "I have an explanation, but it's a little difficult to, um, explain."

"I have time" Layla insists.

"You see, Mrs. Gaunt, your brother has taken to including everyone that works in this clinic into his pretend-world. For example, he thinks that Dr. Rakshasas is his djinn friend, an adviser of some sort. Mr. Groanin, the nurse you met earlier, is his butler. This... fantasy world he escapes into is very elaborate. You see that set of mind sometimes with chronically schizophrenic patients. Telling him that there is no such thing as djinn will not sway him in the slightest."

"And you?"

"Me? I'm the villain, of course" Dr. Teer gives a sarcastic laugh. "No good story without a villain, eh? Iblis Teer, the most renowned evil djinn in the world, leader of some evil tribe or other. I must admit, it almost flatters me, being attributed such a terrifying reception. Of course, as I'm the one who most often tries to break through his escape world and reattach him to a rather more unpleasant reality, his mindset of me is naturally... hostile. And then there's the association of my name."

"Iblis, which dates back to the holy Qu'ran, where it serves to name the Muslim equivalent of Satan."

"Yes" Iblis says with a strained smile. "Of course your brother knows that."

"And about me...?"

"From what I gathered, you're still his sister, also a mighty djinn of course. But he talks of you as absent from the djinn...community or society, call it what you will. He expressed frustration over you, um, distancing yourself from your djinn powers."

"That makes sense. I mean, I tried talking him out of this djinn nonsense at first."

"He doesn't mention you all that often. Most of his...adventures rather resolve around your kids." He leafs through some files. "John and Philippa, both fourteen. Right?"

"No, doctor. They were fourteen when he got ill. They've graduated high school this summer." As if feeling the need to prove it, Layla takes a photo out of her wallet. It shows the twins wearing graduation robes and hats, waving their high school diplomas proudly. "They are good kids. We are so proud. Especially of Philippa. She's been accepted into Yale just now."

"Congrats, Mrs. Gaunt. That's a good college. I've been there myself. But you almost have to be a genie to afford that kind of education these days."

"Thanks. Well, I'm not a genie. My husband got into money as an investment banker. I'm currently working as his CEO and raising the kids. You know, Nimrod and I were so close as children. But then, as things go you know, I married, we both went our separate ways. I moved to NY, he stayed in London. He traveled a lot. We hadn't met in ages. But then he became...like that. It started out with pretty harmless things, like. He started making up all kinds of stuff, like his special djinn handshake, where you make with your middle finger like that..." she demonstrates it, "...so that nobody takes advantage of your powers. He was convinced that he could make anything happen just by concentrating really hard and shouting some nonsense word. We had to take him in with us because he couldn't take care of himself anymore. He thought he could simply wish for food and it would appear. But, well, he wasn't doing any harm to anyone, and he had always been...eccentric. We only decided to get him into a clinic after the...whirlwind incident. That you know of."

"Tried to conjure up a whirlwind to fly on, on the roof of the Guggenheim museum in New York. Hmm."

"He almost got himself killed." Layla wipes her eyes again. "At least here he's safe. Even though, excuse me but I'll be frank, I don't feel like you're getting much done."

"Excused already, Mrs. Gaunt. It's natural of you to doubt us and I don't take offense. As I said, we tried very hard and are still trying, but we can't work miracles. Unfortunately I'm no genie either. And there's only so far we can go. The law prohibits psychiatrists from trying...overly harsh treatments without the patient's consent, and since your brother, and now I'll be frank, doesn't even know where he is or who we really are, he won't consent to much. Even though Mr. Godwin would surely say otherwise, I do have some scruples. We can't cure everyone. But we can make sure he's safe and gets treated like a person, with due respect."

"So, his brain's a total fry-up" Layla concludes bitterly.

"Saying that would be doing your brother injustice." Dr. Teer replies. "He remains one of the most intelligent people I have ever treated. It takes a lot to build up such intricate a world that is based strictly on scientific fact. The details that thing goes into are elaborate and fascinating and very well thought out. I take it he was quite an expert in the field of science before the illness?"

"Yes. He was a bit of a...Renaissance man. Skilled in every field, you know. Mathematics, physics, literature, all kinds of foreign cultures, multiple languages, a bit of geology... I thought he was a genius. But then everything changed."

"I have reason to believe that everything roots in what might have happened to his wife. Alexandra, I think her name was. Do you have any information regarding that?"

"No, doctor. I... actually, I didn't even know anything of a wife. As I said, we've been out of contact for ages. I must admit I'm a bit shocked now."

"Oh, but I'm pretty sure she's real. If my theory is correct, this...djinn world is some form of escapism. All in order to escape whatever happened to his wife. You know, Mrs. Gaunt, when you work here a while, you start to view people differently. Mr. Godwin is...completely out of this world most of the time, but that doesn't mean he's just totally cuckoo. He has worked us, the doctors and nurses, into his system, and it works for him. He's...insightful. I'd even say wise. And he's as good a judge of the human psyche as I am. For example, our Mr. Groanin had a bit of a...history way back. Nothing too serious, he had been unemployed for some years and did some low-level thieving to get by. He's very glad to have gotten a second chance in this clinic. Your brother talked to the man a few times and just...was in the picture. And he's reacted most positively to Groanin ever since. He's made him his personal butler. I think it flatters Groanin. As for me, I...haven't made much time for my kids lately. I've been...very wrapped up in my work. And Mr. Godwin somehow seemed to notice. It's all within his system, but he spoke to me about my son Dybbuk just yesterday. We're always in for an eye-opener with him. And it never does harm to listen to what he says. And while he still perceives me as the villain he has to fight, he himself is intent on using his 'djinn powers' purely to help others. He seems to believe him and the other 'good djinn' are responsible for some sort of balance of good luck in the whole world. It's a power fantasy, but an entirely benevolent one. He seems to feel like he rather has to help us. So as long as he does no harm to himself or others, who can say it's morally bad to want to live in a world of adventures and magic carpets where wishes still come true?"

Later, in the evening, when his shift ends, Dr. Teer checks on Mr. Godwin one last time. He could well be considered one of the most interesting cases of his career. Their therapy sessions are always as strangely fascinating as they are exhausting. Despite what he has said to Mrs. Gaunt, he has long given up trying to coerce the man out of his fantasy world. He knocks on the door to his room before opening it. Professionalism and respect.

His patient is sitting on the bed. Deep brown eyes stare at him calmly. They seem to look directly into his soul.

"Just here to say goodnight, Mr. Godwin" he says with a forced smile.

"Go see your son and apologize, villain" Mr. Godwin advises gravely.

"Will do, sir, will do. Actually, I'm going on vacation with the family next week. So I'll have to postpone our therapy sessions, unfortunately."

"You're the one who needs therapy here. Not I."

"Maybe you're right, sir." Gosh, maybe he is. Maybe I do need a psychiatrist soon. What with this darn depressing atmosphere all over this clinic. What I definitely need is a vacation. A long one. Or just some sleep. God, I'm tired. He always is these days. Ever since his wife left, and he has to provide for the kids on his own, he feels like he's working his hands to the bone while still, somehow failing as a father. He gets nightmares, sometimes, of breaking down, of becoming like his patients in the ward for the terminally ill. Sometimes, in the darkest hours of night, he can almost hear the voices already, screaming in his mind what a failure he was, failure, failure, failure. And here is this man, who believes that anything is possible, that he can heal the world with his powers of good. Lucky bastard.

He has almost closed the door, when Mr. Godwin adds: "Get help, Iblis. Even if it's just for your drinking problem."

Iblis turns his head so fast, he almost catches whiplash.

Chapter Text

Why do they always leave?

The question was a selfish one, but after his last adventure with John and Philippa, it began to grow in Nimrod's mind. As he sat, brooding about the loss of the twin's and eventually his own djinn powers, alone in his London estate, it occurred to him that people leaving him was a recurring pattern in his life. It had started with his mother, who had left him and Layla on their own to become blue djinn. His father had been absent from the very start. And it had gone on from there. Alexandra had left, Layla had left. Mr. Rakshasas had left, but that wasn't his fault of course. Even Iblis had left. Then Layla again. And now John and Philippa too. After sacrificing their djinn powers, they had politely told him that they wished no further contact to djinn society. They just wanted to go on with their normal lives. Now Nimrod was alone again, naturally. The only person who had stayed was Groanin, and that only because he had tried to leave and it went awry.

So naturally, plagued by his bad conscience about what he had done to the twins (they had assured him they were happy as it were, but still, friends don't let friends sacrifice themselves) and a new kind of distrust in the friendship of his butler (he had trusted Groanin, he had valued his work and his company, difficult as he was, but still he had tried to leave him), he couldn't help but ask himself how he deserved such bad luck with people. He knew he wasn't always the easiest person to be around, as he had dedicated every aspect of his life to fighting the good fight, he knew he was considered a little weird, but still. What was so wrong with him that he couldn't maintain a single stable relationship to anyone?

And now he was even losing his djinn powers. Not all at once, fortunately, but he could feel them slowly draining. From here on, things would be a downward spiral, until he was almost all out, like Mr. Rakshasas had been. He was getting old. He was getting old, and maybe he had overdone it. Saving the world so many times, almost in a row. It wasn't like him to brood over bad thoughts or wallow in self-pity, but somehow he felt like he had worked so hard, and gotten next to nothing in return. Apart from a not destroyed world, that is.

So here they were. Nimrod was trying to read, but he kept nodding off. The TV was running. Normally Nimrod would not permit such atrocity in his house, but Groanin wanted to watch the news, and Nimrod was too dozy to even argue. He hadn't even noticed he had fallen asleep as he woke up to the late night news. Groanin wasn't in the room, he'd probably left to make tea or something. Right now, the news anchor was saying: "XIAN, CHINA – a spontaneous explosion has taken the lives of ten scientists on an exploration on the site of the grave of ancient Chinese emperor Qin. The scientists were apparently trying to break open two hollow statues made of jade and gold that were discovered weeks prior. Spokespeople quote that it was a case of spontaneous combustion probably caused by sulfurous gases emitting from the-"

Nimrod turned the TV off. "Spontaneous combustion, right" he muttered. This meant trouble. He should probably jump into action. But alas, his jumping days were coming to an end. He felt like the world owed him at least a short break. He had saved it so many times already. Couldn't someone else please take care of this? He was so tired...

But this night had another surprise in store for him. And what it sure didn't plan for was an awful lot of sleeping.

The next thing Nimrod knew was, he was still on the couch, feeling a bit frazzled and confused as to what had woken him up. Until he heard it again. Someone was ringing the doorbell. In the middle of the night.

With the foreboding feeling that he shouldn't wake Groanin over this, he went to the door himself, opened it a bit and looked out into the cool night.

Standing there was none other than Iblis, not the mundane body he had last possessed, but the devil his own self. Naturally, Nimrod thought, a quiet thought amidst a wave of welling up fear, first thing that vain Ifrit would do, get his original body back. With improvements, probably.

He couldn't help but think: This is so unfair. All I asked for was a small break. And now, as everything finally looks quiet, that gosh-darn Ifrit has to resurrect and saunter back into my life.

Except that Iblis didn't saunter. Not at all. In fact, he was almost hunched over, leaning heavily against the wall. He looked...bad. Like he could bend double, collapse or just puke on Nimrod's shoes any given moment. He also reeked of stale alcohol, but that wasn't the only thing that was wrong. Tiny beads of sweat covered his face, and he seemed to have trouble breathing right. So Nimrod's second reaction – the first one being the aforementioned panic – was to gasp: "Oh God, what's wrong?"

Iblis looked up at him, although he seemed to have trouble focusing. His eyes were like dark holes in his ashen face, the pupils small black spots within two irises that were so light brown they almost couldn't not be mistaken for snake-yellow. A few strands of tangled hair fell into his face.

"Nimrod" he rasped. "I – I might need some help."

The appropriate reaction to this situation would have probably contained words like "awe" and "repulse", after all this was the most evil djinn in the world, severely weakened and asking for assistance, but Nimrod's only thought was: He called me Nimrod. Not the usual, snarky 'Marid', but the actual name. Iblis doesn't do that. He only uses my name in extreme distress, closely followed by He came back.

He ushered the old enemy inside, taking a hold of his hand to steady him. It was ice cold.

Iblis was probably at his wit's end to come to him for help, but here he was, and all Nimrod could see right now was someone who had left him to come back. It was the first time that someone came back.

"Look, you might collapse on me any minute now" he said. "I'm telling Groanin about you tomorrow. You'll share my bed for the time being. Don't even think about arguing. I'd rather keep you where I can see you."

Now Nimrod knew fairly well that Iblis was just about as threatening as a newborn duckling with a concussion right now. But he would be damned a thousand times over if he woke up tomorrow with him gone without so much as a thank-you. So he added: "And whatever you do, don't leave."

Chapter Text

The night before Iblis is trialed, Nimrod has a nightmare.

The cell is tiny and has a potent djinn-binding cast upon it by Ayesha herself to prevent any escaping. Iblis isn't doing anything much in there, just turning his thumbs and waiting. Nimrod opens the door, his throat feeling constricted. As he steps in, his enemy looks up.

"Marid, you? What are you here for?" he asks, standing up.

"Ayesha's passed her sentence" Nimrod forces out past the lump in his throat. "She-"he clears his throat. "I'm sorry. She sentenced you to death."

"God dammit" Iblis says, exhaling shakily, but nothing more.

Now Nimrod confesses what, to him, is the hardest part: "She wants me to do it."

"Good" Iblis says calmly. "I'd like that best, if you do it."

But Iblis will not swallow a stupid diminuendo. This is just the two of them, up close and personal. Like both of them know it must be done. Nimrod dislikes this, but Iblis requested. His last request, actually. "You owe me that much" he said. "Get your hands dirty for once."

But these words, spoken in a hateful sneer, are not his real last request. He makes that when Nimrod backs him up against the wall and puts his hands around his neck, and it's barely a whisper: "Please be quick."

Nimrod nods, and promises "I will" through gritted teeth as he starts to press, his thumbs digging into the Ifrit's soft throat. He has never done this before, but it's startlingly easy. Just apply pressure until he chokes, that's it, that's all it takes.

Seconds drag by painfully slowly, and it's not long until Iblis turns his head up and starts making high-pitched, painful sounds as Nimrod is cutting his breath supply. He looks his arch-enemy in the face and sees wetness there, and lips that form the word please. He's scared, he's trapped, he's all alone, and of course he doesn't want to die. "Ssssh, sssh, it's alright" Nimrod whispers, trying – in vain – to keep his voice from breaking, "It'll be over real soon, it will all be over in a minute, it's alright, I'm here, I'm here."

Somewhere along there, he started to cry, as tears are now dropping from his chin. He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on just pressing, blindly, as if there wasn't an actual person there, connected to him by a strange, long-lasting frienemyship, that he is now actively choking the life out of. But behind his closed eyelids, he remembers, all the years of fighting, and sometimes even not fighting Iblis, a morbid slideshow with one of these sad songs by Bruce Springsteen playing in the background. He remembers the young man he met almost a century ago (it was his Taranushi journey), beardless and without that constant worry crease to his eyebrows, a boy who laughed entirely too much to mask the confusion he was feeling. He remembers them growing up, as enemies, but still somehow alongside each other, and how sometimes, in the small hours of night, he used to think a little too much about the taste of these lips that are just now begging him please. He remembers the things he never said, that he will never say.

As Iblis grows still under his hands, he looks at his face one last time, and he's sure these breaking eyes will haunt him forever.

He wakes up drenched in cold sweat. A nightmare. But such a vivid one... No, it was silly. Silly and unrealistic. He would never kill anybody with his hands. Not Iblis. Not anyone.

As he gets up, he decides to talk to Ayesha in favor of Iblis once more.

Nimrod can't help it, he's angry at the blue djinn. Mother would have understood, he keeps thinking, but that woman is not his mother. So, his thoughts clouded by helpless anger, he arrives at the cell.

The cell is tiny and has a potent djinn-binding cast upon it by Ayesha herself to prevent any escaping. Iblis isn't doing anything much in there, just turning his thumbs and waiting. Nimrod opens the door, his throat feeling constricted; this is eerily similar to the scene in his dream. With one key difference.

As he steps in, Iblis looks up.

"Marid, you?"

"Yes, me. I'm here to inform you. Ayesha's passed her sentence."

"And?"

"Well, she's sending you, in the bottle, to a place where there's no escaping for the next ten years."

"And what might that wondrous place be?"

Nimrod clears his throat. "You're going with that European space shuttle to planet Venus. Sorry."

"God dammit."

"Heads up, it's not like she's going to kill you" Nimrod says, smiling forcedly. "It's not...that...bad..." Here he pauses, because it is actually that bad, and the fact that he can dream up a worse alternative doesn't really matter.

"Nothing anyone can do?" Iblis asks, and Nimrod recognizes the veiled request for help. "I'm afraid it's once and for all this time", he replies, shaking his head. "The blue djinn has spoken."

Anger about Ayesha's attitude fills his mind once more, and as he hears Iblis mutter "the old bitch", he almost agrees. And then Iblis adds "Oops, sorry. Forgot she's your mom there for a second."

"I wish I could" Nimrod sighs.

"However, holding a trial without the defendant even present...? That's what I call a shitty trial. But you tried to sway things for me and...uhm...thanks." Iblis frowns, apparently disgusted with himself, then spits on the floor, as if saying thank you left a bad taste in his mouth.

"You really wish you weren't here, huh?" Nimrod says.

"Well I don't want to go to Venus. Duh."

Nimrod looks at him, and makes possibly one of the worst decisions in his whole entire life.

Later. Nimrod is at a gas station, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, buying a gallon of gas. He'll need it. If he is to run from his all-seeing mother, he'd better run far. He also buys cigarettes. Marlboros. Not the cigars he usually smokes.

"Keep the change" he mutters to the cashier lady and heads to the car. His Rolls-Royce would have been just so not inconspicuous, so he has taken to a plain gray Mercedes. Now, of course he could always use djinn means of travel, but that would be what Ayesha probably expects him to do, plus, a large, pompous whirlwind would be foolishly easy to detect.

He sits back down in the driver seat and tosses the cigarettes to Iblis, who catches them and lights one. He hasn't talked much since they hit the road. He's probably just as tired as Nimrod. His suit looks crumpled due to him sleeping in it for the last several days (they both need new clothes, and soon), but at least he's alive. Alive and not on Venus. And that's more important to Nimrod than he ever thought it would be.

They drive in silence for a few more hours. Bruce Springsteen is playing on the radio. Eventually Iblis speaks up.

"Maybe you should let me drive for a bit."

"You're not touching that steering wheel until you get some sleep. May I remind you that you drove through the whole of last night."

Some more silence. Then: "Marid?"

"I have a name, you know."

Iblis utters a long-suffering sigh. "Nimrod Godwin whom I want to ask a question?"

"Yes?"

"Why?"

Now Nimrod sighs. "Because you were right. It was a bad trial. Because the system is haphazard. Because an entire society's legal system should not solely consist of the decision of one old lady who is losing her touch."

"But you could have just-"Iblis starts, but Nimrod silences him.

"Because nothing I or anyone else could say would change a thing. Because she was my mother and I was angry. And...and because it's you."

"What do you mean, because it's me?" Iblis frowns and furrows his brows. There it is, that little sharp crease between them, the one he even dreamt about. Under normal circumstances, he would never do this, but they're both on the run now and he's feeling a strange kind of floating feeling in his head from lack of sleep, so he spontaneously reaches over and brushes his thumb against his... frienemy's face. "Don't" he says softly. "You'll only get wrinkles."

"Focus on the road, Marid" Iblis snaps and turns his head away.

"I really wish you would use my actual name."

"I really wish you weren't here, Marid."

"Oh, come on" Nimrod huffs. "Am I really no more to you than the tribe I belong to? I have freed you, at great personal expense I might add. And this is how you thank me?"

Iblis doesn't look at Nimrod as he answers: "If this were just me, it'd be okay. But you? You have no business here, with me. You know, you're probably the first Marid to go rogue. Look, I have destroyed many things that might have been good, and killed many people that might have been good also. But never before have I – or anyone else of my lot for that matter – ever corrupted a Marid. You think you can escape forever? Do you even have a plan? I mean, where are you even going? As it is, I'm not too worried about my own downfall. But now I'll drag you down with me, and frankly, I'm a bit ashamed."

"Please, Iblis, don't be so pessimistic. Nobody's going down" Nimrod chides, but he can't help smiling. "And now I wholeheartedly know I've made the right decision." And then – not before checking if the road is safe – he leans forward and pecks a tiny kiss on the Ifrit's forehead. He expects protest, but apart from a level, hard-to-read stare, he gets nothing.

"Get some sleep" he advises. "You don't sound like your evil self at all."

Iblis brushes it off, but the situation loses a lot of tension after that.

And yet some time later...

"Are you honestly telling me you've been driving below the speed limit that whole time? Who on earth worries about the speed limit?!"

"Now I'm definitely not letting you touch that steering wheel again, ever. Really, where the heck did you get your license?"

"What license?"

"Seriously...?"

"I don't know what you want. Car drives with gas, not with license..."

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Everything started with Nimrod's craving for ice cream.

Chapter Text

The best feeling in the world is killing as many people as possible, at least if you ask Iblis Teer. He would never tell you that, but with ending the lives of hundreds, if not thousands of people at once in a giant earthquake or something like that comes a giant, heated wave of absolute power that probably feels like a combination of an orgasm and a crack cocaine high (probably because Iblis stays away from drugs. He doesn't need them). He knows that all of his victims have families, homes, thoughts and dreams as complex as his own. But that doesn't hold him back, if anything, it elates him even more because yes, every human is a unique kind of being, a piece of universe, a flame that, if killed, can never shine again, and he has power over them. With a single flick of his hand, a brief concentration of his will, he can blow away so many of them. Compared to him, they are so vulnerable. Killing is beautiful, killing is easy, and those without scruples are the kings of the world. Regrets? What for?

What Iblis also feels no need for are other people. Like friends. Or family.

Friends – the word makes him think of Nimrod and his ever-persistent attempt to...whatever the stupid Marid is attempting these days. It boils down to bringing good luck to some irrelevant mundanes and trying to stop Iblis from doing what he loves – and that is pointlessly destroying stuff. According to Nimrod, he needs help, but Iblis knows that is not true. He doesn't need his friendship, or anyone else's.

Family? There's no one there but his father, whom the blue djinn had bottled up years ago as punishment for destroying an entire island in a giant rage fit. It's better that way. Iblis senior has been an inefficient leader to say the least, and whenever Iblis junior thinks of him, it is with passionate hate. And his mother? She is long gone because...well, better not think about it. Because if he thinks about it, he's suddenly seven years old and hiding in the wardrobe all over again, watching as...

Mother? Mother! Why is she not breathing? What have you done to her?!

Aww, look at him. Cries and wants his mommy. That's no son of mine...

No, shut up, bad thoughts.

But, well, djinn are known to get quite old, and the years bring sobriety, and a kind of routine. Iblis is intelligent, and he can't fail to notice that all he is doing, in the long run, is wasting all his djinn powers on chasing the high, that he's dependent on that feeling of power that comes with doing evil deeds. Like a mundane drug addict, who wastes all his money and ruins his life for more heroin. He used to have nothing but contempt for people like that. But now he has to admit he's basically one of them. And for what? Destroying things? People rebuild.

His thoughts go out to Nimrod again. He'll be wasting his djinn powers too, but for a good cause. Nimrod has a purpose. Iblis has none. Also, people are after him, many of them with a vengeance, and a life on the run is not exactly fun. Actually it gets kind of lonely.

He realizes it's not only him, but his whole tribe too – all purposeless, but too proud to admit it. And that also goes for the Shaitan and the Ghul. Many of them are like him, aware of their situation, but with no way out. They are evil. That is the law. They are living with it, somehow. Not all are, though. If anyone ever did a census study on djinn society, they would probably find out that the Ifrit has the highest suicide rate of all the tribes, but such things are not done here. Iblis, sitting on top of the dung heap as the leader, briefly wishes he could change things, but that is utterly impossible.

Of course he continues doing what he does, and earns a fearsome reputation for it. The most evil djinn in the world, they call him...Iblis didn't even know being evil was a contest. But it gets people to leave him alone out of fear, so he sticks to the title. And it's true; he has done some pretty horrible things. He doesn't even know what he does them for anymore, but...who cares?

His stunts are getting more and more reckless. Sometimes he feels like he's just biding his time until the Marid decide he's too much of a strain on the homeostasis, and hunt him and put him down for good. He may have a bit of a death wish, so what?

But then an Ifrit woman dies, and three-year-old Odair Teer is placed in the extremely reluctant custody of his father.

When Iblis hears he has a child somewhere out there, and that he now has to take care of it, his first thought is God, what a nuisance. But then he meets the boy and...just...

Odair has inherited his mother's dark-brown hair, but the rest of his face is so totally Iblis that it hurts. He has the nose, the mouth, the dark-ish complexion, and when he looks up to his father with eyes that are just like his, it feels like a sudden punch to the gut.

They are wary around each other at first, but, well, after Odair (or Mini-Me, as Iblis quietly calls him) has gone to bed, Iblis is left in a very thoughtful mood. He thinks about how he is the only thing on earth that kid has left. If he were to die, Odair Teer would be an orphan.

He doesn't know how to raise a child without making everything a horrible mess. Making horrible messes is what he's good at. But still, somehow, the responsibility for this his son lies with him and no one but him, and maybe he should try making something good this time.

He can't get to sleep that night. It may be due to the fact that he gets up every two hours and sneaks into the second bedroom to check if Mini-Me – excuse me, Odair – is breathing right.

He really does try his best, and something good does come out of it. Iblis notes how Odair, without even knowing it, helps him stay grounded. He'll not go overboard and try to kill himself or everyone around him, because there's that child now I have to take care of. Maybe that's the sense of purpose that Iblis was looking for. If he can do no good as a djinn, he might at least try as a father. Life gets more peaceful. Mini-me likes cinnamon buns. It's alright. And the first time that Odair throws his little arms around his father totally out of the blue and says "I lub you, daddy" in a sickeningly adorable lisp, a hypothetical watcher would have almost seen the question marks appearing over Iblis's head.

So when, a few years later, another son – named Jared – is born, and the mother tries to start a fight about who has to take custody, Iblis is all too quick to say "Don't worry, I'll take him in, no trouble at all".

Things take a turn for the worse very suddenly when Odair gets his wisdom teeth. Iblis never really thought about it – he pointedly avoided thinking about it – but he will have to teach Odair the ways of the djinn, and Odair will have to be evil. He knows he has been selfish – Odair is his oldest son, and, unless Iblis gets a daughter somewhere along the way, he will inherit his position – he'll be the future Ifrit leader. Actually, he should have been preparing him for his role in the djinn society starting right from childhood, like his father has done with him – but better, without the yelling and hitting and worse – but that somehow always was put off until later. Now there is no later.

The thing is, they have been talking about djinn stuff...maybe not that extensively...um...it has been mentioned sometime, surely. But until now, Odair or his other sons (there's four of them now. Sometimes he thinks he should keep it in his pants) have been oblivious to what Iblis really does. Daddy is the most evil djinn in the world and kills people without reason? Is that a thing you tell your kids?

Maybe it should be. But Iblis is a selfish, greedy person. His fast-growing family is his safe haven, and he has enjoyed being just their dad, no one else, and definitely no one evil to them...but he can't shield them forever.

So he sends his son out into the desert for his Tammuz, knowing that he'll soon have to explain to him everything he always swept under the rug, and dreading it. Because he'll have to teach Odair, and eventually the others, not only how to handle their djinn powers, but to become evil, rotten people too, and he feels like he is tainting something good and innocent and by all rights, someone should come and take the kids away from him. He should definitely not be doing this.

But Iblis is a selfish, greedy person. So he does it, to all of them, time and time again.

Years go by. Whenever one of his sons says he wants to be like daddy when he grows up, Iblis cringes a little inside. Oh, you want to be a vile-minded good-for-nothing trainwreck person who managed to drive his whole life against the wall? I admire your life choices, kid.

But he forces a smile and says nothing. He likes the feeling of his sons looking up to him, even though they totally shouldn't. Of course the boys don't stay small forever. They grow up, they integrate into djinn society. They are evil, and they are having fun. Being free to do every mean thing other people can only dream of is fun to some extent. When he was young, Iblis had fun too. You will learn, boys, he thinks bitterly as he watches them. Oh how you will learn.

One night, a teenaged Odair calls Iblis on the phone. "Dad, I might have killed someone" he says frantically.

Iblis sighs. That's how it starts. "How many someones?" he asks.

"Just one person, dad. He...he was talking shi...I mean he said some very mean things and I, I just got angry and the next moment..."

"Uh huh. If I may ask, how did killing the person feel?"

"What? Uh, it felt...good" Odair whispers in an ashamed little voice. "But now I'm not so sure..." He pauses. Iblis hears a gagging sound.

"It's alright, son. I was in a similar situation when I was your age. Just stay calm, try not to throw up, tell me where you are and I'll be right there. Hide the body with a diminuendo. You know how to do that?"

"Yes dad" Odair says timidly, and then: "Thank you, dad."

"Don't thank me, boy." Curse me, Iblis wants to add. I am the only reason you kill. And this'll not be the last time, not by far.

By the time John and Philippa are born, Iblis has a grand total of eight sons, minus Dybbuk, we don't talk about Dybbuk. Actually, when Dybbuk is born – again, for no other reason than because Iblis is a selfish, greedy person and when he sees a woman he wants, he takes her – Iblis thinks: A half-tribe, huh? Maybe this one has a chance.

And he hopes against his better judgment that his youngest son is smart enough to stay far, far away from him.

Well, Dybbuk comes to Las Vegas eventually, and Iblis lures him into his evil scheme, because how couldn't he? This is his master plan. He can't back out of it just because that boy happens to be his offspring. And what's the harm? Dybbuk will be ignorant to the evil he helps do. He'll be famous as Jonathan Tarot for a while, that'll be fun, right? And when his plan succeeds and things topple over, the boy can just run back home to his mom. Nothing...bad will happen. At least not to Dybbuk.

Iblis didn't calculate for Dybbuk to lose his djinn powers, and the chain of truly bad things this will set off. When he looks death in the eyes, it's one of the few things he honestly regrets.

But maybe it's a good thing that Iblis didn't live to see what Dybbuk did in Paititi. Because Iblis has seen many sons turn to evil. Would he really enjoy seeing another one?

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, in a very remote past, when the djinn still dwelled in the hot desert hearts of Africa and Asia, they were aware of the great, universal power of music. Djinn were great singers and dancers, because they knew the right songs, certain rhythms coupled with djinn power, unleashed a gravitational pull that could influence the goings of the universe in ways that no other force could. With that knowledge came the ability to perform ancient rituals so powerful, some might say they best stay forgotten (one of them, by the way, is known as the dervish dance).

As time went, the six tribes formed and a war broke loose, the good djinn settled in stranger, cooler lands and adapted different cultures, which made them forget things they had once known. So, strangely, it is the evil tribes, who are not held back by chastity or manners, where some of the knowledge of the raw power of music lives on.

Iblis is young and he doesn't know better.

Wait, that's not quite right. It's the year 1969, and Iblis has been around for a while. He's just not quite that experienced in the business of evil yet, and he's still filled with a kind of unholy zeal. So he visits the Woodstock festival, which will later become the most famous event connected with the hippie subculture, and also a milestone of rock history, but not with the intent to have a good time or celebrate peace and love. No, he goes there in the attempt to sabotage Woodstock. Although he can find no Marid influence behind the organization of the festival, the whole hippie movement looks and sounds like something specially invented to annoy him, and it fills him with a vague anger. So, just because he's so peeved and it would be a neat thing to see all these flower-power freaks so unhappy, he heads to the town of Bethel, New York to spoil everyone's fun.

From the moment he arrives at the dairy farm in the Catskill Mountains, the venue where the festival is held, he sees that it'll be a tough nut.

He tries. He really does. He puts up an honest effort. He's also wearing a hippie outfit to blend in (That's pretty easy. Almost all males at the festival are sporting jeans and a bare upper body, so yeah. Not that difficult a costume). And at first it looks like he can easily topple this whole thing over. Everything is so poorly organized. Half of the artists are no-names, who jumped into the fray spontaneously, mostly as a substitute for other, more famous bands that couldn't make it (all part of the plan of course...Iblis hates rock music). At first he tries one of his specialties – he leaves his body somewhere in a remote corner (not like another passed out body will rouse suspicion here) and floats around backstage in his astral body, taking possession of the mundanes there for seconds, leaving instructions, feelings and thoughts, inducing stage fright in insecure artists, making arguments break loose between band members, producers and managers. He makes singers forget their lines, he tries to sabotage sound engineering, he even messes with some of the bands' guitars. Never, not even under torture, would Iblis admit to his being able to tune a guitar (he's a sophisticated British member of the gentry who listens to classical only; he has nothing to do with the roguish barbarian music that is rock and roll). Actually, he can tune a guitar and even play it, but that's another shameful little secret that he tells no one.

The thing is, nothing he does has a lasting effect. It's a frustrating experience. Whatever problem he causes, the mundanes find a way around it. How? And why? Because they help each other. Because they seem to share a belief in something. They believe in their festival, in love and peace, in the will to pull it through together if only everyone joins in and does their best, so strongly that Iblis' malice cannot get past that. Some of them only believe in profit, sure, but they believe, and they're stronger than him.

He had imagined it being so easy. Manipulating the masses is a thing he truly enjoys, normally. Many humans cramped together in a venue that was planned for a third of them, not enough room, no sufficient sanitation, looks like a recipe for violent disaster, right? But Iblis has underestimated the hippies. In his sensitive astral body, he picks up a large, benign aural field of harmony and love from the crowd that is strong enough by far to overcome all problems he causes. Compared to that, his evil spirit seems petty and tiny. The love is not directed at him, of course, so it doesn't influence, let alone sway him. It only serves to make him angrier.

So at last he returns to his body, focuses all his djinn power and sends a giant flood of rain and storm, thinking that this at last will discourage people from this goddamn festival.

It doesn't. It just makes everyone, including himself, wet.

And this is how Iblis ends up in the midst of a crazy mud orgy, soaking wet and bloody pissed, one of the very few people not in the horizontal, smoking a damp cigarette. He doesn't understand. There is rain, there is mud, there are horribly gross sanitary conditions, guitars are mistuned, sound systems are malfunctioning due to the bad weather, many bands are not doing all that well, there are interruptions, but still everyone's happy and everyone loves each other. Only Iblis is feeling considerably miffed. He is having the worst day ever.

Someone hands him a fresh cigarette. He turns around, surprised, to see a long-haired youth giving him the peace-sign, then disappearing into the crowd.

Djinn are natural smokers. Iblis shrugs and inhales and...oops...that wasn't a cigarette...

Suddenly all his senses seem more heightened, especially the one that djinn call the sixth sense. It's like he stepped out of his body – except that he's pretty sure he's still in it as he can feel it around him, if a bit numbly – and, back in astral form, becomes much more sensitive to things like auras, emanations...signals from the supernatural universe within our universe that most humans have no clue of. He also feels a bit panicked, because that's not how you're supposed to react to light drugs. At least it's not how mundanes react to light drugs, but then again, the effects of marihuana exposure on djinn have not exactly been largely studied.

It feels like the walls that separated the festival and him have broken down, and he is no longer the odd one out. He can grasp and understand this giant aura field of love and become part of it. But he still can't manipulate. It's not the festival that's giving in to him. It's rather Iblis who surrenders.

And then the band on stage seems to have sorted their troubles out, as the drummer starts to pound a rhythm, and the lead guitarist evokes a shrill opening cord from his instrument, and then there's the undercurrent of a dark, powerful bass as the singer steps up to the microphone. Now the humans in their ecstasy are hooked on the music immediately, going wild. But the evil djinn amidst them suddenly remembers every shred of knowledge that his tribe used to preserve about the raw, ancient and utterly beautiful power of music, and he knows he's bloody screwed.

There is no resisting to the all-powerful pull of the music that absorbs everyone, sucks everyone in. There is no assembly of thousands of individual humans (and one djinn, or maybe another few) anymore, there is one giant entity called the crowd, or the mob, nobody thinks, everyone just loves everyone and everything around them with all their heart, and dances.

The weather doesn't matter. Nothing matters. When the band finishes playing, everyone screams for encores. There's a short moment of clarity, and then there is the next band.

Things get kind of hazy from there.

Some nondescript amount of time later, Iblis wakes up someplace with a headache, wearing nothing but a flower crown on his head and covered in dirt, which. Fantastic. All around him, their bodies intertwined with his, are a bunch of flower power girls and also guys. The memories of what happened before are vague at best, but it's pretty clear that his past self had the time of his life, that bastard. Present self Iblis feels furious as well as embarrassed about all this, also he now has to doubt his heterosexuality. He starts searching for a pair of pants, preferably his own. After he finds one, he goes home and never mentions Woodstock again. But for the rest of his very life, to the day of his death, whenever he hears Jimi Hendrix on the radio, he'll unconsciously start humming and tapping his feet, only to then get violently angry and destroy stuff.

But the idea of manipulating people through music gets carefully filed away under "may be useful sometime" and many years later will become an integral part of something labeled "Cause-an-Enantodromian-binding-master-plan (this will totally work). Guaranteed to mess shit up! Evil plan by Iblis".

Chapter Text

Narrator: John and Philippa Gaunt were two totally ordinary teenagers.

11-year-old me: Hi, John and Philippa! I hope we'll have fun adventures together!

18-year-old me: Kid, you are doomed. Why did you buy this book?

Narrator: John and Philippa's dad was some rich guy. Their mother was a splendidly beautiful woman of splendid beauty and, um...glamour, yes, that's a nice descriptive word, and she could do everything ever, and everyone loved her. Therefore, every action she did had to be followed by the adverb "perfectly" and her every characteristic was "perfect" (perfect teeth, perfect skin, perfect hair, etc.). Yes, "perfect" is a totally legit way to describe an actual person.

11-year-old me: I haven't heard the term "Mary Sue" yet, but, gosh, Layla kind of sounds like one.

18-year-old me: I came to abhor the term "Mary Sue" because it's almost solely used to crush young artists' self-esteem, but...still. You had a point there, kiddo.

John and Philippa: *have wisdom teeth*

Wisdom teeth: *get removed*

Strange man: *appears in strange dream* Hey, twins! Come into my strange dream house!

John: Is he an angel?

Philippa: Is he the devil?

Man: *snaps* I'm your uncle Nimrod from London!

Me: Yeah, okay. Seems legit. After all, that's how I met my uncles too.

Nimrod: Alright, now I'll ask you guys to hug me like strange uncles turning up in dreams talking about a poem none of the child readers is going to know and other mysterious stuff is totally normal and you are obliged to hug me now, so hug please.

John and Philippa: *initiated hugging uncle*

11-yo-me: I want the strange uncle to go away

18-yo-me: Shhh. You're gonna like him.

11-yo-me: whAT

18-yo-me: It's an acquired taste.

Nimrod & twins: *play some dice*

Nimrod: *throws dices, hides them from view and makes a face*

18-yo-me: So Nimrod is low on luck? Interesting...

Nimrod: In related news, you totally must not go to the summer camp. Instead you must visit me, your strange uncle, in London. That's v important. I'm not gonna explain why though. Just do it.

Me: Uh...really?

John and Philippa: Alright, will do!

Nimrod: You wake up now. Bye.

John and Philippa: But how can we convince our parents to let us visit our strange uncle who we never talked about completely on our own?

Nimrod: Does that sound any like my frickin problem, surprise no it doesn't, bye now kids

John and Philippa: *wake up and go home*

A series of mildly weird events: *happens*

11-yo-me: This sounds cool! I wonder what happens to me when my wisdoms come out!

18-yo-me: *whispers cynically* Spoiler: nothing. Just your cheeks will swell up until you look like you're playing Chubby Bunny in expert mode, and that'll ruin a week of your two-weeks Easter holiday. Except for that? Nothing. No djinn powers whatsoever. It'll be your acceptance letter to Hogwarts all over again. Fucking enjoy real life, kid. *flips table dramatically and leaves*

Mrs. Trump: *wins the lottery*

John and Philippa: Hey parents, can we go to London to see our strange uncle? Because we don't wanna go to the summer school loony-bin.

Edward and Layla: *look at each other and shrug* Sure thing, kids! *Edward hands everyone 100 dollars and flees*

11-yo-me: What does paranoid mean?

18-yo-me: *pops head back in* You'll find out.

Later on the plane to London.

Some nice people: *disappear*

Captain: Listen, you two, the people who were sitting next to you disappeared.

John: LOL!

Philippa: Do you have any explanation?

John: *makes hand gesture* ALIENS

Next chapter: *is called "Nimrod"*

Me: Here we go again...

Nimrod: THERE YOU ARE, I've been waiting here for like five minutes or something! OH EM GEE, we're going to have so much fun together. And adventures. So many adventures. Also there will be great danger. Great, non-specific danger, for the moment. People will try to kill you. Just the ordinary things that always happen on a holiday with your uncle. This is Groanin btw, disregard him, he's a grump. A grump with one arm.

Groanin: *nondescript grunting noise*

Nimrod: You know what I hate? Babies. Ugh. They are so horridly disgusting. Why am I telling you this? No idea. I own a Rolls Royce. Red is my favorite color. Oh, look: my house.

11-yo-me: Nimrod is weird.

14/15-yo-me: *joins the conversation for the first time* I'm starting to think that Nimrod might be gay.

18-yo-me: *whispers* what about bisexual

Nimrod's house: *is weird*

Twins: *read Arabian Nights*

18-yo-me: "Arabian Nights"? Kinda sounds like porn *sniggers*

11-yo-me: What

18-yo-me: In English the book's called "Arabian Nights". Not "1001 nights" like in German. I just found that out while reading a fanfic.

11-yo-me: What is fanfic?

18-yo-me: *bursts into tears*

Mr. Rakshasas: *appears*

18-yo-me: He gonna die in book 4.

11-yo-me: Shut up I'm trying to read!

Nimrod: *with the aid of Mr. Rakshasas* So basically, I'm a djinn. You're a djinn. Mr. Rakshasas is a djinn. Everyone's a djinn, except for the humans who are not a djinn. Djinn are made of fire, bla bla bla. Now we must travel to Egypt so you too can become djinn and do awesome djinn stuff.

Philippa: Wow. Is our dad a djinn too?

Nimrod: God, no. Kids. Why. You've got a perfect mother who can do anything, and you first think of your dwarf father? Seriously, why.

Me: *mutters* Patriarchy...

Later: Egypt. Cairo airport, to be precise.

John: There's a snake on my suitcase ohnoes!

Creemy: *disposes of snake*

Nimrod: The Ifrit did that. They are evil.

11-yo-me: *smells the wind* EVIL

My mom: *suddenly is there too* Why do you always like the villains in the books, you're so weird. First Lucius Malfoy, then Basta, and now this. Also, fictional characters aren't real and you can't marry any of them.

11-yo-me: What do you mean, marry...?

18-yo-me: SHHHH MOM he hasn't even come up yet!

[My dad: *shouting in German* Your mom's getting a cameo?! I want one too!

Me: Dad you don't even speak English]

Nimrod: I own a Cadillac too. Look: my other house. It's next to the French embassy where that weird woman lives.

Mme. Coeur de Lapin: Being a woman is so weird. But on the bright side, I can now touch boobs whenever I want. Oh um, I meant hello Nimrod. I am indeed Madame Coeur de Lapin and no one else. What nice kids you have there. Let's all do stuff together sometime. Also I will blatantly flirt at Nimrod now, which will seem weird in a few chapters.

Nimrod: *gets subtly nervous*

Mme. Coeur de Lapin: Yeah let's definitely have a picnic together or some such. I, for one, will go away now to find out how female masturbation works. You know me, opportunist and all. *exeunt*

John: Something was weird about her.

Philippa: Her clothes?

Nimrod: Yes definitely her clothes. Let us now go and be camels for a while. That'll be fun.

After that.

Nimrod: You guys are going to have your Tammuz tonight. That means you'll have to fast in the desert for one (1) night.

John and Philippa: One niGHT? In the desert? Without food? We are so scared!

11-yo-me: Wow, they're kind of whiny.

Nimrod: So yeah happy fasting for one night. Have this lamp and also some dictionaries. You could play word games with those if you get bored. Or polish the lamp hint hint HINT

John and Philippa: *figure out they have to polish the lamp hours later*

Mr. Rakshasas: *appears out of lamp* Good evening. I am here tonight to tell you the history of the djinn.

John and Philippa: Did he just come out of that lamp? That's so cool.

Mr. Rakshasas: Please don't use that word. I'm awfully old and therefore will not tolerate such language. Kids these days with their weird new words like "cool" or "groovy" or whatnot, and their rock music and their Pacman-videogames... also djinn are made of fire, and therefore, by definition, uncool. So, once upon a time, there were the angels, the humans and the djinn, and they all had to decide on whether they wanted to be good or evil.

Philippa: Why? And who made them decide? God?

Mr. Rakshasas: I cannot answer these questions as I have no idea.

He proceeds to tell the rest of the story and also all the stuff about focus words which is very important but not funny, really.

Philippa: *eventually* Where's Nimrod right now?

Mr. Rakshasas: Nimrod is currently looking for Iblis.

Twins: Whom?

Mr. Rakshasas: Iblis. He is an evil villain who is very evil. If djinn were pastry things, you know, I'd be an Irish scone, you, Philippa, would be a raspberry cream cupcake, Nimrod would be a red velvet pie and Iblis would be an evil cake with evil frosting and little sprinkles of evil on. He's the evil leader of the evil Ifrit tribe, which makes him, like, double evil. His name means "source of despair", which is very fitting because of how very, very evil he is.

11-yo-me: Which mother names their son "source of despair"? Did this Iblis guy, like, cry a lot as a baby?

18-yo-me: Shush, kiddo. Do you hear that noise? It's the noise of impending doom. And it's coming for you...

The next morning.

Nimrod: Here I am again. I hope you had fun in the desert with Mr. Rakshasas. Let's hear your focus words now.

Philippa: I have thought up the most awesome focus word ever!

John: Mine's kind of okay too I guess.

Nimrod: Splendid. Now try to impress this stone.

Me: Typical...

They train a bit. It's pretty awesome. But then they have to go for a picnic with the weird woman. Commence some more light flirting of her and Nimrod that will later inspire me to create the ship that haunts my life.

John and Philippa: *upon leaving* Something was definitely off about this woman.

Nimrod: Well...that's probably just...her being French.

Mme. Coeur de Lapin: *calls after them* Omelette du fromage!

Nimrod: Anyhow. We must now go visit an old friend of mine. You might not remember him, but he was mentioned briefly in the prologue.

Twins: Uncle Nimrod? Who are you talking to? And what prologue?

Nimrod: Huh? Sorry, twins. I was just...breaking the fourth wall.

Narrator: Please don't do that. So, they proceeded to the antique shop of Nimrod's friend Hussein Hussaout. He was a man, and he looked good. In my opinion, "good-looking" is a wonderful word to describe a character. Any character. I'm so fond of that description, I'll use it over and over again all through the books until it becomes grating. Narrator out.

Nimrod: So, Hussein. While the twins are totally inconspicuously searching your house, let's cut to the chase. Have you, perchance, seen Iblis around?

Hussein Hussaout: Yes.

Nimrod: Sooo... how is he?

Hussein: He grew a beard.

Nimrod: Really?

11-yo-me: This is a pretty weird conversation to have about your greatest enemy. Also, men with beards, ick!

18-yo-me: Firstly, yes it is, secondly, you know nothing.

Hussein: Yeah. Apart from that he was the same as always. Class, manners, suit, walking cane. Basically, he's still sex on legs.

Nimrod: That's nice to hear.

Meanwhile the twins, who've been snooping around a bit, have happened upon Baksheesh, who has been poisoned. All of this is a bit alarming. They go back to Nimrod who has just arranged to go into the desert at night all alone with Hussein Hussaout, who is most definitely a traitor. Why, Nimrod, why?

Nimrod: Because saving the world is more important than my personal wellbeing and sometimes calls for sacrifices! Also, Iblis.

What about him?

Nimrod: *mumbles something including the phrase sex on legs*

I'm sorry? I didn't quite catch that.

Nimrod: However, I will now, before I disappear into the desert with an alleged traitor, take the twins to the museum and tell them about Akhenaten...

11-yo-me: ...who, according to that description, kinda looked like my music teacher...

Nimrod: And then I will disappear into the desert with an alleged traitor. Hey kids, why don't you, in my absence, amuse yourselves by making my butler with his weak stomach eat some incredibly hot curry? My sense of doing good is very weird. *exeunt*

The next morning. Nimrod has surprisingly not come back.

John and Philippa: Alright, here is our plan. We're going to find Hussein Hussaout and question him hard. But first, we need something to drive there with.

John: How about... a Ferrari?

Philippa: In pink!

Mr. Rakshasas: I don't know what a car is.

Me: Guys...you're done for.

Eventually they produce a pink Ferrari and question Hussein Hussaout. According to him, Nimrod fell into a manhole before even coming to his shop. He is innocent. No really. Totally not blackmailed by any Ifrit or anything. Also, do not drive to the tomb , there's, um, alligators there. Yes. Alligators that shoot lasers out of their eyes. Who is definitely not there is Nimrod. So, um, just go home and do nothing, okay?

Nimrod rescue committee: Nope, not okay. *drive to the tomb in the pink Ferrari*

Peasants: *laugh at them*

Later, somewhere in the desert.

John and Philippa: Mr. Groanin. We have come to the conclusion that there is only one way for us to find uncle Nimrod. You have to sacrifice yourself for him.

Groanin: What?!

John and Philippa: Alright, that sounded a bit extreme. What we mean is, you have to sacrifice that spare wish you have from ages ago.

Groanin: *does*

Nimrod: Hey! You can now hear me and that is wonderful! I am in a tomb under a lot of sand!

Me: Why didn't they just wish for Nimrod to be brought to them? Then they could've avoided all that stuff they're about to go through.

Nimrod: *breaks fourth wall again* I'm afraid that is not possible because of the strong binding that entraps me. Iblis himself must have been here.

John and Philippa: How do you know?

Nimrod: The sweet scent of his cologne is everywhere. Also, the scorpion guarding the door is a definite hint.

Long story short, they get rid of the scorpion and free Nimrod. Everyone is happy until they go back to Cairo and find out that Hussein Hussaout was killed.

Nimrod: To find out more, we must possess the bodies of some policemen. Then we can look around.

Philippa: *upon doing so* It feels weird being a man.

Nimrod: Yes, indeed. (No, you don't understand, he actually said that in the book!)

They talk to Baksheesh. He tells them about how his father had to "serve" Iblis, who apparently "moves like the wind".

My dirty mind: *turns everything Iblis-related into innuendo*

Nimrod: Alright, now that that's that, we are going to catch an Iblis.

Twins: But how?

Nimrod: Let me tell you my plan. Sure, it sounds fishy from the very start, but it's a good plan nonetheless. Also, unfortunately, it entails you having to visit the weird woman next door.

Twins: Aw crud.

So Philippa and John visit the weird woman next door.

John and Philippa: Hello weird woman. Here's some perfume that our uncle bought for you.

Mme. Coeur de Lapin: *reads from the bottle* Obsession for men. Huh. That's the one I always use... uuuh I mean oh thank you so much, what a nice uncle you have, he's such a gentleman, sssoooo charming.

18-yo-me: AND THAT WAS WHEN I KNEW.

11-yo-me: Knew what?

18-yo-me: Shhh. Keep reading.

They go into the library and talk about dung-beetles for a while. The whole set-up feels strange somehow. Until Philippa notices something.

Philippa: Hmmm. This woman is definitely weird and slightly alarmingly so. Also, her headband is reeeeaaaally ugly. What if the headband is evil? Or a snake? Or both? Let's find out.

She magics a mouse into Madame Coeur de Lapin's hair. The headband eats it. Philippa cleverly deduces that it is indeed a live snake, and most probably also evil. Then the snake turns into a man. He, too, is described as "good-looking". 18-year-old me watches in horrified fascination as doom descends on my 11-year-old self.

Iblis: *turns up and is evil for, like, five minutes*

11-yo-me: I have no practical concept of sexuality yet, but I know my sexuality is now Iblis.

Common sense: The guy just puked on things, drank a lot, imprisoned the main characters, talked a lot of evil crud and he's not even real. Also, judging from all the "When Nimrod was young, he understood bla bla" he's probably gay for Nimrod. Is that a suitable crush for a good eleven year old girl?

Me: BUT... he has a walking cane.

Common sense:...?

Me: Also, what about bisexual

Anyhow, the twins are imprisoned, and then de-prisoned again by Nimrod, who has quickly fucked Iblis before putting him into the perfume flask. As everyone knows, a djinn is at his weakest after binding another djinn and performing sexual favors. And Nimrod cleverly exploited that weakness.

The rest of the plot is, as Iblis is gone now, not that interesting anymore. Basically, they find those seventy djinn, battle the ghost of Akhenaten, go to the North pole, and eventually have a happy ending. John and Philippa go back to their parents and promise their perfect mom to only use djinn powers when she says so.

The book ends, for some weird reason, with their dad singing in the shower and a tutorial for playing Astragali.

Chapter Text

1. Iblis usually is the kind of drunk who sits somewhere alone glaring into his drink until he slides gently under the table. He doesn't drink to party, is all I'm saying. But God be with the world if he decides to go out and have a good time while drunk. He'll throw on his nicest suit, twirl his cane all classy as fuck, and hit the town, leaving burning rubble and mayhem, crushed dreams and a line of broken hearts that reaches from here to hell in his wake. He'll be an enthusiastic dancer, he'll be persuaded to do anything really (he'll do stuff on a pole if you ask him very nicely), and he'll inevitably wake up next to random people. Men, women, Jenny Sachertorte. One time, Nimrod had to go and stop drunk Iblis. It was a scarring experience. As soon as they ran into each other, Iblis grabbed Nimrod by his tie, dragged him to privacy, hurled him against a wall – which surprised Nimrod, who is a bit taller, broader and usually physically stronger – dropped to his knees and this is where things got nasty. Let's just say he loses any sense of restrictions he might possess in sober state.

Nimrod doesn't really touch alcohol much anymore.

2. I imagine all Ifrit being really really flexible, from all the time they spend as snakes. This gets really useful for sex-related stuff.

3. When John first met him in book 2, Mr. Vodyannoy says about his tribe, the Jann, that some of them are all about doing good, others, um, not so much, but overall they're a decent bunch.

Now I picture the Marid and Ifrit as absolutes – absolute good, absolute evil. The other tribes are just kinda... stuck in the middle? Like, the Hufflepuffs of the djinn world? As in, some of them just want to be left alone, morally gray, and some just love and care for everyone, even the evil guys, without judging, and there's a kindly Jann woman somewhere who sometimes gets scoffed at by the Marid, who'll pop over to Iblis with donuts or something and has offered him to come to her with mental health problems and sometimes he even does that. And that particular girl can move around Vegas without being molested by Ifrit or mundanes, and if anyone tries to mess with her, the offender is discreetly pulled into an alley and dealt with. She could work secretly as a therapist for the evil tribes or something.

3.5. Iblis doing therapy is actually a precious headcanon of mine, if only for all the trouble his poor therapist would have with him. Like, he'll stubbornly insist that everything's fine with him, but at the same time has these giant mental black holes with things like self-care and stuff, why should he care for himself, his only purpose in life is literally causing as much trouble as possible until Nimrod comes and kills him. And his therapist would say "You're not worthless", but Iblis would just laugh it off, yes of course he's worthless, fact, where would he have gained worth from, people like Nimrod have worth, but him, no, I don't think you understand who I am, ma'am. And she would be so frustrated, because she can't explain to this highly intelligent grown man the simple concept of self-worth.

4. When Iblis found out about Alexandra, his first reaction was "So that MORON has an estranged WIFE out there he went and MARRIED somebody what the HECK am I not GOOD ENOUGH anymore or WHAT...OFFENDED"

5. I guess if Iblis and Alexandra ever met, they would be at each other's throats over Nimrod.

"He loves me more!"

"Nu-uh, he loves me more!"

"Well I'm his wife, so there!"

"Well I'm his...uh..."

"HA! You're so pathetic!"

"No, you are!"

"Please stop fighting, I don't want either of you to get hurt..."

6. Iblis rescuing Nimrod when he's in peril, giving him a scolding for being "so damn reckless, were you just trying to get yourself killed there idiot, I swear to God, are you doing this on purpose to annoy me", swiftly getting rid of all enemies, then getting them both to safety. Because only Iblis gets to kill or otherwise harm Nimrod, nobody else. Nobody. Yes, that's the reason. It is. It really is. His own hand or none. It's not that the years of fighting this exceptional djinn produced some affection, no nope noooo. Iblis doesn't HAVE feelings.

7. So yeah, maybe Iblis and Alexandra would fight over Nimrod. Or maybe they would share...

I mean imagine Nimrod gets in trouble, like, pre-canon. Imagine Alexandra and Iblis temporarily teaming up, because of course they can't stand each other, but they have (different motivations but) the same goal: protect Nimrod at all costs. And, since they are very similar in temperament (anger-management-issuuuues...) at all costs means at all costs.

And then imagine Nimrod somehow getting the three of them to live together, and trying to help with their issues. Imagine them in a poly. It could be called Nimlisandra and it would never work (poor Nimrod being sandwiched between the djinn equivalents of a tsunami and an active volcano). Dear God, if I had infinite time and inspiration, I would write a fic about this...

8. Iblis getting freed from the jade armor and going through actual PTSD. I love how people are writing fics where Iblis gets freed, but they always are... not quite angsty enough for my taste. He basically just gets up and says "Well that was that, and now I have some more evil to do". Which is great! Not to discredit anyone's writing!

But did you think of all the possible trauma and the angst? Can you imagine how traumatic it would be for a severely claustrophobic person to be trapped in a very small space, possibly without being able to even move, absolutely powerless and with no hope for rescue, with nothing else to do than lying there waiting for death thinking about his failures? Just saying. He probably would have nightmares about the jade armor. It could influence his character almost to a turning point.

9. If you encounter Iblis, you should generally just run. But if you happen to free him from a bottle and get on his good side (which is a thing, it really is), and he doesn't destroy you but actually grants you three wishes, you may ask for a night. And there's a pretty high probability that he might actually go for it. He'll even buy you dinner first, fancy dinner at a high-brow restaurant, so be sure to wear something nice.

10. Iblis has a conscience, and it speaks with Nimrod's voice.

11. John/Zadie should be a thing. Or Dybbuk/Zadie! (I really don't like Philippa/Dybbuk. I can't explain. I just don't like it.) Also, I was very sad with how things went with John and Faustina, especially since she said she'd found a way to not get hard-hearted, but then she did. Bit of a puzzle, that one.

12. How things would go if they were asked to describe each other:

Nimrod would start with "Iblis is evil and needs to be stopped. He has done many horrible things. But that's not the only aspect to him..." and then he would launch into a detailed, hour-long description of every nuance of Iblis's being (looks, smell, sound of voice, general habits, vices and weakspots, list of evil deeds in chronological order, what he knows or guesses of his past, things that may speak for him).

Iblis would shrug and say: "He's a moron".

But if you probed a bit it would turn out that Iblis has an overly saint-like, almost romanticized vision of Nimrod. Nimrod is the epitome of good, the yin to his yang. Nimrod loves and cares for everybody, and can do nothing wrong ever. Nimrod isn't even able to feel petty things like jealousy, antipathy, or even lust; he's probably a virgin or asexual, he's just too holy for a thing like sex. Never has he ever slept late, used swear words, or been unkind to any living being.

Of course, as we all know, Nimrod doesn't quite live up to that reputation, he has his sides and causes, and whenever his image of him gets disproven, Iblis would be shocked and probably berate Nimrod in the style of "Nimrod, GOD, don't kill that BUG YIKES what's gotten INTO you, you're supposed to be the GOOD GUY" and so on and so forth.

13. Valentine's day headcanon:

Nimrod receiving, like, a handful of cards: from Layla ("love, your sister"), from Alexandra ("thinking of you" or something along the line), from Jenny ("thanks for being a great friend"), a few other friendly ones from women he knows. And an anonymous one (male hand) that says:

"Marid,

Sometimes I regret having to hurt you.

You've always been there and stuff, so...yeah.

You kind of matter to me.

That's all, k, bye.

(wow I'm so bad at this)"

14. I strongly dislike Dybbuk, but something about his story is just so very tragic. Consider this: all the bad stuff that happened to Dybbuk was set off by his (somewhat naive but) totally innocent and, to a degree, understandable desire to go and meet his real father. He didn't want to switch sides and turn evil, he just wanted to hang around with his real dad for a few. And then he never met his father.

Wait, what? Of course he did! Sure. But he didn't know it. And it was his real dad who shamelessly abused him for his evil plan, and is responsible for the loss of his djinn powers (well, for the most part) and then bloody died without ever having talked to Dybbuk as a father and Dybbuk doesn't know.

So yeah, if you want to experience some Dybbuk feels, you might wanna listen to the song "Dear Father" by Sum 41, that really aces the whole thing.

15. The other night I was snooping around the CotL wiki and there was that article about the seventy lost djinn of Akhenaten. And there was a thing that made me laugh, direct quote: "Philippa Gaunt correctly guessed that they were hidden within the Egyptian scepters (...) through Iblis's drawings". Now I know the person who wrote this meant "the drawings of Sekhem scepters Iblis was looking at", but now I imagine Iblis sitting somewhere with a sketchpad on his knees and a pencil like a total art nerd constantly sketching everything around him. Sekhem scepters. Pyramids. Cairo skyline. London skyline. Vegas skyline. Portraits of other Ifrit. Nimrod. Anything.

16. Someone asking Iblis: "How come you have so many children, but all boys? Do you drown the girls in a well or what?" and Iblis being like "No, but, funny story, my son Charles was actually born Charlene. When he came out to me I thought like 'aww, but I wanted a daughter so badly' but it turned out that one was a son too, so I got him some decent hormone treatment, and then we hit one of those djinn plastic surgeons, and yeah." Or an asexual Teer kid, and Iblis (with his giant libido) being taught a life lesson about just not wanting it.

17. I love how there are fics where evil Dybbuk works with Iblis to get accepted by him as a son. If I wrote something like that, their meeting would go as follows:

Dybbuk:(bursts into room) Hey dad look, I'm evil now!

Iblis: (turns around slowly and menacingly) Hi evil... I'm dad

Aaaaand now I want to write a fic about evil Dybbuk somehow getting adopted into the Teer family and really getting to know his father and his brothers and the rest of the lot and realizing Aww man, this isn't at all what I imagined. Because umm, why is his evil dad trying to educate him? And why does he not comply to Dybbuk's every whim like his mom used to? And he's always saying things like "You forgot to tie your laces" "Did your mother never teach you table manners? Disgusting" or "Son, you're literally a massive prick all the time always, seriously how did the Marid put up with you?" in this arrogant uppity voice of his and this is just the worst.

18. Appearance headcanon: Iblis having actual battle scars on his body from when he got caught up in some destruction he or someone else caused or a fight with another djinn got physical. Ifrit are notorious for their tantrums, I imagine fights over leadership or something happen and they do get physically violent

19. An AU where everything is basically the same, but Nimrod and Iblis are living together at Nimrod's place in an odd-couple-scenario

20. Oh God, Nimrod finding a nasty scar on Iblis and retracing it and saying quietly, "I was the cause for that, wasn't I?" And Iblis says "Huh?" And Nimrod explains: "Remember, ten years ago, when we fought at [place] and I made that chandelier fall from the ceiling? It was just an accident, and you were bleeding and oh god I'm sorry" and he feels horribly guilty and works himself up over it, but Iblis is all like "oh yes I remember, you put up a pretty good fight, I barely made it, haha, you were awesome, those were the days"

21. Would djinn have body hair? Has anyone ever thought about this? Like, human body hair is meant for protecting humans against the cold, right? Would that even make sense with djinn, what with their higher body heat and whatnot? Also, they literally "wash hands" with fire, wouldn't they singe their body hair whenever they used their powers? So, considered it doesn't make sense for djinn to have any body hair, how the heck did Iblis grow a beard

22. Also, do djinn get sunburn? I'm asking the real questions here

23. Nimrod is horrible at giving gifts. Remember when, in book 6, he gave Groanin diving equipment for his birthday? Like, why would Groanin want that, why would he be interested in diving...why, Nimrod, just why? So now imagine Nimrod giving all sorts of silly, unfitting gifts to his loved ones, and they smile forcedly and keep the stuff around because they love him^^

24. In book 3, Iblis expresses his dislike for mundanes playing guitar, which saddened me a bit (because I'm mundane & learning to play guitar and rock music literally saved my life). So I developed a few headcanons about Iblis and music.

One: Iblis dislikes guitars because an ex-wife who ditched him used to play (I even developed her character. She was Rudyard's absentee mom. Not sure if she'll ever appear anywhere or not).

Two: You know how there's often nothing more soothing than a classical piece, while rock music carries a lot of upbeat emotion, aggression even? So naturally, what with his character that's pretty much defined by an everlasting rage at everything, I thought Iblis could probably appreciate rock music, but what if certain songs/artists just trigger him, and whenever he hears them he gets really violent and destroys stuff. And as a consequence, he stays away from guitars in general and whenever he really needs an outlet he sits down at the piano and plays the Moonlight Sonata or whatever.

Three: Iblis only acts like he hates rock music to appear more sophisticated, but secretly he listens to the Stones or at least the Beatles. (He'll sing those mother-of-sad old Pogues songs when he's drunk.)

Sorry, I'm just very enthusiastic about all kinds of music. And Iblis, obviously.

25. You know how in book 4, when Iblis is captured, he turns right to Nimrod like "Uh, help please buddy?" I always found that oddly touching and thus now think that Iblis views Nimrod as a kind of safe-person he can just turn to when in need, despite them being enemies and such. Nimrod can't help helping people, and Iblis knows. If he were ever to engage in S&M activities, his safeword would probably be Nimrod's name.

26. Not so much a headcanon but a thing I really want to see: Jenny Sachertorte meeting Iblis and punching him in the face. No fancy vindicta shit, she just punches him in the face so hard it makes his nose bleed. Because while Iblis is my baby, the things he has done to her were still beyond horrible, and she had to go through so much and she's such a strong woman and frankly, she deserves having a go at him.

27. I always imagined that, at least before Iblis took over, things like the Tammuz ceremony were not or very sloppily done in the evil tribes. I headcanon Iblis senior (and Iblis himself at the end) as the kind of disinterested leader who was far too self-absorbed to bother to explain to some brats how the djinn came to be. Djuniors just got their dragon teeth out and then they were taught what they needed to know by their parents or mentors. Iblis, for example, didn't get a Tammuz at all, because his father adapted a kind of "meh"-stance towards his son. Basically, teen Iblis got his wisdom teeth extracted and then he had to damn well figure out how to get by (which was a common practice amongst neglecting Ifrit parents at the time). He learned the basics about his djinn powers from books and practiced secretly, until his father was out of the picture. As soon as Iblis was the leader (he took over at the age of sixteen and had a long way to go yet), some Ifrit elders took over his education.

Of course the Ifrit wouldn't have things like the Taranushi which is for good djinn, but I imagine them having other rituals (that my muse hasn't talked to me about yet).

28. Iblis making really sure his sons get a good education because a dumb villain is a dead villain.

29. Everyone-lives-AU.

Chapter Text

"Nimrod! Nimrod, your cab is here!"

"Coming, Layla!" Nimrod shouted down the stairs, dragging his luggage behind him.

Layla, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, right by the open front door, sighed with something slightly close to exasperation at her little brother.

"I don't understand why you have to take so much...stuff with you" she said. "Just your lamp would suffice, really. Or why you refuse to take a whirlwind. That's so much easier, really."

Nimrod was about to depart on his Taranushi journey, and what he hadn't told his sister was that he decided against a whirlwind and in favor of mundane means of travel because he simply had no idea where to go yet.

After all, he had had little to no leisure to prepare for the ritual journey. His mother had left the family home for Babylon a mere month ago, and the lives of both Godwin siblings had been turned upside down. Suddenly Layla, young as she still was, had become Marid leader and had to get accustomed to a whole new world of business and responsibilities. Nimrod had been pretty much left alone to harbor his hurt feelings, even though his demeanor betrayed nothing of that and Layla thought her little brother had gotten over it like a true adult. But Nimrod wasn't quite as mature as she thought, and telling her that he was entirely unprepared for the Taranushi ritual or asking her who had so much to do for help would only disappoint his sister and be another burden on her, so Nimrod didn't say anything to her.

They said their goodbyes and Nimrod entered the cab, telling the driver to take him to Victoria Station, one of the major train stations in London.

There, he found himself before a large message board, running his eyes over departures and time tables, wondering just what direction, which corner of the world it might be for him. He had to admit he was feeling a bit lost. And not only that. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. Watched by another djinn, no less.

Could it be Layla? Or Mr. Rakshasas? Had one of them followed him here to see how he was doing? Or, he thought for a split second in a childish glimmer of hope, his mother? Had she come back? He could feel the presence of a djinn, and quite a powerful one at that. Powerful, but...unstable.

He pushed these silly thoughts away from him and glanced around the station. Soon he spotted someone, the silhouette entirely unfamiliar to him, leaning casually onto the wall in some dark corner, so as to observe without being seen.

"Hey! Over there!" Nimrod called out to the stranger who, upon being spotted, came into the light.

It was a young man barely past boyhood, of about the same age as Nimrod, give or take a year. Nimrod found himself scrutinized warily by a pair of quite particular light brown eyes that, when exposed to the sunlight like this, had an almost yellow-ish sheen to them. These eyes stared at him from underneath a mess of white-blond hair which, combined with a rather dark complexion, looked exotic enough to a Londoner. He was traveling much lighter than Nimrod; while the latter carried his big, cherry-red duffle and his lamp of course, the former had a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and that was it. His clothes had a hand-me-down look to them; all of this added up to a picture of strange, scruffy, careless elegance that wasn't so much about looks, but rather about the way the stranger moved as he stepped closer...an elegance that Nimrod with his fine suit and tidy appearance could have never achieved, no matter how hard he tried.

"Yes? Is there any problem, good sir?" the stranger asked in a quiet voice, with a careful, stilted way of phrasing that Nimrod took for foreigner English.

"I just...thought you were looking at me."

"Indeed I was" the stranger said, a smirk tugging at the right hand corner of his mouth. "Is it forbidden to look at you, good sir?"

The "good sir" sounded weird coming from a boy about his age, Nimrod thought. Like he had learned his English out of books. Maybe he was doing it in mockery? He looked the type.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Nimrod asked.

"Excuse me? I'm London born and bred, thank you very much." Written out, the words may look angry, but in fact, the stranger hadn't even raised his voice.

"Oh, so you...just don't get out much" Nimrod assumed.

For the first time, the other's cocksure behavior seemed to flicker. "That's right, I don't...get out much" he said. "You're a djinn too?" It was a question, although phrased as a statement.

"Right! I am" Nimrod said, somewhat relieved the other had asked first. "Nimrod Godwin. From the Marid tribe."

The other hesitated, then shrugged. "I'm Iblis Teer. Ifrit."

For a moment Nimrod was shocked. He hadn't had anything to do with the Ifrit yet; he just knew the nightmare-inducing stories the folks told about them. Of course he had heard of the son of the current Ifrit leader, enigma that he was. The boy had never been introduced to djinn society, Nimrod's mother had been of the opinion that this was simply because Iblis Teer senior was known to not care very much for djinn society. Or his son. Or anyone other than himself.

But there had always been the other stories, the kind you only whispered. About how Iblis senior kept his son locked up in absolute isolation at all times, training him to fight with brutal methods unknown to even the worst of djinn, making him become a merciless killer weapon absolutely devoid of empathy or any other emotion, brainwashed into hating every other djinn or human on the face of the earth. And, of course, about how he would release this fearsome monster in due time, when it became strong enough.

The guy in front of him didn't look brainwashed, or like he was about to kill Nimrod on the spot. Nimrod had to admit he was intrigued; the Ifrit had piqued his curiosity. Let's see about him, he thought and extended a hand.

"It's nice to meet you" he said.

"Umm...? Nice to meet you too?" Iblis answered carefully and looked at Nimrod's hand as if he was waiting for him to perform a magic trick.

"You shake it" Nimrod helped out.

Iblis nodded and took Nimrod's hand. He had a nice, firm handshake. Trustworthy.

Then they let go and eyed each other, both still not letting their guard down, the tension fading only slowly.

"So, where are you off to?" Iblis asked eventually, gesturing around the train station.

"Isn't that obvious? I'm on my Taranushi, of course."

"It's not obvious. What is a Taranushi?" Iblis asked politely.

"Oh, you wouldn't know that, right? What with you being evil. The Ifrit don't have that ritual, do they?"

"Well, no, the Ifrit don't have that, as far as I know. What's it all about?" Nimrod noticed with interest how Iblis's voice had a sharp edge to it for the first time. Doesn't like being called evil, huh? And the way he speaks of 'the Ifrit', so detached, like he isn't one...

He didn't ask. Instead, he explained all about the Taranushi journey as best as he could.

"Interesting. So you just have to find some mundane and grant him three wishes?"

"Basically, yes."

"I've never done that. Granted wishes, that is. I would just pick anyone, get it over with, and then have a good time."

"Yes, that's a very...Ifrit approach to the matter" Nimrod said, jokingly scolding. "There's more to it. I'll have to find a very special mundane, one who deserves good luck. They can fail you if you do it wrong, and then you lose djinn powers for a year."

Iblis looked impressed for about a half second, then he smirked again. "Well, not me. You. Good luck searching" he teased. For the first time, he appeared like the stereotypical mean, bullying Ifrit. But only for a moment. Then his curiosity seemed to get the better of him, and he asked: "Where are you going to look anyway?"

"I, um, I don't know yet. What about you, where are you going?"

"I'm running away from home."

"What, really? Why?"

Iblis sighed and raked a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. "That's not important right now. Let's just say...I'm sick and tired of my old man and his evil Ifrit stuff. He can kill people by himself if that's what he wants. I'm not following his stupid legacy. I'm out of here."

Nimrod remembered the stories again. If his father was really that bad...no wonder Iblis ran away. Anyone would.

"But where are you going?"

"I don't know. Just...away from here. I'll just take the next train out of town...who knows what happens then."

"So, why don't you take a whirlwind? That's much easier, really" Nimrod said, smiling as he remembered Layla.

"Umm, I don't want my father to notice me go."

"Would he come after you?"

Iblis sighed again. "I guess he won't. Not like he cares. Te truth is...I haven't made a whirlwind yet. Ever."

Nimrod looked at him in surprise. Creating a whirlwind was one of the first things Marid kids learned. Maybe the stories where not all true...

"Anyway, about your Taranushi thing" Iblis said quickly as he saw how Nimrod was looking at him. "I wouldn't waste my time around here, if I were you. I'd go to the really poor countries, practically everyone could use a good djinn there. Africa, south Asia, you know. Plus, it's warm there."

Nimrod nodded slowly. That had been a solid piece of advice...the young Ifrit was clearly warming up for the idea. He was so...mysteriously interesting. Nimrod wondered what he had been through.

He wanted to find out. He didn't want to part ways with him just yet. He looked Iblis in the eyes, and saw his own lost feeling mirrored in the light-brown eyes.

"Do you want to come?" he asked spontaneously.

"What, with you? On your...journey thing?"

"I know you'd like to. Come on."

The Ifrit bit his lip. "Right, if you don't mind..."

And that's how Nimrod first met Iblis.

Chapter Text

11-yo-me: *enters bookshop* I'd like to buy book two of that series about the djinn, please...

18-yo-me: Here we go again...not like I can stop her...*sighs*

Narrator: This book starts with John and Philippa wanting to celebrate Halloween. Alas, their perfect mother didn't let them.

11-yo-me, obsessing over Halloween: Woooow, poor them!

John: I want to be a falcon! Or at least own one!

Philippa: My favorite color is still pink. All girls like pink, right? RIGHT?!

Author: *probably has no daughters*

John: Also, I want to punish some people for doing bad stuff, but ugh it is too cold out. I feel not so good as its Christmas time and there are too many wishes in the air.

Philippa: Me too.

Layla: Let's get you two a doctor. I am beautiful.

Mrs. Trump: I too am now more beautiful than I was before, not as beautiful as Layla though.

Jenny Sachertorte: *bursts into room* I am the most beautiful!

*Iblis sniggers in the distance*

Dybbuk: And I'm just annoying. Pure and simple annoying.

11-yo-me: Wow, that Dybbuk guy sure is annoying.

18-yo-me: This is nothing. He'll get worse.

11-yo-me: Really?

18-yo-me: SO MUCH WORSE

*Iblis sounds of remorse in the distance*

Dybbuk: So listen here guys, I'm going to tell you how to use your djinn powers when it's cold, if you help me play a really mean trick on my stepmother.

John and Philippa: No...

Dybbuk: Haha, I will trick you into doing so anyway! I'm so cool trololol! You mad bro?

18-yo-me: How can anyone like this guy?

John: Now that I have djinn powers again, I'm going to heal a bully from his bad ways...and also scare off Mrs. Trump's lazy cleaning lady by moonlighting as John Lennon.

Mr. Vodyannoy: Not cool.

John: Yes cool. *explains why cool*

Mr. Vodyannoy: Aha. So you're one of the Gaunt twins. I've heard of you. You heroically defeated Iblis last year. Well done.

Me: They didn't do much defeating really...they were decoy...they just stood there...Nimrod did the actual work...I must know, I read the scene like a gazillion times...

Mr. Vodyannoy: Beware of Iblis' sons. They got the anger management issues, just like daddy.

11-yo-me: Aww, Iblis has kids? What a man... *dreamy sigh*

Mr. Vodyannoy: Now I will send you home by whirlwind.

John: NONONO WAIT!

Mr. Vodyannoy: *sends John home by whirlwind*

John: *comes home by whirlwind*

Layla: *pitches a fit* WHY are you on a whirlwind and also WHAT happened to the apartment of Dybbuk's stepmom?!

Twins: Dybbuk made us do that. We think.

Layla: Oh, alright then. *stops pitching fit* Also, guess what? There's an event tonight that you can go to. Nimrod will be there, and also Mr. Rakshasas who has written a book.

Twins: Nice.

They go to the book event.

Nimrod: *who is there* Hello twins, and also everyone reading this. I am back, and just as weird as ever, breaking the fourth wall and so on. Hey, Philippa, how about the djinnverso tourney, are you in?

Philippa: I dunno.

Nimrod: Well, to convince you, let me introduce you to some unpleasant people from the Ghul tribe. I believe that the leopard is absolutely unable to change its spots, and that evil people are born evil and never cease to be evil, which is kinda asshole-y of me. Nonetheless I tried to step in for Iblis to prevent him from going to Venus, because Iblis is special to me.

Philippa: Iblis is going to Venus?

Nimrod: Not voluntarily. Let's throw a very short pity party for him and then get back to business.

Philippa: *pities*

Nimrod: Well sure this is unfortunate, but nothing can be done. The blue djinn has spoken, and Iblis must be punished for killing that one guy back in book one.

11-yo-me: Woah woah stop right there. So basically, Iblis was...permitted to live in peace for years, doing bad stuff, killing thousands of people with earthquakes and whatnot, but now that he has killed this one guy, he must be punished?! What is the djinn legal system even

As Philippa goes home, there is some foreshadowing thing about the blue djinn. Basically this whole chapter was a foreshadowing thing about the blue djinn but whatevs. Also in the next chapter: More foreshadowing about the blue djinn.

Later, the djinnverso event happens and we actually meet the blue djinn.

John: *has a sass-off with Palis the foot-fetishist*

Rudyard: *has a sass-off with everyone*

My Philippa/Rudyard ship: *is born*

Izaak Balayaga: Let me insult you. Also, can you introduce me to Nimrod? For I much desire to speak with him.

John: Let me insult you back. Sure thing, mate. Nimrod is my uncle.

Izaak: So, you're John Gaunt? I've heard of you! You and your sister heroically defeated Iblis last year!

Me: THEY DIDN'T ACTUALLY DO ANYTHING!

Meanwhile, Philippa is in the final round. Everything is suspense. But then someone manipulates and disgraces Philippa, onoes! To redeem herself, she and John must go fetch some book from Izaak who "accidentally" stole it yeah sure. Not thinking anything of it, they get on a train from Istanbul to Berlin to meet the guy.

Train: *stops in Transylvania for added creepy*

Demon thing outside: *is outside*

Izaak: *comes in, talks some crud, then he bottles John up and kidnaps Philippa*

Nimrod and Groanin: *find John eventually*

Nimrod: This is a very unfortunate turn of events. Me and John will go and ask Ayesha some questions.

Commence some walking into walls and chats with a croucher demon. Turns out Ayesha isn't in the hood, so they go to Cairo instead to talk to that douche Izaak.

Izaak: *is very sorry* Guh OMG, let me kiss your hand, John-

John: *pulls hand away* Ew.

Izaak: It wasn't my fault! Ayesha has told me to kidnap Philippa. She said if I don't follow her orders I could give Iblis company on Venus...

Me: Pretty easy choice I'd say. But that's just me.

Izaak: And now she's taken Philippa to Babylon to make her the next blue djinn.

Nimrod: Oh bugger all.

John: *punches Izaak in the face* Then let's go to Iraq!

Nimrod: *after a brief talk to Mr. Rakshasas* Yes, but first we must go back to Britain...to talk to Virgil Macreeby.

John: Why?

Mr. Rakshasas: Because I say so. Now let's take off to Cumberbatch castle...err, I mean Cumbernauld castle...where Macreeby lives.

They meet Macreeby. He's a...Mac-creepy fellow (please excuse bad pun), does stuff with a venomous spider and insists on having three wishes for his help. He gives them the Bellili-scrolls so they can get to Iravotum, but he also accidently turns his son into a falcon. And he stays a falcon, because obviously Macreeby ran out of fucks to give.

Meanwhile Philippa gets acquainted with Iravotum. It's not a pleasant place to be.

Philippa: I want to go home.

Ms. Glumjob: My life kind of sucks.

Ayesha: Nobody is going home. NOBODY! *if Ayesha wasn't devoid of any emotions, she would probably now laugh evilly*

Philippa: But what's going on?

Ayesha: I have chosen you to become the next blue djinn after my death, which will be pretty soon.

Philippa: But that's stupid. I'm only twelve, and I don't even want to be here. I mean, nothing here is pink!

Ayesha: Do not question my logic. Logic, by the way, is the beginning of wisdom. That is true because Mr. Spock said so. Mr. Spock is my idol. In this vicinity, we have a logic tree that influences pretty much everything. And soon, it will influence you...and in thirty days, when your transformation is complete, you are ready to rule as the blue djinn.

Philippa: What is the crazy woman talking about?

Ayesha: I heard that, kid. Long story short, you will become...hardcore. Like me. I'm a boss ass bitch.

Scene change to John, Nimrod and everyone.

Nimrod: So basically, here's our plan.

Mr. Rakshasas: John will go to Babylon alone without his djinn powers.

John: Uuuuh, seriously? Why?

Mr. Rakshasas: For added suspense.

Me: *starts losing faith in Mr. Rakshasas and his wisdom*

John: *keeps said faith and proceeds to travel Iraq together with Groanin, his dog uncles and a twelve-year-old as their driver*

Montana Retch: Hi.

Some desert locust demons: *turn up* You ate our friends.

John: Uuuuh.

Dybbuk's water elemental: *comes to the rescue*

American army guys: We are here too apparently.

John: Can this journey get any more random?

Meanwhile, Philippa has started writing a diary. She also met an Ifrit called Ravioli, but he's not important, and Ayesha talks again about how she will die real soon. Just another day at the hanging palace.

So while John fights some guards and has a boss battle with his dad, Nimrod is out looking for a new blue djinn.

Edwiges the side character: Hello.

Nimrod: Hello Edwiges. Will you do the thing?

Edwiges: Maybe.

Nimrod: You could save everyone an infinite amount of trouble and pain. And it's not like you're doing anything important right now.

Edwiges: Maybe.

Nimrod: Come on. You're just a side character. Time to shine.

Edwiges: Alright, alright, I guess I'll do the thing.

Nimrod: Perfect! All problems solved. *pats himself on shoulder*

Scene change back to John.

John: Um, hi Mr. ferry guy made of metal. Can you bring me and my dog uncles to Iravotum?

Metal man: *is mute*...

Magical talking boat: *pouts*

Me: This really can't get any more random.

Falcon Finlay and the Rukhkh: *prove me wrong*

Also, Philippa meets the Bocca Veritas, which I always thought was in Rome...?

Philippa: Oh my God, you're a severed head.

Head: Yep. Listen kid, your brother is coming for you, but he's being attacked by the Rukhkh. You can help him by making some wind. Also Ayesha is your granny.

Philippa: That was oddly undramatic.

Meanwhile John is being Rukhkh'd.

Alan and Neil: *nom the bird's feet and die*

John: Oh no! Not Alan and Neil! Now I need another animal sidekick!

Finlay: Hi. *at least he would say hi, if he wasn't a falcon*

Wish monster: Hi. *eats wishes*

The King: Hi. *eats grass*

John: Oh great, a new friend! I'll take you with me to New York!

Tom Riddle: *walks by with a map* I'm sorta kinda lost...

Me: This has reached the pinnacle of random...

Narrator: Meanwhile, Philippa has become hard-hearted. Also, remember how Iblis was supposed to go to Venus? Yup, he disappeared.

Me: *does a victory dance* CALLED IT CALLED IT CALLED IT! CALLED IT!

Philippa: *gets mad at everyone*

Ayesha: *doesn't give a fuck cause she so hardcore*

John: *shows up only to get insulted by Philippa...because Philippa is now too a boss ass bitch*

John: Nope. *pours water over Philippa*

Philippa: *sees the error of her ways*

They go back up. Alan and Neil come back to life as humans, but thank god they don't take the grass-eating king with them after all. They meet up with Groanin and go to a diner.

Montana Retch who is there: *tries to shoot Philippa*

Layla: *suddenly appears and turns Montana Retch into a cat* Hello kids. Your perfect mommy is here now to make everything right. *doesn't tell anyone that she signed up to be the next blue djinn*

Edwiges the side character: Phew! That was close! Now back to my life as a side character.

Me: But...but...Nimrod solved all the problems! Why didn't Edwiges just do it? Then Layla could have stayed home and half the third and fourth book prolly wouldn't have happened...don't even get me started on the fifth...

Nimrod: *who is there too somehow* *seriously when did he come in?* In unrelated news, I have to go to Cairo. The Tuchemeter is going totes crazy. Anyone have a clue why that is?

Philippa: Iblis has disappeared. That's what I heard at my grandma's place.

Nimrod: Your grandma is unimportant now, we must go! Shadowfax, show us the meaning of haste! I'm coming for your butt, Iblis!

Meanwhile, Iblis's butt is still trapped in a bottle on a garbage dump in the middle of nowhere.

Iblis: Fuck dammit.

Me: Yaaaaaay Iblis!

Iblis: Yay me. God this sucks.

Galibi: *finds the bottle*

Iblis: Heeey kid, wanna buy some dru...uuuuh...care to open this bottle? I can give you rad stuff!

Galibi: Naah...you could be a demon or something...

Iblis: Come on kiddo. Do it for the vine.

Galibi: I don't make vines. I'm poor.

Iblis: Do it for...chocolate-covered ants.

Galibi: Deal! *opens the bottle, gets diminuendo'd*

Nimrod arrives a bit later, finds voodoo-Galibi and the "my dear Nimrod"-letter.

Nimrod: Aha, I see quite clearly now that Iblis has, in fact, escaped.

Layla: Yes, and he's gonna pay for threatening my kids! Even if it's the last thing I do!

John and Philippa: Awesome, mom!

Me: Sooooo, they'll hunt him down immediately, right? And drag him to justice screaming and kicking, right? Right?

Book 3: WRONG.

Me: Wait, they let him be again?! It seems like these good guys aren't really enthusiastic 'bout their job, huh? Huh, Nimrod?!

Nimrod: *looks at the floor and fidgets* Well, we all want some peace and quiet after all this peril we've been through...and Layla...and...I mean, as long as he doesn't do any harm, why shouldn't he...um...

Me: You...like Iblis a little too much, huh?

Nimrod: I don't know what you're talking about...what do you see there, there's nothing there...just respect for a clever enemy...yeah...just respect...

Me: And denial is a river in Egypt... *ships harder*

Chapter Text

"Dybbuk, listen." She never called him Buck anymore.

Dybbuk briefly looked up at his mother standing in the door, then concentrated his attention to the flatscreen on the wall again. He was playing a video game and right now didn't feel like pausing.

"Turn that off, we need to talk."

Dybbuk did not comply. Things had been tense between his mother and him, following the events since his Johnathan Tarot career. Thankfully, Jenny didn't even know about the things that had happened afterwards...and neither did Faustina, that nosy git of a sister, or at least he hoped so. After regaining his djinn powers, Dybbuk had been wandering aimlessly, causing mayhem here and there, until she had found him and pretty much dragged him back here. But she must have had an inkling at least about how much her little brother had changed, because she insisted on her mother to bind him to this place they still dared call his "home".

He just hoped his mom would forget about it soon. She always did.

Jenny Sachertorte sat down on his bed with a tired sigh. "I don't know what to do anymore. I heard rumors, Dybbuk, about what you did when you were away...horrible rumors...and Philippa Gaunt still won't talk to me...and I don't think I can handle this anymore."

"Hmm?" Dybbuk asked.

"You...I can't keep you here."

Dybbuk paused his game and turned around. "What?"

"I can't...I can't handle you anymore. I always hoped I could keep you away from...from his path..." Who was she talking about? "But I think I may have been too...lenient with you in the past. I think you need a...a strong hand."

"What?" Dybbuk asked again.

"I've made a decision" Jenny said tiredly. "And I've arranged for you to stay with your...father."

That git who left her? Dybbuk thought. Hah, as if he could "handle me". Strong hand, my ass. He isn't even my real dad.

"So, yeah. It pains me, but I'm just...at my wits' end. Pack some things, you're going tomorrow."

The next morning. Dybbuk had packed barely anything. There was nothing here he wanted to take. "As soon as we get there, I'll take the binding off of you" Jenny informed him in an offhand, hollow voice.

"And my...he really agreed to take me in?" Dybbuk asked. As far as he knew, his stepdad didn't really want to be bothered with him. He just wanted to live a civil life with his mundane girlfriend.

"Yes" Jenny said. "I talked to him on the phone. He was...kind of reluctant at first, but we reached a civil agreement." She shuddered a bit, as if that phonecall was not one of her most pleasant memories.

Dybbuk was surprised as his mother didn't lead him up to the roof to create a whirlwind, but to her car, a vintage Ford Mustang.

"What, no whirlwind?"

"No. We can't use them anymore, they're too unstable. Due to global warming. That happened while you were away."

"So? You're gonna drive all the way to New York?"

Jenny shot him a peculiar look. "We're not going to New York."

"What? Where to then?" Dybbuk hadn't known his stepfather had moved? Maybe that too happened while he'd been "away". Not that he cared much.

"Las Vegas, Dybbuk. When I said your father I meant..."

"My real father?"

"Yes, him" Jenny told him in a clipped voice.

Holy shit, Dybbuk though, awed.

The whole car ride was very quiet and uncomfortable. Jenny drove in chilly silence; Dybbuk wasn't in the mood for talking either. Throughout the ride, he couldn't stop gnawing on his fingernails in nervous anticipation. His mother didn't reprimand him for chewing his nails. In fact, she didn't even look his way save for a couple of times. It showed how she had given up on him.

The city of Las Vegas looked just like he remembered it. Only he had been fundamentally different when he first visited.

They checked in at the Caesar's Palace, one of the city's many hotel-casinos. The girl at the check-in gave them their room keys and said "Enjoy your stay" in that horrible chipper Customer Service Voice that Dybbuk abhorred to no end. But then the girl leaned forward and whispered: "He'll meet you on the roof".

"You're an Ifritah, aren't you?" Jenny whispered back.

The girl shrugged and popped her gum in Jenny's face. "Yeah. Surprised? You shouldn't be. We're everywhere."

Jenny grabbed Dybbuk's arm. "Let's go."

"You shouldn't keep him waiting" the check-in girl smirked.

"Ugh, not the elevator" Dybbuk groaned as his mother dragged him to one. "I get claustrophobic in there."

"We'd be an eternity if we took the stairs" Jenny answered. "The girl was right. Your father controls this city. It really is best not to keep him waiting."

And you're scared of him, Dybbuk thought. How pathetic.

Five minutes later, the two of them stepped out on the roof. It appeared, for all there was, deserted...but then Dybbuk saw the lone silhouette of a man leaning on the railing, smoking a cigarette while looking down. He turned around when he heard Jenny's heels clicking over the concrete.

Dybbuk didn't know what he had expected. A threatening display of guards, maybe? A threatening...anything, for that matter? A secret, smoky room and his father sitting behind a desk stroking a white Persian cat, like in a mafia movie?

That fair-haired man with the tan skin wearing an obviously tailored suit bore almost no outer resemblance to dark-haired, pale-skinned Dybbuk who apparently took after his mother, but he seemed...hauntingly familiar. Dybbuk had never met him, but he recognized him without fail: This was his real father.

"Jenny Sachertorte" he greeted in a quiet, raspy voice, with a distinct British lilt. The look he gave Dybbuk was like he had just found him under his immaculately polished shoes.

"Iblis" Dybbuk's mother replied. "We meet in person at last." She scanned him critically. "So this is what you look like when you're not in the form of other people's husbands."

Iblis gave a delicate, artificial cough. "I guess saying 'no hard feelings' now would be highly uncalled for."

"You guess correctly" Jenny said stiffly.

"Right" Iblis said, raking his fingers through his hair in a gesture Dybbuk recognized...from himself, he realized, shuddering inwardly. His eyes never left his father's face as he stood by and listened to the adults talk.

After a few seconds of feet-shuffling and awkward silence, Iblis added: "I should probably not have slept with you."

"Correct again" Jenny said. But then she added in a soft little voice: "You know, if I hadn't feared you so, I would have come here much sooner."

"Why? Was he always that hard to handle?" Iblis asked, referring to Dybbuk for the very first time.

"There have been better times" Dybbuk's mother said. "But now...I've lost him, and you've won."

Iblis gave a derisive snort. "What makes you think that we've been competing?"

Jenny didn't answer that. Instead she breathed "Why did you sleep with me?" It sounded like she was about to cry.

"Why? Oh. You think there was a purpose behind that? Some sort of elaborate evil plan?"

"I just want the truth. After you...you did that to me...my family fell apart. My husband and my kids...they didn't say anything, but they all blamed me. Ridiculous, isn't it? But I found myself wondering...what I had ever done to attract your...attention..."

"My libido, you mean. That is indeed ridiculous. Blaming yourself for being deceived like that! I'm a greedy, selfish, despicable shit trash person, I am to blame and no one else – that's all there is to this." Iblis drew the corners of his mouth upwards, but it wasn't real – it looked like a toothache rather than a smile. "And it's one of my rather graver mistakes."

Dybbuk was getting aggravated. So that's what he was – a grave mistake?

"But you'll take the boy."

"Yes" Iblis said. "I'm afraid he'll have to be evil."

What did that mean? Dybbuk wanted to be evil.

"I'm afraid he already is" Jenny whispered.

Iblis clicked his tongue. "Well, how unfortunate" he said in a colorless voice. Then he took a pocket watch – yes, Dybbuk screamed inwardly, an actual pocket watch, like on a chain – out of his pocket and glanced at the time. "Is there anything else we should discuss? The matter of vengeance, perhaps?"

"Vengeance?" Jenny asked.

"I always wondered why I didn't receive a shitstorm of vindicta and death threats after what I've done. Or at least an alimony suit. Hmm?"

"I told no one" Jenny whispered. "They would all blame me too, and I needed no further blaming. The only one outside the family who was let in on it is Nimrod, and he told me to better leave you alone."

Iblis coughed again. "Ah, Nimrod." His eyes took on a distant expression.

"And as for vengeance..." Jenny continued, her voice suddenly steely sharp. All docility seemed to drop from her like a shed coat as she stepped forth, a glorious avenging angel, and punched Iblis in the face with all force she could muster. Dybbuk heard a crackling sound and saw lots of sudden blood, and as both his father's hands flew up to his face, Jenny's knee came up and kicked him in the groin. Iblis cursed colorfully as he cringed and toppled against the railing, while Jenny turned around and stalked off without a word of goodbye.

"Ow, fuck" Iblis groaned, but to Dybbuk's surprise he was also laughing. "I think she broke my nose. Bloody Hell! That was fierce, wasn't it? And also justified, I guess."

Dybbuk didn't quite know how to react, so he just watched as his father un-broke his nose and stopped the flow of blood with a single whisper of his focus word. "Damn" he muttered, looking down on himself. "Blood on my favorite suit. Again. Well, not like I didn't deserve it."

Now, for the first time, Iblis gave Dybbuk a critical once-over. "Although I'm still l better off than you" he remarked. "Your hair looks like you just crawled out of a cave. Do you know what a shower is? Also you forgot to tie your laces. You're going to trip over them and look like an idiot."

Dybbuk groaned, annoyed. But that's probably what you have to expect from your evil dad. "Can we go now?"

Suddenly there was a swish and a blur of movement, and Dybbuk found the pointy metal tip of an ebony walking cane neatly embedded in the tip of his shoe. "You're probably wondering if I can get it all the way through to the ground" Iblis said casually. "I wonder too. Should I try my luck? No? Then please tie your laces now, and furthermore adapt a nicer tone of voice in the future. That is all, thanks. We can go now."

Iblis brought Dybbuk to the outskirts of town, a bit into the Mojave Desert, where a stately manor stood, lined by huge pines and palm trees that obscured it completely from outside view.

"What is this place?" Dybbuk asked.

"The secret Teer Mansion" Iblis answered curtly as he led him over the huge lawn to the entrance. In other circumstances, Dybbuk would have marveled at the huge garden, the swimming pool, the back porch with its various deck chairs and would have looked forward to living here...but right now, he could only think about how very much not evil everything seemed. A small mystery was what looked to be a garage at the end of a wide gravel path; littered around it were, as Dybbuk could deduce, various car parts in all shapes and sizes. He wondered briefly what those were for.

They went inside the house into a small entrance hall painted in a fading cream-yellow. A lot of photographs adorned the walls; as far as Dybbuk could see, most of them depicted a bunch of mischievous-looking boys from infantry to early adulthood.

"Your brothers" Iblis, who had caught Dybbuk staring, said.

"How many of them are there?" Dybbuk asked.

"Oh, eight without you" Iblis said. "You'll probably meet them all over the next few days."

Eight without him? A part of Dybbuk was suddenly feeling a lot less important.

He was led up a broad staircase up to the next floor. Here there was a wide hallway with a lot of doors tweaking. From behind the doors came noises, muffled conversation, someone was playing the guitar. Every door bore a nameplate, and Dybbuk strained to decipher those closest to him: Odair, Jared, Raj, Charles...

At the end of the hallway, a door led into a wide, bright living room with several cozy chairs and couches. Some of those were occupied by boys a few years older than Dybbuk, who he thought had to be his brothers. They were reading, chatting, taking naps, two of them were gathered around what looked like a dismantled gramophone, tinkering with it.

"Who's the newcomer?" asked a blonde youth, the only one to have Iblis's hair, looking up.

"That's your youngest brother, Dybbuk. He's new to all this, so try not to eat him. I'm sure you will all get along like a house on fire. One of you guys should give him a quick tour of the house...because I sure as hell won't do it. For now you should know" Iblis continued, turning again to Dybbuk, "this right here is our living room, kitchen and dining room are downstairs, upstairs we have my rooms and, of course, the library. You can read, can you?"

One of the boys chuckled. Two others exchanged puzzled glances. Then blondie stepped up and extended a hand.

"I'm Charles" he said. "You can call me Charlie."

Dybbuk ignored the hand. "You look like a girl."

Suddenly the mood among the brothers Teer changed completely. They had been watching him peacefully, with mild interest. Now there was tension in the air.

"Listen up" said one of them. "You cause my little bro dysphoria, I'll gut you like a fucking pig."

"Hey, it's alright, no harm done" Charlie said, attempting to calm everyone. "If I got a panic attack every time someone mentioned girls around me...well that would be a lot of panic attacks to have."

Dybbuk was irritated. Apparently he had broken some kind of taboo just now, but which one he didn't understand.

"Well, they say a good first impression is everything" Iblis muttered from behind him. "Come on now, brat, I'll show you where you'll be sleeping. You'll share a room with Rudyard for the time being."

Dybbuk was led to the room from which the guitar playing was coming. Iblis knocked twice, to no avail. Then he pushed the door open.

"Goddammit, Rudyard, turn that crap down!"

The walls of the room that was thus revealed were plastered with posters of people like Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain. On a shelf stood two terrariums, one containing two large rats, the other a black garter snake. On an unmade bed sat a youth Dybbuk was vaguely familiar with. He had earbuds in and on his lap laid a cherry red guitar that fit his hair dye.

"Oh, hey dad. What's up?" Rudyard Teer asked, taking the earbuds out. "Can't you knock?"

"I did knock. Twice" Iblis said tiredly, as if this conversation got repeated regularly. "Listen, you remember Dybbuk?"

"Oh. Him. Yeah" Rudyard said without enthusiasm.

"He'll be sleeping here until we figure out what to do with him."

"Oh come on...really...?"

"Yep. I said so, it's the law. I'll be off now. Don't kill each other." With that, Iblis closed the door, leaving the two boys alone.

Rudyard spared Dybbuk no more than a cursory glance, then he started plucking his guitar again.

"Are those your rats? And the snake?" Dybbuk asked.

"Yeah. The rats are called Lennon and Cobain. The snake's name is Hendrix. After the musicians. You've probably never heard of them."

"Um, yes I have."

"Well done" Rudyard said sarcastically. "So, what is that?" He played something on his guitar.

"Pfff, easy" Dybbuk snorted. "Rise Against."

"Easy indeed. And this?" He played another riff, one that Dybbuk had never heard before. "Nirvana?" he guessed.

"The Ramones" Rudyard corrected, rolling his eyes. "Idiot. Oh wait, you only know one Ramones song, and that's Blitzkrieg Bop. You know, the one you think is called 'Hey Ho let's go'. Double idiot."

"Oh yeah? You think you're the only real rock fan on earth, huh?"

"Naah. I just think you're a little poser bitch. Also, you're going to have to scram tonight, my girlfriend is coming over."

"Right, as if you had a girlfriend."

"I have. I can be nice. Just not to you."

"This is all wrong" Dybbuk muttered, more to himself than to Rudyard. "Evil people aren't supposed to have girlfriends."

Rudyard, who had of course overheard, snorted. "And how are we supposed to procreate?"

"I thought your...our father had a pretty good way."

"Listen, don't say shit like that around the others" Rudyard said solemnly. "They're pretty protective of dad. And of each other. And you are the only one in the family who came to be that way."

Dybbuk sighed. "This place is so weird. You are all so weird."

"Well we think you are weird. What's up with you?"

"This whole place...and your little Happy Family shtick...it's all so disgustingly cozy. I mean, you've got a literal pet snake...and the way you guys stick out for each other, it's just revolting... are you guys even really evil...?"

Suddenly Rudyard was very close, his eyes glittering with malice. "And what do you know about evil, you special fucking baby snowflake? You think it's all fun and games and making a name. Uuh huuh, I'm the big-ass evil Ifrit, I know no mercy! People who depend on other people are weak! Fuck you. My brothers – each of them – have a kill count you couldn't even dream of. We have lived the Ifrit life, and we have seen some fucked up shit. So are you trying to tell us that we are doing evil wrong? Because you are doing punk rock wrong. The best thing you can do in this house, is keeping your trap shut and learning while you still can."

Then Rudyard flopped back on the bed and plugged the earbuds in again, treating Dybbuk like he didn't exist.

"This is nothing like I imagined" Dybbuk muttered to himself.

Later, when he found that Rudyard indeed had a girlfriend, and she was Philippa Gaunt, he was more shocked than he cared to admit.

Chapter Text

Nimrod was nervous. After all, this was his first ever djinn duel. He had not done this before.

But, well, he had been challenged, by Rajmus the Ifrit, who seemed to be an expert of sorts at this thing.

Rajmus, the challenger, had opened the duel and swallowed one of Nimrod's pills (a harmless one), now it was Nimrod's turn. He felt he was starting to sweat profusely. These kinds of djinn duels were supposed to "test a djinn's influence over chance and personal luck" and he had been pretty confident that his influence was bound to prove greater than an Ifrit's. But now he suddenly realized that he saw no way at all to influence these three identical-looking pills before him. He felt a surging wave of anxiety. Nimrod liked to be in control of a situation, he liked having the upper hand. But now he saw that he had no idea how to weasel out of this. His chances were exactly the same as his opponent's. No tricks to it. It was really just a matter of lucky guessing.

His hand hovered indecisively over the three pills. Any choice he made could mean his imminent death.

"Don't take the first pill" a voice suddenly whispered.

"What?" Nimrod asked.

Across from him, Rajmus looked up and threw him a questioning glare. "Problem, Marid?"

"No, I just...did you just say something?"

The Ifrit shook his head. "Get on with it" he urged.

"Stupid!" the voice hissed. It was very small and very quiet. And it seemed to sound exclusively in Nimrod's head. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to tell him how to win? Did these things happen? But he knew that voice, and it was not his own.

"You're gonna have to trust me on this" the voice came again. "Make your move now, and don't take the first pill. And by first I mean the one on the left. I know how Rajmus works. It's always the pill on the left with him. He wants a quick victory, and most people start from the left."

"How am I to know that I can trust you?" Nimrod tried to think back. "You could be anyone. You could be a trick."

"If I was, I would probably choose a subtler approach. Now go on, will you."

Now he still didn't know whether to trust the voice or not. But he had to do something, and he had to do it now, so he took his chance and swallowed the pill on the right.

He sat there for a few seconds waiting for death.

Death did not come.

And his opponent's disgruntled face told him that he had won this round.

Now it was Rajmus' turn again. Nimrod had placed his pills randomly, so not even he knew which one contained the diminuendo. The Ifrit took the one that had originally been in the middle. He was nervous too. He had no superior method of guessing better.

Actually, his guess was worse.

Nimrod was just as surprised as Rajmus as the diminuendo binding worked and the evil djinn just sort of crumpled up into himself and disappeared, with the last thing Nimrod saw of him being the horrible expression on his face that was sure to give him nightmares.

And then Nimrod was alone.

"I killed him" he whispered.

"Yeah, so you did" a voice behind him said. It was the same voice that had helped him earlier, only louder this time.

He turned around and saw that someone had just materialized from seemingly nowhere, probably he had been hidden in a nearby wall or object in his astral body. It was... Iblis?

"You?!" Nimrod asked, shocked. "What do you – why did you just-"

"Oh shut up" Iblis hissed. "That was...worse than idiotic of you, Marid. What were you even thinking, going around dueling people like that?!"

"Wha-"

"I said shut up. I swear to God. Were you just feeling suicidal lately? Were you actively trying to get yourself killed there? Do you have any idea how the chances of winning such a stupid duel are? Do you have any idea of anything, and why do I even let you leave the house on your own? You almost gave me a bloody heart attack there, if it weren't for me you would most probably be dead right now! Are you doing this on purpose to annoy me?! Now what exactly is your excuse for getting into stupid shit like that?"

Nimrod was baffled. His greatest enemy turning up at his first djinn duel and scolding him for being reckless was nothing he had anticipated. "What do you want?" he tried to defend himself. "He challenged me."

"That's not a reason for you to accept."

"Well, someone had to stop him anyway. Rajmus has been a problem lately..."

"Rajmus has been a problem lately" Iblis mimicked, his voice thick with acid. "And so you decided to play altruistic hero and bloody duel him at the expense of your own stupid fucking life!" Iblis lashed out and slapped Nimrod in the face. Nimrod, caught in a cloud of bewilderment, didn't even notice much.

"What-?"

"I am sick of you! You and your stupid hero complex, ugh, I hate you!"

Nimrod had his experience with Iblis in this particular mood, and felt the sudden urge to duck behind something. But Iblis didn't direct his rage at him, but at the table with the leftover pills. He flipped it over, kicked it a few times, then it spontaneously caught fire and, at last, exploded. Only a small heap of ash was left.

"Well" Nimrod said carefully. "Now you have destroyed something, are you calmer now?"

Iblis exhaled and rubbed his temples. "A bit, yes."

"Good, mind telling me what this is all about now? Is it because of him?" He gestured towards the chair that Ramjus had occupied before his demise.

"No. I would have bloody killed him anyway, if you hadn't done it already. I've no use for subordinates who can't even follow simple orders. The nerve of this guy! I told everyone you were off-limits!"

"I'm...what?"

"How dare he! And how dare you!" Iblis said, angrily pacing back and forth. "Getting killed by someone who is not me!"

"Oh!" Now Nimrod started to see what this was all about. It was...bizarre, and slightly mad, but it was a hundred percent Iblis. "But he didn't kill me" he dared to softly put in.

"Yes, but! He could have!"

"But he didn't."

"Only because I intervened."

Nimrod shrugged. "So you did. And you disposed of one of your own people for my sake. Wasn't he even family of yours?"

"A cousin or something. Who cares. He was from my father's side of the family. I couldn't bloody stand him anyway."

"So you're a cousin-cide now. Being the one to personally kill me must be very important to you. Or..." Nimrod smiled. "You actually care for me."

Of course Iblis objected. "No, I don't. Bloody hell no. Why would I even. I don't have to stand here and get insulted. Really now. The thought alone! Care about some stupid, reckless-"

"Anyhow" Nimrod interrupted. "You saved my life. And I am thankful."

"Only in order to take it myself" Iblis said with the ghost of a smile. "So don't be."

"Are you going to do that now? Kill me?" Nimrod asked.

Iblis sighed. "No..."

"Whyever not?"

"That would mean that we duel. And as we both know, we amount to about the same, powers-wise. Unlike you, I'm not down with risking failure. Someday I will have a failsafe plan, and then you're going down. But not today."

"Or" Nimrod smiled, "You do care after all." He felt something warm and glowing in his chest. The knowledge that Iblis cares for some reason was somehow much better than the feeling that came with having had his first successful djinn duel. So when Iblis made him promise to never do that shit again, he gladly did. He didn't want this again, the clammy suspense, death – either his or his opponent's – as a certainty. He abhorred killing from the bottom of his heart. So, he swore, no more djinn duels for him.

But Nimrod still led an eventful life, and dangers still lurked. Most of the time, whenever he got into a precarious situation, it was his wits, his djinn powers or his persuasiveness that saved him. But from time to time, when all hope was lost, people, his adversaries, just randomly seemed to drop dead and doors just opened by themselves. Sometimes, on these occasions, Nimrod could just see him: a shadow in the dark, a familiar focus word, whispered, the glint on moonlight on fair hair. And, once, a sticky note attached to the forehead of a corpse, saying "You idiot".

One time, when djinn society in general and Nimrod in particular had been threatened by a ruthlessly efficient organization of djinn hunters, Iblis had personally walked into their headquarters armed only with a small handgun, freed Nimrod and single-handedly burned the building and everyone in it to the ground.

Because only Iblis got to kill Nimrod, and everyone who tried to take his kill had to perish. His own hand or none. And that was the reason. The only reason. Shut up, yes it was.

Because, in his own weird, twisted way, Iblis did care.

Chapter Text

It is a seemingly normal evening for Nimrod when, out of the blue, two Ifrit materialize in his library.

Now, Nimrod isn't the shoot-first-ask-questions-later type, but as soon as the two clouds of black smoke take human shape, he takes action.

"QWERTYUI-"

"Parlay!" one of the Ifrit shouts.

Quite similar to pirates, djinn have the right to parlay. It's written down in the Bagdad rules. But there is also a right to decline parlay, and Nimrod is inclined to use it as he looks these two fellows over.

They are eeeeevil djinn. They are also of the opinion that evilness is best displayed by wearing greasy leather jackets, slicked back dark hair and sunglasses at night. Nimrod is vaguely reminded of Iblis in his Eighties phase, except that Iblis somehow managed back then to make leather jackets look classy. These two of his underlings have not quite gotten the hang of it. Nimrod, not being intimidated by them, sees no use in fighting just now.

"What do you want to parlay about?" he asks. "And how did you even get in here?"

"We have our ways" one says.

"Our leader wants to speak to you" the other adds.

"Iblis? Then why didn't he just phone me? He's got my number, somehow."

"Our leader wishes to speak to you in person" a third voice suddenly says in his back.

There's a third one? Nimrod spins around, but not fast enough. The last thing he sees is a piece of wood making contact with his forehead. Then everything goes black.

When he wakes up again, he is apparently being driven around in a car – apparently because he's also blindfolded and has to go by the sound of the engine. He is neither tied nor gagged, but someone has put him under a Sesquipedalian binding, because, as he soon finds out, he is unable to utter his focus word. So he just settles for being sensibly quiet.

At some point they leave the car and enter a building. The Ifrit thugs lead Nimrod up some stairs, and through some hallways, until at last they end up in a room that contains Iblis – Nimrod knows that with empathic certainty as soon as he steps through the door. He doesn't even know how he knows it – smell, perhaps. Nimrod has a very fine sense of smell.

The blindfold is yanked off, and he finds himself in a tastefully furnished study, the walls lined with bookshelves. He can't see much of the room, though; it's dark. A single lamp illuminates a desk littered with papers of all kind. Nimrod can make out something that looks like a census study, some official-looking forms concerning the profit made in several casinos, letters and a pencil sketch of a city skyline. Behind the desk, indeed, is Iblis, toying with a letter opener. At least Nimrod hopes it's a letter opener; it looks more like a small, mean dagger really.

He stands there and just waits as Iblis dismisses his minions. When they are alone, Iblis says: "Marid. Please excuse this whole abduction, rather tedious I know. But I needed a word with you in private."

"Is this a kind of parlay?" Nimrod asks.

"Kind of."

"Is this drawing yours?"

Iblis shuffles some papers on his desk, making the drawing disappear. Now Nimrod also notes the framed picture of the Teer family next to the lamp. How cute.

"As you probably are aware of, I have some prominent Marid under surveillance, you of course being one of them" Iblis explains, pointedly not answering the question. "To make this short, I did some snooping around, and I happened upon something most peculiar." He takes a folder from the desk and opens it.

Nimrod's fist panicked reaction is Oh no, oh no, what does he know, what did he find out? His second thought is Why, that's silly. I've got nothing to hide from him.

He is completely thrown off ground when Iblis remarks, in a voice carefully kept neutral of all emotions: "I never knew you had a wife."

"What? Alexandra? You had me dragged here to talk about Alexandra?"

"Why don't you explain yourself first, Marid, and doubt my decision later."

"Explain...what? How many times have you been married?"

Iblis raises an eyebrow. "Let's just say several. What I want you to explain is...how come I hear of her only now? I mean, the woman is a powerful djinn and your wife. Why has she never come up?"

"Well, I couldn't exactly bring her up while fighting..."

"No, but maybe you should have brought her up at a suitable occasion...like one of the not very cleverly veiled advances you made on my person over the years. Don't even try to deny that now, we both know. A pity, Marid. I pegged you as one of the last truly good individuals in a cruel, heartless world. If I was to find out that you were, in reality, just a cheating little piece of filth, I would be genuinely disappointed."

Wait...what? Nimrod is shocked. Did Iblis Teer, most renowned evil djinn in the world, just accuse me of cheating on my wife with him? With a tone of honest sadness in his voice?

"No...it's not...not like that at all" he tries to defend himself. "We...Alexandra and I...we broke up, see, we're technically only married on the paper."

"Oh I know that. Let's talk about it, shall we? How you broke up."

"What?"

Iblis laughs, a small, hard, mirthless laugh. "Marid, Marid. Seriously? I'm not the jealous type. If anything were to ever...happen...between the two of us, I would definitely cheat on you. I'd cheat on you so much. I'm not a nice man to be in a relationship with. I nag, I have mood swings, I come home late, I participate in questionable activities, I always hog the blankets, I drink – like, a lot – and you'd have to put up with my large, dysfunctional family. You cheating on your estranged wife now and again is pretty forgivable compared to that. I'm not mad because you never told me that there's someone else. I'm mad because when she became too hard to handle, you dumped her in Afghanistan and then tried your best to absolutely forget her. While, and I feel I need to stress that, she was struggling with mental illness. Like, don't do that? It really is surprising what you good guys can get away with."

Nimrod doesn't reply to that, on account of being speechless. He has to admit that this sounds a lot more unpleasant out of Iblis' mouth than he had ever considered it to be.

And then the evil djinn adds in a very quiet voice: "And now I naturally ask myself: If we were...you know...if we ever...started something or whatever...would this happen to me? When you'd finally say goodbye to your fucking delusions and see me as the messed up psycho I am, would you dump me like you dumped her? Where would I go, North Korea? Or no wait, Iraq. Apparently war zones are always best for dumping unstable loved ones."

"No..." Nimrod stutters weakly. "It's not...not like that at all...and besides, you are not..."

"I am not...what? Not messed up? Not as unimportant as the woman who loved you? Not the evil fuck-up who has done nothing but disappoint you and screw with your life since day one, but instead a precious person in some way? Wake the fuck up."

"Now, you got this all wrong. She left me because she needed to join the eremites for some reason!"

"She was mentally unstable, Nimrod. You should have gotten her professional help instead of wallowing in your hurt male pride and taking everything she said at face value. God, I can't believe I actually have to teach you how to be good. I'm literally the worst person for it."

Iblis paces angrily while Nimrod watches. He's still dumbstruck. Then Iblis turns back to him and asks with forced calm: "Now where exactly does that woman live?"

A few days later, Iblis is in Afghanistan. Finding the Penthouse in which Alexandra Godwin lives has been incredibly easy – everyone who is anyone knows her. Apparently she is famous for both her prophecies and her notorious temper...and, of course, her exquisite beauty.

The door is opened forcefully before he can even ring the doorbell. He is face to face with a stunningly gorgeous woman, maybe the most beautiful one he has ever seen...and Iblis has seen many beautiful women. Her skin is very dark, and luscious black waves of hair fall down on her back. Her face is that of a woman who knows that she's an absolute queen. She wears a golden silk sari and a lot of traditional Indian jewelry...a bit of a strange sight in Afghanistan. And her proportions are absolutely godly. Hell, there are goddesses out there who would murder to look like Alexandra. The look she gives Iblis somehow makes him wish he had done something with his hair before coming here. And all of this is the wife of Nimrod Godwin?

"I have foreseen your coming, Iblis Teer" she announces.

"Really? Hi" Iblis replies, giving her his most winning smile.

"Now what could an Ifrit want from me? Do you want your fortune told?"

"Maybe. First of all I want you to let me in..."

Alexandra huffs. "This is about him, right? Nimrod."

"Only partially, ma'am. I heard about Nimrod's wife from a neutral source and got curious. I have read up on you and your...predicament. Not the foresight one, the other. The one that Nimrod left you for."

"You mean my...temper."

"Yes. And, well, guess who else has two thumbs and is notorious for temper tantrums? Basically...I know what it's like to carry a lot of unsolicited rage around with you. I know how it gets hard to manage, and how everyone just seems out to piss you off, and then things, you know, fade into static and you slip up, sometimes, and then things get destroyed. Please let me talk to you."

Alexandra lets him in without a further word.

Two hours later they are sitting in her living room disregarding the coffee that has long gone cold in their cups and exchanging stories. Somehow they have, predictably, drifted from anger management to the only other thing that connects them: Nimrod.

"You know, when we were newlyweds, everything seemed perfect. He was perfect" Alexandra explains. "He was a gentleman. Not like most other men I was used to from home. My family is very traditional. If Nimrod hadn't whisked me away to London, my father would have probably arranged a marriage for me."

"So that is why..."

"No" Alexandra interrupts. "That is not the only reason I went with him. I loved him. He was kind, cultured, generous, open-minded, and he treated me like a princess. When I saw London, and the great house I was to live in, and all the finery...I was amazed. We had our disagreements, surely, but that's just what...married couples are like."

"But then you broke up."

"Yes...that's kind of a long story."

"I'm all ears."

"Alright. One thing we fundamentally disagreed on was the best way to maintain the homeostasis."

"The homeostasis is a fairytale. Kinda like 'the thing women want'."

"No, it's not!" Alexandra snaps, her eyes suddenly full of anger. "And could you please not interrupt me when I'm talking? You know I really hate that."

"Sure, ma'am" Iblis says diplomatically.

"Anyway" Alexandra says, taking a deep, calming breath. "Nimrod. And the homeostasis. I believed the best way was to help the mundanes in a quiet way, like the eremites do. But he believed, above all, in fighting...you. The Ifrit. The casinos..."

"Ah yes, the casinos" Iblis smirks. "He wasted a lot of his time trying to bring those down. As far as gambling is concerned, the mundanes want no help and won't listen to reason. That's why we're still so successful."

"Whatever you say. Well, as time passed, I noticed how his fight wasn't...all about the good in the world. It was also personal...it was somehow about Nimrod himself. It was an odd feeling, and I first passed it off as just me imagining things...but as I had begun to take notice, it got more and more obvious...he was fixated, I'd almost say obsessed, not with smiting evil, but with...you."

"What? Me?"

"You. Iblis Teer. You. He kept a picture of you in his wallet, for heaven's sake! Told me it was there to remind him why he fights. So that's the reason you fight? I wanted to ask him. An attractive blond male? What?"

Iblis chuckles quietly. "Attractive blond male...good one."

"I'm not kidding! I felt awful! And he always went after you, fought you or confronted you about something...and he talked about you! All the time! Until I felt like I was competing with you for my husband's attention!...Well, and then the tragedy with my brother happened and changed everything anyway."

"You know, that wasn't my intention, to have Nimrod fall for me. Not really."

"It doesn't matter. Anyway, I should have known what I was getting into, I guess. He was just in denial the whole time. You know the one thing that was not perfect, right from the start?"

"No...Oh, don't say it, let me guess; the suits?"

Alexandra giggles. "Not the suits. I mean, they're horrible, yes, but when you find a man that is so good, you can forgive his lack of fashion sense. I'm talking about the sex."

"The...sex."

"The sex. It was just...not good. Like he put up an effort for my sake, but he wasn't in it with his heart."

Iblis ponders on that. He has known Nimrod for a long time. To say that, in their oddest of relationships, there have been absolutely zero encounters that turned sexual would be a bit of a lie. On the rare occasion that something has happened, Iblis remembers the experience being...surprisingly satisfactory. And his standards are pretty high there.

Then Alexandra says: "I have to ask. If Nimrod ever...would you..."

"...kill him?"

"No. Not that."

"Ah. You mean..."

"Yes."

"Huh."

"Would you?"

"I don't think so."

"So you absolutely...I mean, if he went and straight out proposed...you would decline him?"

"Who knows what I would do?"

"But you just said...!"

"I said I don't think I would. That's not a definite no."

"You are..."

"A scumbag?"

"An honest man" Alexandra finishes.

Iblis laughs his cynical laugh again. "I'm not honest."

"But you don't lie."

Over their conversation, it has gotten dark. As none of them bothered to put on a light, they are now sitting in semi-darkness.

Iblis reaches over and lays his hand over hers. "Some women seem to want to believe that" he whispers in her ear. "That I won't lie to them...that I'm not all that bad..."

She spins her head around and bites forcefully into his lower lip, drawing blood. "Lie to me and die."

Iblis licks the blood from his lips before he kisses her.

One day later, Nimrod (safely back at home) picks up his cell phone and sees that Iblis has sent him a picture. He opens it and sees a sight that makes his jaw drop. The picture shows Iblis in bed, a horribly smug expression on his face. Alexandra is curled around him smiling, with her head on his chest. None of them is wearing any clothes. At least Alexandra has draped her leg over his crotch so that there's not too much indecency. Nimrod stares, not knowing if he should scream or faint or what. The picture is captioned: I'm banging your wife, Marid.

Nimrod, shaking his head about the madness of fate, texts back: Yes, Iblis...yes you are.

Iblis stays at Alexandra's for two more weeks. Their relationship consists of anger management, exchanging anecdotes about Nimrod and nice, casual sex. Until one night, Alexandra wakes him up with tears in her eyes.

"I just had a vision of your future" she whispers in a grave voice.

Iblis yawns. "Are you sure it wasn't just a bad dream?"

"Don't be stupid. I know dreams, and I know visions. There is a difference between the both."

"Okay, so...my future? Do I want to know?"

"Your future. And whether or not you want to know is not important; I can't tell you anyway."

"What? Why not?"

"Such is the nature of my curse. I thought you read about that too."

"I just know that you can tell people's fortunes, but they keep forgetting them. I have no idea how that actually works."

"Well, I see the future. Sometimes it's like looking through a keyhole: a few blurry images that make no sense. Sometimes it is crystal clear. But no matter how it is: I can't tell people. It's a bit like a Sesquipedalian binding, where one can't pronounce a certain word. I open my mouth, I try to describe to people what I see, but all that comes out is gibberish. Angry gibberish." She shakes her pretty head in despair.

"It's alright, you needn't tell me" Iblis tries to soothe. "Was it much that you saw?"

"Everything. In horrible clarity. I saw your death, Iblis."

"My death" he repeats. "Was it...?"

"You didn't look much older than now."

"Djinn age well" he tries to shrug the matter off with a smile. But Alexandra only shakes her head again and cries some more.

"Oh. Was it...untimely?"

"Yes."

"Cruel?"

"Very."

"Will it hurt?" They both know it's a childish question. Iblis is ashamed that it slipped past his lips. "Is it a good death?" he asks on. "You know, one to go down in djinn history?"

Alexandra hesitates, then she nods.

"Then all is well" Iblis remarks, but they both know it's not.

At last he asks: "Is it definite?"

Alexandra exhales shakily. "The future is never set in stone. Right now, though, I can only think of one thing we both can do."

Back in England, the recent events have taken their toll on Nimrod. He can't stop thinking about Alexandra and Iblis, undoubtedly the two most important people in his life outside of the family, now in connection. Whenever his thoughts stray to one of them, he feels a sting of guilt. What Iblis has said about his break-up with Alexandra hits a bit too close to home.

One night, he wakes up from a strange, confusing dream that involved her somehow, and can't help feeling sad. But the sadness makes way to another feeling: the feeling that there's someone else with him in the bedroom. And not just any someone else. He senses djinn powers, lots and lots of djinn powers.

But the shock and fear that should follow such a realization oddly don't happen. He lies calmly and listens as they approach the bed. Then the footsteps cease, indicating that whoever it is is standing right beside the bed now. And then Nimrod, with his impeccable nose, smells it.

It is the smell of Alexandra's sweet, sensual, flowery perfume, but not only that. There is also a man's cologne, sharp and fresh with an undercurrent of other, fainter smells: aftershave, cigarettes, hair product, and just a small hint of alcohol and snakes.

The bed creaks as one, no two additional weights settle down on it. In the darkness, Alexandra snuggles up against his back while Iblis turns his back and scoots close, an almost aggressive silent invitation to spoon him. Nimrod smiles and wraps an arm around the both of them. "You two came back...thank you" he whispers.

"Oh shut up, you dork" Iblis replies.

Nimrod smiles into the darkness, thinking again about the mad turns his life is taking.

When Nimrod, later, asks Iblis why they have returned, Iblis shrugs and says: "She saw something in the future, something about my death, and apparently she thinks that you can change something."

"Your death? But...when? How?"

"No idea. Liver failure, probably."

"Liver failure? Iblis...did you just admit to your drinking problem...? I've been waiting for that to happen since-"

"You heard nothing."

Chapter Text

Hello diary. My name is Rudyard Teer, and I am six years old.

I just found you today. It was odd. Yesterday was my birthday, but you turned up this morning on the doorstep all wrapped up like a present and stuff. But it didn't say who from. I asked Daddy and he said he didn't know where you came from either, but since you're just a book and not dangerous at all, I get to keep you. I hope we become good friends. I don't have many, apart from my brothers, and they don't count, they're family. Dad sometimes takes me to play with that girl Lilith de Ghulle, but she's hideous. But she said that keeping a diary is cool, so I'm gonna do that too.

Lilith said today that every child has to have a mommy and a daddy, otherwise there would be no child. I don't believe her because I got no mom at all and I don't need one either. Lilith is a dirty liar.

I wonder where my mommy is. I saw that all my friends have one, and some of my brothers have one too, but I haven't. Should I ask dad about it?

I asked Odair about his mommy today, since he doesn't have one, just like me. He said he had one once, but she died long ago. It's very sad that Odair's mommy died.

Okay, so I just talked to dad. I asked him if what Lilith had said was true. He said yes and that Lilith hadn't lied to me at all. Then I asked him why it was that I had no mommy at all when all of my friends and some of my brothers had one and you have to have one to make a child.

Dad said "Sure you have a mother, Rudyard, she's just not here."

I asked: "Did she die?" because I remembered that Odair's mom died.

"I think not" dad said. "I think she's very fine indeed. She just went away."

"Why?" I said.

"Because Daddy has been stupid, Rudyard, and made several stupid mistakes. And then Mommy and Daddy had a big fight and Mommy ran away and hasn't returned since."

"Then why don't you just find her?" I asked.

"I respect your mom's decision not to want to live with me anymore. If she ever changes her mind, she can come right back. I'm not going to force her into anything, because she would not like that. You should respect your woman, Rudyard, when you're grown up that is." He looked a bit sad when he said that. Anyway, I asked him what my mom was like.

"Well, what to tell you? You have her hair, her eyes, her skin... you've a lot of her. She smiles like you, she pouts like you, she bites her lips when she's mad like you. She loves long journeys – I like to imagine that that's what she does now, journeying. She's very fierce, and beautiful."

"Do you miss her?" I asked.

"Um, sometimes... I guess."

"Do you think she misses you, too?"

Dad laughed. "No. Not at all. She has little love for me."

"But what about me?" I wanted to know. "Doesn't she love me?"

"Rudyard, really, I think she does. Maybe she comes back for you one day. But even if she doesn't, she probably loves you. And then there's still your brothers and I ."

I felt a bit better then. Still I wonder if I get to meet my mom one day.

I found out today that I have a little brother! His name is Dybbuk. He's not that much younger, a year or so. But it's nice not being the littlest one anymore. I asked if I got to meet little bro Dybbuk one day, but Dad said no because Dybbuk is a half-tribe (whatever that is) and his mother would forbid that. They tried to explain to me what dad had done. I didn't understand all of it, but it sounded fishy to me. I asked dad about respecting women, as he told me to do? And why did he not do that? Dad said: "Sometimes we give advice we really should be listening to". Or something like that? I'm confused now.

Dear diary it just happened I JUST SAW MY MOM.

When I came home from school, dad was with a woman. She was very tall and looked pretty, but a bit scary. Her hair was the same color as mine. When I came in, dad said to me: "Son, meet your mother."

"Hi" the woman said. She didn't even really look at me.

"Hello mom" I said back.

"Are you enjoying your diary?" she asked.

I didn't know what to say, so dad said I should go to my room and do my homework. Anyway, I listened at the door to hear what they were talking.

"I hope you don't mistreat him" mom said.

"I would never" dad said.

"You probably spoil him rotten" mom said. "What's his name, anyway?"

"Rudyard" dad said, "And I think he misses you. Or having a mother in general."

"Well I'm not moving back in with you and your spawn. Not for the world" mom said. Then she called dad some pretty nasty names, but he didn't get mad at her. In fact, he didn't say anything back.

So she sent me the diary, but she doesn't even know my name? I don't think I want anything to do with mom anymore.

Lilith said today that keeping a diary wasn't cool anymore. Why is that? Should I stop writing it now?

I asked dad. He said: "What Lilith says is 'cool' shouldn't bother you. Just do what you enjoy. That's what being you is all about. She's just saying that because she became bored with her own diary, and you know why that is? Because she's too lazy and dimwitted to carry anything through. Don't let it affect you." I asked how he knew that stuff about Lilith, and he said "Because I know her mother, and Lilith is just like her in every way."

Mothers really seem like a kinda stupid thing to have.

Something very nearly magical happened today. It was a rainy day, and we were all sitting around inside. Dad was reading, me and my brothers were just hanging around talking. Jonny was tinkering with that old gramophone player he had found. Jonny's really good with such things, but he couldn't get this thing to run. We had all given up hope on it, when Jonny suddenly yelled that he'd gotten it to work! He put on the old record that had been in there when he found it, and really! it started playing a scratchy version of "Gimme Shelter" and next thing I knew we were all slowly dancing in a circle around it, even Odair with his girlfriend, even Dad. Turned out Dad's a pretty okay dancer and even knew some Rolling Stones lyrics. Weird. He always said he hates guitars.

I asked dad why he hated guitars. He said "Your mother was in a band."

Huh?

Odair wants to propose to his girlfriend. He's soooo nervous he never shuts up. I think dad is proud. When I grow up, I'm gonna have the best girlfriend ever!

I'm turning ten today and there's a present from mom! It's a guitar!

Dad lets me keep the guitar! and play it and stuff! Mom has sent some sheet music and a list of bands I should look into! WOW!

JIMI HENDRIX IS THE BEST GUY EVER. One day I'm gonna be as good as him.

I wonder when will I get my djinn powers. Dad is out to fight the Marid again and I hope he's careful he kicks their asses and I can help him soon...

Dear diary, Dad was hurt last night. He came home really late, I wasn't supposed to be awake, but I woke up. Odair had waited up for him. They had left the door open a little, so I could peek as Odair patched Dad up. He was bleeding a lot. The blood went everywhere. It all looked a bit gross. Odair asked: "Nimrod again?" Dad said: "Yeah, he won't stop 'till I'm dead, I guess."

Who is Nimrod? I feel like I hate him. In fact, I want to kill him. No one gets to hurt Dad like that.

I hope I get my djinn powers soon so I can kill him REALLY BADLY.

Dear diary, I can't believe this is happening. This is the best day of my life. My wisdom teeth came out today! That means I can have my Tammuz & my djinn powers soon! Aww Yesss! It's going to rock! Having my djinn powers will be so awesome!

Weird thing is, dad didn't seem as happy as I was when he got the news. Hmm, I wonder why that is.

Going to have the surgery tomorrow. I'm so excited...

I'm going into the desert this night, all alone, for my Tammuz. My brothers said I had nothing to be scared about, but I'm not so sure. I'll be all alone, after all. Got to go now, I'll tell you all about how the night went tomorrow.

Wow. Just...wow. Tammuz was kind of...intense. Got told about good and evil and stuff. Apparently I'm evil. Well, dad said it just means I get to do whatever I want, so that's not too bad.

Dad is going to Cairo today on official business, and he doesn't want me to come with. He says it will be dangerous as there will be Marid there. Man, I can't wait to get to fight these bastards. I wish dad would take me with! I'm staying with Odair and his wife as long as he's gone.

Something awful has happened to dad; I just heard. Apparently he got caught and put in a bottle by some Marid. I heard it was that Nimrod guy, and his niece and nephew. Odair says they're about my age. Maybe one/two years younger. What the fuck!

Whatever will happen to dad now? I sure hope the Marid don't kill him, that would make me half an orphan! Oh well, could just as well be full orphan, on account of mom never being there and stuff.

I feel kind of misplaced with Odair and his wife. I mean, they're building up their own little family home, and I'm kind of in the way. Of course Odair is nice to me because he feels he has to look out for me, but I'm pretty sure he's not exactly thrilled about his little bro hanging around. That's just 'dair for you: Always trying to be the surrogate father that dad sometimes isn't...if you get my drift, diary?

And on top of all this, my stupid Geography teacher has nothing better to do than complain about me being "tardy" in her lessons! She wants to talk to my parents about it. Just great! What do I tell the old hag? "My father is imprisoned in a bottle and my mother is a heart-of-ice bitch that is never there, so I'm afraid they can't come to the parent-teacher-conference"? Maybe I should just turn her into a fruit bat. Or a mayfly! Or a rat!

Dear diary! People are saying that dad is to be trialed by Ayesha...that's the blue djinn. She's said to be a crusty old lady who has no mercy for ANYONE. That'll sure go awry...

My band is playing their first concert today. Dad promised to come, but I guess that's kinda impossible now. Same goes for Jonny's football game next week.

You won't believe what happened, diary! It all started with the message that dad is going to serve a ten-year-sentence ON VENUS. The family is VERY unhappy, but there's not much anyone can do. The good djinn, they get all the luck AND political influence. Odair says they're like the ultimate lobby. Not sure what that means but it can't be good.

And then it happened: Mom came over. I'm living with her now. She said she heard of what happened to dad and that it was now time for her to perform her duty as a parent. She has an apartment in the city where I'm now living. You can see that she isn't here often, the place looks kind of bleak, not like anyone's actually living here, you know what I'm saying...? Anyway, being with mom is weird. She can be nice and friendly sometimes, and she has a cool guitar and a cool motorbike. But sometimes she's all distant like she doesn't care about me at all, and the way she speaks of dad...like he was the devil or something. Wonder why she hates him so much.

Tonight mom drove me over to the djinnverso tournament. It's not like I practiced much, after all the stuff that happened recently, but well, it was the first time that mom offered to drive me anywhere, so I went. And guess who was there and I had to play against?! FUCKING Philippa Gaunt. And, I have to admit, she pretty much handed my ass to me. God, I hate her. Why's she so intelligent and friendly and stuff?! Her red hair looked a bit pretty, also. How dare she? How absolutely dare she just swoop in with her pretty red hair and kick ass and! After all that happened to dad! But she got disqualified later because she tricked someone or something. I took care to laugh extra hard at her. Ha ha! Take that, Philippa Gaunt!

Dear diary: I felt like a style change so I asked mom to dye my hair red. This has nothing to do with Philippa Gaunt, don't look at me like that! It's a nice cherry red that fits the color of my guitar. I'll look so cool on stage with it. It was also kind of nice to have mom touch my hair and stuff. Like something a proper mother would do with her son.

Maybe the red hair wasn't such a good idea after all. My brothers call me "Rudy the red-haired reindeer" now. Jerks. I'm learning to play "Gimme Shelter" now. It reminds me of a few years ago, when things were simpler.

Hey diary, guess what?! Just got a call from dad! Well, not from dad, but from some mundane dimwit who found his bottle. Dad escaped! Yeah! When mom heard the news, she said: "I knew it. Your father has an uncanny and positively snake-like ability to slither out of things". And then she basically dropped me like a hot potato and left. I'll have to get to French Guinea all by myself. Oh well whatever, dad will be back! Mom can suck it!

Well, dad is back now, but things aren't what they used to be. Since he was in that bottle, he's just obsessed with revenge. He's gone away to one of the casino hideouts to plan his strategy or whatever, and can't be bothered with us or the tribe duties. Odair and Jared are a bit worried, I think.

Tonight I had a nightmare that dad died, so I popped over to visit. I told him about the nightmare and that I was kind of worried, and he said what a great son I was and how much he loved me. Damn pity he doesn't say such things when he's sober.

Sometimes I seriously ask myself if all these weird things ever happen to other djinn kids?! Or is it just this fucked up family?! So it looks like dad has lost his body because he was attacked by two djinn tigers... What the hell, no one knows where these fucking tigers came from! Oh well, at least he didn't die.

Dad has a new body and also an epic plan to take over the world! And you know what's the absolute greatest thing? I can help! I'll get an own jade suit of armor! I can command djinn warriors and have them eat souls! Yeah! I'll be so badass! Unfortunately, the plan pretty much involves around a very special snowflake Johnathan Tarot. That is little brother Dybbuk, who of course has no idea what he's getting into. And from what I saw of him, he's just a whiny, self-righteous little shit. Dad believes he has potential, but I say fuck him. Also, dad had a hard time reeling some of the brothers in for the plan. Odair at last agreed to help stealing the jade, but he seems to think that the whole Enantodromian thing is a bit loony. I think it's brilliant. 'Dair is probably just jealous that he didn't think of it. Or he doesn't want to risk anything right now because his wife is pregnant and stuff.

Jade suits are ready to kick ass! The djinn warriors are merrily absorbing souls! And the whole world is getting obsessed with lil bro Dybbuk! Man, it sure is exciting! Finally something happens in here!

The stupid Marid are getting on to us. They're on their way to China. I'm gonna have to go stop them I guess. Oh well it will be fun.

Philippa Gaunt is with them. But that's not gonna stop me! Bring it on, Philippa! Let's see who wins this time!

The Marid escaped me. Darn. But it doesn't matter. There's no way they can stop us now. Gotta go now, diary. Dad says to come. The plan is going into final stage today. I'm sure excited! Can't wait to see what world domination feels like! Evil laugh!

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