Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Children of the Lamp belongs to P. B. Kerr. Thank you, Mr Kerr, for giving us John, Philippa and everyone else!
Chapter 1
"I hate cold," the dark-haired girl complained.
Her just as dark-haired, but taller friend threw a quick glance at her. "Who loves it?" she asked. "Come on, Jenny, if we go near Buckingham Palace, we may see the Queen!" she added, obviously trying to reassure both of them.
"And what good will that be to us?" the boy who was walking ahead of them, asked. "It will still be cold. And we'll still be powerless."
The second girl glared at him, readjusting the stripes of her schoolbag on her shoulder. "Well, thank you, Nimrod, for stating the obvious," she snapped.
"Light my lamp, do not argue," the first girl, Jenny, said pleadingly. "It's bad enough as it is. The only thing that I want right now is to sit in front of the fireplace and feel like myself."
Feel like myself. The phrase was used everyday by everyone but for these three children – because that was what they were, none of them was older than fourteen – it had literal meaning. They would not feel like themselves for a very long time, at least until spring. Damn it that London weather!
The boy looked around. No one was looking at them. He smiled, pleased, and with a quick motion took a big cigar out of his pocket and lighted it, then inhaled the smoke with almost reverent expression on his face.
"Nimrod!" the second girl hissed. "Whip it off! Mundanes will see!"
The boy – Nimrod – just shrugged. His expression of pure bliss did not falter. The two girls looked at him and then looked at each other. They knew that there was no way to dissuade him.
To a stranger, the three kids – tall, dark-haired, numbed by the cold of London winter – would look like typical teenagers, maybe only a little too attractive, too blessed by God not only with expensive clothes and obviously good financial state, but with their stunning looks and keen, intelligent eyes. In fact, they were anything but typical students coming home after school. You see, the three of them – Layla, Nimrod, and Jenny were their names – were not human beings. They were three young djinn with young strength, which meant that they could disappear, they could change into animals and they could grant wishes. Too bad that right now, they couldn't do even one of these things – unlike people, who are made of earth, djinn are made of fire and they did not fare well with cold weather, like winter, for instance. Since these three were so young, they were practically powerless and would be like this until it started warming. They felt sad, and cold, and felt that spring could not come soon enough.
Layla looked at her brother and scowled in contempt. "Stupid," she said. "Every mundane can see him now."
Mundanes is the word that djinn use to describe human beings. Layla was right about that – the sight of a child who was not older than thirteen smoking a cigar would attract unwanted attention and probably, lots of indignation as well. Djinn are trying to look as mundane as they can, but nothing can change the fact that every source of heat – a fire, a cigarette, or, as in Nimrod's case, a cigar – makes them feel better, while the same thing is not necessarily true for mundanes. Smoking, for one, is very bad for mundanes, while it does nothing but good to djinn. Unfortunately, mundanes don't know it and the sight of a kid walking around with a cigar in his mouth most certainly would not be appreciated.
"Show odd," Layla went on, but both she and Jenny looked with envious eyes the smoke that was spiraling out of Nimrod's mouth.
He suddenly turned around and looked at them, releasing a cloud of smoke that whirled in the shape of the Buckingham Palace. "Want some?" he offered.
"No, thanks," Layla said coolly. "I have no desire to walk in the street, scandalizing bystanders."
Nimrod laughed loudly. "It's up to you, sis," he said and the smoke of his cigar suddenly took the shape of a very angry Layla. He curled his lips in a whistle around the cigar and went on his way.
A few minutes later, Jenny surrendered. "Give it to me," she said, and Nimrod grinned and handed her the cigar, after exhaling smoke in the shape of a smiling mouth. She inhaled deeply and when she reached to give it back to him, Layla silently stretched out a hand, took the cigar and took a breath of it herself.
They kept walking, passing the cigar around. The small coal of warmth that penetrated their bodies was so nice that it dragged out the best in them: Jenny felt that her decision to become a djinn-doctor, so she could help other djinn to feel better strenghtened' Layla thought that maybe, just maybe she would help Nimrod with his homework, and Nimrod decided that he would rethink his decision to make Mrs Morter, his Maths teacher, bald as soon as he got his power back.
People looked at the three teenagers and the cigar with firm disapproval, but the young djinn pretended not to notice. Soon, they were walking in an old, quiet street with big imposing houses and impressive gardens. "Here we are," Nimrod said just when the front door of one of the houses opened to reveal a tall, slim, sinister looking old man, dressed in white robes and white turban. His beard was very long and also white. "Mr Rakshasas!" Layla exclaimed. "I didn't know he was even in London!"
Nimrod swiftly moved in front of Jenny, who was currently holding the cigar; she hurriedly threw the cigar in the snow and stepped on it.
"Mr Rakshasas," Nirmrod said and ran for the man – he was very fond of him. "When did you arrive?"
The old man smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Just an hour ago. Hello, children," he added, looking at all three of them.
Nimrod glanced at him. "Is something the matter, Mr Rakshasas?" he asked and there was concern in his voice. The old djinn was always quiet and subdued, but this time he was more subdued than usual.
"Has something happened?" Layla asked, frowning.
"No, nothing happened," Mr Rakshasas assured them. "At least, not yet. Come on, let's get inside."
The three kids followed him, whispering to one another, asking what was going on.
The answer was waiting for them in the big entrance hall. There were two women standing in front of the imposive marble staircase. One of them was tall and dark-skinned, with shining black hair and conservative blue suit. She looked glamorous, but her expression was so stern that Nimrod and Layla exchanged quick glances. Was it possible that their mother had learned about a mischief of theirs that she felt should be punished? Maybe she would make them forget their focus words – the words that they needed to concentrate their djinn power – for a certain period of time? Or had she learned about some bad marks in their classes? It was entirely possible.
Then, they saw the other woman and they knew it was something far more serious than that. An eccentric looking woman, visibly at her forties – actually, she was more than one hundred years old – Edwidges the Wandering Djinn was smarter than one would think looking at her shapeless dress, but she was just what her nickname suggested – a wandered, a traveler. First Mr Rakshasas and now Edwidges: something was most definitely happening.
"Hi, Jenny," their mother said.
"Hello, Mrs Godwin," the girl answered, stammering: she must have felt that something was very wrong here, too.
"I'm sorry, but I need to talk to my children alone," Ayesha said. "Edwidges will accompany you to your way home."
Jenny only nodded. "See you later, Layla," she said and Edwidges led her outside.
Again, Layla and Nimrod exchanged glances. "What's going on?" she whispered.
"Search me."
"Well, children," their mother said, "shall we go to the library?"
She had cried, that much was obvious. And she was not looking forward to the following conversation. In fact, she seemed to be in a state that was very untypical to her: she looked as she was afraid and that made Nimrod and Layla afraid themselves.
In the library – a large room full of all sorts of books one could imagine – Layla sat on the sofa; without thinking, Nimrod took a place next to her and took her hand in his own. Their mother sat in an armchair close to them. She was still silent. "What's going on, Mother?" Layla finally asked.
"It's quite simple, actually. You two know that I love you, don't you?"
Layla and Nimrod looked at her, amazed. "Of course we do," he said, stunned. "Why are you telling it to us now?"
His mother sighed and her eyes glistened with tears. "It is the easier part," she said.
"Then what is the harder one?" Layla asked.
Ayesha took a deep breath and slowly exhaled it. "I am going to be the Blue Djinn of Babylon," she said.
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A. N. I plan on writing a second chapter. What do you think about this one? Please, I really want to know.
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