Layla watched her brother fade out of sight into the dirty London sky and sighed. She, more than anyone else, knew that Nimrod probably wasn't going to take this responsibility seriously, or if he was, he wouldn't consider the possible implications of failure until the very last second. Quietly, she shut the skylight, climbed down from the old table, and headed for the attic door. Somewhere downstairs, the house telephone rang. The two, little, brazen bells that were affixed to the face of the ancient, monstrously large machine in the front hall were loud enough that Layla could hear them from anywhere in the house, even up in the garret, where normally no one but the servants went. This was the reason that Ayesha Godwin had never replaced the outdated wall telephone with the newer, smaller dial telephone: it simply wasn't practical. Layla, who hated the old machine, intended to dispose of it the first opportunity she had.

The ringing of the telephone ceased when someone- most likely the butler, Alden Pritchard,- picked up the receiver to answer the call. Layla was certain that this person was the butler when the man called up the stairs to her with his heavy Yorkshire accent.

"Telephone call, Miss! Long distance! From Egypt!" Another pause, and Mr. Pritchard shouted again. "A Hector Fletcher, calling about a djinn matter!"

Mr. Pritchard was one of the few who knew the true identities of Layla and Nimrod Godwin, and that they were actually quite powerful djinn. Layla was unused to being in charge of such important things as djinn matters. She missed her mother more than ever now. Last year, if someone had called with something regarding the djinn, Ayesha would have been the one to speak on the telephone, sometimes for hours. It felt strange and not at all agreeable for Layla to be forced to play that role now. She felt like a small child playing pretend when she answered the butler.

"I'm coming, tell them to hold on for a moment!" she called down the stairs, and began to take the steps two at a time, until she'd stumbled down the three flights of steps and into the front hall, where Pritchard silently offered her the telephone earpiece. "Hello?" she said into the strangely-shaped apparatus used for speaking to the caller. "This is Layla Godwin. What is it you called me about?"

"Yes, hello Miss Godwin. I am Hector Fletcher, calling about my daughter Alexandra. She's just turned fourteen and her dragon teeth have been extracted." Hector Fletcher's voice was reedy, and crackling static made it difficult for Layla to understand what it was he was saying. Even after she deciphered his speech, Layla was a little nonplussed.

"I'm sorry, but why did you call me again?" She asked, as politely as she could. After all, Mr. Fletcher was very likely several decades her elder.

He sighed heavily, a noise that sounded a bit funny with staticky overtones. "The Tammuz, Miss Godwin. Either you must come here to Egypt yourself, or you may delegate another djinn to do so."

Layla's cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. "Oh, y-yes, of course!" She stammered, feeling a little flustered. "I'll come down immediately. By whirlwind. Now, where in Egypt are you?"

"We're in Giza. I'v an archaeologist, you see. My boy, Magnus, ought to be able to help you when you arrive, as I'll likely be far too busy." Hector Fletcher paused, and Layla held her breath, wondering what he was going to say. "And, er, thank you, Miss Godwin. For taking the trouble."

Layla's cheeks turned even pinker from the expression of gratitude, and let out her breath. "Oh, it's no trouble at all. I still have to get used to being head of the Marid, so thank you, Mr. Fletcher."
Mr. Fletcher gave a curt little laugh, said farewell, and hung up his telephone. After a moment, Layla hung the earpiece on its hook and stepped away from her telephone. Then, still feeling a little addled, she gave Mr. Pritchard the usual orders: the ones that she'd heard her mother give the butler many times before, but Layla had never had occasion to give them. "Very well, Mr. Pritchard. Take care of the house, keep the attic well aired, and be sure to keep the scullery maids from putting on airs while I'm gone. I shall return later."
That was what Ayesha had always said: 'I shall return later.' Layla had yet to visit her mother at the Villa Fledermaus in Berlin, but she was not looking forward to it. Nimrod called the place 'Bat Mansion,' and Layla was almost inclined to do the same, but one thing stopped her, and that was the memory of the wonderful mother that had left them just last December. Then, when she left, there was no 'I shall return later,' merely 'farewell.' Layla shivered as she mounted the steps to the third floor and her bedroom. The woman who had left them in December hadn't seemed at all like the real Ayesha Godwin at all. It had been as though her mother had been replaced by an alien.
Layla paused on the second floor landing, tiptoed around the banister and eased Nimrod's bedroom door open, just a crack to see how he'd left his room. She smiled as she saw the usual mess of possessions scattered about his floor, his desk a jumble of paper, pens and pencils, the bright red sheets on his bed rumpled. At least Nimrod wasn't about to radically change any time soon. She figured that he'd always be the untidy, confident, tiny bit inconsiderate brother he was until the day he died. Layla shut the door again and continued on her way up the stairs to her own room to pack a few things before she left for Giza.
Layla's room was much neater than that of her brother's. Her books were not stacked on top of one another in little piles on the floor, but rested tidily on a row of bookshelves that was pushed against the far wall. Her canopy bed was made, her expensive cherry wood desk organised quite precisely. Layla never had any problem finding anything in her room, and she reached under her bed to pull out her own brown leather Hermes suitcase. In the span of just a couple minutes, Layla had packed everything she needed. She decided, quite reasonably, that if she needed anything other than some fashionable and practical clothes, a pair of comfortable shoes, some sunglasses, her favourite book, and her silver travel lamp, then she could just as easily create it with djinn power.
Layla shut her suitcase, picked it up quite easily, and headed once again for the attic. Once there, she echoed Nimrod's earlier movements, clambering onto the rickety old table, easing open the skylight, and pulling first herself, then her suitcase out of the aperture. "NEPHELOKOKKGYIA!" Underneath her feet, a whirlwind sprang up, many times more powerful than her younger brother's had been, an it lifted her into the air, making a beeline for Giza. She didn't even notice when she passed Nimrod up near Sicily.
All she was thinking about was how she had not been ready to accept such a huge responsibility as being the head of the Marid. She wasn't yet sixteen, and already she felt ancient, decrepit, elderly. She knew that she'd have to visit Ayesha sometime in the next year, but Layla hoped that she'd be able to go with Nimrod by her side: she wasn't terribly keen on the idea of being alone with the Blue Djinn. There was no telling what would happen, and Layla would feel nervous enough as it was even if Nimrod was there.
Spurred on by these thoughts, Layla sped up her whirlwind until it was going at a breakneck pace. Sooner than she expected, the pyramids loomed up in front of her, unexpectedly close. Layla quickly recalculated her height and shot up. Eventually, she saw a group of green tents, above which flew a Union Jack, fluttering in the breeze given off by Layla's whirlwind. Hoping vaguely that no one had seen her, she touched down a few yards away from the encampment and dusted herself off. She was nervous, as this was the first time she'd ever given a Tammuz speech. She was convinced, however, that this first time was needed for Layla's own benefit, as well as that of this girl, Alexandra.