Page 40 of Will It Hurt?

Jinn

She’s going to make me beg.

My fingers curled around the phone as the screen projected a bright white light into my eyes. I caught myself just before I bent it out of shape.

The view from the guest room was abysmal.

“Hello, darling,” Indira said as she answered the call. “Nat tells me you’ll be on a train home this evening.”

“Yes.”

“Then to what do I owe the honor of this call?”

Pride was a flimsy shield, easily broken.

“I need your help.”

There was a pause I couldn’t interpret.

“How delicious,” she said, her voice teeming with humor. “You, of all people, coming to me in need. I’m sure you hate that.”

“This is not about what I want,” I said, raking a hand through my hair. “You can fix this. I know you can.”

“Fix it?” Indira didn’t sound the least bit confused. “Such a vague term. Be specific, darling. I do so hate when people waste my time.”

I curled my fingers into a fist, holding in the annoyance that bubbled at the surface .

“I asked you before and you deliberately evaded the question. You know you have the power to reverse what Belle did. To make it right.”

My voice faltered for a moment, but I forced myself to continue. “If you do me this favor, you could lord it over my head for all eternity.”

“ Mmmm. ” She made a thoughtful noise. “A lovely little perk.”

I imagined her deep brown eyes glittering with something cold and calculating.

“This is not a joke, Indira. It’s about Belle’s life.” My forehead fell against the frosted window with a thunk. “You need to bring her back. I know you have the power to do it.”

“Well, yes, of course.”

Surprise straightened my spine. “You’ll do it?”

“No, darling, I meant of course I have the power to do it.” I heard a little scoosh that may have come from a perfume bottle. “But I simply don’t wish to.”

“Indira, please .”

“Jinn.” I hated the hint of laughter in her voice. “Groveling is beneath you.”

My teeth grit painfully. “I will grovel if I have to. Lay out your terms.”

“Terms?” she repeated. “But, darling, I’m your mother. I already have everything I need from you: your obedience.”

“Indira…”

There was a sharp clink in the background, as though she had set down a glass.

“Jinn.” The humor faded from her voice. “This was Belle’s decision to make. Let her go. She clearly didn’t wish to continue this existence.”

“You of all people know how impulsive Belle is. This was yet another impulsive decision. ”

“So?” Indira demanded. “Now she has to live with it… Or die with it, as it were.”

The realization settled over me like a slow, creeping frost. She wasn’t going to help me.

My own mother, my creator. I had known she was cruel, but some naive, desperate part of me had clung to the hope that this time would be different. That, despite everything, she wouldn’t abandon me when I desperately needed her help.

But she had.

“Jinn?” she said. “Come home. We’ll talk.”

It was a lie. There would be no talking, no negotiating. Once Indira made her decision, it was final. There was no persuading her. Over the years, I’d seen countless people try to sway her and fail.

Saying we’ll talk was simply her way of placating me until I stepped back into her realm of power. There would be no last-minute reprieve, no flicker of mercy.

“Jinn?” she said again, and I ended the call.

***

The clock chimed through the nest, followed by a crackle of a phonograph. The sun had finally set.

The streets were quiet—too quiet. At this time of year, with seasonal depression edging in, there weren’t many people who dared to brave the outdoors.

I’d watched the city for hours , but each thought only led back to one person: the neutralizer. My last hope. The one whose blood still sang in my veins.

Would she help me? I was leaning towards no .

But she had looked at me last night with something I had not expected. Pity, yes. But there had been more—something I couldn’t name. Compassion? Empathy?

The thought of facing her again twisted something deep inside me—a mix of shame and dread. But I had no choice. I could already feel the walls closing in, the weight of my predicament pushing my ribs into my chest.

I would have to go to her—I had no choice. I would have to face the wytch I had wronged and humble myself, hoping that she could see past what I had done.