“I like a bit of spice,” Rob protested. “I bet I could go toe to toe with you, Naveed. Pass me the Frank’s RedHot.”
Naveed gave Rob a lazy smile, and Sameera’s grip tightened on her fork. Her father was a mild-mannered man, but living with his competitive wife and even more competitive children had taught him to never back down from a challenge.
“My dear Robert, I would not wish to embarrass you in front of our guests,” Naveed said. “Especially if that vinegary red water you call ‘Frank’s RedHot’ is your idea ofspicy.”
“Oooooh,” Esa catcalled.
“Are you going to take that, Dad?” Calvin asked, leaning forward in his seat. From the delight on his face, the young man was enjoying the chaos the Malik family had brought with them from Atlanta.
Rob stood up and disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a jar of bright-red paste. “Buddy of mine mixed this up for me. Mixture of scotch bonnet, cayenne, and Thai chili peppers. Calls it his ‘good morning mix.’ I put it on my scrambled eggs.” His eyes fixed on Naveed, he plopped a generous tablespoon onto his filled plate and took a large bite.
Naveed grabbed the jar and added two tablespoons to his own plate before digging in. His brown skin took on a slightly red cast, but heshrugged his shoulders insouciantly. “A bit sweet, actually. I might use this as a topping for my baklava later.”
Puzzled, Tahsin reached out and tried the hot sauce, nearly sputtering. “What are you talking about, Naveed? My tongue is on fire!”
Tom and Sameera exchanged an amused glance. Beside them, Esa and Cal were slapping the table and laughing, while Abu Isra’s children took in the spectacle, their eyes wide.
Rob took up Naveed’s challenge and made another trip to the kitchen, returning with a bright-green bottle, this one with a cartoon picture of a skull and crossbones wearing a sombrero. “Maybe this ghost chili pepper will add some taste to that bland chickpea curry, then,” he said, offering it to Naveed with an evil grin. “This hot sauce is illegal in forty-eight states.”
“Shots fired!” Esa crowed, and even Tahsin’s brows narrowed at the shade thrown at her cooking.
“I put plenty of spice in the channa, I assure you,” Tahsin said, but Naveed had already reached for the green bottle and was dousing his chickpeas. Calvin and Esa both whooped as Naveed took a large bite, his gaze pinned on Rob, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
Rob reached for the bottle and doctored his own meal. Both men then proceeded to eat, visibly sweating and in clear discomfort but neither willing to back down. Esa happily recorded the entire exchange.
“Spicy Uncle Throw-Down!” her brother crowed. “This content practically writes itself!”
After their plates were cleared—and both Rob and Naveed had each hurriedly excused themselves from the table, presumably to run to the bathroom—Abu Isra asked Sameera what she thought about Wolf Run.
“I don’t think I’ve ever visited a more beautiful place,” Sameera answered honestly. “The mountains, the woods, even the main street—it all feels magical. I find myself wondering whether I’ve stumbled into Santa’s village.”
The eldest of Abu Isra’s children piped up, her voice scornful. “There’s no such thing as Santa.Everyoneknows that.”
Isra’s younger siblings started to argue. “If there’s no such thing as Santa, who was that man at the store?” one of the twins demanded while his brother nodded. “Jacob from my school saw Santa in his house last year, when he snuck downstairs at night. He even ate the cookies they laid out for him!”
Daniyal snorted. “That was just his dad in a costume, and I bet he enjoyed those cookies, too. We’re Muslim; we don’t believe in Santa Claus.”
The children started to bicker, and Esa, with a mischievous grin at Calvin, waded into the discussion. “You believe in jinn, though, right?” he asked, and the children nodded eagerly. Sameera shot her brother a warning look, which he ignored.
“What’s a jinn?” Barb asked. She had placed two tall glasses of milk at both Rob’s and Naveed’s place settings for when the men returned with the air of someone resigned to such impulsive actions.
“Jinn are the Unseen, beings made of smokeless fire,” Sameera explained. “They are a part of Muslim mythology. Muslim believe jinn live in our world, but we can’t see them. They have their own civilization and culture, and mostly stay away from humans.”
“Except when humans bother them, or if they’re mischievous and want to cause trouble,” Tahsin added. “There are stories of jinn possessing humans, helping them, sometimes even falling in love and marrying them. They can be good or bad, just like people.”
“Have you ever met one?” Tom asked, eyes twinkling at Sameera.
“They’re mostly stories told to scare kids,” Sameera said.
“Jinn are real,” Esa insisted. Next to him, Abu Isra’s kids nodded in agreement. Every Muslim child was taught about the Unseen as part of their faith, deliciously creepy stories about the beings playing tricks on humans, or humans trying to get the better of jinn, shared like ghost stories.
“My dad said he used to see lots of jinn in Syria,” Daniyal offered. “There were a few who even attended his mosque.”
“It’s true,” Abu Isra said. “My father was friends with a jinni when he was younger—at least, that’s what he told me.”
“There’s a jinni living in this house, too,” Esa said solemnly. Around him, the children’s eyes grew wide. Sameera watched her brother’s masterful performance with amusement and a growing realization. Esa was so different from the rest of her family, from her. He was a fun, playful young man, always willing to be silly and do anything for a laugh. She wondered if sometimes he felt as if he didn’t fit into their mostly serious, mostly professional and academic-focused family. She felt another pang at all the years she had missed watching him grow up, and she resolved to try even harder to make up for lost time.
“I don’t believe you. Where is the jinn?” Isra demanded. She was clearly skeptical.
