ZURI

I checked the door again after sending Eza and Leona off with scraps of my dress covered with my scent. My palm pressed to the bandage on my arm, already leaking a thin seam of blood through the cloth. The blood ritual my aunt performed on my necklace had taken longer than expected.

“I’m not a genie, Zuri,” my aunt had huffed when I complained. “You want it to work, let me work.”

Before I left, she hugged me tight. “This glamour is sealed tight. Even the ...