Twin flames, p.1
Twin Flames, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2024 by Olivia Abtahi
Jacket illustration copyright © 2024 by Hillary Wilson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
TU BOOKS, an imprint of LEE & LOW BOOKS INC.
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Edited by Stacy Whitman
Book design by Sheila Smallwood
Typesetting by ElfElm Publishing
Book production by The Kids at Our House
First Edition
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Abtahi, Olivia, author.
Title: Twin flames / Olivia Abtahi.
Description: First edition. | New York : Tu Books, an imprint of Lee & Low Books Inc., 2024. | Audience: Ages 12–18. | Summary: “On estranged twins Leila and Bianca’s eighteenth birthday, Leila suddenly gains a djinn’s superpowers, and the twins realize that their town can only survive the djinns’ secret plans if they learn to work together as sisters” — Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2024008493 | ISBN 9781643790435 (hardback) | ISBN 9781643790442 (ebk)
Subjects: CYAC: Twins — Fiction. | Sisters — Fiction. | Ability — Fiction. | Genies — Fiction. | Multiracial people — Fiction. | Fantasy. | LCGFT: Fantasy fiction. | Novels.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.A186 Tw 2024 | DDC [Fic] — dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2024008493
For my daughters
Solomon said (to his own men): “Ye chiefs! Which of you can bring me her throne before they come to me in submission?”
Said an ifrit, of the djinns: “I will bring it to thee before thou rise from thy council: indeed I have full strength for the purpose, and may be trusted.”
Said one who had knowledge of the Book: “I will bring it to thee within the twinkling of an eye!” Then when [Solomon] saw it placed firmly before him, he said: “This is by the Grace of my Lord!”
— Quran, Surah An-Naml 27:38–40
Her eighteenth birthday. This year it lined up with Shab-e Yalda, the longest night of the year. She looked over at her twin, Leila, as they each hovered over their homemade cakes, the candles flickering in their drafty farmhouse living room.
Despite having identical DNA, her twin carried herself completely differently from Bianca. Bianca was all sharp curves and black nail polish, blunt-edged bangs and ripped jeans. But Leila was soft gingham and lace and low ponytails tied with homemade bows instead of the black barrettes Bianca preferred. Bianca held herself tall, while Leila preferred not to take up space. How the Mazanderani sisters had shared a womb, Bianca would never understand.
Their mother and father sat across from them and sang “Happy Birthday,” once in Spanish and once in Persian, as was tradition. Bianca sang along, the muscle memory of each language taking over. She prided herself on her knowledge of Spanish and Persian. Talking in a different language was like a puzzle to solve, her tongue growing fatter for English and lighter for Spanish and Persian, ducking and dodging irregular verbs and relishing the way Persian had none.
Leila, however, refused to speak in Persian or Spanish at all, for fear of making people feel “uncomfortable.” Anything that was too “exotic” always seemed to drift past Leila’s threshold, including her own heritage. And thanks to their Argentinian mother’s fair features, the twins’ blend of Persian was light enough to be considered vague — never something as aggressive as Iranian American.
Bianca sang loudly as her best friend, June McCullough, struggled to follow along. June had been Bianca’s best friend since elementary school, from a family that had too many kids and not enough money between them all. Bianca’s parents were still making their way in this new country, while June’s had deep roots here with their six kids.
Despite their wildly different backgrounds, June and Bianca were bonded, and Bianca loved how her friend gamely butchered “Happy Birthday” in Spanish every year, just for her.
Leila had invited a friend too. Shivani Shah was one of the most popular girls at school, with long glossy hair and a dozen gold bangles on each arm. Bianca tried not to choke on her designer perfume.
The fact that Shivani had even deigned to be here was unusual. In a surprising move, Shivani sang the Persian version of “Happy Birthday” flawlessly.
“What?” she demanded, as everyone stared at her after they’d finished singing, her hair bouncing from its latest blowout. “Gujarati and Farsi are super similar!”
Bianca stared.
“Nandani isn’t the only one who can speak Gujarati, you know,” Shivani huffed. Shivani’s older sister, Nandani, was legendary at Ayers, the kind of once-in-a-lifetime student to go to Harvard as she followed in their doctor parents’ footsteps. The Shahs had specifically requested Ayers, Virginia, during residency, knowing that a rural posting would be all but guaranteed as they started their family. They practically ran the local college’s hospital at this point and couldn’t wait for Nandani to join them.
“That makes sense,” the twins’ father said excitedly. “Persian originally comes from Sanskrit. Did you know that Persian was the language of Sanskrit foot soldiers? Actually, Gujaratis have a lot of Parsis, or Zoroastrians — ”
“Leila, blow out your candles first!” Mamá interrupted. The candles were melting onto their homemade cakes. Leila was technically older than Bianca by two minutes, meaning she got first-wish dibs. “Dalé!”
Bianca watched as her twin closed her eyes and extinguished her cake in one go. I wonder what she wished for, Bianca thought. And then: Whoever thought twins could mind-read was full of crap. Leila daintily licked a single candle, then wiped it down afterward with a napkin. Bianca tried not to roll her eyes.
Finally, it was Bianca’s turn. She knew the power birthday wishes could have, and she didn’t want to waste hers. She sat there, lungs full of air, savoring the feeling.
“Are you wishing up a whole grocery list? Hustle up, Bianca!” June cried, her eyes glued to the pair of cakes.
Next to the cakes sat a platter of pomegranates, persimmons, and sliced watermelon: all the bright foods Iranians used to keep away dark spirits who waited until the longest night of the year to unleash havoc. At least, according to Bianca’s dad. June’s stomach rumbled loudly.
Bianca leaned over her cake. I wish I could get the hell out of this tiny town, she silently prayed. Please, please get me out. Then she blew out every single candle with one obnoxious gust. She finished with an exaggerated bow.
“Finally,” June sighed. Her eyes looked as big as dinner plates, her thin blond hair peeking out of her trademark uniform of a drawstring hoodie with an Ayers sports team logo.
“Is this gluten free?” Shivani asked as the twins’ dad cut slices and handed her one. Funfetti for Leila, dulce de leche for Bianca, same as every year.
He frowned. “Gluten free? No. Are you gluten intolerant?” Their father wore a floral apron that Leila had helped sew for him, his domestic getup at odds with the burly, thickset Persian man in front of them.
“No,” Shivani sighed. “Just trying to cut down on my carbs.” Then she flicked her glossy hair again, perfuming the whole room with scent.
“That’s not how being gluten free works,” Bianca pointed out.
Shivani said nothing, eyes narrowing as she took a bite of the slice in front of her — Bianca’s cake. Bianca watched in satisfaction as Shivani’s eyes went wide. Gluten, delicious gluten.
Their father had slathered dulce de leche between each layer of cake, making it taste like a delicious burnt-caramel sponge. There was no way they could buy something this Argentinian in their small college town nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. He’d had to make the dulce de leche from scratch, coaxing the condensed milk into the caramel-style sauce their mamá grew up with.
The girls watched solemnly as Mamá poured an inch of wine into everyone’s glass. In Argentina the drinking age was eighteen, and Alma Hernandez took her wine very seriously. “Don’t tell your parents,” she warned June and Shivani, who shrugged.
Bianca knew for a fact that Shivani partied every weekend with way more than an inch of wine. Why she was even at this boring birthday for her so-called best friend was a mystery. Surely there were more exciting places for her than a silly homemade birthday. And where was Leila’s boyfriend, Foster? Probably listening to some red-pill podcast with all his other mudding friends.
“Bokhor, Behnaz jan,” her baba said, using her Persian name. He handed her a slice, and all thoughts of her sister’s unreliable boyfriend went out the window.
The room was silent as the small group inhaled their cake. June unabashedly licked her plate clean. She then took dainty sips of the malbec wine while peeking at her phone to get sports updates. Shivani downed her cup of wine in one swallow.
A glimmer of light sparkled in the corner of Bianca’s eye, and she looked down at the new jewelr
Bianca had loved her ring and instantly put it on, admiring the hammered metal, but Leila had simply smiled and kept hers in the box. It sat on the table, like an unspoken conversation.
While Bianca embraced her heritage, Leila seemed to think of it as an inconvenience. She wouldn’t even drink tea in a glass cup, Persian style. She always insisted on it being poured into a coffee mug. This ring, it seemed, was too Other to be worn.
Their parents didn’t press Leila, though. They knew how hard it was to assimilate to a new country. It infuriated Bianca, how whitewashed her twin tried to be. It didn’t matter how much Leila tamed her hair or waxed her eyebrows or dressed full cottagecore — she would always be an outsider. Why she tried to be anything else baffled Bianca.
Before she could stew in these dark, uncharitable thoughts that always surfaced whenever she had to spend time with her sister, their dad turned on some music. Iranian music typically had 6/8 time, with fast drums and a singer who could wail through octaves like a hot knife through butter. The music made everything feel like a grand event, even a birthday party with a paltry six people. Bianca’s mood lifted.
Their mother pushed the dining room table aside, leaving nothing but the Shirazi rug their father had somehow managed to cart all the way from Iran. Her parents danced together, their shoulders and arms moving in unison, Alma letting loose in the severe pantsuit she’d worn to campus that day. Shivani began clapping and hollering, imitating their moves perfectly as she got up to join them.
Bianca hated to admit that Shivani was starting to grow on her.
“Come on, Leila!” Shivani cried, but Leila just smiled politely and looked away.
June got up hesitantly, and that simple gesture made Bianca feel guilty for wishing herself away from this town and her best friend. What would she do without June?
“Here, move your arms like this,” their father instructed June.
June watched as he rolled his wrists and shimmied his shoulders, motioning for her to copy. Their father’s bushy black hair and eyebrows could not have looked more different from June’s pale skin and blond eyelashes, but she obliged and rotated her wrists like she was doing stretching exercises.
“Dance, monkey, dance!” Bianca cried, jumping into the circle. It was time to shake off this glum mood. She took another bite of cake and shimmied her shoulders, the sugar perking her up.
“Leila, come on!” Shivani grabbed her friend’s arm and suddenly all four of them, Bianca, Leila, Shivani, and June, stood on the rug.
One big happy family. How Leila could even stand to be at a party with her less-popular twin was beyond Bianca, but they all gamely watched as Shivani taught them some Bollywood dance moves that involved screwing a lightbulb with your hands. Even their father got into it, but then again, Khosrow Mazanderani loved to dance.
Shivani, Bianca decided, wasn’t all bad.
Just then the landline rang, a sound so foreign Bianca had almost forgotten they even had one.
Their mother picked it up, her face instantly shifting from happy to horrified. “No me digas. Really? Yes, yes, of course we’ll help, Buddy. We’ll be right there.”
“What’s wrong?” their father asked. But she didn’t hear him. It must have been bad for her to accidentally burst into Spanish.
Mamá abruptly turned off the music, swapping songs for loud, wailing sirens. She ran to the window.
“Ay Dios,” she said, crossing herself. “There goes the Elmhursts’ barn.”
Bianca joined her, staring out the bay window of their sitting room and into the next field over, where an inferno now burned in their neighbors’ barn. The bright red and white paint had been swapped for a raging fire, the whole scene looking like something out of a horror movie.
“Oh, my word,” June breathed from behind them. Bianca’s heart plummeted. Where there had once been a picturesque view a couple of acres over, there was now an inferno. They were lucky the creek divided them, or they’d be evacuating instead of celebrating right now.
“What do you think happened?” Bianca wondered out loud, heart hammering. Leila, too, seemed unnerved for once. Her annoyingly calm twin looked shaken, the fire reflecting in her wide eyes.
“We should go over there and help them,” Leila said quietly. “They’re probably terrified.”
“Sorry, nenas, the party’s over,” their mother said. “Shivani, can you give June a ride home?”
Shivani nodded, and June had the grace not to roll her eyes at the thought of hitching a lift from one of Ayers High’s most pampered princesses. In fact, she looked just as shocked and pale as the twins’ mom did.
“Get home as quick as you can, okay? Drive the long way, away from the fire trucks,” Mamá added.
“See you at school tomorrow,” Shivani said to Leila but not Bianca. Never mind.
“I’ll text you,” June muttered to Bianca.
They watched as Shivani backed out of the gravel driveway in her white Lexus like a bat out of hell, June grimacing from the passenger seat.
Bianca turned back to the living room, and that’s when she noticed their father standing in the back corner, his body shivering. He twisted his wedding band anxiously, the thick ring comically inconvenient for someone who worked on cars all day. It was made from the same material as their birthday presents, and it shone in the fiery light coming from the window. Their mother had once gotten their father a silicone stand-in so he wouldn’t have to wear the big, clunky ring, but their dad had looked so horrified at the thought of wearing it that she never brought it up again.
“Baba?” Bianca asked, concerned. He was usually the one who was best in a crisis. It was incredible he wasn’t already packing bottled water and space blankets. He was older than most of the other dads at school, and in this moment, he looked it. His face was ashen, his skin crumpled. He just stood there, frozen in terror. What is going on?
“Dad?” Leila asked, gently touching his shoulder.
He looked up, startled, as if he’d forgotten he’d been in the room with them.
“Alma, you go see if the neighbors need anything, okay? I’m gonna grab some supplies,” he said, suddenly snapping to attention.
Mamá nodded, her husband’s awkward moment gone.
“I’ll help you, Dad,” Leila said, throwing on her barn jacket. “We can bring over that lasagna you froze,” she added.
“Good idea, baba jan,” he said, kissing Leila’s forehead.
Bianca tried not to look annoyed. Their father had a special connection with Leila, who loved pickling and preserving and homemaking just as much as he did. Bianca, however, identified more with their mother, a career-minded woman who was pursuing her PhD at Ayers College, the town’s beating heart.
“Bianca, you come with me, okay?” her mamá said.
Bianca nodded, grabbing her trench coat and lacing up her boots. “I hope they’re okay.”
Her mom bit her lip. “Nobody’s hurt, but they said something was wrong with the electrical wiring. We’d better hurry.”
“Thanks for the party,” Leila said to her mom.
“Yeah, thanks,” Bianca added quickly, not wanting to be shown up. Other seniors in Ayers hosted keggers in empty houses or had bonfires in the middle of the woods, but Bianca preferred this kind of celebration.
Their mom kissed Leila on the cheek, her dark blond hair brushing against Leila’s face. “What did you wish for, mí amor?”
Bianca watched her sister carefully. She had absolutely no clue what Leila, with her perfect life and handsome boyfriend and popular friends, could possibly ask for. Leila felt completely alien to her.
Leila smiled back sweetly. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
“And you?” Mamá turned to Bianca. “What demonic thing did you wish for?”
