Burned-out buildings can make good hiding places, if one is careful. It never hurts to be wearing a cloak made of shadows, just to be on the safe side.

The problem with burned-out buildings, though, is that they’re boring. Everything in them is either destroyed or looted, and soot-stained stone and chunks of charcoal just aren’t that interesting.

Which is why Yazmin was so surprised to find a small crystal bottle awkwardly balanced on a fallen timber. She knew better than to touch strange objects, especially ones glowing with their own inner fire, but the stopper was missing, there was a large crack running down one side, and she was wearing her gloves.

She picked it up, and absolutely nothing happened.

The little sparks were kind of mesmerizing, though.

A sword swung through her neck. Fortunately, Yazmin was already half shadow. Without thinking, she threw the little bottle at the mercenary beside her.

A plume of liquid fire fell on the mercenary, burning him into nothingness. It coalesced into a man, who lay on the ground propped up on his elbows, watching Yazmin with a smirk on his face and twin flames dancing in his eyes.

Yazmin stared. “Please tell me you’re not about to offer me three wishes.”

“I wouldn’t dream of so insulting you,” the djinni said, rising fluidly to his feet. He extended a hand. “My human name is Harun.”

Yazmin clasped his hand. “Mine is Yazmin.”

Harun smiled, and Yazmin sighed. Her mother always hated it when she brought back strays.