form began to take shape.
Jasmine watched, mesmerized, as a dress appeared in midair.
It was not the most magnificent gown the world had ever seen. It was a natural off-white, the rough threads woven so loosely it was like layers of netting. Instead of normal sleeves the material was gathered once at the shoulders, once at the elbows, and once at the wrists, draping down to the floor and exposing most of the arms. There were no rosettes, no embroidery, no tiny mirrors sewn into the fabric, no pearls or jewels on any trim. The hem ended far above the ankles.
“It’s beautiful,” Jasmine said, standing up and drawing it close to her, to see how it would hang. She spun and the layers bloomed out. It was perfect for dancing in.
“It’s the dress my wife wore on our wedding day,” the genie said sadly.
He turned and drifted out of the room like so much smoke, barely needing to open the door to go through.
Jasmine watched him leave, still holding the dress. Somehow her grip had tightened. She had to make herself relax so her nails wouldn’t ruin the beautiful cloth.
No more crying on the bed for her.
She was the royal princess. She had to start acting like one. She had to stop talking about being trapped, about being handed over from one man to another. She had to start acting.
She had to start being the hero.
THE CARPET FLEW DOWN an empty street. Aladdin stood tall and barely needed to move his arms to balance—even when they took corners fast. Once again he wished he had time to really see what it could do—but more pressing things awaited in the Quarter of the Street Rats.
If the section of it that Jasmine had seen was frightening, well, Aladdin pressed on through neighborhoods that were downright dangerous.
Tall old buildings toppled toward each other and blocked out the sky overhead. At midday the streets were in shadow—which was a relief from the sun but left everything in a strange hot twilight. There were a lot of places to hide. Black windows on vacant houses looked like empty eye sockets. Grim broken statuary and crumbling piles of bricks made it seem like an ancient war zone. The only open space was one of the few graveyards inside the city walls. Its creepy, spiky stones stood like snaggleteeth pointing in all directions.
The whole place was flooded with loneliness and desperation…and yet at the same time there was a constant feeling of being watched by someone—or something—unseen.
The only people visible had shifty eyes and a palpable sense of roguery about them. Aladdin jumped off the carpet in front of an abandoned building that looked like all the others. Growing used to their routine, the carpet helpfully rolled itself up and slung itself over his shoulder.
It had been, quite literally, years since Aladdin had set foot in this place. As he carefully stepped over the dusty threshold, he saw that it was all almost exactly as he remembered it. Although the windowless rooms should have been nearly pitch dark, strangely convenient cracks in the walls and loose stones illuminated necessary things. A doorway here and a stairway there. And a deadly booby trap there—
—which Aladdin remembered at the last moment, pulling his foot back just before stepping onto the rope that would snap around him and fling him aloft, trussed up like a rabbit.
With a shuddering release of breath Aladdin proceeded more carefully through the building to a back room. Counting by threes, he found the right board to lift up and revealed an old storage cellar. Once down there he tiptoed around what looked like a nest of scorpions and slipped behind some old broken clay amphorae. Finally he jumped into a black, slanting tunnel, landing on a slippery metal slide that he surfed down with ease.
Receiving him at the bottom was a cave, which, while he remembered it fondly, now seemed a little too similar to the Cave of Wonders. He tried not to panic, swallowing several times and trying desperately to notice the differences. This was smaller, and not full of wonders at all, but dozens of flickering oil lamps—and pairs of glittering eyes.
“Nice place you still have here,” Aladdin drawled, trying not to let his voice crack. “Love what you haven’t done with it.”
“Aladdin.”
Morgiana’s tiny, tightly muscled, and very familiar form resolved itself from the shadows. She was dressed differently from the last time Aladdin had seen her; a pair of black harem pants was