Page 9 of Dark Rebel's Fortune

"There is a Persian translation of Harry Potter?" Jasmine asked.

"Of course," Arezoo said. "We also saw the movies."

Fenella didn't ask whether those were pirated or legit. She doubted the movie version had been approved by the regime. The book translations could have been modified to appease the censors, but it was more difficult to do with movies.

"So, Universal Studios?" Jasmine asked. "We could go today if you like. Ell-rom has never been either, so it will be new for him too."

"Yes!" Laleh exclaimed, then immediately looked embarrassed by her own enthusiasm. "I mean, if it'snot too much trouble."

"No trouble at all," Jasmine assured her. "Why don't you all get dressed? We can leave in about an hour, and we can have lunch in the park."

As the girls hurried back to their rooms, chattering excitedly about Hogwarts and wands and something called butterbeer, Fenella shook her head in amazement.

"Harry bloody Potter," she muttered. "Who would have thought?"

"It's perfect, actually," Jasmine said, her voice low enough that only Fenella could hear her. "Give them something magical to focus on, something that represents good triumphing over evil. They need that right now."

"Don't we all." Fenella wondered whether her brother and his children were safe.

She hadn't kept in touch because she'd gotten tired of having to invent excuses for why she couldn't visit, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten about Walter or had stopped caring.

It suddenly occurred to her that Din had no way to contact her. She didn't have a phone, and there were no landlines in either of the penthouses.

BloodyDin.

How the hell had he expected her to know he was pining after her?

Fifty years ago, she'd barely noticed him—Max's quiet, intense friend who always seemed to be lurking in the shadowy parts of the pub she'dbartended in. She'd been attracted to Max's easy charm, his obvious and intense pursuit of her, never even realizing that Din had been hanging around the pub because he fancied her.

Still, the fact that the guy had harbored feelings for her for five decades was kind of touching.

When Jasmine's phone rang, Fenella tensed, expecting bad news for some reason.

Jasmine checked the screen and frowned.

"That's odd," she said. "It's a Scottish number, and there is no caller ID. I don't know anyone in Scotland."

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Fenella. "Answer it," she urged. "It might be Din."

Jasmine accepted the call and held the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

Fenella could hear only faintly what was being said on the other side, but it was a male voice.

"Yes, she's right here." Jasmine lowered the phone and held it out to Fenella. "It's for you. It's Din."

Fenella took it, suddenly aware of her sweaty palms and the nervous energy thrumming through her body. "Hello?" she said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.

"Fenella." His voice was exactly as she remembered it—deep and soft at the same time. Velvety.

He'd barely spoken a few words to her in the bar, and it had been over five decades ago, and yet she remembered.

"Din," she said, going for casual and indifferent.

"It's good to hear your voice," he said.

"Yeah, yours too. Do you have news about my brother?"

"I do. I just got back from Invery, in fact. Walter's doing well—retired now, living in the same house. His hair's gone white, what's left of it, but he still has that same laugh."

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