The tingle in James’s core turned hotter. He drew up a little straighter on the chair. Preparing himself, eager for what was about to happen.
Here it comes. The rush…
“Courage. It’s easy enough to wish for, eh?”
Andy laughed. “Ha. Easy to wish for. Not so easy to have.”
“Give it a try. You never know what’ll happen. Just say, ‘I wish… ’” James nudged. Clumsy, sure. Lacking his normal finesse. But getting the job done, feeding the rush, that’s what was needed right now. Not finesse. Not subtlety.
Andy snorted again and shook his head with a sad smile. “I wish I had the courage to tell Betsy I was wrong. I wish I could tell her I was an idiot and she’s my world, my life. My reason for breathing.”
“Done,” James whispered “To having the courage to tell those important to us that we’re sorry.” He fabricated a bottle of beer in his hand and raised it to Andy, riding the soft rush as it coursed through him.
Andy chinked the neck of his bottle to James’s. “To having the…” He stopped, a light gleaming in his eyes as he put down the bottle. “You know what? I’m going to.” With a sharp nod, he straightened to his feet. “I love her. And I messed up. I’m going to go home and tell her I love her and I’m sorry.”
And without another word, he walked out of the bar.
No, ran out of the bar.
James erased the bottle of beer in his hand and rested his chin on the back of the chair, closing his eyes as he rode out the remains of the rush flowing through him. It was a softer ride, a quicker rush. Came from such a hurried wish fulfillment. But still, a rush all the same.
The reason he came here. The reason for leaving Tahlee alone in the safe house.
So why did he still feel so—
A wall of surly contempt smashed into him, a longing for something… heinous.
Opening his eyes, James frowned at the barkeeper.
The man wiped the glass in his hand with languid strokes of a stained dishcloth, looking at the glass but not seeing it. James could glimpse what the man was imagining, instead—a deep desire. Could taste the impotency behind that desire. Could feel the hate. The violence…
Just go. Leave. You don’t need that kind of rush. You—
Another wall of churlish longing crashed into him. Quickening his blood. Awakening something ancient in him. Older.
Fixing an easy smile on his face, he straightened from the chair and wandered over to the bar. Rapping his knuckles on its wood surface, he gave the man a wink when he looked up. “Gin and tonic. No ice.” He tapped the bar in a jaunty tune and grinned. “I’m celebrating.”
The barkeeper slung the dishcloth over his shoulder and began to fix James’s drink. “Something good happen?”
“Better than good.” He thickened his Southern accent. “My boss just got sacked. Uppity bitch thought she was better than me.”
The barkeeper grunted, contempt twisting his face as he handed James his gin and tonic. “Lucky son of a bitch.”
James lifted a curious eyebrow. “You don’t like your boss?” He slapped the bar again, twisted about to bestow the place an overt inspection, and then locked his stare with the barkeeper’s again. “Tell me all about it. Is your boss here?”
Another grunt, this one ripe with disgust. “The bitch that owns this place wouldn’t be caught dead in here. Too busy sipping mojitos on her fucking yacht.”
James made an oh-boy-that-sucks noise in the back of his throat, encouraging the man’s subconscious desire to unload.
The barkeeper snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. The cunt expects me to work ’round the clock but rides my ass constantly from her throne at the marina.”
“She’s rich?”
“Married an old codger. He bought her this place as a wedding present. Supposedly he proposed to her here.”
So easy to prod and knead the man’s desires. So easy to get him to talk…
James pulled a face, sharing the man’s disgust of the situation. “Urgh. Have you met him?”
A cold laugh spilled from twisted lips. “Yep. Spat in his drink once. His kind don’t deserve…” He trailed off, dropping his eyes away. Confusion tainted his longing.
“Ah,” James whispered, leaning forward a little. “I get what you mean.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You can’t quit?”
“Nope. Up to my ass in bills. My ex is sucking me dry in alimony, my kid is constantly begging for stuff for school. If I had money…” He looked up at James and smiled. The smile of a man lost in a dream. “If I had enough money, I’d buy this fucking place and bulldoze it to the ground. Right in front of my cunt boss and her…”
A word screamed in the barkeeper’s head, so loud James almost winced. A reprehensible word from a vile, bigoted mind. A repellant word.
“… husband,” the barkeeper finished with a secretive smirk.
James wanted to smash his fist into the man’s nose. “Wish you were rich?” he said instead, resting an elbow on the bar. He held the man’s stare. Imprisoned it.
“So fucking rich I didn’t have to work.” The barkeeper sniggered. “The only joy I get outta coming here is getting to spit in everyone’s drink when they’re not watchin’.”
A perverse heat began to flow through James. His blood surged through his veins in a prickling river. Every molecule in his human form quivered, charged with the oncoming rush about to hit his ethereal form.
He swallowed, swirling his untouched glass in a slow circle on the counter even as he smiled at the man on the other side. A second rush built within him. Dark and tainted by the man’s hate and resentment.
But a rush all the same. A potent one.
He closed his eyes for a second, savoring the power, the energy, the ride…
“How much money would you wish for?” he asked, looking at the bartender again.
“So much I’d drown in it.” The barkeeper gave him a voracious smile. “I wish I had so much money, I fucking drowned in it.”
The intangible wall hit James. Slammed into him. Flowed through him. He thrummed. Rode the heady frenzy. Letting go of his glass, he smiled at the man and dipped his head in a single nod. “Done.”
The bartender blinked. And then laughed. “I like you. You get it. The next one’s on the house. Fucking elitist, rich feminazis, and fucking bl—”
He burped loudly. Frowned. Belched again and rubbed at his stomach.
Coughed.
“You okay?” James asked, the fading remnants of the rush licking at him.
The man’s frown turned to a grimace. “I think…”
He belched again—and a quarter fell from his mouth.
James raised his eyebrows. “Hey, neat magic trick. Maybe you should quit being a barkeep and become a magician?”
The man gaped at the quarter on the counter, glistening with spit and bile. A wobbly laugh bubbled up from his throat. “Y-yeah. Yeah, maybe I sh—”
He burped again. Grabbed his stomach, staggering back a step. And another. His ass bumped into the shelves of spirits behind the bar. Bottles chinked and rattled.
“You don’t look too good, dude,” James commented.
The barkeeper—now doubled over, both hands planted on his shaking knees—looked up at him.
And heaved.
A river of quarters spewed from his mouth, splashing to the floor.
And then more.
And more.
They poured from him. Didn’t stop. Became a torrent of coins, and then notes. Crumpled and damp and smelling of stomach acid.
And the more he threw up, the thicker the river of coins and bills became. Spilling over the floor. Piling up around his feet. His ankles. His calves.
“Yeah,” James said, voice calm. Almost indifferent. “You really look like you made a bad choice somewhere.”
Another geyser of coins. Splattering onto the wet pile already at his knees. Knees that shook.
Coins. A tsunami of them, gushing from his mouth. Spurtin
g from his nose.
Somewhere in the bar, someone coughed.
James flicked a glance behind him.
No one was paying any attention. One of the patrons—a woman nursing what looked like a vodka and cranberry juice—turned her back on the bar completely.
The tinkle and chink of coins falling onto a dense mountain of money drew James’s attention back to the bar.
The barkeeper collapsed onto the slick pile. Didn’t look up. Floundered against the ocean of wet currency still spewing from his mouth.
“Having fun?” James asked.
The barkeeper didn’t answer. Didn’t respond.
Giving the counter a soft rap with his knuckles, James dropped a wink at him. “Drowning in money. When will you lot ever learn?”
The barkeeper reached a quaking hand toward him.
James smiled, holding the man’s fading stare. “Perhaps you’ll think twice before being a misogynistic, racist prick, eh?”
He raised his hand, fingers poised. “Oh—and don’t ever spit in anyone’s drink again.”
The sharp report of his click shattered the air.
The money vanished. All of it.
Just as James translocated back to the safe house.
Chapter 6
How the flipping hell could she let herself fall asleep?
Maybe because, apart from the brief catnap driving here, you’ve been awake for almost thirty-six hours?
Probably. The fact she’d fallen asleep the moment she allowed herself to sit still wasn’t surprising, just frustrating.
With all the enthusiasm of a sluggish sloth, Tahlee pushed herself up into a sitting position and scowled at the empty living room.
“Jet lag sucks,” she muttered, rubbing the heel of her hand against her left eye before squinting at her watch.
10:42 am.
Great, so she’d been asleep for an hour. A power-nap. James probably thought he’d escaped their conversation about—
James.
James was a genie.
Her breath burst from her, and she slumped back into the lounge, the reality of what she’d seen, experienced, discovered last night crashing over her again.
A heavy pressure settled on her chest. Her blood pounded in her ears.
Her ex was a genie. A djinn. Ancient. Powerful.
Seriously powerful.
Magically powerful.
“Oh boy.” She pressed the heels of her hands to both eyes this time and shook her head. “Okay, process this. Again. So, he’s a magical being. Magical beings are a thing. At least, genies are. So what? Doesn’t let him off for being a massive jerk three years ago.”
Her stomach clenched at her pep talk.
She’d been in love with a magical being. She was in love with a magical being. A jerk magical being who could probably make her disappear if he wanted to.
But he won’t.
Every fiber in her body knew that. Jerk he may be, but he wasn’t evil.
Are you sure?
Yes. She was. Whatever was going on with James, she knew his heart. From the first minute, the first second, she’d known him. As if she’d known him her whole life.
Longer, even.
Which wasn’t possible, but the way she felt nonetheless.
Of course, that didn’t excuse him for walking out on her mere minutes after her declaration of love. Okay, yes, she understood why he didn’t just go, “Hey, I’m a djinn. Probably best we don’t take this to the next level.” But to leave? Without even a goodbye?
Dropping her hands, she glared around the living room. Djinn or not, he had some explaining to do. If he thought otherwise…
“James?” she called.
Silence.
She frowned. Refused to let her heart thump up into her throat.
“James?”
Her voice bounced around the room, unanswered.
No. No, he hadn’t done this to her again. He hadn’t.
Had he?
Pushing herself to her feet, she walked from the living room, heading deeper into the house. The last time she’d gone searching for James, everything had been turned upside-down. Her mind had been blown.
What would she find now?
“It better be a flipping unicorn,” she muttered.
The first three rooms she searched were empty—two bedrooms and a space that looked like it was set up to be an office. The door to the home cinema stood open, and she approached it, heart resuming its battle to get into her throat.
Empty. Not even a unicorn. Or a horse with an ice cream cone stuck to its forehead.
“Well, that’s something, I guess.”
So where was he?
“James?”
More silence.
She ground her teeth.
Who the hell had a safe house so big? How much flipping money did Guarded Souls make to afford a house like this to hole up clients?
Stomping away from the cinema room, she headed back through the living area, and into what looked like a short, narrow hallway leading to a closed double-door entry.
Another bedroom?
Unicorn stable?
“With my luck, it’ll be a magical portal to another dimension where journalists are the bad guys.”
Throat growing tighter, she opened one of the doors.
“Wow,” she breathed.
A massive bedroom was on the other side, almost as large as the living room. In the middle, beneath a row of three large skylights, a low Japanese-inspired bed dominated the space. Its red and black silk duvet looked priceless, as did the Japanese paintings on the walls.
It was, quite simply, a stunning room.
And unlike all the other rooms, not empty.
James stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room, looking out at a dense redwood forest, his back to the door, his hands pressed to the glass.
Tahlee stopped, studying him.
His fingers flexed and flattened, over and over, as if he were trying to claw his way through the smooth glass. His shoulders bunched. He shook his head, an almost imperceptible side-to-side motion, before he curled one hand completely into a fist and thumped it loudly against the window.
She jumped, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
In a blur of bruised-purple smoke, he was in front of her, nostrils flaring, eyes pure white.
“James?” she yelped, staggering back a step.
A raw sound tore from him, his eyes shimmering back to green, and he dug his fingers into his hair, retreating a step. Another.
“It’s better you not be in this room right now, Hope,” he ground out, turning away.
Grief choked his voice. And hate.
She’d heard it enough throughout her career to recognize it now.
She’d never heard it in James’s voice before. It tore her apart.
“Talk to me, James,” she ordered, chest tight. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, fingers still in his hair, and walked back to the window. No, almost stumbled back to the window, at times solid, at times a smoky blur.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
An icy finger traced up her spine. She frowned, watching as he planted his palms to the window again. Tension hunched his shoulders.
“Why not?” she asked. A tornado of butterflies swirled in her stomach.
He won’t hurt you. You know he won’t hurt you.
His right hand curled into a fist on the window. The air seemed to vibrate as a faint purple smoke eddied around him.
“James?” She took a step forward. She refused to be scared. Not of James. Never of James.
His shoulders bunched more. “There’s a darkness to all djinn. Part of our creation. We are born from want and desire, good and bad.”
“Okay.” Her voice scratched at her dry throat.
His head dipped as a raw sigh tore from him. “While you slept, I found… a place. Found someone who wanted something. Granted his wish.”
The icy finger pre
viously trailing up her spine sank into her heart. “What… what was his wish?”
He pulled in a deep breath, the sound of it rough in the quiet room, and turned his head a little. Enough for her to see his profile. To see the muscle in his jaw knot. “It doesn’t matter. He got what he asked for.”
She swallowed. What did that mean? “Is he…” Oh God, did she really want to ask this?
No, but she had to.
“Is he still alive?”
The question fell in the silence between them.
“Yes. A djinn cannot kill the wisher. Even if we want to.” He turned back to the window, fist unfurling until his fingers splayed over the glass. “But I let the darkness out.”
She blinked. Took a step back. “Darkness? I don’t… What do you mean, you let the darkness out?”
“Almost all magic is born from darkness,” he said, without turning, his voice low. “Regardless of its origin. It may reside in the magical being or the practitioner as little more than a kernel, but it is the beginning of it all for them. The fight for those who value humanity and life is to repress that darkness, ignore its allure and potency. A djinn’s darkness however, is more terrible and powerful than most. We are beings born from concentrated want, after all. Such selfish emotion can only give birth to venal power. If unleashed, if fed, a djinn’s darkness can destroy the fabric of reality.”
“Destroy—” She stopped, rattled. Destroy reality? Could anything be that powerful? Could James? “So you let your… darkness out on a person?” She licked her lips, her throat dry. “Did he deserve it?”
A short, humorless laugh shook his shoulders. “I’ve prided myself on always giving the wish that’s deserved.”
“Will he be okay?”
“Yes.”
“Will you?”
He turned, and Tahlee gasped, the haunted torment burning in his face shearing through her heart.
“Are you in control now?” she whispered. “Of your darkness, I mean?”
His eyes closed as his expression twisted with grief. “Yes. I’ve controlled mine for centuries. Because of one person. One pure, beautiful person. Until tonight, I controlled my darkness to be better for her.”
Tahlee’s head roared.
“For who?”
Rose. The name slipped through her mind, wrapped in a gossamer-thin rope of jealousy.
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