Hope's Wish

by Lexxie Couper

“Fear?” Kitt’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve never seen James afraid in all the time I’ve known him.”

  “He was scared. Terrified. And he said, ‘He’s remembered my name. He’s remembered my—’ And then he just disappeared.” She clicked her fingers. “Like that.”

  Kitt winced.

  “I think it’s Syrin,” she went on. Panic gnawed at her. Took great, hungry bites out of her. “Somehow, Philips—the man I overheard—is also Syrin, the sorcerer who brought James into this world. I think he’s somehow summoned him again, using his name, his real name, Barqan. And now we have to save him! We have to save James! I have to find him!” She pressed her palm to her mouth. Anything to stop the bitter sob about to burst from her.

  Perhaps I was wrong about you, James.

  Her last words to him—spoken in hurt, anger—scraped at her soul. Maybe you are a coward.

  “I have to save him,” she whispered into her hand.

  “Fuck.” Kitt raked a hand through his thick hair. “Nim doesn’t know where this sorcerer is. She tried to locate him and failed.”

  Tahlee balled her fists. She didn’t know who Nim was, and she didn’t care. If Nim couldn’t help find James, she wasn’t worth wondering about.

  Scrunching up her face, she racked her brain. There had to be something that would help. Something that would give her a place to start.

  “Philips,” she muttered, opening her eyes. “He works for Maximillian Rourke, right? There has to be some way of finding information about those who work for Rourke—their local offices, their private home address. Something like that. We know who Philips is, just not where to find him.”

  And how long will that take? What will Syrin, Philips, your father… what will the sorcerer bastard do to James while you’re doing that?

  What else could she do? She wasn’t a genie. Or magical. She couldn’t just fold her arms and blink and get what she wanted. If she could do that, she would have blinked James back three years ago.

  “Find Philips, find James. That’s the answer,” she said, pointing at Kitt. “I need a laptop. Surely there’s one—”

  The bedroom vanished, replaced by a large, immaculate room with a wide mahogany desk, a framed, tattered American flag, and a curtained window.

  “—here,” she whispered.

  Where?

  Her stomach dropped. Her breath turned to stone in her throat. She gaped at the strange room, her lips and fingertips tingling as if every drop of blood in her body had suddenly been sucked from her veins and injected back in again. Violently.

  What the—

  “Tahlee!” James’s voice called behind her. “I’m—”

  “Silence!” a male voice, a familiar male voice, snarled as she spun around.

  James kneeled a few feet away. What looked like molten ropes with ends that evaporated into thin air bound his wrists, stretching his arms out wide to either side of his body.

  “Tahlee,” James breathed, stare locked on her.

  “And here she is.” A short man ambled into her line of sight. “The perfect first wish.”

  The short man.

  The man from the restroom.

  Philips.

  Syrin.

  “Hello, Ms. Hope,” he said, raking a slow gaze over her. “Glad you could join us.”

  She launched herself at him, ready to draw blood, to break bones. Ready to hurt him, really hurt him, for what he’d done to James.

  Without hesitation, she ran at him. She knew how to fight. Was scrappy at it. Fuck fighting fair.

  And screamed as an invisible force flung her sideways.

  “No!” James’s roar rent the air a second before she slammed into the wall.

  Pain lashed through her shoulder, her neck, her hip.

  She dropped to the floor, catching herself before she could crumple completely.

  Wobbling on her feet, she pressed a hand to the wall and glared over at Philips. “I take it you’re responsible for me being here?”

  He smiled, extending his hand toward where James stood immobilized by the oozing, dripping binds. “When you have a djinn in your pocket…”

  “Clearly there’s plenty of room in your trousers, in that case.” She flicked a look at his groin. “If you can fit a whole djinn in your pocket.”

  “Tahlee,” James groaned. “Don’t.”

  Philips’s lip curled in a sneer. “Fucking little cunt.”

  “Hey!” James roared.

  Philips flinched, darting his stare to where James fought against the molten bonds.

  “You hurt her again,” James said, eyes glowing white, the veins on his neck popping, “and—”

  “And what?” Philips sneered. “I control you, djinn. Remember? I summoned you.”

  James’s eyes flared brighter. “Not forever. The covenant is never endless.”

  Philips sucked in a sharp breath and jerked his gaze back to Tahlee.

  “And a djinn never forgets,” James finished, a world of promised pain in the words.

  She narrowed her eyes at Philips. How could this… this disgusting man be her father in a former life? Looking at him made her sick. Furious.

  Violent.

  “So, we’re at an impasse,” she said. “You hurt me now, James will one day kill you.” She arched an eyebrow. “I may be new to this whole sorcerer/djinn power dynamic, but I’m pretty certain he’s got you over a barrel.”

  Contempt twisted Philips’s face into a hideous, angry mask. “You talk too much, bitch.”

  He raised his hands, fingers bending and wriggling, and muttered something under his breath.

  Tahlee frowned. What the hell was—

  “No!” James roared, a second before something thick and heavy snaked around her face, covering her mouth.

  What the—

  She clawed at it, fingers scrabbling over the mass of thin, cool strands of… of…

  Oh God, her hair!

  He’d gagged her with her own hair.

  Her fingers tore at the strands, but with every tiny snap, the thick rope of hair wrapped around her head tighter.

  Silencing her.

  “Stop it!” James yelled, veins bulging in his neck, his stare locked on her.

  “Shush, djinn,” Philips said haughtily.

  The molten bands binding James glowed brighter, light dripping from them in fat beads that hissed and burned when they hit the floor.

  “Let her go!” James shouted, fighting against them, fists clenched tight, eyes white.

  Philips laughed, fingers bending and jerking in a hypnotic rhythm as he slowly walked toward Tahlee.

  She shook her head and took a step away, still clawing at her hair.

  No. No no no!

  “Now,” Philips said, “what can I do with you?”

  Tahlee swallowed. Pain seared through her jaw. Each frantic breath she sucked in through her nose burned her nostrils.

  “I will make you suffer, sorcerer,” James growled.

  “Oh, I’m not going to hurt her.” Philips threw over his shoulder, studying Tahlee as he drew closer.

  Closer.

  She threw herself at him again. Gagged by her hair or not, she could still—

  He waved his hand, as if shooing away a fly, and she smashed backward into the wall. Pinned there by an invisible force.

  “Prick,” she tried to shout through her hair, the word nothing but a muffled mumble.

  “Stop!” James bellowed.

  Philips raked a slow inspection over her. “What’s so special about this… female?” He stopped directly in front of her, lip curling. “I’ve seen hotter.”

  “You fucking bastard,” Tahlee raged into her hair.

  Philips chortled. “Although I do admire her spirit. I suspect she’d rip my throat out if I let her.”

  He looked back at James. “Is it just the paid bodyguard thing?”

  James glared at him, fists bunching tighter, muscles bulging as he struggled against his bonds.

  “Surprising w
ork for a djinn, I must admit,” Philips went on. “Unless you’re incapable of using your full djinn power since I’d trapped you here in my former life. Is that how it goes? You had to get a job?”

  Tahlee grew still. Her stomach churned. How much did Philips remember about his existence as Syrin? Did he know how Syrin had died? Or why?

  He didn’t know who she was to Syrin. Not with the way he was talking about her… but did he know about Rose and Barqan?

  “You’ve been stuck here in mankind’s realm for a long time. Long enough to form relationships, it seems.” Eyes narrowing, Philips slid his stare back to her. “Which means this bitch may not be just a client you’ve been paid to protect.”

  James’s eyes flared white.

  Philips ran another slow gaze over her. “How would you feel if I fucked her? It’s almost poetic, isn’t it. You fucked my daughter, the only living thing I ever loved. You sank your unnatural djinn dick in her, you took what was mine, so I think it’s only just I take what you clearly believe is yours. An eye for an eye, yes? Or should that be, a cunt for a cunt?”

  “Don’t you touch her!” James roared.

  Tahlee’s throat slammed shut. Her stomach rolled. She writhed against the wall, her hair tightening around her face.

  Philips tapped his finger against his lips. “What if I wish for her to become my sexual slave? Or better yet,” he clicked his fingers and turned back to James, “I could wish for her to fall in love with me. Something tells me that would devastate you, djinn. And there’s no way you could twist that wish to harm me. Not without harming her.” He chortled again, the sound smug. Hateful. “And once she’s mine, I control you even more.”

  James’s nostrils flared. His stare didn’t leave Philips. The air around him seemed to darken, as if the particles themselves were bruised.

  Philips nodded, swinging back to face Tahlee. “Yes, I like that idea. We could have some fun with it. And by we, I mean me, of course. You, djinn, would just have to watch. But I guess, after all these centuries, you’re used to being impotent, aren’t you?” He let out another smug snort. “And now you’re back under the control of your summoning master. Well, be sure in the knowledge I will be putting that power of yours to very good use. We’ll start with the bitch here sucking my cock, and then move onto… Hmmm, perhaps me becoming president instead of that moron, Rourke. And finish off with—”

  “You’re a monumentally dumb individual in this life, Syrin,” James said.

  Tahlee blinked, not just at the insult, but at how calm he sounded all of a sudden. How amused.

  Philips’s mouth fell open before he snapped it shut. “Be careful, djinn.”

  James pulled a contemplative face, the tension flowing from his body, his white eyes trained on Philips. “Y’know what? I’m not going to call you that—Syrin. You’re not worthy of the name. Syrin was a powerful, intelligent sorcerer. Narcissistic, yes, but clever. He had style. Poise. You, Doug, are just a petty little wannabe. Control a djinn? Ha. You truly know nothing about the sorcerer/djinn dynamic, let alone how to reap the benefits of it.”

  A crack shattered the air. The windows rattled. The molten bands keeping James on his knees ignited.

  Philips stalked toward him, each step making the room shudder. “I am the most powerful sorcerer alive, djinn. You are nothing but my slave! As all djinn truly are. Slaves to their sole purpose—to grant wishes. I’m in control of you. While our covenant stands, I rule you. You can’t refuse me. You may try to twist my words, but as long as the bitch over there loves me,” he groaned the word, turning it into a mocking threat, “you don’t ever get to win!”

  James nodded, as if agreeing… and then shook his head with a laugh. “I really think you’ve been watching too many Disney movies.”

  Tahlee’s stomach knotted. What was he doing?

  Philips stopped in front of him, driving a finger up under his chin. “Be wary of your words, djinn.”

  “In the immortal words of one Bartholomew J. Simpson,” James said. “Eat my shorts.”

  The air around the lower half of his body glowed purple for a split second, and then a pair of baggy cargo shorts replaced the faded jeans he’d been wearing.

  “What?” Philips reeled back.

  James flicked his legs a quick look. “Sorry. Wrong kind.”

  The purple light—like glowing mist—swirled over his legs again, vanishing to reveal a comically plain pair of blue shorts, the kind worn by a cartoon ten-year-old boy. “That’s better.”

  Tahlee laughed against the gag of her hair.

  “How?” Philips stuttered, the air around him crackling.

  James’s eyes burned whiter. “As I said, Doug, you’re a lowly, incompetent sorcerer. The power of a djinn is beyond you. You might think you control me, but my djinn power is mine alone. You will never be able to wield it.” His fists bunched. “So don’t fucking try.”

  Another crack filled the room. Philips stood motionless, fear in his face, stare locked on James.

  Tahlee’s heart slammed into her tight throat. What was James doing? What was—

  In a blur, Philips snagged a fistful of James’s hair and yanked his head back.

  “Stop it,” Tahlee tried to shout.

  “Then let’s amend that, shall we?” Philips sneered, bending over until his face hung barely an inch from James’s.

  “No!” Tahlee screamed into her hair, even as it wrapped unbearably tight around her head.

  Philips flicked a hand at her without taking his stare from James, and her hair suddenly covered her whole face.

  No. No no!

  She bucked against the invisible force pinning her to the wall, incapable of clawing her hair from her eyes, her nose.

  Oh God!

  “What are you saying, Doug?” James asked, voice low, cold. “Think about what you’re doing. Don’t be foolish. Don’t—”

  “I wish to absorb your djinn powers, Barqan,” Philips stated, each word louder that the last. “Make them mine now!”

  Tahlee’s stomach sank.

  “I was really wishing you’d say that,” James whispered—a second before a deep boom resonated through the room and Tahlee’s hair fell from her face.

  She staggered sideways, rubbing her eyes, the sudden rush of air on her skin jarring even as sweet relief rushed through her.

  “What?” Philips’s shocked gasp snapped her attention to where he stood, gaping up at James as he slowly straightened to his feet in front of him.

  Dark purple smoke swirled around James, and as she watched, he changed. Grew taller, broader. His hair whipped around his face, longer and darker in color. His eyes burned a white so bright, they defied description, almost bleaching out his features. His clothes shimmered, becoming an iridescent robe of the darkest purple that floated around his body as if it were a living thing, the edges undefined as it moved with the roiling smoke.

  Philips stumbled backward, arm in front of his face, head shaking. “How is this possible?”

  James grew. Dominated the room. Towered over the sorcerer.

  No, not James.

  The djinn her past self had loved over a thousand years ago.

  Barqan.

  “This isn’t possible!” Philips screamed, gibbering up at the looming djinn. “I am your master! I—”

  Another deafening boom echoed through the room…

  And James stood there again, now in faded jeans and a “Yoda for President” T-shirt, a grin on his face.

  James. The man she loved. The man she’d loved since the second she’d met him.

  “Did you like the booms?” he asked, sliding his hands into his back pockets, green eyes dancing with playful mischief. “I thought they added a great vibe. Y’know, really emphasized the significance of the moment.”

  “Enough!” Philips screeched, thrusting his hands toward James. “Djinn, I command you to—”

  “Zip it, Doug.” James made a quick gesture and Philips’s lips snapped shut. “You broke our c
ovenant. When you wished for the impossible, you broke our covenant.”

  Philips shook his head frantically, fingers prying at his closed mouth.

  “What?” James’s grin turned icy. “You’re trying to say something?” He tsked-tsked; a patient adult dealing with a problem child. “You really should have brushed up on your djinn knowledge before saying my name, Doug. If you had, you would have known making a wish that’s impossible and lethal immediately destroys the covenant. And wishing to take my magic for your own is pretty farking impossible. And just as lethal. To me. And a djinn cannot grant a wish that would result in their own demise. Ergo, you fucked up. Big time.”

  A wave of something close to joy rushed through Tahlee, and a soft laughing breath fell from her before she could bite it back.

  James flicked her a quick glance, and then smiled at Philips. “Syrin knew that. See? I told you that you were smarter back then.”

  Dropping his hands from his mouth, Philips hunched his shoulders, moving his fingers in front of his chest in small, jerky motions.

  Every hair on Tahlee’s body stood on end. “James!” she called, as the air seemed to be sucked out of her lungs. “He’s trying to use his magic. He’s—”

  An invisible wave exploded from Philips, a blast of unseen force. It slammed into her, flinging her backward, just as James threw up his hands. A pillar of dark smoke lashed around her, halting her violent fall.

  “Yield, Barqan,” Philips’s voice pummeled at her eardrums, “to my magic!”

  The smoke vanished as the unseen force blasted outward again.

  James lurched backward, pain etching his face. Eyes white once more, he threw back his head, his scream raw and tortured.

  “No!” Tahlee yelled, running at Philips.

  He swung an arm at her, fingers splayed, and an invisible hammer smashed her into another wall.

  “Yield, Barqan,” Philips repeated, hands thrust at James once again, “to my magic. My power.”

  James screamed again, spine bowing, arms flung wide.

  The molten bands appeared again, lashing around his wrists, pulling his arms wide.

  “Kneel, djinn!” Philips bellowed, driving his palms toward the floor. “Kneel!”

  James’s knees shook. The thick tendrils of purple smoke broiling around him shrank, eddied away.