Jack and Djinn

by Jasinda Wilder

  Heat washed through her, a now-familiar feeling. She felt power shuddering in her soul, felt it reach out and snake from her into Ben, latching onto him and vanishing inside. She’d never paid close attention to what happened in this moment before. She’d confused the rush of orgasm with the flux of power within her, but now, with her body’s desires tamped and cold, Miriam sought to understand exactly what she was feeling within herself when the power—the magic— burst out of her soul.

  She felt it leap from within herself and out to Ben, felt it wrap around him. She closed her eyes and imagined herself as a spirit, incorporeal and ethereal. She followed the magic on its journey, caught a fragmentary glimpse of a roiling ocean of energy inside her, a sea of magic boiling and raging like fire and magma. The glimpse was so brief, but what she saw took her breath away. Then, in the next moment, she was an invisible, nonphysical observer following the flow of magic, a jet stream of gold and silver sparks and coiling explosions of color spanning the spectrum.

  The current of magic arced from her and into Ben, into his heart, digging into the core of his deepest desires, wrapping around the strongest element it found there within him. Suddenly, the image expanded and became a physical entity. There was a flash of light, and Miriam was thrown back into herself.

  This was followed by a moment of disorientation when Miriam was still seeing the burst of magic like a shower of sparks from a bonfire, like stars falling in silver lines, like shafts from the sun refracting through a prism into shimmering rainbow light.

  Then she was herself again, a woman physical and exhausted and hurting. Ben was lying next to her, moaning, but Miriam ignored him, trying to hold on to the sense of power she’d felt within herself.

  A confused female voice spoke from the corner of the bedroom. “Wh-what the fuck is going on?”

  Miriam started, gasping. She looked over to see a woman standing by the door, clad in black lace lingerie, huge, fake, pale breasts spilling out of the skimpy bustier, blonde hair teased out, full lips caked with bright red lipstick, eyes darkened with heavy makeup. The woman crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously, and looked over to the bed at Ben.

  “Ben, is that you?” the girl asked. “What am I doing here in your room? What time is it? How did I get here?” She obviously knew Ben, and was familiar enough with his bedroom to recognize it.

  Ben was getting to his feet gingerly, looking from Miriam to the other girl. “Rachel?” he mumbled. “What’re you doing here?” He rubbed his eyes, as if to make sense of what he was seeing.

  When the magic had latched onto Ben’s deepest desire, it had woven itself around this girl, dressed in this lingerie. His desire was now flesh and blood, standing here in his room.

  “Who is this, Ben?” Miriam demanded. She heard the anger in her voice, drawing confidence from it.

  The girl, whom Ben had called Rachel, echoed Miriam’s words. “Who is this, Ben?”

  Ben looked from Miriam, naked and clutching the sheet to her body, to Rachel, standing in front of him in a sheer negligée. Ben’s eyes and body revealed his desire for Rachel, despite having Miriam next to him. He struggled for words. “I—this, uh…shit. I don’t know. How did you get here, Rach? Miriam, did you do this?”

  Miriam leaped off the bed, pressing herself against the wall, holding the bed sheet in front of her. “We both know I did, Ben, so let’s not play games. I’m a freak, I know. Now answer the goddamn question! Who the hell is this, Ben?” She repeated the question, yelling it this time.

  Ben flushed, and she saw him searching for answers. “This is…this is Rachel. Uh, she’s—she’s a friend of mine.”

  Rachel planted a hand on her hip, angry. “A friend? I’m a friend now? What the hell, Ben? I’m your girlfriend. What is she doing in our bed?”

  Rachel’s high-pitched, whining voice grated on Miriam’s nerves, and she felt the anger begin to burn again, ever hotter, threatening to reignite the magic. Now that she’d felt it, and seen it, Miriam could understand the power within her more clearly; she wanted to grasp it, let the anger set fire to her and burst through her and consume this irritating girl, and Ben along with her.

  “Your girlfriend?” Miriam stalked around the bed and picked up her clothes, putting them on quickly and angrily. “Your girlfriend, Ben? If she’s your girlfriend, then what the fuck am I?”

  Ben opened his mouth to answer, but Rachel cut him off. “Oh, I know who you are. You’re Miriam, aren’t you?” Rachel smirked, cruelty and amusement glittering in her eyes as she pronounced the next words. “You’re his booty call. Isn’t that right, Ben? He’s mentioned you before. You’re the one he goes to for a little extra somethin’ on the side when I’m busy. Isn’t that right?” Rachel turned away and pulled open the bottom drawer of Ben’s dresser, rummaged around, and produced a change of clothes.

  She had her own drawer? Miriam’s anger went cold for a moment, stung by the apparent truth in Rachel’s words. Ben’s mouth was flapping, for once at a loss for words. “I—It’s not quite like that, Rachel….” he said. He wouldn’t look at either girl, but instead he edged to the dresser, opened a drawer, and put on a pair of gym shorts.

  “It’s not, huh?” Rachel stalked up to Ben, poking a finger in his chest. “That’s what you told me. You said Miriam was just a side-fuck. Is it something else, Ben? Is she something more serious? ’Cause that’s not what you told me.”

  Miriam was disgusted. Not only did Ben obviously have another girlfriend, but that girl knew about Miriam and found nothing wrong with the idea of Ben having sex with someone else, as long as it wasn’t “serious.”

  But she hadn’t known anything about this Rachel. Although now that she thought about it, Ben did spend a lot of time sending text messages he never bothered to explain. Miriam had always just assumed they were to his Corps buddies or something.

  “So what is it, Ben? Am I just something on the side?” Miriam asked. She was fighting tears, grasping desperately for anger to strengthen herself.

  Ben looked from one woman to the other, caught between the two. Miriam watched him struggle for answers. Sure enough, his eyes glazed over, and the vein in his forehead started throbbing. He would retreat into anger now. It was the only way he knew how to deal with situations he couldn’t control.

  “Back off, both of you,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “I don’t owe either of you shit. Rachel, I’m taking you home. Come on.”

  “Why doesn’t she go home?” Rachel whined. “I’m already here—I might as well stay. She can leave.”

  Ben growled and pushed Rachel out the door, snatching up his keys and phone with a string of curses. “Come on, Rachel. Let’s go. Now.” He turned back to Miriam and started to say something, but changed his mind.

  Miriam watched from the window as Ben held the car door open for Rachel, kissing her as he started the car, laughing at something she said. Ben never held the door for her. Never kissed her, or laughed with her. So she was just “something extra on the side”? Miriam felt anger rush back with tidal force. She stuffed her feet into her shoes and stormed out of Ben’s apartment, slamming the door so hard it shook the entryway windows.

  Thunder rumbled, and a flash of lightning lit the night sky; drops of rain pelted Miriam, followed by a torrential downpour that soaked her to the skin in moments.

  She barely noticed, lost in thought, consumed by rage. A side-fuck? Everything she put up with, and he was screwing someone else? And she had her own drawer in Ben’s apartment? The drawer itself was beside the point; what had Miriam’s breath coming in ragged, raging gasps was the fact that Rachel knew about Miriam. Ben had talked about her to Rachel. He’d probably told Rachel all about her, including everything Miriam had ever said in confidence. They probably laughed at her together, in Ben’s bed, making fun of stupid, clueless Miriam.

  The anger was hot inside Miriam, a river of fire in her veins. She could feel the magic boiling, ready to burst. Miriam had no thought for anything except Ben
and his betrayal of her. Did he hit Rachel, too? Or was that just for Miriam? The way he’d held the door for Rachel: Even when he’d pushed her out the door he’d done it more gently than he’d ever treated Miriam in his kindest moments.

  She was full of rage. White-hot, all-consuming rage. At Ben, yes, but at herself most of all for putting up with him for so long, for wasting so much of her life on him, for believing his lies, for never believing she deserved better. Especially when someone like Jack was waiting for her, wanting her, willing to fight for her.

  There was a blinding light approaching, but so lost was Miriam that she paid no notice to it. She paid no attention to the fact that she was dry, despite the curtains of windblown rain still pounding down. She heard cars passing by, honking, but she ignored them too. Cars were swerving around her, people were yelling.

  An odd hissing noise, the sound of water hitting a frying pan, somehow pierced through her daze. Miriam stopped and, for the first time, realized that the blinding light was her. She was glowing like the sun, lit up from within, and the rain was hitting her superheated skin and evaporating, turned to steam on contact. Billowing clouds of steam wreathed around her, trailed her, rose up and vanished and skirled in the thunderstorm wind. As she was walking down the middle of the street, another car appeared, honking and swerving around her, skidding on the grass, then disappearing into the rain-soaked night.

  A single headlight penetrated the gloom and rain, approaching her like a freight train. She stopped in her tracks, unable to move. She could only stand and stare, rooted to the spot. The unnatural glow around her continued to burn bright, along with the rage still coursing through her.

  The headlight wobbled, turned aside, and then Miriam realized it was a motorcycle, a red Suzuki like Jack’s. The helmeted figure skidding the bike to the side looked like Jack, too. The rider fought for control, but the rear tire bounced and hydroplaned on the wet asphalt, and the motorcycle tipped over and slammed into the ground, sliding and tumbling, the rider rolling like a rag doll across the ground.

  Miriam knew it was Jack. She ran to him, knelt beside him where he’d crashed. She pulled his helmet off, sobbed when she saw the blood spurting from his nose and ears and mouth. He moaned softly and tried to focus on her, but his gaze wavered, and he went slack in her arms, heavy and limp.

  No. No.

  Not again. No. She was suddenly eleven again, holding her daddy’s head in her lap, watching him fight for breath, clutching his chest, gasping, trying to reassure her, plucking at her sleeve with weak fingers. And now, again, the man she loved was gasping for breath, limp in her arms.

  The man she loved. Somehow it was true.

  Jack coughed, blood dribbling down his chin, frothing as his lungs failed.

  No. She refused to let it happen again. Not again. Not Jack, not like this.

  “Oh, Jack, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She was pleading and begging, holding him in her arms, feeling the rage shift to desperation, feeling the magic burst open within her at her silent demand, burgeoning like an explosion. The magic was flushing through her, turning the heat to power, tendrils of magic licking at Jack’s broken fingers, at his eyes and bleeding nose, filtering through his ears into his brain, eliciting a moan from him. The flow of blood slowed and his broken arm—the bone showing white through torn leather—healed in an instant.

  Miriam sobbed and dove back into herself, closing her eyes and feeling the magic swirl around her, curling about her essence like a cat brushing against her legs, and she sent it back out, back through Jack, seeking out any cut, any scrape, any hurt on him, commanding the magic to heal it. She felt the magic obey her, and Miriam felt laughter bubbling up in her, a kind of wild joy at the power blazing within her.

  Tires squealed and footsteps pounded the pavement, and Ben’s voice boomed out, “What the hell are you doing, Miriam?” She felt his hands grasp her shoulder and yank her, toppling Jack to the ground in the process, striking his head against the pavement again. That sent Miriam over the edge. She jerked away, crouched at Jack’s side and put his coat under his head, kissed his lips, stood up and turned to face Ben. She saw the anger in his eyes, the possessive jealousy at the sight of her with another man. She saw his fists clenched, and she didn’t care.

  “Who is that, Miriam? Is that who you’ve been with behind my back?” Ben had the gall to act outraged.

  “Yes, Ben, it is. Do you remember when you were drunk and beating on me in your parking lot? Jack’s the one who rescued me. He rescued me…from you.” She was full of magic and rage and bravado, and she didn’t care what happened anymore. “He kissed me that night. Kissed me better than you ever have. One kiss from him is better than a thousand from you. He turns me on, makes me hot like you never could in your wildest dreams. You’re pathetic, compared to him. I love him. I love him the way I’ve never, never loved you. The way I never could love you. You’re nothing but a monster, and I hate how much of my life I’ve wasted on you. I hate how much pain I’ve let you put me through. No more, Ben. Do you hear me? I will not take any more from you. Never again.”

  That got Ben’s attention. He stepped toward her, like a bull ready to charge. His eyes were full of the madness again, the same crazed blindness that had almost got her killed yesterday. Only this time, she was ready. She had the magic within her grasp; she had the rage in her grip. She squeezed it, felt the heat subsume her and turn white-hot. Jack was at her feet, moaning and coming to consciousness, and she wanted him to see her like this, to know who—what—he thought he loved. She wanted no secrets.

  There was a whoompf, like a backdraft, like gas-soaked wood catching fire, and she was lit up from within, burning with sun fire; she was fire, her body a woman’s body carved from living flame. She saw her features as clearly defined as if she were naked, her female form writ in tongues of fire hotter than the sun itself. She smiled, and she laughed, and the sound of her voice was the tolling of a thousand bells. Ben was transfixed, mouth agape, fear etched in his eyes. Jack was shielding his face with an arm, but not moving away, unburned somehow despite being mere inches from the inferno of her body.

  Miriam took a step forward, and her footstep shook the earth as if she were a giant looming a hundred feet high. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell Ben to leave, but a gout of flame burst from her like dragon breath, forcing Ben backward to the ground.

  “What the fuck are you?” she heard him ask.

  “I’m over you, Ben, that’s what I am,” she answered, her voice echoing like thunder and tolling like a bell. She stepped toward him once more, and felt the asphalt beneath her feet crack and crunch with each touch of her foot. “If I see you again, I’ll kill you. I’ll burn you to a crisp.”

  Terrified, Ben scrambled to his feet, climbed into his car, and drove away, the terror still stark in his eyes as he looked back in the rearview mirror.

  Miriam turned to face Jack, who was now on his feet.

  “Are you afraid, Jack?” She was prepared for him to run as well, but what she saw in his eyes nearly extinguished her.

  “No,” came his whispered answer.

  Jack lifted a hand, hesitant, as if testing the heat. A step forward, and he was close enough that the fire should have consumed him, but, impossibly, it didn’t. The flames were licking at him, but he remained unburned.

  She felt her magic arcing between them, saw it flowing around him, protecting him. He stepped closer to her, eyes shining with wonder. His hands rested on her waist, where they fit so perfectly; she felt his touch as soft and familiar as ever. She was kissing him, feeling the fire that was her essence washing through him, and he was gasping for breath, looking into her soul. She saw her own eyes reflected in his, glowing and flickering. His palms explored her body, pushing her even hotter, if that was possible.

  “You’re you,” Jack said. It was cryptic, but she heard the meaning beneath the words.

  “I don’t know what I am, though,” she whispered. It was true.

  �
�Me, neither,” Jack said, and his eyes showed curiosity, and a little fear, but even more love. Love that didn’t scare her. “But I know who you are. You’re Miriam. And you belong to me.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, reveling in the joy of belonging.

  She thought of home, her home, her apartment. She felt the universe shift, tilt, felt something cold wash over her as she clung to Jack, inhaling his familiar scent. She felt power leaching out of her, tendrils of magic threading through her and touching the fabric of the universe around them; tilt and shift and cold and heat and fire and rain, all mixed and muddled, and then the rain vanished abruptly and she smelled home. Her eyes opened, and she saw her couch, tattered and ancient, saw her tiny TV, the small glass-and-brass coffee table.

  Miriam didn’t know how, but somehow they’d been transported instantly from the side of the road to her apartment. The magic inside her had taken over again, as she had wished. It had taken her home where she wanted to be, and it had brought Jack with her.

  Jack reared back, his hands still on her waist, staring at her with a smile. He was waiting. She knew what he was waiting for: permission. Miriam breathed deep, closed her eyes, and searched her heart for reservations, for fear, for hesitation, and she found none, only desire.

  Jack kissed her neck, slipped his hands under the bottom hem of her shirt, a habit of his she was growing to anticipate every time he put his hands on her waist.

  Miriam didn’t answer, at least not in words. She pulled away from him, led him by the hand to her bedroom, and then closed the door behind them. Her heart was pounding against her ribs: She had never, ever let anyone into her bedroom. Not Nick, or Ben, or anyone. Her bedroom was a sanctum, a place where she could let down her walls and just be herself. Now here was Jack, in her bedroom. He had gotten inside her walls, both physical and metaphorical, and she wasn’t sure how he’d managed it, but she was glad he had.