by Carol Riggs
“I’ll be back at five-fifteen.” Mrs. Turner snatches up her purse and heads for the door.
As soon as the front door thumps closed, David trots toward the kitchen. “Come on, genie. I want a huuuge banana split. With extra chocolate and whipped cream.”
“As you wish.” I can’t erase the frown from my face. I’ll be stuck for hours granting this child’s selfish wishes while Nathan is countless miles away—in possible trouble. Besides that, my bottle has to be relocated before morning. Stars help me.
I place Wefler on the counter and set about concocting a mountain of sweetness in a large oval bowl. The creation is laced with strawberry, chocolate, and something called butterscotch. Long-sliced bananas form. My arms grow heavy and sore while I add a frothy layer of whipped cream and dot it with a bright red cherry.
“Waaay cool!” David crows. He slips into a chair, pauses, and cocks his head at me. “I need a spoon. The kind with a long handle.”
I locate one in a nearby drawer before his desire becomes a full-fledged wish. His lower lip protrudes as I hand it to him. “There’s no sense making a spoon if you already have one,” I say.
“Making one is more fun.” His pout fades as he scoops his mouth full of whipped cream.
While he smacks and chortles over his monstrous dessert, I find paper to scribble a note to Nathan. David has your backpack. It’s under his bed.
“I’m going to put my bear in Nathan’s room,” I tell David. “Since we’ll be busy with your wishes today.”
He bobs his head and sucks strawberry syrup from his fingers. I grab the note and Wefler, hurry up the stairs, and leave the note tucked under the bear on Nathan’s bed. What is Nathan thinking at this moment near Portland? Is he worried? Panicked? He might guess someone else is now my master, and he’ll likely think it’s Faruq. If only I knew how to summon Nathan on his phone, I could make him aware of the real situation.
Hmm. Cherie and Beagley have phones to contact him.
I push that thought away. No. There’s no need to involve them. In a handful of hours Nathan will be home and he’ll see my note even if I’m stuck Inside. He’ll demand his backpack from his brother, and all will be well. I hope.
David’s momentum is slowing on his mountain of sweets when I walk back into the kitchen. His face is smeared with whipped cream and colorful syrup. He leaps up.
“I’m full. I want my next wish now.” He wears an odd look. Expectant, belligerent, and for some reason, a little apprehensive.
“I’m ready to hear it.” Although if his wish requires a lot of energy to fulfill, it might not work properly. At the very least, I’ll be exhausted afterward.
He folds his arms. The action compacts him, makes him seem smaller and more vulnerable. “I want my dad to come home.”
“Your…dad?” If I remember right, Nathan said in the café that his father passed away three years ago. “Do you and Nathan share the same dad?”
“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes.
I try to make the words soft and gentle. “I’m afraid I can’t bring anyone back to life after they’ve died. It’s not possible.”
His face reddens. He stomps, making a coffee pot on the counter rattle. “What kind of stupid genie are you? Do it! You have to do it.”
“I’m not able to fulfill that kind of wish. Death isn’t reversible. We enjoy people in our lives for the time they’re here, and when they’re gone we have our memories of them to comfort us.” I speak past an aching tightness. It’s an easy thing to say, yet not an easy thing to practice. Memories are never as good as the people themselves. Like Jamaal. Abbi and Omaa. My other two brothers and my three sisters. Gone forever.
“You have to make him be here,” David says, voice wavering. “Do his twin self then, an android copy or something. I want him to come back.”
I rub my arms. “I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
David collapses to the floor, wailing. The volume of his grief vibrates my ears. His tears pluck at heartstrings I didn’t know I had.
He swings a fist at my leg. “You’re supposed to give me what I wish for! What good are you?”
I take a step back and let him continue grieving. In his present state, he’s a little boy, not my master. A sad little boy who misses his father.
“Nathan will be home in a few hours,” I say. “You can talk to him then.”
He gives a wavery hiccup. “I don’t want Nathan. He’s always too busy for me. And now he’s with you, his stupid genie girlfriend. I want Daddy, not Nathan.” His tears begin afresh.
“Shhh,” I say, crouching beside him. “Even if that’s not possible, there must be other things you’d like to wish for. A new soccer ball maybe, or some other toy you’ve been wanting.”
“Toys aren’t my Daddy. Go away. You’re not my friend anymore.” He sniffles, the mucus of his nose mingling with the syrup around his mouth.
What he says about the toys is true. I’m trying to place objects into a void that people should fill. It’s shameful. I rise and drift into the living room, wishing there was a way to give him what he wants. It’s fortunate Mrs. Turner will be home in a few hours. Soon after that, Nathan should arrive and set things right. Then we can proceed with our plans for my bottle.
I twitch, staring wide-eyed around me. My bottle. I should’ve gone Inside. David has dismissed me and I should grasp every chance I get to refresh my powers. With any luck, it’ll take him a while to realize where I went.
In a flash, I become smoke and wriggle back into my bottle. Its mirrors, table, and compartments greet me like old friends. I soak up the essence of my home as if I’m in a tub of hot bath water. Still, I wish I hadn’t left Wefler in Nathan’s room. It would be a nice thing to hug at the moment. “Baby toy” or not, it gives me comfort.
I also wish I knew how to contact Karim by phone, since it’s probable I won’t be able to transfer to The Bahamas tomorrow morning. This is a terrible dilemma. I’d like to rest and gather enough energy to attempt a transfer there, but I don’t have much confidence in completing the journey.
My knee stings. It’s starting to show bruising around the cut. Curse it all, I forgot to make use of the medical items while I was in the kitchen. I dab sage tea on my injury, and change into new jeans. My Tigers jacket is scuffed almost threadbare on one sleeve from my fall onto the roadway, so I remove it. My cushions look welcoming. I curl up on my side.
I’m drifting into a thick slumber when my gong sounds.
Bracing myself for more confrontation, I materialize in David’s room. He’s fidgeting like an agitated hornet. His anxiety, however, is steeped with worry.
“Why’d you leave?” he asks. “I looked all over the house and couldn’t find you.”
“You told me to go away. So I did.”
He frowns. “That was dumb of you. I thought of another wish.”
One I hope I can fulfill this time. “What is it?”
His face brightens. “I want to fly. Like a bird, with big white wings. Maybe you can change me into a bird and I can fly around. Just until Mom comes home though, or she might get mad.”
I repress a groan. He doesn’t know I can’t directly change a human’s body. This is a foolish, whimsical wish. I must distract him. “That would be fun. Maybe we could find a town fair that has rides, ones built like birds. You could fly high in one of those.”
“No! Not like that. I want wings. Real wings like a bird’s.” His lower lip slides out.
His wish, stated that way, forces me to come up with a way to fulfill it. It’s unbearable, the pressure under my ribs and inside my head. There is an indirect way to grant this wish, but if Nathan finds out he’s not going to be pleased. And like Rehema’s self-replenishing pig safe, this kind of ongoing magic will drain my powers on an immense scale.
I’ll need to keep David from falling or crashing onto something jagged, and minimize public exposure to his flight. I glance at the wall, where a clock that’s shaped like a cat hangs. We have abou
t two-and-a-half hours until his mother returns.
“As you wish,” I say. “I can’t change you into a bird, but I can do something almost as fun. Is there a private field or a meadow near your house?”
“Yeah, come on.” He rolls my bottle under his bed and dashes from the room.
He locks the front door. I follow him out the back, which he leaves unlocked. I call out to him about a key, but he’s moving fast. Ignoring me. We circle around the yard, hike down a number of streets, and end up at a grassy stretch bordered by a grove of trees. Even though it’s not raining today, there’s a clinging fog in the air. The grass is damp.
He peers up at me, his face still syrup-smeared around his smile. Happy. Confident in me and my powers.
My heart’s tempo increases. This is Nathan’s little brother, mischievous and excited and trusting me wholly. “Be careful, please. Fly for a short while around this field or maybe above that grove of trees over there. I won’t be able to keep this spell going for very long, and I don’t want you getting lost or hurt.”
“So where’s the wings?”
I’m not sure he’s heard a word I said about his safety. Children…strange willful creatures. I don’t know how Abbi and Omaa managed seven of us. I check the street. No one in sight.
I lift my arms. White billows up above the grasses. A downy pouch forms with two leg holes. The mass grows feathers, scores of them sprouting from both sides. I bolster myself against my fatigue and push on. I’m perspiring by the time the wings are stretched to their full length and hovering at shin level above the field.
“Cool.” David’s eyes sparkle. “It’s a bird suit. Just my size.”
“Don’t fly too high or too long. Your mother will be home soon.” It’s unfortunate I can’t lie and tell him this excursion ends after twenty minutes.
He climbs into the suit. His arms slide into folds by each wing. His legs dangle out the bottom holes, and he laughs as it bounces. He flaps the wings. “Watch me, Adeelah. I’m gonna fly!”
I cringe as he rises. The energy it takes to sustain his ascent saps my strength. The effort of it is a dull weight on my shoulders. It’s manageable for now, but it won’t be for any prolonged period.
He lifts to a height of five feet and flaps across the field, grinning and giggling. I have to admit, it does look enjoyable. Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t mind trying it myself.
Gooseflesh pebbles my skin from the chill in the air, and I clamp my arms around me. If I’d known I’d be going outside, I wouldn’t have taken off my jacket. I pace around in an attempt to get warm while watching David grow more confident with his wings. His height increases. After a while he’s soaring thirty feet above my head, the rhythm of his laughter sifting down into my ears. He widens his circle and swells over the trees. On his return arc, I call out to him.
“Finish your flying, David! Five more minutes, all right?”
I’m not surprised when he doesn’t answer. I continue to shiver and he continues to fly. A car whooshes past on the road behind me, but other than that, the area is deserted. At least we have privacy for this lunacy.
David soars over the grove of trees, his white-winged shape growing smaller in the gray sky. I frown. Where does he think he’s going? Wayward, uncooperative child. This isn’t a good time for him to ignore me. We must get back to the house soon. I’m sure it’s close to four o’clock.
What must be fifteen minutes later, he still hasn’t come back. Pinpricks of fear join the pain in my shoulders. How long should I stay in this field? David knows we’re on a restricted schedule. At this point my bond of servitude feels strong, so he’s alive. But if he doesn’t ground himself before my strength gives out, I won’t be able to keep him from falling to his great injury—or death.
Camel’s dung. I chew on a fingernail and mutter.
I can’t let that happen. Not only is he my master, he’s Nathan’s little brother. I glance down the road. With a car, I could search the skies faster than on foot. Nathan’s Mustang is in Ted’s yard, but I don’t know how to drive and the keys are with Nathan. There must be something I can do. Mrs. Turner will be home soon.
As risky as it may be to involve others, I need help and I need it now. I must find someone with a car.
I need Beagley.
Chapter 19
I begin running. When I reach the Turner house, I race through the back door and into the kitchen, where I rummage through the kitchen drawers. There must be a phone here I can attempt to use, or something written on paper that will inform me how to locate Beagley. I find nothing to aid me. Only kitchen utensils and the soupy puddle of ice cream and syrup that used to be David’s banana split. The dessert’s remains are dripping from the table onto the floor.
No time to clean it up. I rush upstairs. In Nathan’s desk I find a key. Does it operate his car? Maybe Ted can drive me to a phone or help me search for David. I don’t see Beagley’s information anywhere, although I glimpse a paper with the word Cherie and some numbers. I grimace. While I’d prefer contacting Beagley, I may not have a choice.
I’ll ask Ted for help first. I slip the key and the paper in my jeans pocket, and thump down the stairs. I’m halfway out the back door when I realize Mrs. Turner may arrive home before I can find David. I scribble a message saying I took him for a walk and we might be late, and slap it next to the melted banana split.
The outside air whips in and out of my lungs as I run to Ted’s house. The scrape on my knee aches. I ignore it. My grip on David’s ongoing spell ripples, weakening. I arrive at Ted’s house out of breath. He answers my knock in his sock feet, his hair uncombed.
“Why hello, Adeelah. You look all worn out.”
I show him the key, skipping pleasantries. “Nathan’s little brother David ran off and I’m trying to search for him. Can you drive Nathan’s car and help me?”
His eyebrows go up and crease his forehead. “Sorry, that’s not a car key. It’s probably a house key. And I haven’t had a driver’s license for five years. No car to drive.”
Not a good development. I produce the paper with Cherie’s name on it. “This is his friend’s information. Do you have a phone or know how to get one?” Maybe Ted can also show me how to use the complex device.
“I’m afraid I don’t have a phone,” he says. “Used to be, cities had pay phones downtown, but nowadays folks all have cells so there aren’t many public ones around anymore.”
Rot it all. I clap my other hand against my head and squeeze my eyes closed.
“Say.” Ted’s tone makes me open my eyes. He’s peering at the paper in my hand. “I know that Cherie gal. She’s that pretty blond friend of Nathan’s. Works at the fancy restaurant downtown, the Bayhouse Cove.”
I hesitate. It’s obvious Cherie must help me, or no one. I hope she’s working tonight. “How do I get there?”
“Go four blocks and turn right one more to the main road, then follow it until you see the downtown signs. Can’t remember the street name, but the restaurant overlooks the bay by the docks.”
I toss out a quick thanks and begin running again. As I aim for the main road, I search the skies for David and his wings. I only see windswept clouds, a blackbird on a power line, and a distant airborne gull. My grasp on the enchantment slips a little more. I sense a few feathers dropping, twirling like seed pods toward the ground and vanishing. By the time I reach the downtown area, my legs are weak and wobbly. I notice a lit-up sign for the Bayhouse Cove on a tall building and head for it.
A glass entrance leads to a plush foyer. I burst through the doors gasping, which startles a young woman in black and white. A well-dressed man and woman stiffen next to her.
“Can I help you?” the young woman asks, eyeing my attire and dishevelment.
“I need Cherie. Please.” The words come out mangled. I hope she’s here.
“Cherie? I think she arrived at four-thirty. I’ll check after I seat these people.” The woman leads the well-dressed couple away.
I collapse onto a padded bench and grip the edges. Spots flash before my eyes. I lose my mental hold on more of David’s feathers. They spiral downward. At last, Cherie emerges in her tailored clothing and bow tie. I feel unkempt and trampled by comparison.
She steps over to me. “Oh, my gosh. Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
“David’s gone,” I say. “Lost. I need help finding him before his mother gets home. Nathan’s not in town and I need someone with a car.”
Her eyes widen. She glances over her shoulder. “I have to work. The manager would probably kill me if I left right after starting my shift. I suppose I could try asking him anyway since it’s an emergency.”
“How about Beagley instead?” I ask.
Alarm and distaste flash over her face, then resignation. “Wait here. I’ll call him. He works part-time at the golf course store, but not on Sundays.”
I twist my rings around on my fingers while she’s gone. When she appears again, she’s even more flustered and hurried.
“Gotta scoot to take an order. Beagley says he’ll pick you up.” She points to the parking area outside. “He’ll be out there in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Cherie.” I say the words as earnestly as I can, but I still sense a flow of resentment from her. No matter. I don’t have time to dwell on her possessiveness right now. I aim toward the parking lot.
In a few minutes, Beagley’s car pulls up with a slight squeal of tires. I lose my magical grasp on more feathers. I hope David notices his wings dissolving and tries to land somewhere. Maybe he’ll wish for me to save him—and if he does, I hope I have enough power left to do it.
The door on my side pops open. Beagley leans across the seat, looking up at me as if he thinks he’s my knight in shining ruby-and-silver armor.
“I hear you’ve lost David. Not surprised. Hop in and let’s see if we can find him.”
I sink into the seat, glad to be done running, glad to have Beagley’s assistance. As long as he doesn’t try to touch me, we’re fine. I direct him toward the field.
