by Carol Riggs
I say goodbye, close the car door, and walk toward the cluster of buildings. When I’m sure he can’t see me, I duck behind a wide tree and writhe into smoke.
* * *
Sleep claims me the moment my head touches my pillow. When I awaken a short time later, my body feels watery, like tea made far too diluted. I haven’t slept nearly long enough and I still ache. Why did I awaken?
I send out my awareness to find out what’s going on, but it feels thick and unresponsive. A rhythmic motion of some kind rocks my bottle while I lie suspended on my cushions. It’s as though my bottle is being carried. Maybe Beagley has arrived in Eugene and he’s bringing Nathan’s backpack to him. I hope Nathan can find a private place to summon me right after he regains possession of it.
Even so, our meeting may be short since Beagley might be hovering nearby. My insides sink to my toes. A blight on these constricted circumstances. It’s probable I’ll only have enough time to wish-locate Karim’s number on Nathan’s phone, and have a hasty conversation with Karim—perhaps on a conjured phone for more security. If there’s no opportunity for me to make the call, Nathan will have to do it.
And once he leaves my bottle in Eugene, he won’t be able to summon me anymore.
I trust Nathan, but what if Beagley opens the backpack and summons me by accident? What if Nathan can’t find a secure place to leave my bottle, and someone else finds it first? There are many things that could go wrong with this plan. Fate is too fickle to toss circumstances into the air and let them land wherever they please.
Pacing, I wish I had Wefler, the little stuffed bear Nathan gave me.
The gong shudders the air. It’s time. I rise, hoping against blind hope that it’s Nathan’s face I’ll see.
I take shape in a wooded area. A chill breeze of pine hits my nose, jarring me into instant alertness. The moon’s light is faint. A drab darkness sits everywhere like a black beast on thick haunches. Someone stands before me, expectant and hugging my bottle to his chest, half under his jacket.
It’s not Nathan’s face, nor Beagley’s.
It’s David’s.
I gape, dizzy with disbelief. David? I don’t see how this can be possible.
“Hi, Adeelah,” he says in that disturbing way of his. “Nathan wants to take away my bottle when he comes back. So I have to hide it outside, ’cuz I’m not done playing with it yet. He’ll ask me if I have it in my room, and I’ll say nope, I don’t. It’ll be the truth! I bet he’ll think Beagley stole it.” He snickers.
He’s much too clever for his own good. A mere nine years old? He could be an apprentice to a djinn, he’s so cunning. “Where did you get that bottle?”
He shrugs. “It was under my bed. I guess I never put it in the backpack like I thought I did. I cried for nothing.”
Ah, confound it. In my mind’s eye, I see him rolling it beneath the bed before we left to conjure the bird suit. Stupid, stupid me. I didn’t think to make certain my bottle was in the backpack before Beagley and I left David’s room. I sensed its presence and assumed it was inside the pack.
“How did you leave your house without your mother knowing?” I ask. “And what are you doing out here in the dark? It’s not safe.”
Another shrug. “Mom went to sleep, so I unlocked the back door and left. I’m not scared of the Boogeyman. You can make a dragon to protect me, right?” His teeth gleam a little in the semi-darkness as he smiles. The effect is eerie.
I jab a finger at him. “Remember the bird suit. It fell apart. My powers aren’t working right, and I may not have enough energy to protect you next time. We need to go home. Now.”
“I gotta hide this bottle first.” He peers into the shadows.
“You can’t do that.” I wrack my brain for a wise thing to say, something to make him change his mind. If he leaves my bottle here, Nathan won’t be able to find it. I should warn David that Faruq is hunting my services, and he’s willing to kill anyone who gets in his way. It’s a frightening thing to reveal to a child, but he needs to know.
David paws at a bush. “I can put it under here. You can make it invisible. Or wait, make it have teeth that bites anyone except me.”
I can’t alter my bottle’s appearance, although a masking shield or the teeth could be fashioned separately. But if I fulfill this ongoing kind of wish, it’ll drain my already feeble strength. I suppress a groan as his thoughts build in intensity toward a full wish. “Those spells won’t last long, Master. Just like the bird suit.”
“What good are you, then?” he asks, his voice shrill. “I want more wishes before Nathan gets the bottle back! It’s mine, and you have to do what I say.”
A rustling of pine needles to my left makes me flinch. A tall figure strides up, crossing to David in a flash and gripping his small arm. “That bottle isn’t yours, you little fool. It belongs to me, and I’m taking it back.”
My innards liquefy. Even in the near-darkness, I can tell the tall figure is Faruq.
Chapter 21
“No!” David cries. “Adeelah, I wish for a big, snarling—”
Faruq snatches my bottle from David’s hands. Before I can blink, the bonds of ownership slip from David’s mischievous spirit to Faruq’s harsh one. I’m unable to resist performing my obligatory bow and spiel. I hate myself as well as him when I say the words, and my mouth feels contaminated when I finish. Faruq gives a gloating smile that I assume aims to strip me of all hope. It comes near to succeeding.
He tightens his grip around David’s arm. David whimpers.
“Leave him alone,” I say to Faruq. “You shouldn’t even be here. Nathan and I planned to call Karim soon to make the drop-off arrangements.”
“Since this child managed to become your master, that obviously wouldn’t have happened.” Faruq brandishes my bottle. “Get Inside. I’ll summon you later.”
His words are a command. I hold David’s frightened gaze for as long as I can, trying to impart courage to him before I dissolve. What will happen after I leave? I’m whisked back into my prison before I can say anything, deposited next to my table.
I don’t know why Faruq’s in Bandon, and why he couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
Confound the man!
I hurl my cup of sage tea across my interior. It hits my wall of compartments, cracking and splattering amber liquid down the sides. Faruq assumed I’d go back on my word, or else assumed Nathan wouldn’t cooperate. He must’ve discovered Rehema died in Hawaii instead of The Bahamas, and that Mrs. Turner purchased my bottle for her antique store and brought it to Oregon…maybe he found an auction sales list or something. Once he discovered where she lived in this town, he watched the house. He must’ve seen David sneaking out.
Will he release David, trusting the boy won’t tell anyone I’m magical and the bottle was stolen? I hope so. Other scenarios are too horrible to contemplate.
I wrap my arms around myself. Once Nathan discovers my bottle isn’t in the backpack, he’ll rush back with Beagley to Bandon. He’ll see my note on his bed and seek out David. If David’s not home, Nathan won’t have the slightest idea where to search for him. He and Mrs. Turner will be frantic.
What can I do?
Nothing, it seems. The situation is out of my control.
Curse it all. I hate being helpless. The things I tried to prevent might happen anyway. The Turners are in the path of danger, and it’s all because of me. And now my powers are waning. I could even be dying. If so, I want my last actions to ensure their safety.
I drop to my cushions and bury my head in my hands, rocking back and forth. My temples throb beneath my fingers as I rack my brain for solutions. I should have been able to sense Faruq’s strong, vile presence as he approached me in the woods. A curse on my fading powers. If I’d known Faruq was nearby, I could’ve told David to wish for something—anything—to protect us. A brief spell of invisibility, a cluster of scorpions, or even a small dog with razor-sharp teeth.
Time inches by while I plot harebrained schemes and fling pillow
s around. The stains of tea on my compartments fade. My cup materializes afresh on my table, unbroken and refilled to the brim. I coil onto my side on my cushions, but I’m unable to drift off. I belong to Faruq now, and even though that was inevitable, the reality of it beats my spirit so far down that all I want to do is cower and weep.
But I can’t let myself crumble. Doing that won’t help anyone, least of all me.
Long before I’m ready, the gong sounds, and I spiral upward with a feeling of dread.
Faruq sits in a worn overstuffed chair, one ankle propped across his knee. The room we’re in is sparsely furnished, the walls bare. The drapes are drawn like blinders over the windows. The air smells musty and old, as well as pungent from whatever oil is fueling a lamp near one wall.
My bottle sits at Faruq’s side. He glances up at me, his eyes so much like Karim’s that a pang stabs through my heart. He sips from a plastic cup and motions me to sit on a wooden chair across from him.
I remain standing.
“Stubborn as always, I see,” he says in our native language. “Do I need to wish it?”
I sit. There’s no need to use my powers unnecessarily. I endure his attention as it scrapes over me.
“So at last I have you.” He sets his cup on a battered end table. “It’s about time. I must say, I was displeased with your last antics, vanishing with your past master and turning my best knife into worthless butter.”
I try to appear contrite. “It was my master’s prearranged wish for safety.”
“Yes. I’ll deal with him later.”
My heart thumps, hard, making me lightheaded. “He was only protecting himself! You can’t blame him for that.”
“Don’t presume to tell me who I can or cannot blame.” His gaze bores through me.
I repress a shudder and look away. Nathan’s in danger, and I can’t prevent that unless I ask Karim to try to persuade his father to show mercy. It’ll do no good to discuss it with Faruq since he has never heeded my words. “What have you done with the boy, Nathan’s brother?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
I clamp my hands together. How I hate that phrase! It tells me nothing, and indicates that to him, I’m dirt beneath his feet.
Through a doorway, I glimpse part of an ill-painted kitchen with cupboard doors hanging crooked on their hinges. Through another doorway nothing but a wall shows, perhaps part of an entry or hallway. There are no clues that tell me where this house is located. Or whether anyone else is around. “Where’s Karim?”
“He’s on his way here from The Bahamas. I’ve told him you’re in my possession.”
To him, I’m an object to be acquired. No surprise there. “And where exactly is ‘here’?”
He gives me a steely look. “An abandoned house where we will make our next batch of elixir. There’s no electricity available, but there’s gas for cooking and a well for water. The basement will work well for the preparations. I’ve already collected the subjects. All we need to do is wait for Karim to arrive.”
A chill settles into my bones. Subjects. The humans he plans to murder in order to utilize their life energies. If David is alive, I hope he isn’t one of the victims. It wouldn’t make much sense because his nine years won’t add much to the hundred-year total. I start to ask but shiver instead. It’s not Faruq I want to ask such things. “I loathe the idea of helping you make this horrid elixir, and I don’t like Karim drinking it.”
“It doesn’t matter what you loathe or dislike. I admit Karim is reluctant, but he’s more agreeable if I select drifters and riffraff who won’t be missed.” His eyes narrow. “Enough chit-chat. I need to know how you’ve been feeling. By chance, have you been more fatigued than usual since we unearthed you from the Arabian crypt and Bello claimed you?”
I stare. I’m not sure why he’d ask such a question. What does he know about my symptoms—does he know the reason behind them? A tiny flame of hope leaps up as I imagine for a brief moment that I won’t have the power to finalize his elixir. Although that wouldn’t be good news for my future with Karim.
Trying not to squirm, I gather my thoughts into a truthful yet not revealing reply. I can’t admit my powers are waning to the point of malfunctioning. If he discovers I’m useless, he’ll toss my bottle into the sea or bury it. I’ll never see Karim again.
My bottle, however, forces me into a bit of raw honesty. “I’m tired and my arms are sore, especially after I’ve conjured something.”
He frowns, his dark eyebrows shadowing his eyes. “Have you been spending a lot of time outside your bottle these past months or granting numerous difficult wishes?”
“Both.” I clamp my mouth against further confessions. It’s like resisting a cough with a strong tickle in my throat.
Faruq slams his fist onto the side table, making his cup wobble. I cringe and don’t dare breathe as he glares at the wall across the room. Should I ask how he knows these things? It’s vexing to act so submissively, but I must be careful not to anger him.
“Buffoons, all of them,” Faruq mutters. “You must be allowed to utilize the restorative properties of your bottle to keep your power at optimum levels. You’re a genie, not a human to be dressed up and paraded about for their whims.”
I gather my nerve, not certain I want it verified that my powers may be permanently failing. That I might be dying. “Will spending more time Inside restore my powers to normal?”
He gulps the rest of his drink. “It’s worth a try. Get back in there.”
It doesn’t sound like he knows for sure. But during the past few weeks, it has seemed to make less and less of a difference. I need to talk to Karim as soon as I can. “Will I see Karim when he arrives?” I ask while I’m still solid.
Faruq grimaces and flicks his hand as if I’m a fly to be swatted away. My question is sucked into the bottle with me, lost in the whirling smoke.
Inside, I pace like a chained tiger. My bottle has always been part-prison, part-haven to me, but at the moment it’s fully a prison. I struggle to calm my breathing and stay rational. Worrying will resolve nothing.
I’ve already collected the subjects.
Faruq’s words sear my mind as I kneel and bunch a pillow around my head. Three humans will die soon. As Faruq described the awful process long ago, the victims will drink an herbal mixture to make them drowsy and compliant. Their wrists will be sliced, their blood spilled into buckets until they’re nearing death. Ceramic bowls will collect the potent blood of their final moments. Following their death, before an hour has passed, the soul-precious blood samples must be combined and brought to me to seal. Once I clarify it into a mixture that resembles red wine, Faruq and Karim will each drink a goblet of it.
Karim and I have to act before these people are killed. We need to restrain his father, steal my bottle, or call the police. Something—anything. Together, we need to thwart this evil.
Until then, restorative sleep and rest are mandatory for me.
After many tortured thoughts and a few tears, I stretch out and drift off. Visions of Karim and red blood overlap with David’s frightened face. These warp into an image of Nathan standing in a meadow. A huge shadow hovers behind him, leaching out from the nearby trees. I run toward Nathan to catch his hand and drag him away before the shadow descends. I’m too late. The shadow engulfs him, dissolving his arms, his nose, his eyes…
The gong vibrates. I dredge myself from my dreams to land in the human realm, fuzzy-haired and rumpled. Wisps of my dream cling like cobwebs inside my head. Glowering, Faruq stands in the bleak room where I first appeared. Karim stands beside him looking hopeful.
“Fifteen minutes, no more,” Faruq says, and retreats into the kitchen.
I move forward as Karim does, until we’re almost touching. “Hello again, my love.”
He takes a careful survey of my face, clothing, and hair. “You look exhausted, Adeelah. Father tells me your masters have been keeping you from refreshing your powers.”
“That’s true. But I just finished resting for a few hours.”
“You’ve been resting all day. Father made me wait until evening to see you. He’s conserving your powers and won’t order you to fulfill any other wishes until after he makes the elixir.”
I frown. “Did you know he was going to seize my bottle before my last master and I had a chance to hand it over?”
“No. Father left The Bahamas, telling me he was investigating a lead about your female Kenyan master just in case you defaulted on your promise to hand yourself over. He said he’d call if he discovered anything.”
I’d wager Faruq was already heading for Oregon at that time. The lying jackal. My gaze settles on Karim’s eyes, and for a strange moment I feel unsettled, lopsided. For some reason, they aren’t blue-gray as I expect them to be. They’re deep brown. Heavens! I give myself a mental shake. This is Karim, not Nathan.
I try to refocus. “It would’ve been helpful if your father had told me about my bottle’s restorative properties from the start. I could’ve shared that information with my past masters.”
“I got the impression he didn’t learn those things until recently, but I’m not sure. He doesn’t tell me everything.”
“Your father enjoys keeping you in the dark. It makes you dependent on him.”
“I can’t deny that.” His muscular shoulders sag a trifle.
A deep longing washes over me. I wish I could hold him, to show him I care that he’s saddled with such a father.
The savory aroma of sizzling lamb, garlic, and onions drifts from the kitchen, along with a metallic clank of a pan or utensil. Meal preparations. I find it difficult to imagine Faruq doing such a menial task. “Your father is cooking?”
Karim nods. “Believe it or not, he enjoys it and he’s good at it. His Al Kabsa is outstanding.”
“I see.” He doesn’t give the impression of being someone who does anything other than oppress people and bend them to his will. While I stayed at Faruq’s estate, he often berated—and struck—his kitchen servants. At any rate, from Karim’s words I get the sense that he has spent a lot of time with his father. There’s a revolting notion. “Please tell me you haven’t been living with him the entire thousand years we’ve been apart,” I say.
