by Judi Fennell
Vana couldn’t say a word. Being a part of his family had so many possibilities that she couldn’t get her hopes up. She was, after all, the woman who’d slept with him then made him forget it.
“Merlin explained it, Vana, what saying you loved me cost you. I know you can never say the words to me again, but—”
“No, Zane, that’s not true.”
“You don’t love me?”
“No, not that. It’s not true that I can’t say the words. I do love you, Zane.”
“But what about your magic and your immortality?”
“I don’t have any magic left to lose.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Look where we are.” She swept her hands around the room. “We’re not back in my third-floor bedroom. We’re in my bottle and everything that happened has still happened. The Fates didn’t send me back to that first night. This isn’t a do-over. Remember when you said that you have one shot at life, that it doesn’t come with do-overs? They gave me the option of traveling back to that night and reweaving our Life Threads so I could not say those words and keep my magic. But I didn’t take them up on it, Zane. I elected to move forward with you. Without my magic.”
He stared at her.
She took a step closer. “I’m not that person that they tried to make me be. I’m not cut out for The Service. Peter knew it. That’s why he never asked anything of me. Remember, he didn’t have a big family. That’s why he went around the globe picking up others who were as alone as he was. Those children? He so badly wanted me to be able to free them. That’s why he sent me to my bottle that day—he didn’t want any setbacks, and when the bear showed up and the stairs disappeared, well, he wasn’t worried about what other people said. He was worried I’d get discouraged.”
“But you won’t be able to turn the children back without your magic.”
“But DeeDee can and she’s promised to do it.”
“Then how about if they come live with us?”
“With… us?” Vana didn’t know which to react to first. “Children?”
Zane tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’re going to need a family, and you and I both want one, right?”
“But how? Your condo isn’t going to hold all of them.”
“This house will.”
“This house… What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I’m turning down the contract offer and the network job.”
“But—”
“Hear me out.” He put his fingers on her lips, and Vana had to restrain herself from kissing them. “I’ve had a surprising number of opportunities open up to me since we were together, and one of them is to teach. Here. At the high school. Coach, too.”
“But is that what you want, Zane?”
“What I want is you, Vana. I want you.” He tilted her face up. “I love you. Your kindness and your generosity. The way you think of others and fight so ferociously for them. I love that about you. I’m not so fond of the time-travel thing, but I guess that’s no longer an issue.”
She shook her head. “I only did it to—”
“I understand why you did it. And I can’t say I blame you. But that’s behind us now. In the past where it should stay and never be revisited. I want a future with you. You said you can’t take me to the future with your magic, but what about without it? Will you be my future, Vana? Will you marry me and let me love you? Will you love me back? Make a home with me? Raise the children—ours, the dishes, maybe even adopt a few? The children need us, Vana. And I need you.” He gathered her hands in his, raised them to his lips, and kissed them. “I love you.”
“Oh, Zane, of course I will. I love you, you know.”
“I do. How could I not? It’s not every day a man has someone give up all the magic in the world for him.”
“But I didn’t, Zane.”
“But you said—”
“I don’t mean genie magic. I don’t need genie magic. I only need this. The magic of being in your arms. With that kind of magic, anything is possible.”
Zane was lowering his head, her lips a whisper away, when a chartreuse beak poked between them.
“Uh, hello? You two lovebirds might want to hold off on the smoochie stuff for a few more minutes.”
Merlin was in the house. Er, bottle.
“Stuffed and roasted, bird.”
“Geez, you two really have no sense of humor.” He eyed the two of them. “Of course, I guess that’s understandable with the way you’re wrapped around each other.”
“Merlin, is there something you need?” asked Vana.
“Ah, such a leading question, Van.” Merlin sighed, then whipped two things out from behind his back.
The first was a bottle of champagne. “Courtesy of Clotho. You’re able to drink it now, you know, Van. Clotho said to tell you she’s on Mount Damavand toasting the fact that you’ll never interfere with her weaving again. And, this,” he held out a wrapped gift box, “is from your sister. You might want to open it.”
Vana took it from him and lifted the lid. “My gemstone!” The pink tourmaline had been set in a platinum setting.
“She thought you’d like to have this as a keepsake since you can’t use your magic anymore. Oh, and whenever you’re ready, it’ll transport you out of the bottle. But no hurry. There’s going to be a party going on out there. But no worries, you two. I know how to behave myself. So do the kids. Henry will keep the bottle all locked up, and Eirik will thump three times on the ceiling when the coast is clear. So, hang out, relax, whatever.” Merlin waggled his eyebrows. “Try to have some fun this time, will ya?”
“Get lost, bird.” Zane pointed to the bottle’s opening.
“Yeah, I figured that’s what you’d say.” Merlin sighed. “Seriously, you guys are no fun at all.” He disappeared in a puff of gold flames.
Zane took the ring from the box and slid it onto Vana’s finger—the third one on her left hand. Where it belonged. “Merlin doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Vana. I think you’re a lot of fun.” He kissed her fingers. “Speaking of… what do you say about doing as he said?”
She led him over to the bed. “I say, your wish is my command.”
Epilogue
“Check and mate.” Peter slid his knight to queen seven, then sat back and intertwined his fingers on his chest while the High Master stared at the board in consternation. “That’s 12,043 to 11,675. You’re catching up, Adham.”
The High Master sighed and whisked the chessboard onto the shelf behind him with a twitch of his finger. “I swear, Peter, if you hadn’t been such a good friend to those be-wished individuals, not only wouldn’t I have entertained your idea of Vana and Zane together, but I would have sent you to your kind’s version of the Hereafter as soon as you’d gone into the Light.”
“Then who’d give you a good game of chess? Every genie here is scared to cross you.”
The High Master chuckled. “True. Who would have thought a mortal would keep me in check?”
“Twelve thousand and forty-three times.”
The High Master raised his glass of mint tea. “So, my friend, those ideas I directed to the team owner, the superintendent, and the network guy worked out rather well, wouldn’t you say? Are you pleased with the way things have worked out for your great-grandson?”
“Pleased?” said Peter. “I’m thrilled. Vana was like a daughter to me. I couldn’t be happier. But aren’t you upset that she’s lost her powers? Did you foresee that happening when you put Zane in her bottle?”
The High Master grinned slyly over the rim of his glass. “Lost them? If something is lost that implies it can be found. A very interesting premise when it comes to genies.”
“I’m not following you, Adham.”
“Just because you beat me seven times in a row does not mean you are the only master chess player here. “
Peter acknowledged the truth of Adham’s statement with a toast of his own drink. “So what are you saying,
exactly?”
“As Vana said to Zane, everyone has magic inside them. It’s just a matter of tapping into it. And who but a genie to teach someone how to find the magic? I believe their daughter is the perfect candidate.”
Peter spit out his tea. “Daughter? Why, no Harrison has had a daughter in two hundred years.”
“Zane will be the first. And Vana will help her realize her full potential. Her full magical potential. By her second birthday, every one of those other be-wished individuals will be back to themselves.”
“You mean, Henry and Fatima—”
“And all the rest. Including the gargoyles. They’ll all be just fine.”
Peter couldn’t speak.
Especially when Adham added the final zinger. “Oh, and they’re going to name her Petra.”
The End
النهايه
From Judi
Djinn are religious figures in Islam, and while I tried to incorporate that history and culture into my world-building, this story is based more on U.S. pop-culture references. No disrespect or insult to anyone’s beliefs is intended.
Nor was there any insult or disrespect intended toward the Grimm brothers and their legacy, but sometimes Merlin doesn’t know when to shut up. Honestly, the bird just gets so full of himself sometimes.
Thank you!
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Keep on reading for Jolie and Todd’s story in the Once-Upon-A-Time Romance series, Beauty and The Best.
Beauty and The Best, Copyright 2012 Judi Fennell
Cover by Kimberly Van Meter
Interior layout by www.formatting4U.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author. Please contact the author at [email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
For more information on the author and her works, please see www.JudiFennell.com
Published by Mergenie Books
Chapter One
There’s a naked man in my kitchen.
The thought registered just as the terse, “Who the hell are you?” had Jolie Gardener spinning around faster than a figure skater on speed.
He had the nerve to ask this? He of the broad shoulders, six-pack abs, and other, nice, um, parts...
Really. A naked man. In her kitchen.
Well, technically, she was in a naked man’s kitchen. Even more technically, she was in a naked Todd Best’s kitchen—and there wasn’t one hint of self-consciousness or embarrassment on his part.
Of course with that body, there shouldn’t be. The guy should flaunt his nudity for the world to see. Which, at present, consisted of one single, solitary person: Jolie Gardener, aspiring writer and personal chef extraordinaire.
“Well?” His hands slammed to his hips.
“You’re naked,” she squeaked, which, really, was the only way to state that kind of obvious.
“I’m what?” Mr. Six-Pack Abs glanced down.
Jolie tried not to—so unsuccessfully it was pitiful.
“Shit,” he muttered. “I am. I, uh, fell asleep last night…”
As butter sizzled in the new super-slick omelet pan on the top-of-the-line range, Jolie’s gaze alternated between some rock-hard abs and a scruffy eight a.m. shadow while her fingers danced along the speckled granite countertop in search of a napkin, placemat, oven mitt… something.
Mercifully, they scooped up a thick dishtowel that, in her world, would constitute a very plush, very luxurious hand towel from The Ritz or The Four Seasons, but which, here, apparently, was used to soak up water from designer flatware. She dangled it in the direction of Mr. Au Naturel. “Here.”
He placed an empty bottle of Jim Beam on the island countertop with a clink, then took the towel with a grunt. “So, who are you, what are you doing in my kitchen, and would you mind turning around?”
She turned. “I’m the new girl the agency sent over.”
“Hell. There better be some aspirin left,” he muttered beside her, his bare (of course) feet making no sound on the limestone floor.
She peeked over at him.
His eyebrow soared skyward.
Right.
She turned back to the sizzling butter. Which had started to burn. Sigh.
He rummaged around in one of the drawers as she carried the pan to the sink. Trying to impress the new boss on her first day with his favorite omelet ranchero and she burned the butter. Not good, but then, it wasn’t exactly her fault because nowhere in those papers she’d signed with her employment agency, Domestic Gods & Goddesses, was mention made of an optional dress code. And she didn’t care how much they were paying her, nudity did tend to throw one off. As for the alcohol-before-breakfast debacle, she wasn’t even going to address that. His rudeness said it all.
And here, she’d been worried about making a good impression on him.
A click of plastic bottle cap followed by a shake of the bottle, the fridge opening, a gulp, then Naked Guy sighing punctuated the silence before she turned on the faucet. She cleaned out the pan, all the while the Naughty Girl side of her brain screaming, “Turn around!” with the other, Jolie side, going, “You want to keep this job?”
Self-preservation being the backbone of her existence since being dumped into the foster care system, she decided to listen to the Jolie side—no matter how much groaning Naughty Girl did.
Naughty Girl, however, couldn’t resist a peek, and was rewarded with a swish of his longish golden hair, a flex of his well-defined arm, and an accompanying sizzle to her own nerve endings.
So not good. Jolie had known he was a hunk before she accepted this position. Had had quite the crush on him, too. How could she not? The guy had been plastered all over every magazine in the country for years, most especially here in his hometown.
Todd Best. The Best, as the media had dubbed him. And rightfully so. The man’s landscape paintings were hanging in every high-end hotel, public library, and courtroom in the country. Even the White House, for Pete’s sake. Not that she had an eye for art, but when a painting looked like the scene down the road and made her think she was standing there, feeling the leaves rustling by, smelling the fresh cut grass, hearing the birds singing in the trees and the ducks quacking on the pond, the whole set-up, that, to her, was talent.
And, of course, there’d been his fairytale marriage. But then, sadly, his wife had died suddenly and he’d moved out of their home, turned the reins of his company over to his brother, and put down his paint brushes.
Yes, Jolie had known exactly who she’d be working for. That’d been half the incentive.
“So, new girl, do you have a name? And what are you doing here today?”
Since he was talking, she assumed it was safe to turn around.
The old adage about making an “ASS out of U and ME” proved true.
Although he was the one with the A-S-S. And what a nice one it was. As was the muscled shoulder leaning against the stainless steel of the microwave above the stove, and the ninety-degree jut of his jaw line,
the sculpted cheekbones, a perfectly proportioned brow, the fall of hair over his forehead…
She tore her gaze away from the visual smorgasbord and, traitors that they were, her eyes headed south.
Thank goodness he had the dish towel spread across his nether regions like a loincloth. But a hot guy in a loincloth was just as distracting as a naked hot guy. And she’d seen him in both. Or not in both. Whatever.
She ordered her eyes back on the pan. “Um yes, I do have a name, and as to what I’m doing here, I think that’s obvious—burning the butter for your morning omelet.” She raised the pan to illustrate and managed a quick push with her hip to get him to back away from the stove so she could start cooking again, praying all the while she wasn’t hitting something vital.
Luckily, the guy had quick reflexes—or a good hunch—’cause he stepped out of the way before her hip came anywhere close to anything important, saving them the extreme embarrassment of that.
“How’d you get in?” Mr. Clothing-Optional asked.
Okay, what was the protocol here? How long did one actually have to converse with a buck-naked human being before someone said something about it? Or did a strategically placed dishtowel negate all observances of nudity?
“Look, um, Mister.” What did one call their bare boss? Todd? Sir? Big guy? “How ’bout you go freshen up a bit and I’ll make breakfast. We can have our chat when we’re both, um, well, prepared for the day. ’Kay?”
“Fine. I’ll get dressed. Then we’ll talk.”
“You do that.”
As he sauntered—okay, maybe that was her overactive imagination, because could one really saunter with a Jim Beam-sized hangover?—from the fourteen-foot-ceiling kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances that looked as if they’d come out of their packing boxes yesterday, so stainless steel shiny she could have used them as a mirror to fix her lipstick—if she’d worn lipstick—and she inhaled enough oxygen to jump-start primordial ooze.
