“I think I’d better go,” I said, eyes still locked with Samuel’s.
“Why don’t you stay for lunch?” Maven asked.
“I can’t. I’ve gotta get going. Nice meeting you, Samuel.”
“Same here.” He nodded, bending his head to one side, a small gesture that made the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end. His resemblance to Maven went as deep as their very mannerisms. I’d never met twin siblings before and didn’t like seeing Maven’s blue eyes and slightly skewed nose on someone else. The sight unsettled me, but I knew it had less to do with their eerie resemblance, than with my growing feelings of shame.
My own thoughts disgusted me. I didn’t want Maven or Samuel to read them on my face. I couldn’t stop thinking of Maven in that wheelchair, incapacitated, unable to join me on our morning runs, his body frail and somehow reduced. I hurried out of the house, embarrassed.
“Hey, wait up.” Maven followed me onto the front yard. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. It’s getting late. That’s all.”
“Where’s your car? Need a ride?”
“No. I walked. I’ll just go back home and get it.”
“I’ll walk with you, then,” he offered.
“No, thanks. I’ll see you later.” I started to turn, but he grabbed my arm.
“Are you mad at me or something?”
I extricated my arm and took a step back. My next words took me by surprise.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your brother? I can’t believe you didn’t even mention you’re twins.”
His eyes darkened. “What does that matter? I told you I had a brother. That’s all anyone needs to know.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. Why? Do you have a problem with him being my twin or the fact that he’s a paraplegic?” His tone carried a challenge.
“No. Of course not! It’s just . . . weird. I mean, those are important things. Why would you hide them?”
“Because he wants it that way.” He spoke firmly, punctuating his words with a sudden jerk of his thumb back toward his house. The rigid gesture startled me. I’d never seen him lose his cool before.
My mortification redoubled. Maven was just following his brother’s wishes. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. Clearly, I shouldn’t have . . .” I broke off. “Listen, I’d better go.”
I took a few backward steps, looking at the grass then at my friend. He didn’t try to stop me, stayed nailed on the spot by the weight of some giant frustration. After all, I hadn’t needed to ask what his wish would be. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to guess.
6
I had two hours before my meeting with the Djinn, but I drove to the nursery early, hoping work would clear my mind enough to figure out my wishes. My visit to Maven’s put things into perspective. Big time. And asking for a boatload of money would feel downright vile after meeting Samuel. If only Grandpa had told me what he had asked for.
Working frantically, I staked pots, swept, watered, restocked, but it didn’t help. All I managed to do was become more obsessed with finding out Grandpa’s wishes. Knowing what they were would help me. I just knew it.
Finally tired and thirsty, I looked at my watch and realized I only had thirty minutes before Faris showed up. Worse yet, I still didn’t know what to do. I cursed, wishing I didn’t have to rush things.
After a quick shower, I sat in the office, a water bottle nestled between my legs. My watch read two o’clock sharp. I stared at the door. The window unit hummed, making it impossible to hear anything else. A sudden knock on the door made me jump. The water bottle fell and spilled some of it contents. I picked it up, hand shaking.
“Who is it?” A stupid question.
No answer.
After a few beats—with me squeezing the bottle to a near pulp, spilling water all over—the door opened. I did a double take. Who in the world was this? A fashion model? The man who stepped in wore ripped jeans and a charcoal button-down shirt, carelessly rolled up to the elbows. A pair of sunglasses hung from the V the shirt formed on his chest. Wide metal bracelets squeezed his wrists, making the veins in his hands pop out. Every accessory and piece of clothing was simple, but of a high-end origin. My heart raced with more than just apprehension.
“I knocked out of mere courtesy,” Faris said. “I knew you waited for me.” He smiled and raked a hand through silky black hair. The gel shine was gone, and the new style, though natural in appearance, looked anything but accidental. I was speechless.
“I have to keep up with the times, you know?” he said, noticing my reaction. He walked further into the office and stared at the puddle of water at my feet.
Trying to hide my shock, I tore a handful of paper towels from the kitchenette and knelt by the puddle. Setting the paper down, I waited for it to absorb the water.
Nothing happened. The water was already gone.
My world tipped upside down, the laws of physics going kaput.
“Done,” he announced.
I sprang to my feet. “Don’t do that! Don’t mess with me like that!”
“I am not. I simply tried to help.”
“Well, don’t.”
“Really . . . ?” he asked, stretching the word. “You don’t want me to help?”
I hated him for teasing me. “As a matter of fact, I think I’m ready for your brand of help.” A lie I suspected would have an effect on him.
His smirk disappeared.
Jackpot! The idea of being dismissed upset him. Scared him even. Good. No better time to get some answers.
“I need you to tell me my grandfather’s wishes and why you erased yourself from his pictures.” I pointed at the wall.
He raised an eyebrow, appraising me.
I dug in my bag, pulled out the photo I’d found in Grandpa’s album and threw it on the desk. “What? You thought I wouldn’t notice? Well, I did, and now I want an answer.” I got ready for a denial, a lie.
He spoke with resignation. “Because you didn’t seem to recognize me, and I thought it would be better to start with a clean slate.”
The honest response surprised me and made me angrier for some reason. “So you just erased yourself?”
“Yes.” He looked at the wall. “In the end, Arthur wasn’t very . . . happy with me. He had no right to keep my picture.” He smiled, as if he’d made a clever joke, but didn’t look amused. He walked to the kitchenette and sat on the counter, letting his feet dangle.
His honesty baffled me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked. “Did you think I would lie?”
Could he actually read my mind?
“Well, I won’t,” he said. “Not that it wouldn’t suit me. But I can’t lie to you.”
“He will say anything to get you to trust him,” Grandpa’s voice echoed in my head.
“You can’t?”
He shook his head.
“Why not?”
“Part of the . . . package.” He smoothed his shirt’s collar and added, “This Louisiana humidity is dreadful.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s upsetting my clothes.”
I gave him a don’t-play-the-fool look. He’d said he had nothing to do with the strange things that happened to me before I released him and, if there was ever a lie, that was the one. He’d wanted to procure the blood that would release him. Of course he could lie. He was deluded if he thought I’d believe such a crock. Grandpa warned me enough about his trickery.
“Why was Grandpa mad at you?” I asked instead of arguing.
“I’d rather not say.”
“So much for not lying.”
“It’s not the same as not telling you everything.” His dark eyes sparkled with amusement.
“I see, so you’re left with omitting details and twisting the truth.” I gave a hollow laugh.
Faris’s eyes turned that inscrutable shade of black. “I’ll be as honest as I possibly can.”
I turned my ba
ck on him, trying to escape his intense gaze. I took a deep breath and counted slowly to five. Spotting the picture on the desk, I picked it up and shoved it in his direction.
“It doesn’t look as if he’s mad at you. Y’all look like old buddies, if you ask me.” I didn’t know who I hated more at that moment, Faris or Grandpa.
“We were . . . at first,” he said, eyes growing darker still. He hopped off the counter and paced in front of the small sink. “Maybe we should concentrate on the present.”
He stopped and stared at the floor, jaw muscles twitching. For an instant, he appeared weary, and his tired expression reminded me of how Grandpa looked sometimes, old and beaten down by the weight of things I couldn’t begin to imagine. Then the moment passed, and his I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude returned.
“The present is so much more pleasant.” He smiled seductively.
I looked away, determined not to lose my train of thought. “Okay. Then answer this, why have you been stalking me? Is that present enough for you?”
“Stalking you? I don’t know what you’re referring to.” I looked back at him. Faris’s features remained steady, no hint of hesitation in them.
Had the crows and that cat been nothing more than my paranoia?
“What gave you the idea I would want to stalk you?” he asked, an eyebrow raised in a teasing arch.
Bastard! So full of himself. Biting the inside of my cheek, I managed not to take his bait. I crossed my arms.
“Things will go a lot smoother if you trust me, Marielle. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.” His expression was open and his tone frank, tempting me to fall for it.
“Really?” I stretched the word out and topped it with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Unless I count Grandpa’s warning not to trust you, that is.”
He flinched as if the words stung. “Maybe we should start anew?”
“That’ll never happen, especially when you don’t play nice and tell me what I want to know.” I had to end this—even if I didn’t have the right wishes. “Listen, I think I’ll just—”
Faris watched me closely, scrutinizing my face as if to count every tiny freckle. “If . . .” he interrupted, speaking loud enough to drown out my thoughts, “I answer your questions, will you trust me?” He smiled his most devastating smile.
Damn, he was charming! His lips, the dark hue of his eyes, his light then intense moments, all chipped away at my resolve. I could feel it. A memory of Jeremy sweet-talking into my ear suddenly came to me. My stomach twisted. I knew I should cut Faris short. But in the end, I found myself yielding.
“Maybe . . . if you tell me Grandpa’s wishes,” I said.
“The word maybe isn’t very encouraging, but it’s better than nothing. I’ll warn you, it would probably be best not to concern yourself with the past. You may not like what you uncover.”
His ominous tone made me nervous, but even more curious. “What? Is this a story of murder and betrayal?” I joked.
“Not the part that concerns Arthur.” He smiled tiredly. “Ask at will.”
“Okay. So why was Grandpa mad at you?”
“He thought I wanted to keep him from making his last wish.”
“Were you?” I asked.
Faris nodded.
“Why?”
“Is it so hard to imagine? To fathom the agony of imprisonment, of loneliness?” he asked, averting his eyes for a fraction of a second. “But I suppose it would be impossible to fully comprehend.”
I considered the concept for the first time. Since the moment I’d released him, the stupid wishes and how to find their perfect combination had been my most pressing concern. Not to mention my worries about the nursery, Robert returning, and Grandpa’s death. Of course, I’d had no time to consider the Djinn’s existence.
He gave an audible sigh. I tried not to feel embarrassed. I didn’t owe him anything—not even common decency, right?
His hands hung slack at his sides as if tired from a long journey. His face seemed impassive, but looking closer, I could see the pain. Bee-stung lips parted in a sad smile. I looked into his deep, brown eyes and—for the first time—really saw him. Not his handsome face and impish smile, but him. He looked much too human, vulnerable and troubled.
Startled by the realization, I faced the desk and fumbled for the orders I needed to fax. The whole questioning thing had been a bad idea. I needed to stop. I had enough problems of my own without having to worry about the poor Djinn. Who was he, anyway? What did it mean to be Djinn? And to live . . . trapped inside a stone?
“Where are my damn orders?” I snapped.
“Is this what you’re looking for?” Faris appeared right behind me, a piece of paper between his fingers.
I jumped. “You gotta stop doing all that . . . magic stuff. It’s freaking me out!”
“All right, I’ll stop.” He placed the sheet back in the fax machine, held his hands up in a pacifying gesture and sat back on the kitchen counter.
I dialed the supplier’s number. Unable to help myself, I asked, “So . . . after Grandpa’s third wish, you had to return to the stone, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you couldn’t come out until . . . he died?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Silence weighed heavily in the air for a few seconds. I punched the send button. “What is it like? Being a Djinn?” I had to ask.
The fax machine beeped and squeaked as paper rolled in and out of it. I waited for his answer. None came. The longer he remained quiet, the more I wanted to know, even if the question felt like an invasion of his privacy. I mustered the courage to face him and found him staring at his hands. He looked lost.
“Um, you don’t have to tell me,” I said in a quick stream of words, then grabbed the processed sheet, hurried to the big metal cabinet and thumbed for the right place to file it.
“Utter pain,” he said in a barely audible whisper.
My fingers froze.
“Every second of every day I know I’m a prisoner. There’s no sleep. No reprieve.”
I stared at the army-green hanging folders.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Why did I have to ask? I didn’t need to know what an awful nightmare he had to live through. I didn’t need to feel even a tiny bit of sympathy for him.
“Then one day,” he continued, voice low and distant, “without warning, I’m released, just to be tortured further. The world comes into focus, and I’m given a glimpse of the greatest banquet. A mad feast where I’m the only one not allowed a taste, not even a tiny sip. I’m starving for life, and I can’t have it.”
I hurriedly stuffed the paper into the wrong folder. It irked me, but I couldn’t think straight, much less alphabetically. He blinked as if in slow motion, his perfect nose pointing to the floor. He shook his head and our eyes met. I forced myself to hold his gaze. A bud of pity formed in my chest, even as I fought it. Suddenly, I felt like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I was planning to make three wishes that would condemn him back to an awful prison. It was twisted.
“So . . . what would happen if . . . someone only made two wishes?” Grandpa was probably turning in his grave right about now. I’d ignored his advice to act quickly, and now I was actually thinking about giving away one of my wishes. I examined Faris’s face for a reaction. I expected a spark of interest at the suggestion, but he just shrugged.
“I would be able to stay until my master . . .” he looked at me pointedly, “. . . dies. Then it’s back to prison.” He made a big sucking sound and laughed in a single unamused grunt.
“I’m not your master and I’m not dying anytime soon.”
“Time is relative. ‘Not anytime soon’ is soon enough for me. I’ve been around for a while.” He sighed again. “But enough about me.” He got off the counter, approached, and stopped a mere two paces from me. My personal space felt invaded, yet I held my ground. He rattled me, but I wasn’t about to show him how much.
Every hair on my skin stood on end as if an ele
ctrical force-field surrounded him. He rubbed his arm, a bewildered expression on his face.
“I told you to quit with the magic tricks,” I protested.
“Uh, I didn’t . . . .” He exhaled as if having difficulty breathing.
My chills redoubled, and I took a step back. Stop it, I almost whined, but he looked like a lost child, clueless and innocent.
“You?” he said in a hot puff of breath, looking as if he’d just discovered something.
“What?”
He shook himself, then smiled ruggedly. He sure could change moods in a heartbeat.
“What do you say we leave this place and continue this interrogation elsewhere?” he asked with the kind of charm I’d only heard coming from heartthrobs on the big screen. The fresh scent of mint and exotic species reached my nostrils. “We could go do something fun. Maybe get better acquainted over dinner.”
What?! Dinner?
“We could go anywhere you wish,” he said.
My defenses went up, spring loaded.
“No,” he said. “I’m sorry. Not wish. Wrong word. Don’t get feisty again. You’d think I would have learned by now,” he chided himself. “We can go anywhere you want.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” My words came out in rapid fire.
He appeared frustrated. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?” I bristled like an injured cat.
“Defensive. Suspicious. Stuffy.”
I spun around and took the keys out of my pocket. “Rightfully so.” I walked to the door.
“Wait, where are you going?”
“Home.”
“What about dinner?”
“I can take care of my own dinner.” I opened the door and extended a hand, inviting him to get out. “I need to lock up.”
He shuffled past, hands stuffed into his pockets. I exited the nursery, highly aware of my wish-making failure and heightened confusion.
He followed close behind. “What do you want me to do, Master? Or should it be Mistress?” he wondered. “I’ve never been at the service of a woman before.”
“I’m not your master. Or your mistress.” I winced. My neck and cheeks felt flushed. “Just get in the car. I’m not done with my questions and you still haven’t told me Grandpa’s wishes. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
One Wish Away (Djinn Empire Book 1) Page 5
