“Sounds like a master to me,” he mumbled as he got in the car.
I bit my tongue and, this time, thought before speaking. “What did you do all day today?”
“We don’t need to drive, you know? I could transport you anywhere you like.”
The idea of being transported, whatever that meant, made my insides twist. “I’d rather drive. And stop avoiding my question. What did you do all day today?”
“Acquainted myself with your time. It’s been almost twenty years since I last saw the world. I must say, I’m disappointed. Not much has changed.”
Every time he opened his mouth to say something, a thousand more questions sprouted inside my head. In what other times had he lived? How old was he? Were there other Djinn? On and on. I started the car, fighting hard not to go off on a tangent.
“So you didn’t turn into a crow or a black cat to stalk me?” I figured directness was the best approach.
“Pardon me?” His head snapped in my direction.
I returned his gaze and noticed his startled expression. “Caught ya!”
“I didn’t do that. I already told you,” he said, sounding even more serious and emphatic than before.
I pulled out of the parking lot and checked the power lines. No crows in sight. Probably because he was with me in the car. “What is it you’re hiding, then?” I asked.
Faris looked straight ahead and answered. “Maybe you’re just imagining things.”
For a couple of miles, I didn’t say anything, then decided to press him. “But you can do that, right? Turn into animals?”
He answered without preamble. “Yes, I can. But I didn’t do it. I promised I would leave you alone, and I did.”
“So why did my question surprise you? There must be a reason.”
“Uh, well, it seems to me you’re exhibiting some serious paranoia, and that’s worrisome.” He chuckled but didn’t seem very amused.
I glared at him, and, as we drove through the streets of New Orleans, I felt it in my bones.
He was hiding something.
7
I parked by my house and got out of the car, looking around for crows and cats. Nothing.
“Lost something?” Faris asked, leaning lazily on the hood of the car.
“Yeah, my sanity,” I mumbled. I gave him the nastiest glare I could muster, then stomped toward the house. My pace slowed down when I noticed Maven walking our way. I cringed. Now I had to explain away the Djinn. Great!
“Hey.” Maven said, his expression guarded as he gave Faris the once-over.
“Hello,” I said. “Um, this is Faris . . .” Both of them waited for more. Faris looked amused and Maven expectant. I didn’t even try. “And Faris, this is Maven.”
Faris extended his hand. Maven shook it briefly, then said, “I’m sorry, Marielle. I didn’t realize you had company. We’ll catch up later.”
I wanted to talk to Maven, but I wasn’t done with Faris.
“Run tomorrow?” I asked, shyly.
“Sure.” He walked away without a backward glance.
“A suitor?” Faris asked once Maven was out of earshot.
“No!” I snapped.
“You’re a bad liar.”
I ignored him and climbed the porch steps. After I opened the door, I expected him to follow, but he stayed behind, eyes on the ratty rose bushes.
“I remember the day Eloise planted those.” He smiled, the same infinite sadness clouding his manner once more. “That was one of your grandfather’s wishes, a gift for his wife.”
A breath caught in my throat. I waited for more.
“‘A green thumb’, Arthur said, ‘Give my wife a green thumb’,” he paused and gave me a meek smile. “Eloise loved plants.”
Tears pricked the back of my eyes. “That’s why they all withered.” Understanding dawned on me. “That’s why the nursery hasn’t been the same since she . . .” My voiced wavered. I walked inside and collapsed on the sofa.
Faris followed, closed the door and appraised the living room. “It looks the same,” he whispered, more to himself than to me.
“What else did Grandpa ask for? Obviously, not money,” I muttered.
“No, he didn’t ask for money. He was a good man. The only good master I’ve had. Almost made me believe in humankind again. May I sit?” He gestured toward the armchair.
“You may do whatever you like. I’m not your master,” I said.
He sat. “Even if it makes you uncomfortable, I’m your slave. Such are the terms of my imprisonment.”
The words made me feel dirty and low. “It’s not my fault you’re—”
“No, it isn’t, but that doesn’t change anything. Not for me.” He ran his hands down his thighs, leaned forward and picked up a small wooden box from the coffee table. He opened it and took out one of the darts that rested inside.
“I gave these to Arthur.” He looked up at the round board on the opposite wall, absently twisting the dart between his thumb and index fingers.
Annoyed at his familiarity with things I would have never suspected, I snatched the dart from his hand and threw it at the board. It hit the bullseye.
“Nice shot.” Faris sounded impressed. “Arthur must have taught you all his tricks.”
“No, I’m a natural,” I said sarcastically, though it was true.
After an awkward pause, he continued. “Arthur’s second wish wasn’t for himself either.”
I groaned inwardly. Great. I felt lower and more selfish by the minute.
“Who was it for?” I squeaked.
“The woman across the street. Geraldine Vance.”
“Mrs. Vance?! What was the wish?”
“A wish well spent, I would say, since she’s still alive. She must be beyond her eightieth birthday by now.”
“Yeah, she’s ancient,” I blurted out, then cringed at how juvenile that sounded.
“And what does that make me?” Faris asked.
“Antediluvian.” I refused to show my embarrassment.
“Certainly.” He nodded as if that was the perfect word to describe him.
Was he that old? I suddenly felt inadequate and totally immature.
“Geraldine had terminal cancer,” he continued. “Her husband, Larry, was Arthur’s friend. Your grandfather couldn’t conceive the idea of losing his own wife, and knew Larry wouldn’t make it without Geraldine. Her recovery was dubbed a miracle.”
“I remember Larry.” I could still picture the two old men sitting on the porch, drinking Abita Beer and arguing about the Saints. Now I could understand why Grandpa never shared his wishes. They really weren’t his to share. “What was his last wish?”
“That . . .” Faris said, standing and moving into the kitchen, “I’d rather not reveal at the moment.”
“What?! Why? You promised.” I followed him.
“If Arthur had wanted you to know he would have told you himself.” He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Coke.
“You told me the others,” I pointed out, snatching the drink out of his hand.
He shrugged.
“Why can’t you tell me? What did it . . . ?” My mind flew through the possible reasons, and then it hit me. “It has something to do with my parents, doesn’t it?”
Faris’s expression was neutral.
“You gotta tell me,” I commanded.
He didn’t argue. In fact, he said nothing at all.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll send you away!”
Hurt flashed in his eyes. He turned and averted his gaze. I regretted the threat immediately.
“I . . . I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean that. That was . . . uncalled for and childish.” I pulled out a glass from the cupboard and filled it with ice from the freezer. The Coke frothed as I poured it. “There.” I put the drink on the table as a peace offering. “I didn’t know your kind drank sodas,” I tried to joke.
He sat next to the drink and stared at it. “My kind,” he said with a short, derisive laugh.
I wanted to hide inside the fridge, but at the same time, I was defiant. I wasn’t even supposed to trust him, and here I was, alone with him, hanging on his every word. I deserved some credit.
“I know this must be hard for you, and, all things considered, you’re handling my presence very well,” Faris said.
Could he really not read minds? His insight made me uncomfortable, so I busied myself with pouring another drink. “That’s kind of condescending.”
“I’ll make you a new promise,” he said. “I will tell you Arthur’s last wish when the time is right.”
I slammed the refrigerator door, turned around and waved the Coke can in the air. “When the time is right?! That’s probably like the Djinn way of saying never. You’ve got eternity to decide when the time is right. I don’t have that luxury.”
“I’m not trying to trick you, Marielle. You will decide the right time. My only condition is that you don’t ask me until you are ready to . . . make your last wish.” His last few words sounded tortured like he was some kind of death row prisoner stating his final request.
Grinding my teeth in frustration, I popped the can top. Coke shot up and sprayed my shirt. I cursed—not so much for the mess, but for the way he kept roping me in, making me feel sorry for him.
I was letting him ensnare me, just like I’d let Jeremy. When we started dating, he immediately tried to manipulate me into sleeping with him. Against my better sense, I continued dating him because he pretended to be sweet. Things got as far as they did only because I let them. I allowed Jeremy to get me into bed. And if he, a teenage brat, had taken advantage of me, what could this timeless creature do?
“That will leave a stain,” Faris said. “I can make it go away . . . if you’d like.”
“No!” I ran a kitchen towel under some water and dabbed angrily at my shirt. “I can take care of it myself. I got along just fine before you showed up.”
“You could have fooled me.”
I turned, body rigid and arms stiff at my sides. He took a sweeping glance down the length of my body and smiled, looking quite amused. I suddenly felt like a cross two-year-old.
I willed myself to relax. “What is that comment supposed to mean?”
“Well, it seems to me, something . . . troubles you.”
“No kidding. My grandfather died and he left me a very annoying inheritance.”
“I think there’s more,” he said in an analytical tone.
Feeling like an open book, I closed in on myself, hugging my chest tightly. Yes, there was more. “Well, I suppose mind reading is one of your evil powers.”
“I’m not evil, Marielle.” He sounded sad. “And no, I cannot read your mind, but I’ve lived long enough, even if only in short spurts, and sometimes my experience lets me see beyond the apparent. You let things weigh you down. You’re much too young for those frown lines.” He ran a finger across his forehead. “And your eyes are too . . . beautiful for the distrust they hold.”
The way he emphasized the word “beautiful” took me by surprise. Not to mention how he looked straight into my eyes as he said it, and how my body responded with a light tingling sensation down my back. As much as his comment distracted me, though, I was still unable to escape the truth behind his words. No, I didn’t trust people. Yes, I’d lost faith in mankind. And why not? Jeremy, Mom, Robert, Grandpa, they’d all abandoned me one way or another.
“Like I told you, I get along just fine.” I fought back tears.
“No one should have to just get along,” he said in a warm tone. “You can trust me.”
Again an image of Jeremy popped in my mind. I could hear his voice, echoing inside my head. “You can trust me, Marielle,” a whisper in my ear as he slipped a hand under my shirt and I tried to pull it out between nervous giggles. “I’ll respect your boundaries, Babe. Just give me a tiny taste.” I shuddered at the memory.
I couldn’t trust him, couldn’t let the Djinn entangle me in whatever scheme he had going on. Besides, he had no right to rummage inside my soul, had no right to find the hidden passage. I had to end this. Now!
“I’m ready for my first wish.” I hardened my tone and clenched my jaw.
Faris stood, his features unreadable, betraying none of the hurt I’d hoped to see. “Your wish . . . is my command.”
I hesitated, doubt sinking its claws into me. “I . . . I want to be rich.”
“You must say ‘I wish’ to make it . . . official.” His jaw muscles jumped and his eyes darkened with something like resentment and disappointment.
“I w- . . . I wi-” I couldn’t make myself say it.
Forget the fact that I didn’t know how specific the wish should be. Would saying “I wish to be rich” be enough? What would that translate into, exactly? Would a bundle of unmarked dollar bills appear at my feet? Or maybe gold? If gold, how would I sell it? Would someone start asking questions if I took too many trips to the pawn shop? Maybe, I needed to be more specific, like, “I wish for a fifty million dollar Swiss bank account that is one hundred percent legit.” But what if I landed in jail for tax evasion or something I couldn’t foresee? It might have been alright to ask for piles of money when the IRS and credit bureaus didn’t exist. But with my entire financial history searchable online, things got more complicated. I had a feeling that if I wanted to become rich this way, I’d have to plan things better.
Then there was Grandpa’s advice not to be greedy—not to mention his own selfless wishes. Could I be this horrible and egotistical? Would I hate myself later? God, I needed more time to think!
“I’ve changed my mind . . . for now,” I snapped, walking past Faris toward my bedroom. I felt defeated. “Make yourself comfortable or leave—whatever you want to do. I don’t care.” I made no attempt to disguise the contempt I felt in that moment.
“I’d rather leave,” he said.
With my foot on the first step, I turned and yelled over my shoulder. “Well, leave then.” But he had disappeared already. A fresh waft of air hit me, passing through me like a ghost. My skin crawled and the faint scent of mint and spices teased my nose.
“I told you not to do that!” I cried at the empty kitchen.
Suddenly, I felt awful. Silence permeated the house. The clock on the wall ticked. I stared at the vacant space where Faris had stood. I blamed Robert and Jeremy for teaching me to distrust and push people away. The emptiness in the small kitchen became almost palpable, and I wondered if I would ever stop feeling lonely.
***
A few minutes after Faris left, my cell phone rang. I was sitting on the stairs, staring at the parquet flooring. “Hello.”
“Hi, Ms. Iris. I’m Edgar Thomson, your grandfather’s estate attorney. Is this a good time to talk?”
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Iris.”
“Thank you.”
“As you know, your grandfather left the nursery to you. His business is yours, and, by default, the debt on it, too.”
“Debt?” I asked surprised.
“Yes. A year ago your grandfather took a small business loan on . . .” there was a pause, a rustle of paper, “Jardin Noir. Most of that balance is still outstanding.”
My mind reeled. He’d taken out a loan? And didn’t tell me?
“You should know that there’s a provision in the will that indicates your father, uh . . . Robert Iris . . . will serve as a guardian until you turn twenty-one.”
“What? My father?! But he’s . . . been gone since—”
“Not to worry, Ms. Iris. Your grandfather left some contact information. As much as it pains me to say it, I believe your father didn’t wish to be contacted unless there was an emergency or an eventuality such as this one. At any rate, I spoke to him already. He’s making arrangements to come to New Orleans in the next few days.”
My mouth went dry.
“He lives in Austin, Texas,” the lawyer continued, “but said he would come to sign the papers. I didn’t like bein
g the bearer of bad news about your grandfather’s death, but there you have it. Your father has to settle a few minor things before he can come. Nothing that will take very long. Apparently, he has a transient job as well as transient living arrangements, so we don’t have to wait too long. We can’t discuss the terms of the will until his arrival, therefore we’ve set up a meeting for next Friday at 2 P.M. Do you have any questions?”
My temples pounded. Questions, that I knew I should ask, failed me.
“Well, in that case, I’ll see you soon, Ms. Iris.”
I struggled to find words for a moment, then finally spoke, “How can—?”
The call disconnected. The lawyer was gone.
“How can an alcoholic father be any help?” I almost cried out.
I stood, feeling as disoriented as if someone had spun me round and round.
Things were going from bad to worse. For months, all I’d worried about was work and avoiding thoughts of Jeremy. Now, I had Jardin Noir, the sinking nursery. Maven, the angry friend. Robert, the alcoholic father. And Faris Nasser, the stalking Djinn. Who would be next? Wasn’t normal stuff like staying sane enough?
8
“Hey, Elle,” Abby said as I walked up to one of the tables inside the busy French Quarter café. I hadn’t seen my friends since the funeral, and they had been calling and texting, wondering how I was doing. I could only avoid them for so long, so I finally gave in to Abby’s attempts to cheer me up.
I started to smile, but the corners of my mouth never reached my cheeks. Instead, they straightened into a hard line, when I noticed that Jeremy—my vile, deserves-to-be-eaten-slowly-by-a-single-piranha, swine of an ex-boyfriend—sat at the far end of the long table. None other than Dana White—bitchy ex-cheerleader 1.0—sat by his side, wriggling as he felt her up. I cursed inwardly, wishing they weren’t such a couple of losers and had gone off to college or at least trade school. Instead, they were making a career out of sucking face.
My hand turned white as I gripped my purse, and my face went so stiff that I swear it could have stopped bullets. Under the surface, though, it was a whole different story.
One Wish Away (Djinn Empire Book 1) Page 6
