Fire: Demons, Dragons & Djinns

by Rhonda Parrish

  This job was her key to getting out of the shelter, if she could keep it.

  Her lips trembled. Her body remembered the cold nights that penetrated deeper than the weather.

  “You’re right,” she whispered. “Few people notice I exist.”

  Maimun held her gaze, and she couldn’t look away. His fire snaked its way into her, warmth that burned in contrast to the coldness she felt inside. His eyes widened and she felt parts of her inner being brought into the light, exposed.

  “Ever since your mother disappeared,” he said.

  Every strand keeping Charlotte’s body together tightened, pulling through her legs, her shoulders, and up to the base of her skull. She shoved away from the desk, away from the exposing light of Maimun’s gaze, back into her comforting dark.

  “Is this fascinating you?” she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. “Am I a good case study? Enough to entertain you?”

  Maimun backed away, causing shadows to creep out from the desk paraphernalia. The flames at the edges of his body flickered with green tips as the temperature dropped. The smoke from the floor smelled like burnt hair. “That was not my intention.”

  “No, but you have about as much empathy as a stray cat. You’re treating me like a specimen. Do you want to be studied like that?”

  “Some in your world have tried,” Maimun said. “Few see me as anything but a vessel to their own selfish desires.”

  “How is it,” Charlotte said, picking up a file from the stack, “that you’re able to see desires so well, but so many of these wishes don’t fulfil any of their desires?”

  “I have learned that if I give people what they need before they ask for it, the results are disastrous.” Maimun’s light dimmed imperceptibly, his eyes slanting down at the edges. “I long for people to find that within themselves.”

  “Is that what you were trying to do with me?” Charlotte said. “Well, I’ll tell you now, I’ve searched long and hard for my mother. She’s gone. If she exists, she’s changed her name, and made everyone forget about her. So don’t think you can help me find what you think I need. I’ve already tried for myself.”

  “I could grant you a wish,” Maimun said, his voice low. “As payment for your services. It doesn’t have to be related to your mother.” He bowed his head. “I apologize for pushing you in that direction.”

  “Why do you feel the need to push me in any direction?” Charlotte asked, ignoring the teasing prospect of a wish. Not from him. “I thought djinnis were supposed to serve the wishes of their masters, not shove their own agenda down people’s throats.”

  “I told you before,” Maimun said, biting each word, “I am not a servant.”

  “Isn’t that part of the rules? Aren’t you bound by a lamp?”

  “I follow my own rules,” Maimun said. “The lamp was a historical fixation of your people that became a convenient conduit to call my attention, and bring me from the realm woven into and around every space of your world. Almasi helped set up the rules, and encouraged the legend to spread.”

  A chill crept up Charlotte’s spine. How old is Mr. Almasi?

  Maimun no longer looked at her. He had turned to the side, and seemed as though he could see through the wall to some world beyond Charlotte’s perception. Then he stiffened, and seemed to notice Charlotte again. “We are wasting time,” he said. “I will honour your request for peace and solitude, and return in two days.”

  Before Charlotte could say anything, the office door flew open and Maimun glided out like a wisp of incense, star fire singeing the air behind him.

  CHARLOTTE WORKED LATE that evening, determined to demonstrate how serious she’d been when she talked about her work. Delving into the file with all its intricacies provided ample distraction and pause from the painful memories the djinni had awakened. It also prevented her from thinking too hard about who or what Mr. Almasi was, and what she might have gotten herself into.

  First she scoured Mr. Almasi’s files to see if previous claims had been made under Maimun’s name. If Mr. Almasi kept any history of Maimun’s previous interactions, she discovered, he had hidden them very well. After that, she camped out in the office library, looking up historical cases and examples of anything close to what the djinni imported.

  She focused on the dollar signs beside the desires of every one of Maimun’s clients. $1000 for the perfect birthday party, $2500 for that first vehicle restored to its former glory. $8000 for a friendship rekindled. Not all the things Maimun imported into this world were material, but the material effects were surprisingly quite measurable.

  Charlotte worked into the small hours of the morning.

  TWO DAYS LATER, Charlotte should’ve felt proud after her breakthroughs, but she felt like the djinni’s pile of documents had landed on and compressed her head into the desk while she slept. When consistent banging echoed through the office and circled inside her skull, she groaned and took a few weary steps into the hall. The light through the windows carried a bluish tinge.

  “Morning hothead,” she croaked. Maimun floated in the doorway, stirred-up clouds of dust obscuring the neighbouring buildings. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought they were in the desert.

  “Is this the time of day when you try to be funny?” Maimun asked.

  Charlotte rubbed her eyes, and beckoned him in. “This is the time of day when I try to be anything.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Just come in and turn down your brightness.”

  When she’d managed to coax Maimun and stumble her way into the office, Charlotte took a deep breath and let her mind sink back into the world of taxes and legalities. Maimun floated in a seated posture, eye to eye with her.

  “This stack,” she said, laying her palm on a pile of files as high as her computer monitor, “involves wishes such as weightless furniture, one hundred-league boots and apartment extensions. These were all destroyed shortly after the clients wished them into being—”

  “They were all terribly impractical. I tried to warn them.”

  “You imported them, but they were destroyed,” she continued. “So you don’t have to pay any tax on these.

  “Now this one—” she moved her hand to an even taller stack, “—involves goods that are considered charities, and actually qualify you for some deductions. Lifetime supply for the food bank, guaranteed election results that gave huge funds to political parties, that sort of thing.

  “Now, we have this stack. I’m fairly proud of this one. All of these items are listed on a free trade agreement of some kind within various international agreements that exist between the United Nations. The principle of non-discrimination in all these agreements requires no most-favoured-nation treatment, meaning a country cannot discriminate between its trading partners. As a being partially existing in another realm interwoven in all the nations of the world, you can argue that you are a global citizen, and as such cannot be discriminated against. You are a part of all the member states involved in the free trade agreements, meaning you should pay no tax on all the items in this pile.

  “There are a few that don’t fall into any of the above categories. A thousand lifetimes of love is one of them, the happy feelings from when someone spends summers with their grandparents, the joy at seeing one’s child for the first time—these ones fall into here. I mean, some of the tangible related items I could get exempted, but some of the abstractions were just too difficult to justify.

  “In total, instead of upwards of five hundred thousand, you’ll need to pay two-thousand, five hundred and seventeen dollars and fifty-eight cents.” Charlotte sat back in her chair to catch her breath, and crossed one leg over the other.

  The sound of crackling fire filled the space as Maimun leaned forward, glowing eyes wide, hands moving and making the papers float apart to see Charlotte’s work for himself. The sight made Charlotte wonder if the gravity in the room were letting go, since all the papers gradually drifted into the air under Maimun
’s survey.

  “Most impressive,” he said at last. “It seems I won’t be constrained to three wishes any longer. I’m sorry I underestimated you.”

  Charlotte’s chest lifted. Although she hadn’t expected Maimun’s words to matter, the validation after how hard she’d worked still encouraged her.

  “I must repay you for your efforts,” Maimun said, letting the papers settle back into their original piles.

  “Our standard fee is—”

  “No,” he said, “I will pay you in something much more valuable.”

  “That won’t be necessary, I’m sure Mr. Almasi will—”

  “I insist, Charlotte.”

  Charlotte thought back to his earlier offer of a wish. She’d seen some of the harsh realities of the wishes, but a part of her still wondered how she might make use of such a possibility, get something that wouldn’t hurt anyone else. However, Mr. Almasi might be furious at her for not taking the regular payment—unless he had taken similar payments in the past.

  “What did you have in mind?” she whispered.

  Maimun lowered himself until he floated once again eye to eye with her. “I can show you your mother,” he said.

  Charlotte gasped. The heat no longer seemed to have a way out of her. “What?”

  “Your mother,” Maimun said gently. “I can show her to you, then grant you a wish.”

  “What, like she’s a specimen or something?”

  “No. I can open a window.”

  Charlotte’s chest constricted. She took short breaths. “If you show her to me, will I know where she is?” she asked warily.

  “I will answer as many questions as you desire after you see her.”

  She put a hand to her chest, willing her heart to slow down. “Okay.”

  Maimun waved his massive arm and one of Charlotte’s monitors brightened into the view of a hilltop cottage with long grass swaying in the breeze. A woman in a blue country dress with a grey-haired bun walked up a dirt path carrying a wicker basket full of laundry. Her face was wrinkled with crows’ feet and lines of happiness. She paused near the top of the path, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before entering the cottage.

  Mom, Charlotte thought. She dared not move for fear of breaking the moment.

  Inside the cottage, a man in a wheelchair rolled dough on a counter, flour spattering his clothes. He dusted himself off as she entered, then he and Charlotte’s mother embraced.

  “Where is she?” Charlotte asked.

  “Rural British Columbia, Canada. East of Kelowna, in the Okanagan.”

  Charlotte watched as her mother and the man in the wheelchair held hands, and he showed her his latest batch of freshly-baked buns. They exchanged a few words, kissed again, and he patted her bottom, leaving a flour handprint. She swatted him, tried to dust it off, then walked with her basket of laundry into another room, shaking her head but keeping a smile on her face.

  “Who is he?” Charlotte asked.

  “Daniel Fitzpatrick.” Maimun’s throat crackled with words on the edge of utterance, then he added, “He was suicidal when I met him.”

  Charlotte turned her head slowly as she took in the words. “You knew him?”

  “I found it in my old files when I sought an appropriate reward for you. I’d forgotten, Charlotte. I granted his wish. I’m sorry.”

  Charlotte’s head felt light, the smoky air wanting to make her vomit. “W—What? Are you saying my mother disappeared . . . because of you?”

  Maimun’s form shrank, his fire flickering green as he dimmed. The smell of burnt hair returned. He nodded.

  “You bastard!” she shouted. She picked up a purple-haired troll and hurled it at him. It vaporized. “You took her away from me!”

  “I am truly sorry, Charlotte.”

  “After what I just did for you?! You manipulative, evil, g—get out! Get out now!”

  “Charlotte, I—”

  “This was your idea of a reward? Showing me how much of a shitbag you are? Thanks, Maimun. It’s good to know the concept isn’t confined to humans alone.”

  Maimun spread his arms. The room filled with even more acrid smoke. “Let me tell you his wish. Then I will leave.”

  “What, did he wish for a fine piece of ass? Someone to dote on him, look after him?” She wanted to throw the monitor at him, but grabbed one of the textbooks on the desk instead.

  “He wished to meet someone who would love him as he is, and whom he could likewise love in return.”

  Charlotte’s arm fell to her side, the book thumping against her thigh. She said nothing for a few moments. “Okay,” she whispered. “And that love couldn’t include me?”

  “After your mother and father split up, she guarded against love. She would never have opened herself up to Daniel. Even if in time she had let her guard down, the damage ran too deep. It would have ruined her relationship with him.” Maimun hung his head. “I did not understand the full effect of what I was doing. I thought the capacity for love was finite, and couldn’t be healed in time. So I made her forget about your father, and you as well.”

  Tears blurred Charlotte’s vision, and she sank along the wall to the floor, clutching her knees. Everything hurt.

  “Charlotte,” Maimun said, coming forward.

  Charlotte sobbed. “Go away.”

  “Do you not see?” he said. “She never stopped loving you. She didn’t abandon you. That was my fault, Charlotte. The self-doubt you’ve carried all these years . . . is based on a false notion.”

  “You took her away.” Charlotte choked out the words.

  “I can make things right,” Maimun said. “You just have to wish it, and I will make it so.”

  Charlotte lifted her face, a mask of salty tears. It would be so easy. Just wish Daniel away, her mother back, and everything could be normal again.

  But between her and the djinni sat the giant stacks of wishes, the catalogues of collateral damage induced by even the simplest of wishes. The paperwork barely scratched the surface of the ripple effects every wish had on the wider world.

  “Is she happy?” Charlotte asked, staring through blurred vision at the monitor.

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’ll leave her that way,” Charlotte said, shaking her head as a sudden weariness fell over her. “Maimun, you’ve done enough. Go. Please.”

  Maimun’s cheeks lost their purple colour, and his glowing eyes closed, which almost looked like they vanished. “As you wish, Charlotte.”

  The room cooled and she knew he was gone.

  FOR THE NEXT few days, Charlotte went to work early and stayed late, diving as deeply as possible into the accounting details. She felt raw and weak, as though at any moment she might lose hold of the fragile balance she had left. Her mind continually drifted back to thoughts of her mother living out a peaceful life in the Okanagan.

  She’s happy, Charlotte told herself. That’s something, at least.

  Something was churning in her mind, processing, and she felt like a child again, unable to investigate or understand what was happening to her. The sadness and weakness she felt after that first day had transformed into something else, but what exactly, she wasn’t sure.

  Charlotte began cold-calling clients in search of work, something she had dreaded before, but now found herself enjoying a small amount. One day as she hung up the phone after a surprisingly pleasant conversation, Mr. Almasi waited for her across the desk.

  For the first time, she noticed the faint scarring on his arms, remnants of tattoos snaking up and around, buried beneath layer upon layer of tanned skin. His square jaw was speckled with hints of the curly hair covering his head, coloured a dark brown that shimmered grey and black in the light. A chain necklace hung below his collared shirt, hiding the outline of a circular medallion.

  “Who was that, Charlotte? An old friend?” he said.

  “No,” Charlotte replied, glancing between him and the phone. “That’s the first time I’ve spoken to her.”


  “You’ve finished all the outstanding work?”

  Charlotte nodded. “On your desk.”

  “Wow. Terrific. I should go on vacation more often.” He beamed, his grin stretching almost as wide as her computer monitor.

  A week ago she would have remained thankful for her job and kept her head down to avoid arousing ire, but things had changed.

  “Mr. Almasi, how old are you?” Her insides felt jostled, the sensations no longer familiar and comfortable. She wasn’t sure whether to be excited or frightened.

  “How old do I look?” he asked, leaning on one hip.

  “Middle-aged,” she said, “but after what Maimun told me, it seems you’re at least a few centuries.”

  There it was, in the open. She prayed she wouldn’t lose her job for it, or worse.

  He looked her up and down, his expression studious. “Maimun came by, did he? The office is still standing so . . . it went well, I suppose?”

  “As well as I could do. He seemed . . . impressed with how I handled his file.” She’d wanted to say happy, but the word died on her tongue.

  “Great job,” he said, staring hard into her eyes.

  There was a time when Charlotte may have been frightened by such a giant of a man looming over her, but she surprised herself again by holding his gaze.

  “To answer your question,” he said, “I’ve been around for some time, yes.”

  “Did you bring Maimun into our world?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you convince him to come here?”

  “Convince him? He came to me, and I helped him fill his need.” Mr. Almasi stepped back and laughed, his chortling filling the space. He levelled his gaze at her, and the questioning look had vanished. “Anyway, I’m glad you handled him so well. I knew you were the right person for the job.”

  Charlotte sat straighter, still unable to discern what she felt as Mr. Almasi moved down the hall and away from her in a few strides.

  THAT AFTERNOON, SHE asked Mr. Almasi how to contact Maimun. He pulled out an unmarred copper lamp from a locked filing cabinet, and told her to polish it.