by Ash Krafton
She lowered the lid, latching it closed. A bit of the delight that had illuminated his expression dimmed as she did so, the treasure now hidden from his sight.
The trunk repacked, he gestured with an open palm. The trunk glided back to its original place near the wall, without so much as a streak upon the hardwood floor.
She clapped, half-delighted and half out of relief she didn’t have to push the monstrous thing back into place. “Mind if I call you when I rearrange the furniture?”
“You may. And you may call me any other time you wish.” His voice dipped lower, softer with intimacy. He stood, rubbing his palms against the outsides of his thighs. “I should go. It is getting late, and I do not want to overstay my welcome.”
“It was a pleasure, Burnsie. It’s been a long time since I looked through that box. The things you said…well, it was nice. I never knew my great-grandmother. Kind of like having Gram back again.”
“Gram?”
“My grandmother.” She walked over to the entertainment center and picked up a picture frame, taking a moment to look at it before holding it out to him. “I remember when this was taken. We used to spend the summer at her house in Delaware. Beach front property. She kept a cabana and I’d be out in the sand and the water every day. My favorite memories, just me and her.”
He studied the picture, tracing the edge of the frame with his fingertip, before setting it back on its shelf. Peering into her eyes, he nodded. “You miss her, don’t you?”
It had been a while since she really looked at that picture, or thought hard about Gram. Six years since her funeral. Had it been that long? She felt as if a shadow passed over her, a subtle chill, as if something warm and comfortable had been taken from her.
Loss. For the first time, she felt a sense of loss and it was only because a genie stood next to her and enabled her to feel it. For the first time since meeting him, she regretted the effect he had on her ability to feel.
She turned and rubbed her face, trying to shrug off the shadow. “I don’t know if miss is the right word. But I liked being with her. She was a good lady.”
“She made you happy.”
She shrugged again. Happiness was an impossible concept for her, even when she could easily identify it in another person. The textbooks claimed that the rest-and-digest responses to a satisfying meal were the same as involuntary signals of happiness, but she’d never been able to equate those kinds of sensations with the looks of people who seemed to be genuinely happy.
But here, with him…maybe, just maybe, she might be able to imagine what happiness truly was.
Thankfully, he didn’t remark upon her lack of reaction. Instead, he gestured to the coat rack, where she’d hung his windbreaker. “Thank you, Tamarinda. Your collection is wonderful. Many old and interesting pieces. It has been a long time since I enjoyed an evening.”
She handed him his jacket. “Very lucrative for me as well.”
“How so?”
She grinned up at him. “I earned a wish.”
His eyes narrowed into dark slits, his lush black lashes obscuring his pale eyes. “We should talk about that.”
“Not tonight.” She unlatched the door and tugged it open for him. “Tonight I’m going to dream up a way to spend it.”
Donning his coat, he tugged the collar straight and smoothed the hood. “You are, are you?”
“Mmm hmm. I’m a lucid dreamer and I’ve got a great imagination.”
“Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He favored her with a searing look as he passed her on his way out. In the hallway he paused and spun on his heel to face her again. “Just don’t go spending it all in one place.”
Chapter 13
Burns pulled her apartment door closed and leaned against it, forgetting how to breathe. So great was the inferno inside his chest, it consumed the very oxygen and robbed him of air.
That tease. That shameless tease.
The way she sank to her knees, the chest between her thighs, the sultry curl of her lips—
She had no idea how dangerously close he’d come to losing his form. Tamarinda created a lust in him that was too great for mere flesh to contain. He’d momentarily forgotten she had his talisman—and therefore control of him, body, flame, and soul.
If he lost that control, and did something impulsive—he’d be very angry.
The djinn counted to ten in an effort to regain his composure. He ended up counting to forty instead. She really had sparked something inside him, something a great deal stronger than a mental itch—
Or was it the talisman? He tapped his fingertips together, unable to conceal his glee.
That ancient ring of old metal, lying in the bottom of her jewelry chest, as if it wasn’t worth even the simple effort of throwing it away. It had been tossed into a busted box with paper clips and old pennies and worthless trinkets.
His talisman, he was sure of it. Its magical signature burned like a hot coil in the back of his brain. But there was more to it now, more than a prickling along his nerves.
It was the image that he’d taken from it, the woman named Lily. She was familiar to him, in a way, a memory he’d never had yet a memory that he’d somehow recognized. He didn’t understand it. And he didn’t care. All things—Tamarinda and Lily and the clumsy old ring—all were connected to his talisman.
His talisman. He wanted to say the word, to shout it, to sing it. Biting his lips, he swallowed the impulse. First goblet and then drunkenness.
More than ever, caution was necessary. His search was over. Now, for the taking.
The thought made him frown. For centuries, he’d daydreamed about how he’d go about reclaiming the key to his freedom. The Forbidden Wish—that would have solved everything. One forbidden wish, the holder of the talisman would be annihilated and poof, he’d be free. At last.
But now, knowing she had the talisman…that complicated the matter. He rather liked her. He didn’t want to banish her to an eternity of torment if he didn’t have to do it.
Although…
He thought again of her scheming and manipulating a wish out of him. Being strong-armed into surrendering a wish made him sullen, indeed. Maybe not angry enough to obliterate her…but more than enough to turn the tables on her.
He twisted and reached for the doorknob, hand hovering over it. It would take no effort at all to follow his original plan. He thought again of the way she stroked the jewelry chest, fingers playing delicately over the latches, the smoky look in her eyes. She wasn’t as hard to get as she’d like him to believe. He could walk through that door and have her out of those jeans without breaking a sweat.
And he would enjoy breaking that sweat with her.
He’d turn her inside out and back again and sear her every nerve ending with a passion she’d only dreamed about. He was no selfish mortal lover. He took a great deal of pleasure in giving it to others. His lips parted, a hunger stealing through him, tripping across his skin.
An idea distracted him. Dream. She did say she was going to dream up a way to spend his wish. Perhaps this was a time to sit back and observe what she was truly capable of doing on her own. Sometimes the best traps were the ones they set for themselves.
Burns smiled wider, a lush broad smile that didn’t match the cold heat in his eyes. She may have stolen a wish, but he knew just how to get it back. No woman could be that skilled a tease without having a fire of her own.
And he was the master of fire.
Chapter 14
Late that night, moonlight streamed through the blinds, spilling itself in a silver sheen across Tam’s bed. She rolled over, pulling her blanket snuggly around her shoulders, nestling her face against her pillow. Her breath rose and fell in the easy waves of deep sleep.
“One wish.”
Burns’ voice roused her, claimed her attention. The misty dream world thinned and cleared and, as it did, she found herself on the doorstep outside his impossible house on Carbonnet Street. The door stood ajar and h
ints of cinnamon and amber and patchouli wafted out.
His voice echoed from within. “One wish…”
He’d promised her a wish. Now, safe within the realms of her dream, she thought she might explore some possibilities that she’d otherwise never consider.
She stepped across the threshold, footsteps lightened by the weightless quality of dreaming, and found herself standing in the familiar foyer. The colors were more intense, more vivid—the high walls, the decorated arches, the frescoed ceilings. Peering around the corner, she spied the impossible hallway. Faint music, a suggestion of drum and pipe and cymbal, drifted from a distant room, and urged her toward the door of his library. She raised her hand to the latch, feeling the cold brass under her hesitant touch.
No. She didn’t want to go into his library. This was her dream—and dreaming was something she was really good at.
A trumpet-blast of birdsong called her attention to his peacock, which strutted behind her toward the hall. A veil of blue and green feathers trailed behind like a bride’s train, capturing her attention. She’d never seen a real peacock this close before. Perhaps she could coax it to show off with a spread of its plume.
Peacocks were vain creatures, weren’t they? How hard could it be?
The bird arched its satin neck and regarded her a moment before parading through an unfamiliar archway. She hurried behind, footsteps making petal-soft touches upon the ground, entranced by the sight of her surroundings.
An oasis spread itself before her. A border of white stone columns had replaced the walls, and the center of the floor was occupied by a long rectangle stretch of serene reflecting pool. No ceiling—overhead was open to a cobalt sky and every surface glinted with gold and sunlight. Beyond the columns, sands surrounded the garden, miles of featureless dune and desolation.
But here—here was sanctuary.
The sides of the room were strewn with silken sheets and pillows, low tables laden with fruits and carafes and countless delicacies. Brass lamps with jewel-colored glass shades hung from chains, their flames undisturbed by the winds that shifted the sands beyond.
Movement on a distant dune drew her gaze. A whirlwind spun and skittered across the sands outside, dancing and twisting a serpentine path across the golden ground. The howling whine grew louder as the turbine approached, sending up sand in a tornado-shaped plume.
And it was headed straight for her.
The whirlwind charged directly toward the enclosure. She’d never seen a whirlwind before, had never faced a situation like this. She was sure that a flank of pillars and open air wouldn’t be enough to withstand the buffeting force of a sandstorm.
She paced backwards to the door, feeling behind her for the arch of the doorway. Her hand struck upon stone. She spun. The door was no longer there.
The howl grew louder. She covered her ears. The ground trembled, platters clattering on the tables. Water in the pool wavered, its tranquil mirror blurring. The whirlwind grew closer.
No place to hide. The impact was imminent. She braced herself against a column, pressed against the hard, warm stone, and covered her head. She cracked one eye to peek—
The whirlwind slammed into the edge of the enclosure, erupting into a sheet of sand that crashed like a wave upon breakers. A shower of sparks spread out from the impact and a burst of flame splashed into the garden.
A shape emerged, composed entirely of flame. Heady spices filled the air as if incense had been burned. The shape, low to the ground, stretched out two forelegs and crouched, swiveling a fiery head in her direction.
A tiger. It blinked its great golden eyes, watching her.
It sprung.
Shimmering in mid-leap, the beast solidified into sleek lines of black and bronze fur, landing with a thump mere feet away from her. It stood as tall as her ribs—a slinking mass of paws and claws that padded forward, circling around her. Tail swinging, eyes narrowed, nose lifting to catch her scent.
It was beautiful. Savage-looking, yes, but beautiful.
And this was her dream.
She reached out a tentative hand toward its broad head. The tiger butted her, closed its eyes and pushed against her palm, rumbling in its throat. She dug her fingers in, delighting at the softness of its thick fur. The tiger yawned, mouth stretched wide in a spread of gleaming teeth, and turned from her. She trailed her fingers along its back as it slinked away.
“Aw,” she said. “Don’t you like to be petted?”
The tiger spun around in a movement so fast its colors blurred. Its shape stretched up like a candle flame before settling into another shape. A human shape.
A familiar human shape, with those same handsome bare feet that she’d caught herself staring at all evening.
“Of course, I do.” Burns turned on his heel to face her. The sight of him was more astounding than had been the tiger. “But all that fur gets in the way.”
His dark hair curled in thick waves, nearly touching his shoulders. Thickly muscled shoulders. The swells of his biceps, at their fullest measure, were wrapped with blue ribbon. Light glanced over each curve, creating shadows that only enhanced his appearance. He wore a blood red sleeveless vest, trimmed in gold stitching. The vest lay open in front to reveal his broad chest, lightly haired. A dark trail graced his pectoral muscles, dripping downward across his dusky-hued skin.
His entire physique was that of grace and strength, both of which seemed boundless. White pants with a broad blue sash accented his narrow waist and drew attention to his rippled stomach.
Looking at her through his lashes, he stroked a thumb over the edge of his mustache, lingering over the corner of his mouth. His lips parted in a hungry hint of a smile.
She drank in every delicious detail and congratulated herself on having such a fine imagination. Dreams like this made going to sleep a worthy endeavor.
He circled her again, pacing slowly like a tiger, bright eyes pinning her in place. “Have you come to redeem your wish?”
She marked his circuit, following him with only her gaze, holding her breath as he passed behind her. The moments stretched and pressed at her until she imagined she could feel him hovering right over her shoulder. Her legs tingled, itching to turn and seek him.
Restraint. Wait for it. “Perhaps.”
He rewarded her patience and stepped back in front of her. He smiled, a tug of lips that revealed far less than the glint in his eyes. That glint spoke volumes. With a wave of his hand, he indicted the room around them. “I’m impressed. You have an exquisite flair for beauty. Have you seen this garden before?”
“Never.” She walked past him, close enough to allow his outstretched hand to brush her side. The slight touch sent sparks tripping across her skin, spreading a flush down her limbs in their wake. She knelt at the pool, admiring the reflection of the sky overhead. A figure of blue flame, edged in gold, appeared at her side.
When she turned her head, she saw only Burns.
He pointed to his reflection.
“My true form.” He crouched beside her, searching her face. “I am a fire elemental. Are you frightened?”
His tone—was it apologetic? She shook her head and turned her gaze once more to the pool. His reflection took her breath away, the intricacies of a rolling flame, licking and twisting and never going out. It, too, was beautiful.
All his forms were savage and beautiful. Tam reached out to touch the water and his fiery reflection shimmered.
“Not really.” She cupped her hand, filling it with water, and held it up for him to see. “Are you?”
His eyes widened, and he stepped back. “You wouldn’t dare.”
She flicked her wrist, spraying him. His utter astonishment loosened her delighted laugh, and she covered her mouth, reaching once more for the water.
He ducked and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to her feet. “You are bold.”
“I can afford to be.”
He narrowed his eyes at her apparent insolence. “And that is because…?”
“You should be afraid. Sand demons destroy. Tigers devour. And fire burns if one is not careful.” He leaned down toward her face, until they were nose to nose. “What is your wish?”
His heat soaked into her, a familiar sensation that evoked a familiar reaction. Here, she was not bound by codes of ethics or standards of practice. Anywhere else, this would be forbidden—and it made her want it all the more.
She rolled her lips, deliberating. She knew what she wanted. All her life she had only wanted one thing.
To feel.
Something. Anything. Love. Anger. Pity. Grief. One tiny flare of emotion, just an iota of humanity. Just once she’d like to fear for her life, to be delighted to the point of delirium, to regret something and lose sleep over it. Anything.
Just some proof that she was real.
Until quite recently, the only place she ever felt anything was in her dreams. How could she feel so alive, so complete in an imaginary place like this? How can dreams be more real than real life?
And yet, this man did something to her, something that only happened in dreams. Whenever he was near, the walls that locked her down became thinner. She reacted to him. She reacted with him.
He still gripped her wrist, waiting for an answer. They stood chest to chest, close enough for her to see the droplets of water on his face, the barest suggestion of stubble along his clean-shaven jaw. His eyes held flames, dancing wicks. He was not human at all.
He seemed perfectly at peace with himself.
At their feet, the water glowed as if on fire itself, blazing with his reflection. She saw her own reflection, her figure engulfed in his flames. She didn’t burn with him, even though the heat of his flesh sank into her, wrapping itself around her core.
