by Judi Fennell
The high-pitched voice could only belong to one person. Er, thing. Being.
Fox.
Not that it mattered who it belonged to—Samantha shot up as if she’d been electrified, flung herself off Kal, and only by the grace of God—and Kal’s woman-catching ability—did she not take a header onto the floor, somehow managing to make it to her feet and over to the pedestal with the harp before the fox and his mode of transportation soared into view.
“Hi, guys! I mean, lady and guy! Hi, Samantha! I didn’t know you played the harp.”
Dirham waved from Kismet’s back while Samantha tried to catch her breath—and make sure all pertinent parts were covered. The one time she let her libido take over…
“Kal, can I come down there? I don’t want to take advantage of Kissy’s hospitality. She’s a double hero, you know. Saved me from a fiery death twice today.”
Kal glanced at Samantha and she nodded. As if she could say anything— both literally and figuratively because her breath was still AWOL, and as for her tongue… it was still tied.
“Sure thing, Dir.” Kal sat up, and Samantha almost lost her ability to think with the ripple of his abs and the contraction of his thigh muscles as the towel slid along his leg.
Dirham leapt from Kismet’s back onto Samantha’s chair while Kal raised an eyebrow and slowly—reeeeally slowly—dragged the towel onto his lap.
Samantha’s mouth was as dry as the desert around them by the time it was back in place.
Dirham crawled out from beneath Samantha’s chair with Kal’s lantern in his mouth. “Hey, you don’t want to lose this, Samantha. Lose it and you’ll lose Kal.”
She was losing something: her mind, her inhibitions, and now Kal’s lantern. Losing the lantern would be the worst part.
She felt Kal’s gaze on her and looked up to find his dark eyes so intense that they went beyond warm and chocolaty to twin pieces of coal with all the accompanying heat, and she shivered.
“Is there anything to eat around here?” Dirham hopped onto the table next to Kal, his paws pulling the towel dangerously to the side again. Dangerous for both the fox’s modesty and her libido. She didn’t think Kal would complain at all.
“There’s food through that door, Dir,” Kal answered, his voice husky, the quick grin he gave her proving her theory. “Help yourself.”
He wasn’t talking to the fox.
Dirham leapt off the table and was halfway to the door when he stopped—which was probably a good thing since, thanks to Kal’s gaze being hot enough to sear straight through her clothes and ignite every nerve ending she possessed, there was no telling what Dirham might interrupt when he came back.
“Oh, darn, I can’t. I’m supposed to tell you that you guys have a command performance downtown,” Dirham said. “Someone big wants to speak with you.”
“How big?” Samantha was thinking ogres. Or trolls. She still didn’t know what Orkney was and which was bigger. Or were there giants here, too?
Oh, yeah, that’s right. She’d forgotten for a moment (or several) what lay beyond the fence. The strange and wondrous world he’d brought her to.
Of course, it was a wondrous world on this side of the fence, too.
“Who wants to speak with us, Dirham?” Kal tossed a fig at the fox.
Samantha looked around—where had that come from?
The fox pounced on the fruit like a cat with a toy, then balanced it on the end of his nose, spinning it with a paw like a basketball. “Stavros didn’t say. He just told me to tell you guys to get back pronto. ‘For a history-making visit’ is what he said.” Dirham flipped the fig into the air and caught it between his teeth, then munched on it. “Coming?”
Not yet…
Samantha made the mistake of looking at Kal, who did his magical nonmind-reading thing again and winked at her.
“We’ll be along shortly, Dir.” Kal swung his legs over the side of the table and Samantha had to work really hard not to stare at his naked back. God, he was magnificent. “I have to get dressed.”
Oh, no he didn’t.
“Okay. But I don’t have a ride back. I thought I’d go back with you guys.”
“I guess that’ll work.” Kal tossed another fig to the fox and stood, knowing full well the view of his backside Samantha was getting. She could tell from that half smile and the quick glance he sent her.
Tease.
He winked again. That had all sorts of possibilities—one she planned on taking full advantage of as soon as they got to town.
And then they got to town.
14
Samantha wouldn’t be taking advantage of anything any time soon.
Kal flew them back in the Mercedes, heading in for a landing on the oval marble platform at the end of the main road simply because there was no other place to land.
A parade was in full swing down Main Street, er, Palm Street, and thousands of Izaaz’s inhabitants lined it, waving colorful banners as if they were the Munchkins awaiting Glinda’s arrival. Matter of fact, one group actually did look like the Lollipop Guild.
Dirham, as usual, was bouncing. On the dashboard in front of her, then onto the space between the seats, then to the luggage shelf in the back; the fox was all over the place.
“Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I? Do you like your surprise? Look how great this place looks. See that building over there that you fixed up? That’s where my friend George lived before he went off to slay that crocodile. Then you know how that story somehow converted the croc to a dragon? Well, he had to go away to hide from all the celebrity. And Maille, too. She wasn’t all that thrilled, no matter how much we tried to explain the misunderstanding to her. But we had some good times there in the old days, me and George.”
George? Dragon? Samantha didn’t want to make that connection or even try to understand what Dirham was talking about.
“And over there in that courtyard? That’s where I saw my first-ever manticore. They’re rare, you know, Samantha. They don’t like large crowds. And over there, me, Remus, and his brother found one of Mayat’s amulets lying on that bench. We took it to Stavros, of course. He gave us some baklava as a reward.” Dirham’s tongue circled his snout. “I love baklava.”
“I’ll put that on my next wish list,” Samantha said, patting him. “Matter of fact… Kal? I’d like to wish for a baklava bakery for Dirham.”
Something—a grimace?—flashed across Kal’s face so quickly that Samantha wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not. But he was smiling now, even had a little chuckle going as he waved his hand and glitter sprinkled the car. “Sixth and Acanthus, Dir. It even has a fox door around back.”
Samantha did a double-take at the fox door but let her comment go when she heard what the crowd was chanting: “Sa-man-tha! Sa-man-tha!”
“What’s going on?” It was more than a little unsettling to have a crowd of thousands calling her name. They’d already thanked her for fixing up the place; what more could they possibly want?
That they wanted more was a given.
Call her jaded—she was—but she didn’t open the door to find out, preferring not to know. Unfortunately, Kal did it for her with a wave of his hand. Having a genie to see to your every whim, presumed or otherwise, wasn’t necessarily all it was cracked up to be.
“Your public awaits, m’lady,” he said.
“Sa-man-tha!” Their chants ratchetted up to full-on scream when the door swung upward. “Sa-man-tha!”
“That’s a good thing?”
“’Course it is!” Dirham bounded onto her lap, then out of the car. “Come on! Let’s go enjoy your parade! Look at all the pretty colors!”
Colors were not Samantha’s focus as she climbed out of the car. Kal was right there to help her, but surprisingly, even he wasn’t her focus. Nor were the unicorns, centaurs, ogre/trolls, gnomes, leprechauns, satyrs, or any of the other beings that were now normal to her.
Even the new creatures: birds as large as Kismet, half-bull/half-human creatures, Pan and his fam
ily, walking, talking Sphinxes, other birds that looked like dodo birds she’d seen in books, a bunch of yetis and Bigfoot—Bigfeet maybe. And a pair of three-headed dogs—did that make them a six pack? And goblins and gremlins and gorgons, oh my. And all of them were repeating her name and flourishing banners as if she were visiting royalty.
But she wasn’t. No, the reason they were excited was because of what she’d done for them. And what more she could do. It was the same thing all over again. Different place but still the same. And this time, her name shouldn’t even be attached to it because they were cheering her for something Kal had done.
Oh, sure, she was the one who’d wished it, but as Stavros had said, only a genie could have pulled the whole thing off. She was merely the vessel through which Kal worked his magic; anyone else could have done the same. She really was useless. Just like Albert had said.
Kal flicked his fingers, and the car disappeared in a shower of orange glitter, eliciting another roar of approval from the crowd. Then he intertwined his fingers with hers and Samantha tried to muster a smile, but the truth was hitting her hard.
All her life, she’d been the window dressing. The gatekeeper to the Blaine vaults. Easy access to her father. The so-called friends who’d always been up for the next party or vacation—as long as she picked up the tab. The boyfriends who’d been after only one thing (and not what most mothers warned their daughters about). Albert. He’d been the biggest offender. Not only was she useless, but she was clueless. Just like he’d said.
One of Pan’s fauns trotted up the steps on pink-polished hooves, pulling a suit jacket over her white tuxedo shirt, and taking a pad and pencil from the breast pocket. She palmed something that looked like a hairbrush from took pocket and stuck it in Samantha’s face, bottom end up, like Samantha used to do as a teenager in front of her bedroom mirror with a Walkman blasting in her ears.
This scenario was just as fake.
“What’s next, Samantha?” the faun yelled above the noise. “What can we expect to see in the coming days? Do you have any more plans?”
Samantha stepped back. Plans? Right now she was dealing with the here and now and the demoralizing realization that she didn’t seem to have a purpose to her life, a fact she probably had known but had repressed, since that knowledge almost cut her in two.
Samantha slid her hands around her waist, the lantern dinging her hip. The microphone hung there for an uncomfortable silence until Kal whispered something to the faun that got her to remove it and trot back down the steps.
He slid his hand beneath Samantha’s elbow. “Are you okay, Sam?”
Never let them see you sweat. She hadn’t let Albert see her break down, and she wouldn’t let the citizens of Izaaz.
Or Kal.
She plastered a smile on her face and nodded. “I’m fine, Kal. Let’s go greet your public.”
Kal looked at her strangely but didn’t have the chance to say anything as a group of fairies as tall as four-year-olds (but who definitely didn’t look like four-year-olds in the flimsy, filmy toga-like things they wore) flew up the steps with leis of beautiful orchids in their hands.
Samantha bent down to accept the delicate gift, her emotions just as fragile. “Thank you,” she whispered, her throat clogged with those emotions. She was a fraud. Window dressing yet again.
Oh, she knew no one cared; as long as she gave them what they wanted, they were content. But she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be arm candy, an ornament accepted only because she looked the part or had the money or magic behind her. She wanted to be the part. But without Kal, she had as much chance of that as Dirham did of besting a dragon.
The crash of cymbals accompanied by a quick tempo of drumbeats put an end to that thought none too soon. The last thing she needed was to fall apart in front of the entire population of Izaaz.
Kal moved next to her, and Samantha took a shuddering breath as the sea of people below them parted. She would get through this; she’d had lots of practice.
A parade came down the street. Miniature blond horses like Lipizzaner stallions with lion-headed, monkey-like tamarins on their saddles and a herd of antelopes with bells on their twisted antlers led the way, followed by a bevy of belly dancers, the finger cymbals and silver bangles on their swishing hips marking the drums’ downbeat in time with the crowd’s clapping. Several dozen musicians strummed rounded guitar-like instruments or blew into long reed ones, and others shook U-shaped pieces of metal with jangling rings like tambourines.
Behind the musicians, dozens of people followed a palanquin carried by six centaurs, its occupant shielded from view by layers of pastel chiffon veils. A pair of servants held ostrich-feather fans over the procession in a showy display of grandeur, but they were too far removed to be effective.
Samantha could so relate. Without Kal’s magic, she’d be just as ineffective. Just as obsolete. Without her wishes, she’d be nobody.
The parade stopped at the bottom of the stairway. The centaurs rotated the litter to the side, then knelt on their front legs. The fairies who’d greeted her and Kal flew down to peel the veils from the seating area of the palanquin.
A tanned, gnarled old man dressed in silk robes and a turban climbed from the interior, and the crowd segued from Samantha’s name to, “Ber-o-sus! Ber-o-sus!”
The old man clapped his hands, and a dozen dwarves dashed out of the building closest to the stairway, each carrying a stone. In no time flat, they’d constructed a bridge so he could reach the stairway without having to step foot on the ground.
Samantha took a step forward, but Kal gripped her shoulder. “It will be an insult if you meet him halfway. We should wait here.”
She stayed. Bad enough she was a fraud; she didn’t want to be an inconsiderate one. “Who is he?” she whispered.
“Berosus,” Dirham answered, the “duh” unsaid, but not uninflected.
Kal, however, sucked in a breath and answered, “The Oracle,” almost reverently.
“Oracle? As in Delphi? Seer of the future? Prognosticator? He who sees all?”
“Not Delphi, Samantha,” said Dirham, his tail twitching madly. “Izaaz.”
Wherever he was from, an Oracle was an Oracle. Would he see her for the fake she was?
15
Kal couldn’t believe Berosus was here. Oracle revelations were a great honor and rarer than genie magic in Izaaz. Kal should know; he’d petitioned Berosus to reveal the truth about what Faruq had done to clear his name, but his request had been postponed until some gods-knew-when appointed moment that Berosus divined would be the most effective use of his powers.
Maybe that time was now. A little late, given that Kal was on his last master and the High Master was all set to make an announcement, but Kal wouldn’t look a gift unicorn in the mouth.
Then Samantha licked her lips and Kal found himself staring at her mouth.
Stop it! Kal gripped his hips, his fingers biting into his flesh. He’d been all too focused on Samantha once Monty had explained how he would leave instructions for her to find the lantern after he was gone. Kal had known she would be his last master, and the thought of meeting her, talking to her, touching her, had tortured him whenever Monty had talked about her.
Having done those things, having held her and kissed her, he needed to stop having these kinds of thoughts. They were dangerous not only to his ultimate goal, but also to his heart and the rest of his life, because a genie falling in love with a mortal was not only foolish, but suicidal. Kal already felt more than he should for her, but he hadn’t worked through the past two thousand years to give it all up now for something as fleeting as a mortal life.
The animals climbed the steps and leapt onto the amethyst wall, one line to the right, another to the left. Kal tugged Samantha’s hand so she’d move to the middle of the platform; he’d witnessed a few Oracle visits and knew the pomp and circumstance mystics expected. Berosus was always good for a show, and Kal was more than willing to indulge him if it meant he’d
learn he was pardoned or, better yet, had been appointed vizier.
Belly dancers paraded onto the platform, fanning out in front of the wall and, with a final swish of their hips, sank onto the marble, curling their legs into the lotus position. Amita, an old friend on the end, smiled at him as if she knew what was in store, giving him hope—except that hope was locked up in an old trunk in the corner of Stavros’s office and no one but him apparently knew it.
Kal felt for Samantha’s hand—merely to calm her nerves; it wasn’t every day that a mortal met an Oracle.
That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
However, her fingers still bore traces of the oil she’d rubbed into his skin and there was no way he could deny that he wanted to touch her for any reason other than he hadn’t gotten enough of her back in Sven’s courtyard.
Kal kneaded his neck muscles with his other hand. Kharah, what had he been thinking back there? He’d spilled his guts—“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” Thank the gods he wasn’t in love with her, or he might have spouted off about that, too, and then where would he be?
Stuck in the middle of the Arabian Peninsula with a mortal and a pair of angry dragons. Nothing about that was optimal.
Then he got a whiff of that lilac scent of hers, and his body went left while his common sense went right.
Kal dropped her hand. This was not the time, nor the place, to head down the path that’d make him hotter than the desert at noon. He needed to stay focused and hear what the Oracle had to say.
He shifted his stance, thankful for the baggy sirwal he wore—until he made the mistake of glancing at her. Then he wished for a camel blanket—the thick, scratchy kind—because that would be the only thing that could take his mind off the fact that she was nibbling her bottom lip. The one he’d licked and sucked and kissed.
Yeah, the pants weren’t going to cut it.
“Are you okay, Sam? Is there anything you wish?” Like whisking them out of here. Even Oracles were subject to mortal wishes—or, rather, Oracle revelations took a backseat to any wish Kal was honor-bound to grant.
