by Emma Holly
I wish it were me, he thought, the recognition causing another surge in his excitement. Me doing those things with Georgie.
The man began to pump his hips into the woman faster. Connor leaned forward. Never mind the “oh yeah baby” words the man was saying. His muscles bunched with needs Connor believed were genuine. The porn man wanted the release he was working to, and that interested Connor. Mesmerized, he watched until the man ejaculated and the woman cried out fakely. At least, Connor thought her cry was fake.
Maybe porn actresses experienced climax differently?
He had no one to ask and switched off the TV. Somewhat to his surprise, his arousal didn’t subside. That was awkward. How was he supposed to do things with this throbbing pole pushing out from him? The erection ached and itched and he wanted to rub it like the porn woman had the man’s. Perversely, he also didn’t want to touch it. Georgie’s hand was the one he wanted caressing him, Georgie’s mouth and Georgie’s genitals. He didn’t simply love her; he was in lust. Possibly he’d felt that way for a while. He only knew it now because he had a flesh body.
Huh, he thought, fascinated by these discoveries.
He glanced at the door to the small apartment he’d been left in. According to Fariel, the empress said he shouldn’t wander without permission. Connor didn’t have to listen, but was it a good idea to go to Georgie as his impulses urged? She didn’t know what he’d done. There hadn’t been time to consult her. Not that it had been her decision to make.
Maybe it was a little hers, he thought. If things turned out the way he wanted, his choice would affect her.
He wasn’t used to doubting himself. It created turmoil in his body as strong as arousal. He hopped up and walked back and forth. What if Georgie didn’t like him now? What if she only wanted him as a cute twinkly friend? He’d been so sure he could make her fall in love with him. If he’d been wrong, what sort of life would he and this body have? His breathing went panicky at the thought of it.
“Peace,” he said aloud to himself.
If Georgie had acted this way, he’d have done everything in his power to soothe her. He was in an unfamiliar situation, his physical form being flooded by unknown stress chemicals. He needed to calm himself and think, to connect again to truths nothing and no one could alter.
To his relief, his jumping pulse settled.
Recalling what Georgie did when she wore an outfit she was unsure of, he stepped to the full-length mirror that hung on the bathroom door. A body was a kind of outfit. He could stare at this one until he got used it. Though his face was flushed and his eyes seemed unnaturally bright, his appearance didn’t displease him. How could it? The greatest enchantress in two dimensions had brought this form into being.
More to the point, his inner light radiated the same celestial brilliance as before.
Now listen, he thought, talking to himself as he would to Georgie. You’re a wonderful being, enjoying a wonderful opportunity. You’re far too smart and loving to waste this gift worrying. You’ll make the best of this experience, no matter what happens. In the meantime, you’re going to take the time you’ve been given to get steady on your new legs.
Satisfied, he nodded to his reflection. As the empress might have said, having a plan was good.
“TEST DAY!” ANNOUNCED a cheerful voice.
Fariel was back. Connor snapped to consciousness lying facedown in the bed. He thought he’d closed his eyes to rest for a minute. Awake now, he rolled over and sat up. As he did, a stack of books fell over and hit the floor: romantic novels and texts on sociobiology. Ishmael had teleported the books to him. Connor didn’t assume he knew everything now, but he’d read all he could before his head grew too heavy to continue.
He squinted and rubbed his eyes. The sun was bright outside the windows.
“I slept,” he said.
“First time for everything, isn’t there?” Fariel smoothed the garments he’d draped across a chair. “Wear these. And shower. Herself doesn’t like bad smells.”
Did all the ifrits call Luna that? Connor walked obediently toward the bathroom until something Fariel said made him pause.
“Lu- The Empress is going to test me?”
Fariel’s devilish smile reminded Connor he was a demon. “Who else? I hope you studied well!”
The ifrit didn’t wish anything of the sort. Fariel frowned as he noticed Anna Karenina and Wuthering Heights on the floor. Connor had discovered Ishmael thought happy endings would mislead him.
Fariel turned to Connor. His black eyes were accusing. “Where did these books come from?”
Ah, Connor thought. That’s what the problem is. “I didn’t leave the room without permission. I called Ishmael, and he sent them.”
He thought this would calm the ifrit, but Fariel crossed his arms. Two faint smoke trails issued from his otherwise human-looking ears. “You called him.”
“On the phone.” Connor pointed at the apparatus. “No one forbade me from using it.”
“We didn’t leave a directory for the house.”
“I can still do small magics in this form. I scried for the extension. The library imp was under the impression he was supposed to help.”
Fariel lowered his arms. This, at last, allayed his suspicions. “Very well. I suppose we’ll give you points for initiative.”
Connor grinned. No matter what Fariel claimed, Luna wasn’t the only djinni testing him. This delighted him—along with his ability to catch on.
His joy at understanding he was being hazed seemed to disconcert the ifrit.
“There’s something wrong with you,” he said, wagging his index finger. “Don’t think I won’t find out what.”
“Then you’ll really be surprised,” Connor laughed.
Fariel harrumphed at him. “Shower and dress,” he instructed, “but don’t eat. You’re brunching with Herself in the dining room.”
“Will I get a ruby necklace?” Connor asked innocently.
“You’ll get toast,” Fariel said. “And possibly eggs with bacon.”
Connor’s new stomach growled. Right then, eggs and bacon sounded better than gemstones. He sent up a prayer of thanks that spying on people at Stuckey’s Diner had taught him a few manners.
AS WAS USUAL, LUNA had the dining room to herself. Georgie was an early riser. Didn’t want to miss a minute of tearing down some heap to repurpose its contents. Her absence was fine with Luna. Too much guardian-ward bonding gave her dyspepsia.
Solitude also allowed Luna to accomplish her daily wrestling match with The New York Times. Every morning she scanned the thing front to back, searching for what Iksander had hoped to find. Every morning nothing jumped out at her: no secret code, no spell embedded microscopically in the ink. She’d concluded whatever obsessed him wouldn’t appear until his arrival date. Still, she forced herself through it.
“Ugh,” she exclaimed, finishing the latest issue and shoving it aside. The paper had to be the dreariest rag ever. All those stories of petty tyrants—and not a one of them with panache. Humans honestly didn’t seem capable of stylish villainy.
A knock at the door interrupted her irritation. Connor had arrived, right on time. My, but wasn’t the ifrit tall? He looked delicious—all pressed and scrubbed and broad-shouldered in his informal business wear. In the light that filtered through the adjoining conservatory, she saw his hair was gold like Iksander’s. A little darker, perhaps, and cropped closely to his head. She sighed internally.
Leave it to Georgie to unconsciously choose a favorite with similar coloring.
“Your Highness?” he said. “You wanted me to join you?”
“Take the chair near me on that side. And call me Alma. That’s the name Georgie knows me by. You may as well get used to it.”
“Alma,” he agreed, taking the seat smoothly. “Do you wish me to ask permission before I do things or go ahead and behave as a human would?”
So. He understood she was testing him.
“By all means.” Sh
e waved for him to proceed. “Demonstrate you’re capable of passing as one of them.”
He did indeed seem competent. He shook out the napkin and placed it in his lap, after which he served himself from the covered platter and poured coffee. His movements were only a bit more deliberate than a human’s, probably the effect of getting used to the body. He gestured toward her with the coffee carafe.
“Would you like topping up?” he asked politely. “Alma.”
She laughed. “All right. You didn’t mislead me about your familiarity with humans.”
He grinned broadly.
“That,” she said, realizing what was off. “Right there. Don’t overdo the happy. Most humans aren’t that damned perky.”
His smile faltered. “Less happy.”
“Please. Your regular ifrit moods plus a notch brighter will be fine.”
“I will try,” he said.
“I’ll try,” she corrected. “Now go ahead and eat. You’ll concentrate better if you’re not hungry.”
He ate like a man who’d never tasted anything before, which she supposed he was. She allowed him to moan at the eggs and bacon without comment. By the time he’d finished his plate, he’d begun to control himself.
“Sorry,” he said, remembering to use the napkin to wipe his mouth. “That was excellent.”
“I’m glad you thought so,” she said dryly. “Why don’t we go over the cover story I’ve devised.”
“Cover story?”
“You can’t just show up out of the blue. You need an identity, things that prove to humans you’ve existed a normal amount of time.” She passed the folder she’d prepared across the table. “There’s a wallet in here, with human money and IDs. As of now, you’re Connor Lindstrom, freelance photographer. You’re shooting a coffee table book on barns that are falling down. Georgie—my ward and your romantic target—adores that stuff. I’ve convinced you to accept a side job taking pictures at her birthday.”
“If I need a side job, I am not rich.”
“You don’t have to be. Georgie likes earning her own money.” Luna passed a second folder across the table. “My notes on her personality are in here. Please study them before the party. If Georgie notices anything odd about you, say you’re from Canada.”
Connor had been reading but he looked up. “Perhaps I came south because Canada ran out of barns for me to photograph.”
Though his tone was innocent, she sensed he was joking. “If you’re smart enough to be snarky, maybe you can pull this off.”
“Snarky,” he repeated, rolling the word around his mind. He smiled when it came clear to him.
“You can still do that?” she asked. “You have access to magic in that body?”
“Some,” he said cautiously.
More than some, she suspected. Well, ifrits always kept secrets. It was their nature to be sneaky.
“One more thing,” she said, deciding to let that be for now. “Our agreement? Everything we discuss? It stays between you and me. Georgie believes I’m a human named Alma West. Not for any reason do you tell her differently.”
Connor tipped his head to one side. “Do you think she’d dislike you if she knew?”
Luna jerked at the strange question. Why would he think she’d care? “Just keep your lips zipped about my business.”
He considered her longer than he should have, until the back of her neck tightened. His soft blue eyes were strange. They weren’t glowing like hers did occasionally. Somehow, they appeared to gaze into forever, as if he knew mysteries she couldn’t fathom. He didn’t seem intimidated by her. If anything, his expression was . . . sympathetic.
What sort of ifrit had he been anyway?
“I understand,” he said an instant before a shiver could betray her. “I shall do as you request.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
He bowed his head but not as if he were afraid. Anger began to rise in her, pulling arousal in its wake. This fellow needed to learn who bossed whom.
Her fingers tightened around her coffee cup. Before they could snap it, she set it in its saucer. “Perhaps I ought to put you through your paces in a more . . . intimate activity.”
“Your Highness,” he said, his head still down. “You honor me. I wonder, though, if training me to please you might do more harm than good? Your ward’s tastes seem likely to be less sophisticated.”
Luna snorted. This was true enough. “You’d rather face that part of your duties completely green?”
“Your employees have done what they can to educate me. And I’ve made observations of my own.”
“You’re sure you can get it done? No force but true seduction?”
He lifted his face, those eyes of his dizzying. “I have sworn to fulfill your assignments. I take that seriously.”
His answer was respectful. She couldn’t have said why it left her dissatisfied.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
—
SWEET 18
Staying away from Georgie until her birthday was difficult for Connor. Since first introducing himself, he’d spent a portion of every day in her company. Being with her, sharing experiences and fun, was more natural than breathing.
This is what’s right for humans, he told himself. Ishmael’s books said being joined at the hip was unhealthy.
In the end, he didn’t have much choice. Luna’s gang of ifrits kept a close watch on him. The meal with Luna was his single venture outside his rooms. Though he enjoyed numerous aspects of his changed circumstances, it didn’t take long to feel constrained. Not being able to flit around at will was irritating, especially once party preparations got underway. So many people were stopping by. Caterers. Decorators. Everyone the empress thought proper for a big do. Connor wanted to see them all. Instead, he had to rely on the ifrits for gossip.
Their version of events tended to be cynical.
At last, the anniversary of the day Georgie was born arrived. Fariel came to help him dress—though, at this point, Connor could handle it. To his surprise, Pink accompanied the male. “Pink” was the name the fuchsia ifrit called herself. Connor suspected it wasn’t real. Many demons used aliases, to lessen the chance of hostile djinn summoning them. How Luna had obtained Taytoch’s truename Connor didn’t know.
Pink seemed to understand why her presence raised his eyebrows. She jerked her head toward her companion. “I came to make sure this one didn’t screw up.”
“You came to see Connor in his tuxedo,” Fariel retorted. “You’re as gaga for this romantic nonsense as all females.”
Pink stuck out her tongue at him.
“Won’t you be at the party?” Connor asked.
“In vapor form,” Pink replied. “Assuming Herself doesn’t dream up a job for us at the last minute.”
Pink plopped into a chair and looked annoyed. Though she could have been centuries old, she reminded Connor of a teenager. Curiosity prodded him to ask a question. “If you could go in physical form to the party, would you?”
“As if,” she huffed. “None of us, not even Taytoch can hold human semblance well enough to pass more than a few minutes. The empress would have a cow if we gave away her game.”
“But if you could?” Connor pressed. “I can still do a bit of magic. I might be able to rig a charm. You could dance and eat cake and dress up fancy.”
In strict truth, Connor didn’t do charms—not as ifrits understood. He focused his will and filled an idea with energy. He could, however, rig something that looked like a charm. At the moment, that seemed all the ifrit needed to know.
Or maybe not. Pink’s emerald eyes slitted suspiciously. “What would you want in return?”
Connor thought. “Your solemn promise that you wouldn’t do any harm. Or give me away afterwards.”
“I’m not a rat. And that’s not real payment.”
Connor shrugged. “It’s what I’d want.”
Pink looked to Fariel, seemingly for advice. “I don’t know why he’s offering,” her colleague
said. “You have to choose for yourself.”
“Then I accept,” Pink said firmly. “I accept, and I want a charm that will let me party into the wee hours of the morning.”
Connor smiled, the ache he’d been feeling over missing Georgie lightened by Pink’s pleasure. “In that case, I’d better get to work.”
Pink hopped up with a very un-demonish squeak. “I’m going to see which outfit Georgie chooses! I’ll wear the other one!”
She didn’t use the door but puffed into her smoke form.
“You are strange,” Fariel said.
Connor smiled at him too.
WHEN IT CAME TO GEORGIE’S birthday, Alma was her usual generous self, sending up not one but two pricey outfits for Georgie to choose between. Also per usual, she found the presents simply waiting on her bed when she and Tom walked in—as if they’d appeared magically. Titus wasn’t telling how they’d got there. He’d trotted down his cat ramp to watch intently from her pillows.
“I’ll save you the ribbon,” Georgie promised.
The contents of the first box were totally her. Parting the crisp white tissue revealed a rocker-chick black mesh top with a fancy bra to wear underneath, plus a pair of shiny red patent leather trousers with ladder side cutouts.
“Whoa,” Tom said as he snared the bra’s matching thong. “Not much to these, is there?”
Georgie snatched the panties away from him. “Those are for me to wear and you to never see again.”
Tom flashed his teeth. “Can’t stop a guy from dreaming.”
“I can ask my coworker not to.”
“You can ask Jerry not to. It’d only be creepy if he’d seen them.”
“Idiot,” Georgie muttered, hoping Tom had put the girls who were after him on the guest list. He wouldn’t even be here if she hadn’t been missing Connor. Her marsh light friend liked to wander, but never as long as this. He’d been AWOL now for three days. Wondering if she actually could outgrow him left her off balance. When Tom volunteered to squire her, she’d felt insecure enough to accept.
