Three Wishes

by Debra Dunbar

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” Asta ignored the rest of his statements regarding Carter’s plots. Dar was still, what was the word, pissed? Dar was still pissed about her dinner date tonight. She needed to excuse some snark or he’d wind up even angrier. His earlier threats regarding Carter’s genitals still lurked in the back of her mind. There was no sense giving him any excuse to act on them.

  Dar made a ‘humpf’ sound. “Anyway, I haven’t sensed any demon energy. I think we’re safe. For now. Although I still vote we kill Phelps and steal the bottle—in that order.”

  Her arm brushed against his, and she felt a brief touch of his spirit. “You don’t get a vote. But I’m curious; if you interfered with the term of service by stealing the software giveaways, what would that do to the contract?”

  “It depends on the wording, but I’m confident that my theft wouldn’t matter. Usually once the demon performs the service, the results are out of his control and not part of the contract. If Phelps has made a wish, and I fuck it up, the demon won’t give a shit. Three wishes, and he’s free, regardless of how things work out.”

  The angel shook her head in disbelief. “Why wouldn’t the sorcerer ask for guaranteed results as part of the contract? Seems foolish not to.”

  Dar rested his arm lightly against hers. Was he doing this on purpose? It was driving her crazy. Darn it all, this demon was so distracting. “Demands for guarantees on results aren’t binding,” he explained. “There are too many outside factors that can interfere. The summoning is only for service.”

  “Well that is a significant flaw in the magical system. Binding is much more effective. When we bind a demon, we can demand results. Humans have a long way to go in their evolution.”

  “Yeah. Because positive evolution involves enslaving someone and forcing them to do your bidding.”

  Well since he put it like that... . “We don’t do that anymore,” Asta hastily assured him. “And few angels have the power to bind. I certainly don’t. I’m not sure even all the archangels do.”

  “How reassuring,” Dar drawled. “Well, if Phelps used one of his wishes for world domination through this Ouroborous giveaway, then no wonder he’s so angry this afternoon.”

  “Maybe he didn’t get enough coffee.” Asta suggested.

  ‘I didn’t get enough coffee,” the demon grumbled. “And there’s a lot of things I’d rather be doing than hanging out here, watching a fucking human yell at his staff.”

  Asta patted the demon on the back. She could sympathize. There were things she’d rather be doing, too. Ferris wheel. Steaming tub with a naked Dar. “Well, keep watching. And if you start having a pity party, remember I’m standing outside a hotel all day in the rain.”

  Dar scowled. “Yeah, but at least you’re getting a decent dinner tonight and have a halfway decent chance of getting laid.”

  Yep, still jealous. And still pissy. How funny that it really turned her on. “I promise you, I will not be ‘getting laid’ tonight. And if you really want, I’ll bring you a doggie bag of leftovers.”

  Chapter 11

  Asta placed a hand against the cool glass. “The view is breathtaking.”

  It was, and staring out the window gave her a chance to avoid Carter’s obvious romantic intentions. The lights were dim, and artfully placed candles were scattered throughout the main room of the suite. The room-service staff had wheeled in several linen-draped carts full of silver-domed platters. Soft music came from the speakers, and the glass full of ruby wine in her hand was etched crystal.

  “Yes, it is.” The man’s voice was smooth.

  Ugh, he was referring to her. Dar was right; this was a bad idea—a very bad idea.

  “I’m starving. Shall we eat?” Asta spun around, pinning a smile on her face. By all that was holy, he looked like a worshipful puppy. How the heck was she supposed to ask him to show him the bottle in his bedroom? She should have just let Dar steal the darned thing.

  Cut to the chase and tell him why she was there, and he’d be liable to throw her out. She’d look like she’d manipulated him into this with false interest—which she actually had. Or she could go through the whole dinner song and dance and lead him on enough to get into the bedroom, which would make her pretty close to being the prostitute Dar had accused her of. She’d gotten herself into one Hel of a corner with no good way out.

  Dinner stretched on for an eternity. Asta grew increasingly tense watching the candles burn low and the plates empty as they made small talk. The only consolation was that Carter seemed just as anxious as she was.

  “Please excuse me.” She rose and motioned toward the restroom.

  Carter nearly knocked his chair backwards jumping to his feet. “Yes, of course. I’ll get some brandy for us.”

  Asta strode down the hallway, determined to be gone before the brandy glass was empty. Bypassing the bathroom, she walked right into the bedroom. Hopefully he’d think she’d just gotten the wrong room, and not that she was trying to jump right to sexual activities. The very thought of it made her break into a cold sweat.

  She felt the pulsating beacon of demon energy even before she turned the light on. Dar was right—it was a shrine. Everything on top of the dresser held precious memories; what a shame that one of those items also held death.

  “Wrong room.”

  Asta jumped, her heart pounding. Thankfully Carter only sounded amused as he pushed a brandy into her hand. “Look, you don’t seem like the femme fatal type, and I’m not... well, I’m not exactly the suave playboy. Let’s forget about the bedroom stuff, just enjoy the evening, and hopefully you’ll want to see me again before you leave. If things happen, then they happen.”

  Thank the almighty Creator. Now that she didn’t have to worry about fighting off Carter’s advances, she might be able to salvage the situation. “Sounds perfect to me. Can I ask you something?”

  He sipped his brandy. “Sure. I’ve got no secrets—well, beyond R&D ones, that is.”

  “Do you know what’s in the bottle?”

  Brandy came out Carter’s nose. It seems he had secrets after all. After a violent bout of coughing, he cleared his throat. “Nothing. It’s just an old bottle my grandparents found on a dig. It must not have been museum quality, because they were allowed to keep it. I always thought it was pretty when I’d visit her as a child.”

  No, Carter Phelps was most definitely not stupid, but he most definitely was lying. How could she call him on it without alienating the man or having him send her off to a mental institution? She looked at the odd collection of items, some mundane and some exotic, and got an idea.

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I felt it. Ever since I entered your hotel room, all through dinner, I felt something. I was heading to the bathroom and realized it was coming from here—from the bottle. Are you sure there’s nothing in it?”

  The man turned an alarming shade of white, all the rosy pink draining from his face until the freckles on his nose seemed pinpoints of brown against snow. “It’s empty. I opened it years ago, and there’s nothing in it.”

  Shit—oops, shoot. There were three wishes involved, but she had no idea what the effect of opening the bottle would have. Perhaps that was step one. She filed it away to ask Dar later and kept on with her charade.

  “In my family, we have the ability to sense these things. I don’t want to alarm you, but I feel like there is something evil associated with that bottle.”

  Was she laying it on too thick? The angel kicked herself for not researching human civilization, beliefs, and magical systems more. She was supposed to be from Rwanda, but she knew nothing about that culture to leverage. Dar would know. He’d spent his visits here actually getting to know the humans, immersing himself in their lives. It’s how he was so effective at tempting them to sin. She, on the other hand, had spent a hundred years watching them from on high. And now she was forced to do what the football fans called a Hail Mary.

  “Evil?” Carter smiled weakly. “It’s an
empty bottle. What’s evil about that?”

  Time to lay everything on the table and hope he didn’t have a straitjacket handy. “Three wishes and you’d find out. It can’t be seen, heard, or smelled, but if you request three wishes of it, then what’s inside will come out and lay waste to the world.”

  “Like a genie?” His eyebrows nearly met his hairline. “Like Barbara Eden in that old sitcom?”

  It was nice to know she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed late-night re-runs. “No, a genie like a demon. I don’t know what kind of demon. It could be plague, famine, or war. Regardless, it won’t be a chipper, good-natured, blond woman in a belly-dancing outfit.”

  “How do you...?” He frowned. “I thought the ‘genie in the bottle’ was a Middle East legend, not eastern Africa.”

  Ugh, here’s where she needed to lie like a demon. “Since the dawn of time, my family has served to protect the world from demons wherever they may appear. It doesn’t matter which legend they are from; I sense them and rid the world of them.”

  She’d gone too far, and he was looking at her like she was insane. Or drunk. Or insane and drunk. Reaching out, Carter took the brandy snifter from her hand and placed it on the bedside table. Yep, drunk.

  “So, what do I do?” he asked, watching her carefully. “I’m not going to destroy a piece of my childhood because a woman I just met tells me she’s a demon hunter.”

  There was no way she’d get him to give it up now. The best she could do was damage control and to get him to agree to a sorcerer freeing the genie.

  “I can find someone who can cleanse the bottle—release the genie so I can banish it. Then you’d be free to keep the bottle. You’d just need to be very careful not to wish anything in the meantime.” Asta felt a fissure of fear. He’d admitted to opening the bottle, but would he admit to prior wishes? “Have you made any wishes since you came into possession of it?”

  It was as if shutters came down over the man’s face. Carter met her gaze carefully then glanced at his brandy before taking a careful sip. “No. None at all.”

  Shit—shoot. No, shit was probably the better word for this nightmare, regardless of her innate dislike of foul language. Carter had wished—consciously made a wish. But how many had he unconsciously made over the years? How many were left?

  ***

  “Do you want the good news first or the bad news?” Wyatt asked.

  “Bad news,” Dar said.

  “I think Phelps has already had at least one of his wishes granted.”

  Dar scowled. “So I’m assuming his corporate success is a result of demonic intervention.”

  “That I’m not positive about. It could be he just got lucky with the right product at the right time. His family is old money, and he’s got a trust fund, so backing wouldn’t have been a problem. With a solid product and enough money to throw at it, it’s possible his success is genuine.”

  “So the first wish is?”

  “I’m pretty sure it involved academics. Phelps had poor high school grades, but got into Berkeley on the strength of his parent’s alumni status and some sizable family donations. He was close to failing every year when mysteriously at the end of his senior year, he rocketed to the top third of his class.”

  “Maybe he just laid off the pot and actually started studying?”

  “Maybe. I read his thesis, and it’s brilliant, but when I really got to digging around, I found that grades had been changed. Nothing ever really vanishes when it comes to data. There was an archive file on a back-up server in Houston that still had the original grades. He was failing, and then suddenly, he wasn’t.”

  Dar shrugged. “Bribes? You said his family is old money and his parents are alumni. Colleges are underfunded, and the right board is very susceptible to some cash in their face. I know this personally.”

  Wyatt rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I guess. Still, it’s all too convenient. His grandmother dies, and he gets the bottle. Then within two months, he’s acing his thesis and classes, grades are changed from ‘D’ to ‘A’, and he starts a company that five years later is worth billions.”

  “One wish for academics or one for corporate success, or both, or neither.” Dar resisted the urge to rub his own forehead. “The bad news is, we’ve got nothing but suspicions.”

  “Yeah. He could be on wish number three or have made none at all.”

  “Or something in between. I could use the good news right now.”

  Wyatt grinned. “I broke through that Ouroboros software. In addition to the usual protections, it was designed to guard against a very specific brute-force attack—one that just started taking down servers in China and India twenty minutes ago and is now working its way across the globe.”

  “Convenient. And I stole all the freebie copies that Phelps was going to give away.”

  “Yeah. There went his big chance. His current clients are protected, but all those freebies would have resulted in sales by next week. He’ll still get some good press out of this attack, but nowhere near the hero-worship and run on his products I’m sure he expected.”

  “Do you still think he’s somehow orchestrating the attacks?”

  “Is water wet? Yeah, I do. No one is this good unless he’s psychic, and I doubt Phelps can tell the future. If he keeps it up, he’ll have a total monopoly on the market.”

  “Yeah, but he’s not the only one in the game. Let’s say some hacker in Azerbaijan finds a way around his software.” Dar gave Wyatt his best meaningful look. “Or possibly a hacker from Maryland who just happens to be attending a conference in Chicago. All it takes is someone to get around his software, and he’ll fall from grace faster than a necrophiliac angel.”

  Wyatt winced. “Ugh, Dar, the image. Trust me, I’d love to take Phelps down, but wouldn’t that just force him to burn through his wishes? I thought the idea was to keep the genie in the bottle?”

  “Yeah, that,” the demon drawled. “I strongly doubt Asta is going to leave her date-night with the bottle in hand, and even if she does, the chances of finding a skilled magic user this side of the gates are slim. I figure let’s just rip the Band-Aid off, get the fucker out of the bottle, and deal with him.”

  “I’m not sure I want to be in the same town as an angry genie who was trapped in a bottle for hundreds of years. Are you sure you both can handle this guy before he levels the town?”

  “Of course we can,” Dar lied. “That fucker will be dead the moment he gets out of the bottle. Guaranteed.”

  Chapter 12

  First the Red Tape virus shut down businesses across the globe this spring, and now millions of companies have found their data stolen via the Olive Branch virus last night. How many companies will be ruined, how many governments de-stabilized by hackers before these criminals are tracked down and held accountable for their terrorism?”

  Asta shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortably aware Carter’s speech was heading straight toward a self-serving finale. The main conference room was packed, attendees spilling into the hallway while press flashed their cameras and extended their microphones up by the podium.

  Her entrancement abilities might be subpar, but she was a decent judge of character. Carter had good intentions, but what was that saying humans had about the pavement on the road to hell? Maybe Dar was right. Maybe her ability to evaluate human morals sucked as bad as her entrancement ones, and Carter was planning something nefarious. She watched him at the podium, his hands shaking and lip twitching in spite of his confident words. No. She just couldn’t believe that of him.

  “These viruses don’t just affect large companies. Mom and Pop companies are having to close their doors. Small businesses are the backbone of our country’s economy, and they are at risk.”

  Carter was sounding more and more like a politician. The thought sent Asta to scanning the room for Dar. What was his take on this whole thing? He knew humans and their hopes and fears better than she did. He’d know what Carter was maneuvering toward with his soft
ware and press conference.

  “I, for one, can’t sit by and watch while hardworking business folk are bankrupted by these criminals.” Carter paused, his gaze meeting as many eyes as he could while the crowd stood silent. “So I’m taking a stand. Our newest security software, Ouroboros, is now free to any company or government institution that requests it.”

  The room erupted with sound, everyone talking at once. Carter waited for the noise to die down and everyone’s attention to return to him before continuing.

  “As you leave, you’ll receive a copy of our press release, which includes a special URL and coupon code for your copy of Ouroboros. We’ve got over three-hundred server locations and the extra bandwidth allocated to ensure everyone will be safely under our wings by close of business today. Thank you.”

  Carter strode from the stage, seemingly confident and self-assured. Asta frowned, wondering where the awkward, endearing man she’d come to consider a friend had gone. Perhaps humans could separate their business-selves from their personal lives. It seemed entirely possible, given what she’d seen and read in the last hundred years. Still, it bothered her to see this other side of Carter.

  “Hey, babe, how’d your date go last night?”

  Asta felt Dar’s energy before his hand rested on her shoulder. Both touches felt good—warm and intimate.

  “Terrible. Get ready with the ‘I told you sos’. I didn’t get the bottle, but at least Carter knows what’s in it and that he needs to not cash in any wishes.”

  Dar snorted. “What makes you think he gives a shit about what’s in the bottle? Forget ‘I told you so’; I think he’s happy to profit from his wishes without any regard for what happens when the genie gets out.”

  No. She just couldn’t believe that. Maybe, before, Carter hadn’t known how dangerous his path was, but now he did, and she trusted him. Although humans, like demons, seemed to be rather shortsighted with low resistance to temptation. Not that she had room to talk, given her actions over the last few days.