by Judi Fennell
“Like psychics or people who talk to dead people?”
“Exactly, except those people aren’t dead. They’ve just moved to a different plane by going into the Light.”
“A different plane? The Light? You’re telling me that my whole concept of this world is wrong? That there are planes and ghosts walking among us, and genies watching me when I shower and sleep? Birds can listen in on our conversations?” He downed the rest of his beer.
Vana winced. She wasn’t doing the best job of fostering djinn-mortal relations.
“It’s not as pervasive or invasive as you’re making it sound, Zane. Everyone has their own lives. We don’t sit around watching mortals on flat-screen TVs or anything. But yes, we’re there.”
“I guess that makes my pissing match with Gary over this house rather insignificant in this universal, plane-based world order.”
“Not at all. Everyone has a purpose and a path. It’s merely a matter of finding the right one to walk.”
“Or fly?” At least he could joke about having his world turned topsy-turvy on him.
She smiled. “Or fly.”
He set his empty beer bottle on the floor next to his chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging between them. “What’s it like?”
“Flying?” Vana had to think about her answer. No one had ever asked her before. Usually, they’d demanded a ride to find out for themselves. But not Zane. He hadn’t demanded anything from her at all. That was half of his appeal.
And she was not going to think about the other half.
“Flying is… freedom. Like you said earlier, but not the you-can-go-anywhere kind because it’s more about how you go. On land, everyone’s confined by gravity. In water, it’s by our lung capacity and buoyancy. But on a carpet… it’s magic.” She chuckled. “I mean, of course it’s magic, but not my magic. Well, not totally. The rugs themselves are enchanted, and the combination of its magic and a genie’s creates a unique experience every time.
“It’s the feeling itself that is magical. You can go as high as you want or skim the ground or even hover. Go fast or slow, ride the wind like a roller coaster, or take it easy and fly straight. There are no boundaries. You can even fly upside down and you won’t fall off. There’s nothing more freeing, more alive than riding a magic carpet.” She put a hand on his knee. “Would you like to try it?”
He sat up. “Go for a ride? Now?”
“It’s almost dark. No one will see.” Especially if she used Invisibility. She stood up and held out her hand. “What do you say? Want to give it a whirl?”
“Absolutely.”
They coasted above the Pennsylvania mountains, dipping down into the canyons and skimming their toes along the surfaces of the creeks there. She banked the rug around the overhangs and soared over the tree line, wanting to give him the perfect first flying experience.
“I see what you mean about this being freedom.” Zane leaned back on his hands, his legs dangling over the edge as they passed through a cloud. “I could get used to this.”
“Then you’d be missing the magic. I never get used to it. There’s something new every time.” Vana steered the carpet beside a great horned owl out looking for dinner.
Unlike mortals, birds were fully accepting of genies and, like Merlin, able to see through Invisibility. The raptor stuck to his flight pattern while merely blinking his big yellow eyes at them as they coasted past.
Zane closed his mouth when she veered off into a cloud. There was nothing like the soft caress of a cloud—unless it was Zane’s caress.
Not what she needed to think about now. Or ever.
“I see your point, Vana. There really is nothing like it.”
Actually… there was. Making love to him was every bit as thrilling and freeing and wonderful.
The carpet dropped out of the sky.
Luckily, they fell into a wandering rain cloud, thank the stars, because the denser water particles slowed their descent and allowed Vana to regain control of the carpet.
If only she could be that successful with her wayward, weak-in-the-knees thoughts—which weren’t helped when Zane pulled her against him.
“What was that?” he practically growled, his breath coming fast and heavy against her cheek, his arms wrapping around her body, pressing her against that hard, muscular chest that was rising and falling with each heavy breath he took. None of which was helping with the weak-in-the-knees thing.
Then he tilted her head back. “Are we okay now, Vana?”
He was so close. The protective way he held her, the concern in his eyes. The way his lips parted just a whisper away from hers…
The ridge she felt against her thigh…
“Everything’s fine, Zane. You can let go.”
Please don’t.
He didn’t.
“What caused it?”
Being lovestruck.
Thankfully, she didn’t say that out loud either. “We hit an air pocket.” Which normally wouldn’t have been a problem, but normally she wasn’t thinking about having him inside of her when she hit one.
“Magic carpets are subject to air pockets?”
“Magic or not, aerodynamics are aerodynamics.”
The cloud shifted then, revealing a night sky blanketed in stars, and what the proverbial “they” said was true: the stars had never sparkled so brightly as they did at this moment. The wind had never caressed her skin so softly. The swoop of the rug had never been so uplifting, the troughs never so tummy-tickling, the feel of his skin on hers never so magnetic, and the moment… never so perfect.
“Vana…” His breath was as soft as starlight, and the look in his eyes…
She licked her lips. She couldn’t help it; her mouth had dried up.
His gaze zoomed right there, and a half second later… he kissed her.
Or maybe she kissed him.
She didn’t know.
She didn’t care.
It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered but this moment.
Nothing mattered but him.
And her.
And this.
His lips slid over hers, nipping, nuzzling, stroking, licking, nibbling, all manner of tasting and teasing that sent her tummy—and the carpet—twirling through the air.
But Zane didn’t notice, and she didn’t mind.
He slid his hands up her back, pressing her closer to him, and Vana twined her arms around his neck to hang on.
They stayed like that for a while—it could have been seconds; it could have been hours. All Vana was aware of was the man holding her, touching her, kissing her, wanting her, and it was all she could do to try to retain some hold—however small—on her sanity and remember who and what she was and what would happen if this got out of control. She would never become the genie she’d been born to be.
If only she knew who that was.
***
Gary paced his living room for the second night in a row. A second night he wasn’t going to get any sleep. Where the fuck was she? What genie didn’t notice their bottle missing? Hell, he’d been online all afternoon doing research on genies, and every legend, story, and fable said genies were bound to their bottle, so what was he doing wrong?
That stopped his pacing.
Of course! What he was doing wrong was waiting for her to come to him. He had the upper hand here. He had her bottle and the dish.
And he was now her master.
It was time he made her aware of those facts.
31
Vana woke to an empty bed.
That wasn’t a surprise because she’d gotten into it that way after their carpet ride. It was, however, a shame.
But it was safer.
The rest of the house was just as empty. Zane had left on his errands; the gargoyles were presumably still hiding; the furniture was still asleep; and Merlin was playing hard to get, which was fine with her. She didn’t need his brand of sarcasm after the wonderful day she’d s
hared with Zane. The phoenix would show up at some point, she was sure, but until then, she was going to enjoy the peace and quiet. A genie rarely had that outside of his or her bottle.
She went into Peter’s study. His chess set sat between the two leather chairs in front of the fireplace. Ah, the times they’d sat there to play a game. Mrs. Hamm, Peter’s housekeeper, had been the first source of the “crazy” rumors. She’d thought the man absolutely batty to play chess by himself, but Peter had refused to give up his weekly matches with Vana. He’d compromised with the housekeeper by taking those naps he hadn’t needed.
Vana arranged the pieces on the board to their positions during the last match she and Peter had played. She’d been within one move of checkmating him when he’d called it a night. Said he had to prepare for the luncheon the next day and needed his sleep, but she’d known he’d wanted time to come up with a way to beat her.
There hadn’t been one. Then the fiasco with the bear and the stairs had happened, and she’d been banished to the attic, and well… they’d never had the chance to finish.
She made the only move Peter could have made, then nudged her rook into place, but sadly, there was no triumph in the victory.
She looked around the room. There’d been life in this house. Of all the masters she’d served, Peter had offered the most satisfying experience of her Service. He’d been her friend. He’d enjoyed talking to her and had taken her on those treasure-hunting missions where they’d found the others.
She’d been his treasure, too. And, for the most part, she’d felt it. Peter had wanted to have a genie only for the confirmation that they existed, not for what she could do for him. He’d been too proud of where he’d come from and how he’d made it all happen himself to take handouts from her, so he’d valued her for her company. And she his.
Those had been the best years of her life, and not because Peter had taken her on his travels, though they’d been fun. It’d been the ability to work on her magic for magic’s sake, not his, and the lack of pressure to be perfect. Even when things had gone wrong, he’d been the father she’d wished hers had been: patient, kind, understanding.
She missed Peter. She missed what they’d had. What she’d had. And she wanted it again. Wanted to feel as if she mattered to someone. That she had a friend. Someone who accepted her for who she was.
Vana got out of the chair. If she sat there any longer, she’d end up a pile of blubbering mush and that was never productive. She wiped the two tears that managed to escape just as someone knocked on the front door.
Her first thought was “yay, company!” followed shortly thereafter by that dread she’d felt when that stopper had sealed the top of her bottle that first time. Trapped.
The rapper rapped again. Vana brushed her hair back over her shoulders and thanked the stars that she’d worn mortal clothing today. She tugged the hem of her T-shirt over her jean shorts and pinched her cheeks. (She wasn’t quite sure why, but she’d seen movie characters do it so apparently it was what one did when mortals came calling.) Then she headed toward the front door.
“At ease,” she mumbled before Eirik could do his normal snap-to-attention, not sure if she meant him or her. She opened the door.
A gaggle of women stood on the porch.
The term was appropriate because even though they weren’t geese, the women resembled them: each one gabbing over the other, and the ones in the back craning their necks to see over the ones in front.
“We wanted to welcome you to town,” said one.
“It’s so wonderful to have a Harrison in this house again,” said another.
“What are your plans?” asked yet another, none of them giving her the chance to answer.
“My Mikey wouldn’t mind taking over from Jack Ertel when you leave. This lawn must be too much for him,” said another.
“Oh, the place looks lovely.” That intrepid woman had her foot over the threshold and her head around the door.
Thankfully, Eirik behaved himself.
“May we come in?” The question was moot because Ms. Intrepid, apparently the leader of the gaggle, was now standing in the foyer.
Five more followed.
“Um, okay.” Vana shut the door after the last crossed the threshold.
“Is that Peter?” Intrepid asked, pointing to the portrait hanging there before picking up one of the perfume bottles Peter had collected on that trip to Istanbul. She lifted the stopper and sniffed the contents. Pomegranate and poppy: quite a potent aphrodisiac back in its day. Vana wouldn’t be surprised if the fumes in the bottle still packed a punch.
“Yes, it is.” She barely got her answer out before Miss Nosey Pants picked up a set of tintypes Peter had found in a little shop just before the visit to Lady Lockshaven.
“Is this him and his wife? Mildred, I believe her name was.”
“Millie, but no. They’re just some—”
“I must say, those drapes are in remarkably good condition.” The woman didn’t wait for an answer before leading the way into the parlor.
Vana managed to return the pictures and perfume bottle to the table in the foyer before following the flock into the room, her “Thank you” falling on deaf ears as their feet fell on a few strands of Fatima’s fringe.
That counted.
“Wow. Nice compact,” said another woman, pulling Lucia out from the sofa cushions. “From the ’40s, right?”
Vana just nodded. The 1540s, but she wouldn’t say so. What was Lucia doing there?
“And the furniture is as beautiful as if it’d been crafted yesterday.” Another woman walked on Fatima, while yet another stroked her hand along Henry’s side.
Vana thought she saw Henry sigh. She’d have to remember to do that—human contact, even when one wasn’t in human form, was still important.
After introductions were exchanged, Vana was able to escape to the kitchen alone to conjure up iced tea and a batch of baklava, two things she had no trouble whipping up—and luckily without any whips.
She brought the tray into the parlor, only to find the children stacked up nice and neat on the coffee table. Once she got over the shock and panic, she realized they couldn’t have done it themselves. If they had, the women would have run shrieking from the room.
She wasn’t surprised to see Ms. Intrepid—er, Laura Hardins—surreptitiously slide the cardboard box around to the side of the sofa with her shoe.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, patting her pocket from which a piece of thread or something dangled, “but I just had to see what was inside that lovely armoire. These dishes are just exquisite. Quite rare, too, aren’t they?”
The woman had no idea.
“This looks delicious.” Laura put two pieces of baklava on the plate that was Anthony.
Vana held her breath. Anthony hated baklava.
Sure enough, one of the pieces started to inch toward the edge.
“Why don’t we sit down?” Vana took the plate from Laura and managed to slide the baklava onto Francesca and put Anthony at the bottom of the stack with a sleight-of-hand trick she’d learned in the souk from Ali that had nothing to do with magic.
“Where did you find the time to bake amid this extensive renovation?” LeeAnn Something-Something, a name full of Spanish articles that Vana hadn’t caught during the introductions, set Gregory on the table. The youngest of the children fluttered one of his edges slightly.
Vana picked him up and set him in her lap, her fingers stilling the roving edge. Unfortunately, though, he had more of them to move, so she tucked him beneath her hands. “Baklava isn’t really that hard to ma—”
“Who was your contractor?” Stella Johnsen set Benjamin on the table.
Benjamin loved baklava; Vana would have to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn’t absorb any. In this heat, melting baklava wouldn’t be hard to explain; evaporating baklava, on the other hand, would be. “Zane and I have been work—”
“Is everything here original to the h
ouse?” asked Lorelei Someone, examining the antique salt shaker Zane had given her.
“Yes—”
“I love this,” said Terri—or maybe it was Tess—holding up Lucia. “Pity you had to tape it shut.”
Tape it shut? Vana tried to keep her grimace looking like a smile, but her mind—and Gregory’s edges—were reeling. What was going on?
“Did you have old photographs to copy from or did you hire a decorator?” Brenda Anderson helped herself (and Eloise) to another piece of baklava.
“Um, no. We just did what we thought looked right.”
Laura ran her fingers over the scroll-worked lantern Vana had found for Peter in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. “I heard the original owner picked up some amazing things in his travels.” The woman had no idea. “No one makes things like this anymore.”
She was more right than she knew. Peter had been convinced that an ifrit had inhabited that lantern. Vana hadn’t agreed; an ifrit would never have chosen something so plain, nor sat idly inside. Every ifrit she’d ever come across had been literally bouncing off whatever walls tried to contain it. Unless it’d been up to something.
Hmmm, maybe she should have kept that in the attic.
The questions continued, and while the women were polite, their interest in the house was anything but subtle. They were dying for a grand tour, and only good manners prevented them from asking.
And thank the stars they didn’t. Besides the fact that house was her home and not a tourist attraction, something was going on. Lucia with the tape and now Gregory was acting up in a way she’d expect of Colin when mortals were around.
Colin… Holy smokes! Where was Colin?
Sheer panic rose in a tidal wave over Vana. There were only seven dishes on the table. Where was he? What was he going to do? Colin was enough of an imp that he might actually have some in his genetic makeup, but now was not the time to test that theory.
She had to get these ladies out of here. Gods, what if Colin decided to skate across the floor? Fling himself through the air like a flying disc? She’d promised Zane that the kids would behave, and if they decided not to in front of this gaggle, the story would be all over town faster than her magic could stop it. Thankfully, she remembered what Zane said about being offensive. Or something like that.
