by Anthology
Sienna resists the urge to check out the shelves. (It’ll only bug her if she spots upside-down titles or missing volumes. She needs to focus.) Instead, she thumps into the desk chair and spins it to face Mia, who’s hurriedly straightening the sheets and shoving a plushie behind the pillow.
“Sorry for dragging you upstairs like that,” Mia says. “I didn’t want my grandma to get into what happened at the store again. And my mom’s so happy to see me bringing someone home, she’d have kept you talking for hours. I wish she’d—” She clamps her hand to her mouth, cutting herself off.
“Relax,” Sienna tells her again. “I’m not going to trick you into anything.”
Mia watches her carefully.
“The wish has to be conscious. Intentional. I’m also not going to take your soul after we’re through or purposely misinterpret your wishes and screw you over.”
“How can I trust you?”
Sienna shrugs.
“Heh. Um. I mean.” Mia swallows visibly. “I hadn’t even considered the soul thing.”
Sienna wonders whether that’s a joke or nervousness. Or maybe both. “Look,” she says. “I can only use magic to fulfill wishes or to appear by your side. Even when I’m a world away. That’s the extent of it.”
Mia narrows her eyes. “Can I wish for a thousand wishes?”
“No.” Sienna rattles off her standard spiel, so burned into her brain that she’s sure she hasn’t deviated from it by a single word for at least six years: “No wishing for more wishes, no bringing people back from the dead, no changing the past, no playing with people’s free will too much. A nudge is okay—lining up the circumstances enough to make them open to an idea—but a shove is too far. That also rules out world peace, ending capitalism, and solving hunger and disease, since that requires too many people taking action against their will.”
Mia gathers the mangas and games on her bed. She does it slowly, like she’s absorbing Sienna’s words.
“Three wishes,” Sienna prompts.
“So … are you a genie?”
“I don’t think so.” This job didn’t come with a title.
“If you’re not taking my soul or whatever, what’s in it for you?”
Sienna taps her fingers to her left thumb in turn. “Nothing.” Most people go straight to wishing for a billion dollars before asking questions. She doesn’t see the point in lying, though. Might as well get this over with. She keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling as she talks, still touching her fingers to her thumb. “I’m cursed. One winter, when I was nine, I fell through the ice of the nearby lake. An old couple saw what happened. The woman stepped onto the ice and helped me to the shore. The ice cracked before she could get herself to safety. Her husband—I’m assuming it was her husband—tossed me his cell phone, yelled for me to call an ambulance, and ran to save her.”
Sienna hates this next part. But she’s also replayed it so often in her head that she’s become numb enough to recite what happened without so much as twitching. “I was frozen. Not because of the ice. I just couldn’t move. I didn’t call anyone. When a car went past, I didn’t even flag them. I just stood there. Watching.
“The old man sank through the ice, too. I still didn’t do anything. Then a passing car stopped, and someone ran out to help them. The driver looked after me in the meantime. She went to get me a blanket from the trunk, and suddenly, I bolted. Ran home. Didn’t know what happened to the couple. Once I recovered a few days later, I was waiting for the school bus, and that same old man who fell through the ice approached. I don’t know whether he survived, whether he was a … a ghost or something, or whether he was never human to begin with. But he said I was ungrateful and selfish. That I should learn to repay kindnesses. He cursed me. Laid out the ground rules. I haven’t seen him since.”
“But you were nine! A kid!” Mia gapes.
“Yes. I know.” An autistic kid, Sienna thinks, confused and petrified. She doesn’t linger on the thought. She has anger pulsing in the back of her mind every minute of every day; she doesn’t want to whip it up into a whirlwind. It won’t change anything except to leave her feeling worse.
Sienna rolls the desk chair closer to Mia, kicking off on the floor. “Three wishes.”
Mia goes quiet for a long time, her eyes fixed on Sienna. It’s uncomfortable. At first Sienna tries to ignore it. Then she tries to look back, but she gives up in seconds and pretends she was studying the mangas in Mia’s lap instead. Finally she spins the chair in slow circles, enjoying the whirl of it, the rhythmic push of her foot against the desk with every go-round. She can wait. She’s got time.
“My mom’s theater,” Mia says then. She speaks slowly, like she’s choosing her words carefully, even though Sienna had promised not to misinterpret them. “I want it to succeed.”
Sienna stops spinning. “You need to say the word.”
Mia breathes deeply. “I wish for my mom’s theater venture to succeed and become everything she wants it to be.”
“Theater?” Sienna says. “That’s a strange wish.”
“Do I need to explain…?”
“No.” She doesn’t know how it works, but the intent of the wish matters more than the words themselves. And the few times she has asked for details out of curiosity, she’s regretted it.
Some wishes hide curses underneath.
Sienna closes her eyes. She reaches for something inside, and—
A phone rings downstairs, cutting through the pop music.
Mia answers the question Sienna hasn’t asked: Why?
“My mom has a job—she works in accounting—but she hates it. She says it sucks out her soul. She’s trying to arrange funding to buy a historic playhouse downtown that’s about to be knocked down. She wants to start a youth theater. It’ll host acting and singing and dancing classes, plays and concerts, and it’ll have a little café and a library. It’ll be free for any kid who can’t afford it. She wants to reach out to homeless kids, give them a place to shower and spend their days and—”
Yelling from downstairs interrupts her. “Mia! Mia!”
Mia glances at Sienna, then gets up and opens the bedroom door. “Mom?”
“Mia!” She’s standing at the bottom of the stairs. “I just got a call! The call! We have funding! We’re funded! Come down here!”
Then she runs off, squealing at Mia’s little brother.
“There you go.” Sienna gets up, puts the desk chair back where she found it, and walks out into the hallway. As she passes Mia, she says, “The rest of this wish will happen at a natural pace. I’ll be back for the other two.”
“Wait.” Mia grabs her shoulder before she can move down the stairs.
Sienna’s breath sticks in her throat. She yanks free and turns, wary.
Mia seems to hesitate. “My mom will invite you to stay for dinner. She does that. Especially now that there’s something to celebrate.”
“I once rigged a presidential election. I can say no to someone’s mother.”
“Oh.”
Sienna squints at the look on Mia’s face.
“You could say yes. I mean … if you wanted,” Mia mumbles.
Sienna never stays with her charges longer than is necessary to get the wishes handled. Once you learn the darkest desires of even the most innocent-looking people, spending time with strangers becomes a lot less appealing. She’d rather stay safely at home and come only when called. So her first instinct is to say no.
The only thing stopping her is seeing how fragile Mia looks after extending that invitation. Perhaps she can be kinder in how she turns the girl down.
But she says, “I’d like that.”
* * *
Sienna drops by every day, sometimes at Mia’s school, sometimes at Mia’s home, asking about her second wish. Sometimes she makes suggestions:
A billion dollars?
To bump into someone Mia could fall madly, deeply in love with?
To find a steady group of friends?
A
guaranteed safe and healthy life for her family?
A unicorn?
The more they talk, the more specific Sienna’s suggested wishes become:
Does Mia want to be fluent in Japanese—in every language, for that matter?
Does she want her dad to travel for work less?
Does she want that Pokémon MMORPG combining every region, which she says she’s always dreamed of?
Does she want to be a famous manga artist or writer or both?
To nudge a senator or two and push certain legislation through Congress?
Make million-dollar donations to charities of her choice?
Mia has been scribbling down notes and ideas into a little notebook she’s started to carry with her, but she hasn’t said the words yet.
Sienna has to fight a smile every time she sees Mia hunched over the notebook, so focused and diligent—pen in hand, teeth pressed into her lower lip. She’d probably take the same approach herself. She appreciates that Mia is being so cautious about her next wishes, even as the thought makes restlessness stir inside her. This can’t last forever. She might as well get it over with as quickly as possible, like she usually does. It’s easier. It’s safer.
Three weeks after their first meeting, Sienna materializes in the old theater’s cloakroom right as Mia walks inside.
Mia is barely even startled. “Not here,” she says, pained.
Sienna looks around. The room looks nothing like any of the places she’s been with Mia before. “Are we in the theater?”
“Yeah. We’re getting a tour before my mom signs the papers.”
If even the cloakroom looks like this—dark red, ornamental gold, a polished-wood counter—Sienna can guess at how the rest of the theater looks. Not bad. It even smells fancy.
Mia goes on, “My mom wanted my grandma and me to see the place. They’re busy talking about some boring business things and my mom’s showing off the invitation flyers she had printed, so I wandered off, but they’ll expect me back soon.”
By now, none of that surprises Sienna. Of course Mia would wander, stuck in her own mind. Of course Mia’s mother would want to share with her loved ones the moment she signs her years-long dream into being. And of course Mia’s family would care enough to want Mia around.
Sienna abandons the thoughts. She’s here for a reason.
“Know your second wish yet?” She’s asked it so often these past weeks that the question slides off her tongue.
“I’m sorry for taking so long. I just … want to think it through. Properly. It’s a big deal.”
“I know. It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t sound fine.”
“It’s fine.”
Mia hesitates. “You sound angry. I know you want this over with.”
“That’s just how I sound.” Sienna is not sure whether the joke comes across. “It’s fine. Really. As long as I’m bound to you, I can’t become indebted to anyone else. That you’re taking your time means I don’t have to worry about anyone else doing me favors. I went to visit my parents.”
“You don’t live with them? I thought you were my age.”
“I am. Seventeen.” She smiles wryly. “Try living with your parents when they can’t show you kindness.”
Sienna’s parents meant well. They loved her. They simply learned to love other things, too: helping friends, wealth, traveling the world, bringing down business rivals, speaking a new language every week, bulldozing the neighbor’s home to build a swimming pool …
Sienna fulfilled dozens of wishes for her parents before pleading with them to wish an independent life for her, away from them and away from their wishes. An apartment of her own. Steady cash flow. No one bothering her about taxes or going to school.
Sienna and her parents still talk. But only when she’s bound to someone else.
“A break from having to be careful is nice,” she finally says. “It doesn’t normally last this long.”
“Then … why are you impatient for me to make my wishes?”
Sienna searches for the words. Her left hand twitches by her side as she thinks, tapping her fingertips to her thumb. It’s not that people haven’t asked before; she just hasn’t wanted to answer before.
She doesn’t want Mia to think she’s angry, though.
She doesn’t want Mia to feel guilty, either, even though she’s not sure why. Maybe it’s because Sienna thinks she might not have anything to worry about from Mia’s next two wishes.
And that’s a nice change of pace.
“I’m impatient because I want all this to be over,” she admits. “I can’t change other people’s free will, but my own doesn’t seem to matter. I have to fulfill every wish. Even the bad ones. I have to break up happy marriages over a stalker’s jealousy. Kill people for inheritances or convenience or politics or pettiness. Arrange the success of organizations and people I hate. Nudge a girl toward saying yes to a date with a boy who’s got bad intentions. With nearly unlimited power, even the nicest people, they…” She’s talking too much. This arrangement is not about her. She needs to explain herself and be done with it. “I can hide from people, but not for long. Even if I stick to my apartment, I have to respond to kindnesses over the internet and phone. And I keep thinking: I should go back outside. Maybe there’s a goal I need to reach. If I keep going long enough—if I fulfill enough wishes—the curse might end.”
Mia watches her with wide eyes. Their gazes meet, but Sienna can’t hold it for longer than a second—she never can. The eye contact is so present and so piercing it nearly hurts.
She keeps it up just long enough to notice Mia’s eyes are deep and brown and pretty. Just short enough to leave her wanting more.
Then Sienna averts her eyes, studying first the coatracks, then her own hand, still tap-tap-tapping fingers to her thumb in turn.
“Mia! Where’d you go?” Her mom’s voice rings out from deeper in the theater.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Mia says to Sienna.
“Go. I’ll sneak out.”
“Do you want to come?”
“On the tour?”
“Yeah. I can say we were texting and you were in the neighborhood, so I invited you.”
“I…”
Sienna shouldn’t be receiving kindnesses.
She’s supposed to be the one repaying them.
“It might be nice to see a good wish in action. Right?” Mia smiles.
And with that smile, Sienna is all in.
* * *
That night is the first night Mia calls for Sienna.
She materializes in the dark of Mia’s bedroom. The moonlight slants through the window, turning the blue tones of the room cool and gray.
“It worked,” Mia says.
“Told you it would.” Sienna stands near the door, hands in the pockets of her scuffed zip-up hoodie.
“I was wondering…” Mia sits on the bed in drawstring shorts and a baggy, low-cut top. “I can’t wish that you never met the old man, can I?”
“Did you watch Wishmaster or something? No: I can’t change history.”
Her lips quirk up. “I can’t straight-up wish for you to be free, either, Aladdin style?”
“My parents already tried.” Sienna is smiling, too. Somehow.
“What about seeing the old man again? Making him lift the curse? I know you talked about free will, but this could just be a little nudge…”
“My parents tried that, too. It didn’t work. He never showed.”
If that was all Mia wanted to ask, Sienna should probably leave. But the way Mia is sitting there on the bed—she looks so defeated. All hunched and unsure.
Alone.
Maybe Sienna can stay for a little bit. She’s tempted to go for the desk chair, which has become her permanent perch whenever she’s visiting. At first she’d chosen it because she wanted to keep her distance from Mia.
And then she’d chosen the chair because she didn’t want to keep her distance anymore, but knew she ought to.
>
Before she can change her mind, Sienna bypasses the desk chair. She wrestles away the discomfort that needles her the second she steps into new territory around Mia’s bed. She kicks off her shoes, unzips her hoodie, and climbs onto the mattress beside Mia.
“Did you finish studying for that economics test you were worried about?” Sienna draws up her legs and tries to sound casual—like her heart isn’t thudding from making this decision, like she’s not feeling sudden goose bumps prick against her clothes, like this is a normal thing. Talking about homework in the middle of the night, side by side. On a girl’s bed. On Mia’s bed.
“No,” Mia admits. “Got distracted by the new Ace Attorney game.”
Two manga titles lie in the sheets by Sienna’s side. A folded flyer acts as a bookmark, sticking out from the pages of one book. She flicks at the corner with her thumbnail—flick, flick—and wonders whether her voice sounds as unsteady as she feels. “Ace Attorney. There’s another wish for the list. You could get any future games in the series early. The Pokémon ones, too.”
“There wouldn’t be any fan databases or walk-throughs online yet! How am I supposed to choose a starter without knowing what it’ll evolve into?” Mia keeps her laugh soft, probably so she won’t wake her brother in the next bedroom over.
“I have no clue what that even means.” Sienna is still playing with the flyer. It helps her think. Otherwise, she might focus on the coolness of Mia’s silky sheets or the manga title poking her leg or the rhythm of Mia’s breathing right beside her, which—the moment Sienna stops flicking the paper—will be the only sound whispering into the quiet of the night.
Flick, flick.
Sienna nods at Mia’s notebook on her nightstand, the one she’s been writing wish ideas into. “Another option: Want to meet a boyfriend who actually knows something about Pokémon so you can discuss that?”
“I don’t want a boyfriend.”
“Fair enough. But what about…” Her mind searches for other wishes and comes up blank.
