One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series

by Ingrid Seymour

  I upturned the can and allowed the stone to fall onto my hand. Awestruck, I examined Grandpa’s mythical object. It looked the way he’d described it, except smaller and narrower than I’d imagined, easy enough to hold with one hand. Unreadable markings—ancient letters?—etched the top of a lapping flames design. The thing looked flawless, from its smooth edges to its minute script, to the carved, mesmerizing flames that gave the impression of movement. How could it be ancient and look so perfect?

  I rubbed the back of my neck, stood and propped the stone against one of the cinnamon-scented candles on the file cabinet. The flame flickered.

  My hands tingled as I stared at the stone, unblinking. The rolling flames danced in unison with the wavering candlelight. A strange breeze rose outside, unsettling the plants, causing a rustle of leaves. A deep exhale rose through my throat and got stuck there.

  Excavated by fear, Grandpa’s words of advice erupted into my mind.

  “If you remember any of my words, remember this. The Djinn is tricky. He’ll fool you if you don’t have your wits about you. Before you summon him, prepare your wishes carefully. Put a drop of blood on the stone, then make your requests quickly, so he goes back in. Don’t be greedy. Money won’t fix your real problems. Above all, don’t trust him. Now, there are rules. A Djinn isn’t all powerful, limitations exist. First . . .”

  I tried to remember, but the memories proved skittish, like feral cats. The fact that I couldn’t recall what Grandpa so adamantly tried to teach me filled me with sadness. The silence in the shack suddenly grew palpable. Grandpa’s grumpy comments and constant huffing and puffing were part of this place, but now, there was only stillness. The shack felt unfamiliar and desolate.

  Tears filled my eyes. I fought them, not blinking and swallowing hard, but they kept on building. Pain tore at my insides, crippling and terrifying. I fought it, tried to push it away, but it didn’t budge.

  I took the stone in my shaky hands and stared at it through tear-filled eyes, wishing Grandpa was still alive and the stupid thing had never seen the light of day . . . yet it had and maybe there was a way to get rid of the pain. Aware of the wound, I ran a hand across my cheek. Blood and tears came away on my fingers.

  Take the pain. Please.

  Touching my forefinger to the stone, I deposited a tear on it.

  Time slowed.

  The droplet quivered for a moment, then began to disappear. Blood flowed between the grooves of the tiny characters, working its way into every crevice. My body went cold. For interminable seconds, I stared, eyelids paralyzed, but nothing happened. Nothing!

  A nervous laugh bubbled from my stomach and burst through my mouth. Grandpa always had a weird sense of humor, but this . . . I imagined him laughing and saying, “I’ve got your number, little girl.”

  An ugly curse word slid to the tip of my tongue. I was about to give Grandpa a piece of my mind when a sudden gust of wind blew through the open door, rustling my hair and scattering papers off the desk. I froze. Warm and tantalizing, a light touch traveled down the length of my neck. I straightened, holding the scream that rose to my throat, eyes transfixed by the rising smoke from . . . from . . . the candle. I breathed in and out, waiting—the hope of losing this pain teetering, fighting against the fear of the unknown.

  After a still moment, I scoffed, both anger and hope leaking out of me. There was no Djinn, only pain, and despair. Defeated, I crouched by my messenger bag, stuffed the useless stone inside. I’d just finished securing the straps when, suddenly, my hands grew hot. Heart frozen, I lowered my gaze. The stone! It was back in my hands. And this time, its carved flames looked alive, undulating, glowing red, yellow and orange. I turned to concrete, just another garden gnome. In a stupor, I watched the stone’s unreadable characters shift, rearranging themselves like busy ants. Within five beats of my frantic, thumping heart, the hieroglyphs morphed completely, turning into . . . . into English words!

  A shadow entered the office. My heart shrank, then pounded, sending adrenaline through my bloodstream. I dropped the stone. It clattered to the floor. A figure stood on the threshold, features concealed by darkness, light bursting all around him. I shrieked and kicked back from my squatting position, retreating. My ass hit the floor with a thud. I screamed again.

  Something, someone, walked into the room, silent as a floating ghost.

  4

  As the figure by the door came into the shack, my feet thrashed and barely managed to scoot me backward from my spot on the floor. Gradually, the shadows around the silhouette fell away to reveal a young man. I bit my lip, looking up, examining him from head to toe. A wave of shock and doubt rushed through me.

  Was this the Djinn?

  If he was, he looked nothing like what I’d imagined. Too many Disney movies had me expecting a large blue man with pointy ears, a strong jaw and a red sash around his waist. This guy looked nothing like that.

  He was slender and taller than average, though not by much. Maybe five foot eleven. He was around my age, definitely no more than twenty. He wore a black suit that reminded me of old covers of The Beatles’ albums. His tapering pants and form-fitting jacket were sharp and speckless, his pointy boots freshly polished. A thin, black tie and pristine white shirt completed the look. Matching golden bracelets peeked from behind the cuffs of his jacket.

  He took two more steps and extended a hand. “Please, allow me,” he said. His self-assured, strong tenor made my skin crawl.

  I stared at the outstretched hand and trembled inside. If I touched him, would he go up in smoke? I shook my head in response.

  Inscrutable brown eyes examined me with curiosity and a hint of amusement. His lips parted. “Have it your way.” He withdrew his hand and stood at attention, arms at his sides, watching me with interest.

  I scooted back some more until I hit the kitchenette’s peninsula. With my back against it, I slid upward and got to my feet. “W-who are you?”

  His deep gaze traveled the length of my body. A million possibilities seemed to pass behind his eyes. “You don’t know who I am?”

  Not the blue genie I was expecting. That was for sure.

  His face was expressionless, his olive skin smooth and without creases to give away any type of emotion. Only his dark eyes seemed alive and sparkled as if something momentous was happening. I felt spellbound by his gaze and strong features. He was handsome and exotic with high cheekbones and thick, black eyebrows that rose devilishly at the tips. I had never seen a man more beautiful in my entire life.

  No, not a blue genie. More like Prince Ali.

  The idea jolted me out of the trance and tickled a memory in the back of my mind. I strained, trying to remember, but it slipped away. Had I seen him before?

  As he waited for my answer, I imagined blurting out, “Are you Grandpa’s Djinn? I’m ready for my wishes to come true.” I grimaced. How ridiculous. He was probably a customer, and the way he seemed more familiar by the second made it almost a certainty.

  “Um . . . we’re closed,” I said.

  He turned and looked around. My mouth went dry at the sight of his perfect profile. Grandpa’s old pictures caught his eye, and he walked to the wall to examine them. I wondered how he’d gotten in. I’d locked the gate outside, right? I forced my eyes away from him and toward the door, then took two steps in its direction.

  “Arthur,” he said, staring at one of the pictures. His tone held a strange combination of regret and irritation.

  “H-he died Friday.”

  He tore his eyes from the pictures and fixed them on me instead. Their intensity was almost unbearable. “Yes, and you are?”

  “Marielle, his granddaughter.” I took another step.

  “Granddaughter . . . I see. He didn’t tell you about me?” Like thick honey, his voice poured over me. He smiled a devastating smile that sent my heart rate sky high.

  Pressure built in my chest, making it difficult to breathe. He was too much to look at. A restless tingle built in my legs. I wante
d to bolt. I took two casual steps, but the door seemed to stretch away.

  I blinked. “Uh . . . are you a customer? We’re closed for business today.”

  Painting an all-too-satisfied expression on his face, he shook his head. “I think you know exactly who I am,” he said in an intoxicating tone.

  That’s when I lost it and sprang for the door. Thinking I had time, I snatched my bag as I passed. Big mistake, because when I straightened, he was blocking the threshold. I gasped, clutched the bag to my chest and took a step back. I looked to the spot where he’d been standing and where he stood now. His mouth tilted to match the angle of one of his eyebrows.

  “You mustn’t be afraid,” he said, allowing his eyes to drink me in. I shivered at the probing way his gaze raked the length of my body.

  Grandpa’s voice echoed in my head. “Think carefully and get it done quickly. The Djinn is tricky.”

  What had I done?! I’d released him and now . . . ? Desperately, I tried to think of three wishes: every Barbie ever made and all their accessories, a huge tree house, and a dog just like Snoopy. Obviously, I hadn’t thought about making wishes for a long time. Global peace and no hungry children were clichés, but certainly better options. I had nothing.

  “Go away,” I snapped.

  “Go away? Would perhaps I wish you to go away be more appropriate?” He leaned a shoulder on the door frame, crossed a foot over the other, and smirked, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

  God, I was so not ready for him. What an idiot I was! I glared at him.

  “Ah, so you do know who I am.”

  “Yes. I know what you are.”

  His amusement died. “And you still want me to go?”

  “I made a mistake. I’m not ready. So, yeah, I want you to leave me alone. Right now.” I struggled to keep the fear away from my voice, but the words came out high-pitched and brittle.

  His hands clenched as he abandoned the casual stance. His impassive expression fell away. Several emotions played in the depths of his gaze, anger definitely one of them. I recoiled, even when I noticed other emotions, emotions that I’d seen in the mirror too often not to recognize. Sadness and desperation, two of the main ones.

  When he spoke, his face calm once more, I wondered if I’d imagined the inner turmoil.

  “We started off on the wrong foot,” his tone was calculating. “I apologize for that. My name is Faris Nasser.” He extended a hand to me for the second time.

  I stared at it as if it was a cactus bristling with poisonous spikes.

  He pulled back and smiled coldly. “Fair enough. I’ve earned that reaction with my abrupt entrance, but I assure you, I’ll make it up to you.” His insinuating tone sent a flush up my neck. “Do you really want me to leave?”

  “Yes,” I blurted out.

  “And when should I return?”

  “When I make up my mind.”

  “How will I know when that momentous occasion has arrived?”

  “I don’t know. Can’t you just . . . ?”

  “Read your mind?” Sarcasm glimmered in his eyes.

  “I thought you could . . . .” I realized I didn’t have the faintest idea how any of this worked. The rules Grandpa told me never to forget seemed lost in the dusty corners of my mind. I might as well be walking into a minefield. “Tell me the rules. What are they?” I demanded.

  “Didn’t Arthur tell you?” A skeptical expression crossed his features. First, his eyebrows went up. Then they drew together as if considering the possibilities my ignorance offered him.

  “Yes, he did. I just . . . need a reminder.”

  “What exactly did Arthur tell you about me?” He pushed past me and walked back into the office. “Excuse me,” he said in belated courtesy.

  I clenched my teeth in irritation. “He told me what I needed to know.” Moving closer to the door, I spotted the outside gate and considered running for it. I doubted I’d get very far before Faris materialized in front of me, though. When I looked back, I caught him waving a hand over the pictures on the wall.

  “What was that?! What did you just do?” I asked.

  He sat on the swivel chair. “Nothing, I was just admiring the pictures . . . and this lovely, lovely room.” He swept a hand in a large circle, demonstrating the office.

  My body quivered like a guitar string. Infuriating jerk! The impotence I felt at the moment was something I’d previously associated with Jeremy O’Neal. However, I had the feeling Faris could give my ex a run for his money.

  “Tell. Me. The. Rules.” An unequivocal order.

  Faris’s face betrayed surprise for a fraction of a second. He gripped the armrests as he got to his feet and took a few steps toward me, stopping just as I started feeling the urge to escape.

  “You have Arthur’s temper.” A strange smile stretched his lips, and his eyes shone with something I might call fondness. “I’m sorry I upset you. I seem to possess this quality to get under people’s skin and my social skills are rusty at best. I will tell you the rules forthright, and then, if you want me to leave, I will do so.

  “There are five simple rules. One, I cannot change the way people feel or think. Two, I cannot distort time . . . past, present or future. Three, I cannot hurt people. Four, I cannot raise the dead. And five,” he paused, took a deep breath, “you cannot wish for my freedom.” He then smiled wryly and added, “Of course, you can’t wish for extra wishes, but that’s hardly worth mentioning. It’s common knowledge. Three wishes, no more.”

  I held his gaze, squinting, challenging his truthfulness. He stared, unblinking, chin held high with dignity. I relaxed, fairly confident he told the truth. The rules definitely rang a bell. Especially that one about setting him free. Yeah, like I’d ever waste a perfectly good wish on that.

  “Is there a time limit?” I asked.

  “No. You can take as long as you want,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

  He was pleased. The longer I took, the more time he had to trick me. Desperately, I tried to come up with a list of wishes again, but I could only think of one thing: running away.

  “It won’t take me long,” I said. “Tomorrow, right here. Same time.”

  His gaze became guarded once more. He inclined his head. “I will be here.” After a short pause, he took a few slow strides in my direction. “If you’ll excuse me,” he gestured toward the door with an open hand, “I shall be on my way.”

  I stepped out of the shack. The blue sky overhead and the lack of walls slightly eased my nerves. The urge to run went from ten to nine and three quarters.

  Faris walked past me, then stopped a few steps ahead. My eyes remained glued to his back. Biting the inside of my cheek, I waited for him to disappear into thin air, but he just stood there, looking at the plants and the sky, chest rising and falling in shallow spasms, his breath catching. After an interminable moment, he faced me, his features softer, making him look younger, gentle and even more impossibly handsome than before. His mouth opened in a small circle of disbelief. He almost appeared like a child, eager and full of wonder.

  “Thank you,” Faris Nasser said.

  The words took me by surprise. “W-why?”

  “For allowing me a day to look at the world once more.” A shadow passed across his face, but it left quickly. He smiled, bowed slightly, and started to walk away.

  “Wait,” I said.

  He stopped and turned back.

  “All those . . . things I kept seeing, the ivy, all that water. Did you do that?”

  He frowned, looking apprehensive, all of a sudden. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re lying,” I accused.

  His frown grew deeper. “I am not!” he said emphatically. There was something perplexed about his expression that made his denial seem hollow.

  “I’m not going to sit here and argue with you,” I said. “Just make sure you stop whatever that was.” I felt I should be yelling at him, but the memory of that warm shower kept play
ing over and over inside my head, and all I could do was blush.

  He shook his head, confused, but gave a slight bow again, then walked away. He pulled the latch at the gate. It opened with the squeak of rusty hinges and let him out. Then the door shut and he was gone.

  So I hadn’t locked the gate when I came in. Idiot!

  Before my jumbled thoughts and emotions nailed me to the ground, I rushed back into the shack and picked up my bag, the stone and Grandpa’s will. On my way out, I locked the office and speed-walked toward the exit. In a hurry, I reached for the latch and pulled. It didn’t budge. Unable to stop in time, I ran into the gate, smashing my fingers. I yelped and wagged my hand, spewing curse words the way Grandpa used to do.

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” I said as I unlocked the gate and secured it again from the outside. I glanced around the parking lot. It was deserted. My Honda Prelude sat next to Grandpa’s truck which was growing dingy under a layer of dust. I opened the driver side door and threw my things into the passenger seat.

  A strident squawk made me jump just before I entered the car. I looked up and spotted a crow perched on a power line. The bird jerked its head to one side and fixed a beady eye on me. Its hooked beak opened. Another caw broke the silence.

  I suddenly felt like the only person left on the planet. The nursery sat in a wooded area away from the main highways, but it had never felt this isolated. A cold breeze blew, stirring dust into the air. I shivered and looked back at the crow. It scooted along the electric cable, hopping in my direction, watching, eyes glinting with strange colors, like tiny oil spills. The sky above caught my attention. It had turned dark and ominous in a matter of seconds, as if a storm had swept in from the gulf, except the weather never turned that quickly.

  A second crow appeared out of nowhere. It cawed and dived down, talons extended, ready for a fight. The other bird flapped its wings and flew away. I slid into the driver seat and watched through the windshield as the two dark shapes disappeared into the woods.