I sat up, fully awake now. “What do you mean I have to go with you?”
“It’s not safe for you to be alone, and the wish can’t wait. It has to occur according to your stipulations. That’s how it works. So, you have to come with me.”
“To Mexico?”
“Yes, to Mexico.”
“But—”
“Sorry, it’s time.”
One instant I was in my bed, and the next I stood in a rundown, disheveled neighborhood. My pajamas were gone, replaced by jeans, yellow rain boots, and a matching waterproof jacket. I looked around. We were in a narrow street in front of a dilapidated stucco house painted bright blue. A puddle rippled as water dripped from the tin roof. Faris knocked on the rickety door. He looked like my twin, dressed in similar clothes.
A young guy, probably around my age, cracked the door open. He peered out with one bloodshot eye, looking as hostile as a postal worker on a Friday afternoon.
“Busco a Benito Mendoza,” Faris said.
Postal Guy looked us up and down as if we were the carriers of a lethal virus. “No está aquí,” he said, starting to close the door.
“Sí no quíeres problemas con la policía, mejor lo llamas. Yo sé que sí está,” Faris said with authority. I understood his threat to call the police and realized the act was necessary, so Benito didn’t ask too many questions later.
Postal Guy winced and seemed to think better of it.
“Espera,” he said, then disappeared, leaving the door slightly open.
I peered inside, but it was dark. The drizzle continued. I looked up the road. Its cobblestones shone with rain. It was early, and the street deserted, except for a white hen and her brood, clucking and pecking hopelessly at the spaces between stones. I was in Mexico! I’d never even been outside of Louisiana.
The door opened wide. A young boy squinted into the early morning light, his hair a tumbleweed on top of his head. I recognized Benito from the photo Javier had shown me.
“Vete,” Postal Guy said as he pushed Benito and shut the door behind him. The boy’s eyes grew wide. He looked from Faris to me, then tried to run.
Faris seized his wrist. “Oh no, you don’t.”
Benito struggled. Faris put a hand around the kid’s neck and pulled out a huge syringe from his raincoat. Benito’s eyes swiveled from side to side in terror.
“Hey,” I protested.
Faris plunged the syringe into the kid’s arm. He went limp. Faris scooped him up in his arms.
I panicked at the sight of Benito’s inert body. “What did you do to him?”
“Just put him to sleep.”
“I don’t approve of your methods.” I frowned. “What was in that syringe?”
“Nothing. It was fake. It didn’t even prick him. Merely a charade for the boy’s benefit, so he can be a compliant passenger. May I remind you that you want to keep things a secret? You don’t want him asking inconvenient questions later. Besides, using other methods would be more . . . time consuming, and we don’t have that luxury anymore.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for an argument. I had none. Faris carried Benito in his arms like a small child. “All right, off we go.”
We appeared in front of what looked like an old apartment complex. I’d been afraid to use magic to travel before, but now I wondered if I’d ever appreciate any other method of transportation. Djinn Air was pretty damn good.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Javier’s place. Apartment 202,” he said, walking toward the building on the right.
“Faris, it’s not even seven. Benito might not ask questions, but they will—especially with us looking like this.”
“Oh, sorry.”
A tank top and a pair of sandals replaced the yellow boots and rain coat. For him, it was a black button up shirt and black leather shoes.
“This is insane.” I felt like Alice in Wonderland after about five glasses of wine. “Wait.” I tugged on his arm. “What are we gonna tell them?”
“Nothing. They’ll be too overjoyed to ask.”
“They’ll ask later, though.”
“Then we’ll have an answer later.”
When we reached Javier’s front door, Faris slapped Benito on the face. “Hey, niño, despierta.” Benito moaned and opened one eye. “Tus padres están aquí, no corras.” He panicked at first but calmed down a bit at the mention of his parents. Faris rang the bell.
A sleepy looking Javier opened the door. His eyes went from me to Faris and finally to Benito. A hand flew to his mouth. “Hijo,” he said in one breathy whisper.
“¿Papá?” Tears ran down Benito’s face. Faris and I stepped aside as father and son embraced. They cried into each other’s arms, while Javier kept saying it was all a dream.
“¿Quién es, Javier?” Anita asked, wondering who was at the door. Words were not needed to explain. She spotted her son immediately and ran to her family, trapping Benito in a tight embrace. All three cried and laughed at the same time.
I watched, throat tight, eyes brimming with tears. A bubbly feeling tickled my stomach. I’d done this. I’d brought happiness to this family. I looked at Faris, who was smiling from ear to ear, pleased with himself and what he saw. A type of joy I’d never felt swelled in my heart. No amount of money could ever buy a moment like this. Family had once been everything to me. I knew what it was to lose it and only wished I knew how it felt to get it back. At least now, I had a pretty good idea.
We slipped away silently. In the parking lot, the Bugatti waited parked under a tree.
“Why do you bother with a car when you can be anywhere you want in a second?” I asked.
“I like driving, makes me feel . . . human,” he said.
I tried to process that piece of information. Why would Faris like to feel human? All that power at his fingertips. Immortality. What could be so appealing about being a weak mortal when he could do unimaginable things, when there were no boundaries? Except that was wrong. There was a huge boundary.
He wasn’t free.
Was that the only reason, though? I wanted to know, but I didn’t dare ask him. It felt too personal, and I wasn’t ready to get personal again.
“I need to be at the nursery by eight,” I told him instead, as we climbed in the car.
“Sounds like we have time for breakfast, then. You like hotcakes? I love hotcakes.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I felt a strange, giddy feeling in my chest. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was happiness. Real happiness. Like what we’d just given Javier and his family. I guess it was contagious. I stole a glance at Faris as he started the engine. His strong profile and square jaw inspired trust. If he was bad, how come he cared if I made the right wishes or not? How come he’d looked as happy as I’d felt to see Javier’s family reunited? Did I dare let him in again? Did I give him the benefit of the doubt and ask what happened between him and Mom?
“I know just the place,” he said, smiling, forming a cute dimple on his right cheek. He seemed so happy, so pleased with himself. I looked away.
Cute dimple?! Oh, please! I didn’t need to get started again.
I shied from the thought, switched my mind to Javier, and—all the way to the restaurant—talked incessantly about how good it’d felt to help them.
***
“I’ve been thinking about how to keep you safe,” Faris said later over a huge stack of blueberry pancakes.
I blew on my coffee and looked around the Mom and Pop diner. “Mm-hmm.” I wasn’t paying attention to a word he was saying. Instead, I grappled with a fuzzy memory. “I think I’ve been here before.”
He poured the entire contents of the hot maple syrup jar on top of his breakfast. “Probably. Arthur used to like eating here.”
“Yeah, he liked pancakes, too.” A bit of sadness dampened my good mood as I struggled to home in on that thread of forgotten past.
Faris cleared his throat. “Eat your French Toast.” He pointed at my plate with his fork. I to
ok a bite and raised my eyebrows in surprise. I chewed with a smile on my lips. The taste didn’t bring back the memory, but it sure was heavenly familiar and comforting.
“It occurred to me,” he continued the previous line of thought, “that I should meet all your friends.”
“Wait, what?”
“You know, to keep an eye on them and . . . you,” he said as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
“No. That’s not necessary.”
“Why not? If I get to know them, it would help spot Zet if he tries to supplant them. It makes sense.”
I cut my French toast into tiny squares. The knife screeched against the plate.
“Go easy on the poor plate,” he said with a smirk.
“It may make sense, but we’re not doing that.” I was emphatic.
He set his fork down, propped his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers over the steaming pancakes. “You still haven’t given me a reason.”
“I don’t know. Uh . . . it might be disruptive.” I grasped for a logical reason.
He seemed amused. “Disruptive?”
“Yeah, I don’t trust you not to . . . do mischief.”
A wholehearted laugh erupted from his mouth. “You make me sound like a two-year-old.”
“Well, you do enjoy throwing people off with your tricks.”
“And by people you mean you.” He was serious now, eyes full of suggestive meaning. I avoided his dark gaze, acutely aware of the heat on my cheeks. “I promise you, in all seriousness, that I’ll behave.”
“Your promises are worth nothing to me.” I felt smug. He couldn’t argue, not when he’d failed to keep his word several times already, not when I didn’t know what happened with Mom. “So no, you can’t meet my friends. They don’t need to know you’re there,” I finished.
He held my gaze for a few beats. His nostrils flared. “Very well,” he said curtly, turning his full attention back on breakfast, looking as if I’d just slapped him. “I will continue to make myself invisible.”
“Faris, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
“No need for apologies,” he snapped. “I often forget my place.” He put twenty dollars on the table and stood. “Take your time. I’ll be waiting outside.”
My appetite gone, I abandoned my meal and went to the restroom. When I went out, he was standing by the Bugatti next to a man on a Harley. The guy gawked over the car while Faris showed him how the rear spoiler extended. When I approached, the man rolled his bike past.
“Nice car, dude,” he said, scooting the Harley into a parking space and nodding goodbye.
We drove to the nursery in silence. Words of apology and openness swirled inside my head. If I could bring myself to say them, Faris would know that I appreciated what he was doing for me, that I felt bad he’d lived trapped for so long, that I’d started to trust him before and could get all the way there if this thing with Mom turned out to be a big misunderstanding.
Being open, however, didn’t come easily anymore. Maybe it never would again.
20
“How could we ever thank you? Too much you did, too much for us, Señorita Mariella. I can’t say words, I find not . . . ” Javier pressed my hands between his, eyes full of gratitude, head shaking as he stammered.
“It’s okay, Javier. I know.” For once, I was glad for his shaky command of English, and for Anita’s simple head-nodding at everything he said. They weren’t even asking any questions—maybe they understood it was best this way. We all crowded inside the shack, grinning from ear to ear, even rebellious Benito.
I reached into the desk drawer. “There’s also this.” I handed Javier a white security envelope. He looked confused. “Open it.” I took a step back, fearing a new onslaught of undeserved gratitude.
He opened the envelope and went pale. “Green cards,” he said, showing them to Anita. “Green cards for everyone.” He peered at me, looking awestruck.
“It’s all legal,” I explained, trying to reassure him. “Faris knows some bigwig that works for I.C.E. Don’t ask me how he did it. I’m not really sure.”
Anita shrugged at Javier, questioningly. Javier shook his head. She reached for him and seemed to collapse in his arms. He held her by the waist while she buried her face into his chest, crying tears of relief, of happiness at the glimpse of a brighter future for her family.
“We can never pay you,” he said.
“You don’t have to, Javier. You owe me nothing.” I wanted to make that very clear.
“We owe you everythin’,” he said.
It was Faris he owed. Not me. I looked at the floor.
Sensing my discomfort, he relented and hustled his family out of the office. “Okay, time to get to work.” He looked back, and his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He would be loyal to me to the death. I smiled at him. Javier was all right. There was no better person to have on my side.
***
All weekend long I worked while Faris brooded—I imagined—behind a cloak of invisibility. I chose to believe he was trying to make a point, rather than I’d actually hurt his feelings. Robert tried to help around the nursery but mostly sat by the register, looking pale and shaking like a leaf. He worried the heck out of me, looking as frail as Grandpa. What if Robert left me, too? This time for good?
“Why does he shake like that?” I asked Javier, watching Robert’s twitching hands.
Javier looked up from our work with the begonias. “Look to me like he’s hurtin’, Señorita.”
“Hurting?”
“You know, he need a drink, very bad. Forgive me, but Mr. Arthur told me your father . . .” He tipped an imaginary glass. “Don’t know what’s called in English, but I’d say he have the tremblin’.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling like the stupidest person ever. Why hadn’t I realized that? “The shakes,” I whispered.
Javier nodded. “He probably should no be workin’. But stay alone in the home, no good either.” He winced to indicate there really wasn’t a good way. Then his face lit up. “Anita can help, stay with him in the home, take care of him for a few days.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think—”
“We like to help, you know that.” He looked eager but said no more.
“Okay. I’ll try to talk to him, see what he says. Thanks, Javier.”
After the busy Sunday, Robert and I drove home in silence.
“Looking for something?” he asked, as we walked up the porch steps.
“Oh, no. Just this nasty cat that sometimes hangs out.” I slid my key into the lock.
As soon as we walked in, he collapsed on the recliner and kicked off his shoes. “Lots of customers today. Should be looking good for the next loan payment.”
“We’ll see. Listen, I know you said working at the nursery is good for you, but do you think that’s a good idea?”
He sat up. “Yeah, why not?”
“Well, I . . . think maybe you need some rest. I dunno . . .”
His lips tightened.
“Javier said maybe Anita can help around here while you . . . take it easy.”
He straightened and squared off his shoulders. “I can handle it. If I need to rest, I can always go in the shack for a few minutes.”
“All right, just making sure.” I walked into the kitchen, hoping we weren’t making a mistake. “Stew works for you?” I asked.
“Sure, sounds perfect.” There was an exhale followed by a clunk as he collapsed back onto the recliner.
I walked to the refrigerator and poked my head in the freezer. A knock at the door took my mind off dinner. “I’ll get it.”
Maven stood outside, hands stuffed in his pockets, face pinched in a tired expression.
“Maven!” My heart pounded as I searched his face. Was this really my friend or not? I doubted Zet would play the same trick twice. I examined Maven’s face. He gave me no off-putting vibes, no queasiness in the pit of my stomach.
“How’s it going?” he aske
d, then looked over my shoulder in surprise. I glanced back and found Robert, hovering right behind me.
“Uh, Maven, this is . . . Robert.” I couldn’t bring myself to introduce him any other way.
They eyed each other and said hello.
“We’ll be out here,” I told Robert and walked to the porch, making sure to leave the door open. I sat on a step several feet away from Maven. “How are you?”
“Sick of tagging along to doctors’ appointments and babysitting excited relatives.” He thrust a thumb toward the house. “When did that happen?”
“A few days ago. He was living in Austin, but . . . he moved back.” I didn’t want to go into any detail.
“And you’re okay with it?”
“Yeah, it’s actually . . .” I wanted to say nice, but gave a cautious, “okay.” A smile played on my lips. It did feel nice. “So why were you at the doctor?”
“Not me, Samuel,” he said, shaking his head. “Everyone’s going nuts trying to figure out how come he can walk now. It’s been a nightmare. You know, miracle aside.”
“Hmm, any clues yet?”
“Nah, they’re stumped. Samuel refuses to have any more quacks poking around, says he just wants to get back to normal. Mom’s pretty psyched.”
“I bet. How about you?” His downcast attitude was strange.
“It’s cool. I’m happy for him. It’s amazing how things are falling back into their old routine, though. At least he can’t blame me for being in a wheelchair anymore.” He sounded bitter.
I didn’t know what to say. Had I made a mistake by helping Samuel? No! How could that possibly be a mistake? I’d given someone the ability to walk again. Why didn’t Maven seem happy about his brother’s recovery? Could he be that selfish? Had I misjudged him all along? I felt confused. My impressions of Maven were so mixed up with Zet’s that I didn’t know what to think anymore. On how many occasions had the evil Djinn posed as my friend? The question made me dizzy.
I stared at my fingernails. “I should go. Gotta cook dinner. It’s been a long day.”
He got up and dusted his pants. “Sure. I guess I’ll see you later.” He looked reluctant as if he had much on his mind that needed unloading. I feared his need to get closer more than ever. He walked away, dragging his feet, head slumped forward.
One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series Page 15
