PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  I move my hand down her stomach. “I'm more interested in the show on my bed.”

  “It's not a show—yet.” She looks up at me and grins, then turns back to her movie.

  My hand slides between her legs, and she clamps her thighs, nestling her warmth against my fingers.

  I want this, every day, but my mind is too tired to contemplate how that might happen.

  After a few minutes, she repositions herself so her head and breast are on my lap, the curve of her spine facing me.

  She says, “You know, the word 'genie' comes from the word 'jinn'.”

  “I didn't know that,” I say, and I resist adding that I don't care, either.

  She doesn't realize this is an awkward conversation.

  “People often confuse them for demons, but it's not the same thing. Not entirely.” Her voice is muffled, but I can hear her well enough. “You know how the Bible says humans were made from dirt or clay? Well, the jinn were made from fire or smoke, or smokeless fire. They had genders and free will, and some were good and some were bad. It's actually still part of the Islamic faith.”

  Syd is a walking encyclopedia.

  “It started before them, though. Maybe as far back as Zoroastrianism or Sumer. Some people think part of the Islamic beliefs were adopted from pagan traditions that developed long before, in pre-Islamic Arabia. Belief in the jinn even migrated with people to the Canary Islands.”

  “Isn't that where those people talk by whistling?”

  Look at that, I might have learned something from Phil after all.

  She pauses. “Yeah, I think so. Anyway, it's said the jinn lived in a different dimension than ours, but they could travel back and forth. In our dimension, they could take forms of animals and even look like humans. Once Islam took hold, contact between the two races was forbidden. But one of the last pre-Islam poets to write about the jinn was Al-Nabigha, who lived between five-hundred and six-hundred B.C.”

  I stare at her rounded shoulders, my brain only absorbing a small fraction of what she is saying. “I don't think I know what we're talking about, Syd.”

  She turns onto her back to look at me, still half sprawled in my lap. “It's just strange how much the story has changed over the years. The jinn date back to probably even A.D. They were considered a separate but equal race to humans.

  “Eventually, we started smooshing up the story. So many things impact it. Translation, motive, perspective, and all these other little factors. Then one day we have a blue cartoon character dancing and singing. But there's little bits of the truth in all of it, right? Even this.” She gestures at the movie playing on the monitor. “This has truth in it, too.”

  She stares at the ceiling for a long moment, then turns to the monitor across the room again. Her head is propped on her hand, elbow on my lap. It's kind of jabbing into me, but she looks delicate and beautiful laid out like that: her upper half naked and exposed, and her bottom half hidden under the blankets like she's a mermaid.

  A genie and a mermaid. We're the start of a bad joke.

  I lean forward and press my lips against her shoulder. She stretches to expose her neck, and I move up, one kiss at a time. She turns and catches my mouth with hers, leaning back. I work from underneath her, then wedge between her legs.

  Her hand goes to the waist of my pants. My tongue grazes over hers, and she returns the gesture. I press against her so she can feel how badly I want her. Then I slip my arms under her shoulders and neck, and make my way down her chest, lingering on each nipple in turn. Kiss down her stomach, past her belly button, and work my way up the hill.

  She tenses. I halt, letting her anticipation build. Then I graze my tongue over her folds. She shudders a breath. Another flick of my tongue, and she gasps my name.

  It's so fucking hot.

  I push back her thighs and delve in. I want to claim every part of her. Show her just how much I like being this way with her.

  Her fingers run through my hair. I slide my hands under her hips and pull her closer, taking fuller access.

  Her body twists and trembles.

  She says, breathless, “Dim, up here.”

  I give a gentle bite. I want her to grant me control, just for a few minutes, and then I will follow her anywhere.

  She relaxes, melting into the bed. I glide my hand up and use two fingers to spread her apart. Every lick sends a spasm and soft moan through her.

  Then she grows warmer, her body writhing, the soft moans louder and punctuated with my name. When her body falls still against the bed, I work out of my pants and crawl on top of her. She's always so available to me.

  I take her with her legs wrapped around my waist, her head lulled back. She tightens her hold as I give a final thrust and groan into her neck.

  All the tension from the day disappears.

  Breathing heavily, I lie stomach-down next to her. Her eyes are closed, and she gives a little shudder. I work my arm over her and pull her close, then rest my head next to hers.

  “Syd,” I say, though it comes out a whisper. “Are there . . . others?”

  I already hate myself for asking. These are things not meant to be discussed, but I need the truth before I run away with her to New Mexico or wherever it is she wanted to go. That's not going to be a simple trip to pull off.

  This entire relationship is not going to be simple.

  She is quiet for a long while. Maybe she isn't even going to answer.

  Then she says, “No. Not since we met.”

  I raise my head. “You told me you had guys chasing after you.”

  “Yes.” She speaks slowly, like she's not sure she wants to tell me the truth. “There were others, but that doesn't mean I wanted them.”

  I am warmed and terrified in the same moment.

  She looks at me. “You?”

  I meet her gaze. Her dark eyes glimmer with so many thoughts I can't decipher.

  Even though I shouldn't let this happen, I can't stop myself from telling her the truth. “No. There's no one else.”

  Her expression relaxes.

  Then she scoots closer to me and mutters, “Keep it that way.”

  I nuzzle my face next to hers. She intertwines her legs with mine and drifts off to sleep.

  I might be the genie, but one of my wishes was granted for a change. Now I just have to figure out how to keep it.

  ***

  Syd sleeps next to me until late morning. I want to spend the day lazing around together, but I can't rely on not being summoned again soon. Karl is up to something.

  I used to think spending months at a time waiting for a wish was short of maddening. Now I know it was better than the alternative. These back-to-back tasks are exhausting.

  And they're interfering. I never let women back for round two because my life is not conducive to relationships of any kind. But I think Syd and I could have found a balance the way my life was up until a week ago. Or maybe I just want the opportunity to give it a chance.

  Now everything has changed, and I have no idea why. Something to do with that donation. It has to be. If I could find out why he dropped one and a half million dollars on a hospital charity, then I could probably figure out the motive behind all of his wishes lately.

  The real question is: Do I want to know? Karl is not a nice man, and I'm a firm believer that ignorance is bliss.

  Silvia seems pretty damn happy, for example.

  Syd lingers a while, kissing my chest and snuggling against my shoulder. I don't have it in me to kick her out of the house, but I can't really enjoy the moment either. I want to lay out the whole situation for her, but the thought alone sends a figurative dagger of disobedience into my skull.

  I'm afraid to push the thought, because words said can never be unspoken. I have no idea what happens if I break a wish that can't be undone.

  I have zero interest in finding out.

  “You seem preoccupied,” Syd says, her hands planted on either side of me as I lie facing up on the bed.

&n
bsp; “Yeah, sorry.” I raise up, and she sits back on her heels.

  I really am a jerk of a boyfriend.

  She presses a kiss onto my lips and then climbs out of bed. “I should get home, anyway. Text me later?”

  I prop up on my elbows and take in the length of her naked body. No other guys are allowed to do what I did to her last night. She's my own private rockstar.

  “I'll text only if you send me pics.”

  She bends down for her clothes and starts dressing. “Sure. How about a butterfly?”

  “If that's what the kids are calling it these days.”

  She grins as she pulls on the last of her clothes, then nudges my foot. “See ya later, captain.”

  She blows me a kiss over her shoulder and leaves.

  Syd is all mine. I don't know where this bus will wind up, but I've already strapped in. I'm going to ride it out to the end.

  Chapter 5

  A manila envelope is already in my hands before my sight clears. I have been called to Ye Ol' Summoning Chamber. The scent of argan oil will never have a positive association to me.

  “There is a box of books in that facility,” Karl says, leaning forward in his throne. “Bring it to me, then reduce the building to ash.”

  My brain takes a minute to catch up.

  Ash.

  “Arson?” I stare at him dumbly.

  This is new.

  “You're lucky we found the contents of the safe, Dimitri. Don't mess this one up.”

  It takes an incredible amount of willpower not to point out that his intel screwed up, not me. Doesn't matter. All Karl cares about is the end result.

  “Bring me the books and burn the facility,” he says. “And, Dimitri, the books are not for your perusal. This . . . I . . . wish.”

  Let the humming commence.

  I turn on my heels and head for the door leading to the foyer. The summoning chamber gives me the creeps, and I have an arson to plan.

  The envelope contains several sheets of information—descriptions, addresses, schedules—but no pictures. Nothing that will make this task easy.

  Of course.

  I flip back to the address: it's an anthropology center in San Diego, California.

  Looks like I'm in for another road trip. I was hoping for some local crime, but Karl is circling wide. Something definitely has him in a tizzy, but I have no idea what an anthropology center has to do with a hospital.

  I would ask the accountant what the donation check was made out for, but I don't like speaking with him. Not since that day when I demanded first class flights. When he had replied that Karl controlled every dealing with me, his expression had been . . . disquieting.

  He seemed confused. Maybe afraid.

  It occurred to me then that the mansion staff doesn't know who or what I am. They see me come and go, but my vehicles are never in the place they should be. They see the guards carrying off my prisoners. They see me leave from a room no one else but the family and the guards are allowed to enter.

  Some of the staff worked here when my father was employed by Karl. Then one day he disappeared. No doubt they have stories. I wonder what their stories are, and if they're worse than the truth.

  Even if the staff didn't regard me as an apparition, I wouldn't approach them anyway. They all work for Karl, not me. And if Karl wanted me to know what's going on, he would have told me himself.

  I shouldn't be snooping, but I have a stake in this: my life. It might not be much of one, but I would prefer if it didn't end with any unnecessary drawn out agony.

  I'm kind of a coward that way.

  But that is only part of my interest. I can't shake the thought that if I could get my life back to normal—with less wishes to fulfill—I could figure out how to keep Syd. I've never wanted something so much. Not enough to throw all my previous self-imposed rules out the window.

  I can't keep this relationship with Syd while I'm hopping from one brutal crime to another, though. She isn't going to tolerate my antics forever. I need to find out how long this situation is going to last, and if I can hurry it along. Yet anyone who would know what's happening isn't going to tell me.

  Except . . .

  I halt in my step then lean back and peer down the hallway.

  There is one option.

  I stalk to Silvia's door and knock.

  After a moment, the door opens.

  Her eyes widen. “Dimitri? Daddy summoned you?”

  “Yeah, he didn't want to wait to tee off.” I push past her and close the door. “What's going on with him?”

  She lets down her dark hair and ties it back up. I'm sure it is for my benefit, but I don't see any difference.

  “Going on with what? I don't play golf, Dim,” she says. “You know that.”

  I roll my eyes. “We weren't really playing golf. I'm asking about the one and a half million dollar donation to the hospital.”

  She groans and flops down on her bed. “Don't even get me started on that.”

  I cross the room and sit in a chair opposite of her. “So you do know?”

  “That he's an idiot?” She gestures toward the ceiling. “Why doesn't he just leave my money alone?”

  “It's not yours yet,” I say, mostly to annoy her.

  “It's my inheritance. Everything in this house is my inheritance.” Her eyes dart to me. “He needs to fall on a spike.”

  “Calm down. You'll get your puppy soon enough, Cruella.” I lean forward, my hair falling into my eyes. “What was the transaction a cover for?”

  She shrugs, then her gaze locks onto me. I smile a little. Her tan cheeks turn pink. Then she grabs a pillow off her bed and chucks it at me.

  “Get out of my room, Dimitri.” She looks at the ceiling again.

  I catch the pillow and hold it on my lap. “Just tell me what you know.”

  “I don't know anything!” She growls. “I have no idea what's going on.”

  “Well, you can find out.”

  She scrambles to sit. “Yeah? How? Tell me, Oh, Wise Oracle.”

  “Genie, not Oracle. Though if the position is open . . . ”

  “Seriously, Dim.” She frowns, staring down at her blankets. “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Ask the accountant.”

  “He's not going to know.” Her eyes land on the manila envelope in my hand. “What is Daddy having you do this time?”

  “Just some work in San Diego.”

  “I want to go too.” She looks at me with pleading eyes.

  “Not a chance.” I push to my feet. “It's awful just driving to Phoenix with you.”

  She falls back onto her bed. “Get used to it. I plan to travel a lot.”

  And here we go, subtly making wedding plans. Why isn't this weird for her? It is for me.

  Then again, I'm not a Walker. I have morals. At least, when their lack of conscience isn't being forced onto me.

  I cross the room to drop the pillow onto her head. “See what you can find out for me, okay?”

  I turn for the door. She doesn't say anything, but the pillow hits me square in the back on my way out.

  Life under Silvia is going to be that slow death I had hoped to avoid.

  ***

  Intel has provided me next to nothing for this assignment. In a way, I'm relieved. After the disaster at the downtown office, I will never fully trust their hookups again.

  Still, a little more information to go on would be great. All I have is the address, shift schedule, and the description of the books. They have gold colored spines, and they should be sitting in a box together.

  The “should be” is unsettling. I “should be” in bed with Syd, but I'm stomping the gas pedal between Phoenix and San Diego.

  I've only visited San Diego once, and that was to break into a home and steal some business plans. As it turned out, the owners had been on vacation. No alarm had been engaged. I miss the easy wishes.

  When I arrive into San Diego, the clock shows nearly nine at night. Accordin
g to the schedule, the lab is used during business hours as a research and teaching facility. At night, it's rented out to a college class and some independent groups.

  This means that at no time will the facility be completely empty. It also means I'm better off going during the second shift. The day researchers are more likely to notice someone who doesn't belong than the tenants at night.

  The real problem is finding those books. The case file managed to leave out that tidbit. This will be like treasure hunting without a treasure map.

  Oh, and then I get to burn down everything when I'm done. Hopefully the people inside will escape unscathed.

  I scratch my head as I shuffle through the papers again. The night is about to get interesting. This wish shouldn't take too long—I won't even need to stay overnight—but I'm going to need supplies.

  ***

  I've never burned down a building before.

  Hell, I haven't even started a campfire. Maybe I should have asked Counselor Robert to teach me.

  Luckily, Internet access is available everywhere. I have no idea how the other suckers stuck in this role managed without Google. They must have been smarter, because my first inclination to ignite a building was gasoline and a match.

  Come to find out, this is not the most realistic idea. It would have been about as efficient as lighting a bunch of candles on a birthday cake and throwing it. Sure, it would catch the place on fire, but probably just make a sizable hole in one wall and do some smoke damage before the fire department put it out.

  Karl said he wanted the place to be ash. Gasoline isn't going to cut it.

  No, the Internet tells me I need to make thermite. So that is what I am going to make.

  This wish is going to take longer than anticipated.

  My GPS and I find ourselves at a home improvement store right before closing. The staff are not amused when I ask for iron oxide.

  The Internet has led me astray.

  I have no choice but to make the ingredients myself.

  I am not Mister Wizard. I might be the first genie to blow himself up.

  After spending more than two hours at a big box store, I leave with a plastic bin, mason jars, coffee filters, convertors, a car battery, cables, rubber bands, a package of balloons, salt, a gram scale, all of the Etch-A-Sketch toys, and gum.