The Reaper Rescues The Genie

by Kristen Painter

  Besides, Kora was an adult, no matter that he considered her still a child. Had been for nearly a hundred and fifty years. She was a vampire to boot, one of the rare few born that way, but that had only served to make her even more her mother’s daughter.

  Lucien blew out a thick breath. His life was a complete and utter dung heap.

  Save for his grandmother.

  He lifted the glass, filled a third time now, in a toast to her. And stopped dead.

  Standing at the entrance of his private VIP area was the beautiful tea drinker.

  She lifted the cup in her hand, one of the clear mugs used for coffee by the looks of it, and nodded. “Very kind of you.”

  Her voice held the slight lilt of a foreign land, but not one he could immediately place.

  Before he could answer, Trina came rushing up the steps. “Ma’am, you have to leave. This is a restricted—”

  “It’s fine, Trina.”

  She glanced at him, her expression at last showing surprise. “Yes, sir.”

  She retreated, leaving him with the woman.

  The woman smiled, glancing at her tea. “You must be someone very important.”

  He shook his head. She smelled like night-blooming jasmine and sandalwood, and this close, he realized how wrong he’d been to think her merely pretty.

  She was staggeringly beautiful. Unreal, almost. More perfect than he’d imagined. She had to be supernatural to be that flawless.

  “No,” he said, astounded he could find the capacity to craft a response in her presence. “I’m no one.”

  She laughed, a sweet, joyful sound. “That’s not true at all, is it?”

  Was she playing with him? Or did she know the truth? His lack of interaction with anyone besides his grandmother, and occasionally Greyson, had left him deficient in reading people. And he wasn’t one of those reapers who could see a person’s aura. A War Angel didn’t need to know how good or bad a person was, and there was no time for that assessment on the battlefield anyway. “I…” But he was at a loss as to how to answer.

  She took a few steps toward him and sat on the far end of the couch where he was. “I’m being forward, I know, and I sincerely hope you don’t read anything into this, but the crowd is…” She sighed and looked toward the dance floor, her smile fading.

  Then her gaze returned to him. “The tea is very good.”

  “It’s Assam.” He understood about the crowd. He wasn’t a fan either, mostly out of necessity.

  She smiled again. “I know.”

  What was she? Not a vampire. No fangs. No pointed ears, either, that he could see. A witch, then? A supernatural of some kind, for sure, because nothing about her seemed exactly human. And humans weren’t allowed in Insomnia. His gaze dropped to the glass in his hand. Perhaps he’d had enough to drink.

  “I’m Imari, by the way.”

  “That’s a lovely name.” Imari. He knew that name somehow. She worked here in town, but he couldn’t quite place her.

  “Thank you.” She stuck her hand out. “And thank you very much for the tea.”

  Maybe it was the cognac. Maybe it was because of how off center she’d knocked him by speaking with him so boldly. Or maybe being this close to this much beauty had rattled him. But for some inexplicable reason, he reached out and took her hand in his.

  Without a glove on.

  The second their hands touched, his world imploded. Fear. Panic. But she held on to him, oblivious to the danger. Yes, his gloves were off, but she remained very much alive. How was that possible?

  He peered into her eyes, trying to ascertain that he wasn’t reaping her soul in that very moment, and froze. How was this possible? He was seeing something he shouldn’t.

  Color.

  Namely, Imari’s eyes. And they were the same deep, rich golden brown of the cognac in his glass.

  He stared at her like he’d just been shot. That wasn’t a reaction she was used to, but then, she didn’t talk to many men. Not outside of the spa where she worked anyway. And most of her clients were women, but besides that, there just wasn’t much talking in her part of the spa.

  That was one of the great benefits of being a massage therapist. Most people wanted quiet during their session. She was good with that.

  And it wasn’t that she didn’t like people—she did. She liked people a great deal. Most people, that was. Time and experience had caused her to pull back from a lot of social interaction. Now she just wanted to fly below the radar and enjoy a life of her own choosing. She had a few girlfriends in town, and that was good enough for her.

  Despite all that, she had to ask him, “Are you okay?”

  “I—the color of your—yes, I’m fine.” He slipped his hand out of hers, and the shock in his eyes changed to something dark and a little frightening. Then he blinked, and it was gone.

  Fine? He didn’t seem fine at all. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  He didn’t immediately answer, just kept staring at her with his penetrating gaze. Then the lights from the dance floor flashed over them, and for the briefest of moments, she thought she could see the bones of his face. As if his skull had suddenly become visible.

  She blinked twice. The image vanished.

  That couldn’t have been what she’d seen. Could it? But she wasn’t one to ignore signs or omens. He was connected to death in some way. She’d felt it in her bones the second she’d spoken to him. Granted, she had some practice in that area, considering her betrothed was an ifrit. The ifrit were a particular kind of jinn, a dark, humorless lot primarily relegated to guarding the world that all jinn called home, the Chaos Realm.

  And despite being betrothed to Khalid, she’d met him only once, and then, according to custom, there had been no words exchanged. Fine with her. She had no desire to speak to the man her parents had chosen for her to marry. Even less desire to actually marry him.

  Fortunately, she was not an ifrit, and like most of the jinn who weren’t ifrit, she had a keen ability to suss people out. To understand who they were and what they needed. It was a big part of what had made her so good at being a genie and so adept at her current job.

  Her current job was important, too. It helped shield her true identity from the world. Because while a genie was a much-sought-after creature, massage therapists were rather plentiful. And even though a large handful of people in town knew she was a genie, they also thought she was retired. Out of wishes, as it were. Best they thought that. For them and for her. It kept them from asking and kept her from lying to her friends.

  She swallowed and got to her feet. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. Which might not have been a welcome to begin with, now that I think back. Excuse me.” She headed for the steps.

  “Imari,” he breathed out.

  Almost to the exit, she stopped, but didn’t turn. She didn’t want to see the skull again. Not because it frightened her, but because in some odd way it reminded her of the future she was desperate to avoid. Perhaps because she thought of her life with Khalid as a kind of death. “Thank you for the tea.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She glanced at him then to acknowledge his words. The skull she thought she’d imagined hadn’t returned. The face she’d first encountered was still there.

  That was the face that had drawn her to him. He looked so sad. Forlorn, really. As though he had taken the weight of the world upon himself. Or suffered a terrible loss. Maybe he had. It would explain the way he looked. And his connection with death.

  He had been quite handsome at one time. The traces of male beauty lingered in the strong lines of his face, but the gloom that hung over him made him seem tired and worn. Something in his life, no doubt. Some kind of trouble.

  He also looked like he could use a friend.

  But would he be the sort of man who would want to use her if he ever found out who she was and what she was truly capable of? She didn’t want to think of him that way, but everyone wanted something.

  She had to leave. />
  “I’m Lucien.”

  She smiled, more from compassion for whatever hurt had befallen him than because she was happy. “Thank you, Lucien. I really have to go. I’ve bothered you for far too long.”

  “You haven’t bothered me. And you certainly didn’t overstay your welcome. I enjoyed the company.”

  “Thank you again.” With a nod, she darted down the steps and into the crowd. If his gaze was still on her, she couldn’t tell. She found one of her friends, made an excuse for her early departure, and left the club.

  Not until she stepped outside and stood beneath the starry night sky did she truly exhale. Her friends had driven, so she took her phone out and ordered a Ryde. The service’s app said seven minutes. That wasn’t too bad.

  “Nice night, huh?”

  Startled, she whipped around to see who’d spoken to her. A man hung in the shadows, smoking a cigarette and leaning against the worn brick exterior of the warehouse that housed Insomnia. The name Caldwell Manufacturing could be seen in faded white paint on the building’s side. The whole idea was that you had to know about Insomnia to find Insomnia. She gave a little nod in response. “Yes, very nice.”

  He blew out a stream of smoke, then inhaled again. The ember at the end of the cigarette glowed red hot in the dim light. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s fine.” She busied herself with nothing on her phone in an attempt to end any further conversation. The man looked familiar, though. Where had she seen him before? He hadn’t been a massage client, she’d remember that. So where was he from? She didn’t go out all that much, but she’d run to the Shop-n-Save for groceries yesterday. Maybe that was it. Yes, in the deli department. Or the frozen foods. Somewhere.

  She snuck a look at him.

  And now he was here, at the same nightclub as she was. The small hairs on the back of her neck came to attention, but she did her best to ignore them. Nocturne Falls was a small town. People ran into each other. It meant nothing.

  Still, she watched him out of the corner of her eye.

  “You’re a good dancer.” He peeled himself off the brick to stretch his thick, squat body, gesturing at her with his cigarette.

  The small hairs went up again. He’d been in the club, then. But she hadn’t spotted him there. And she could swear he was human, a species not allowed through Insomnia’s doors. She answered with a tight smile before looking at her phone again. “Thanks.”

  Her Ryde was five minutes away.

  In her peripheral vision, she saw him take a few steps in her direction. “But then, the jinn know how to move, don’t they?” He wiggled his hips, laughing. “Belly dancing is in your blood, right?”

  She scowled at him even as her pulse ticked up and alarm bells sounded in her head. She shoved her phone into her purse. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re jinn, sweetheart.” He spread his arms out like he’d just made a very obvious statement. “You can’t fool me. I know your kind inside and out. It’s my job. And I’m the best at what I do.”

  She narrowed her eyes even as nervous energy caused a little tremble to run through her. She hadn’t lived this long without handling the occasional creeper. It happened to all women. “Is your job harassing women? Because you’re exceptional at that.”

  “Nah, that’s not my job.” He leaned in, his smile wide and ugly with smoke-stained teeth. “I’m a wish merchant.”

  Her blood went cold. A wish merchant. She froze to the spot. Panic raked down her spine. There wasn’t a genie alive who didn’t know what a wish merchant was capable of. How they could destroy a genie’s life. She’d escaped one in Bangkok almost two hundred years ago and had considered herself lucky then.

  She didn’t feel lucky now. “Get away from me.”

  “Can’t. Because you’re about to make me a very rich man.” He grabbed her wrist. “At least, you’d better. Took me too damn long to track you down.”

  She opened her mouth to scream, but another voice interrupted her, a voice like daggers cutting through sandpaper.

  “Take your hands off her, or I will put mine on you.”

  She and her assailant turned at the same time.

  Behind them towered a blackness unlike anything Imari had ever seen. It was a shadow and an abyss, both there and not. In the form of a man. A black-hooded cloak snapped around the creature like a living thing, and within it, shapes pulsed inside the darkness. Hands. Mouths gaping. A nightmare come to life. With eyes that glowed like hot coals.

  She could barely breathe. Her heart pounded, filling her head with the sound and making all other thought impossible.

  The wish merchant released her wrist. His eyes were wide and his jaw slack as he backed away. He shook his head, then turned and took off running. No doubt he thought he’d just seen death. Wish merchants were a superstitious lot, and for that, she was eternally grateful.

  As his footsteps faded, Imari tried to speak, but her mouth was dry from the tenseness of the moment.

  Car tires crunched over pavement. Her Ryde was here. Headlights flashed across the looming figure.

  For a second, she saw the face within the hood that held those fiery eyes. A skull.

  Then the lights moved past, and just like that, her savior disappeared.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. Then she climbed into the car as fast as she could.

  She didn’t stop trembling until an hour after she was home. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, and tried not to break down. She wasn’t a delicate flower, but she’d come to think of herself as safe for so long that tonight had rattled her.

  Hard.

  A wish merchant. Here in Nocturne Falls. Never in a million years would she have thought that was possible. She considered this town a haven. A safe zone. And it had been until tonight.

  That scum would find her again. He knew she was here now. There was no reason for him to give up until he’d gotten what he wanted.

  She chewed on her bottom lip as her head started to ache. She’d have to leave. There was no other option. Not really. Sure, there were other options, but none she was willing to take. At least not the one that involved Khalid.

  But what if she didn’t have to go that far? She glanced toward the embroidered textile that covered the wall behind her vanity table. Just thinking about the possible escape that lay behind there intensified the ache in her head.

  Even so, she threw the covers back and padded over to the table. She drew back the fabric, tying it up in a knot and out of the way to reveal the wall safe hidden there. A few quick spins of the combination unlocked the door.

  She opened it, needing to see that the luminous, bejeweled bottle was still there. Still secure. It was.

  Carefully, she took the bottle from the safe and cradled it in her hands. The weight of it always gave her comfort. The glass gleamed with iridescence, like an oil slick. Blues and purples and greens. Gems dotted the bottle’s surface in a pattern like peacock feathers. Swirls of amethysts, emeralds, and sapphires set in gold filigree and speckled with diamonds and moonstones. The stopper was an uncut emerald encircled with diamonds and iolite set in more fancifully worked gold.

  The bottle alone was worth a king’s ransom. But to her, it was priceless beyond measure. To her, it was freedom. It had the power to become her prison, but she wouldn’t let that happen. So long as the bottle remained in her control, that wouldn’t happen.

  And yet she was thinking about giving it away. To a man who could very well be the angel of death.

  “I am a fool.”

  Hattie kissed the top of Lucien’s head. “No, you’re not, honey. You saw the man following her out, and you listened to your gut. From what you told me, you probably saved her life.”

  “I am a fool, and I doubt it was that desperate.” But he’d kept Imari from being hurt. He allowed himself some comfort in that. Of course, he’d never see her again. Not after the display he’d put on. But showing off his reaper form was all h
e’d been able to think of to scare the cretin away without actually touching him.

  Although, Lucien had been prepared to do that if things had taken a turn for the worse. He could have claimed it as a defensive killing, then. Hoped for some leniency from the council. There was little chance they’d allow him another accident.

  “Honey, stop being so hard on yourself.”

  “I scared her away.” It wasn’t an answer, just a statement of fact. And the idea of never seeing her again cut him deeply. The incredible Imari, who seemed not only immune to his deadly effects, but whose touch had brought color back to his world. Magnificent color. He hadn’t known how much he’d missed it until he’d had it for those few brief seconds her hand had held his.

  But the contact of her skin, of her warm, gloriously silky fingers in his, that had been the true revelation. Missing color was nothing compared to not being touched. And her touch was…exceptional.

  Hattie set a plate in front of him. “I doubt that. Most supernatural women are made of stronger stuff.”

  The plate held two slices of bacon and a three-egg omelet filled with spinach, goat cheese, fresh chives, and diced tomato. It was one of his favorite things, and the rich aroma begged him to dive in.

  “I’m not hungry,” he grumped.

  “Yes, you are. And even death needs to eat, so go on, have at it.”

  “Mémé, I am not a child.”

  She sat across from him, giving him the same stern look she’d been giving him for the last one hundred and twenty-three years. “Well, you could have fooled me with that pout.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I do not pout.”

  “No?” She sipped her tea. She didn’t need to eat. She was a ghost, after all, but Lucien knew how she loved food, especially her tea and sweets, and in corporeal form, as she was now, she could eat and drink just like any living person.

  There was laughter in her eyes. Laughter directed at him.