The Reaper Rescues The Genie

by Kristen Painter

  With a sigh, he picked up his fork. He ate, and while the breakfast Hattie had prepared was delicious, it did nothing to soothe the ache inside him.

  She reached over and patted his arm. “I still think you did the right thing, Lucy. Even if you did scare her.”

  He shrugged.

  “What kind of supernatural did you say she is?”

  “I didn’t, because I’m not sure. Witch, perhaps.”

  “What’s her name again?”

  He hadn’t told his grandmother because he didn’t want her to get involved. What would Imari think if Hattie tracked her down and tried to persuade her that Lucien was really a dear, sweet boy? Because those were the words she would use. He sighed. “Imari. But don’t—”

  “Imari Zephara?”

  “I don’t know her last name, but I doubt there are many other Imaris in town. How do you know her?”

  “She’s a massage therapist at the Nocturne Falls Spa.”

  His brows lifted. “And you know that because?”

  She sipped her tea before answering. “Where do you think I get my hair done?”

  “All right, but how does that—isn’t the spa sort of an…extravagant place to have your hair done?”

  Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “We can afford it.”

  “True enough. I wasn’t complaining, just asking. And your hair always looks lovely.” He liked that she indulged herself so. She deserved it. A thousand times over. “Anyway, so you know her because of going there?”

  Hattie shifted in her seat and put her hand on the newspaper that sat folded next to her place setting. “I do. We’re not best friends or anything like that, but I know who she is. I’ve seen her once or twice passing through the salon.” She turned her cup slightly on its saucer. “She’s very beautiful.”

  Imari was that. He stared at his own cup of tea, lost in the memory of her golden-brown eyes once again, her sweet, exotic perfume drifting past his nose, teasing him to lean in and—

  “Lucien. Lucien.”

  He glanced up. “Yes, Mémé?”

  But he recognized the look on her face instantly. The pursed mouth. The determined gaze. The just so set of her jaw. “No. Do not talk to her. Do not say anything to her about me. She doesn’t know who or what I am, and I want it kept that way. You know how much I want to be left alone. If you say something and someone overhears, my life—our life—could be ruined. I won’t stay in a town where I’m the object of fear and ridicule.”

  Compassion crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I won’t say a word. I adore this town. I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize our being here.”

  “I know.” Beyond that, it would kill his business. No one would come to a club where the owner might accidentally reap their soul. But he believed Hattie. He knew she didn’t want to move. She absolutely loved Nocturne Falls. It was the most normal life she’d had since he’d taken her first one away from her. “Thank you.”

  She gave him a curt nod, like she was a little miffed that he’d assumed she’d do something to endanger them. She unfolded the front page of today’s edition of the Tombstone, smoothing it so she could read the headlines. “Your omelet is getting cold.”

  “Yes, Mémé.”

  He was halfway through his breakfast when his phone vibrated. Hattie allowed the paper at the table, but didn’t like phones. Of course, he rarely got calls. Unless it was Kora.

  That got him to check the screen, but it wasn’t her, it was Greyson. He answered. “Yes?”

  “Lucien, I need to come by and see you.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Hattie mouthed, Kora?

  Lucien shook his head and mouthed back, Greyson. With a nod, Hattie returned to her paper.

  Greyson answered Lucien’s question. “I was asked not to discuss it over the phone.”

  Lucien frowned. That sounded cryptic. Maybe it was Kora after all. “Fine. When?”

  “In about half an hour.”

  “I’ll be here.” He hung up. Wasn’t like he’d be anywhere else.

  “What was that about?” Hattie asked.

  “Greyson has some kind of business he can’t discuss over the phone.”

  “Hmm. Probably something the Ellinghams need.”

  “Probably.” But what would the Ellinghams need from him? Then a cold thought hit him. What if Imari had relayed the incident at the club to Hugh or Sebastian? She didn’t know Lucien was the owner of the club, but they’d know from her description that he was the one who’d scared her.

  What would they have told her about him? He hoped nothing. But there might be a reprimand coming his way. So be it. He could explain his side and let them know he’d saved her. And frankly, if she was upset at having her life saved, maybe it was best that he was never going to see her again.

  Suddenly miffed, he pushed his plate away. “I’m going to my study.”

  Hattie looked up from the Tombstone. “All right. I’ll bring Greyson in when he arrives.”

  Lucien left the table and stormed off to his study. It was a highly masculine space filled with dark paneling, rich leather, and thick Oriental carpets. It was also the one area Hattie was not allowed to improve upon. This place was his. His fortress of sorts. The art was of his choosing, and the walls were lined with bookshelves heavy with a mix of the old classics he loved and some new selections he’d yet to read.

  Books were a great comfort to him. They helped him escape the pit of his life. But at the moment, he had actual work to do. That should be enough to take his mind off the disaster of last night. At least until Greyson arrived.

  He sat at his desk, fired up his laptop, and opened the club’s accounting software so he could go over the receipts for the previous night. It had been a very good evening. Hattie could afford to have her hair done anywhere she liked. And as often, too.

  Checking the receipts didn’t take much time, however, and he found himself doing a quick internet search for the Nocturne Falls Spa.

  He clicked on the link for the website, then on the link for massage. There were no pictures of the therapists, only lists of the types of massages available. Swedish. Deep tissue. Hot stone. He grimaced. Who would want hot stones put on them? That sounded like medieval torture.

  But the idea of Imari’s hands on him…he drifted on that tangent for a few long, self-indulgent moments. He’d never had a massage. Not really. During his reaper sabbatical, a brief venture into humanity that War Angels were encouraged to take—and his even shorter and more disastrous attempt at marriage—Pavlina had once endeavored to rub his shoulders. He’d found her touch unbearably hard. All that untempered vampire strength. As if she’d been trying to pry his muscles loose from his bones. There had been nothing relaxing about it.

  Imari would be different, of course. She had to know what she was doing. It was her job after all. If she was bad at it, the spa wouldn’t keep her on.

  “Lucien?” Hattie stuck her head in. She was smiling and holding a bunch of wildflowers wrapped in tissue paper and ribbon, no doubt a gift from the vampire who’d just arrived. “Greyson is here.”

  Lucien shut down the spa’s webpage and nodded as he got to his feet. “Good.”

  Greyson entered. “Thanks, Hattie.”

  “You’re welcome. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

  “No, I’m fine, thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  “All right.” She left them.

  Greyson closed the study door.

  Lucien sat back down. “Let me guess. The Ellinghams are cross because I showed my true form and scared one of their precious citizens.”

  Greyson made a face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  That took the wind out of Lucien’s sails. “You don’t? Then why are you here?”

  Greyson took a seat on the big leather couch. “I’m here because someone needs your help.”

  Lucien barked out a laugh. “Not likely.”

  “She does.”

/>   The feminine pronoun gave Lucien pause. “Who?”

  “A woman by the name of Imari Zephara. She says she met you the other night. Well, she doesn’t know exactly who you are—”

  “Then how did she know to contact you about me?”

  “She didn’t. She only knew that I frequent Insomnia and thought I might know the man she met there. She figured if you were in the VIP section, you might be a regular.”

  “That’s a stretch. I could have been anyone. A wealthy tourist in from Prague.”

  Greyson laughed softly. “You sent her tea. You made it clear you had some pull at the club. If you want to be anonymous, maybe don’t throw your weight around so much.”

  “I’d never have gotten you to work for me otherwise.” But Greyson had a point. Lucien really was a fool. “What does she want of me?”

  “She’s in some danger. At least she thinks she is. Seems a man has been tracking her and—”

  “I saw him. Outside the club.” It was a great relief to know she wasn’t angry at him.

  Greyson paused. “You followed her out?”

  Lucien hated explaining himself. “She…intrigued me. What about the man?”

  “Well, Imari is jinn.”

  “She’s a genie?”

  Greyson nodded. “And the man after her is a wish merchant. He means to capture her and sell her to the highest bidder.”

  The shock of that made Lucien’s breath catch in his throat. “That’s illegal. And immoral.”

  “It is. But you and I both know that what happens in the supernatural world rarely follows human law. Or a moral compass.”

  Both were painfully true. “Where do I come in?”

  “She wants to give you her genie bottle for temporary safe-keeping. She thinks you’re the only one the wish merchant won’t try to steal it from. Apparently, they’re a very superstitious bunch, and she thinks you’re the angel of death because of how you appeared and how terrified the wish merchant was of you. Wish merchants tend to avoid any kind of death omen whenever possible.”

  “Did you tell her I wasn’t an angel of death? That I was a reaper?”

  “No, the conversation never came back around to that. Does it matter?”

  “Yes, it matters. I’m a grim reaper. There’s a difference.”

  “I don’t think she cares. She just wants to scare off the wish merchant.”

  Lucien made a face. This was all new ground for him. He didn’t know much about the jinn. But he was certainly intrigued by Imari. “Her bottle? A wish merchant? I need more information.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can, but I don’t know anything else about the wish merchant than what I told you. As for the bottle, it’s her life, and her freedom as long as it’s in her possession. Whoever holds it, owns her and her magic.”

  “I don’t want to own her.”

  “That’s what she’s counting on.”

  “She’s counting on it?” Lucien snorted. “Why on earth would she trust me with it? She doesn’t know me at all.”

  “Like I said, she thinks you’re an angel of death, and as an angel, she also thinks you’d have no need for wishes and would do the right thing and give the bottle back to her when the wish merchant gives up and goes away.” Greyson mumbled something else.

  “What was that?”

  “I, uh, might have also told her you were a stand-up guy.”

  “You vouched for me.”

  “I did.”

  Lucien rolled his eyes. What he didn’t need were personal recommendations that resulted in him doing favors for people. Not that Imari was just anyone. She’d made him see color. But there was a reason he didn’t interact with others. He didn’t want to cut anyone else’s life short inadvertently. And just because that didn’t happen the first time he and Imari touched didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen the second time.

  And there would be a second time, if the opportunity arose. Not because he wished to harm her in any way, but he was a weak man, and she was a beautiful woman. If he’d forgotten his head around her once, he’d do it again. Especially with how tempting it would be to want to see color again.

  “So?” Greyson asked. “What do you think?”

  What he thought and what he felt were two different things, but he was strong enough to follow his head and ignore his heart. “No.”

  Frowning, Greyson stood up. “Lucien, you owe me. What I went through in Rome for you—”

  “For Kora.”

  “Same thing,” he snarled, showing his fangs. “That woman nearly got us both killed.”

  “And you were paid handsomely.”

  “Not enough for nearly dying. Not that I’m asking for more money. But you know what I mean.”

  Lucien sighed, but he understood that Greyson spoke the truth. Kora had cost them all dearly. Not that she cared. “Fine, bring me the bottle.”

  “I can’t. If Imari gives it to me, I become the owner, and I’m not taking on that responsibility. Imari has to give it to you herself.”

  “Then bring her here.”

  Greyson snorted. “Really?”

  Lucien ground his back teeth together. “Not here here. To the club.”

  Greyson’s brows lifted, and a dubious light shone in his eyes. “To the same place where the wish merchant almost nabbed her? Great idea.”

  “I can protect her. I can make sure—”

  Greyson slapped a little card down on Lucien’s desk. “That’s her address. Be there tonight at nine.”

  Imari’s nerves were taut with stress, but no massage could have helped her. She must have peeked through the curtains to look out at the parking lot a hundred times, but there was no sign of Lucien or the wish merchant. Yet. Although the wish merchant might very well be out there somewhere. Of course, Lucien was the only one she wanted to see.

  Hmm. Wanted wasn’t the right word. But she needed the protection of an angel of death, and he was her only hope. Wish merchants were terrified of the harbingers of death, as the one stalking her had demonstrated. They were all a superstitious lot, from what she’d been told, and it was something she planned to use to her advantage.

  She’d never known an angel of death personally before Lucien. Not that she really knew him, but she had made his acquaintance. He was so much warmer than she would have imagined an angel of death. More solid too.

  But then, so was Khalid, her betrothed.

  She frowned and let the curtains drop before going back to the kitchen to tidy up. The dinner she’d made was one of her favorites. Just a simple meal of lamb stew and rice, but she’d only picked at it. Hard to eat when death’s messenger was on his way to your apartment. Even if he was coming to do you a favor.

  He was, wasn’t he? Going to do her a favor? What had Greyson said? She finished her cleaning and sat on the couch, her fingers laced together, her legs crossed under her, and tried to think back to her conversation with him.

  She stared at nothing, her focus inward. He’d said he’d gotten Lucien to come to her house. That was all she could really pin down.

  She pressed her fingers to her temples. Maybe she should just leave town. It would be easier.

  Except that it wouldn’t. It would mean leaving her friends behind. And most of her things. Plus there was no guarantee the wish merchant wouldn’t find her in her location. Why should she walk away from the happy, peaceful life she’d made for herself here? It would mean the wish merchant had won.

  It would also mean that she was one step closer to a future with Khalid.

  Leaving would mean, in essence, that the wish merchant was commanding her path without even owning her bottle. She’d had enough of being told what to do in her life. The wish merchant would not get that chance.

  No, she had a plan. She got to her feet, hands clenched at her sides. She was not backing down. Even if that meant giving away her freedom temporarily. It was better than permanently, she reminded herself.

  Much, much better.

  She started a pot of tea, m
ostly to distract herself, but also so that she’d have something to offer Lucien when he arrived.

  A knock at the door startled her. Was that Lucien? She flattened her hand to her stomach. Who else would it be? The wish merchant wouldn’t dare come to her door, would he? What was she thinking? The doorman would never let him up.

  She took a breath and went to answer it.

  It was Lucien. He looked exactly as he had in the club. A different suit maybe. But still a very expensive one all the same. The man dressed impeccably, right down to the leather gloves he wore. Maybe being so well dressed was an angel-of-death thing. It was bad enough getting a sign that your death was imminent, but she supposed it would be even worse if the messenger was an unshaven slob.

  Her thoughts were going down a rabbit hole, undoubtedly because knowing who and what the man at the door was unsettled her. She did her best to ignore the rambling in her head and nodded. “Thank you for coming.”

  He frowned. “You should thank Greyson.”

  “I suppose I should.” She imagined she had Greyson to thank for the leather duffle in Lucien’s hand too. Wouldn’t do for him to walk out of the Excelsior carrying her genie bottle in his hands for all to see. She nodded again, her stress accelerating at his sharp tone. “I’ll make sure I do.”

  She reminded herself that her nerves were only because of who he was. Then she almost laughed. Who wouldn’t be nervous around an angel of death? But she’d also hoped he’d be in a good mood. That didn’t seem to be the case. Coming here had upset him for some reason. “Won’t you come in?”

  His expression softened a little. “Thank you.”

  She led him through the foyer and into the living room of her condo. She loved living at the Excelsior. The building catered to supernaturals, and the amenities were excellent. Plus, the condo was spacious. And she liked space. Being confined was something else she’d had enough of. She gestured toward the couch. “Please, sit.”

  He took a seat, but didn’t seem very comfortable in it. Being an angel of death, he probably didn’t care for her bright color scheme. She loved color. But both times she’d seen him, he’d been dressed in black, white, and shades of gray. Perhaps that was part of his uniform? She knew nothing about his kind of supernatural. “Would you like some tea? I was just making a pot.”