“All right.”
Good, because it had been steeping long enough. She brought it over and poured it into two gold-decorated glasses. “Sugar?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “I understand it’s what’s done, but I didn’t come here for small talk and tea. Greyson said you were in trouble. And that it has to do with the man who followed you out of the club last night.”
“It does.” She added a cube of sugar to both of their glasses, then sat on the thick, tufted floor pillow beside the table. It put her lower than Lucien, but she hoped that allowing him a place of power would make him feel benevolent. “I owe you a very large and sincere thank you for that. He would have taken me.”
“For what purpose?”
She thought Greyson would have told him more about the wish merchant, but perhaps Lucien wanted to hear her tell it. She didn’t mind that or his directness. There was nothing to be gained by misunderstandings or talking in circles. “I’m a genie. He plans to kidnap me and either sell me or the wishes I can grant to the highest bidder. Probably he’ll opt to sell the wishes individually. He’ll believe that will make him the most money. If that’s what he chooses to do, he’ll keep selling them for as long as he can. Or until I manage to escape. Which isn’t likely.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed as if he was deep in thought. “You’re jinn, obviously.”
“Yes.”
“What kind of supernatural is the wish merchant?”
“He’s human.”
Lucien frowned. “He wouldn’t have been granted entrance into Insomnia, then, unless he was with a supernatural. My bouncers can’t be bribed. I’ll check the security footage to see who he was with, and they will be dealt with.” He paused. “If the wish merchant is human, how would he control you?”
She laughed gently, lowering her eyes for a moment so he wouldn’t think she was laughing at him. She wasn’t, either. But his honesty about what he did and didn’t know was refreshing. So many people tried to appear as if they knew it all. “You don’t know much about genies, do you?”
“I don’t know anything about them. Other than they can grant wishes.”
“Then let me give you a quick lesson. We cannot use our wishes for our own gain. We may sell or barter our wishes, but at no time are we ever permitted to use them to harm humans.”
His narrow-eyed gaze stayed on her. “And other supernaturals?”
She smiled. “There is a reason they leave us alone.” That wasn’t really an answer, but he didn’t pursue it. She liked that, but doubted he was even marginally afraid of her.
He sipped his tea, then set the glass on the table and sat back. “And so you propose what? That I help you in exchange for wishes?”
A wisp of steam curled up from her glass. “Not exactly. And I hope that won’t be a problem, because I don’t have any wishes to give you. I don’t have them to give anyone.” She couldn’t make eye contact when she lied. It was hard enough for a genie to bend the truth, even more difficult to break it entirely.
“Then just tell the wish merchant that and he’ll be on his way.” He got to his feet with sudden urgency. “You don’t need me.”
“But I do.” She jumped up, blocking his exit. Panic made her heart race. He couldn’t leave until he’d agreed to help her. “He’ll put me back in my bottle and then…”
She stared up at him, hating that she was about to reveal such a great secret to him. Hating how vulnerable she was about to become. Again. She just couldn’t reveal everything. Not yet. She waffled on how much to tell him. On what details would get him to help her.
Lucien glared down at her, clearly out of patience. “And then what?”
She made her decision. “And then I’ll have another thousand wishes to my name. Years of being chained to whomever possesses my bottle. At their whim. Years of being hunted by men like the one at the club.” Except that wasn’t exactly what would happen. Being forced back into her bottle would result in her getting another thousand wishes, but it would also result in her finally facing Khalid. The marriage she’d been avoiding since she’d been old enough to know about all her life would happen.
Either way, the outcome wasn’t good. Because in both instances, she ended up as someone else’s property. The ache in her belly nearly made her sick. Anger wound up her spine. “I won’t do it,” she said. “I won’t.”
The anger jolted through her, pushing her. She grabbed hold of his lapels, pressing her knuckles into his hard chest. His warmth seeped into her skin. “Please help me. You have to. I need you.”
The second she touched him, his eyes went wide, and he went very still.
It was as if a switch had been thrown inside him. Or a thunderbolt had struck him. Whatever was happening, it was a shock to his system.
He finally swallowed and glanced around. “Your home is…very colorful.”
Was he mocking her? What kind of answer was that? She frowned at him then, disgusted, pushed him away and stalked to the window. She crossed her arms and stared down at the parking lot, looking for unfamiliar cars and trying not to believe that Khalid was her only hope. “Fine. I understand. You don’t want to help me. Don’t want to be involved. I guess helping me isn’t as interesting to you as announcing people’s impending death to them.”
He didn’t answer, and she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t, or he might see the tears building in her eyes. Instead, she flicked her hand at him, jangling the bracelets on her wrist. “You can let yourself out.”
The moment her touch left Lucien, so did his color vision. But the images of Imari and her apartment were seared into his brain.
Her home was so dazzling, he wondered if Insomnia needed to be redecorated.
The walls were painted a deep raspberry, while the upholstery was navy, and everything else—the layered rugs, the plentiful pillows, the fabrics and tapestries on the walls—was patterned in every color conceivable. All around the home were touches of gold and brass. Accents of crystal and glass, all of it brightly colored, added sparkling life.
For the brief moment that she’d been in contact with him, he’d felt like he was standing in a jewel box in some far-away land.
With the queen of that land in front of him. The lights of Insomnia had done a disservice to her beauty. She was agonizingly lovely. Her large, cognac eyes, lush mouth, and abundant curls would have been too much on any other woman, but on her, they were each a piece of a bewilderingly perfect puzzle.
She fascinated him. How was it possible that she brought color back to his eyes? Made him feel so complete and so out of sorts all at once?
And this time, she’d done it without making skin-to-skin contact. Remarkable.
He wanted to feel that way again. To remember that life was not just a dull gray wash. To see more color.
He craved it, in fact. Or perhaps what he craved was her.
He cleared his throat, but she didn’t turn from the window. That was fine. The view of her from the back was equally as pleasing as it was from the front. “I didn’t mean I wouldn’t help you.”
That got her attention. She stiffened, but didn’t turn. “You will?”
He had no choice. Greyson had called in a favor. Part of him wanted to deny her. She would disrupt his life. Make him want what he couldn’t have. She already had. But he would find a way to deal with all of that. “I will. But on my terms.”
She finally looked at him, gaze narrowed slightly. Her arms stayed crossed. “I have no wishes to give.”
“So you said. I’m not interested in wishes. I have all the wealth and possessions I need.” That didn’t mean he wasn’t without wants and needs, but his burdens were his own to bear.
She relaxed a little. “What then?”
“You tell no one that I am helping you. Not a mention of my name, not a reference to me or about who or what you think I am, not where we met, not even a hint that I am remotely involved.”
She dropped her arms to her sides. “That’s it?”
�
�For now, yes.” He gave her a moment. “Can you do that?”
“Yes. I give you my word. And thank you.” She glanced once more outside, then walked away from the window. “I have a few rules of my own.”
This should be interesting. It wasn’t often a grim reaper was given rules. Oh, people tried. They bargained and cajoled, begged and pleaded, but rules? Never. He almost smiled. But then, she didn’t know what he really was. She thought he was just death’s calling card, not death itself. Better that way. Protection for both of them.
Although, her courage in the face of an angel of death was still impressive. So much so, he couldn’t help but comment. “You’re not afraid of me.”
She stopped a few feet away and looked at him. “Should I be? You’re here to help me, not announce my impending doom. Or have I missed something?”
“No, you’re right, I’m here only to help.” Not words he’d spoken much in his life. Or possibly ever. “What are your rules?”
She smiled, but there was a darkness in her gaze. Fear. And something else he wasn’t sure of. “I’m giving you my bottle for my protection, but you have to understand that it is my life. You must protect it.”
“I will.”
She laughed. “Asking the angel of death to protect my life seems odd even to my ears.”
“Not that odd.”
“I suppose not, given the town we live in.” She brushed a strand of hair back. “Without that bottle…” She smiled weakly. “It’s priceless. In every possible way.”
“I understand, I assure you. So what’s the rule?”
“Just that you must promise to protect it at all costs.”
“I will. Is that your only rule?”
“No. You must also return it to me when this is over. No hesitation, no bargaining, no changing your mind.”
“Done. Anything else?
“Those are my only rules for now.” She nodded. “I’ll get the bottle.”
She left him then, disappearing down a hall. To where, he wasn’t sure. Her bedroom? He tried to imagine what that would look like. What colors she’d used there. But his imagination kept conjuring up images of her sprawled on a pile of silk pillows, her hair flowing out around her, one finger crooked to beckon him—
He shook himself. What was wrong with his brain? Was he color drunk? She wasn’t going to beckon him or encourage him in any way. She wanted him only for the protection he could give her, and any thoughts to the contrary had no place in his head. “No place,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
He startled, the odd feeling of guilt warming his skin. “I wasn’t, that is, I didn’t say anything.”
She tipped her head, peering at him. “You said something.”
“I don’t recall.” He shifted his attention to adjusting the bracelet of his watch, pleased he couldn’t see her in full color. He could barely maintain himself with her in shades of gray. Did genies have the power to befuddle other supernaturals? He didn’t know but didn’t want to ask and point out what she was doing to him. There was no adjusting left to do, so he changed the subject. “That must be the bottle.”
The object in her hands was exquisite. Even without color, he could see it was studded with gems and metal filigree.
“It is.” She held it close to herself, making no move to give it to him. “And remember, priceless.”
“I understand.” He held his hand out.
She frowned.
He held out both hands.
She still didn’t make any attempt to place it in his possession.
He dropped his attempt to retrieve the bottle from her. “You clearly don’t want to part with this.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Imagine the most valuable thing in your life. Would you want to give that up? Even if it meant protecting yourself from a fate worse than death? Or whatever your death equivalent would be. It’s not a good feeling.” She clutched the bottle closer. “Greyson promised me you were trustworthy.”
It seemed like she was reminding herself of that, but he answered anyway. “I am.”
He wasn’t without sympathy. There was no way, under any imaginable circumstances, that he would ever give up his scythe. Retired or not, that tool was a part of him. It was also the only thing that could reap his life. He wasn’t about to put it in anyone else’s hands.
“That’s good.” She kept staring at the bottle. “But I can’t do this. I’m sorry for making you come out here, but I just can’t go through with this.”
He understood. And he didn’t want her to agonize over something so precious being in a stranger’s possession. “You’re not really in any danger in the Excelsior, are you? It’s my understanding this is a very secure building. One of the Ellinghams lives here after all. Julian, I believe. With his wife.”
“I know. And it is a very secure building. But wish merchants are crafty.”
“You think he could get in here?” The man had gotten into Insomnia, but that had to be because he was with someone. No one who lived in the Excelsior would let a stranger in, would they? He doubted it, but it still remained a risk. One, apparently, she was willing to take.
She glanced back toward the foyer. “No, probably not. But I have to leave at some point. I have a job to do. I can’t just not show up.”
“Of course not.” Even if that was an extremely unwise idea. “But you could take some time off.”
“Maybe.”
“What if he tries to grab you again?”
“During daylight hours? Not likely. And if it’s after dark, I’ll call for the doorman to come to my car and walk me in.”
She was trying to convince herself at this point. He nodded with no real conviction. “You could do that.”
She chewed on her lower lip like she was suddenly rethinking things.
“He did get into Insomnia, though.” Lucien thought it was worth mentioning. He’d requested the video from his security team, but he hadn’t opened it yet. An email from Kora about needing more money had put him in a funk before coming here. He’d chosen not to answer it. “And I said I would find the supernatural who brought him in and deal with them, and I will, so that won’t happen again. But I can’t speak for how things operate in this building. I’m sure it’s highly unlikely, though.”
Her mouth crooked into an unhappy expression. “Unless the supernatural who helped him also happens to live here.”
“That’s a possibility. Listen, I’ll give you my number.” Even as he said it, he realized how rare a thing that was for him to do. “If you change your mind, call me.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry to have dragged you out here. I guess I was too scared by what happened at the club to think properly. Seeing you was probably enough to send him running.”
“Perhaps. I am awfully frightening.”
She laughed, and Lucien was almost convinced by it. Her thumb worried one of the larger stones on the bottle. “He’s probably not even in town anymore.”
“All the same,” Lucien said, “take my number.”
“That’s kind of you.” She set the bottle on the coffee table, then found a pad of paper and pen for him.
He jotted his number down. “There. I wish you well.”
“Thank you.”
“I can see myself out.” He gripped the handles of the leather duffle he’d brought more firmly than necessary. “Have a good night.”
“You too.”
An inexplicable sadness came over him as he rode down in the elevator. She wouldn’t call. He knew that. She didn’t want him to have the bottle. She didn’t want anyone to have it. He understood.
But to never see her again left him feeling…empty. He had no reason to feel that way. He’d seen her twice. Exchanged a handful of sentences. They meant nothing to each other. They weren’t even friends. Acquaintances at best.
But she made him see color. And she appeared to be immune to his touch.
And then there was the pitiful truth that he was a desperately lonel
y man. Maybe she’d come into Insomnia again. He might see her then.
How very pathetic of him.
The old anger rose up in him. Anger at his gifts gone wrong. Anger at the life of solitude that had been forced upon him.
There was no fairness in his life. Not even when he’d taken his sabbatical and attempted to live a normal life, he’d ended up with a wife who’d been unfaithful and a daughter who wanted nothing more than to spend his money and traipse around the world getting herself into trouble.
The elevator doors slid open.
He stormed out and past the doorman, acknowledging the man’s farewell with a grunt as he made his way to the parking lot. He’d driven his Bugatti this evening, and he was glad he’d chosen it instead of the Land Rover Hattie used. A long, fast drive through the hills and mountains surrounding Nocturne Falls was just what he needed.
As he approached the car, a man appeared from behind an SUV in the next row.
The wish merchant.
Lucien went on alert, everything else forgotten.
The man nodded at Lucien. “What’s in the bag, chum?”
Lucien ignored him for a moment, then thought better of it. For Imari’s sake, he’d deal with this fool. “You’re the wish merchant.”
“That’s right. What of it?”
Lucien let a little of his reaper form show through, feeling the bones of his face ache at the transformation. His voice took on a huskier tone. “Is your wish for death?”
The man’s eyes widened, then his haughty expression partially returned. He snapped his fingers. “Adira.”
A pretty but haggard-looking young woman stepped out from behind the SUV. “Yes, master,” she whispered.
Another genie? Lucien wasn’t sure, but the girl was some kind of supernatural. He sensed that much.
The man pointed at Lucien as he spoke to Adira. “I wish for him to be immobile.”
She looked at Lucien, then blinked as she made a quick nod in his direction. Sparks of glitter drifted through the air.
Had she cast a spell on him? Used one of her wishes to do as the wish merchant had commanded? If so, it hadn’t worked, but he decided to play along to see what he could learn. He went still, then rolled his eyes around in what he hoped looked like panic.
The Reaper Rescues The Genie Page 4
