The Reaper Rescues The Genie

by Kristen Painter

  “Wait.” He opened the door and checked around outside. Twilight had fallen, but Main Street was a fairly well-lit area. Not this back alley so much, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “All clear.”

  They slipped out and stood in the alley. Lucien knocked on the first back door they came to. It was tucked under the stairs that led to Willa’s apartment over the shop. At least, that was how Willa had described the door when he’d emailed with her earlier.

  “You sure this is the right one?” Imari looked at him. “It doesn’t say Illusions. Or anything.”

  “Wouldn’t be prudent to mark a jewelry shop’s door. Even in a town as safe as this one.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  The door opened, and a woman Lucien assumed to be Willa Iscove, the owner, appeared. She smiled at them. “If you’re with Imari, you must be Lucien. Hi, Imari. Come in.”

  “Hi, Willa. Thanks for helping us out.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” Willa got out of the way so they could enter.

  The door led them into the shop’s backroom. It was small and mostly taken up by a workbench and desk. A huge, whiskered beast sprawled on the desk, blocking access to the laptop. The door to the shop was closed, but a large window over the desk looked out onto the storefront. The tint of the glass made Lucien think it was another two-way mirror. Customers milled about in the shop, and two other employees stood at the ready to help them.

  Lucien frowned at the window, not sure if his guess was right. “Do you have a shade you can pull?”

  Willa shook her head. “That’s a two-way mirror. No one can see in.”

  “Very good.”

  Imari scratched the cat’s head. “What a pretty baby. I love orange cats. I didn’t know you had a cat, Willa. Must be a boy, right?”

  “Right,” Willa answered with a smile. “Jasper. And he is my baby. He’s almost always in the office here, but if you don’t come back here, you’d never know it. Now, let me get the bottles I was able to collect.” She turned to a sturdy cardboard box on the workbench.

  Imari glanced at Lucien. “Most orange cats are male. Did you know that?”

  “I wasn’t even sure that was a cat.”

  She blinked at him in astonishment. “Did you just make a joke?”

  “I…yes?”

  She laughed. “Good for you.”

  Willa opened the flaps of the box. “I scoured a few of the local antique and junk shops in town, and these five bottles are the closest I could come up with as a base for yours.”

  “That was so kind of you,” Imari said.

  “It was fun. I found some nice ones.” Willa pulled the bottles out and set them one by one on the workbench, then looked at Imari. “Do you think any of these will work?”

  Imari studied them, her mouth screwed up on one side. “Maybe. Will you be able to manufacture a stopper? None of those have one.”

  “I’m sure I can. Which one of those looks the closest?”

  Imari pointed. “Probably that pale blue one. The shape is right.”

  Lucien tipped his head at the bag in Imari’s hand. “Why don’t you show her the real thing?”

  Imari stopped petting the cat to grip the bag with both hands.

  Willa smiled gently. “This is a safe place, I assure you.”

  “I know. You’re right. It’s just…you know.” Imari set the bag on the desk in the little space beside the cat and took the bottle out. “Here it is.”

  Willa sucked in a breath. “That is unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I assure you, some of the crown jewels from my kingdom are breathtaking. I need to take some notes and, if you don’t mind, some pictures. Especially of that stopper. I have the one photo that Lucien sent me—”

  “You sent her a picture?” Imari looked at him.

  “I did. So she could find a suitable bottle to use as the base for the replica.” He held his hands up. “It was on your nightstand. I didn’t touch it.”

  Imari shook her head. “No, that’s fine. Thank you.” Then she smiled tentatively at Willa. “You can take pictures. It’s all for a good reason. And obviously I trust you.”

  Willa set the second bottle aside and returned the rest to the box. “The pictures won’t be shared with anyone else, I promise.”

  “Thank you, I know that, too. I’m sorry to be so protective about this, but—”

  “Don’t apologize,” Willa said. “And you don’t have to explain. I’ve done a little research on the jinn. I know how important your bottle is to you.”

  Imari visibly relaxed. “That’s kind of you. And I’m being silly.” She held the bottle out. “Here. If you’re going to re-create it, you need to examine it close up.”

  The move surprised Lucien, but he said nothing. Maybe Imari trusted Willa more because they were friends. Or because she was a woman. Maybe Imari’s past included her bottle being owned by some unscrupulous men. The idea of what that might mean, of what might have happened to her, stirred new anger.

  He stood with his back to the wall, his hands clasped in front of him, and tried not to let the anger out. Strong emotion could cause his reaper form to become visible. It was a reaction, pure and simple, and he didn’t wish to alarm Imari or Willa.

  He drifted into his own thoughts for a moment. He hadn’t told Willa what he was. She might already know. But if she didn’t, he wanted to keep it that way.

  He shifted his attention to the cat. The animal was on his side, head upside down, eyes closed, and he looked very much like he didn’t have a care in the world. What a lucky beast.

  Lucien moved closer and reached a hand out. His instinct was to stroke his fingers lightly down the animal’s side. He hesitated. His gloves were on, but the old fear was there.

  He pulled his hand back to his side.

  Willa was saying something about the bottle’s stopper again, then stopped to speak to him. “You can pet him.” She nodded at the cat. “He won’t bite. Jasper loves attention.”

  “I shouldn’t. I…might be allergic.” It was the best he could do and considerably better than I might accidentally take his life.

  Willa shrugged and went back to inspecting the bottle while discussing the finer points of design with Imari.

  Lucien found himself drawn to the cat again. He picked up a pen and used the end to scratch Jasper’s back. The cat rolled over a little more and stuck his paws in the air and started to knead them back and forth. It was kind of charming, really.

  With a little smile, Lucien put the pen down. Hattie had been trying to get him to let her have a pet for years. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. If he could be certain his ruined powers wouldn’t hurt the animal.

  Hattie didn’t need any more loss in her life.

  “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…” Willa was counting softly as she inspected the bottle. Every so often, she stopped to jot something down.

  At last, she looked at the list she’d created, did a quick tally, then faced Lucien. “The good news is, I can re-create this almost exactly in about two days. Maybe two and a half, depending on how hard it is to source that emerald for the top. I’ll have to order the stones, but I can do most of the metal work tomorrow so that when the gems arrive, I’m ready to set them. That will take another day.”

  “That sounds more than reasonable.” He’d expected her to say a week. “What’s the bad news?”

  She glanced at the bottle before answering him. “It’s going to be very, very expensive.”

  Imari cringed at those words, even though they confirmed what she’d told Lucien earlier. Her bottle was covered in gold and gems. There was no way around it. Replicating it wasn’t going to be cheap. Especially not with that uncut hunk of emerald that adorned the stopper.

  And she didn’t expect any kind of discount just because she and Willa were friends. The woman had bills to pay just like anyone else.

  Lucien didn’t react like it was any big deal. “When we’re done with the bottle, will you be able to r
ecover any of the materials?”

  Willa made a curious face. Half-smile, half sly smirk. “I was thinking, if neither of you mind, I have a few collectors who might be willing to buy a piece like this from me.”

  Imari nodded quickly. That was a perfect solution. “It’s not a real genie bottle, so I’m all right with it. So long as you don’t say it’s a replica. I don’t want anyone else knowing what my bottle looks like.”

  Willa held her hands up. “No, of course not.” She glanced at Lucien. “What do you think? There might even be a profit in it if I can get a little bidding going. Which I think I can.”

  He looked at Imari before answering. “If Imari is fine with it, I am too.”

  Imari nodded. “Totally fine.”

  Willa stuck her hand out to him. “Then it’s a deal. Thank you.”

  Lucien didn’t move to return her handshake, and the moment spread toward awkwardness as Imari realized what was happening. Or rather, what wasn’t going to happen.

  She sidestepped toward him, putting herself in front of him, and filled Willa’s palm with her own. “That’s perfect, Willa. You’re so dear to do this. I owe you a lunch when this is all over.”

  Willa’s perplexed gaze shifted from Lucien to Imari. “I’m happy to help a friend, but happy to take you up on that lunch, too. I’ll call you if I need anything more, but I should be fine with the pictures and notes I’ve taken. And I’ll keep it all safe. You have my word. Hopefully, the next call I make will be to let you know it’s done.”

  “Thank you so much.” Imari turned to shoot Lucien a what’s-wrong-with-you look, then packed up the bottle in the overnight bag. “We should go and let you get to work.”

  He nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  She put her hand on his elbow, the bag’s strap over her shoulder, and moved him toward the back door.

  He stiffened at her touch, but walked forward, stopping only when they reached the door, which almost caused her to run into him. “Let me check outside.”

  “Okay.”

  He did the same as he had when they’d left the stairwell, looking in both directions twice. “All clear.”

  Imari gave Willa a little wave. “Thanks again.”

  Then she and Lucien left, closing the door behind them. He had his keycard in his hand already and slid it through the reader as soon as they reached the entrance to the Basement. He opened that, let her through first, and down they went.

  The golf cart was right where they left it. She climbed in, clutching the bag in her lap. “That went pretty well.”

  “It did.”

  She turned to face him, no longer concerned with politeness as much as she was figuring him out. “Except for that weirdness at the end. Why didn’t you want to shake Willa’s hand? Or pet Jasper?”

  “I did pet the cat.”

  “With a pen. That’s not really petting.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, then started the car and drove back toward Insomnia.

  She let a minute pass, and when he still hadn’t responded, she asked again. “Lucien, what aren’t you telling me? What’s the big secret? Do you not like to be touched? We’ve touched.” But he’d never taken his gloves off at Illusions, either.

  “No, I don’t like to be touched.”

  She sat back, feeling a little like she’d been slapped. She was a massage therapist after all. Touching people was kind of a big thing. And she’d been thinking about offering him a massage as a way of saying thanks.

  He was such an odd man. On one hand, he was about to spend a sultan’s ransom re-creating her bottle just as a decoy in the hopes of snaring the wish merchant so she could be safe, and on the other, he’d answered her so sharply that it seemed like he’d suddenly become someone else.

  How could he be so kind and generous, but so prickly and hard at the same time?

  More than that, she sensed he was lying. Maybe not lying, but skirting the truth at least. When they’d kissed, he hadn’t seemed to mind being touched despite his sudden declaration to the contrary.

  She snuck a look at him. Thunderclouds of unhappiness darkened his face. Whatever was going on inside him must be a torment.

  And then something occurred to her. The truth, maybe. He probably loved to be touched. Most people did. That’s why they came to her for massage therapy. Touch was healing. It gave comfort. It restored the body and soul. Maybe this wasn’t about him being touched, but about him touching others. After all, she’d touched him and she was fine. But was he? Did contact, in his case, come with a price? If so, what was it?

  What power did an angel of death’s touch possess? It couldn’t actually be death, could it? As far as she knew, angels of death were only message bearers. Unless he’d done something to change that. Was he being punished for something?

  That might explain the dark cloud he seemed to live under.

  She sat back and stared straight ahead. What could it be? Who could she ask? Not Hattie. Imari didn’t want to put her in that kind of situation. There was only one other name that came to mind. The same man who’d helped her find Lucien.

  Greyson.

  Neither Imari nor Lucien said anything else until they returned to his home. They went in the way they’d left after parking the golf cart in the Basement’s garage. Up the elevator, through the hall that skirted Insomnia, down the steps, and back into the odd, beautiful underground mansion.

  Hattie called out to them as they got closer to the living room. “Lucy? Imari? Is that you? How did everything go?”

  The succulent smell of roasting chicken and all the accompaniments made Imari’s mouth water. She’d forgotten about the dinner Hattie had wanted to prepare for her.

  With a smile, she called back, “It’s us. It went well.”

  “Good. Dinner is just about ready. Get washed up and come on in.”

  Imari laughed softly. It had been a long time since anyone had told her to get washed up for dinner.

  Lucien didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he appeared to still be trapped in a prison of his own making.

  Seeing him like that cut Imari to the quick. “Hey,” she said, trying to get his attention. “Lucien.”

  He glanced at her. “What was that?”

  “Nothing. I just want you to know that whatever it is that’s bothering you, whatever’s going on in your head, I hope you can get past it. You’re a good man. One of the best I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot. You deserve to be happy.”

  He stared at her, storms rolling through his eyes. “No, I don’t.”

  Her heart broke a little at that answer. “Everyone deserves happiness.”

  He shook his head and looked away.

  “Why don’t you?” she pressed. “What have you done that’s so awful? Why do you think you deserve misery instead?”

  “Because I…” He raised his head. “I just do.”

  “Dinner’s on the table.” Hattie’s voice sang out, reminding them they were not alone.

  Imari wished she knew how to comfort him, but even if she did, she doubted he’d welcome it. She smiled gently. “I disagree with you. Strongly. But I respect your right to feel however you want to feel. Now, we should get to dinner before Hattie comes looking for us.”

  He nodded and swallowed like he was trying to keep himself from arguing further. “Right. Dinner.” He gestured toward the kitchen.

  “I’m going to my room first.” She lifted the bag in her hand. “Need to put this away.”

  “Of course.”

  When she’d done that, she headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t there, making her wonder if he’d had enough of her. But he showed up a few minutes later while she was at the sink washing her hands.

  He joined her there to do the same.

  Hattie was puttering around behind them, setting rolls out and whatever else was necessary.

  Imari hadn’t been part of a family dinner like this, such as it was, in ages. It felt almost surreal, and yet, it was a very happy feeling. She realized th
at, for the first time in a long while, she felt truly safe. More than that, she felt like she wasn’t alone anymore. It was incredibly comforting. “Everything smells so good, Hattie.”

  “Thank you. I hope it tastes the same.”

  “I’m sure it will.” Imari reached for a towel. As she turned, she caught a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out from the ribbed cuff of Lucien’s sweater. The part of the tattoo she could see looked like the end of a handle. Of what, she had no idea. The ink started a few inches above his wrist.

  She looked away before he saw her staring. All the man did was raise more questions in her head. She finished drying her hands, folded the towel, and left it by the sink for him. “What can I do to help, Hattie?”

  “Just sit down and eat until you’re stuffed.”

  Imari laughed. “I can do that.”

  “Red or white wine?”

  “Water is fine for me. I don’t drink. A lack of inhibitions is a dangerous thing when you have the power of life-changing wishes.”

  Hattie giggled. “I guess it would be!”

  Lucien came to the table and pulled out her chair for her. “But you don’t have any wishes left to be dangerous with.”

  “True,” Imari said, feeling very exposed for her lie. Had he said that because he knew? How could he, though? No, it was only because she’d told him she was out of wishes. She was just being paranoid. Although, she was suddenly aware of how close he was. Inches away. Wasn’t he afraid of them touching? She made herself smile in a light, casual way. “But old habits die hard.”

  She took her seat, then he helped Hattie with hers.

  As he walked back to his own chair, Hattie spoke. “Carve the chicken, would you, Lucy?”

  He frowned at her, probably for the use of his nickname, but picked up the knife and serving fork and did as she asked. He piled their plates with slices of the steaming bird, while Imari and Hattie took turns with the rest of the dishes.

  “I can’t believe you made all this.” Imari shook her head at the feast laid out before her. “What a lot of work you went to.”

  “I loved every minute of it.” Hattie smiled.

  “She’s an excellent cook,” Lucien added, lifting his glass to her. “The best food I’ve ever eaten. Thank you for this, Mémé.”