by Neil Plakcy
The wolf on the second doll was a pregnant female. Again, she had been painted beautifully, down to the tiniest detail of her swollen belly. The third doll was a young male wolf howling at a silver moon, the fourth a young female looking seductively at the viewer. The fifth and last doll was painted with a newborn pup, eyes closed and mouth open.
By the time he finished his inspection, Biff felt hungry, thirsty and tired. He brewed himself a glass of tea and opened a new bar of halvah. The squirrel woke up and raised its tiny paws in supplication, and Biff broke a piece off and tossed it to him.
Biff sat behind his desk with his hands wrapped around the lamp as the tea brewed and the squirrel gnawed at his treat. When the tea was ready, Biff sipped it as he paged through the book, looking for inspiration and understanding. What had been in those dolls? Some kind of wolf spirit? No wonder the dolls had given off such a malevolent aura.
How did Farishta figure into this? Wolves were creatures of the woods; Farishta was a marid, gaining her power from the sea. How did the two connect?
Where did the woods meet the water? He discounted anywhere along the Arctic coast. Farishta could not survive in the cold. The Crimean Sea? He flipped back to his research on Igor Laskin. Laskin had been born in Sebastopol. But had Farishta ever been in the region?
He let himself fall into a trance state, remembering everything he knew about Farishta as a maelstrom of memories. He tried to focus on Sebastopol, on the Crimean, to see if he could pick that detail out of all the thousands of bits and pieces he knew about the woman who had bewitched and tormented and delighted him for centuries.
No luck. Hers was such a powerful presence that she overshadowed all logical thought.
He was startled out of his trance by the squirrel, standing on the pillow and chittering madly. When he opened his eyes he saw Farishta standing in front of him. “You called for me, my love?” she asked.
13 – The Amulet
Farishta looked every bit as incandescent as when he had last seen her, though perhaps there was a bit of a darkening beneath her eyes. He noted the faintest trace of gray in her abundant black hair, which she had pulled back into a French braid, leaving a few tendrils to curl around her heart-shaped face. Her sable eyes were just as piercing as Biff remembered, her eyelashes full enough to serve as the “after” picture in a magazine cosmetics ad.
“Farishta?”
“Yes, my love.” She looked around the office. “You do like your creature comforts, don’t you, Bivas?”
“They call me Biff here, in this time and place. Bivas lived a long time ago.”
Farishta lowered herself to the chaise longue, pulling one long leg, covered in dark purple harem pants, up to her chest. She wore a sleeveless blouse in a swirling black and white pattern, and pointy-toed black slippers that were duplicates of the ones Biff wore.
“So, how have you been?” she asked, stroking a delicate finger along her leg. There was something seductive, yet hard-edged about her accent; it carried traces of everywhere she had lived for centuries.
Biff was determined to match her nonchalance, though the sight of her elegantly manicured nail traveling along the fold of her silk pants, was quite distracting. “Keeping busy. And you?”
“The same. There is so much opportunity for mischief in the world, you know.”
“Speaking of which, do you know a man named Igor Laskin?”
She narrowed her eyes and spit out a few epithets, in Russian, Persian, and a language that could have been Plutonian for all Biff knew. “He is scum. When I find him, I will…”
“Oh, good, you’re looking for him, too,” Biff said.
The squirrel, frightened by her outburst, scrambled beneath Biff’s desk. He could hear it panting nervously next to his feet.
“He has something that belongs to me,” Farishta said. “I would like to retrieve it.”
“A set of nesting dolls painted with wolves?”
She looked at him, cocking her head to the side. “Why should I want such a thing? I do not have the taste for domesticity you do.”
There was a dig in there, Biff thought. “Then what are you looking for?”
“My amulet.”
As genies, both Biff and Farishta had native power. Farishta’s was much more stronger than Biff’s, but both of them also had talismans that stored residual energy and allowed them to rejuvenate after they had performed great feats. Biff’s talisman was the lamp; Farishta’s was a gold coin minted in the days of the second temple in Jerusalem. It had once belonged to Solomon himself, and while not busy dispensing justice or romancing the wives of his captains, he had searched for wise men who could channel power into it.
The coin’s edges were rubbed smooth by the centuries, and the embossed pair of palm trees on it could barely be seen. The Hebrew letters had totally faded away. Farishta had once worn it on a gold rope chain around her neck, but he could not remember the last time he’d seen it.
“You lost it?” he asked.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I did not lose it. I traded it to the Suleiman the Unstable.”
That was the vizier who had held Biff captive so many centuries before. “I thought you simply outwitted him,” Biff said, sitting up. “You mean you gave it to him in exchange for my freedom?”
“I thought the amulet would come back to me on its own,” she said. “But the foul thing has a mind of its own.”
“And you could exist all these years without it?”
“I always believed my powers were sufficient without its amplification. When I could not recover it I attempted to ignore it.” She shrugged. “Time passed, and I lost track of it. Have you seen it?”
“Laskin wears a gold coin around his neck.”
Biff nodded. “I’ve seen it, and I knew it had some power. I should have paid more attention and seen it was yours.” He looked over at her. “But I’ve sensed you’ve been around him before—why didn’t you just take it?”
“I can’t.” She frowned. “It has attached itself to this man, and until he relinquishes it voluntarily, or dies, I cannot reclaim it.”
He watched her carefully. He had known her for centuries, and based on everything that had passed between them he was sure that she would always look out for herself first. He had to be very careful in dealing with her.
A month, Biff thought. Laskin had stolen the computer files from Sveta two days before, and that’s when he’d first noticed Farishta’s presence. Had she been around for all that time, and he’d never noticed?
“So what have you been doing?” he asked. “Hanging around his apartment in Sunny Isles Beach? It’s only a couple of miles from here. And you never called me?”
“You know where he lives? You must take me there at once.” She jumped up from the couch and in two steps had her hand on the knob of his office door. “Come, come, we must go.”
Biff remained behind his desk. “If you know his name, why haven’t you already been to his apartment?” he asked.
Farishta crossed her arms over her chest once again, in a gesture that reminded Biff of an old television program he had seen in reruns, in which a very pretty American actress portrayed a genie who lived in an old bottle that an astronaut had found on a beach. But instead of nodding her head to create magic, Farishta said nothing.
“You couldn’t find him?” Biff asked. “A simple human being, and you couldn’t track him down?”
“Not him,” Farishta said, nearly spitting. “The amulet. It blocks my vision of him, unless he is near water. That is the only time I am stronger than it is.”
That didn’t make sense to Biff. The shopping center which held his office, and Sveta’s studio, was at least two miles from the water, and she’d been at Sveta’s back door with Laskin. “Don’t lie to me, Farishta,” he said. “I know you were here, in this very building, with Laskin, on Monday morning.”
She glared at him, her arms still crossed defiantly over her chest.
“You’re not
the only one in this room with powers,” Biff said. He could feel the squirrel next to his foot, still breathing heavily.
Farishta leaned back against the door, pushing her chest forward in a gesture that reminded Biff of Sveta, toying with the shoulder strap of her sleeveless blouse.
“And you can skip the sex kitten act, too,” Biff said. “Just tell me the truth.”
“I had forgotten how boring you were,” she said. “I followed him.” She returned to the chaise longue, but this time just sat down on the edge. “I was able to pick him up when he was at a marina near the ocean. I tried to retrieve the amulet, but it resisted returning to me. I could only follow him for so long before it shook me off.”
Biff knew that Farishta hated having to admit defeat, or that any creature or object was more powerful than she was. “Laskin’s gone,” he said. “Took off. The police are looking for him, too.”
“It does not matter. I need to see the place where he lives. There may be something there that I can use to force the amulet back to me.”
He stood up, caressing his lamp as he did. “I doubt you’ll find anything, but I can take you to Laskin’s place. We’ll have to take my car, though.”
Farishta could harness the humidity in the wind to take her where she wished, as long as there was moisture in the air, but Biff had no such power.
He opened the door for Farishta and ushered her forward. The squirrel followed, and Biff touched the painted eye before he locked the door. With Farishta around, he needed all the power he could call on.
Farishta noticed the squirrel behind them as they walked through the parking lot. “The rodent follows you,” she said. “After all these years you have acquired a familiar?”
“I accidentally killed him, and then I brought him back to life, and I haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”
The squirrel hopped into the Mini Cooper as soon as Biff opened the door, and climbed up onto the tiny back seat. “Top down?” Biff asked.
“Of course.”
As evening fell, the sky colored from a yellow-orange at the horizon line through gradations of light blue, violet and black. The faint outline of a three quarter moon hung above the low-rise condo towers.
Biff accelerated down Ives Dairy Road, and the squirrel gripped the upholstery of Biff’s seat, his fur pushed back by the wind. Once more, Biff crossed the causeway over the Intracoastal, with the ocean ahead, and he could feel Farishta’s power swelling from the proximity to the water. Just being so close to her made him want her. He could feel that old familiar stiffening in his loins, the endorphins rushing through his blood.
He parked the Mini Cooper and led Farishta to Laskin’s building. The squirrel seemed content to stay outside, scampering up the trunk of a gumbo limbo tree.
An old woman the size of a mountain troll stood guard in a faded housecoat in the lobby of Laskin’s building. “Are you new tenants?” she demanded, banging her carved wooden walking stick on the yellowed marble floor. The overhead fluorescent lights and the fading bronze railings gave the place a sickly pallor.
“Looking,” Biff said. He took Farishta’s hand as he led her to the elevator.
“I don’t see any ring on her finger! This used to be a nice building. No fornicating!”
“Sounds like a dull building,” Farishta whispered to Biff as they got into the elevator.
He slipped through the door into Laskin’s apartment, Farishta right behind him. She dissolved into a tiny spiraling cloud, zipping around the apartment in a sparkle of light that reminded him of the fairy Tinkerbell in the Peter Pan movie, one of his favorites. The cloud was her way of moving quickly as well as of engaging all her senses simultaneously, as if she had released a horde of tiny scavenger drones into the whirlwind.
Biff followed the cloud into the bedroom, where Farishta returned to human shape. “It’s not here,” she said, crossing her arms. “And where are these dolls you spoke of?”
He stepped over to the shelf where the dolls had been and pointed to the six circles in the dust. “They were here.” He opened his third eye, and then shivered. “There’s still a slight signature of their energy in the air. Can you feel it?”
Farishta’s senses were not as acute as Biff’s, but he could still see her reaction, as she caught her breath and stepped back. She took Biff’s arm. “That is very bad, whatever it is.” She slipped her hand down his arm to his hand, and he felt his skin tingle where she had touched him. “You have a home, my Bivas?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You will take me there.”
“I don’t have any information on Laskin there. What little I have is at the office.”
“I am not interested in Laskin at the moment.” She turned to him, and her aura was overpowering. She put her finger beneath Biff’s chin, and turned his head to face her. Then she leaned in close and kissed him.
Every sensation he had ever felt with Farishta rushed through his brain and flooded his blood with endorphins. He kissed her hard, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him. Once again, all the humidity in the air was sucked into Farishta’s orbit, and she created that whirlwind effect again, sweeping him up with her. He felt as if he had been separated into a thousand pieces, all of them swirling around at a thousand miles an hour, each intersecting with bits of Farishta in a mixture of nectar, frangipani and friction.
She pulled away, and he felt himself reassembling, though with at least a few pieces out of sync. “Now, for your home. This place is not suitable to me.”
Half-dazed, Biff followed her to the elevator, leaning back against the wall as they rode to the lobby. The same old woman was still there. “This is not some cheap motel!” She shook her finger at Farishta and Biff. “I see what you’ve been up to! Whore!”
“Now, now, that’s not nice.” Farishta pointed her finger at the old woman, and a tiny waterspout emerged from it, and then swirled its way to the woman, turning into a rain cloud as it hovered over her head. Then it exploded onto her, soaking her from head to toe.
The woman’s mouth gaped open as the water cascaded over her. “Didn’t expect rain today, did you?” Farishta asked, as she flounced out the door.
“It is very inconvenient to me that you can’t transport yourself,” Farishta said, when they were on the sidewalk. The squirrel jumped down from the tree and joined them.
“You transport me quite enough, my love.”
He was still in half a swoon as they drove back down A1A to the causeway, nearly colliding with a car driven by an elderly woman so short it looked from behind that there was no one behind the wheel. Farishta’s presence was a stronger intoxicant than any drink or drug, legal or not, he had ingested over his very long lifetime. Just being next to her made his pulse accelerate, created an uncomfortable pressure in his groin, and messed with the synapses in his brain.
His townhouse was in a palm-shaded complex just behind the shopping center. He parked, and raised the roof. “Here we are,” he said.
“This?” Farishta asked.
“It’s not much, but it’s home.”
She frowned, but she followed him up the sidewalk to his front door. The squirrel went up the trunk of the palm tree in the courtyard as Biff opened the door for Farishta.
He had modeled the place after Topkapi Palace in Istanbul, mimicking the blue and white tile pattern on the walls, the marble floors, the gilt trim everywhere.
“Ah, this I like,” Farishta said, striding forward. Low, curled-arm sofas upholstered in a print of exotic birds lined the perimeter walls. Plush silk cushions in brilliant green and purple hues dotted them. Carved wooden tables from Bali held stage at the center, holding brass trays, another samovar, and a set of cloisonné pitchers. Stained glass panels of desert oases hung in front of the sliding glass doors.
“Wait till you see the upstairs.” Biff took her hand and led her up to his bedroom. He had painted the ceiling midnight blue and spangled it with glow-in-the-dark stars. His king-sized bed was
surmounted with an ornate maroon silk canopy embroidered with gold threads. A dozen silk pillows in the shapes of stars and crescent moons were mounded up at the head.
Farishta pulled Biff close, and they kissed again, then fell backward together on the bed.
Was this why the squirrel stayed outside? Biff thought, before he gave himself up completely to Farishta. By the time they fell asleep the bed sheets were tangled, the pillows were strewn across the room, and their naked bodies were entwined together.
14 – Similar But Different
He woke the next morning to yellow-white sunlight streaming in from the east-facing windows. He stood, naked, and stretched.
“That is a view I have always enjoyed,” Farishta said from the bed.
“I similarly enjoy the view of you in my bed,” Biff said.
“The view is equally good when you are next to me.” She patted the place next to her.
“We have much to do if we are to find your amulet, my love.”
“If I am to start the day, I must shower first,” Farishta said, stretching her arms so that her breasts bounced. “Will you join me?”
“You know what water does to me, my sweet.”
Farishta stood. “I will take care of you. Come, I want to wash you.”
The shower would feel like a thousand needles stinging his body, whether the water was hot or cold. But to be with Farishta? He would suffer.
Because he never needed to wash—indeed, because water was so toxic to him—he had no soap or shampoo in the house. Biff’s body was just a construct, after all, a collection of molecules he magically pulled together to create a shell to house his spirit. He did not really need to eat, sleep, bathe, or use the bathroom—though he did many of these things merely to mimic human existence. The things he could not tolerate, because of the conditions of his existence as a genie, like bathing—he simply ignored.
