Claimed by the Djinn

by Darragha Foster

  Claimed by the Djinn

  Darragha Foster

  Published 2020

  Published by Victory Woman Press 2020. Copyright Darragha Foster. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Editor

  Marisa Chenery

  Cover Artist

  Dar Albert

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  It is the most romantic bond in the universe—that of Djinn to his breathmate, or human counterpart. Adanto has waited lifetimes to embrace Maggie. His plan of seduction is like none other, as it must include a treadmill. Genie in a bottle? Not hardly! Try a sexy Italian genie in a treadmill. Exercise has never been more fun.

  Dedication

  For Joann

  Author’s Note

  There was a time when gyms intimidated me. I’d pay for a year’s membership, go once, and never return. This story was born of one of those huge wastes of money. Then…in 2016, after a mystical adventure in Iceland, I returned with renewed incentive to “get healthy.” While meditating in Drangsnes, in the western fjords, I felt the Norse god Odin reach into my heart, pluck it out, and squeezed it. I winced in pain. He said, “If you don’t like it, do something about it.” Upon my return home, I found a friend of mine who I knew had joined a gym and changed her life. With her support, I began training at her gym. Literally, I felt stronger and began doing things I never thought possible. Like boxing. And weightlifting. I didn’t go to “group sessions.” I hired a personal trainer, and I’ve been with her since May 2016. I most certainly gained strength. I did not lose weight. My weight, though I was eating low carb and in a ketogenic fashion, remained stable within about thirty pounds. Flash forward to 2019. As I received cortisone shots in my knees, the orthopedic physician’s assistant and I discussed my weight and subsequent issues. He said, “You’re doing everything right, but your body is working against you.” You bet it was. Diabetes, Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and genetic traits that could turn your hair white.

  I wondered how one could be rid of type 2 diabetes, which seemed to be the culprit to 99% of my health problems. It killed my mom. It wasn’t going to kill me. I discovered that a procedure called Roux-en-Y gastric bypass procedure could potentially put type 2 diabetes into remission. Being Buddhist, I began to chant for a way to get that surgery. My insurance didn’t cover it. I chanted about it for four years. Then my insurance changed. I had gastric bypass surgery on March 10, 2020, in Kirkland, Washington, at the same hospital where the first COVID-19 patients passed. Scary, but I felt confident. I am confident. Look for my non-fiction weight loss journey called I Know What that Tastes Like soon.

  Prologue

  The Djinn Realm

  The Council of Djinn had questioned him for hours. The inquest had not gone in his favor but, of course, he had known that would be the case long before he presented himself to be scrutinized and for deliberations.

  “Though we have already refused your request, we are curious…what is the device you wish to inhabit in which to woo your breathmate since you long ago lost your armband?”

  Long gone were the days when brass lanterns containing Djinn were strewn about the mortal world to be found by beggars who would become kings.

  “You’re not considering inhabiting one of those smart phones, are you?”

  Adanto replied clearly, “A treadmill.”

  “A what?” The High Ghul’s voice was filled with confusion.

  “A mechanical device, often electrified, used by humans as a means of walking great distances for the benefit of their health without having to leave the comfort of a sheltered environment. A treadmill,” Adanto said.

  “Djinn do not inhabit treadmills.”

  The High Ghul sounded certain, regardless of the fact Adanto was sure the leader had never even seen a treadmill.

  There was no arguing with the High Ghul. He was too old, too powerful, and too naked to argue with. He wore only the traditional gold wrist and ankle bands, and his skin tone was so dark a blue as to be nearly black. He smelled like the ages, and Adanto thought perhaps he was so old as to be losing his faculties since, in addition to the other idiosyncrasies of age and rank, the High Ghul proudly sported a brass cock ring. It was his inhabitable item and he had worn it for so long it had become a part of his flesh. His inky black, hairy, smelly flesh.

  Adanto turned to the first councilman. “Have you never been in love?” The councilman had loved and lost. It wasn’t kind to bring up the matter. He chose to ignore polite behavior in favor of desperation. “Turhan, I know you have loved as deeply as I and lost your breathmate to a terrible fate. I cannot accept the loss of my love when I am able to prevent it.”

  Councilman Turhan scowled. “I have loved more deeply than you can imagine. He is lost to me due to the prejudice of humankind and…I am sorry, Adanto. Your case is wasted on me.”

  “I am sorry for your loss, my friend. The witch trials of old Salem left their scars on many souls.” He took a deep breath, heart aching at the thought of losing his breathmate as the councilman had. “I have hope that your breathmate is but dormant and will be reborn soon.”

  “I find your sentimentality cloying, Adanto. Since you lost your inhabitable object you have not been yourself. It is the fever of separation, perhaps. I suggest you redouble your efforts to find your torque so you will feel less inclined to romance your human counterpart. Your request is denied. You may not withdraw from the Djinn realm to seek solace in a…treadmill.” The High Ghul almost seemed disgusted by the idea. “Replacing a Roman torque with a treadmill…angels have mercy on the Djinn race, never have I heard of such a thing.”

  “As you wish.”

  I’m leaving anyway. Tonight. With or without the blessing of the council and support of the clans. She needs me. For the first time in centuries, my breathmate needs me.

  Chapter One

  Maggie hated using her credit card. Hated it. It seemed as if every time she got the thing paid down, something happened in her life that called for an immediate payment of more dosh than she could swing between paydays. She called it her “five-hundred-dollar card” because that was the amount she usually had to spend.

  Today, as she looked over the contract at the local torture facility—or gym, in layman’s terms—she wanted to spout out a stream of sarcastic remarks that would probably send the Bambi-esque guest co-coordinator into a tizzy. Sarcastic remarks about the membership being only four hundred dollars. Such a savings over the regular fee she was getting, and she got a free T-shirt. Holy crap, I’m just the fortunate one, aren’t I?

  Maggie liked her curves. She had boobs, hips, and junk in her trunk, and it all pulled together quite nicely. The roundness of her belly was sexy, not unflattering. Men always gave her a double take. Real men who liked real women, that is. Problem was, the older she grew, the more real challenges of having high cholesterol, higher than normal blood sugars, and family history of heart disease and morbid obesity became. Two bachelors degrees and one Masters wouldn’t do much for her if the shadow of ill-health followed her the way it had her parents and grandparents. Yep, I have the bod and the brains, but not the genetic predisposition.

  As smart as she was, she felt…

  Intimidated.

  Irritated.

  Inferior.

  Welcome to my nightmare.

  Doctor’s orders were to lose forty p
ounds by eating leafy greens, lean proteins, limited fruit, no sugar or refined white flour products—and by moving. Moving. Before the desk job she’d looked the same but had been able to walk a flight of steps without becoming breathless. Now she could afford a gym membership but could barely manage a stroll around the facility with Bambi.

  The small blonde Bambi who had signed her up politely introduced her to the tall, dark-haired Bambi for the gym tour and then went back to her pile of fluffy towels.

  Maggie’s right hand twitched from signing that credit. Dark Bambi looked more like a babysitter than a trained demonstrator. Maggie felt short, squat, and old alongside her. She bit her lip. Feelings of inadequacy do not have a place in my life. Rinse. Repeat.

  “I’ll show you the big machines first and take you around the weight room after. ’K?” Dark Bambi was way too perky. And young.

  “Fine. I’m more of an exercise bike person.”

  “Well, we have lots of those. But let’s start with this.” Bambi stopped at a large free-standing treadmill with so many buttons and switches it reminded Maggie of the navigation consul on the bridge of Star Trek’s USS Enterprise.

  “Beam me up.” Maggie studied the various and seemingly endless settings for the machine.

  Bambi didn’t get the joke. She fired off the instructions for usage. “This is a state-of-the-art electronic walking device that can measure your heart rate, calories burned, blood pressure, impact on your joints, and so much more. You step up onto the sides, set your speed and incline, attach the electrode clips to your two pointer fingers, then press ‘start.’ Put your feet on the belt, which will move really slowly for about ten seconds. Then you’re off and running.”

  “Off and running. Right.” Maggie stepped up onto the treadmill. It enveloped her like a MINI Cooper. “Where’s the steering wheel?”

  Dark Bambi didn’t crack a smile. “Do you need further instruction?” She checked her cell phone as it whirred to life at her waist. “Excuse me, I’ve got to take a call from the office.”

  “No, I’ve got it. Gym opens at five in the morning, right?”

  It was too late for a reply. Dark-haired Bambi already had her cell phone to her ear and sauntered off, her young Lycra-clad ass swaying provocatively.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. Firm young flesh hasn’t got a thing on experience. I am being so judgmental. Stop, it Mags. Don’t fall into that trap. She nodded toward the Bambis and bowed her head slightly. Sorry, ladies. It’s not your fault you are everything I’ve loathed my entire life. She glanced around her. An older, frail-looking man—was lifting weights under the guidance of a well-muscled young man flanked by a woman of a more reasonable age who looked like she could crack walnuts open with her thighs. Both wore form-fitting shirts that read TRAINER on the back. I should have sprung for the personal training instead of a walk in the woods with Bambi. It was a couple of hundred more to get an hour a week of personal attention as opposed to simple “instruction.”

  She studied the bells and whistles on the treadmill control panel. Where’s the “on” switch? A bright green button dead center of the panel flickered on as if the machine had read her mind. She leaned over to speak to the person sweating a few feet away from her. “These things are motion activated?”

  The response from the fellow gym member was an exhausted, but polite, smile.

  Like that tells me anything. Maggie pushed the button. The treadmill hummed and the belt moved. She stepped onto it and took a few hesitant steps. Zero incline at a crawl. She could manage that.

  The LED display flashed white, then letters formed. W E L C O M E M A G G I E.

  Clever. Very clever. Someone back there programmed the machine to say “hello” to me.

  The screen flickered a second time. New letters appeared. I L O V E Y O U.

  Maggie burst out laughing. She turned to the man next to her again. “Some advertising, huh? I love you. Jesus.”

  The man wiped his brow, giving her the oddest look. He turned off his machine and then fled. Maggie felt insulted by how quickly the guy had left the area.

  She looked down at the panel of her machine again. New words formed. T H A N K Y O U F O R B E I N G H E R E.

  “You’re welcome, I guess.” She bit back a chuckle.

  The panel changed again. D R E A M S D O C O M E T R U E.

  Maggie snorted. Lucky I don’t have a mouthful of coffee right now. My dreams are too weird to come true. “You don’t know my dreams, Bambi—or whomever it is running the LED panel.” Great…I’m speaking to a treadmill. “Quit shouting. Can’t you type using lower case letters?”

  The LED display flickered.

  She switched the machine off.

  Trying not to look as though she ran from a fire, Maggie left the building as quickly as she could. Not only was it unfamiliar ground, it was now getting way too personal. Talking treadmills. Christ. I just paid four hundred bucks for talking treadmills.

  * * * *

  She’d left the gym the prior day, making every determination possible to return the next morning. Hell, she’d even posted a sticky note on her dashboard, reminding her to have a healthy attitude.

  Today, however, was filled with appointments and could not be her first full-on workout. She had a reading scheduled with the neighborhood psychic who had told her she needed to get some blood work done. Damned bitch was right too.

  This follow-up reading was part of a two-fer deal. The little house on the corner where Moira lived had an overgrown garden and too many cats. Still, it had some curb appeal. Bizarre curb appeal. Who in their right mind would put a cupola on a matchbox house? A pink cupola on a light yellow house with lavender shutters and a lime-green porch. Couldn’t miss it, that was for sure.

  Maggie pulled her hybrid into the driveway and then hopped out.

  Moira waited on the porch. “You look like a woman who just spent a lot of money.”

  Maggie smirked. “Gym membership. My cholesterol is up, and my blood sugars are out of control. I must poke my finger every morning now. Doctor’s orders to keep afloat in my shallow gene pool, you know?”

  Moira patted her on the back. “I knew that.”

  “You’re such a bitch, Moira.”

  Moira laughed. “Yes, but I know you mean that in a good way.”

  Maggie sat and pulled her chair toward the glass-top table. A deck of well-used tarot cards sat before her. “Should I shuffle?”

  “Go ahead. Want some coffee?”

  “Yes, please. Milk only. No sugar.” Maggie raised a single eyebrow. “Of course you know that too.”

  Moira vanished into the kitchen, calling back as she exited her sitting room. “How’s the gym?”

  Maggie laughed and replied just loud enough for her voice to carry the short span. “High tech. And with some unique motivational ploys. Or it’s haunted. The treadmill said it loves me.”

  Moira returned and set a steaming mug of coffee before Maggie. “Well, maybe it does. Insentience does not necessarily mean lack of emotion. A machine’s electrical current can shift and respond to its environment and user.” She paused, taking a sip of her coffee. “Go ahead and pull nine cards. You know how I like it.”

  Maggie nodded and selected nine cards from the deck.

  Moira sat across from her and extended her hands. Maggie slipped hers into Moira’s.

  The clairvoyant giggled. “Do you have a new man in your life, Mags? I’m so feeling sexual energy from you.”

  “No man.” Maggie’s tone was flat. “I did have a date last week, but he really wasn’t my type. He took me to a tractor pull at the fairgrounds. I couldn’t keep my mind off the odor of barbequed corn and funnel cakes long enough to make polite conversation.”

  “You’re going to have a romance. Soon. Really soon.” Moira released Maggie’s hands and spread the cards out across the table. “Oh my. We are stepping outside our comfort zone, aren’t we? Good for you.”

  “I joined a gym, Moira. Yes, I am stepping outside m
y comfort zone.”

  “No, it’s more than that. You pulled cards that clearly reflect a journey outside your norm. Maybe even a suspension of disbelief of some type.”

  “If I build it, they will come?” Maggie chuckled at her reference to the movie Field of Dreams.

  “Yes, something like that. Something bordering on miraculous is going to happen to you. Wow. You have all four journey cards, two love cards, and three alpha-omega cards. You are seriously ending a part of your life and, in the same breath, embarking on your next segment. And, Maggie, I think you’re not going to be alone much longer. This card here…” Moira pointed at an image of a fertility goddess. “She is love, marriage, children, harvest, and sex.”

  “All rolled into one, huh?” She shook her head. “I don’t want kids. I’m never going to have children. That ship sailed ten years ago.”

  “The goddess is in your immediate environment. Like today. Right now. Dare I say it? Love is in the air.”

  “The treadmill loves me. I’m not sure how to pursue a relationship with a piece of equipment as large as a sub-compact car, but, hey…I’m open-minded.”

  Moira sat back. “You’d better be.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The cards show your lover is movement. Energy. Steam, sweat, and heat.”

  “I’m going to meet him at the gym?” Seriously? Maggie was surrounded by hard bodies at the gym. Hello, lover…

  “Maybe. But I think he’s more than just a guy who works out at the gym. His spiritual essence is unique. He’s fluid and energetic. And he only has eyes for you.”

  “Maggie likes.”

  Moira smiled. “Maggie will. Not much else in the cards today, friend. Come back in a month and let me know how things are going. And be open-minded. He isn’t your average bear. He has the qualities of a god.” She held up a card of a young man wearing a cape of hawk feathers. “He’s journeyed quite a ways to be with you.”