Djinn and Bear It (Providence Paranormal College Book 5)

by D. R. Perry

  “So, Ismail the most introverted Djinn in the known universe, what do you want to know?”

  “Introverted?” I blinked. “He pops out every time I say the ‘w’ word.”

  “Woah, really?” Blaine scratched his head.

  “Yeah.” I glanced from him to Kimiko, wondering why she hadn’t been the one to answer. “What is that, weird or something?”

  “Oh, yeah, it is.” Kimiko twisted her hair between her fingers, then tapped the beige tips against her other hand. “He came out to talk to me twice. Like, he avoided doing that whenever he could. It was so bad, half the kids at The Academy thought his lamp was either empty or fake.”

  “But there’s no such thing as an empty magic lamp.” Blaine scoffed. He tapped the tablet a few times.

  “Yeah, well, The Academy isn’t selective about who it admits.” She rolled her eyes. “So glad to be transferring here this summer. Anyway, those were all the students who didn’t know better.”

  “Yeah, I almost forgot those lamps need an inhabitant, or they cease to exist.” I took a regular-sized breath and counted to five. If they didn’t stop going off on tangents, I might lose my patience. “But we’re talking about Ismail in particular, not magic lamps in general.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Kimiko dropped her hair. “Well, Ismail’s pretty formal, except when he’s not. He told me a couple of things, like how he’d been in the Harcourt hoard before when part of it was back in London. That was before Wilfred married your mom, Blaine. And also, he has kids. He gave me advice like only people with kids can, and when I called him on it, he said I sounded sassier than his son, but he’d let it slide because I reminded him more of his little girl.”

  “Well, Wilfred hasn’t lived in London since the 1940s.” Blaine sighed and bowed his head. “Hadn’t.” Kimiko threw her arms around his neck and leaned her cheek against his.

  “I’m sorry, Blaine.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m just not used to thinking of any dragon shifter I’ve met in person in the past tense.” He blew a smoke ring. “Anyway, you might think that means Ismail’s from the 1940s, but he’s not. I saw him on Mourning Day. His clothes are Turkish, from the turn of the twentieth century. Djinn can make their clothing look different with Faerie glamour, but I was in dragon form when I saw them. They were authentic, not magic. He must really be that old. And he was from a wealthy family, too, judging by his token of respect.”

  “Wait, you said he was in Wilfred’s hoard, then the Academy, then you took the lamp?” I chewed on my lower lip. I wasn’t Lynn Frampton or anything, but I wasn’t stupid either. “So I’m the third master of Ismail’s lamp. That means, when I’m done, he needs someone to replace him.”

  “That’s going to be hard for a guy who’s been locked up in a magic lab for decades. If he doesn’t find one who’s a tithed Faerie and get them to agree, he’s stuck in that lamp forever.” Kimiko’s jaw clenched. “How many wishes did you make?”

  “None.” I shook my head. “Can’t think of anything worth it, you know? It has to be something that’ll have maximum impact.”

  “Wow, Jeannie.” Blaine squared his shoulders. “If I thought you were a different kind of person, that’d be scary to hear.”

  “Don’t mind the big paranoid ticklish dragon.” Kimiko poked Blaine in the ribs until he snickered. “I totally understand. Even though Ismail’s other weirdly un-Djinn trait is being helpful, I had a tough time deciding what to wish for too until I was in the moment.”

  “I bet he’s not going to mind if you take your time deciding, either.” Blaine tapped his tablet a few more times. “He wouldn’t have the resources or knowledge to try to track down his family in the modern era, but I don’t have that problem.” He untangled himself from Kimiko. “I’ll head to the library and look into it between classes. It shouldn’t be anything too dire if you can’t even think of stuff to wish for.”

  “Okay, but before you go, I wanted to ask Kimiko a couple more things.”

  “Sure!” She smiled. “Go ahead.”

  “Do you have any idea what he likes to do for fun?”

  “Wow, hold on.” Kimiko twirled her hair. “Um, no. All he mentioned was choreg, some kind of bread, I don’t know. Oh, and he went nuts when he saw me drink kefir while I couch-surfed back in January. He said something about not believing it was sold in so many stores.”

  “Okay then, good to know.” I nodded. “Thanks, you guys.” I got up. “You’re both super helpful.”

  They got up, too. I’d almost forgotten Blaine was heading to the library, and he almost forgot to change into regular clothes instead of his pajamas. I heard Kimiko ribbing him about that particular instance of absent-mindedness as the door shut behind me. After that, I almost walked out of the dorm, thinking I’d bring some kefir back from Whole Foods and then ask Ismail to talk, but then I got a better idea. I headed back to my room, got his lamp, and put it in my handbag. Then, I went out to Hope Street again, paying attention this time.

  I had the perfect idea to try to help Ismail come out of his literal and figurative shell. All I could do now was try it and see what happened. I headed down to Kennedy Plaza and took the bus to Cranston. Not having a car in Rhode Island was way more inconvenient than it was in Boston, but public transportation was my jam. In the middle of the day like that, the bus wasn’t crowded. I got a seat in the middle and pulled out my phone so I could read an eBook.

  Picking up where I left off in the story that distracted me during the end of Spring Break in Newport was a little jarring. I’d picked out something gloomier than usual, a real tear-jerker. I couldn’t keep reading it. Maybe I was as done with being down on myself as I’d been with Dale when that girl showed up. Donesville, capital of Alldone County.

  In a month and change, I’d be one of the first shifters to graduate from PPC. I’d do it with honors and had several job offers all over New England from Extrahuman Social Services organizations, even without a graduate degree. I might be a bear shifter, but I’d risen from the ashes of the Boston internment camps like a phoenix. In three more years, my cousin Bobby would follow in my footsteps, just with a different major.

  After visiting Mr. Kazynski’s, I was absolutely sure Ismail was a survivor, even if I didn’t know of what yet. He’d understand, and hopefully even be inspired to do something with his life after the lamp. During that bus ride, I had full confidence Blaine and Kimiko would track him down a replacement. I also thought Ismail was just like one of my clients, except in a younger-looking body. Now, I look back on the Jeannie La Montagne, who’d ridden the Cranston bus that day as a shortsighted ninny.

  I had no idea what I was getting into.

  Chapter Six

  Ismail

  I knew Jeannie brought me along with her out of the dorm, downtown, then on the bus. But I had no idea why. I waited after she stepped off the intermittently stopping vehicle, pacing as she walked along a street somewhere. I could have checked our location, listened in on the surroundings, but I didn’t. Long habits thicken like tree trunks. The more seasons they grow, the stouter they get. But when they fall, the more space they leave, and the impact with the ground is impossible to ignore. All I had going for me as a lamp-bound Djinn was the predictability of my power. The last thing I wanted was to risk losing it. Wherever she was going, whatever she meant to do, had my nerves spooked like a green colt.

  The door Jeannie walked through squeaked, bells ringing with its movement. I could have guessed what kind of place this was, but the aroma gave it away entirely. I stopped pacing with one foot in mid-air. Fresh-baked sweetbread, not exactly like what I’d smell on the streets during celebrations, but close enough for climate and water source to excuse the difference. But what was a bear shifter with a French surname doing in an Armenian bakery? She’d stopped moving, too. I listened for her voice, thinking she’d be ordering something by now. But she didn’t. I wondered what she was waiting for.

  “Ismail?” Jeannie didn’t whisper. I imagined
she wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that she was talking to her handbag. I didn’t answer, a tactic that had worked with Kimiko. It hadn’t with Wilfred, but Jeannie was a mundane shifter. She didn’t have magic or much knowledge of how Faerie worked. If I kept waiting, she might even put herself in debt to me by asking thrice.

  My face heated, my shame like wildfire. Who was I to take advantage of someone like her? She’d devoted her life to helping people when others would turn away. Maybe I’d done the same thing, but my so-called devotion came with being nearly indestructible and halted aging. No job could pay her like that. I put my foot down, closed my eyes to focus on modernizing my clothes, and took a deep breath.

  “You called?” I opened my eyes as the smoke of my vanishing cleared. Either I’d put myself closer to her than I’d thought or she’d moved when I appeared. I tilted my head down, wondering whether her bear form was proportionate to her human size. I couldn’t help but smile, imagining a petite bear. The air being filled with that sweet bread scent helped my mood even more.

  “Yeah.” The brilliance of her smile made me take a step back. I wasn’t used to being smiled at like that, or at all, really. As I was wondering whether Jeannie had any notion of what personal space meant, I felt my elbow knock into something that wobbled.

  The shift in gravity meant I didn’t have to turn around, but I did anyway. A snap of my fingers righted all the cans, jars, and plastic-wrapped packages that threatened to clatter and shatter off the shelf. I blinked when I saw the labels had words in both Armenian and English. And then, I got a good look at where we were.

  One-half of the space was a small specialty market selling various goods with import labels. The other half had a counter, tables, and chairs, and that’s where the delicious bread smell came from. I didn’t glance back at Jeannie but knew she watched as I looked around. I took a step toward the counter, peering up at the wall behind it to read the menu there. Foods I’d dreamed about but hadn’t seen in decades were all on offer. A setup to the right of racks and rows of bread promised real coffee, the way I’d taken it before getting bound to the lamp.

  I had to close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, clench my jaw. To say my feelings were mixed was like declaring the grass is green. Anger that someone who barely knew me would presume I’d want a reminder of lost days warred with relief at being surrounded by familiar sights and scents. Underneath that, an emotion I didn’t recognize had taken root. Whatever else I might think of Jeannie La Montagne, I had to acknowledge that she’d brought something to my numb existence. What that was, whether it meant good or ill, remained to be seen.

  “Do you like it?” She stepped to my right and stood beside me. “I’m sorry if this isn’t right. We can go somewhere else.”

  “No. This is perfect.” It was, too. A perfect storm of memory and the surge of thought that went with it. I’d weather it. It was more than what I deserved for abandoning my family.

  “Okay, then.” Jeannie’s voice was light, but I knew she could tell I brimmed over with an emotion other than joy or even plain old happiness. “Why don’t we order something, then sit down and talk?”

  She didn’t take my hand as she had in Saul’s apartment. My fingers twitched, inappropriate. Even without the tether of joined hands, I let her lead me to the counter. The middle-aged woman behind it smiled, clapping floured hands when I greeted her in Armenian and made an order. She waved us at the seats, promising to bring everything over once it was ready. In moments, an aroma of coffee more plush than the carpets in my lamp permeated the store.

  I gestured to the chair across from the one I stood behind. I shouldn’t pull it out, or Jeannie might think this was a date. Lamp-bound Djinn shouldn’t get emotionally invested in their masters, a mistake I’d had trouble avoiding the last two times. But none of that made any difference to Jeannie. She sat, beaming up at me as though I’d presented her with all the trappings of a modern romantic outing. I settled into my seat, folding my hands on the table in front of me.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I studied her face, waiting for an explanation.

  “Okay, that wasn’t what I was expecting.” She leaned her head on one of her hands. “I figured you could use some time out of the lamp. Someplace that’s not as crowded as anything near campus. You’re welcome.”

  “You do realize that once you make your wishes, you’re not likely to see me again.”

  “That doesn’t matter to me.” Her eyebrows pulled together.

  “I don’t want you to waste your time.”

  “That’s nonsense.” Jeannie smirked. “You just want to hide in your lamp and avoid everyone. But you’re going to have to get used to the outside world someday.”

  “Not likely. Or don’t you know what happens when a Djinn has no successor after the lamp’s third master?”

  “Oh, I know. Eternal servitude.” She nodded. “But that’s not happening. You’ll have one.”

  “How?”

  “You should realize that Kimiko Ichiro thinks she owes you one. Blaine Harcourt, too.” She smirked. “They’re working on tracking down your family.”

  I froze, letting that sink in. The Tanuki and the young dragon shifter were both intellectual forces to be reckoned with. As a team, they’d surely find something, a fact that had me trembling. Jeannie tilted her head, lifting her hand as though about to reach across the table. And then our order came.

  The smiles that stretched our faces felt tied on, like banners over a rained-out garden party. Sensing the tension, our hostess set everything down and made herself scarce. I gripped the edge of the table instead of a fork or my coffee cup, knuckles whitening. The fear that sang through me made no sense. But that was the worst part about anxiety. It robbed me of reason as surely as bandits ransacked unsuspecting travelers.

  “Make them stop.” The words came out low and soft, sibilant, reminding me of prayer more than the demand I’d intended.

  “I’ll do no such thing.” Jeannie leaned on the table, reaching across on my left past the plates of pastry and the coffee things. Her fingertips brushed mine. “Anyway, no one could stop those two once they get into researching something. You’re stuck with being helped. It’s hard to accept, but that’s what happens when you do things for other people. They want to return the favor.”

  “But I had to help Kimiko. Exactly like I have to help you.” I shook my head, unable to move my hand away from hers. “I followed orders. She doesn’t owe me anything.”

  “All the same, she thinks differently. Ismail, don’t try to tell me you only do what’s required.” She locked gazes with me. Would it be dangerous to look away? That generally got shifter’s hackles up. I stared back, not willing to chance it.

  “Very well. I’ll stop protesting their efforts. But you know the big flaw in the Golden Rule, right?”

  “You’re talking about that whole ‘do unto others’ thing. No, I don’t. Tell me.”

  “It doesn’t take into account that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. And the reverse is also true.” I imagined kicking myself. Why couldn’t I just say right out that I feared to find any relatives I might have after all this time? I should be able to admit how what they might think of me was more paralyzing than a staring contest with a cockatrice.

  “You’d rather be forced to live at the whim of whoever coincidence directs to your lamp than meet long-lost relatives, then.” She nodded, withdrawing her hand, then picked up her cooling coffee and took a sip. “You’re going to find this hard to believe, but I understand.” She broke eye contact.

  “You can’t, possibly.” I sighed, staring down at my choreg. Leaving it on the plate felt like a parallel to the rest of my existence since that day in the desert when I’d acted too late. Denial.

  “You’re not my client, or not officially, anyway, even though what we’re doing here is exactly the sort of thing I’m devoting my career to.” She picked up her fork and knife and began cutting a corner off her sweet bread. “Because w
e’re not on the books, I can tell you about the Boston internment camp, how my family should have been able to get away before the round-up, and why they didn’t. It was my fault, you see. If you want to know more, just ask. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about that. You don’t have to tell me why you’d rather not meet whoever they find. But it might be easier for you to accept if you dip your toe in the idea before it happens. I won’t bring it up again. Just remember, I’m here if you want to talk.”

  I stared, finally unable to stop myself from gaping as she put the fork to her lips and took a bite of choreg. How could Jeannie La Montagne sit there enjoying herself, treating her senses to a delicacy I’d denied myself for a century? Maybe she did know I could have treated myself to a glamoured version of choreg at any time while in the lamp. But what uncanny instinct could have told her I hadn’t? It was like she could literally see how I felt, like Saul.

  “Are you Psychic?”

  “I get that question all the time.” She smiled around the mouthful of bread, then swallowed it and went to work cutting off another piece. “Not really. My grandma was, so I have hunches sometimes. Anyway, you ought to eat some bread before it gets cold. And have some coffee, first.”

  Ignoring her about the coffee might have looked like an immature act of rebellion. It wasn’t. I had to know whether I could handle an outing like this before she tried to rope me into another one. I didn’t bother with a fork and knife, letting my hands get sticky as I lifted the bread to my mouth.

  At first, I’d worried the bread and company while eating it would take me back in time, sting with the sense of empty tables and sorely missed faces. It didn’t, or at least not quite. Every time the flavors on my tongue threatened to whisk me away like a cyclone, the clink of metal on Jeannie’s plate anchored me to the present. No one in my family had eaten their choreg with a fork. It was time to call her bluff.

  “I want you to tell me.” I picked up my coffee cup, the sticky heat on my fingertips making my mind wander to what it might be like to reach across the table, pick apart the rest of Jeannie’s bread, and feed it to her by hand.