The Stonefly Series, Book 1

by Scott J. Holliday

  "Thank you."

  "This boy's wish. Do I want to know?"

  Jake shook his head.

  Elizabeth headed down the hallway and up the stairs.

  Jake sat still, watching the empty hallway, light now coming down the steps. The kitchen light eventually snapped off on its own. The upstairs hallway light followed suit. Jake was left in darkness save for the blue LED on the espresso machine. His hands trembled. His body heat had ticked up a degree during their conversation. His ability to cope with the quickening had improved since he was a boy. Today, he could hold it in check and operate normally within it for the first four or five days.

  The sixth day, if it got to that, would be a different story.

  The kitchen light snapped back on when Jake stood up from his stool, as did the hallway light when he walked to the front door and headed outside. The spotlight on the front of the house found him as he got into his truck. He started the vehicle, pulled a U-turn on the expansive driveway, and headed back into Detroit.

  * * *

  Hear No Evil Tattoos was situated in a row of brick storefronts a few blocks from Detroit's Eastern Market. The business adjacent to Jake's on the south side was a defunct and shuttered gumbo shop called Wedgie's, to the north was Ray's Barbershop, which was still in operation.

  Though it was well past midnight when Jake drove by, the pole at Ray's was still twirling and there was faint light coming through the front windows. Ray wouldn't be cutting hair at this hour, but it was likely he still had some patrons and friends playing poker in the back or just jawing with each other while working their way toward the bottom of a fifth.

  Jake turned at the corner and pulled into the alley behind the three shops. He parked in the lone spot behind his place. The truck's headlights lit up the old facade on the back of the building, reminding Jake his tattoo parlor used to be a bakery called Heritus Sweets. The two words were faded brown and yellow against the chipped white paint slathered over the original red brick decades ago. He'd meant to paint out the old words with his own logo, but hadn't yet gotten around to it.

  Jake got out of the truck and started toward the shop's back door. He paused at the scent of cigar smoke, turned and looked toward the far mouth of the alley. Leaning against the brick wall under a streetlight was Chavez. He was dressed in his trademark overcoat and Stetson hat, playing the part of superhero or villain, depending on your perspective. He chomped on the stubby remains of an Opus X Robusto, the smoking end a column of gray ash. His presence could only mean that the Ancient Assembly had something they wanted Jake to know.

  Jake pocketed his keys and started down the alley.

  "Greetings, Jacob," Chavez said cheerfully as Jake approached.

  "Chavez," Jake replied, nodding. Despite the shadows on his face and the cigar in his mouth, Jake found he could always read Chavez's lips perfectly.

  "Coming home so late?" Chavez smiled. "A big date, hey?"

  "No. I was at my mother's."

  Chavez nodded knowingly. "A beautiful woman, your mother."

  "What brings you to town?" Jake said. Last he knew, Chavez and the others in the assembly traveled with a rinky-dink carnival through the Midwest and down south along the eastern seaboard to Miami. They kept cover as carnies but were actually thousand-year-old djinn making their way in the modern world. Chavez generally worked as a midway barker, allowing and disallowing people to win impossible games by his whims. Natasha played a fortune teller. Aleksei held court as a strong man.

  Jake had come into contact with their triangular assembly for the first time a few weeks after his release from Dover. For want of something to do he'd gone to a carnival which had stopped in Detroit for a weekend of scamming rubes. One of the barker's singled him out, badgering him about trying to guess his weight or age as he walked by. Jake waved the man off and kept on past but stopped when he realized he hadn't read the man's lips, but heard his voice.

  He turned back to find the barker smiling at him. Jake came over and played the man's game. Chavez missed Jake's weight by no less than fifty pounds and handed over an oversized stuffed dog. Attached to the dog's collar was a card. On it was written:

  Lafayette Park. Midnight.

  Too intrigued to ignore the invitation, Jake went to the park at midnight to find Chavez, Natasha, and Aleksei waiting for him beneath one of the few park lights still in operation at Lafayette. From afar they seemed a fearsome, malevolent group. His instinct told him to run, but some level of innate knowledge told him there would be no running from these three, particularly the big one, who looked like he could pop boulders in his hands and run faster than a bear.

  Chavez introduced the group as the 'Ancient Assembly,' stating, with a wink, that tonight Jake was attending one of their 'AA' meetings. The djinn individually introduced themselves and Jake told them his name.

  Without warning the three broke into a cadenced recital.

  Six days to grant a wish,

  Or hopeful life expires.

  Six days to make amends,

  Only through true desires.

  No friend nor foe nor kin,

  Nor man who lives in sin,

  Shall know that for the djinn,

  Horizon closes in.

  As they grew closer to the end of their poem their heads turned curiously toward Jake, seeming to wonder why he wasn't reciting along with them.

  "You do not know the song?" Natasha said once they were done. She was short and beautiful with long black hair streaked with subtle red, dark eyes and olive skin. She had modest bangles on her wrists and a group of silver necklaces. Her top was a black blouse tied up in the front, exposing a sterling belly chain around her waist. If not for the designer jeans and expensive heels, she'd look stereotypically gypsy.

  "I'm sorry," Jake said. "I don't."

  Aleksei moved quickly. He was behind Jake and had his right arm barred. The big man's left arm was wrapped around Jake's throat, squeezing out his air.

  "What the fuck is this, Chavie?" Aleksei said. "You said he was djinni.”

  Jake never heard the big man's words, but Chavez, standing before him, recited them as Aleksei spoke them, making sure Jake understood what was being said. Chavez then looked strangely at Jake, his head tilted to the side. "You do not know the song?"

  Jake shook his head.

  "But you are djinni.” He waved his hand near his nose. "I can smell it."

  Jake struggled to speak through Aleksei's powerful grip. "My father was... something. A genie, I believe."

  "Who is your father?"

  "I don't know."

  Aleksei flexed his biceps, cutting off Jake's air.

  "You don't know your own father?" Chavez said.

  "America," Natasha said with disgust.

  Jake could hardly read her lips through blurry vision. He tried to reply but couldn't find the breath.

  Chavez gestured for Aleksei to ease up.

  Jake coughed and then found air. He said, "I know his initials were V.K."

  Chavez and Natasha exchanged a glance.

  "And your mother?" Chavez said.

  "I know her."

  The ancient djinni smiled. "Only her initials, too?"

  "Elizabeth Duke," Jake said. "She's not a genie. She's just a person."

  "God damn him," Chavez said. He gestured again to Aleksei. This time the big man released Jake entirely, shoving him aside, and took his place next to Natasha. Jake rubbed his throat and the back of his neck, his sore arm.

  "The father holds the curse," Aleksei said.

  "The mother holds the gift," Natasha said.

  "You?" Chavez said, addressing Jake. "All curse. No gift."

  "Tell me something I don't know," Jake said.

  "Do you see your horizon?"

  "Yes," Jake said.

  "Do you have a vessel?"

  "A vessel?"

  "Something your father may have left you. A chest, a bottle, a-"

  "-magic lamp," Natasha said.

 
Aleksei chuckled.

  "I have a water pitcher," Jake said. "He left it with my mother, telling her to give it to me on my eighteenth birthday."

  "Keep it near you," Natasha said.

  "Guard it with life," Aleksei said.

  "You cannot be with us," Chavez said, "but we can help you. You are owed as much." He took Jake by the wrist and turned up his palm. He pushed back Jake's sleeve, exposing the fleshy part of Jake's forearm. Chavez looked at Natasha. "Your handwriting is best."

  Natasha flicked her wrist and a blue ballpoint pen appeared in her hand. She came to Jake and leaned into him, her back against his chest to write on his forearm. She smelled like spices and felt full of physical strength. It was all Jake could do not to reach around and hug her waist from behind, to nuzzle into the hollow between her shoulder and her neck. He closed his eyes to the sensation of her touch.

  A blank moment passed and Jake found he was standing alone in the park, save for the crows in the nearby trees. He looked down to see she'd written the lyrics of their song on his forearm.

  Chavez's voice emerged from the darkness. It sounded like it was coming from multiple angles within Jake's mind. "Remember it. Recite it when you are with djinn. They may accept you. We will meet again soon."

  That same night Jake turned Natasha's neat handwriting into a tattoo.

  Now, as Jake and Chavez walked out of the alley behind Jake's shop, down the sidewalk toward Jefferson Avenue, Chavez said, "Your father is near."

  A wave of fear tingled over Jake. He stopped walking. "How do you know?"

  Chavez removed the cigar from his mouth and looked sidelong at Jake, an eyebrow raised. "Sometimes I forget you are all curse, no gift."

  "What does he want?" Jake said.

  "I don't know. We haven't seen or heard from your father in quite some time. His presence is a mystery."

  "Are you here to warn me?"

  "Maybe," Chavez said. He sighed. "In your time with Natasha, did she explain the sacrifice?"

  Jake had spent a few hours with Natasha the last time he met with the AA. Their carnival had swung through Detroit last fall and he stopped off to see them, joined her in her fortune telling tent. Just being near her he felt that primal attraction like he'd felt the first time. He was allowed to ask questions and she would answer them truthfully, but he couldn't recall anything about a sacrifice. He shook his head.

  "It's an often forgotten detail regarding our kind," Chavez said. "When a wish is granted it comes at a cost. The wisher sacrifices an ability to the djinni, even if they are unaware."

  "I don't understand."

  "Your friend, Lori. You granted her wish, yes?"

  Jake had told them his stories, told them about Brody Williams, his days at Dover, Motown, his horizon, the water pitcher, and Lori. All of it. "Yes."

  "Do you recall what she was like before her wish was granted?"

  "I knew her only six days beforehand," Jake said, smirking.

  Chavez nodded thoughtfully. "As is often the case. But you knew her well enough to know things about her?"

  "Yes."

  "How is she different now?"

  "She still dates assholes, I can tell you that much."

  "Think," Chavez said. "What ability has she lost?"

  Jake thought of the Lori he knew in the days before he granted her wish. A myriad of visions came to mind, as well as scents, smiles, and lustful thoughts that made his cheeks grow hot. She had been defiant and tough, but in a committed relationship, even to her own detriment. These days she seemed closed off, unwilling to let anyone near her heart. "I guess there is something different about her."

  "And how about you? Do you feel you may have gained what she lost?"

  "Maybe."

  They turned a corner and continued walking.

  "There are times when a djinni gains an ability he does not wish to have. It is during those times when you'll find a djinni snooping around an old wisher, trying to give back the ability. I fear your father may be looking to rid himself of something he doesn't want."

  "How can he do that?"

  Chavez winked at Jake. "Be there when the one who sacrificed wishes for their ability returned."

  * * *

  Jake arrived at his shop, unlocked the door, and stepped inside the area that used to be the bakery's commercial grade kitchen. His sensitive nose still found the faint odors of yeast and bread, though these scents were now dominated by the tattoo shop scents of green soap and hydrating ointment. He used the soap to clean a person's skin before applying his artwork, the ointment to protect the same skin from the needle's damage. There was one tattoo chair in the darkened shop. It sat opposite the service counter and was skinned in black leather, highlighted by the glow from the streetlights angling in through the plate glass windows. The walls were covered with Jake's art projects and paper stencils of his American Traditional tattoos. Daggers, panthers, skulls, birds, dogs, ships at sea, hearts pierced with arrows, anchors, four leaf clovers, and a dozen different combinations of all of the above. Mostly they were for show. The days of people walking into a tattoo shop, pointing at something on the wall, and saying, "Give me that," were virtually over. Just about every piece was custom now.

  He started toward the back staircase with Lori Nelson on his mind, stopped on the first step to recall the first time he met her. On that day, he'd parked in the street and come through the shop's front door carrying a mop, a bucket, some rags, soap, and a head full of ambition. The landlord had given him the keys to the place only ten minutes before, taking a money order for Jake's security deposit at a coney island a few blocks down Jefferson. Jake was left to pay the coney island tab. He had enough savings to buy a new tattoo machine, the chair he'd been eyeing at a resale shop in Dearborn, and the tools he would use to spiff up the place. The shop, still styled like an old bakery at the time, was dusty and in need of a makeover. That day Jake took a deep breath, smiled, and set down his things. He strolled dreamily past the glass-top bakery counter and through the kitchen before he came to the back staircase that led to the apartment above.

  A young woman had stopped on her way down, her lips parted in surprise. She was clutching some possessions to her chest—a red SOLO cup, a small black overcoat, a pair of black high heels, and a paperback copy of 1984. She wore a colorful top with thin straps, black pants, and was barefoot. Wrapped around her left eye was a recovering bruise. It seemed she'd been tiptoeing down in an attempt to stay quiet.

  "I'm sorry," he read from her lips. "I'll leave."

  Jake swallowed. This woman's physical beauty was an also-ran to the light she radiated from within—a delicate flame he instantly wanted to protect. He imagined her voice with a raspy, Janis Joplin quality, and it struck him as funny that she was trying to be quiet when she could have banged out the back door singing a tune and he never would have heard her go.

  "I just needed a place for a couple days," she said. "I just..." She waved off the thought and continued down the steps.

  Jake backed up to let her pass, suppressing the desire to reach out and stop her.

  The girl moved past him quickly, trailing a faint shampoo scent. He figured it’d been a couple days since she'd bathed. Judging by her clothes, maybe she'd been at a party? As she grabbed the back door handle he blurted, "What is your wish?"

  She stopped and turned back to him. "Excuse me?"

  "Um..." Jake blinked. "What is your wish?"

  She glared at him. "What the fuck kind of question is that?"

  Jake's throat felt restricted. His tongue felt foreign in his mouth.

  "You want to know my wish? You some kind of pyscho?"

  "I just-"

  "You just what?" She dropped her belongings, stepped forward, and shoved him with two hands to his chest.

  Jake stumbled backward but kept his balance. He accidentally stomped and crushed her SOLO cup, which had rolled underfoot.

  Her skin went splotchy with rising blood, her eyes welled with tears.


  "I just-"

  She pushed him again.

  He backed up into the kitchen.

  She went to push him again, but Jake caught her wrists and held them.

  She struggled in his grasp. "Let go of me!"

  He released her just as she ripped herself away. Her momentum carried her back against the door where she stood rigidly, hands balled into fists, breathing hard. "Touch me again and I will fucking end you."

  Jake put up his palms and shook his head.

  She smeared the back of her forearm across one cheek, leaving wet streaks on her skin. She then bent over to pick up her things. It seemed like she was speaking while she snatched up her book, but Jake couldn't read her lips.

  She stood up from her bend and looked at him with eyebrows raised. "Nothing to say?"

  "I didn’t hear you."

  "Clean out your ears."

  "That won't help."

  "You deaf or just stupid?"

  "Deaf."

  "Sure you are."

  "I am."

  "You've heard me all along."

  "Reading your lips."

  She squinted. "You didn't hear me, just now, when I was picking up my stuff?"

  "No."

  She watched him for a moment, eyes searching his face. "I said, 'You really want to know my wish, asshole?'"

  "Yes."

  "Yes, you heard me, or yes, you really want to know?"

  "I want to know."

  She scoffed. "You're something else, you know that?"

  "Tell me."

  She took a breath, steeled up, and smiled at Jake with delirious eyes. "I wish I could start over. Happy?"

  The quickening surged. A toll in Jake's chest, marking the new wish to which he was bound. He cringed at the pain while holding up a finger, asking her to wait.

  She crossed her arms over her chest, set her hip out.

  Jake jogged into the storefront and found two folding chairs. He brought them over and set them up across from each other. He gestured for her to sit.