“Don’t know why you hitched a ride here, girlie, but you need to stay calm and quiet, or I’ll make it so you don’t wake up,” purred the WereElk menacingly.
TheWitchseemed to stop her struggling, just long enough to whip her head backwards into The Bastards chin. Hard. She then drove her right heel down on the inside of the WereElk’s ankle while bending over and stepping back. The leverage of their height difference, the shock of someone so small fighting back, combined with aftereffects of major gastro-intestinal distress incredibly caused the towering WereElk to topple over the Witch’s back rolling into and over Psycho. They struggled in a tangle of arms and legs and stench.
The Witch threw out a hand at Glower and a stream of deep blue shot through with sparkling energy burst forth. Glower held up one of his withered claw-like hands and a sickly, purple barrier held off the attack.
“Not bad, chickie. But I weren’t born yesterday,” growled the old Warlock as he grabbed Caleb in his free hand and purple light surged into the bearded dragon causing the old lizard to grow to the size of a Great Dane. Caleb growled and surged forward. His open mouth suddenly filled with large teeth.
“Yum!” roared the lizard in a suddenly terrifying voice.
Jazzlyn raises her own shield. She was slammed against the wall by the weight of the now-giant lizard slavering against the shield mere inches from her face.
Abbie, fighting against the crushing power of the curse of the djinn’s servitude, reached a single hand and grabbed Glower’s foot. “Don’t!” he croaked.
“What’s gotten into you, dog? You gone rabid. Maybe you need to be put down!” hissed Glower through clenched teeth. A surge of excruciating pain drove Abbie flat, where he screamed and twitched. Glower, with shield in hand, stalked forward through the weakening stream of Jazzlyn’s attack, as she was forced to put more focus on the ravenous bearded dragon. He reached a hand-out to send a bit more juice into Caleb to strengthen him. He gloated, “Too bad we ain’t gonna be formally introduced. But I’ll have the boys sift through what’s left of you in a pile of lizard shit.”
As Jazzlyn’s shield began to become thin enough that she could feel the heat of Caleb’s breath, a blue blur burst through a window of showering shards of glass into the face of a dumbfounded Glower McCracken. The Summoning spell she cast on Skye had finally found her. Her furious, feathery friend’s attack broke Glower’s connection to Caleb and the lizard returned to its former size and decrepitude. It skittered back towards Glower and under the recliner.
“Girl, what in the name of Satan’s balls you been doing!” cried out Skye as she dive-bombed McCracken’s withered skull, driving him backwards.
The WereElk got to his feet by tossing Tran off him and across the room. He reared back and began to shift into his full, huge animal form. He was halted as Jazzlyn, no longer dealing with McCracken’s attack, turned her magic on him. A jet of dark blue, shiny liquid shot from the extended tips of Jazzlyn’s fingers. The two enormous, partially transformed hooves of the WereElk skidded and slid through the slippery substance seeking purchase. Finding none, the entire mass of the half-changed Shifter fell backwards and onto Tran, who had just found his own feet and was forming a spell. They became a pile of flailing arms and legs on the floor, once again.
Jazzlyn turned back to see Skye desperately dodging a barrage of purple energy bolts being cast by Glower. The sheer number and strength of those blasts combined with the speed which he was casting them showed Jazzlyn that she was not on his power level and wouldn’t last long in a direct one-on-one encounter with him. Add the Shifter and the younger Warlock who were starting to get back to their feet into the mix, and this would be over before it really started. Never mind the djinn—the meltingly handsome, delicious smelling djinn. Jazzlyn just thanked the Goddess that he didn’t seem to be part of this. Yet.
She summoned a lightning bolt, one of her stronger nature spells and screamed, “Skye!” In response, the bluebird shot to the ceiling. The deep blue electricity arced from her hand at the old man.
Glower threw up a shield and laughed through a grin, “Not bad, chickie. But I’m wearying of this dance. Bastard! Tran! Finish this.”
The Bastard turned to Tran who nodded. They both smiled.
Jazzlyn heard a tearing of cloth and a deep braying laugh. She braced for a messy end on the tips of a huge set of antlers which never came.
The Bastard instead charged Glower.
Incredibly, the tough old idiot had enough time and power to expand his shield to block both her lightning and the WereElk. The Shifter crashed against it in a shower of purple sparks. As if that weren’t enough, Tran had thrown in with the attack by launching a series of glowing, green spheres against the shield. The old man’s defenses clearly wouldn’t last much longer. Through gritted, yellowing teeth, Glower screamed, “Dog! Get me and Caleb out of here! Now”
The djinn lifted his head wearily off the floor and feebly pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Blue sparks feebly crackled in his eyes as he turned towards McCracken. With a tired, sardonic smile on his lips, Abbie groaned, “Master, your dog is too tired to bark let alone bite.”
McCracken growled and turned back to the fight just in time to see Skye crash into his face screeching, “You pissed off the wrong pillow stuffer, you wrinkly ball sack!”
McCracken staggered back, spraying purple magical energy everywhere except on the offending Skye. In a fit of rage and frustration, McCracken whined angrily, “Dog! Get off yer ass and fix these fuckers!”
McCracken’s crusty lizard familiar Caleb skittered back into the fray howling, “Sic ‘em, Dog!”
An exhausted Abbie was freed from the crushing weight under which McCracken had him pinned. He pushed himself up on his hands and knees, forcing himself to summon whatever magic he could as the curse compelled him to try and save Glower. This caused a chain of events.
Caleb, the lizard, leaped out of the way of the rising Abbie and landed under the descending heel of the pinwheeling McCracken, causing a sickening crunch and squish.
Tran, The Bastard, and Jazzlyn threw their full strength at McCracken forcing him back another step.
Skye and Kane flew directly at McCracken’s face, pushing him further off balance.
Glower slipped in the goo that was once his familiar and tripped over the kneeling form of his djinn.
McCracken pitched backwards against the wall causing the nearly thirty-five-pound crystal spit-catcher to tumble from its perch. Its foul contents spiraling a spray of sludge, it became a perfect engine of destruction that ended its Newtonian journey through space by pulping McCracken’s skull with a ringing, wet THUD.
Glower McCracken was no more.
Tran, The Bastard, Jazzlyn, Skye, and Kane stood flabbergasted as Abbie was suddenly transformed into a being of vapor and sucked across the room into his domain, the Lamp.
The next being who touched his Lamp would become his new Master.
All three realized that was up for grabs and scrambled forward in a rush of arms and legs. As they reached the Lamp together and grasped a hold of the djinn’s vessel, they were deafened by a crack and blinded by a flash. All four of them disappeared into the silent, acrid-scented air.
Skye and Kane lighted next to the Lamp, looked at each other and said, “What the fuck?”
Chapter Ten
Jazzlyn awoke, laying on giant silk cushions. There were swaths of gauze hanging from the ceiling—or whatever was beyond her sight above her. It seemed like a large, circular room but the walls were indistinct, and the light was diffuse with a pale, purple-ish cast. She heard a roar to her right and the huge bulk of The Bastard rose slipping, sliding, and swearing from his own pile of cushions. To her left, Psycho the Warlock rolled to his feet in a quieter but no less surly manner.
“Where the hell are we?” bellowed the WereElk.
“My domain,” said a round, buttery bass voice which made Jazzlyn’s knees feel like a spoon of Smuckers. She turned and
was met by the deep brown, intense eyes of the djinn.
She felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards and heat tint her cheeks. She was a hot second from giggling like an anime schoolgirl. What in the name of Baba Yaga was with me? she thought. Why did this drop-dead djinn affect her like this? He was a feast for the peepers, sure. But her tongue didn’t usually loll out like a Tex Avery wolf. And she could tell that he was feeling like a teen lead in a John Hughes movie, too. These musings were interrupted by a snorting from her left.
“You brought us to your damn Lamp, Abbie?” exclaimed Psycho. His head whipped around, searching for some confirmation of this.
Abbie? chuckled Jazzlyn deep in her mind. This beautiful, blue, slab of beefcake should have had a tastier name than a pre-teen girl. Rudolpho. Adonis. Sampson. Those she’d believe. But Abbie?
“No one shrinks me down, djinn!” With a roar, The Bastard threw his arms out sideways to shift and…nothing happened. The Bastard tried again and twisted his face with a bestial call, but the results were the same.
“No one has been shrunk. You have been transported here. And your ability to shift will not work here,” Abbie informed him, “and neither will your magic.”
Jazzlyn instinctively tried to cast a spell and was shocked to feel…nothing. Her connection to the source of her magic was utterly absent. She felt unmoored. She glanced at Tran who was visibly panicked, so he was clearly having the same experience. She caught Abbie looking at her with embarrassment? Apology?
“Bullshit. Ain’t no one keeps The Bastard where he don’t want to be,” snarled The WereElk. He jogged towards the wall to leave and entered again at the opposite side of the room. The Bastard was utterly confused. He trotted off in three different directions and re-entered from three different directions.
“Are you done, you hat rack?” snapped Psycho irritably. The Bastard harrumphed and threw himself awkwardly onto a pile of cushions.
“There is but one way out of my domain,” said Abbie, who folded his muscular arms across his muscular chest.
“And that is?” whined Tran.
“Trial,” barked Abbie at him. The djinn seemed to loathe the Shifter and the Warlock.
“Are you the jury for this Trial?” mused Jazzlyn.
“My apologies, dear lady, if I spoke less than clearly. I meant Trial as in contest,” demurred Abbie warmly.
The sensation of finding the missing piece of the puzzle of her soul was like lightning running through her sweet, soft areas and being a Disney princess at the same moment. A happy, wholesome horniness…while eating a dozen warm, chocolate chip cookies… in Barney’s shoe department… with an unlimited black AmEx card.
“Explain, djinn,” Tran grunted. Abbie’s eyes turned from hot chocolate goodness while gazing at her to a cold rockslide as they fell on the Warlock. Psycho blanched and hiccupped out, “Please.”
“My name is Abdel Malek and you would do well to refer to me as such, Warlock,” boomed the djinn. He murmured out of the corner of his mouth to Jazzlyn, “But you can call me Abbie.”
This time, the giggle escaped. “Jazzlyn. You can call me Jazz,” murmured Jazz.
And the big, blue, beautiful boy…giggled back.
“All three of you touched my Lamp after the death of my previous Master. By the dictates of the curse which binds me, I must serve the one who next took possession of the Lamp.”
The Bastard bowled forward and yelled, “It was me. I had it first.”
“Lies. I had it,” snapped Psycho.
“The two of you are slower than turtle shit. I had it first,” Jazzlyn insisted.
“Unfortunately, Jazz, you did not,” apologized the djinn. “I get no say in this. The curse brought you all here because each of you has an equal claim on the Lamp, should you still wish it.”
The Bastard rose to his full height and crossed his thick arms across the expanse of his chest. “After scraping the shit from Glower’s boots for years, I ain’t gettin’ cheated outta my cut. I’m in,” whined the behemoth.
“Count me in, too,” hissed Psycho, crossing his far less impressive arms across his far less impressive chest.
Jazzlyn was not entirely sure what being the Master of the Lamp would entail, but she did not like the idea of either Psycho or The Bastard having access to any more power than they already had on their own. “I guess three’s a charm,” she said.
The djinn looked at her with a mixture of gratitude and concern. He nodded, held his hands out to his side, and there was a gentle flash of purple light. She felt a gentle itching on the inside of her right wrist. A small, purple Lamp tattoo with a flame appeared there. She saw the other two looking at their own wrists, so she assumed they had just received the same.
“You are now marked as Aspirants of the Lamp. When the mark glows, you must return here before that hour ends or forever sacrifice your claim to the Lamp,” announced Abbie. “You will compete in three Trials. One of force, one of mind, and one of spirit. In the end, two shall fall by the wayside and one shall be named the new Master of the Lamp.”
The djinn clapped his hands and a table covered in figs, dates, almonds, pomegranates, and other middle eastern delicacies appeared next to golden ewers of deep, red wine and steaming pots of jasmine fragranced tea.
“Oh, sure! You been hatin’ mine and Psycho’s guts for years. How’s that goin’ to be fair when you ain’t got no baggage with this one?” pouted The Bastard and he jabbed a thick finger at Jazzlyn.
“Maybe he does,” drawled Psycho glancing at the Witch.
The djinn flushed a darker blue. “These situations are rare, but the curse is absurdly complete,” explained Abbie. “I am forbidden from influencing the outcome of the Trials in any way.”
To make his point, Abbie called forth two spheres of crackling, purple lightning and hurled them at the WereElk and the Warlock. They both reared back but they needn’t have done so. The spheres dissipated into nothingness a foot away from both of them.
“As you pointed out, you are both lower than whale shit in my sight. Were it within my power, I’d be scraping what was left of you off my floor, as we speak. That isn’t an option,” growled the djinn. “Also, you will not be able to harm each other prior to the Trial.”
Abbie clapped his hands loudly, and a large table laden with all manner of Persian delights appeared. Ewers of dark, red wine and fine liquors sat near large goblets. “It is traditional to begin The Trial of the Lamp with a breaking of bread between Aspirants,” said Abbie. He bowed his head, as though welcoming them to a celebratory feast.
The Bastard grabbed an entire ewer of wine and drained half of it at a quaff. He wiped his lips on his sleeve. He strode uncomfortably close to Psycho, forcing him back with his bulk. He then walked right up to Jazz forcing her to raise her head to keep eye contact. To her credit, Jazz didn’t budge.
“Piece of cake,” he guffawed. He arrogantly sauntered to the djinn but gave him a wider berth. “Can I go?”
The djinn nodded and a doorway of light appeared. The WereElk turned to leave and threw over his shoulder, “Looking forward to havin’ my own pet blue.”
For his part, Psycho sniffed at the table, took one almond from a bowl, and smiled nastily at Jazzlyn with small, sharp teeth. He turned and walked towards the portal, which appeared and disappeared as he passed.
Abbie turned to Jazzlyn and bowed his head shamefully and muttered, “Jazz, I am so sorry you have been drawn into the Trial. These men are vile, vicious dogs who will do anything necessary to become my Master. I will be forced to serve them as I was forced to serve the cur McCracken. And I was truthful with them. I will be unable to help you in any way. The curse forbids me. This pittance of a feast you see before you is all that I can offer you.”
Jazzlyn looked at Abdel Malek’s almond-shaped eyes, chiseled features, and well-sculpted physique. She purred, “I don’t think that’s all you can offer me.” She lifted a half of a fig and bit into it, letting the juice run down her chin. �
��And I’m awfully… hungry, myself.”
The djinn gulped.
Chapter Eleven
To his utter shock, Abbie found he was hungry. Glower had kept him deprived of all of his hungers and thirsts and desires for so long, he forgot that it wasn’t his natural condition. With that old garbage-fire of a human being gone, he could eat! He could drink! And without a Master to answer to, he could slake all of his hungers.
“I haven’t had a drink or, uh, eaten with anyone in almost two hundred years. I am not sure how good I’ll be at, uh, eating,” Abbie stuttered.
Jazzlyn smiled and took him by the hand and led him to a chair. Jazzlyn sat on the edge of the table. She took a date from the bowl. She took one from the bowl and traced his lips with it. He opened his mouth and bit it in half. It was chewy and sweet and possibly the best taste he’d ever had in his mouth. She took the uneaten half and placed it between her teeth. She pressed her mouth to his and he took the date and her kiss. Now that was the best thing he’d ever had in his mouth. She then poured the dark red wine into a goblet. She took a long draught of it into her mouth. She ran her hand over his face and tilted his head back. She placed the tip of her finger to his mouth, and he opened wide as she allowed the wine to spill from her mouth into his. The liquid burned deliciously as he swallowed it. He snapped his head up and they kissed gently at first, then deeply, tasting the mingled sweetness and heat of dates and wine. He sighed in pleasure.
“I’ll take that to mean you like the wine,” giggled Jazz as she looked down at the impressive tent Abbie was forming in his no longer loose-fitting pants. You could rest a herd of camels under that thing.
Abbie blushed and stammered, “Dates really turn me on.”
He placed his hands on her hips, resting his thumbs on the indentations. They fit there as though they had been made to do so. Jazz leaned into his grip. She slid his hands up her sides, allowing his thumbs to gently stroke the sides of her breasts, even grazing her nipples which jumped to attention. She pressed her body against his and his nipples sprung up, too. Their chests looked as though they were staring at each other in surprise.
Djinn, Lose, or Draw Page 6