by K. J. Emrick
I was staring at that sandwich so hard that I jumped when I heard the little voice in my ear coming over the phone. “This is 911, what is the location of your emergency?”
“Uh… there’s a sandwich.”
The operator must have thought I was crazy, or that I was making a prank call, maybe. “Is someone choking on the sandwich, Miss?”
“No. Um. No. It’s just… a sandwich.”
“Listen, this number is for emergencies only. If you need assistance, we can send someone.”
“No. I mean… what do I do with the sandwich?”
“I would suggest eating it, Miss.”
Then she hung up.
I was left standing there with the phone in one hand, and a ham sandwich on the counter that hadn’t been there two minutes ago.
And that was when it dawned on me that I knew exactly who this man was. The magic. The outfit. The rug. If this was a movie, or a story in a book, it would’ve been obvious.
With one finger, I pushed the sandwich plate away from me. “You,” I say to the big man, “are a genie.”
He grins from ear to ear and gives me another bow. “At your service, my lady.”
“You’re a genie?”
“Exactly. At your service.”
“A genie?”
His finger begins tapping against his hip. “You know, the word begins to lose its power after you say it enough times.”
“I don’t believe this.” I’m not sure when I began pacing, but I suddenly found myself stomping my way from the apartment door to the sink and back and forth, and back and forth. “Someone sent me a genie. I was weirded out when I thought someone sent me a rug, and now it’s a genie, and I just don’t… wait a minute. Aren’t you supposed to be in a lamp? Isn’t that a thing? The genie in the lamp?”
Now his lips curl up in a sneer. It made him look terrifying. “You are speaking of the ancient, despicable practice of capturing genies in bottles. I spit on the graves of those who imprisoned those of my kind. May they forever rot in their own skins!”
“Uh. Yeah, sure… sounds fair to me, sure. But you’re in a rug.”
The shadows fall away from his face as he looks down at the carpet under his feet. “Oh. That? Is that what you meant? I see. Well, frankly, the whole idea of genies being in lamps for all eternity oversimplifies things quite a bit. We are usually attached to some inanimate object. Carpets. Rings. The cursed bottles that get set on shelves and forgotten about for centuries. I once knew a genie who was bound to a vacuum cleaner. She suffered from constant migraines, poor thing.”
“Sure. A vacuum cleaner. Why not.”
So, he was bound to the rug. He was a genie, who was rolled up in a rug, and shipped to me. Now here he was, standing in my kitchen.
There’s no way this is actually happening.
“This is insane,” I blurt out, going back to my pacing. “I can’t have a genie in my apartment. My lease doesn’t even allow dogs!”
His laughter booms through the kitchen. “I like you, Sidney Stone. You are very funny. Very funny indeed!”
I stop in my tracks again. “You know my name?”
“Of course I know your name. I was sent to you, and now you are my master.”
“Whoa, hold on there buster. I’m nobody’s master. I can’t even get the pizza place around the corner to stop screwing up my orders. Trust me, I’m not the one who should be in control of…” I motion up and down the length of him with my hands. “Of you. What do I call you? What’s your name?”
“Ah. My name is a proud one, handed down through the generations from father to son. It is a name that strikes fear in my enemies and brings hope to those in need. A glorious name. A name for the ages. My name is… Harris.”
I took a minute to let that sink in. “Harris? You mean, like Neil Patrick Harris? Ed Harris? Alonzo Harris, running back for the Green Bay Packers?”
He was more confused by each name I threw at him. “No, none of those. I am Harris. Does my name not inspire you?”
“Honestly? No, I can’t say it does.”
“It should. You should be inspired. I am Harris.”
“Sure, sure, I heard you. I guess… I guess I was just expecting something different.”
“Like what? Aladdin? Jafar? Hmm? Is that what you were expecting?”
“No. I mean, well, yeah actually. Something that sounds genie-ish.” Was I really getting used to the idea of a mythical, nearly all powerful being chatting me up in my kitchen? How could anyone get used to this? “Wait a minute, how do you even know about Disney movies?”
His broad shoulders bunch up in a shrug. “I don’t get out much. I watch a lot of television.”
How could he watch television… in a rug? I didn’t even want to get into that one. “All right, Harris… can I call you Harry?”
“My name is Harris. It means ‘guard’ or ‘protector’ in my native language. It is a strong name. A proud name.” For a moment I thought I’d insulted him somehow, but then he stops, and he smiles. “But when you say it like that, I find that I like it. Yes. You may call me Harry.”
“Great. Now I feel like we’re making progress. I know your name, you know mine. I know you’re a… a genie.” The word sticks in my throat but there it is. A real-life genie, right here in Detroit. Right here in my kitchen. “What I don’t know is who sent you to me, or why. Do you have any light you can shed on that, Harry?”
“I’m not sure who,” he says, rubbing at his chin. “As I said, my time with my last master was over. One day I was in my rug, and the next thing I knew I was standing here, right now. I do know the why, however. You are a warrior, Sidney Stone. A finder of truths, a protector of the helpless. That is what you do. I am here to help you because we are alike, you and I.”
A warrior? I kind of liked the sound of that. Hear my feminine roar.
The truth is a little more sobering, though. “I’m a private investigator. Not some sort of Amazon.”
“Can’t you be both?”
I swear, that must be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, even if that someone is a seven-foot-tall magical being with forearms the size of my thigh. “Listen, I used to be a warrior. A soldier, I mean. I was in the military. The Marines. I did good things, and I did bad things, and basically I served to the best of my abilities. Now I investigate problems for people when the police can’t do anything, or they’ve got nowhere else to turn. People need someone in their corner sometimes. That’s all.”
“And that’s you.” He smiles as he said it.
“Sure. Sometimes, I guess.”
“Then that is why I was sent to you. I am always sent to a master who helps others, and I help them in turn. You grant hope. I grant wishes.”
“Is that a fact? Well, I tell you what then, oh mighty genie. I’m looking for a missing person who stole a bunch of money from her boyfriend and might be in some sort of trouble. You want to help me, and I’ll be honest right now I could use the help, so…” I wave my hands around in a grand gesture. “Tell me where Katarina Borishev is!”
Pursing his lips, he shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”
Well, that was anticlimactic.
Throwing my hands in the air I tell myself I was being stupid. Of course I was being stupid. I had just accepted the fact of who this man really was and got my hopes up for some help of a truly phenomenal and cosmic nature, and he just flat out told me he couldn’t help at all. “That’s just great. What kind of a genie are you?”
My words look like they actually hurt him. “I’m a truly great genie, thank you. In time, you’ll see that. There are things I can’t do, however.”
“Yeah, you told me. Can’t raise the dead, can’t force people to fall in love—kudos for that one by the way.”
He strokes his chin again, elbow in his opposite hand. “Not sure what that means, but what I’m trying to say is I can’t tell you what I don’t know. You still have to find out the hard things yourself. I’m not omniscient.
If I knew everything then I would be God, and not a genie tied to Earth and living in a carpet for all of eternity.”
“So you can’t help me solve my case at all.”
He was quick to shake his head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I simply can’t give you answers I don’t know. I don’t know where this Katarina Borishev is. I can still help you, just not directly.”
“Because you don’t know everything?”
“Ah, now you are beginning to understand. I am a powerful being, yes, but not all-powerful. Not by a wide margin. I’m really better at granting the sort of wishes where you ask me to give you things.”
“You mean like sandwiches?”
Harry completely misses the thick layer of sarcasm in my question. “Yes, exactly! Like sandwiches. You really should try the ham and swiss there. It’s one of my specialties.”
“I think I’ll pass. Eating food that comes out of nowhere seems like one of those things nine out of ten doctors are going to tell you not to do.”
“Wish for a new car to get around town,” the genie continues, almost insistent that I use him for his powers. “Wish for a superfast computer to find answers to help your clients. Wish for these things and I will bring your heart’s desire to you but know this. If ever you use me for purely selfish reasons, our partnership will be done. Wish to be rich and live in luxury, or wish to be more beautiful, or to live in a grand mansion, then your selfish human desires will be the end of my help. I have had masters in the past who thought only of themselves and their wishes only brought ruin. I will not serve a master like that again.”
My head was starting to swim. This was all too much. “So no getting rich?”
“Is that your wish, Sidney Stone?” he asks, eyeing me very carefully.
“No, no,” I tell him very quickly. “Let’s be clear here. I’m not wishing for anything. Not yet.”
That answer was the one he was hoping for, based on his nod of approval. “Hmm. Good. Then there will come a time when you need something, and if it is in my power to give it to you, I will. Use my powers to help those in need, and we shall have many stories together, you and I. This one you have started now will be just the first.”
“Stories? This is a case I’m working, Harry. Not a story.” Maybe it was the accent, but he sure did talk funny. A headache was threatening to blossom in the back of my skull with all of this. “You’re making it sound like we’re in some sort of modern-day mystery novel.”
The wink he gives me could mean anything. It made me curious, though. It was like he knew something that I didn’t.
I lean a hip against the half wall between kitchen and dining area. “So I can wish for anything, but not if it’s selfish, plus all the other rules. Is there a limit on my wishes? Seems to me there’s always a limit to the wishing when there’s a genie involved.”
For a moment, he looks uncertain. “Well. That’s negotiable, I suppose, but let’s say three per story… er, case. Three per case.”
“Just three? Seriously? With everything I can’t ask for and all of those rules to follow, three doesn’t sound like very much.”
“If life were easy,” he says with a wink, “then who would need a genie?”
This was all just way too much. I mean, I’d almost gotten arrested today, and that was after the whole being shot at thing with the dognapper, and now there’s this genie who was apparently going to be living in my apartment in a really nice floor rug. Not to mention I hadn’t really eaten anything since breakfast. There’s only so much a girl can take before she needs a nap, is all I’m saying.
“I tell you what I’m wishing for right now,” I mutter. “A good night’s sleep. Maybe I can wake up and all of this will be a dream.”
Reaching up, Harry tugged at the earring in his left ear.
Suddenly, I was really sleepy. My eyes were drooping and I was yawning behind a hand until my eyes watered. Yeah. It kind of had been a long day. Better get some sleep.
“I’m going to bed,” I tell him. I know, I know, leaving a strange guy alone in my apartment while I was sleeping is like number one on the list of don’ts for the modern woman. He’s a genie, though, as proved by that untouched sandwich, and he’s my genie. I’m pretty sure there’s some rule about your own personal genie not killing you in your sleep. “Um. You want to sleep on the couch, or—” Big, big yawn. “—or something?”
With a snap of his fingers, he disappears in a puff of heavy gray smoke. The smoke filters down and absorbs into the carpet while the tassels flutter in an unseen breeze. The smell of freshly cut flowers absolutely fills the room this time. Just like that, my genie’s back in his rug.
I’m too tired to be amazed by what I just saw. I’m too tired to think of anything except closing my eyes and burying myself under my blankets. Still yawning, I turn around and head down my hall for my bedroom, stripping my clothes off as I go, and letting them just fall wherever.
“Good night, Sidney Stone,” I hear him whisper from out of nowhere. “Pleasant dreams.”
“’Night, Harry,” I mumble, already sinking my head down on my pillow.
Chapter Four
I woke up the next morning feeling more refreshed than I had in a very long time.
Sometimes me and sleep aren’t exactly friends. Memories can make for powerful dreams, and dreams can remind us of the worst moments of our lives. The ones your conscious mind actively tries to forget. When I was a Marine, stationed in the Middle East—in towns I could barely pronounce and definitely can’t talk about—there were things I saw, and things I did, that maybe I’m not all that proud of. Most nights when I sleep, I’m right back there in those moments.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud to have served in my country’s armed forces. I’m proud that I didn’t sit on my ass all through my twenties watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians and getting into Twitter wars with people I don’t know. I’m proud that I did something to try to make the world a better place.
It’s just that sometimes, when you’re doing what’s right… bad things happen around you.
Anyway. My dreams are often nightmares that have me reliving the sights and sounds of fighting alongside good men and women who didn’t all make it back in one piece. Some of that I can’t put away no matter how hard I try.
Last night? I slept like a baby.
Sitting up in bed I stretch, only realizing now that I apparently crawled between my sheets in nothing but my panties. I mean, I live alone so there’s nobody here but my goldfish to see me and he usually keeps his beady little eyes turned away when I’m naked because he’s a modest fish, but normally I slip into my PJs when I knock off for the night. Wow. I must’ve been way out of it. The last thing I remember…
Memories came rushing back to me, pushing me out of bed, onto my feet, standing there with my head down and my hands curled into fists. Was it real? Was any of it real?
With my next breath I’m yanking open my dresser drawers and pulling out clothes to throw on. The shirt doesn’t match the khakis and the socks might be two different colors, but I really don’t care.
There’s a genie in my kitchen, and I just left him there overnight.
Yeah, I must’ve been way tired. Like, stupid tired, because there’s no way I would have just left him there and gone off to bed like everything was normal because having a genie pop into your life is not ever, at any time, something you can call ‘normal.’
“Why didn’t you say something, Spot?”
My goldfish glubs at me and turns himself back around to stare out the window.
Hopping on one foot as I drag my right sock into place, I stumble out of my bedroom and into the living room. It was the smell of fresh coffee that hit me first. Not my usual store-bought blend, either. This was a rich aroma, earthy and tantalizing, the sort of thing you actually want to wake up to. It made my whole apartment smell amazing.
And there he is.
Standing at my stove, wearing the same baggy gold lamé pan
ts and vest as yesterday, is Harry the genie. He’s working some sort of tall, skinny copper pot back and forth over one of the gas burners, stirring the liquid inside. That crazy wonderful coffee aroma was coming from there.
“Good morning!” he booms. “I was not sure what time you normally awaken. I thought six o’clock would be good, yes?”
With my sock finally in place, I stare at him in disbelief, then turn to the window. The blinds are drawn but I can just see light creeping in around the edges as the world begins to warm up to the typical gray of a typical Detroit sunrise. Is it really that early? Just to be sure, I take a look at the clock on the wall. Little hand on the six, big hand creeping up on the twelve…
Oh, dear God. This is like, stupid early.
“Six o’clock?” I sputter in total bewilderment. “The sun’s not even up yet! How am I possibly this awake?”
“Simple,” he grins. “I am a genie.”
“Like that explains anything. That coffee smells terrific, though. Where did you get it?”
“Your cabinets have very little in the way of sustenance, Sidney Stone.” He purses his lips with a shake of his head, obviously disappointed in my choices of off-brand crackers and instant rice meals. “I hope I have not overextended my welcome by bringing some Turkish coffee here for you. This is one of my most favorite blends. I’ve added cinnamon, and cardamom as well. You will find it quite invigorating. You have much work to do today, after all.”
I rub the last bits of sleep out of my eyes and gladly come over to sit at the kitchen table. Harry had already put out a ceramic mug for me. He was humming and moving the pan around with the practiced moves of someone who has done this before. I wanted to go up and poke him just to convince myself, but my eyes were telling me what I already knew. He definitely was not a hallucination, and I was definitely going to get used to this. The identity of whoever had sent him and his rug to me might still be a mystery, but I wasn’t going to argue with the results. I guess you should never look a gift horse in the mouth. Or, gift rug in the… what? In the tassels, I guess?