Bottled

by Carol Riggs

  When I finish, I duck into a sitting room that adjoins a kitchen area that I never use. I’ll let some time elapse to keep up the charade that I’m cooking these meals. I sit and conjure myself some food as Bello has ordered me to do, since he knows I’m powerless to fulfill my own wishes. Although I don’t need it to sustain my wretched life, it’s refreshing to eat something besides the lamb, pita bread, and dates that my bottle replenishes every time my back is turned. I nibble grapes and stare out the enormous windows at the rich greens of cedar and podo trees.

  Not that I have a choice, but I really shouldn’t be here.

  I should be in Arabia where I grew up, where I first met Karim. Back to the stretches of arid desert speckled with waxy cacti and dry shrubs. Back to a land of skittering, shrivel-skinned lizards. Because if I lived there with a kind master, I could search for Karim. It’s likely he’s there, looking for me. But Faruq might ruin my plans and claim me first, since he knows I search for Karim. The man lurks like a constant malevolent shadow behind the figure of my beloved.

  Enough. I rise and conjure food, then wheel down the hall with seven covered plates. Rehema’s door is ajar as I approach. Her strident voice lances the air.

  “No, Honeycakes, I’m not totally happy,” she’s saying to someone, presumably Bello. “You need to get a different serving girl. Adeelah scorches my ugali. She has no clue how to do cornrows in my hair. Worse than that, she’s cheeky and stubborn. And she’s too…pretty.”

  Bello groans. “I told you, my sweet, I am not sleeping with her.”

  “Then why keep her around? Get rid of her. I know plenty of girls in Embu who’d take her job in a snap.”

  I suppress a gag. As if I’d want to cavort with the likes of Bello. The thought makes me want to lose my own meal across Rehema’s nyama choma.

  “Why are you so uptight about her?” Bello asks. “Sure, she’s pretty, but she’s just a girl, and there are six other women living here that you haven’t complained about. Besides, I can’t fire Adeelah. She’s a hard worker.”

  I knock on the doorframe. “Your meal is ready, Rehema.”

  She yanks the door open wider and nails me with a sharp glance. Her tight dress gives the appearance that she’s stuffed into a sausage casing two sizes too small. She stabs a finger toward a table in her lounge area. “Put it over there.”

  I roll the cart in and remove the domed serving lid.

  Bello scuttles to the door, looking ridiculous in his “bell-bottomed” leather trousers and a white renaissance shirt. “We’ll chat more at dinner tonight, Baby,” he calls as he slips out.

  I’m glad to leave the room’s bristling atmosphere. After I make the other deliveries, I retreat to my lodging on the first floor where I stay to keep up the servant deception. I stretch across the bed and let my eyelids close out the world. My life vexes me. I can’t retreat into my bottle, by Bello’s orders. My prison-home is kept inside a locked safe behind a hidden compartment in his bedroom. As much as I dislike being confined in my bottle, I dislike being separated from it even more.

  My throat constricts. Worse, I’m separated from Karim’s note that I keep in a drawer near the cushion where I sleep.

  Take heart, my beloved. I will find you.

  His brief promise the only thing I have left of him. It’s been three centuries since I found his message. Is he still alive and searching? Does he still have access to the elixir that extends his human life?

  Truly, I hope so.

  I sink into a groggy state, washed there by fatigue and distant memories.

  How sweetly I cajoled my previous master to return to Arabia, but not for long. He too admired the harsh beauty of the desert. After I built his grand palace and secured it with invisibility, he allowed me to travel solo to the city of Riyadh, built in the al-Yamama region in my absence. On its outskirts I hiked the gritty path near the crumbling rock wall that surrounded Karim’s family’s estate.

  When I crept over the wall, I found the sprawling house and grounds vacant, littered with sand and infested with dung beetles. My heart pounded heavy in my chest as I hunted for the round well where Karim and I used to meet at night. It stood like a steadfast soldier in the tangled overgrowth of the back garden. I traced the old stones, my hands shaking. My fingers moved like blind creatures clinging to a foolish hope.

  I counted downward near the left bucket support. Found the loose stone. Held my breath. Wedged the stone half out and discovered…his note. I read the words, knowing they were his because he’d drawn a single ka’dadd thistle flower on the parchment.

  After that, a date had been inked. The numbers slammed into me, crushed me to the core. I fell to my knees and wailed, the sound keening into the sky.

  He was alive.

  My dearest love had stood in that exact spot. He’d written to me.

  But I’d missed him by two miserable months.

  * * *

  Incessant banging invades my dreams. My eyelids fly open when a loud screeching accompanies the pounding.

  “Adeelah, are you in there? Answer me! Get your lazy carcass out here and fix us something for dinner.” Rehema rattles the doorknob, so it’s a good thing I locked it.

  “Coming.” I swing upright and pad across the carpet. A thousand curses. I’ve slept all afternoon. I smooth my hair and open the door to find Rehema’s pretty, coffee-dark face twisted into a sour expression. She trails me down the hall as I hurry to the dining area.

  “The table isn’t even set,” she says. “This is my special dinner tonight with Bello, and you’re not going to mess it up. Do you hear me?”

  “I’m sorry, Rehema. I must’ve fallen asleep. The meal is ready—all I have to do is prepare the table.” I manage to convince her to go upstairs to splash on some perfume, and hurry to assemble fine china, gold utensils, elegant candles, and a spray of glorious red roses in a vase. As food platters solidify, I’m aware of Bello arriving in the next hallway. He saunters in as I add two sparkling goblets of Pinot Noir.

  He inhales savory aromas of fried beef strips, onion, and kale. “Sukuma wiki, just like I ordered. Rehema will love this.”

  He’s pleased. Excellent. Here’s my opportunity to ask about searching for Karim. “Master, I was wondering if I could take a day off sometime to—”

  “What?” he exclaims. “Genies don’t take days off.” He leans in, his breath clammy on my face. “Go serve my other ladies now. But remember not to let anyone get close enough to touch you.”

  I wish he’d heed his own advice about proximity. He’s right to fear someone will discover my true nature, though. It’s madness for me to be out of my bottle, mingling with humans this long. I hear the taps of Rehema’s shoes at the same time I sense her approach. I spin away from Bello to see her standing with flared nostrils and black spike heels.

  “Your dinner awaits,” I say to them both with a deep bow. “Enjoy your meal.”

  I feel her gaze smolder on my back as I retreat.

  Later that evening, to help disguise my abilities, I cart a stack of dirty dishes down to the kitchen and wash them. I talk with the cook and the servant girls who are scouring pots and pans. By the time the household is asleep and the guards are on night patrol, I’m more than ready to say my farewell to the human world. I perform a quick magical palace cleaning and enter my room, rubbing my aching arms.

  Strange how my muscles are reacting to my conjurings lately, as if I’m doing heavy physical tasks. I don’t remember feeling this fatigued or my arms being this sore when I served my last master. Do genies grow old and aching? Or perhaps my bottle normally rejuvenates my powers. The discomfort from Bello’s first wishes did fade when I had access to my bottle.

  Confound that Bello. He’s hampering my abilities by making me pose as a human servant.

  I change into a nightgown from my wardrobe and lie down, my head sinking into my pillow, my body into the mattress. The night is quiet. I should be able to drift off, but I don’t. Perhaps my earlier nap refresh
ed me too much. My insides begin to buzz, swirling like restless wasps. My mouth goes dry. A vague pressure begins in my head and seeps down into my chest.

  Sighing, I sit up. It’s no use. I can’t sleep. My body is magnifying a restlessness, an anticipation of some sort.

  It’s not a good kind of anticipation.

  A light tap registers on my door. I run to answer it. Bello stands there in slippers and a fur-trimmed dressing gown.

  “Let me in, quick.” He pushes his way inside and closes the door behind him.

  I raise my eyebrows. I knew it. Something’s wrong. He sounds breathless, as though he has scurried along darkened corridors like a canal rat. “Yes, my master?”

  “Remember that white powder you whipped up for me a few days ago, the cocaine?”

  I give him the barest hint of a nod. Of course. His worthless mind-altering drugs.

  “I need more of it, to surprise Rehema. She’s hankering to do a line right now. I gave most of the last stash to the guards, so it’s gone.”

  “You gave some to the guards?” The man is a blazing fool.

  He waves an impatient hand. “They’re not using it while they’re on duty. At least I don’t think so. Come on, abracadabra me up some quality stuff and put it in a package that’ll fit in my robe pocket. I told Rehema I’d be right back.”

  “As you wish, Master.” The words grate against my will like jagged rocks. Is this the urgent matter that prickled my senses and kept me from my sleep? On one upturned palm, I assemble fine, bone-white dust in a gold packet. I hand it to him.

  “Thanks. You’re a doll.” His face goes wistful. “I’d kiss you right here and now if you were actually touchable.”

  Thank the stars I’m not. But since he’s grateful, I can ask again about having some time off to find Karim. If I keep pestering him, he might eventually break down. “Master,” I begin.

  Another knock sounds, this time louder and more persistent.

  “Bello, sir,” comes a male voice. “Are you in there?”

  Before Bello or I can move to the door, it bursts open.

  “Bello!” Rehema rushes in with a uniformed guard, her face contorted, her satin dressing gown swishing. “I told the guard we’d find you here. Why are you in Adeelah’s room, on my night?”

  “Sir,” the guard cuts in. “We’ve gotten word that a convoy of armored trucks with machine guns has left Embu and is heading our way. Estimated arrival, twenty-five minutes.”

  Faruq—he’s found us. A spasm clenches like a fist under my ribs. “I knew we weren’t safe in Kenya.”

  “Spare me your scoldings.” Bello turns to the guard. “Get extra artillery from the weapons room, and prepare for an attack. I’ll get our secret weapon ready.”

  The guard salutes and races off. I assume this secret weapon has to do with something I’ll be devising. I don’t know what Bello is plotting, but it’d better be quick and effective. I glance at Rehema, whose fists are white-knuckled. “You should go to your room. It’ll be safer.”

  “How dare you order me around.” Her voice is wound tight. She whirls to Bello. “And you, Honeycakes, how dare you sneak off to her room when I’m waiting for you in yours. You said you loved me! This is sure a lousy way to show it.”

  Bello begins to speak, but Rehema whips a small black pistol from her gown pocket, aims it at me, and fires off two rapid shots.

  I cry out as the bullets thud-punch through my ribs and gut. The stench of sulfur scorches the air while a ringing fills my ears.

  Another shot blasts out.

  Bello tumbles to the floor, a red stain blooming across the front of his dressing gown.

  Chapter 3

  Rehema erupts into a wild screech. I stagger back and half-flop, half-sit on the bed. Shuddering, I clutch my ribs where the bullets plunged through me. I’m not injured. Not dead. But I can still feel the force of the bullets as they ripped through my body. Nausea rises in my throat. My flesh throbs, pounding in a noxious aftershock.

  I drop my gaze to Bello. Blood. So much blood. It’s splattered across his face and hands and dressing-gown fur. His eyes bulge. He gulps like a fish in need of water. As his breath fades, the ties that bind me to him begin to weaken. It only takes a few more seconds before my inner awareness of him goes empty. Blank.

  “What have you done?” I wheeze. While it’s a relief to be temporarily free, it’s horrifying how I’ve been released. “You’ve killed him.”

  Rehema’s grip on the gun falters. “He…he deserved it. Why aren’t you dead or bleeding? I hit you square on. I know I did.”

  “An army’s going to attack this place. Worry about that.” I rise and cross the room, not sparing her a glance. Where can I go? What can I do? I have no master now, and while retreating into my bottle is something I can do on my own if my services aren’t needed, that would be unwise because I’d be stuck there. Faruq will torture whomever he needs to in order to learn about the hidden safe—or rip the palace apart until he finds it—and then he’ll be able to summon me. I have to find a stray guard or kitchen maid to carry my bottle and help me escape, even if that someone might become my new master. I can’t let Faruq take possession of me.

  “Stop!” Rehema tries to grab me. Her hand passes through my arm, and we both gasp.

  I grit my teeth and spin away.

  “What are you?” she cries as I stumble through the doorway. “Are you even human?”

  Fighting the rush of queasy dizziness from the contact, I break into a run down the hall while my nightgown fades back into my standard genie attire. Time is shrinking fast. Guards bustle past me, their boots thundering as they disperse rounds of ammunition and spare weapons from the artillery room. Their shouts ricochet. The flare of impending danger sears my innards. I aim for the kitchen quarters where the servant rooms adjoin.

  When I round the corner, sheer luck is with me. I find a servant girl standing in the hall wearing a plain nightgown, her eyes wide as soldiers hurry past.

  “Come.” I beckon to her. “I need you.”

  She swallows, jerks out a nod, and scurries after me. We rush upstairs to Bello’s suite. The girl shadows me as I dash across his lounge and into his private library. We reach the lion statue that marks the hidden compartment. With sweaty fingers, I press the spot between his front claws and chew my lip while a door on the wall slides open.

  The kitchen girl utters an astonished squeal. I dial the combination Bello ordered me to encode into the safe for him. How much time do we have left? Fifteen minutes, ten? That might not be long enough for us to run to safety. Maybe I should just explain everything to this girl and let her wish us out of here. Having a thirteen-year-old master isn’t appealing, but I might not have a choice.

  I fumble the combination and have to start over. My second attempt manages to work. I creak the door open and see the plain, blue-tinted glass and tapered stopper of my bottle. It’s never looked so beautiful.

  “Remove that, please,” I say to the girl. “It’s old and valuable. We must take it somewhere else for safety.”

  She lifts it out. I scan the room for something she can wrap it in so we can slip past the guards. The less anyone knows, the better. I must get Faruq off my trail.

  A clunk sounds at the doorway, and I spin around. Rehema enters with her black heels swinging from one hooked finger. She frowns as she glances from me to the open safe, then to the girl. Then she spots my prison clutched in the maid’s hands. “Get out,” she orders the girl. “And leave that bottle.”

  The girl drops it onto a chair and hurtles from the room.

  Rehema strides to the chair, her dressing gown swirling around her legs, and picks up my bottle. “Are you trying to swipe this, you nasty creature?” Her voice is hard.

  “I was moving it to a safer place.” My voice comes out more assured than I feel. A blight on this turn of events. I should flee, pretend what she holds in her hands isn’t important to me. Then maybe she’ll discard it and leave. More seconds tic
k by. My feet aren’t moving. I try not to look at my bottle. “That convoy’s coming. Our lives are in danger, and we need to get away quickly.”

  “Stop exaggerating,” she drawls. “This invading fellow can negotiate with me for whatever it is he wants. The captain of the guard will tell them Bello’s dead and I’m listed as the sole inheritor. I’ve informed security that you shot him.”

  “What—I shot him?” I choke on the words. This woman is beyond despicable.

  Rehema’s chin goes up. “Yes, it was chilling. The jealousy, the rage. You couldn’t stand to see him with me these past weeks. In your room after the guard announced the army was coming, you grabbed the pistol Bello gave me and shot him with it. Then you tried to shoot me in the leg. I barely escaped.”

  My hands curl into fists. I’d like to take aim at her legs. Stars! If only I could.

  She lets her spike heels clatter onto the floor, and turns my bottle over. “What’s the deal with this thing, anyway?” Her frown deepens.

  “It’s mine.” I wrack my mind for a way to get her to leave the room. “Bello was keeping it for me. But you’re not safe here. If this man’s bringing a small army, I doubt he’s the negotiating type.”

  She studies my bottle for a moment longer, and then realization hits like an explosion on her face, obliterating her scowl. “It’s you and this bottle the convoy wants, isn’t it? I can’t touch your arm. Bullets go through you. Bello built this palace way too fast. No wonder he didn’t want to get rid of you. You’re a black-magic djinn who grants wishes!”

  The words roar with power in my ears, almost pushing me backward with their effect.

  “I am not a djinn,” I say, but my words wobble. It’s half accurate. I have djinn-like powers despite not being a true djinn. Real djinns are demons, evil beings who grant only three wishes. They are never human as I once was, never trapped by a twisted spell, never tricked into drinking a potion conjured by an actual djinn.