by Carol Riggs
I reach him and halt. My knees quake. “Karim. Karim, at last.”
“Am I still unable to touch you?” Karim asks in our old language, his eyes pained.
It’s all I can do to manage a nod. My arms tingle, wanting to embrace him. My lips tremble, wanting to press themselves against his and taste them. I lean into his aura sphere. It’s fierce, strong, and vibrant.
He raises his free hand and traces my outline in the air, skimming near my hair and down my shoulder and arm, keeping his fingertips a few inches away. His dark eyelashes flick against his cheeks as he watches his hands near my skin. I shiver.
“I found your letter at the well,” I say in a near-whisper. “It’s been giving me hope the last few centuries. I’m glad you didn’t give up looking for me.”
“I would never give up, my love.”
“Nor I.”
He lowers his hand, the long curved scar on his forearm now a faded pucker, much less red than when I last saw him. “It’s so good to see you, Adeelah. I can’t even begin to tell you how it makes me feel. But it’s unwise if you want to avoid—”
“Do not speak of him.” I refuse to have the mention of Faruq spoil this moment. “I know he’s nearby. We’ll have to meet at another time and place without his knowledge. Somewhere we can spend a day together.” I yearn to hear what Karim’s life has been like these past centuries, what he’s thought, how he’s felt, what he’s done.
“He searches for you. He suspects you’ve come here from Kenya with your new master, and he expects me to tell him when I find you.”
That’s as I feared. My mood constricts. “Will you?”
He scowls, but it’s a desperate sort of frown. “We need you in order to make the elixir. If I don’t drink it, I’ll die as a normal human. I can’t bear to think of you being alone forever.”
“I’m fully aware of that quandary.” I press my mouth into a firm line. Indeed, the subject threatens like a massive patch of quicksand, waiting to smother us if we take one misstep.
He plucks the flower from his shirt and hands it to me between his fingertips, along with the pin to attach it. “For you, my beautiful ka’dadd.”
I accept his gift, taking care not to make contact with his skin even though it grieves me to avoid his touch. Ka’dadd. The fuzzy pink pod with its delicate white petals sprouting forth is an Arabian desert weed, and it was once Faruq’s term of scorn and derision for me. Out of spite, Karim and I turned it into a symbol of our devotion. He gave me one at midnight when we first met by the well in his estate garden. I pin the blossom to the fabric next to my heart, as Karim was just wearing it.
“Where are you staying?” he asks. “Did your master build a house on one of these islands, or is she staying at a resort?”
I hesitate. “You know I can’t reveal that information. I’d be a fool to risk having that passed on.”
Karim leans closer. “You must tell me so we can reclaim possession of your bottle. I need your help in order to be with you, Adeelah. I’m tired of living without you, alone and lonely. You’re either going to spend an everlasting lifetime with me—or without me.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Please. I love you more than I can express. I always will. Think of it—our bond is so deep we’ve searched for each other for close to a thousand years. That’s not a trivial thing. Your choice should be an easy one to make. It has been for me.”
An aching blackness swells under my breastbone. “Don’t you dare imply that I don’t love you if I choose not to hand over my bottle. You’re not the one trapped inside, forced to put finishing touches on hideous elixirs.”
“I’ve had to drink the elixir.”
My shoulders slump. Camel’s dung, thrice over. The elixir and the possession of my bottle are formidable obstacles between us. Our reunion wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be full of hope and sweet words and glowing promises. A pressure builds inside my head, behind my eyes. I’m not sure what will solve this dilemma. I take a deep breath.
“If you became my master,” I say, “the situation would be much more tolerable. But I’d still be loathe to help create the elixir.”
“I know. But you’ll perform a single distasteful act of magic every hundred years.” His words have a beseeching edge to them. “You’ll have no part in the recipe preparations. Just seal the elixir and give it final power.”
This is a strained rationale, a skewed kind of integrity. Centuries ago when I first became enslaved, he refused to be a part of this. I cross my arms to keep them from shaking. “I can’t believe years ago you saved me from being involved in this madness, and now you’re trying to press me into doing it!”
He levels me a somber gaze. “I confess these last centuries have made me desperate to see you. There’s no other solution. We need your power. Entrapping djinns in order to seal the elixir isn’t easy, my love. The djinns have become suspicious and cagey. It used to be treacherous work, and now it’s impossible—even though their servitude ends after three quick wishes. I suspect a few have warned the rest to stay clear of us.”
“Were you helping entrap djinns?” My voice cracks on the words. “Were you helping prepare the elixir? You promised me you’d never do those things.”
He grimaces. “I’m afraid I was forced into trapping djinns. I had no choice. If I didn’t assist, I wouldn’t be allowed to drink the elixir. But I haven’t been required to help with the preparation. At any rate, we’re at a stalemate for now. We should arrange for our next meeting and give ourselves time to think things over.”
“By that, I hope you mean scheming a plan to get around our limitations.”
Karim breaks into laughter, a tense but genuine sound. “I doubt there are any other solutions, but I like the way you think. You’re so spirited and always have been. I love that about you. You’re not afraid to fight against a massive wall of rules and restrictions.”
His words claw at my heart. For much too long I’ve dealt with the limitations of my bottle, obstacles I’ve been for the most part unable to overcome. My so-called spiritedness hasn’t helped me much. “There must be a way we can be together. Perhaps we can run off and live somewhere, you as my human master and I as your genie. Forget the elixir. We’d have at least sixty or seventy years with each other.”
“That wouldn’t work,” he says, his brow wrinkled. “You’d stay fresh and young while I grew old and decrepit. Would you want to live on for endless years after I die?”
“Of course not. It’s just that I—”
His phone rings, a lilting tune that’s eerie and somewhat ominous-sounding. He raises it to his ear. “Yes?”
A chill descends over me. The faint voice emanating from the device taints Karim’s aura with a blackness that chokes my throat.
Faruq. I take a step back.
“Yes.” Karim’s gaze lifts to a spot behind me, over my shoulder. “You think the Kenyan woman is no longer her master, then?”
What? I whirl and scan the beach for Nathan. He’s not by the palm trees. He’s not walking along the beach or by the café. I don’t see him anywhere. Oh, stars, where is he?
I prepare to whisk us back into transfer space, when Karim moves into view beside me.
“Adeelah.” His voice lingers on my name. Tender, yet resolute. “My father requires your presence at a bench just beyond that grove of trees. He warns you not to make any premature, foolish moves. I hope to see you again soon, my love.”
Chapter 11
Heavens above. Faruq must’ve abducted Nathan. I knew Nathan shouldn’t have come with me. I can’t whisk him away now, not before I make sure he’s not in imminent danger. There’s always a few seconds’ lapse when transferring, with a vibrating current of energy as my power accumulates, and Faruq knows to watch for it. That’s all the time he’d need to harm Nathan.
“Your foul excuse of a father had better not harm my master!” I tell Karim. I throw him one last look—half-longing, half-accusing—b
efore I break into a run toward the trees. Sand churns and scatters beneath my feet. I sense the first whiff of Nathan’s fear. Bitter, pervasive.
He’s alive. The bonds of my servitude haven’t been erased. Yet.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach the first cluster of trees. I hiss out a curse and check the area. Hedges. More palm trees and leafy bushes. A sandy pathway winding through the landscaping. I jog up the path and spot a wooden bench between a scattering of trees. Two figures sit in stiff proximity on the bench, one with nut-brown hair, one with ink-black. No one else is around.
My insides flop like a snagged catfish. I slow to a walk, approaching the bench with my heart hammering. Nathan’s face is paler than usual as he meets my eye. It’s in stark contrast to the natural brown of Faruq’s skin. Under one of Nathan’s arms by his ribs, I see the glint of a blade, pressing inward. A splotch of blood already stains the blue shirt.
I fight the nausea and horror rising in my gut.
“Faruq.” I force myself to meet his eyes, which are disturbingly like Karim’s. But they’re more soulless, like a reptile’s. His mouth is a thin and arrogant line. Even after a thousand years, I’d recognize this man’s cruel, gaunt face anywhere.
His gaze flicks over my apparel. “So this is what modern genies wear these days. How cute.” He says “cute” as though I’m a cockroach wearing a sundress. His English is stiff and with a heavy accent. He’s speaking the language for Nathan’s benefit, wanting him to know what he’s saying.
I nod at Nathan. “Let him go, Faruq. It’s pointless to kill him because then you won’t know where my bottle is hidden. It’s in a secure place.”
Faruq’s calm doesn’t waver. “That’s why you’re going to tell me where it is. Or I will kill him.”
I believe him. Worse, I suspect even if I do tell him the true location, he’ll kill Nathan anyway. What on earth can I do? My attention slides to Nathan, who widens his eyes as if to tell me something. A hint of a wish forms between us, a reminder of his earlier desire for me to “poof” us away at any sign of danger. As I reconsider this, Faruq narrows his eyes and brings the knife up to Nathan’s neck. Nathan sucks in a sharp breath.
“Don’t even think about transferring him away,” Faruq says. “I’ll feel it when he starts to ripple. All I need is two seconds to slit his throat. Do you want to sacrifice his life for your own temporary safety?”
I cringe as the edge of the blade pushes against Nathan’s skin, and he stiffens. “No, I don’t.”
“So inform me of what I want to know. I dislike waiting.”
“Fine,” I say, grateful my bottle only restricts me from lying to my masters. “My bottle isn’t on this island anymore. I suspect Rehema died of a cocaine overdose, and this boy, my new master, found my bottle in her room at the resort hotel. He normally lives elsewhere with his aunt so he can attend school. We came to the island today to visit his parents, who help manage the resort.”
“His parents are Americans?”
“His father is. His aunt also. She has a house on the coastline of a peninsula, the one that looks like a fat finger pointing to The Bahamas.”
“Florida?”
“I believe so. The bottle is there, near his aunt’s house.”
Faruq’s grip tightens on the knife. “Then take me to Florida with this boy. And bring Karim. That should be possible, since it’s not against his will.”
“Correct.” The word comes out in slow motion while my mind spins. This isn’t going to work. Once we transfer, the knife will remain at Nathan’s throat. I’ll have stalled and solved nothing. “But you realize my master must wish for these traveling arrangements in order for me to act.”
“Do it,” Nathan says between gritted teeth. But I sense he means something else, a different wish.
My muscles go taut. I can tell he fears Faruq will kill him once my bottle is handed over. He snaps his gaze downward to the knife and back up to me. His terror and desperation pound with such force, it’s difficult for me to decipher his intentions. They clash, like too many people shouting at once. And then I comprehend.
The knife. Change the knife—then transport.
Ah. Tricky, and very risky.
But I have no other options.
I raise my arms and glare at Faruq. “You mustn’t harm my master during transfer, or I won’t tell you the bottle’s exact location.”
“Get on with it,” Faruq says, his voice a near-growl. “And don’t threaten me, girl, or it’ll be a long while before you spend any more time with my son.”
I suppress my own growl. “Let me concentrate.”
Stretching out my fingers, I prepare myself for the precision timing I’ll need for this feat. In making these overlapping actions, I need to shift my powers so that more time is spent neutralizing the knife.
Solid matter and micro-bits begin stirring, changing. I aim for the hard blade first. Its sharp edge turns buttery. As the handle melts into a similar softness, I dive like a ground squirrel into the transfer disintegration. I grasp Nathan’s essence and haul him away from the bench with as much force and speed as I can manage. Our particles careen alongside each other. Between the both of us concentrating on his bedroom for all we’re worth, we reach it in record time.
In my haste, our feet aren’t lined up with the floor. We fall, tumbling across the floor together.
His leg passes through my ankle, and I yelp and roll away. He scrambles to his feet, panting. We exchange a wild-eyed glance. I blink, trying to regain a semblance of normalcy, while he flops onto his back on the bed, throwing one arm over his face.
“Hang it all,” he says, his voice muffled. “Hostage stuff like that looks thrilling in movies, but it sucks to have it happen in real life.”
I ease to my feet and step closer. His neck has a light scratch. My fingers hover above the more serious wound by his ribs. How I wish I could heal him by magic. At least it’s a shallow gash. “Shall I conjure something to tend to this?”
“An antiseptic wash would be great right about now. Gauze pad and tape, too.”
Despite the throbbing in my shoulder joints from the transfer, I create the medicinal items and place them beside him. While he lifts his shirt and dabs at his cut, wincing, I clasp my hands. There doesn’t seem to be much I can do except watch. I never should’ve let him talk me into bringing him with me.
“And the shirt,” I say. “Your mother will wonder about the damage and the blood.”
He waves a limp hand. “Go for it.”
I mend the punctured fabric. With a bit of mental scrubbing, I dissolve the red stain. “I did warn you not to come with me,” I murmur.
His breathing is still ragged. “I know. But I didn’t count on that Faruq guy forcing me out of your earshot. Or perception-range. Whichever.”
“And I’m afraid I was so preoccupied with Karim, my perception of you may have been blunted.” For shame, it’s true. I shouldn’t have attended to my own needs to the neglect of my master’s. I’m a poor bondservant. My inattention came close to costing Nathan his life.
“I figured at first he might be the guy you call Faruq,” Nathan says. “Since you said to watch out for an Arabian guy. He came up to me all casual and polite, and asked if I was having a nice holiday visiting the island with my family. I said sure and started to slink off toward the café. But he said he’d already seen us together before you walked toward Karim, and called my bluff. Pulled out a knife. He demanded to know where ‘his’ bottle was, and threatened to carve me up like a holiday turkey if I didn’t follow him up the path. That was…chilling. He sounded like he meant it.”
“Believe me, he meant it. He’s killed others before.”
“Great. Anyway, I told him I was Thomas Rickers from Iowa. He didn’t buy that or the story I invented about finding your bottle on the beach, so he called Karim on his cell to threaten you instead. That’s when I became hostage bait.”
“I’m so sorry, Nathan.”
He tap
es on the gauze pad and sits up the rest of the way. “It’s not your fault. You were just trying to link up with the guy you love. Man, the nerve of that psycho, waving his knife around, not to mention telling me your bottle was his. Talk about deluded.”
I sigh. “I hate to say it, but it is his. Or was to begin with, a thousand years ago.”
“What?”
“It was a family heirloom kept in the leisure room of his estate, on an ivory-inlaid table.” I fidget with my bracelets. Plague it all. I might as well tell him, although I don’t make it a habit to bare my soul to my masters. I owe him an explanation after what he’s been through. “A short time after Karim and I fell in love, Faruq decided to imprison me in that bottle.”
Nathan stares into my face. “He did this to you, the whole magic genie thing? Is he some kind of sorcerer?”
I grimace. “No. His wife fell ill and died two years prior to my imprisonment, and he became obsessed with living forever. He enslaved his first djinn—a black magic demon—and was granted three wishes. Angry at me for ‘stealing’ Karim’s affections, he wanted to use one of his wishes to change me into a genie so I could seal his elixir every hundred years. As well as to control me, I’m certain. The djinn claimed the transformation was too complex for one wish. So Faruq made a bargain to use all three of his wishes, wrapped into one powerful spell.”
“Djinns can do that to people—turn them into other things?”
“Yes. They can also heal, influence minds, maim, and kill. I can’t do those things, at least not directly, but the number of wishes I can grant are endless.”
“A hundred years is pretty short,” Nathan says with a grunt. “Why didn’t Faruq combine his wishes so he could live forever, or ask to extend the elixir period?”
“It doesn’t work that way. There are strict djinn and elixir laws…the spell has to be done with a potion, and potions like that always expire.”
Nathan ponders that information for a few moments. “Cripes. So Faruq punished you just for falling in love with his son.”