by S. E. Babin
I froze in place. "No," I whispered.
"The man you seek is close to you. My request for you is to continue sorting through these men so your heart will know the true one."
Tears fell as the spell locked into place. Blue magic shimmered around me and I felt the bindings of the request shimmer around my wrists. I would be bound to Portia until her wish was granted.
"And if there is no true one?"
A wicked smile played upon her face. "Your gift is wishes," she said quietly. With a quick glance at Martin she said, "mine is the knowing."
Portia disappeared into thin air.
I buried my face into my hands.
Martin said nothing for several minutes until finally he set his tools down and joined me at the kitchen table. "That was wrong."
I huffed out a wet laugh. "Can you imagine? Being forced to date? I feel like I'm the heir of a billionaire forced to get married to seek my inheritance."
"Except there is no inheritance," Martin said, making me laugh again.
"What am I going to do?" I whispered.
"Is there anything you can do?"
I shook my head. "She took my magic, my anonymity, and now she takes my freedom. Does anyone ever want a soul mate that much?"
"I'm sure not willingly." Martin patted my hand. "I'm sorry." He stood up. "I have to get back to work. I know you'll figure this out."
I shook my head. How could I figure it out? "How many eligible men could there possibly be in Midnight Cove?" I muttered to myself.
I heard Martin's muffled chuckle from the other room.
Two days later I was dressed up in dark wash jeans, a black off shoulder top and a pair of black wedges, and on my way to meet Helen for drinks. We'd never been able to work our schedules out until today. I pulled into the old, popular bar on the main street of the town and walked in. The residents hadn't quite gotten used to knowing the identity of the local jinn, but the celebrity aspect of it was dying down, especially when people realized I wasn't giving out wishes for free. It hadn't stopped them from their staring or plotting yet, though.
A thin hand waved at me and I laughed as I barely spotted tiny Helen in the crowd. On the shorter side, she was still super cute and didn't have a problem pushing her way through crowds. I made my way over to her and we found a small table big enough for just us two. We ordered beers and when they arrived, Helen began jabbering away.
She was nice, but boy could she talk. I could have sworn people who knew her said she was an introvert, but I wasn't seeing it right now. Helen mentioned her husband's ability to landscape and it piqued my interest. I invited them over a few days from now to check my yard out. I'd never had landscaping but it seemed like a good addition.
We said goodbye a few hours later and I headed home, thankful it was late enough for Martin to be gone. We were existing in this quiet state of weirdness. He only spoke to me when he needed to run out for supplies or if there were any delays, and even those conversations were minimal.
When I mentioned my landscaping to him the next day, he perked up a little bit. "Oh yeah? Who's doing it?"
When I rattled off Hank's name, Martin grinned from ear to ear. "He's the best! A little grumpy, but he's talented enough to pull it off."
"They'll be here for dinner tomorrow."
Martin nodded and went back to painting.
So...conversation over, I guessed. I sighed in frustration.
Helen breezed into my house carrying a covered dish and a bottle of wine, and her giant of a husband lumbered behind her. He was handsome. Even though he was massive. But he didn't speak a lot, contenting himself to some grunts of acknowledgment and a quick introduction to me. Helen looked at him like he hung the moon, and when I looked a little bit closer, I could see Hank thought the same of her. They were cute. In a weird, odd couple sort of way. When we finished dinner, Hank stood up and asked to see my yard. Martin came out of the sunroom covered in splotches of paint and grinned when he saw the couple.
"Hank!"
"Martin?" A grin spread over the big man's face. "Long time, no see."
"I've been working on this project for a long time," he told him.
A curious expression flickered over Hank's face before Martin's smile dropped off. "Anyway," he continued, "it's wrapping up nicely. I should be finished in the next few weeks."
"Uh huh," Hank said, sounding not very convinced about something.
"Anyway," Martin drawled. "I'd be happy to show him around outside if you ladies want to stay inside."
Helen and I looked at each other and shrugged. "Be my guest," I said.
Martin and Hank walked outside together and I marveled at both of their behinds as they stepped outside.
"Nice," Helen said.
"Right?" I said on a sigh.
14
Martin
"So," Hank said as soon as we'd stepped outside, "how long have you been working on this house?"
I shoved my hands in my pocket and walked down the steps. "Don't even start on me, Hank."
I couldn't see him, but I felt the grin stretching across his face. "What's your normal turnover time on a project like this?"
"Drop it," I growled.
"You like her," Hank said, awe in his voice. "Hot damn. I've never seen you like anyone."
I sat at the bottom of the steps and tore a stalk of grass out of the ground.
"It's not the grasses' fault," Hank admonished as he sat down beside me. "Why don't you tell me what's really going on?"
"I'm working on her house," I repeated.
"You're working on her house at the speed of a marijuana addicted turtle," Hank replied.
I let out a bark of laughter. "She needs someone around here."
"So you silently volunteered as tribute and didn't let anyone else know?"
"It's complicated," I grumbled.
"It always is," Hank agreed. "What's your plan for afterwards?"
I stared at his side profile. "Plan?"
Hank lifted his eyebrows. "Yes. Plan. How do you go from being contractor to her one and only love interest?"
I shook my head and tossed the piece of grass away. "I don't. Portia -"
Hank's head whipped around. He stared at me through wide eyes. "Portia has been around?"
My gaze narrowed. "Yes. Why?"
Hank let out a harsh chuckle. "She is either a blessing or a very wicked curse. Things are going to get a lot worse before they get any better, man."
"Tell me about it." I filled Hank in on the events of the last few weeks and when I was finished, he let out a low whistle. "You're just going to sit there and let her date every single man in the phone book?"
I wanted to punch something. "They don't make phone books anymore, dude."
"You know what I mean. Have you thought about stepping up to say something?"
"She looks right through me, Hank. Like I'm just an employee."
Hank shook his head. "No. You're wrong."
"You've been here for less than an hour. What could you possibly know about Katie?"
Hank smiled to himself. "Because Helen likes her. And she's a wonderful judge of character."
"Helen may like her, but that doesn't mean she likes me."
He shrugged one powerful shoulder. "We only miss the chances we don't take."
I tugged on my ear. "That's some zen shit right there. Did you read it in a book?"
Hank leaned back against the steps. "Nope. Life is good. Got a hot wife. Get to keep my hands in the dirt and on my wife's hot as-"
"Shut it," I said and stood. "I don't want to hear anymore."
He chuckled but sobered. "Listen man. Quit being the good dude who's there for her when she falls. While there's nothing wrong with that, you also have to show her you're a man. A red blooded dude who will fuck shit up to defend her honor." His gaze flicked down to my collared shirt. "And seriously. Wear something a little more attention gathering than that. Show some skin."
My eyebrows went to my hairl
ine. "Did you really just tell me to show some skin?"
"You're a construction worker for crying out loud. And you don't have a beer belly. You want Katie to notice you? Wear a wife beater and get a damned tool belt. Sweat and come up and ask her for some water."
"You're ridiculous. And don’t call it a wife beater. That’s offensive."
"You really are a sensitive old thing, aren’t you?”
I snorted. “The simple fact that wife beating was a common enough practice to have a shirt named after it should tell you how offensive that is.”
Hank laughed. “Yeah. You’re right. I shall endeavor to call it only a tank top from now on.” He spread his arms out. “Look, man. Sex sells. You're a handsome guy and women all over this town drool over you when you come into my shop. It's disgusting. If you think women aren't visual, you're an idiot." He raised his beer up in a salute. "Mark my words. If you make her want you, she will come."
I barked out a laugh at his double entendre. "Come on, idiot. Let's take a look at her yard before the women come out and catch us jabbering like old hens."
Hank grinned, stood, and followed me as I showed him around the yard. Twenty minutes later we were finished and Hank already had an idea of exactly what he wanted to do for her. Dude was a gardening genius and Katie was going to love it. I shook hands with him and opened the door to show us back inside.
I pondered Hank's words of wisdom for the rest of the night.
Maybe he was right. Maybe I was being too nice for my own good.
Story of my life.
15
Martin
One month later
Hank's advice was still bothering me an entire month later. Of course I didn't take it. I wasn't about to sell myself to Katie. If she liked me, she would say something.
Wouldn't she?
I ground my teeth together and fought to keep from kicking the paint can over. It couldn't seriously be that easy, could it? I shook my head. Hank and I weren't best friends, but we knew each other pretty well. There was no way on Earth he paraded in front of Helen like a male underwear model. Had he?
I shook my head. No. No way. But Helen was a different woman. Maybe he didn't have to.
Shit. I should have asked him more questions. I glanced out from behind one of the posts I was painting in the now almost completely finished sunroom. I only had to touch up a bit more paint, then I could move on to the smaller leftover projects.
And then I would be finished and it would probably be too late. I noticed she'd been seeing more of Kristoff. What pissed me off was I couldn't find a single thing wrong with him. He appeared to be respectful, intelligent, decent looking for a vamp, an all around good guy. But seeing him and the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him set my damned teeth on edge.
Did I own any white tank tops? I glanced down at myself. Practical jeans splattered with paint, good, thick socks, regular work boots and a checkered, short sleeved collared shirt.
I couldn't even believe I was thinking about it.
I swallowed hard and kept painting.
The only chance you missed was the one you failed to take.
I was going to punch Hank in the kidney next time I saw him.
16
I'd just finished up with a client who wanted a guaranteed win for her daughter in the Midnight Cove Teen Pageant. When I informed her that was cheating, the woman stood up and demanded to see my boss. When I reminded her that I was the only Jinn within a five hundred mile radius, she screamed she wasn't paying me. And then when I pushed over the contract she'd signed and highlighted the passages where she'd promised to pay and that it was enforceable in court, she threw a massive wad of cash at me and stormed out.
I took a few deep breaths, grabbed my sage stick, and hoped I never met her daughter. Few girls raised with a parent like that would grow up to be humble. I said a little prayer for her as I thoroughly saged every nook and cranny of my office trying to get that woman's bad juju out.
When I was satisfied, I stubbed out the sage, and sank back down into my desk chair. I had 45 minutes before my next customer arrived. I put my aching feet on the massage roller I kept under my desk and pushed hard on the sore tendons, wincing when the plastic spikes hit a particularly tender spot.
"I could do that for you, you know," came a deep, unexpected voice.
My eyes flew open to see Kristoff standing in the doorway. His soft blue eyes were full of amusement. I waved him in. He sat his lanky frame down in the chair and smiled at me. "Sorry to barge in. You weren't returning my calls."
I opened my mouth to give him a bunch of excuses, but he shook his head. "You don't have to tell me anything. There's been some...rumbles about the Lupin pack lately. I think I've gleaned a lot of it from just that. I'm sorry to hear what's happened."
My heart softened. Kristoff was good. Kind. I studied his angular face and his generous lips. A lock of dark hair fell over his eyes and his shirt pocket held a pair of eyeglasses in it. Why he had those, I had no idea. With vamp DNA he didn't need them. I'd never asked him.
"You're adorable," I sighed.
His lips quirked in a half smile. "Oh yeah? Fancy another date? I mean, I'll have to check my calendar. Bookworms like me are very socially in demand, so I think I'm booked up for the next six weeks, but I can try to pencil you in."
"Oh yeah? Fifty Shades of Grey taking up most of your spare time?"
He winced. "You have a wretched, wicked tongue, Katie. You'll have to wait at least three more weeks after that then." His eyes glittered with amusement. "Because Fifty Shades is a trilogy."
I gasped and held my hand over my heart. "I had no idea. I'll leave you be, then."
We grinned at each other like idiots.
"I'm sorry, Kristoff. My life has been weird lately."
"I get it. It's not every day a genie pops up around here. In fact, I keep forgetting to ask for your autograph."
"Har," I said. "It's weird, but I think the newness of it is dying down."
He shook his head. "I'd keep denying people, Katie. The only one who has any right to your power is you. And whomever you choose to share it with."
I studied his kind face and bright, intelligent eyes. "How about tonight? You free?"
Martin was up on the roof right above my doorstep when Kristoff showed up at seven sharp. I could feel Martin's stare right between my bare shoulder blades, so I took a step back under my porch out of his line of sight. Kristoff gave me a little wave and took the steps two at a time until he was right in front of me.
He eyed me appreciatively. "You look lovely."
I'd put on a strapless, powder blue fit and flare dress and paired it with a red wedge heels. I'd swept my hair into a side bun and wore minimal makeup except for a deep red lip.
"Very retro," he added.
We were going to a swing dance tonight at City Hall so he had dressed the part, too. He wore blue jeans rolled at the ankle with Converse sneakers, a white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket.
Just as we were about to turn to go, something light gray dropped right onto top of Kristoff's perfectly coiffed hair and onto his ear.
"Aaaagh!" I shouted.
Kristoff jerked back and touched his ear, confused about what had happened.
"Sorry!" Martin called. "I must have put too much paint on the brush."
I looked up from under the porch only to see Martin sheepishly waving his brush around. A brush that wasn't dripping with paint. He looked surprisingly unremorseful. "Uh, I have some turpentine if you need it."
"For his hair, Martin?"
He shrugged and turned his attention back to his painting. I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. That couldn't have been an accident. Martin was never careless.
I helped Kristoff inside and did my best to get all of the paint out of his hair. For the most part it worked except for a tiny patch that would either grow out or eventually come out by itself. It had dried too quickly. I pulled him into my bathroom to search
for some hair products that could help him redo his fifties hairstyle, but the only thing I had was a bottle of hairspray.
"We're going to be late," he said as I did my best to finger comb his hair back into place.
"Fashionably late. And you'll have a distinguished gray spot on your head."
"At least it wasn't bird poop," he said.
I blinked. Kristoff wasn't even mad. "I hear in some cultures it's very lucky to get pooped on."
"No thanks," he said and we locked gazes in the mirror. I put one last hair back into place. "There. Ready?"
His gaze lingered on me. "Always."
Heat fluttered in my chest. "Let's go," I said, my voice more throaty than normal.
I grabbed my purse and keys and stepped out onto the porch and carefully peeked up. "Martin?"
"Yep?"
"Put the paint brush down for a moment."
I could have sworn I heard him snicker.
"Of course. Go ahead!"
We exited the porch hastily and jumped into Kristoff's sensible Toyota.
We pulled up at about eleven p.m. I was completely exhausted from dancing and my feet were killing me. When we pulled into the drive, Martin's truck was still there. I glanced at Kristoff only to see him frown.
"Your contractor is still here?"
I shrugged. It was awfully late for him to be here. "He must have been running behind on something."
"Really behind," Kristoff grumbled. He turned off his car and rushed over to open my door. A light in the hallway flipped on catching me eye. The curtain at the door flickered. I headed back up to the steps with Kristoff behind me when an awful clatter sounded and Kristoff let out a shout full of curses.
I spun around only to see Kristoff stumbling and falling to the ground.
"Oh!" I rushed over to him. "Are you okay?"