by Judi Fennell
With a pit in her stomach, Vana slid farther away from him until she was perched on the edge of the mattress. There had to be some way out of this predicament. She couldn’t be the only genie who’d fallen for her master—
There, she admitted it. She was falling for him. But she couldn’t be the only one. If only she knew what those others had done about it, but she couldn’t very well go on the Djinn Network and spout out that question or ask DeeDee. Oh, her sister would answer her; that wasn’t the problem. The problem was, she didn’t want to ask DeeDee about this. She didn’t want to have to go crawling to her sister yet again. DeeDee had always been there for her, helping, teaching, catching her when she metaphorically fell… But this kind of falling? No, Vana couldn’t ask DeeDee how to prevent becoming more of a failure in their parents’ eyes than she was right now.
Besides, DeeDee was away at a study retreat, preparing for the biggest test of her life. So she’d have to consult the next best thing: DeeDee’s Djinnoire.
Vana slid out from under the sheet and tucked it around Zane. His fingers clenched the spot where she’d just been, and she held her breath to see if he’d wake up.
He didn’t. His fingers released and went slack. Just as well.
Maybe.
With one last lingering look, she pulled on her robe and tiptoed to the desk tucked in front of the palm trees that had replaced the windows ringing the changeable interior of her bottle. She opened the top drawer and removed the griffin-hide-bound tome.
Calligraphic artistry decorated each page in a move right out of a monks’ school of publishing. The book was a work of art in so many ways, and Vana acknowledged a tug of pride that her sister was the author. DeeDee had never made a big deal about it; it’d just been one more sign that her sister had excelled where Vana had failed.
She touched the ivory-framed picture of DeeDee on her desk before turning it around. The portrait had comforted Vana during the time she’d been shut up in her bottle, but researching solutions for falling in love with her master while her twin looked over her shoulder was anything but comfortable. Her family had had such high hopes for her; a discussion of this sort would end those more completely than all of her magical mishaps combined.
She opened to the Table of Contents. Written in Phoenician, those little squiggly drawings were tough to tell apart and Vana had to concentrate to make out the words. She’d never gotten the hang of the language, merely one of the many reasons she’d hated school.
She read each chapter heading, knowing she wouldn’t find one entitled, “How Not to Fall in Love with Your Master and What to Do If You Do,” but the one titled, “Explanations of the Master-Djinni Relationship” looked promising.
The drawing of a big red scythe adorning the upper left corner of the page, however, did not.
Phrases and familiar passages of the Genie 101 mumbo-jumbo (a term borrowed from the Witches’ Ruling Coven) jumped out at her: the logic behind sealing each djinni’s bottle or lantern (transferring from the magical realm to the mortal one required a large expenditure of magic that could do great damage to the mortal realm unless it was released one djinni at a time); how the seal was broken (hope was always a big factor, but mostly it was dumb luck—those Fates liked to give Karma a run for her dirhams); how often a djinni could change masters (every time someone opened the bottle; theoretically meaning that a genie could have one person as a sequential master for as long as that mortal lived); what to say upon meeting one’s master (a mantra every genie knew by heart after the first day of school); and what qualified a master to be a master.
Vana was about to skip that section when one sentence caught her eye.
The master-djinni relationship begins when the djinni materializes from smoke in front of the master.
Vana reread it twice—and then a third time—letting the implications sink in.
She hadn’t materialized in front of Zane at any point. He’d shown up in her bottle. Then, when they’d smoked out of it, she’d gone first, leading him out. That was why he’d broken his leg in the first place; she hadn’t thought to hold on to him for the landing. And even at the hospital, she’d materialized first.
Which could mean…
Vana’s knees gave out. Luckily, she thought quickly enough to air-kiss a chair beneath her. And luckily, Zane’s kisses were still working their magic on hers.
She wasn’t in Service to Zane.
He wasn’t her master.
And that meant that she actually could time travel with him back to before they’d made love and, if she didn’t give him the ability to remember it, he’d never know. It would be as if it had never happened.
Very few things could kill a djinni, but she had no doubt that a broken heart was on that list.
Her fingers fiddled with the papyrus pages, but she’d look for that list later. When tears weren’t threatening to make reading impossible.
Zane wasn’t her master.
Vana took a deep breath and tried to figure out what to do next because, with no one laying claim to her magic, she could now go wherever and do whatever she wanted.
The irony was that she wanted to stay right here with him. Whether or not it was a good idea.
Vana closed the book and stood on her own two legs, literally and figuratively. She was going to stay. She owed it to Peter and the children, but most of all, she owed it to herself. Just because Zane wouldn’t remember tonight didn’t mean she had to forget. She would carry the memory with her for the rest of her immortal life, but she didn’t have to deprive herself of being with him in the interim. And if her feelings for him ever did become a problem, she could always leave.
Though it might kill her to do so.
Vana inhaled. She was a djinni; first and foremost. She had a duty to her people, her family, and herself. Zane was just a momentary respite in the vast expanse of her life.
A couple thousand years and she’d come to believe that…
Before she lost her resolve, Vana walked back into the bedroom, drinking in the sight of Zane in her bed. This would be the last time she’d ever see him there. The last time anything could happen between them.
She walked over to the bed and leaned as softly as she could across it. She drew in a deep breath, her lips so close to Zane’s.
And kissed them back to seven-fifty-two that evening.
Chapter 12
Vana preceded Zane into the kitchen and, for the second time that evening, fixed the hinges on the kitchen door and the cuckoo clock on the wall. The hour and minute hands circled around to land at seven-fifty-two, that one-minute difference keeping Zane from running into himself and giving the whole thing away.
Zane handed her the salt shaker again and she felt that same frisson of awareness sizzle through her. Only this time, she knew how much hotter it could become.
She led the way into the front parlor, put her ego on hold when he brought up the radar and satellite info, and skipped the invitation into her bottle. She only had so much self-control.
“Zane, why don’t you get your things out of your car? You’ve been through a lot today.” More than he knew, and that secret weighed heavy on her heart.
“Yeah, okay, but I’d like to talk. Hang out for a few minutes, okay?”
Her heart broke as she changed their future. And their past—the one only she could remember. “Can we do it in the morning, Zane? After all of… that… well, I’m rather worn out.” She couldn’t even look at him as she headed toward the stairs and began climbing them.
Worn out was one way of putting it.
“Vana.”
She stopped two steps from the top. So close. “Yes?”
“Does your bottle have to stay upstairs? Can you bring it down here and keep me company?”
Her heart broke a little more. He thought he was her master, and it’d be best to keep that charade going. “Is that what you wish?”
“It is.”
Which only dug the knife a little deeper. She really
should have brought them back before the kiss in the garden and stopped it from ever happening. Or better yet, she should have just started their whole time together over.
Except… she was selfish enough to want him to have some memory of her. “I’ll meet you here in five, how’s that?”
“Sounds good.”
It sure did.
***
She was inside her bottle on the mantel when he returned. Close enough to hear (and want) him, yet far enough to keep temptation at bay.
She’d purposely brought the stopper inside with her. Finally free, she intended to stay that way. If her bottle wasn’t sealed, no one could open it and lay claim to her Services. And by no one, she meant Zane. She needed the option of being able to leave if staying became too painful.
“Are you comfortable in there?” Zane asked as he removed the dust cover from Peter’s sofa and laid his sleeping bag on it.
“All the comforts of home.” Which was true. Except the one thing she couldn’t have.
He pulled his shirt over his head.
Vana’s mouth turned to sand. She had firsthand knowledge of how every ridge and plane and hollow and muscle tasted and felt and moved. How each one worked in tandem with the others to give her the most exquisite pleasure. Her body started to burn with the memory.
Then he shed his pants. She should probably tell him she could see out of her bottle, but… why?
“I’m going to get up early tomorrow,” he said. “There’s a lot of work to do to get this place ready to sell. I’ll try not to wake you.”
Unable to face sleeping in their—her—bed, Vana had parked herself on her divan. She scrunched a throw pillow beneath her arms. “That’s okay. I’m always up with the sun. I’ll probably have to wake you.”
“I doubt it,” he said, looking right at the bottle as if he knew exactly where her face was. As if he could see her, and for a moment, she wanted to remove the silvered surface that protected her privacy.
But then reality and a certain memory crashed in, and she was thankful he couldn’t see the effect it had on her, from heated cheeks to her pulse throbbing at the base of her throat and her nipples pressing against the fabric of her shirt.
It was going to be a long night.
“Zane, why do you want to unload this place so badly? It’s part of the town’s history. It’s Peter’s legacy that he wanted for his family. For you. You can’t sell it.”
Peter had loved having his parties here, with pony rides in the pasture, a barbecue in the fire pit, music and dancing in the parlor, and sweethearts strolling through the rose garden. Seeing them enjoying what he’d been able to provide had been a source of pride to Peter, knowing that he’d had enough to share.
“Look, Vana.” Zane climbed into the sleeping bag commando, which shouldn’t surprise her because he’d been commando in bed next to her.
Yes, a very long night.
“I know you cared about my great-grandfather, but people today, they don’t. As long as this place stands as an empty eyesore at the edge of town, it’s always going to be known as his house, and people will continue to talk about him. The best way to put the stories to rest is to sell it and let another family make memories here. Spruce it up and make it a home for the town to be proud of instead of an object of gossip and derision.”
He left off the whole subplot about the reason they gossiped being her fault, and she would kiss him for that if she didn’t know how dangerous kissing him could be. But she’d certainly never forget that he didn’t lay the blame at her feet.
“But you could change their perception, Zane. I can help you.”
“Even if I wanted to, Vana, I can’t. I have to go back. Training camp starts in another month, so everything needs to be done by then.”
“Your career can’t be a substitute for your family.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He punched his pillow and repositioned it under his head. “There’s no one left of my family, and I sure as hell don’t call this place home. It’s been an albatross around my neck ever since I was a kid. I can’t unload it quickly enough.”
She tried to understand, but his issues weren’t hers. On the plus side, however, the threat of a sale would keep her from focusing on what she couldn’t have.
“Vana?”
“Hmmm?” She tucked some of her hair behind her ear, trying to figure out what her next move was.
He was propped on an elbow, the sleeping bag barely covering his hips, that magnificent chest on display, and she knew what she wanted her next move to be.
“Is it… that is, are you comfortable in there?”
Nope.
“Yes.” One word. Terse. Strained. For a host of reasons.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, rippling the washboard abs she’d kissed a half hour ago. “Okay, then. See you in the morning.”
Vana was right; it was a long night and she didn’t sleep a wink.
Chapter 13
“You better get out of here. I’ve called the cops.”
Vana jumped out of bed and swiped the sleep from her eyes. Only about ten minutes’ worth, which was obviously ten minutes too long if a woman could slip into the house undetected and aim a spray can at Zane.
The woman took a step back when Zane stood up, hiking the sleeping bag around him.
“Who the hell are you?” he growled, the muscles in his shoulders tensing.
“Get back.” The woman brandished the can.
Vana squinted to see what was written on it. Mice? Mice came in cans nowadays? What did the woman think a mouse would do to Zane, bite him?
Vana readied her lips. She was so going to kiss those rodents good-bye. Well, in the figurative sense.
“Look, lady, I don’t know who you are, but you’re trespassing.”
The woman shoved the can in front of her in case Zane had missed it. “I’m not the one squatting in an abandoned building. You better get out of here before the cops show up.”
“Good. Let them. This is my house so you’re the one who’ll go to jail.”
“Nice try, but I happen to know the owner hasn’t sold it yet. I’m here to take the listing.” The woman wrapped her other hand around the can as if she were getting ready to fire. Vana hoped she didn’t have an itchy trigger finger. “Now I suggest you leave.”
“You’re Cameron Williams? The real-estate agent?”
The woman swiped at her nose and her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
Zane’s shoulders relaxed. “Zane Harrison.”
The mice can dropped. As did the woman’s mouth.
Vana’s heart dropped, too. A real-estate agent. He really was serious about selling the place.
“You’re Zane Harrison?”
“In the flesh.” Zane hiked the sleeping bag up again. “Er, so to speak.”
At least he could speak; Vana was still stuck on the fact that this woman was going to help Zane get rid of Peter’s house before she had a chance to un-Invisible the children, not to mention set them free.
“I’m really sorry. I walked in and saw you and thought, well…” The woman tossed shoulder-length auburn hair over her shoulder and tugged the hem of her blouse over her figure-hugging skirt. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
Zane gathered the sleeping bag tight around his waist with one hand—reminding Vana that he was commando under there—and extended the other. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m glad you were looking out for the place. And that you didn’t use the mace.”
There was no way a mace fit inside that can. That made even less sense than mice.
The woman shook his hand. And didn’t let go. “Well, a woman does have to be careful.”
“Your name helps.” Zane was the one to break contact. “I was expecting a guy.”
“Most people do.” Cameron knelt down to pick up her mice-mace thing. A good four inches of thigh showed through the slit on the side of the skirt. “You can’t be too careful these days.”
&
nbsp; She better be careful…
“But what are you doing here so early?” asked Zane. “Our appointment isn’t until one.”
Cameron stood up and smoothed the skirt down her legs. Zane’s back was to Vana, and while the play of his muscles there was very nice, it didn’t allow her to see his reaction.
“I wanted to take a look around to have some suggestions for you when we meet. I know what attracts buyers.”
And she obviously thought fiddling with the neckline of her blouse attracted Zane.
Vana smiled. She knew exactly what Zane found attractive.
“Actually, it turns out there are a few, ah, issues I want to clear up before I list it. Plus, as you can see,” Zane shook the top of the sleeping bag, “I’m not exactly dressed for our meeting. So, how about if we postpone until next week? I promise that both the house and I will be in better shape.”
It was so not possible for him to be in better shape.
Ms. Cameron Williams gave Zane a lingering once-over, obviously thinking the same thing, which made Vana want to claw her eyes out for more than just selling the house.
And, yes, she knew she was being totally irrational, but hey, she was going on fifteen minutes of sleep. Irrational was the best any of them could hope for.
“That’s fine. Or, better yet”—Vana highly doubted it would be—“there’s a charity dinner Saturday night to benefit the high school. Everyone in town will be there. You can come with me and I’ll introduce you around. Set things in motion.” Selling the house wasn’t the motion chicky was talking about. “After all, word of mouth is the best advertising.”
Vana stomped her foot. Both feet. Twice. The woman was asking Zane out on a date Over Her Dead Body. Cameron’s, not Vana’s.
“Hey, is that a football trophy or something?”
Holy smokes! Ms. None-Too-Subtle Williams was staring at her bottle. Vana must have moved it with her temper tantrum—um, foot stomping.
And, great, Cameron Dahling was walking her way.
Vana’s fists curled at her sides. The woman did not want to get any closer.