She released the pillow and stretched, her limbs extending beneath the covers, moving with a slow welcome to wakefulness. The thin sheet outlining her figure turned and arched with the movement of her body. Gino looked away, feeling ridiculous for envying a mere cotton cloth.
“I must thank you,” he heard her say. He looked back to see that she had turned on her side to face him, the bed sheet twisted tight around her form.
“Thank you for staying. The nightmares…” Her eyes closed; her mouth clenched.
“The nightmares,” she said again. Her eyes opened but the tender skin around her lips remained taut. “They don’t come as often as they used to. It was probably from being overtired, the fight with Elliot.”
“You could wish for him back.” He hated himself for saying the words. He would have hated himself more if he hadn’t.
He saw surprise in the sudden lift of her lashes. “You told me I couldn’t wish for love.”
“No, I can’t give you love. I can bring Elliot back to you … if you wish. The first has nothing to do with the latter.”
Megan flopped down onto the pillow. “I refuse to argue about wishes and my relationship with Elliot before my first cup of morning coffee.”
An oversize mug, steam lazily rising from its surface, appeared on the nightstand. Megan propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. He saw the centers of her eyes, wide and exposed, soften like the liqueur middles of fine chocolates.
“Don’t ever leave me,” she declared in a Blanche DuBois Southern slur. But as she reached for the cup, he saw the sharp press of her mouth return, and he knew her jest had unwittingly brought back the night before
“It is well within my powers to bring Elliot back to you. If you wish,” he told her once more, only hoping to bring her happiness.
“I don’t know.” She set down the cup of coffee and rolled onto her back, her eyes trained on the slow-moving paddles of the ceiling fan. “I know you’re anxious for me to make the third wish—”
“That has nothing to do with this.”
Her head swung toward him. “Since when?”
He stood and walked to the window. He had known for some time, maybe from the beginning. Now, he heard the truth pronounced deep down, in the human depths of him. He didn’t want to leave her. Yet he could not stay.
He pressed his forehead against the glass. He had been cursed long before his fateful meeting with Ishtar in the Great Forest. From his father, he’d received magic, cunning, courage, strength. But from his mother, he’d been given a human heart with all its excess of emotion and unlimited vulnerabilities. A human heart that now belonged to Megan.
He stared out the window. His destiny was in a different direction. He was to become King. Or remain a slave. His life could never be with her. His life would never be complete without her. He was forever cursed.
He sat back down in the chair, its uneven legs wobbling side to side beneath his weight. “Of course, I want you to make the third wish.” Her face showed no reaction. He kept his expressionless. “But because I feel responsible for what happened between you and Elliot yesterday—”
“What do you mean?” She sat up, the sheet falling, revealing her upper body. Her shoulders were smooth and bare except for two thin, lace straps holding the cotton gown of yellow rosebuds that she wore. A satin bud, curled tight on the gown’s neckline, dipped into the shadows between her breasts with each quick breath she took.
“If I hadn’t danced with Dolores, she never would’ve recognized me at Kitty’s yesterday, and then, you “would’ve never had to explain to Elliot and, well, you know the rest. None of that would’ve happened if I hadn’t flamencoed my way through Dolores’s front door. I’m sorry.”
Megan’s hand twisted the rose between her breasts. “You were only trying to help me,” she reasoned.
“Plus you took away Dolores’s pain.”
“Dolores will heal herself with her own kindness to others.”
Megan looked down at her own hand. It had left the flower to lay flat near her heart.
“Is that what you were trying to do when you removed my scars, my scratches, my rough skin? Take away my pain?” The hand he’d made smooth reached for the coffee cup.
He looked at her, the mug raised to her lips; her eyes half closed, watching him as she let the steam play upon her face.
Yes, he’d been trying to take away her pain, but he now knew he’d been trying to allay his own pain, too. He had hoped to lessen the pain of leaving her, the pain of never being able to give her what she really wanted: a home, a husband, a family. He could not give her any of it.
He said nothing. What could he tell her?
All he could give her was one last wish. If this last wish was his to ask rather than grant, he’d wish to know what would make Megan smile like this every morning? What would make her sleep without waking with screams?
“It is my wish to make you happy, Megan.”
She continued to stare at him through heavy-lidded eyes as if she saw past his genie facade.
“If you wish, I could make last evening completely disappear.”
Her lids lifted, and he saw interest light in her eyes.
“Elliot, Kitty, Dolores, Mark, no one would remember what happened. No one would know except you and me—just like the accident at the factory. Your life would continue on the path you’d chosen.”
Megan looked down into her coffee cup, staring at its surface as if the answer would rise like the steam from the liquid. Indecision puckered her brow and he, the Upper Tier’s most infamous warrior, felt his first tremble of true fear. What if she agreed and wished for Elliot back? Yes, he had to say goodbye one day, but not today. He wasn’t ready to leave her, would never be ready.
Yet, if it brought her happiness, he would go.
Megan’s head stayed bent over the mug of coffee. She sipped, then tilted her head up. The steam had warmed her skin. Her eyes closed. Her features were still, her face an inscrutable cameo. Her head dipped again.
He closed his own eyes, unwilling to watch any longer. Two thousand years he had waited for this moment. Who would ever believe, now, when it was so near, he was terrified it would actually come to pass?
He supported his brow in his hand, his only consolation the thought of giving her happiness. That was all that mattered now. The throne, the end of the curse, all else was secondary to granting Megan her happiness. If he was the source, the wellspring from where her joy rose, no matter what else happened, he’d be the luckiest genie—and man—who had ever existed.
“No,” he heard her say.
He looked up. “What?” he asked, not trusting he hadn’t imagined his own reprieve.
“There’s no one to blame for Elliot and me breaking up, except Elliot and me. If it happened that easily, obviously, it would’ve happened sooner or later anyway. All you did was save us from the terrible mistake of getting married. Thank you.”
Gino held up his hands. “Please stop thanking me. I’m a genie, not a saint.”
“A genie with a heart,” Megan told him.
He looked at her lovely face, and the heart she spoke so highly of broke in two.
He stood up. “You’d better get ready to go to work,” he said, walking out the door.
He was right, but she stayed in bed. One more sip of coffee, one more slow stretch, feeling her muscles lengthen, contract. How long since she’d lain in bed, merely marveling at the sheer wonder of being alive? She set down the coffee cup and curled on her side. Her eyes fluttered closed, not to sleep, but to immerse herself further in the contentment covering her like the sheet spread across her body.
She had no right to feel this way. Yet, it had been so long, perhaps never. Would it be so awful if she wallowed in it a little longer?
Later, she’d worry about a being, one-third human, two-thirds magic, who lived in a crock pot and could make her heart beat harder than she dreamed physically possible.
She’d seen him hea
l a hand, create a child, disappear into a crack in the wall, with nothing more than a blink of an eye. But it was this burgeoning rhythm of her heart, a song she’d never even imagined, that convinced her his powers were beyond compare.
She wasn’t sure when it had started. There had been the feeling the first moment she saw him, a fluttering like butterfly wings trying to break free of their cocoon. There had been the comfort of last night, to wake and find herself no longer alone. Then, to sleep once more with a restfulness so satisfying, she’d woken this morning, knowing the nightmares would never hold her so closely again.
This, however, was a leaping-with-joy feeling, and a far cry from her usual satisfaction of seeing another day through, knowing she had a job, a roof over her head, friends, health. No, this feeling was wilder and completely without wanting. It was full of wonder and all things wished.
Megan didn’t know exactly when it had begun
All she knew, all she’d learned, was it would end.
One more wish and it would be over.
Her eyes opened, and she sat up. She walked to the window where Gino had stood only moments before. The promise of a perfect day greeted her, mocking the sudden heaviness in her heart.
They would have today, she consoled herself. Certainly tomorrow and maybe the tomorrow after that. Who knows how long until a third wish could be chosen?
Megan turned away from the window. She’d take it one day at a time, one minute at a time, one moment. That was all she had—hours, minutes, moments. It had to be enough. She could wish otherwise with all her heart; she could summon Gino’s omnipotent powers; she could rail against the injustice. It wouldn’t matter. In the end, Gino would have to go.
MEGAN LEFT FOR WORK, and for once, Gino didn’t mind going into the crock pot. It was like a meat-scented monastery—ideal for thought. His thoughts were of Megan all day.
For two thousand years, he’d thought of nothing more than the day he’d leave Earth, the image always a balm. Today also, he thought of the day he’d say goodbye to the humans, goodbye to Megan. Being gored by the Bull of Heaven would have been less painful.
Yet, he couldn’t stay with her. Even he, who made the impossible possible, knew he had no choice. Megan would make the third wish, and then, he’d be before Ishtar once more. If the goddess was satisfied, she’d keep her pledge. He’d become a full-blooded genie, rightful heir to the throne of his father.
Any attempt to deliberately thwart Ishtar, to purposely deny or even postpone the third wish, would only guarantee the goddess’s wrath. Loss of his magical powers was a certainty. Then, if Ishtar was merciful, she’d banish him. If not, he, a warrior whose majesty, strength and deeds of courage, had never been eclipsed in the history of heroes, would be forced to wander his world the rest of his days in shame, an easy prey for his many enemies.
Whether he fulfilled the curse or not, he wouldn’t be allowed to remain here—with Megan. And she couldn’t come with him. Humans were fair game in the Upper Tier. Even if he could protect her, he knew that was not the path to her happiness.
Let the third wish be given. Let it bring Megan happiness. Then, he would go. Their worlds would separate, but he would go freely, knowing the tears were only in his soul—not hers.
And so, he came full circle again, back to the question that had plagued him since he stood at the kitchen window this morning, waving goodbye to Megan.
What will make her happy?
He thought back over the time he’d known her. She had scorned his offers of wealth, showing her true nobility of character. She had used her first two wishes to help others, illustrating her wide generosity of spirit. Beauty had been bestowed on her at birth, along with a quick wit and admirable intelligence. She had spoken of security, but, even if she could capture that capricious quantity, she would achieve only sleepy contentment. That could not compare to the happiness Gino wished for his master.
He could grant her continued health, but what good was a long life without rapture? He could give her the wisdom of the ages, but endless intelligence without ecstasy would deteriorate into dullness.
He thought long and hard about his two thousand years here among the humans. They were a crude breed, silly, sometimes, as the spirit imps that lived in the sky; other times, heroic as the finest warriors roaming the heavenly levels. He had fulfilled many dreams. Had he ever given the happiness he now so desperately demanded for his Megan?
He knew it was possible. He’d witnessed it here on earth. The humans, joyous beyond belief, their very being riding on the wings of bliss. He’d even known it himself, yesterday, today, whenever the mere thought of Megan was his.
How much easier it was to think of her instead of this riddle he couldn’t answer. He saw her again for the first time when he’d appeared in the kitchen: one tiny hand wringing the other, her brows pulled low, forming two slants at the bridge of her nose.
He saw her laughing, her features backlit with joy and the song of her glee like the fairies’ serenade. He felt her dancing in his arms to endless music older than he. He could hear the words she’d said.
And the answer came, but not with the clang and the clamor he’d expected. Nor did it pierce his soul like the lightning bolts the gods toss for sport across the sky. Instead it came gently in Megan’s soft voice, in Megan’s whispered words, washing over him like the waves they’d danced to that morning on their private island. Gino wasn’t aware he was floating until his head hit the crock pot’s cover.
She’d told him then, when he’d held her against his heart and felt hers beat in answer. She’d said, I’m happy now. He had heard the words, but he hadn’t been listening. Now the answer, once realized, seemed to shout out, showing him it had been there from the beginning. Their first night together, she’d asked, Why can’t you grant love?
He’d forgotten her question in her talk about security and husbands and fathers who stay more than six months.
Now he heard it. He saw the sudden sadness that had come into her features. Her question endlessly circled the walls imprisoning him.
He fell to the crock pot floor, burying his head in his hands, begging for a return to his former state of ignorance.
He slowly lifted his head to gaze at the blankness before him. There was no turning back. He now knew the one thing Megan wanted, the only thing she needed to bring her happiness.
And it was the one and only thing he could never give her.
MEGAN PULLED INTO the driveway a little after three that afternoon. She stopped the car and turned off the engine, but she didn’t get out. She sat, holding on to the steering wheel, her gaze straight ahead. Gino walked toward her, wondering what she was looking at. When he got closer, he saw she wasn’t really looking at anything, just staring off into space with the saddest expression he’d ever seen on anyone, human or immortal. Her pain mirrored the agony etched on his own heart. He knew too well the source of his sadness. What could cause Megan such great grief?
“Megan?” he said gently.
She looked up, startled, and he saw she hadn’t known he was there. The sadness slipped smoothly off her face, her expression turning seamless.
“Would you like to go on a picnic?” she said. “I know the perfect spot.”
The sunlight spilled into the car, gilding her features, entwining her hair with threads of gold. She gave no acknowledgment of his astonished expression.
“I’ll pack some food and drinks.” Her voice was light, but still he sensed her heart was troubled.
“Do you fish?” she asked as she got out of the car.
It was obvious she wasn’t going to talk about what was bothering her. He followed her into the house. “With a pole?”
“Of course. What else?” She looked at him as if remembering who she was talking to. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
She collected the things they needed in record time, as if they didn’t have a minute to spare. They packed the car and climbed inside. Gino switched on the radio, and th
e car filled with music. He started to sing off-key. Megan smiled, then joined in on the chorus. To an outsider, they would have been just another handsome, young couple carried away by the call of the sun and the flawless blue sky and the ever-present nearness of each other.
“Gino?” The song ended. Megan sent him a quick look. “No magic, okay?”
“Okay.”
But there was magic that afternoon. It was in the way the trees bent over a grassy square, allowing only a dappling of sunlight; just enough to warm Megan’s bare arms. It was in the song of the katydids and lazy hum of the bees nearby, welcoming the man and woman. It was in the. touch of Gino’s fingers when he took her hand to help her down the rocky embankment to the flat ground below. She had forbidden any magic, but, as if in deliberate defiance, it was everywhere.
She spread the plaid throw across the grass and sat, feeling the coolness of the ground beneath her bare thighs. Gino set the ice chest on the edge of the blanket. Megan unclasped the barrette holding her hair back, and with a small twist of her neck, her hair spilled across her shoulders. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back to the warmth above, the raining sunlight coloring the inside of her eyelids.
She opened her eyes and saw Gino studying her. He didn’t look away immediately.
“Are you hungry?” She opened the cooler and looked inside. “We’ve cheese and yogurt and ham.” She started to spread food in a semicircle around her. “We’ve fruit, freshly baked bread. Even beer brewed with Rocky Mountain water,” she read from the front of the can.
She laughed then for seemingly no reason at all. She popped open the top of the metal can, a small spray wetting her fingers. She kissed the moisture on her fingers while offering the beer to him with her other hand. The can was smooth and cool; his touch, when it met hers, searing.
She uncapped a bottle of fruit juice for herself, but did not drink. Her hands moved across the food, stopping and choosing a bunch of grapes, ham rolled tightly into a spiral, a generous square of soft yellow cheese. Gino slowly sliced the round loaf of bread, crumbs spilling onto the blanket’s blue-and-green weave.
A Man for Megan Page 14