Staring at the brush strokes of the masterpieces he knew as well as he knew his own hand, Tam let the silence and peace soak into his soul, quieting his rioting mind.
“You have an obsession with this place,” Jay said quietly.
He shrugged. “We all have them.” He pushed away from the door and paid for himself and Jay, narrowing his eyes at her when she made a move to just go through without paying. Of course, since Djinn were only seen when they wanted to be, nobody would have raised an alarm. The pretty lady with green eyes would have just faded out of sight, and Djinn magick kept people from thinking about it, wondering what they’d seen.
As they moved inside, he said quietly, “They have cameras here, pet. Your magick works well on humans but do we want to test it against electronic security equipment?”
She wrinkled her nose at him, sighing. “Modern civilization can take all the fun out of being Djinn,” she said melodramatically as she slowed to a stop in front of a canvas that was almost as tall she. Cocking her head, she studied it, and then shrugged. “I don’t understand what you see in this place.”
Glancing up at her, he smiled a little. “I see everything,” he murmured.
* * * * *
Nothing. Katlin could have screamed as she repeated to the doctor, “I see nothing.”
Literally. For the past three years of her life, everything had been darkness. The wreck that had killed her husband and her best friend had taken her vision as well.
The last thing she could remember seeing was the spinning landscape as Brian’s car went flying off the road. Now she saw nothing but darkness.
“Ms. Dixon,” Dr. Merkin said softly from just in front of her. “There is simply no anatomical reason I can find for your blindness.” He sat too close. She could smell the garlic on his breath, feel the hot wash of it on her face.
“I’ve heard that line before,” she said tiredly. Her guide dog, Zeb, whined in his throat, laying his head on her leg. She smiled down at him and said, “It’s okay, boy.”
It wasn’t, though. Not really.
Damn it. She had hoped— Merkin was the best in the state, one of the best in the country. She had hoped… Shaking her head, she stood, cane in one hand, holding the other out for him to shake. “Thank you.”
She ignored his comment about a possible hospital in Sweden as she slowly and steadily walked out of the room, tapping her cane back and forth in front of her. No more hospitals. She wasn’t going to endure another CT scan, another MRI. No more. Especially when the doctors couldn’t even tell her a reason for her lost eyesight.
Mara met her at the door—Katlin smelled the soft vanilla of her body lotion and the faint scent of Vanilla Musk even before Mara said, “Hey. Anything?”
Before the doctor could try to interrupt, Katlin shrugged. “Same old, same old.” She reached out, and Mara was there, her arm out for guidance, as it had been nearly every day since the accident. “You know, you didn’t have to bring me here. You do have a life,” she said as they started out of the office.
“Yes, and you are a very important part of it. Besides, I wasn’t going to subject some stranger from the taxi company to your tongue,” she said teasingly. “Want to go get a bite to eat?”
“No,” Kat said softly. “I want to go home, just home.”
A soft sigh drifted from Mara and Kat fought the urge to hunch her shoulders in defense. “Baby, when are you going to start living again?”
A bitter smile curved Kat’s mouth. “Why bother? There’s little left to live for—except you.”
Late that night, Kat stood in front of the unfinished canvas. With gentle, searching fingers, she ran her hand over its surface, feeling the familiar ridges where she had made her brushstrokes, years earlier.
“Why can’t I throw this away?” she whispered to herself, her throat tight, her sightless eyes burning with tears. From his spot under the window, Zeb woofed softly. She ran a hand through her hair, muttering to herself. She had to stop this. Seriously had to stop this.
She was blind—face the facts, girl. She would be blind for the rest of her life and the colors and textures that had filled her world for years were now nothing more than memory.
She had been trying to finish the painting the day of the wreck. The day she’d discovered the truth…
Her husband and her best friend were lovers. Mara had called, tears in her voice, as she’d told Kat that she had seen them together at the Regents Hotel. They had been kissing—not a friendly little peck on the cheek but a torrid clinch. Mara had been there to pick up a business colleague and she had seen them.
They hadn’t realized they had an audience as they’d broken apart to step inside the elevator.
Now Kat wished she hadn’t answered Mara’s phone call, hadn’t listened to her, hadn’t even gotten out of bed.
“Why was I so blind?” she murmured, closing her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Brian had said that he had to work for a while that day. “Pick me up on the way to the airport,” she’d whispered, thinking back. He’d said he could pick up Jenise since her condo was on the way, and then they’d come get Katlin. She hadn’t thought anything of it.
Tears poured down her cheeks. Not a thing.
The silence in the car had wrapped around her like a fist. Though Brian hadn’t realized anything was wrong, Jenise had. Kat had seen the tension in her eyes. Maybe it was the other woman’s guilty conscience, but there had been a look there. Fear. As Kat had studied her from the car’s vanity mirror, she’d tried to figure out what to say. Whether to say anything at all.
Of course she said something. The pain was burning a hole in her stomach. There was no way she could say nothing. That incapacity to remain quiet had destroyed her life.
Blinded her. Cost her everything. For one tiny moment, Brian had focused on her, taking his eyes off the road. And when he hit the ice, he’d lost control.
Her words had killed them.
Kat’s mind rebelled at the thought. Logically, she knew the wreck had been an accident. But the guilt was eating her alive. Guilt, hurt, dismay… She still didn’t understand how they could have done that to her.
Turning away from the canvas, she walked out of the studio, walking the fifteen steps from the studio’s doorway to the front door, checking to make sure it was locked. Tired, exhausted, she wanted to go to bed, but something besides her painting and her wrecked life, was calling her.
The mirror. Ever since she had first touched it, she had been drawn to it. It seemed to whisper to her, summoning her near, asking that she touch it, speak to it.
The mirror was old. Mara had described it to her in vivid detail and Katlin had run her questing hands over it, searching it. There had been no return address.
Kat had no idea who it had come from. Seemed rather wasted, sending a mirror to a blind woman. But she’d wanted it. The need had torn through her, becoming stronger and stronger as Mara had described it, and when she’d touched it herself, running her hands over it, seeing it in her mind’s eye, she had whispered, “I wish…” But she’d stopped talking before she could finish her wish.
Wishes were useless. She wished she had never said anything to Brian, wished she’d never answered the phone call from Mara, wished Mara had never seen them. And nothing ever changed. She’d give all she had to undo what had happened that day. Wish… I wish… And it did no good.
The surface of the mirror had felt oddly warm under her hand, the oak frame almost seeming to pulse, as if it were alive.
Her fingers rubbed the carving at the top, a marking that Mara had said looked almost like a Celtic knot, but different. More rounded, flowing, with odd markings carved into the raised ridges. “Kat, this is some ancient kind of alphabet,” Mara had whispered. “This mirror is about two hundred years old but something about the frame, the wood, feels older. I know that doesn’t make any sense but I know old. And this is old.”
* * * * *
Days later, her f
ascination with the mirror had dimmed. But every time she passed within ten feet of it, she felt it—a warmth emanating from the surface of the mirror, calling out to her.
And tonight was no different. She ran her hand over the smooth surface, feeling its warmth seep into her bones.
With one last, lingering stroke, Kat walked away, a bitter little smile on her lips. She was going insane. For some bizarre reason, she felt better. The mirror had felt oddly comforting.
Chapter Two
Tam stared at the woman as she walked away, her movements slow, graceful, a tiny smile on her pretty mouth. She was dressed much as she had been two days before, when she had summoned him to her with the softly whispered words, I wish. A short, midnight blue, silky chemise skimmed her thighs just below the rounded curve of her butt. A delightfully round butt, at that. Not some skinny coatrack there, but a real woman.
Thick, straight, fiery red hair fell past her shoulders, nearly down to the butt that kept drawing his eye. Her eyes were dark, he hadn’t gotten close enough to see the color. That pretty cupid’s bow mouth had seemed so sad—everything about her was sad. His jaw clenched, eyes on her retreating back.
Those eyes, whatever the color, were odd. Almost fey-like.
Hell, she was fey, walking on feet that barely seemed to touch the ground and eyes that looked at everything and nothing. He recalled how she had stroked the mirror, the odd look of peace that had come over her face for a moment. She’d sensed the mirror’s importance. You didn’t see that kind of joy and peace in somebody who thought it was just a pretty trinket.
With a tight scowl, he started to pace, wondering why in the hell she hadn’t tried to use her wish. “What are you waiting for?” he muttered, not concerned with her hearing him. Mortals couldn’t, unless he wanted them to.
A movement caught his attention. She had stopped in the hallway, turned around, and was staring toward where he stood with her head cocked, as though she had heard him. But that wasn’t possible.
So why was she standing there, with that odd, almost frightened look in her eyes?
He thrust up his arms and in a burst of light only the Djinn could see, he was gone.
Automatically, Kat looked back over her shoulder, even though she wouldn’t see anything. Then she turned, listening, head cocked. Quietly, she said, “Zeb.” His wet nose poked into her hand as she nervously licked her lips. She hadn’t heard anything, she didn’t think, but she had the oddest feeling that she was being watched, that she wasn’t alone in the house with Zeb.
“Go search, boy,” she said, moving to press her back against the wall, trying to stay as out of sight as she could in the hall. She heard Zeb’s nails clicking on the floor as he walked around. Her heart slammed brutally against her ribs, making breathing almost painful, as she waited, fear zinging through her system.
Blind, alone, helpless—
Then she heard a soft bark. Everything was fine. If something was wrong, Zeb would have sounded an alarm. He padded back to her and she stroked his head after he licked her hand. Shakily, she whispered, “I’m going crazy. Really, really crazy.”
Just imagining things—nothing was wrong.
But she had Zeb jump up on the bed and lie down with her as she slept.
* * * * *
Every morning, as her eyes opened and she drifted out of sleep, it took a few moments before she remembered. Sometimes, she panicked, her breath locking in her lungs as she tried to see in the darkness, but there was nothing there for her to see. Not anymore. Not for more than three years.
Today was no different.
For long moments, the blackness was oppressive, nearly suffocating as it pressed down on her. Air wheezed in and out of her lungs for endless moments as she huddled in the bed, her mind spinning in useless circles.
But after a few minutes, her mind adjusted. Her ears picked up the normal sounds that assured her she was home, her nose catching the scent of potpourri and the soft, musty smell of Zeb.
The dog watched her—once her eyes opened, he woofed softly and inched over to nuzzle her hand. She rolled over and spent a few minutes scratching his head.
“Hey, boy, did you protect me last night?” she asked him, smiling as he inched closer, his big, furry body pressed against hers, his head resting on her shoulder as he surrounded her, leaving her feeling safe and protected.
Zeb yipped.
Kat laughed and rolled into a sitting position, drawing her knees to her chest. “I don’t have to work today. So, what do you want to do? Pace the house? Stare at the four walls? Listen to the TV?” she asked dryly. Sighing, she dropped her forehead to her knees and whispered, “I have to get a life.”
Her belly rumbled and she smirked. “Maybe I’ll put off getting a life—while I eat.” Ten minutes later, she was eating oatmeal and drinking orange juice while Zeb happily scarfed down his dog food—very happily—if the sounds were any sign. He ate his food as through it had been a month since he’d last been fed, instead of just last night.
Kat smiled softly as he finished and gave a happy little bark. “You’re welcome,” she said.
Setting her bowl in the sink, she rinsed it out, feeling along the counter for the dishwashing liquid. There had been a time when she would have just left the bowl there. If she didn’t get to it that morning, then the housecleaner would get to it later that afternoon. The housecleaner was something she’d had to give up. As much as she loved Dorrie, the lady had kept leaving little things out of place, or moving her stuff around.
Kat’s life demanded strict organization now—something that she had taken a while to accept. But after banged knees, various bruises and general frustration when she couldn’t find things without calling Mara, she’d accepted it. She’d rather become a neat freak than look like a victim of abuse.
So once a week somebody did come in and do basic cleaning, but it was somebody who could actually remember not to move things around instead of the chipper, talkative, but somewhat absentminded Dorrie.
Drying her hands, Kat left the kitchen for her office, her fingers seeking out the radio and flipping it on before she sat down at the computer. At least she had learned how to do this. Going back to school had been awful but she caught on quickly, and last year she had gotten this specially modified computer.
Now Kat could go online, she could read, she could have contact with a world outside her own condo and outside the faceless, nameless voices she talked to on the phone during her job. The job kept her from feeling so isolated, so useless. The contact on the web helped to keep her sane, letting her visit the world she had once traveled so freely.
A soft little voice whispered, You could do that if you just left the condo.
“Shut up,” she whispered, reaching up to rub her temple. “Just shut up.” Once the computer had finished its little humming noises, she touched her fingers to the touch-sensitive Braille keyboard, sending the command to open the cable internet connection. She listened to the news, rolling her eyes as it seemed like a repeat of the past day’s events.
Hell, today was going to be a repeat of pretty much every other day.
Tam folded his arms over his chest as he watched the woman sit down at her computer. There was something kind of odd about that computer, especially the keyboard. His computer didn’t look anything like that. Granted, he had gotten one simply because he was curious about why so many people insisted on their importance. Once he had one, he had to admit, it definitely had potential—especially the games. He really liked the games.
Narrowing his eyes, he studied the computer more closely, watching as she stared blindly at the screen…blindly.
The telephone rang and he watched as she jumped slightly, her head whipped up, that pretty red hair floated around her shoulders. She stared toward the phone, and Tam dismissed the passing idea as she stood up.
She walked over to the telephone, with that smooth, floating grace she possessed. Her hand reached for the phone and passed right over it. She patted th
e surface of the console table, finally landing on the phone.
She’s blind… His eyes moved back to the computer, to more closely study it. The buttons of the keyboard were modified, each with a series of small raised dots. There was also a long slender strip below it, which he had seen her touch—made of a series of tiny little rods that shifted and moved.
Slowly, he turned back to stare at her.
That was why she hadn’t said anything that night when he had drifted out of the mirror in a fog of blue smoke that solidified to form his body.
The woman hadn’t seen him.
She’s blind…
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. It was possible, wasn’t it? After all, if she had known a Djinn would appear at the activation of the mirror, then wouldn’t she have said something? She hadn’t said anything because she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t realized what she was doing when she’d touched it and murmured, I wish…before her voice had broken off abruptly.
An idea started to blossom in his head as he watched her, not paying any attention to her conversation, just studying that ethereal face, that soft rosebud mouth. She still wore her chemise, that deep midnight blue that glowed against the ivory of her skin. Her mouth curved into a smile as she listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. He listened to the musical sound of her laughter, watching as she shifted to one foot, idly rubbing the back of her calf with the other foot.
Tam found his eyes drawn to those legs, lids drooping low as he formed an image of those long legs wrapping around his hips while he buried his cock inside the snug, wet confines of her pussy.
Hmmm… Wasn’t expecting this…
But the hunger that had appeared so suddenly now tore through him. It shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, this raging, gnawing hunger.
She smelled sweet, female. He’d noticed that last night—her scent had lingered in his mind, in his blood. Her skin glowed and he imagined it felt like silk.
His cock stiffened and started to throb as he studied that sleek, softly curved body. Her breasts rose and fell under the silk of her chemise and he wondered what her skin tasted like, what color her nipples were, how she would feel beneath him.
AWAKAD 1 Djinn's Wish Page 2