When he came back fifteen minutes later, he handed me two paper bags. “You take a break. I watch the register.” The sun burned hot and customers weren’t common at this hour, but Javier liked sitting here, listening to the Latin channel on the XM radio. So I went, glad to get a break.
As I walked around the shack, headed toward the backfield where dump trucks unloaded large deliveries, I spotted Faris next to the almost-flat pile of manure. He had removed his shirt and was emptying his shovel inside a burlap bag. His sinewy back and black hair gleamed with sweat under the blistering sun. His wide golden bracelets reflected the sunlight and, for a moment, looked like oversized handcuffs.
He fastened the sack, slung it over his shoulder and walked over to a neatly stacked row of similar bags. After setting his load down, he turned, fully aware of my presence. His designer pants and shoes were filthy. I stared. He approached, wiping his face and grinning from ear to ear. To my surprise, his build, which under the clothes appeared slender, proved to be a bundle of well-defined muscle, tightly packed around a lean, fit frame. I looked away, his perfect, v-line abs imprinted in my retinas.
“Here.” I shoved the paper bag in his direction. “I don’t know if you’re hungry or if you like burgers or if you even eat, but Javier got you this. You’re practically done.” I rattled on, gesturing toward the manure. “Are you sure there’s been no funny business? I don’t want Javier suspecting anything fishy. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Wow, slow down. I think that’s the most you’ve ever told me in one breath.” He laughed, his low-rider jeans revealing too much of an anatomy I didn’t need to get acquainted with. “Let me grab my shirt,” he said, probably sensing my discomfort. “Where do you typically eat?”
Under the live oak was my favorite place. It was massive and cast wide shadows with its sweeping branches. In spite of the heat and humidity, I enjoyed sitting there even in the summer months. I’d read countless books and dreamed many daydreams by that beautiful tree. I led Faris to the farthest corner of the property and sat in a cranny between two protruding roots. He found a place next to me, and we enjoyed our meals in surprisingly easy silence.
I finished my last fry with a sigh. “Well, I’d better go back.” I didn’t want to get up at all.
Faris picked up an acorn and laid it on his open palm. “Pretty isn’t it?”
I watched it pivot as he tilted his hand to examine it. It was a pretty thing, dark and polished with its tiny, pitted cap still intact. “I’ve always loved acorns and live oaks.” I startled myself with the sudden admission.
“Is that so? Why?” he asked, curious.
“Well, that’s a silly question. Just look at this tree.” I gazed overhead. “The way the branches reach outward, then dip toward the ground gracefully, as if they were bowing to the heavens. It’s beautiful and it’s been here for a long, long time, and will be here after I’m gone.”
I took the acorn from him. My fingers brushed his skin. He watched his empty palm, swallowed and bit his lower lip. He made a fist and placed it against his mouth.
I tore my eyes away from him and concentrated on the acorn. “And this here is what started it all. One tiny acorn grew into this magnificent tree. It’s incredible and breathtaking.”
In one quick motion, he snatched the acorn back. I looked up and met his twinkling gaze. He made a fist again and blew on it.
“Forgive me,” he said, opening his hand slowly and extending it in my direction, “But I thought this would look lovely on you.”
The acorn still lay on his palm, except now it was golden and attached to a chain. Minute diamonds filled each hollow of its pitted cap. It was stunning.
“Please accept it,” he said, bowing his head.
On first instinct, my hand moved to touch it. I wanted to see how heavy it was, how much it had changed from its original form. But as I thought about his intentions for giving me something like this, suspicion killed the impulse. First, he’d asked me out to dinner, then he’d called me beautiful, and now this!
I jumped to my feet. “What are you playing at?”
He stood, looking at the necklace as one would look at the most harmless thing in the world. “It’s just a gift, Marielle. I meant no offense.” He withdrew his hand and stuffed the necklace in his pocket.
A terrible pang of regret assaulted me. I wanted the necklace very much. As a matter of fact, I longed for it.
That’s when I realized I was playing with fire, and clearly, it was starting to burn.
12
I spent the rest of the afternoon working hard to keep my mind off the Djinn and his pendant, but boy was it hard?! I watched him as he came in and out from the backfield, carrying bags of manure and stacking them on the steel shelves. He’d had the dignity to keep his expensive shirt on, even as it got stained. Not like it mattered. He could pull an exact replica out of thin air.
He worked in a quiet and resigned manner, making me feel like an unreasonable, crazy person. A few times, he looked my way, a saddened expression on his face, but he said nothing.
Not soon enough for my taste, closing time arrived. Javier and Faris walked outside while I locked up. When I joined them, Anita—who picked up her husband every day after working at whatever odd cleaning jobs she could find—was already there. They waved us goodbye, grinning as Faris charmed them with his flawless Spanish and perfect smile.
“Nice people,” Faris said, watching them drive away.
I was nodding in agreement when Maven pulled up in his truck, right on time. He shut off the engine and headlights. For an interminable minute, I waited, but he stayed inside the truck. I fidgeted while Faris stood unnervingly still.
“Well, I’ll see you later,” I said, realizing Maven was staying put.
“Why won’t your friend come out?” Suspicion colored Faris’s question.
“Look,” I said. “I don’t like what you’re trying to do. You need to stay out of my personal life. Whatever game you’re playing at won’t work. Grandpa warned me. You’re trying to make me feel sorry for you and also trying to . . .” I trailed off, unable to say that I thought he was trying to seduce me.
“You want to manipulate me into making a mistake that benefits you somehow,” I continued. “My life is upside down at the moment, if you haven’t noticed. I can’t handle much more. Forgive me if, from now on, I look at this as a business transaction.” I paused and delivered my next words with some difficulty. “I’ve decided what my first wish should be. We’ll take care of it tomorrow morning.”
His eyes tightened. He held my gaze for a second, then looked away. A cold expression appeared on his face, a mask of indifference meant to hide his emotions. Had I hurt his feelings? My brain said it was part of his act, but my heart . . . well.
“You’re just like the rest,” he said, turning his scowl on me. His words felt like shards of ice, sharper and more hurtful that I could have imagined. “Have it your way.”
He walked off. As he passed in front of Maven’s door, he peered inside the truck, eyes burning with suspicion. Maven ignored him and, for a second, I thought I caught a satisfied smirk on his face, but there was no reason for that. My eyes darted around, searching for Faris, but he’d already disappeared. That infuriating son of a . . . My head hadn’t felt right since the day Grandpa died, and it was Faris’s fault. Romantic advances, secrecy about Grandpa’s last wish, stalking episodes. I was so tired of his tricks.
Maven came out of the truck, then, wearing a big smile. Mechanically, I returned the gesture, even as a queasy feeling turned my stomach.
“Something wrong with your . . . friend?” he asked.
“Oh, no. Not a thing.”
He opened the passenger door and invited me in. After a quiet drive, we found ourselves in a small restaurant in the Garden District.
“You’ll love this place,” he enthused.
I mustered enough presence of mind to give him a half nod and a crooked smile, then looked a
round. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but it was quaint. Stucco walls, soft Italian music, and a brick pizza oven gave the place an authentic feel. Maven pulled out my chair, and, for the next hour, we sat at a table so small that the pizza pan pushed our plates to the very edge. As we ate, he talked easily, picking up pieces of Italian sausage and popping them in his mouth.
He told me about his old school and friends, and as time passed, he grew relaxed and over-confident, which was odd since he’d always been on the shy end. I figured I was finally getting to know the real Maven. He asked me a few questions, but, seeing that I wasn’t in a talkative mood, he let me be. That made me relax. It was nice to just be.
For dessert, he ordered chocolate gelato with two spoons. We polished it off in no time. It was delicious. After dinner, he drove me to the nursery to get my car and, from there, followed me home.
“Maybe we can do this again,” he said, walking with me up to the porch.
“Yes, I had fun.” It was true. He’d managed to take my mind off my troubles.
“How about a movie?” he said.
“Sure.”
“Tomorrow?” he asked eagerly.
“Uh, tomorrow?”
“Yes, why waste time?” He winked. Two dimples accompanied his broad smile.
“I don’t know.” I looked at my watch. It was midnight and even though we’d decided not to go jogging the next morning, I still needed to get up early. I wasn’t sure I could handle two late nights in a row.
He stepped closer. “C’mon. Is it because of that guy?”
“Who? Faris?”
“He seemed kind of upset.” A certain pleasure rang in his tone as if he’d enjoyed making Faris jealous.
“Um, no. He’s just a . . .”
“A what?” He got closer still, his tone probing, his attitude somewhat overbearing. I took a step back, suddenly uneasy.
He switched back to his lighter tone. “Never mind me. I shouldn’t be nosy. I just want to know where I stand.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, which made me realize my impression of Maven had been wrong all along. “C’mon, say yes. It’ll be fun. We can watch anything you want—even a chick flick. We can get a huge bucket of popcorn, and I’ll step out during the gooey parts to get seconds. What do you say?”
A smile crept to my lips, even as I fought it. His playfulness was contagious, even if I wasn’t used to it yet, even if that queasy feeling in my stomach hadn’t gone away all night.
He put an index finger to his temple and made a big show of thinking. “I see I’ve almost convinced you . . . um . . . what could tip the scale? Oh, I know!” He held up three fingers and kept his face solemn, though just barely. “I promise not to try to kiss you. Scout’s honor.”
In spite of his shamelessness, my smile grew wider. “Okay.”
“Ahh, we have a deal!” A twinkle of pleasure flashed in his eyes for an instant, then was gone. He leaned in, lips parting. “Goodbye?” he said, but might as well have said, “kiss?”
I leaned back and tensed all over. “I thought you promised not to try.”
“That was tomorrow.”
I arched an eyebrow.
He backed away, laughing to himself, palms up in a conceding gesture. He bounded down the porch steps. “You’re fair game after tomorrow, though.”
I shook my head, puzzled as I watched his truck roll down the road. What an interesting turn of events. Maven was nothing like what I’d thought. And, in spite of the unexpected change, my spirits felt high and hopeful. Maybe I’d been spending too much time with Faris. The guy seemed to carry a dark cloud over his head all the time. I already had my own tempest to deal with and didn’t need his, too. Maven, on the other hand, had just brought a bit of brightness back into my life.
***
When I came into the kitchen next morning, I found Faris standing over the stove. The smell of eggs and bacon permeated the air and threw me for a loop.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He looked over his shoulder. “Good morning to you, too,” he said in his full tenor. He pulled out two plates and scooped eggs onto them, then picked up a crispy piece of bacon and nibbled on it. Grandpa’s apron hung from his neck. It read: “Don’t make me go Cajun on your ass!” and had the picture of an angry crawfish, pincers ready to attack.
“This won’t make me change my mind, Faris. I’m ready to make my first wish.”
Plates in hand, he walked to the table and sat down. “A little breakfast never hurt any wish-makers.”
“Why are you cooking anyway, couldn’t you just make a continental breakfast appear?”
“I find pleasure in simple things,” he said. “Here, eat something. You’re too thin.”
“Whatever.” I ignored the breakfast and went into the bathroom. I closed the door and grabbed my head in frustration. Then the idea of Faris using x-ray vision to look through the wall popped into my head. Great! All I needed! Cold showers promised to become part of my foreseeable future. Rubbing my forehead, I took a deep breath and walked back into the kitchen.
“That was fast.” He licked his fingers one at a time. Now a huge stack of pancakes sat in the middle of the table, surrounded by fruit, cream-filled Danishes, buttery croissants and two pitchers of orange juice. “Would you prefer some blueberry hotcakes?” he asked.
I felt flustered, which was probably what he wanted. Doing my best to hide my frustration, I said, “Maven has a brother, Samuel. He’s in a wheelchair after a car accident.”
He put his fork down and blinked slowly. A vague smile teased his lips as if my words made him happy somehow.
“I want him to be healthy, to walk again.”
“That’s a very good wish,” he said, eyes glowing with warmth. “Very generous. Are you certain this is what you want?”
I’d come to terms with it, enough to know I wouldn’t regret it later. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“What do you know about Samuel? Does he deserve something like this?”
“I know it troubles Maven. He blames himself. He’s my friend. That’s all I need to know!”
“All right. No reason to get . . . defensive. Very well, you know what to do.”
I took a deep breath. “I . . . wish . . . Maven’s brother, Samuel, my neighbor who lives three blocks that way,” I pointed toward the far wall while Faris listened, looking as if he was fighting a smile. “I wish him to be healthy and walk again.”
My heart thumped. I let out a pent up breath and waited, not knowing what to expect. Sparks? A magic wand? Abracadabra?
Nothing special happened.
“Done,” he said simply, then sat back down, arranged a five-layer stack of pancakes on his plate and poured an insane amount of maple syrup on top.
I couldn’t help feeling like a fool. Was Faris really capable of granting my wish? I stared at the dripping pancakes and thought them a flimsy demonstration of his powers.
Suddenly, I just had to know if it was for real. I ran upstairs and changed into jogging clothes. As I ran past Faris, I ignored his frown and went out the door. Mr. Boudreaux’s terrier barked as I cut through his yard. A few minutes later, I was knocking on Maven’s door, lungs and blood pumping.
Maven’s mother opened the door after I counted six seconds. “Oh hi, Marielle. Come in.”
I followed her, trying to think of an excuse for being there.
“Maven,” Mrs. Mora called as she entered the kitchen. “Marielle’s here.” Dressed for work in a blue blouse and beige slacks, she walked to the table and picked up a coffee cup. She wore heavy makeup and her blond hair was pulled into a bun at the top of her head. “How’s everything going?” she asked, holding the cup up and inhaling the aroma of her hot brew.
“Fine . . . I guess.” I fidgeted, searching for something to say.
Maven stepped into the kitchen, hair disheveled, wearing a crumpled t-shirt. “Am I late for our run?” He looked confused.
We had canceled since we were back late from the restaura
nt, but he still looked too sleepy to think coherently. “Oh. Hi, Maven. I . . .”
Mrs. Mora eyed us with curiosity. Maven put a hand on my arm and led me out into the living room, giving his mother a quick shrug.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah, I was just—”
“Oh, my God!” The sound of glass breaking followed Mrs. Mora’s yelp. Maven’s head jerked in his mother’s direction and he hurried back into the kitchen. My heart thudded as I trailed on Maven’s heels.
Mrs. Mora stood, broken glass at her feet and brown stains splattering her pants. A shaky hand covered her mouth. Tears brimmed between her mascara eyelashes. She shook her head in utter disbelief. In front of her stood Samuel, wobbling on pale legs, wearing only a pair of checkered boxer shorts and gray socks. His hand clutched the kitchen counter while a look of absolute panic contorted his face. He looked scared as if he suspected this was a dream from which he would soon have to wake up.
Shaking as much as her son, Mrs. Mora walked up to Samuel. She pulled him into her arms, carefully, also looking afraid to wake up from this dream, afraid to break the spell. They embraced and cried without words.
I looked at Maven, feeling his incredulity like a current of electricity. He stood motionless, mouth agape, breathing raggedly. He didn’t look joyous or even relieved as I had expected. He was just confused. For a moment, he watched his mom and twin brother as they clung to each other. Then, as if waking from his own dream, he shook himself, walked up to his family and wrapped his arms around them.
13
“Faris no here today?” Javier asked when I arrived at the nursery alone.
I shook my head, thinking I should be glad to be rid of the Djinn, but actually feeling uneasy about his sudden disappearance, not to mention the pile of dirty dishes he’d left on the kitchen table. The least he could have done was use his tricks to clean up, instead of following my no-magic rule only when it suited him.
One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series Page 9