One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series

by Ingrid Seymour

  “No.”

  “Then why do you care?”

  “Several reasons, too numerous to list,” he teased.

  In spite of his joking tone, I felt exposed, as if he knew something I didn’t, or knew all the things I’d been desperately trying to hide. Probably both.

  “I think you need a bit of fun,” he added.

  “No, thank you. I’d rather mope than go with you anywhere.”

  Faris smoothed the bed sheets with one hand. “You don’t have to worry about your father reprimanding you if that’s what you’re afraid of. He went out. Won’t be back for a while.”

  So Faris knew about that. “I don’t care what my . . . what Robert has to say. He can’t reprimand me. He’s nothing to me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really.”

  “Like I said, you’re a bad liar.”

  I felt furious at his ability to read me. It was extremely frustrating. Black magic, for sure.

  “All right, take me out, then,” I blurted out, surprising myself. “Um, see how much I care what he thinks.”

  Faris grinned, stood up and walked to the door. “Change then, I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

  “Where are we going? What should I—”

  “Look in the closet,” he interjected, then winked and closed the door behind him.

  I wiped sweaty hands on my thighs and stood. When I opened the closet, I gasped. A beautiful green dress, the exact shade of my eyes, hung draped on top of the other clothes. I picked it up carefully, pressed it against my body and turned to look in the mirror on the closet door. I had never owned or worn anything like it but had fantasized about going places where such a dress wouldn’t be out of place.

  Trying not to think of Faris spying on me, I stripped down and slipped into the dress. After zipping it up, I admired my bare shoulders and the way the empire fit made my waist appear very small. Silk taffeta crinkled as I turned this way and that. A smile graced my lips. I looked in the closet again, wondering what shoes to wear, and noticed a new pair of open-toe, silver pumps. I put them on. They fit perfectly, just like the dress.

  With an unexpected giddy sensation at the pit of my stomach, I applied makeup and pinned my hair up. I started to run out the door, but checked myself, pressing my forehead against the half-opened door. I felt exuberant, even beautiful, but something told me I shouldn’t feel that way. With a deep breath, I listened to that inner voice, trying to understand it. Was it fear of Faris? Or just my deep-seated distrust? I tapped my forehead against the wood and decided I was over-analyzing the situation.

  “Just a little bit of fun,” I murmured, and with that, I walked downstairs.

  In the living room, Faris waited, hands in his pockets. In the dim light of the solitary lamp, he looked dangerous, almost predatory. I knew I should be worried, but instead his presence soothed me. He’d saved me from Jeremy, helped Maven’s brother . . . helped me, for Pete’s sake. Why shouldn’t I feel safe with him?

  Resolutely, I approached him. He scanned the length of my body with such intensity that it felt like a caress.

  “I’m ready,” I whispered.

  “No,” he said. “Not yet.”

  He pulled something out of his breast pocket and held it in the palm of his hand. It was the acorn necklace.

  “Please accept it,” he said, using the same words as when he first offered it. His eyes moved down to my lips, waiting for the answer. When it didn’t come, he held my gaze, searching, prying deep into the place where my unspoken “yes” lay hidden, until he found it.

  Wearing a gorgeous, wicked smile, he walked behind me. As he put the necklace around my neck, a chill ran across my bare back. He deftly clasped the chain, then his hands lingered, brushing the back of my neck and slowly traveling the length of my shoulders, as if giving small, stolen kisses I’d never have the strength to shrug off. Slowly, he came around and looked at the pendant.

  “Do you like it?” he whispered.

  I rolled the acorn between my fingers. “I do.”

  “Good,” he said, taking my hand. “Let’s get out of here. The night’s still young.”

  He pulled me outside and released my hand only when we reached a black car parked in the driveway. He opened the door. I stepped back and took a good look at his ride. It was sporty, squat and expensive looking. A wolf-whistle startled me. I looked back to find one of the Neely kids, standing behind me.

  “Hi, Zachary,” I said.

  The kid ignored me. “What kind of car is that, dude?” he asked, looking up at Faris as if he was some sort of automobile god.

  “A Bugatti Veyron,” he said. “Would you like a ride?”

  “Really?!” Zachary gushed.

  Before I could protest, Zachary got in the car. Faris drove him up and down the block a few times. The boy waved out the window every time they passed. I looked around nervously, wondering what his mom would do if she saw her son riding with a stranger.

  “That’s the awesomest car ever,” the kid said, jumping out. “Liam’s gonna pitch a fit when I tell him about it. Thanks, man.” He high-fived Faris and hopped away, punching the air. Faris grinned from ear to ear, looking about as young as eleven-year-old Zachary Neely.

  “Shall we?” he said, extending a hand toward the open passenger door.

  The engine rumbled, and I felt its power vibrating under me. I examined the interior and agreed with Zachary’s comment. It was an awesome car.

  “Where did you get it?” I asked, feeling the seat’s soft leather.

  “I have my means.” Faris winked as he pulled out of the driveway.

  “Legal means, right?”

  “Quite so.”

  I clicked on the seatbelt as he stepped on the gas. “Isn’t it a bit . . . ostentatious?” I wanted to get under his skin, the way he got under mine.

  “Girls like fast cars, don’t they? At least that’s what I read.” He switched gears and flew right through a yellow light.

  “It’s a nice car, no doubt. But, what does it say about you?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked innocently.

  “You know,” I said, squinting and holding up my thumb and index finger as if pinching something small.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Faris said, looking truly puzzled. “Oh, oh,” he choked, a sudden realization on his face. “That is a most unladylike and uncalled-for remark.”

  “What is this? The Victorian Era?” I asked though warmth spread across my face.

  “Well, if you’re interested in those matters, I assure you there’s nothing to worry about.” He was the one goading me now.

  “No, I’m not interested. I was just saying.” I tried not to choke on my words. He had me reeling again, but I’d get him back. Somehow, I’d get him back. “What do Djinn care about girls anyway? Shouldn’t there be a rule against that?”

  Faris’s response was to speed up. I looked out the window. Buildings and street lamps passed by in a blur of concrete and lights. Had I hit a nerve?

  “Um, maybe you should slow down a bit. You might get a ticket,” I said.

  The engine revved up. “Do you want to fly?”

  “What? No! I don’t wanna fly.” I clutched the sides of the bucket seat.

  He laughed. “I’m just kidding.”

  Darkness soon replaced the city lights. It was a moonless night and I couldn’t see much out the window. We’d crossed the Mississippi river and now rode alongside it, that much I knew.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  I searched for a topic of conversation and remembered what he’d said earlier about being concerned about me. “So . . . you said you are spying on me because you are worried. Is that true?”

  He sighed audibly. “I’ve already told you I cannot—”

  “Lie to me, I know. Still, you manage to never tell me anything.”

  “It’s a damnable thing. Believe me.” He sounded bitter.

>   What was that supposed to mean? Probably just something to distract me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Oh.” I let the thought sink in. Maybe he was worried about Jeremy attacking me again, but I sensed it was something different. “Why?”

  “Well, because I think my . . . my . . .” His hands went bone white as he gripped the wheel. He shook as if he was tightly coiled and ready to explode. “I can’t tell you,” he finally managed in a strain of words that sputtered out like exhaust from an old muffler.

  What was that all about?!

  “Um, why can’t you tell me?”

  He shook his head so violently that I had to look at the road to make sure we weren’t about to smash into a tree.

  A knowing feeling suddenly took hold of me. “Something’s stopping you!”

  Faris’s face snapped my way. His eyes, wide as an owl’s, seemed to scream “yes!” His gaze was oppressive, desperate. I looked away, unable to handle its intensity. I twisted my hands together and worried at a hangnail. Something weird was going on with him.

  We rode in silence for a few minutes, and, as I thought of his strange behavior, a crazy hypothesis took shape in my mind. What if something magical prevented him from saying what he wanted to say? It was all very far-fetched and fairytale-like, but he was a Djinn. Anything was possible, right?

  “We’re here,” he announced, coming to a sudden stop.

  I looked up, and—at the sight of the place—my jaw dropped.

  15

  In the distance, at the end of a long gravel path that ran under the canopy of several huge oak trees, a large mansion shone magnificently, its white columns bathed by spotlights.

  Faris opened the car door. I took his extended hand and stepped out, gaping. I’d seen the place in postcards many times, I was sure. “Is this Oak Alley Plantation?” I asked.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He led me down the path.

  Crickets chirped as gravel crunched underfoot. The smell of oak and freshly cut grass traveled on a light, humid breeze. I walked in awe, my hand on Faris’s arm for balance. We passed under the massive oak trees. Their branches kissed overhead, intertwined like lovers’ fingers. Not a soul was in sight. If not for the landscape spotlights shining on the house and trees, I could have easily imagined this place all those years ago when it was first built. My skin crawled with eerie delight.

  Too enthralled to pay attention to where I was going, I took a false step and lost my shoe. I yelped, pulled my shoeless foot up and held on to Faris, balancing on one leg.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, worried.

  “Fine. I just lost my shoe.”

  “Allow me.” He moved my hand to his shoulder, swiveled to face me and went down on one knee.

  “No, you don’t have to. I can do that,” I said, embarrassed.

  He ignored me, picked up the shoe and examined it. “It’s not damaged.” He extended his right hand and looked up, a request in his eyes. “May I?”

  I shook my head and hid my foot under the dress, behind my calf.

  “I promise not to bite off your toes,” he said with a rakish smile.

  When I didn’t budge, he slowly drove his hand under my dress.

  Crap! I clamped my legs tighter, feeling a rush of heat in my middle. Why hadn’t I just done as he asked?

  His hand landed on top of my bent knee. Keeping strict eye contact, he let silken fingers slide to the sensitive skin in the back of my leg. He paused for a second, then let his hand descend down my calf, gently coaxing my foot free from its twisted lock. He licked his lips, gaze twinkling.

  My eyelids fluttered as chills traveled all the way from my leg to my back. My skin tightened, and my breathing grew ragged. I tried to tell myself this was nothing, but my body entirely disagreed. My nails dug into his shoulder.

  Warm fingers wrapped around my ankle and guided my foot into the shoe. When it was in place, he stood by degrees, hand caressing my leg and dragging the light fabric of my dress upward. When he stood fully erect, his hand pressed possessively around my hip. His eyes smoldered in their dark depths and scanned my features, pausing on my quivering mouth.

  His other hand encircled my waist and pulled me closer. Our chests pushed against each other as our breath grew more and more agitated. I ached for the touch of his lips on mine, even though I knew it was a dangerous thing.

  His bee-stung lips lowered to mine, as his eyes laid an unspoken question between us: “Is this okay? Can I kiss you?” he seemed to ask.

  I wondered. Can a Djinn kiss a human girl? Can the girl ever be the same?

  No!

  The answer was a definite NO.

  I shook my head, using the half-ounce of determination I had left, and disentangled myself. “Thank you.” I smoothed my dress, still feeling the warm imprint of his hand on my hip. I took a few steps toward the house, taking deep breaths.

  The front door was open, the many windows vibrant with light behind sheer curtains.

  “Entre,” he said, in perfect French, which sounded divine in his deep tenor. He was already acting as if nothing had happened.

  Damn, the bastard!

  Thankful for my self-control, I stepped inside and felt as if I was entering a movie or a dream. The house was grand and felt somehow alive. The scent of old wood and history transported me to another era.

  There, I could be a different person, a girl without a past or future to worry about. Maybe I should have been upset that he’d accomplished all of this using magic, but wasn’t fighting him on that point stupid? He’d cured Samuel with his powers because I’d asked him to do it. It was time I just accepted him for what he was: a Djinn.

  “This exquisite antebellum home,” he said, acquiring a tour guide monotone, “was built in 1837 by George Swainy. It is known as The Grand Dame of the Great River.”

  He led me from one room to the next, talking about the furniture, the rugs, the paintings, as if he lived there.

  “The brochure said the movie Interview with a Vampire was filmed here. Do you know it?” he asked when we stepped out onto the upstairs balcony.

  “Yes, I do.” I looked dreamily at the oak-lined path below.

  Faris stood behind me, a mere step away. A chill ran down my spine as if he’d raked his finger down the length of it. But he hadn’t touched me. It was his eyes, those eyes, I realized. He was watching me. I spun and spoke without thinking. “You need to stop.”

  “Excuse me?” He looked puzzled.

  “Um . . . spying on me. You need to stop spying on me. It’s freaky. I don’t like it.”

  He took a step closer. “I mean no disrespect. I’m only concerned about your safety.”

  “If it’s Jeremy, I don’t think he’ll be coming back.”

  “Jeremy? Oh, him. Well, he might.”

  So it wasn’t Jeremy? “What else are you worried about?”

  “Just . . . you know . . . things can happen.”

  “What kind of things?” I pressed.

  He took another step in my direction. “Oh, I don’t know. Poisoning, spontaneous combustion—”

  “Seriously, why do you even care?” But the answer came to me even before I finished the question. “Oh, I get it. My untimely death would send you back into prison.” I felt like an idiot for not figuring it out earlier.

  I turned away and marched into the house, battling an infuriating wave of disappointment.

  He was fast at my heels. “No, that isn’t the reason. I assure you.”

  “Then what is it?” I turned in one swift motion. He halted, a mere two inches away from me.

  “It is my hope that you may soon learn my reasons,” he said in a whisper.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I want you to know. I truly do.” His voice, gaze, scent, all seemed to blend into a desperate, yearning plea. I felt dizzy, intoxicated by him.

  “I don’t understand you, Faris,” I said, almost out of
breath.

  “I know. And I’m sorry, truly sorry.” He looked around the room and exhaled. “I . . . I . . . Oh, there’s no use,” he said under his breath. “Let’s forget about it, come with me.” He took my hand and led me back downstairs and into the dining area.

  A large table sat in the middle of the room, arranged with porcelain dishes and fine silverware. He pulled a chair out and invited me to sit. Candles and flames from the fireplace illuminated the room. It was August, but it wasn’t hot at all—something to do with magic, I was sure. The idea that he’d left nothing to chance stirred butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

  “Um . . .” I looked around the room. “Where’s everybody?” I had yet to see a single soul.

  Faris picked up a fork and tapped it against his wine glass. A tuxedo-clad waiter appeared through a side door. He had a white napkin draped across one arm and a bottle in his hand.

  “Madame.” He poured wine into my glass, then Faris’s.

  When the waiter left, I shook my head. “I don’t drink.”

  Faris picked up his glass. “Sure you do.” After smelling the wine, he closed his eyes and sipped it.

  I watched, transfixed, as he slowly ran his tongue over that gorgeous mouth of his. Time slowed then. His lips glistened and his eyelashes fluttered with pleasure. Under the warm candlelight, his olive skin glowed. Silken strands of black hair fell over his forehead as he dipped his head and sighed. When he opened his eyes and gazed my way, I snatched my wine and gulped it. It burned but brought me back down to Earth.

  “Mmm, delicious,” he said in a husky voice.

  Heat blazed in my cheeks, but I couldn’t blame the wine.

  “You can do anything you want tonight,” he said. “I guarantee you, there’ll be no consequences.”

  “There’s always consequences.” I looked warily at the wine, set it down and resolved not to touch it again.

  “You are too serious. You need to learn to enjoy yourself.”

  Yeah, there was that small detail. I’d forgotten how to have fun. It was true, but I hated him for pointing it out. It made me feel out of place when he should have been the one feeling that way.

  The waiter came back and served us French onion soup.