One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series

by Ingrid Seymour

  Dad’s eyes locked on the windshield as if past memories played in its reflection. His green eyes lit up. “You gave us purpose and hope. You fixed our messed up marriage. Well, you fixed me, anyway.” He took my hand. “I wanted to be the best I could be. For you, for my baby girl.” He smiled, sad and proud at the same time. “I never wanted to fail you. I’m ashamed of that, but I’ll make it up to you, kiddo.”

  Tears landed on our interlaced hands. Dad reached out and dried my cheek with his thumb, then leaned in and kissed my forehead with tenderness. He fake-punched me in the chin and grinned.

  “Everything will be as it should. Even these beautiful hands,” he said, turning my hand over and running a finger across my palm. “There’s no reason why you should have to work so hard. My strength is coming back. Anita whips up killer soups that are pure energy.”

  “Anita?” I asked, sniffling with the last of my tears.

  “Yeah. She’s been sending care packages with Javier. I swear that woman knows how to cook. It’s all very nutritious and wholesome. I feel stronger every day.” He flexed his bicep, and I could indeed see some color back on his cheeks.

  “I didn’t know,” I said.

  “They think the world of you, you know?”

  I smiled and stared at the threadbare mat at my feet.

  “‘Your girl Mariella is very e-special. You should be proud a lot,’” Dad said, mimicking Javier’s singsong accent with fondness.

  We both laughed.

  “He’s a champ,” I said.

  “That, he is. C’mon, let’s get inside. I’m starving. How about we order pizza?”

  “Sounds good.”

  We got as far as the porch before Dad noticed a truck parked by the curb. He nodded toward it. “Friend of yours?”

  I turned to look. “Oh, it’s Maven. I forgot he was coming.” I started toward his truck.

  “What about dinner?” Dad sounded disappointed.

  “I’ll talk to him really quick. Go ahead and order what you want. I’ll be right in.”

  “Why don’t you invite him for dinner?” Dad asked as he went up the porch steps.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  I set my messenger bag on the first step and looked toward Maven, wondering exactly what he wanted to talk about and whether or not we’d still be friends after our conversation. I took a deep breath and squared tense shoulders. After just one step down the walkway, the front door closed behind me. I turned for a quick look and was startled to find Faris sitting next to my messenger bag. Elbows on knees, he looked knowingly at me, as if asking, “are you still mad at me?”

  Had he overheard my conversation with Dad? But of course! What a stupid question. I wanted to wipe the smug expression off his face.

  “Is eavesdropping another of your . . . praiseworthy qualities—just like honesty is?” I said sarcastically. He blinked and looked somewhat abashed.

  “I’m going to talk to Maven, now. Please have the decency to remain invisible and out of our conversation.” With that, I clomped down the walkway, wincing at my own harshness. Man, but could he get under my skin?

  I walked around Maven’s truck, opened the passenger door and looked at him carefully. After confirming that he gave off no weird vibes, I got in.

  “Hey,” I said. “Have you been waiting for long?”

  “Nah.”

  We exchanged quick glances. I noticed Faris in the distance, still sitting on the porch steps, looking dark and sullen. Maven didn’t seem to know he was there. The silence in the small cabin stretched beyond uncomfortable.

  “Um . . . are you okay?” Maven asked.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “That was scary stuff. I thought that dog was going to kill you.”

  “Me, too.” A chill made my hairs stand on end.

  I rubbed a hand across a bristled forearm. Maven played with the keys in the ignition. His fleur-de-lis keychain dangled and chimed like a tiny bell.

  “Thinking of what could have happened made me realize that being mad at you was just stupid,” he started.

  “So you were mad at me? Why? I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t?”

  I averted my eyes. Honesty. “Maybe I do.” It was the best I could manage.

  Encouraged, he shifted positions, faced me and looked into my face with intensity. “I should have told you before hotshot showed up and had a chance to become your rescuing hero. ‘Cause how can I compete with that?” He gave an unamused chuckle.

  “Faris? He’s just a friend,” I said.

  “Is he? Really?”

  I nodded, but it was a lie, such a lie.

  Maven’s face lit up with a smile. His blue gaze sparkled. He had a handsome face and beautiful eyes, and, most importantly, he was human, not some unknowable, sentient creation from God or Allah or whoever.

  He took my hand. “Marielle, I know I was a jerk. I’m sorry. It’s just this thing with Samuel and then Faris. I don’t know. It brought out the worst in me.” He shook his head.

  “Why are you so mad at Samuel? I don’t get it. I thought you’d be happy he’s all better.”

  “He’s just an ass sometimes. And quick to forget. He feels all almighty and invincible already as if he was never in that wheelchair. You’d think it’d have taught him a lesson, but no. I’m happy for him, but I don’t have to like him. Never mind him, though. What I wanted to say is that,” he cleared his throat, “I . . . I like you. Very much.”

  I stiffened with the weight of possibilities. Maven, with his Paul Newman eyes and gentle nature. Maven, a good friend who always listened and who was, by the way, perfectly normal. He bit his lower lip and leaned in. My body continued to operate on the same inhale of breath I’d taken ages ago. I made the rational decision to close my eyes and wait for the impending kiss—even to let Faris see it all.

  Maybe if our lips touched, coherent conclusions about a relationship with Maven would not only make sense in my mind, but also in my heart. Maybe I could leave behind all the crazy ideas and emotions Faris stirred in me. Maybe Faris would just leave me alone and stop messing with my mind. Maybe, just maybe.

  I’d kissed three guys in my entire life, if I counted little Joe Hutchinson in the second grade. And as far as kisses went, Maven’s was the best in the lot. The tilt of the head, the softness and calm movement of his lower lip, the non-Frenchness of it all—just as it should be on the first attempt. Even the way he broke away and held me without saying a word. It was all flawless and very . . . pleasant and safe. Not a hint of the dangerous passion I’d felt when Faris tried to kiss me.

  Leaning my chin on his shoulder as he hugged me, I opened my eyes and immediately searched the porch steps. Faris was gone. Apprehension tightened my chest just as a derisive chuckle rumbled in Maven’s throat. I pulled away, a strange vibe suddenly rousing my instincts.

  “He has no hope, the fool,” Maven said.

  “W-what?”

  “You love this Maven boy.” He ran a hand down his own torso as if he was an item for sale. “It’s plain to see,” he said, running his tongue across his lips, tasting. “Surely, my impersonations had something to do with your weakness for him.” He laughed madly.

  “Zet.” My voice quavered.

  He had tricked me again.

  ***

  I inched my hand toward the door handle. There was a clicking sound and a beep as the locks activated.

  “But you called,” Zet said with a flourish. “I can’t leave now.”

  I bit my tongue. Yes, I had asked for this, wanting to end the sadistic game. With a deep breath, I looked out the window. Where the street should have been, there was a huge mountain of sand. I turned, looking frantically through every window. Nothing but sand on all sides. A desert? My heart began to pound, feeling as if it might knock a hole in my ribcage. I fought to remain calm. Digging my nails into the seat’s upholstery, I managed not to scream.

  “Relax,” Zet said. “I’ll take you back home as soon as we have an
arrangement. I’m sure you’ll cooperate unless you want me to hurt your . . . lover boy.” He pointed at his stolen body and, in the next instant, slumped forward—eyes closed, jaw slack.

  I pushed the limp body against the window. “Maven?!” Terror etched my voice. I grabbed him by the shirt and shook, trying to wake him. Was it my imagination or did his lips look blue? “Maven!”

  I’d wanted to upset Faris with that kiss. Obviously, I’d succeeded and Zet had taken advantage of his brother’s absence to take over Maven’s body.

  “What a pity.” Zet’s voice echoed through the car speakers now. “He’s such a handsome fellow.”

  “What have you done to him?” I pleaded.

  “Oh, he’ll be fine. If you do as I say, that is.” Zet appeared on the back seat then, right behind Maven’s sagging shape. He wore safari clothes made out of light, tan fabric.

  My ragged breathing ripped through my lungs at a staggering speed.

  “Slow down,” he said in a singsong tone. “Or you’ll pass out.”

  With a huge inhale, I willed myself to the edge of self-control. “Okay, so here we are.” Rage mounted and I let it take center stage. “What do you want from me?” I demanded.

  “That’s easy. I want Faris.”

  “Yeah, I get that much, but I don’t understand how—”

  “It’s like this,” he cut me off. “You dismiss Faris, and I . . .” he leaned forward and ran a finger down Maven’s slack jaw line, “. . . don’t hurt your sweetheart.”

  “Dismiss him?”

  “Yes, make your last wish, whatever your heart desires. See, I told you it would be easy.” He reclined and looked at his fingernails.

  “Is that really it?” It did sound easy, at least in theory. Too easy. The thought of sending Faris away caused a wave of nausea in my belly. Still, I couldn’t let this crazy Djinn hurt Maven.

  “Well, there’s something else . . .”

  But of course.

  “Once he’s back where he belongs, I want you to give me the stone.” With a quick shrug and an “isn’t that a trifle” tone he added, “That’s all.”

  The idea of the stone, with Faris trapped inside, in the hands of this monster was unthinkable.

  “And if I don’t do it?” I asked.

  “Well, then you’ll never see your boyfriend again.” He jutted his chin in my friend’s direction.

  I thought for a few seconds. “This makes no sense. You could just . . .”

  “Kill you?” Zet finished for me.

  I nodded, knowing full well that my death would send Faris back into his prison, and hoping Zet didn’t take a liking to the idea.

  “I could, but then I wouldn’t get the stone. You see, it has to be given voluntarily. No one else can see it or find it. Only the rightful owner,” he explained. “I was willing to kill you before, but now that I know you’re in love with this fool . . .” he trailed off.

  I wasn’t in love with Maven. Besides, why should that change Zet’s plan to kill me? Feeling that the answer to this question was important, my brain revved up like a turbine, trying to figure it out, sensing the solution to this mess within my reach, if I could only . . .

  Maven gave a small grunt of pain. My concentration broke.

  “It works out perfectly this way,” Zet gloated. “Faris, my eternal prisoner.” Pleasure shone in his brown eyes.

  “This is hardly voluntary,” I pointed out, watching Maven’s face contort.

  “Voluntary enough. Make up your mind, or I’ll dispatch your little Maven.”

  “Faris won’t allow it.”

  He laughed, then grew eerily serious. “Really? So where is he now?” He snapped his fingers. Maven’s breathing became strangled. His lips started turning undeniably blue.

  “Stop, stop. I’ll do it. I’ll do what you want,” I said between sobs. Maven’s chest regained a regular rhythm and his face a healthier color.

  “Wise choice.”

  “Why? Why do you hate your brother so much?” It had been foolish to bait Zet, I knew that now, but maybe there was something I could learn that could help me fight back.

  His features clouded with a thousand shades of hatred. “Because he cursed us,” he said in a snarl. “I am what I am because he stole what was most precious to me. He needs to pay for robbing me of a full human life and for . . .” his lip twitched as he searched for the words, “for forcing me to sell my soul to the Devil.”

  A full human life? Selling his soul to the Devil? I gasped, a frightened intake of air that revealed my horror. Did he literally mean he’d sold his soul to Satan? Or was that a figure of speech?

  “Little miss do-gooder with her selfless wishes is judging me? What a surprise,” he mocked through pursed lips as if talking to a pet. Then in a snap, his expression changed, and his face became a mask of fury and cruelty. “What do you know about an eternity of imprisonment? You’d sell your own father if you had to go through half of what I’ve endured.

  “All because of that bastard who dares call himself my brother. We shared the same parents, but a good brother doesn’t betray his own blood. He’s no brother of mine. I hold no love for him, only hatred.”

  “You sold your soul so you could—”

  “So I could be free to take my revenge.”

  I glanced at Maven. Sweat peppered his forehead and plastered his blond hair. A merciless sun beat down on the truck, raising the temperature inside our cramped quarters. This was no illusion. We were really in the middle of some faraway desert. Where was Faris? Didn’t he say Djinn could trace magic? How long would that take? We had to get out of here before we were baked alive. But Zet wasn’t in a hurry. He seemed to be settling down for a nice, long chat.

  Reaching for more knowledge that may or may not help, I asked, “So you want to be a free Djinn just to torture your brother?”

  “No,” he snapped. “Torture is what he did to me. What I plan to impart is the punishment he deserves, among other lofty goals that do not involve him.”

  What other goals? My mind wanted to go in both directions, but I had to settle for the most pressing one.

  “What could he have done to you to make you sell your soul to the Devil?” I shuddered at the thought. I’d never believed in all that Satan crap—even when I was little and the priest talked about Lucifer during his sermon. I’d always believed in good and evil, but an actual Satan with his pitchfork and tail seemed like a ruse to scare people into obedience. After this, though, I’d never be so irreverent again.

  If I got out of this alive, I’d go to church. First thing!

  “I didn’t really sell my soul to the Devil, not quite,” he tsked with an exasperated, condescending glance. “But to answer your question. He stole my bride, the woman I treasured, the one destined for me. He knew we loved each other. And yet he happily went along with Father’s plan to marry his eldest son to the General Medes’s daughter. I begged him to reconsider. Faris said he was trying, but I realized too late that he was just biding his time so he could win my Cala’s favor. She was young and naïve, and before I understood what Faris intended, she’d fallen for him.” Zet’s face was grief-stricken, his eyes lost in a past he clearly hadn’t left behind.

  “When I confronted them,” Zet continued, “she tried to disguise her feelings for him by saying that it was her duty, that our parents wanted their marriage for the political advantage of our families. I challenged Faris to a duel. He cowered behind Cala as she wedged in between us and begged us not to fight. He lied, said he hadn’t seduced Cala and would go away, swore there’d be no marriage. It was all an act. He knew all too well how Cala felt about him.

  “Only he didn’t know how vulnerable and innocent she was. Because you see, Cala believed his every word. She thought he would leave and never come back. She didn’t understand it was an idle threat meant to fool me into thinking him irreproachable. But I knew better. I knew he couldn’t stand his younger brother having something he couldn’t. He was used to being
handed everything because he was the eldest. Why would he think there was anything wrong when father served him Cala on a silver platter? Faris was delighted.

  “And then Cala, oh my sweet, sweet Cala. She couldn’t stand the idea of him leaving her. So she . . . took her life.” Zet’s eyes reddened. Tears might have streaked his cheeks, but they remained dry. I couldn’t help feel compassion as I understood his sorrow.

  In that instant, the image of a young, beautiful girl dressed in flowing gossamer flashed in front of me, a specter from an ancient memory. She was slender and graceful with black hair down to her waist. Her eyes were expressive and lively, her face radiant with an easy expression that seemed to promise a million possibilities.

  “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?” Zet asked, looking into my eyes.

  I nodded. He had played the image like a movie for me to see and understand.

  “When her father found her drained, without a drop of life left in her, he rightfully blamed the Nasser brothers. For what we did to her, we deserved the punishment he imposed on us, even if Faris denied any responsibility. The slow tortured death at the general’s own hands. His high-ranking magus disrupting our Barzakh, changing our human souls into Djinn as we journeyed toward the cold sleep where we would have waited for judgment day. Then the centuries trapped in the stones he crafted especially for that purpose. All of it, we both deserved all of it.”

  So it was true. They had once been human!

  “Now,” Zet continued, face reverting to the hardened scowl that frightened me so, “for what Faris did to me, to his brother, for that, I will make sure he’s never, ever free or human again. And if you don’t cooperate, I will hurt your beloved Maven.” His vindictive, dark eyes swiveled to my friend. A moan broke from Maven’s lips, then his face contorted even further. “Have no doubt,” Zet finished.

  “Leave him alone. I believe you.” I knew the cause of his hatred now, and there was no question in my mind that he’d do anything to get back at Faris, even hurt innocent people.