One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series

by Ingrid Seymour

  “How are we even going to fit in that thing?” Maven looked around the parking lot, eyes darting around from car to car. “Why didn’t we get one of those?” he asked, pointing at a black BMW sedan.

  Abby looked over. Her brown, heavily-kohled eyes widened. “Yeah, why didn’t we?”

  I pointed at the yellow mini car. “One hundred dollars a day.” I swiveled my finger toward the BMW. “Two hundred and fifty dollars a day.”

  Both Maven and Abby gave me raised eyebrows.

  “What happened to environmental friendly?” I asked Abby. The traitor.

  She raised her eyebrows even higher. “Style trumps everything.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, I was driving, nestled in soft, luxurious leather seats, with a state-of-the-art navigation system telling me to get on the B-20 Motorway. During the first twenty minutes, we ate our burgers and drank our coffee in relative silence, enjoying the car and soaking in the fact that we were in Spain, three teenagers gone internationally AWOL.

  I didn’t even want to think how much trouble we’d be in when we got back.

  The sights, the cars on the highway, the traffic signs, everything looked so different, it was hard not to be absorbed by it all, in spite of everything.

  We entered Barcelona and left it behind just as quickly—Abby in the passenger seat and Maven sprawled out in the back.

  Abby sighed. “It sucks that we can’t visit.”

  “Maybe on the way back,” I said.

  An hour later, Abby’s sighing got out of control. “The scenery was cool like an hour ago. Now I’m just bored. Are we there yet?”

  “You’re so jaded,” Maven said.

  “You’re so easily entertained,” she retorted.

  I cut in, trying to keep them off each other’s throats. “Only a few more minutes. I think.”

  “You think?” Abby asked.

  “Well, the GPS kind of stopped working.”

  “What?!” Abby said.

  “When?” Maven said.

  “We’re close. It’s somewhere around here. Just keep your eyes open.”

  Another dramatic sigh from Abby. She sank into the seat. “Let’s play a game.”

  “What are we? Five years old?” Maven poked his head between the two front seats. “Wanna play I Spy?” he mocked.

  Why did these two fight so much? Abby seemed to bring the worst out in Maven and vice versa. I wasn’t sure I even recognized them anymore. If they didn’t kill each other, maybe I would.

  I took a left, and we passed another vineyard. Autumn colors adorned the rolling hills, which were arranged in row after row of plotted fields that looked like the patchwork of mother nature’s quilt. In the distance, blue-gray mountains disappeared under the haze of white clouds. It was breathtaking.

  “What if we’re lost?” Maven asked.

  Abby rolled her eyes. “We’re not lost. We just passed that little town.”

  Ten minutes ago we’d passed the medieval town of Besalú. A place that seemed to be made entirely of rock, frozen in some distant past. I was itching to stop and visit, but it turned out Doctor Gallardo didn’t even live in town, but on its outskirts.

  Abby perked up, straightening. “No, not I Spy. I was thinking we could play something more along the lines of Truth or Dare. Unless you’re too chicken to play?”

  Oh, no! Abby appealing to that infamous male pride couldn’t be good. “Y’all, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “Wait, didn’t we just pass that tree?” Maven said, pointing at a large, leafless tree with a gnarled, ancient looking trunk.

  “Um, maybe,” I said, uncertain.

  “Yep, too chicken to play,” Abby goaded.

  I sighed. “Guys, please.”

  Maven ignored my plea and took Abby’s challenge. “Truth or dare?”

  “Dare,” Abby said.

  Of course!

  I shook my head and looked at Maven through the rearview mirror. Please nothing dangerous, my eyes begged. His blond eyebrows drew together, then his eyes twinkled.

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “Slow down.”

  “What? Why?” My gaze snapped back to the road. “God!” I stepped on the brake.

  “I know what. Ride one of those,” Maven told Abby, a wicked grin tipping his lips into a lopsided smile. He pointed at the flock of sheep that was blocking our way.

  I rolled the car to a stop on the side of the road, eyes wide in surprise. A sea of white, fluffy animals clustered together, spilling across the narrow road down into the adjacent sloped pastures. There was no way to get through them.

  We opened our doors and got out, mesmerized. The clanking of bells around their necks together with their incessant bleating filled the air.

  “Wow,” I murmured. I’d never seen that many animals at once. There were hundreds of them.

  “Take your pick.” Maven pushed Abby forward.

  Abby peered around, looking a bit doubtful, though not intimidated.

  “Afraid?” Maven asked in a sing-song tone.

  Abby’s chest puffed up. “Nope. They’re pretty, aren’t they? So fluffy looking.”

  “Abby, you might get hurt,” I put in, knowing I was wasting my breath. If Abby was anything at all, it was stubborn and proud.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, slamming the car door shut and approaching the flock. She judged several of the animals, trying to decide which one would do the job.

  Maven shut his own door and leaned against it. I eyed our backpacks in the back seat, wondering if it was okay to leave them there. With a shrug, I closed my door, walked up to Maven and elbowed him. “Would you two give this up?”

  His response was, “Truth or dare, Marielle?”

  “I’m not playing.” I crossed my arms. “Why can’t you behave like adults?”

  Gingerly, Abby stepped next to a medium-sized sheep. “Hey there, pretty boy.”

  The animal ignored her and continued chewing its cud.

  “Look, I’m just going to sit on you for a minute. K? You stay nice and still while I show this nuisance of a boy how it’s done.”

  Very slowly, Abby swung a leg up and over the animal. For a second, she stood on one leg while her other one hovered in mid-air. She bit her lower lip and gradually lowered her leg down on the oblivious sheep, but didn’t set her entire weight on it.

  I held my breath. The animal continued to chew its cud. Five seconds passed, then it slowly turned its black face to give Abby a sideways glance with slanted-pupil eyes.

  “Hey, buddy,” she said with a nervous smile.

  The sheep looked away and went back to chewing.

  “Here we go.” Petite Abby sat on the fat animal and tangled her hands in the woolly coat. Her feet dangled several inches off the ground. She exhaled and was about to say something when the animal jerked its head upward and, after a panicked bleat, took off running like a possessed beast.

  Abby screamed, collapsed forward, and wrapped her arms around the sheep’s neck. The animal ran off the road and gained speed as it started down the sloped pasture. Abby held on for dear life, her screams turning into rhythmic yelps as the animal galloped further away.

  I ran, screaming her name with Maven close on my heels.

  He laughed and whooped. “Yeehah! Ride that pony,” he said with a fake Texan accent.

  “Shut up, Maven.” I stopped, turned around, and pushed him.

  He staggered back, pressed his lips together and tried to look injured, but his eyes were twinkling with the joke, while the sheep got further and further away.

  “You go help her. Now!” I stomped my foot like a five-year-old.

  “Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

  “Go. Help. Her.” My jaws clamped, exerting what felt like five hundred pounds of pressure. This wasn’t funny at all. What if Abby got hurt? We were in the middle of nowhere, in a foreign country. We didn’t even have a phone signal.

  The sheep circled around and started back, h
eaded right for us. Abby’s petite shape bounced up and down and seemed like it was starting to slide to the side. If she let go, she would fall and get trampled.

  Maven stood in the sheep’s path and put his hands up. “Easy, easy.”

  To my amazement the animal slowed and came to a stop. Abby’s arms gave out, and she dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, landing on one shoulder. She lay there for a moment, chest heaving. I took a few tentative steps toward her. Maven took two steps back, which was smart of him. Knowing Abby, she was probably trying to build up enough steam to go nuclear on his ass.

  Suddenly, she rolled over, both hands on her face, making a muffled sound that rocked her entire body. She was crying.

  Crap, she’s hurt.

  “Abby.” I knelt by her side, afraid to find out what was wrong. A broken bone? A bleeding wound?

  She wrapped her hands around her spasming stomach, her face contorted in a . . . What?! She’s laughing?!

  “That was freakin’ awesome,” Abby said between one deranged cackle and another.

  “You idiot! I thought you were hurt.” I punched her on the shoulder.

  Maven began laughing, too. And after a moment, I couldn’t help but join in.

  “You looked like one of those monkeys that ride dogs at the rodeo,” I said.

  They all laughed harder. The mental image was perfect.

  An unmistakable clicking sound stopped us short. I looked up. Maven stiffened, his face going pale and his eyes as wide a jeep tires. He held his breath. Someone was behind him, and that someone had just cocked a rifle.

  “Los agarre desgraciados,” a gravelly voice said.

  Abby’s brown eyes filled with fear. “What the hell?” she mouthed.

  Slowly, I got to my feet, hands going up in the air involuntarily. Without making any sudden movements, I peered over Maven’s shoulder. My eyes locked with those of a hulking man in his late-forties. He had to be at least six-foot four and weigh close to three hundred pounds of mostly muscle. He wore a white, long sleeved shirt with a gray vest and gray pants secured by a thick leather belt. His skin was sun-weathered and his eyes as clear and blue as Maven’s. He had a thick gray mustache.

  “Ya no van a joder más a mi rebaño,” he said, pointing his rifle right at Maven’s back.

  What was this? Highway robbery? What had the man said? I racked my brain for all the Spanish I knew. “Desgraciados” was an insult, wasn’t it? And “joder” was an ugly word, I knew that much.

  “Say something,” Abby whispered.

  “Uh, hola,” I waved.

  The lines around the man’s face hardened, making his already sour expression look meaner.

  “No hablamos Español. Americanos.” I immediately regretted mentioning our nationality. If this was a robbery, saying that we were Americans might only make us look like juicier targets, which—considering all the cash and credit cards we’d left in the car—we were. I gave the BMW a furtive glance, wishing we’d gone with the Ford Ka.

  To my relief, however, the man relaxed somewhat. The muzzle of his rifle dropped an inch, although it was still pointed at my friend. Maven’s eyes swiveled, revealing his urge to look behind and face the danger head on. I gave him a reassuring glance and slightly shook my head.

  “Touristas Americanos?” the man asked.

  “Sí!” I nodded excitedly.

  “¿Qué hacen aquí? No hay nada que ver por estos lados.”

  I understood this. He wanted to know what we were doing in the area, where there was nothing for a tourist to see. I saw no harm in telling him our purpose. “Um, buscamos al Profesor Gallardo. Um, vive cerca?”

  One of the man’s eyebrows went up, just as his rifle fell to the side, the muzzle now pointing safely to the ground. I exhaled and nodded at Maven, who went so limp with relief, he looked as if he might crumple to the ground. Abby rolled over slowly and got to her feet. Maven turned around, gave the man an awkward half-wave and took three steps back to join our side.

  “Siganme. Los llevo a la casa de Gallardo.” The man pointed in the direction of a small hill and started walking.

  “What did he say?” Abby asked.

  I translated. “I think he said to follow him. That he’ll take us to Gallardo’s house.”

  28

  Faris

  Andy’s words rang in my ears.

  We ain’t got your girl.

  She disappeared right from under our noses.

  She ran. Puff. Gone.

  After delivering his shocking message, Andy turned and marched out of the room, the echoes of his steps reverberating through the warehouse. He never looked back. If he worried about facing Akeelah’s anger later, he gave nothing away. He walked with his head held high and a firm stride.

  Relief and worry flooded me in equal amounts. Marielle hadn’t been captured by the criminals Akeelah and Andy had sent after her, but if she’d just disappeared, where had she gone? Had she found the briefcase? Was she hidden in a safe place?

  I had stayed here to protect Marielle—not fully trusting Akeelah’s claims, but too afraid to take a chance on my beloved’s life.

  I had stayed, and I had given this evil creature knowledge she should have never possessed.

  I had erred.

  I had failed.

  Shaking my head, I pushed the guilt away. It was hypocrisy. Faced with the same choice, I’d do it again. I would sacrifice the whole of humanity to save one single person.

  My Marielle.

  She had disappeared and taken herself out of the equation. It was now my turn. But if I disappeared, would Akeelah follow? Or would she stay and try to coerce Andy to do her bidding? I didn’t know. There was only one way to find out.

  The wish to leave this awful place rose up quickly within me and so did my magic. It surged through my essence with a desperate quality, immediately alerting Akeelah. With a snap, she turned her head in my direction, eyes glowing red. But she couldn’t stop me. A Djinn is always free to go to his realm.

  As the magic filled me, I opened a portal, slashing the veil between here and there. The portal was always the first step. Wishes don’t come true in the physical world, because its rules are based on the tangible. They are only possible in The Blink, where everything is insubstantial, infinite and ephemeral at the same time.

  Turning to smoke, I sped through the slit and felt the pull of that loathsome world on the part of me that wasn’t human. A portion of my essence grew cold, melting into fear, as it always did. I ignored it and called myself human, human, human.

  At lightning speed, I transported my essence to a different location, then re-entered the physical realm by cutting another slash into the shimmering veil separating my dual realities.

  Suddenly, I stood in front of a wreckage bathed in moonlight: twisted metal, charred wood, broken dreams. I tasted loss and death in the air. So many innocent people had died here, souls I’d tried to save but couldn’t. Yet another failure. I didn’t know exactly why I had chosen this place to escape to. Maybe I was hoping the pain of seeing this would somehow expunge my guilt.

  “Your sentimentalism is sickening.”

  So she had followed me.

  “Only second to your brutality,” I said.

  She stood next to me, and with satisfaction, looked upon the destruction her pet had caused. There was a splashing sound in the lake’s water, a fish, a large trout. The wind blew from the north, bringing a brackish scent with it.

  “A conscience is useless,” she said. “Everyone acts in their best interest. What is the use of guilt after it has all been said and done?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that. It was true. I had acted in my best interest to keep Marielle safe. Did it matter that I hadn’t killed anyone? Those who had died on the riverboat and the two Eritrean men should be on Akeelah and Andy’s consciences, not mine. And yet . . . what lay on my conscience was bigger than that. I had shown her how to make Djinn, and if she managed to figure out how to make one like Zet, hu
manity was doomed.

  So guilt burrowed deep inside of me, dwarfed only by the immense love I felt for that beautiful human girl whose green eyes haunted my every waking moment.

  “Go and find her,” Akeelah said. “Take your prize and relish it,” a mocking remark. “Neither one of you is of any use to me anymore.”

  The wind picked up, whipping my hair into my eyes. Akeelah floated toward the lake on a turbulent funnel cloud. When she reached the water, a whirlpool formed on the surface. She waved a black hand with a flourish and sank slowly into the lake until the black waters swallowed her.

  My fists clenched.

  What have I done?

  Defeat pinned itself to my chest and shone like a badge.

  29

  Marielle

  The shepherd guy walked up the small hill without waiting to see if we followed. I eyed my friends to gauge their mood. Maven looked uneasy, but Abby just shrugged and followed the guy like she was one of his sheep.

  Hesitantly, I started for the hill, my eyes dancing between the BMW and the shepherd’s back. Maybe following him wasn’t a great idea, but going around in circles wasn’t an option either. We would run out of gas before long, and I hadn’t seen any service stations nearby.

  For good measure, I aimed the fob toward the car and pressed the lock button. The headlights flashed accompanied by a satisfying beep.

  “I guess we can go to the top of the hill to see where he’s headed,” I said.

  “I guess,” Maven said. “Beats driving around aimlessly, if one forgets the rifle.”

  I started walking. “Yeah, the GPS was useless.”

  “If the guy didn’t live in the boonies, it might’ve worked.”

  Up ahead, Abby stopped to wait for us. When we reached her, she asked, “You think this dude works for the doctor?”

  The shepherd was only a few paces ahead.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like him.” Maven threw the man a nasty look and seemed to shiver, probably remembering the feeling of having a rifle pointed at his back.

  “He was just defending his sheep. Someone had the great idea of messing with them.” Abby picked a wildflower, put it in her hair and gave Maven a huge smile.