One Wish Away: Djinn Empire Complete Series

by Ingrid Seymour

  Such a man should not be allowed to live. He was the scum of the earth, as low as his cheating ex-wife. He deserved this.

  Heavy bricks of metal fell with purpose, hammering Boris down to the floor with a succession of sickening thwacks. I watched with a smile and didn’t lift a finger to prevent the avalanche.

  The collapse was loud, like a storm of boulders on a wooden roof. I did used my magic to muffle the worst of it and prevent his neighbors from coming to his aid.

  Yes, this would be my shortest stint of freedom since I first was transformed into a Djinn. But no matter. At least there would be one less sore upon Moscow’s rear end.

  When the storm passed, the living room was strewn with hundreds of gold bars—Boris buried cozily beneath them. One arm and his face could be seen among the shiny rubble.

  I gave a sigh. He was still alive. The fact that I hadn’t zoomed back into the stone made that clear.

  “Will you look at that? Maybe I’ll get a few hours of freedom, after all.” I smirked to myself and strolled toward the door, one hand in my jeans pocket, a whistling tune coming to my lips.

  Boris coughed.

  I imagined myself walking down Moscow’s streets, drinking everything in, learning how the world had changed in the last three years, if at all. Boris would probably live a few a hours. Not long, but enough to let me wander the city and allow me to gain the sanity that my indefinite furloughs required.

  “I . . . wish . . . to . . . live.”

  I froze, never making it to the door.

  The vile wretch!

  When I turned to face Boris. The gold was stacked neatly against the far wall, and he was sitting up, patting his chest, then staring at his hands.

  “That was your last wish,” I said.

  “You bastard!” he jumped to his feet. “You were going to let me die.” His voice was full of outrage and incredulity.

  I looked on with indifference, rubbing my chin in boredom.

  “You’re supposed to be my . . .” He trailed off.

  “Your what?” I asked, not at all curious about his preconceptions, just glad to highlight the error in his logic.

  “Ah, fuck you! You tricky beast!” He spat at my feet with bravado, though there was fear in his eyes.

  I took a step forward.

  He took a step back.

  “We’ll . . . take care of my whore ex-wife first thing tomorrow,” his voice shook as he spoke. “She walks by the park on her way to work. I’ve had enough for tonight.” He threw a sideways glance at the gold. “Go!” He swatted a hand to dismiss me. “I . . . I release you ‘till tomorrow. Be gone. Whatever one is supposed to say.”

  “As you wish,” I said, bowing my head mockingly and vanished into thin air. I could take little from Boris, and this night’s sleep was one of those things.

  So let him wonder whether I was still there, quietly watching him from a dark corner of the room while I plan my next move.

  3

  It was late, past midnight. The streets were empty, the air crisp. At least I got a perfect night. For a few hours, I resisted the urge to go to Persepoli, the city that saw my birth and my death. But it was inevitable. Every time I was released, I found myself there again, digging my feet into the sand, imagining the way the streets used to be all those centuries ago. Everything’s changed now, devoid of the grandeur, the bustling progress, the hope that used to vibrate in the air. All that is left is ruins in a country they now call Iran.

  Without even making a purposeful decision, I abandoned Moscow, allowing my memories to sweep me away. The air around me changed, turning hot and dry, so different from that of the Russian capital.

  For a moment, I shaped a mirage of what my human city used to be. My clothes changed from tight, rough materials to soft, flowing ones. They were comfortable. They were right.

  A conjured tent lay before me. I walked to its entrance, lifted my hand to the flap, but stood still, anticipating what I would find inside, who I would find inside.

  “Cala,” I whispered her name.

  Why did I torture myself in this manner? I had tried to forget, but it was impossible. Millennia had passed, but trapped in that stone, time was a slippery thing, like sand in an hourglass sliding down and down, finding no purchase on the smooth glass. In some ways, an eternity had passed. But in most, I felt the betrayal as if it’d happened just yesterday: my brother and Cala both lying to me. Her love easily swayed, his pride enormous—the two things that destroyed me.

  Faris couldn’t stand his younger brother having something he did not. Cala’s beauty and innocence had seemed like a prize to him, something to boast about. Though that was secondary to what he really wanted: her father’s favor. General Medes would have given Faris what he desired most . . .

  Glory in battle.

  So when our father arranged for him to marry my beloved, Faris welcomed the news. And not only that, he hid the information from me, even after learning Cala was the woman I loved.

  Then Cala, claiming duty to her father, pushed me away, forgetting all the promises we’d made to each other, forgetting the heated passion between us. Faris, the golden son with his dashing looks, had spellbound her, drawing her attentions away from me.

  And it might have all ended with nothing more than a broken heart. Mine, of course. Except Faris learned that Cala and I had been together, body and soul—something his pride could not handle. He didn’t want her after that. Not when he thought her soiled by me.

  Instead, he resolved to leave Persepoli, to abandon everything he’d ever known simply to avoid the shameful union. He didn’t believe when Cala threatened to take her life if he left. No. He simply walked away and packed his bags, though he got no further than the stables before General Medes’s guards stopped him. Cala was already dead by then, swift in her promise, relieved of her shame.

  And this is why we died, why we were tortured and turned into Djinn slaves at the whim of random, selfish masters. I could only assume Faris had shared my fate in the end. I was dispatched first, after all, and he could have easily died before General Medes’s magus had a chance to turn him. Though I doubted it and imagined him suffering inside a stone tablet just the way I did. No other alternative was possible or fair. That’s why I continued searching for him, why I was sure one day I would find him and make him pay for Cala’s death, for his betrayal to his own blood.

  My hand shook on the tent flap. I should have walked away from it, should have dissolved the illusion.

  I didn’t.

  Instead, I walked inside and, among the bolts of silk, found Cala’s breathtaking mirage.

  She wore the same clothes of that fateful day. Her face was covered by a veil, hiding her sensuous lips and delicate chin. She looked up, her large eyes smiling. She was happy to see me, the way it had been before Faris ruined everything.

  I moved closer, forgetting that it was all a lie of my own doing. This was all I had left, the only comfort I could find—even if it was manufactured.

  With trembling fingers, I lowered her veil. She wore a knowing smile that did something to my heart. Even this ghost, this figment of my imagination, had the power to undo me. That is how much I had loved her, how entirely hers I’d been and still was.

  Lost in my waking dream, I took her in my arms and kissed her. We laid atop the silks and made love, the memory of her softness still on my fingertips.

  My night of freedom went down as a lie, the same as many others.

  4

  Morning came, and my dreams and mirages shattered as they always did. My master’s command pulled me to him, to his dirty house and his despicable presence. He was waiting for me, ready, grinning. He led me out of his apartment, away from his building. We rode the metro that took us downtown. Once there, we walked a few blocks to Gorky Central Park and sat on a bench.

  It was early, the sun in its infancy. Boris was restless. His legs bounced up and down, and his hands twisted. People walked with crisp steps, coffee in hand. They
were headed to work. Boris’s bloodshot eyes flashed from one person to the next. Droplets of sweat slid down the side of his face.

  “How are you gonna do it?” he asked suddenly.

  “Do what?” I feigned ignorance. He was getting scared, having seconds thoughts. His second wish had gone so terribly wrong that he was probably wondering if something similar would happen now. I gave him a sideways glance, making sure it was charged with malicious intent.

  “Make sure I don’t get caught,” he said. “I want her to die in this park. She meets him here for lunch sometimes. The bitch!”

  Anger twisted in my chest. This man was sick.

  “Well, answer me!” he demanded, when I did nothing but clench my teeth.

  “You will be invisible,” I said.

  Boris looked dubious for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his flushed face. “Invisible, huh? You can really do that?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “What about prints? DNA evidence? I plan to strangle her, spit on her face. I want her to know it’s me killing her. She ruined my life. She embarrassed me.” Spittle flew from his mouth. “Will they find any of that when I leave her dead on the ground?”

  “They won’t,” I said courtly while a shuddering cold descended over me.

  This was all Faris’s fault—every lowlife I had ever been forced to serve, every person they had ordered me to kill. My brother was to blame for everything. I was an evil creature because he had deceived me, had wanted to steal from me. How could I ever forgive him? Maybe if it had been an accident, an error, but he had deliberately taken Cala from me. Not because he loved her, but because he expected to gain something from it.

  Suddenly, Boris jumped to his feet. “There she is!”

  A woman in a gray dress came around the corner, her high heels clicking against the concrete sidewalk. Her hair was pulled tightly over her bulbous skull and set in a severe bun in the back of her head. A black purse was slung over her shoulder, and she clutched it tightly to her body as if she expected someone to snatch it.

  “I’m ready for this,” Boris squared his shoulders, hiked his pants and marched in her direction. His ex-wife didn’t notice him as he sneaked up behind her. When he was only a few steps away, he pronounced her name in a ominous tone. “Tasia!”

  The woman jumped and turned around, clutching her purse tighter than before. Her eyes were wide and scared as she found Boris standing there.

  “Stay away!” she said immediately. “You know you’re supposed to stay away!” She took a few steps back, looking over her shoulder, assessing her situation.

  “How are you, love?” he asked in a sickening tone.

  “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll call for help.” Hands shaking, she dug in her purse.

  Boris took two quick steps in her direction and snatched her purse away. Tasia screeched and wrapped her hands protectively around her middle.

  “You’ll go to jail this time. I’ll make sure of it,” she threatened.

  Boris threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t think so. As a matter of fact”—he let go of the purse which dropped to the ground with a thud—“I’d like you to try. Go ahead. Call out for help.”

  So he still didn’t trust me, and he meant to test whether or not people could hear him.

  Tasia shook her head and looked around embarrassed. “Just leave me alone, Boris,” she pleaded. “I don’t want any trouble. I just want to live in peace.”

  “In peace?! In peace?!” he demanded, taking her by the arm and shaking her.

  Tasia yelped, though not hard enough to attract anyone’s attention.

  “What about me?! What about the peace you stole from me?” Boris shook her again. The fear in Tasia’s face redoubled. “Till death do us part. Remember? That’s what you swore! You stole my peace. You made a laughingstock out of me. I bet you never think about that, do you? DO YOU?!” he repeated with a shake when Tasia didn’t respond.

  “Let go of me!“ Tasia said in a louder tone. Her eyes darted around, checking to see if any of the passersby had taken notice of the arguing couple.

  “No! I’m not gonna let go of you,” he said, grabbing her other arm and pushing her against the wall of an adjacent building.

  This time Tasia screamed loud enough for notice. But no one heard her. They just continued on their way, absorbed in their own thoughts and problems, entirely unaware of the horror unfolding mere feet away.

  “You’re gonna pay for what you did to me, Tasia.” His voice was a disgusting purr as he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand.

  She turned her head to the side, her mouth a twisted grimace of revulsion.

  Boris laid a kiss on her jawline and pressed himself against her.

  A bitter taste rose to my mouth. I wished and wished it all away, but my magic wouldn’t work against him. He was the despot master, and I, the helpless slave.

  “Somebody, help me. Please,” Tasia said, her voice a small croak inside her throat.

  Boris wrapped his hands around her neck, his thumbs caressing her throat. “Do you remember when we first met?” he asked.

  “Help! Help me!” Tasia screamed. Her eyes glared in the direction of a man who walked by, a cell phone pressed to his ear. A desperate question filled her eyes. She knew something was wrong. She knew no one could so callously ignore a situation like this—not even in Moscow.

  Something prickled in the back of my mind, a feeling that had scared me in the beginning, but to which I had grown accustomed. Another Djinn was nearby. I sensed its magic, the way a tree might sense creatures moving over its buried roots. Except the presence was not benign as usual. Instead, it was tense and strangely heavy. The feeling passed quickly, however, and I was immediately drawn back to the awful scene.

  “Scream all you want. No one can hear you.” Boris laughed in delight. “You will pay for what you did to me today and no one will care.”

  Tasia’s legs kicked, but Boris was too close to give her any purchase. She dug her fingernails into his forearms as she tried to pull him away. “Help! Please!”

  “I’m not even hurting you,” Boris said. “Not yet, anyway. I wanted to talk to you but it seems you’re not interested. You always thought yourself so clever. Smarter than anyone. Smarter than me. That’s why you cheated on me.”

  Tears slid down Tasia’s face. “I didn’t cheat on you.”

  “Don’t you dare lie to me!” He shoved her harder against the wall and squeezed her neck with bruising force.

  Tasia opened her mouth to speak, but only a rasp came out. Boris released the pressure.

  “What do you want me to say? Please, let me go, Boris.”

  He scoffed. “There’s nothing you can say that can erase your betrayal. I’ve dreamed of making you pay, so . . . today . . . you die.”

  “No, no, please. I loved you. I did love you once, but you changed.”

  “I didn’t change,” he yelled in her face. “You and your lies. Always lies. I don’t want to hear them anymore. I don’t.” Boris’s rage increased with every word from his lips, his face going from red to crimson. Sweat poured out in streaks into the collar of his shirt. Corded tendons protruded from his neck.

  His thick hands tightened their grip, squeezing with deadly intent, any desire to play with her—the cat with the helpless mouse—gone.

  “If I can’t be happy, you won’t be happy either,” he said as he choked the life out of her.

  Tasia fought, her arms and legs trying to push but mostly flailing. She made a terrible sound in the back of her throat, a rasp that grated against my soul, tainting it darker than it already was.

  I forced myself to watch.

  When I found Faris and took my revenge, Tasia’s pale face and lolling tongue would flash before my eyes. One final time I would relive her death as well as that of the hundred others I had been commanded to kill.

  As a human boy, I was trained in the use of the sword, the way my brother had been. Yet, my hands wer
e clean of death when I died, never having spilled a single drop of blood. I’d wanted peace, a family of my own. I never cared for war, the glory of battle, and the exaltation of my king. Faris was the one who bought into all that nonsense. He longed to achieve conquest and death for the sake of a proud individual.

  Now, I had changed, and I daydreamed of finding my brother and staining my hands with his blood, down to my nail beds.

  I would make him pay. Though sometimes death seemed too mild a punishment for his cruelty. In truth, I wanted him to suffer more than that, longer than that. Eternity, if possible. The kind of suffering the stone provided, but without respite.

  Yes, that would be fitting! An eternity inside his magus-made prison.

  Finally, Tasia’s legs gave out. They went limp, unable to support her weight any longer. Boris let her slip to the ground, his hands still at her throat. He eased her down until she laid flat, then gave her neck an extra squeeze for good measure.

  I stared at her still body as the monster she had once loved strangled the last bit of life out of her.

  She died then, fulfilling Boris’s first wish.

  Abruptly, as it always happened, I faded out of existence and returned to my prison. I vaguely wondered how long it would be before I was ushered back into the world again. Mostly, I thought of Faris and of how I would one day give him a fate harsher than death. I had a better idea now.

  Eternal imprisonment inside his own stone tablet sounded much better than anything I had envisioned so far.

  5

  Three days!

  I opened my eyes to the world only three days after leaving my last master behind. In and out faster than ever before.

  This meant Boris was dead. Ironically, he didn’t get much time to enjoy his gold. I couldn’t say I was surprised, though I was glad.

  My body took shape, automatically adopting the form I had worn as a human. The manner of clothing I summoned was the same I had used with Boris. Since Spain, I hadn’t fully acquainted myself with the times to learn the manner of dress preferred by those around my perpetual human age of seventeen.