Her One Wish

by Marie Hall

  “Robin,” she said in a voice grown thick with power, “I am a good person,” and so saying, she released the command into the universe.

  Like a violent gust of wind, the rush exploded from her, traveling miles to find the men, to sink like crystalized volts under their flesh, making them gasp as the memories of the past three days were violently ripped from them, replaced with calm and peace. Replaced with the thrill of the hunt. Of finding food for the men back in Sherwood. A nice, fat buck.

  Nixie felt spent, exhausted from the release of that energy, but gladdened that if she did have to meet the men again, maybe next time they wouldn’t look at her with suspicion, but maybe, just maybe…a touch of kindness.

  She hated feeling so needy for that, especially from people she didn’t know and wouldn’t be around for much longer, but need it she did. She’d been alone for so long that even the thought of kindness from strangers made her want to weep.

  As if he felt what she’d done, Robin stepped into her space.

  She could see the words trembling on his tongue; see the way his throat worked, like he wished to say something. She knew he knew what she’d done. That she’d given him more than he’d asked for, but still the words would not come.

  Closing the distance between them, until their chests pressed together, Robin’s jaw worked from side to side. Rather than speak, he lifted his palm and cupped her cheek¸ sliding his thumb softly against her flesh.

  It was a thank you. Maybe it was even more. Nixie couldn’t tell.

  She should tell him to move back. To stop touching her.

  She was a genie. A fact he constantly reminded her of. Not once since she’d known him had he called her by her God-given name. Instead it’d been pet, genie, dark genie…anything to keep her at a psychological distance, to keep him from thinking of her as having a heart, having a soul.

  They didn’t know each other well, so she understood it, but there was more to Robin, so much more than what initially met the eye.

  The air between them shivered, practically crackled with heat and longing. She, out of a desperate desire for companionship, to not be shoved back into that lamp ever again, and he… because, well… she honestly couldn’t say.

  But she recognized a longing in him all the same. Robin seemed like a man at odds with himself. It wasn’t Nixie’s place to question the whims of her masters, in fact, she’d never been curious about any of them.

  But she was about him.

  She grabbed his wrist, forcing his seeking thumb to stop. Each breath felt dragged into her lungs, scraping her from the inside out. She had to bite down on her lip hard to keep from whimpering at the volatility that flowed between them. She was an oil-slicked wick; he was the spark. If they ever met, if they ever crossed that line, they would combust.

  “We should go,” she whispered in a broken voice.

  He blinked, and the spell broke. Releasing her quickly, Robin nodded.

  “Aye. We should,” he said in a voice as hoarse and broken sounding as hers.

  Blowing out a puff of breath, Nixie focused on breathing in not his scent of pine and man, but on the sweetness of grass that surrounded them. “Would you like me to take us all back to Sherwood?”

  The whites of eyes stood out in startling, bold relief against his electric blue irises. “Not if it will cost me another wish. I’ve precious few left. No, we walk.” He forked two fingers through his hair, making bits of it stand up on edge.

  He felt this too. This weird chemistry between them.

  She grunted, mostly because she didn’t trust herself to speak just yet.

  Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Nixie followed beside him. Her thoughts a chaotic mess. Why had he not asked her what she’d done to the men?

  Did he trust her?

  Did he simply not care?

  What was this strange, tugging connection she felt to him? She knew he felt something, but did he feel it with the intensity of longing she did?

  Would each day make it grow stronger, deeper?

  Was this even real? Or a side effect of her isolation? She’d never connected to another soul, be it on Kingdom or Earth, so swiftly, so viscerally.

  It wasn’t that she loved him. She most certainly didn’t. They didn’t know one another, and yet, she was aware of him.

  Of his scent of pine. Of the way he moved. How his eyes were constantly in motion, shifting around the landscape, studying anything and everything around them.

  How he would study her with the same type of intensity.

  What did it mean?

  What did any of this mean?

  Then she thought of her parents. Of their story. They’d met as ghosts, with one foot in the grave. It’d only been their fascination with each other that’d caused them to stay among the living.

  Mom had told her once that the bond had been instant and all consuming. But it’d been Dad who’d told her the rest of the story. That on Kingdom when two souls destined to be together finally met up, that it was like the rest of the world ceased to exist—that no vow of matrimony or exchanging of rings could supersede the potent and intoxicating magic of true love.

  But her parents had never spoken of flight, of feeling like they’d not only been lifted into the clouds, but a piece of their souls merged.

  Nixie clutched a fist to her breast, staring at Robin from the corner of her eye. Was that what this was? Was Robin her destined match? That would be impossible, though, because every story known about Robin always spoke of Marian with it.

  She was definitely not Marian, not to mention the fact that she’d loved once before.

  Eric. She’d felt passion for him. Desire.

  Hadn’t she?

  She frowned.

  As if aware of her inner turmoil, Robin turned to her and her heart skipped a violent beat in her chest. All her life she’d dreamed of her Prince Charming, in love with the idea of her own fairytale someday getting played out.

  Was this man, this Brad Pitt clone, the one?

  Clearing his throat, Robin jerked his gaze away. “We’re doddering. Pick up your pace,” he grunted, and without waiting to hear her reply, took off at a fast trot.

  Deliberately, Nix focused on anything else but Robin. Wondering if now that she was out of the lamp if she could find a spare moment to visit her family. Wondering if she should change her clothes, her hair, find a new scent other than honeysuckle to wear…anything, anything at all that had nothing to do with Robin Hood.

  They didn’t talk much for the remainder of that day. Only long enough to find food when needed, occasionally Robin would look over his shoulder to make sure she still followed him, but that was about it.

  The tension between them grew and grew so that by the time he finally called an end to their trek for the day, whatever spell had been cast back in those woods seemed more a fantasy than reality.

  Again he’d built them a fire, and as crazy it sounded, even through the deafening silence of the day, Nixie found herself looking forward to her night alone with him—camping out beneath the stars, staring up at the bejeweled sky, as a warm fire crackled and snapped beside them.

  “What are you thinking of?” he finally asked once they’d lain down.

  Seemed an innocent enough question. She shrugged. “I was staring up at the sky and wondering why I never noticed how pretty the stars were before.”

  Which was true, though she’d only thought it in passing.

  “My dad was born in the stars, he pointed out the constellations to me every night atop our balcony back home. The stars are the same there and here, he’d say.” She smiled, remembering the cherished memory. “I love the stars.”

  Rolling over, Robin propped his chin on his fist and stared at her in silence for several long, excruciating minutes.

  Nixie had kicked off her slippers when they’d lain down. Now she curled her toes and flexed her fingers through the grass, fighting the instinct to get up and pace under the weight of his scrutiny.

  Sh
e nibbled her bottom lip, frozen with indecision. Unsure whether he was trying to start a conversation, or if he were simply studying her like an amoeba under a microscope—like a curiosity he was trying to figure out.

  Unable to stop herself from looking back at him, she was locked like prey in the sights of a predator. The light of the flames cast half his face in dark shadows, highlighting the sculpted planes of it, making him appear half-demon, half-man. Beautiful and deadly. An incubus come to steal her soul.

  She shivered.

  But no matter how she tried to remind herself that he was just a man. She knew he wasn’t. Not really.

  Robin Hood. The man of legend and fairytale. Alone in the woods with her.

  Sometimes she couldn’t believe this was really her life, that all of this wasn’t some awful nightmare she was stuck inside of, and that her body—much like Sleeping Beauty’s had been—was trapped in a spell that prevented her from waking up.

  “Tell me more about the sky, pet.”

  Breath releasing in a loud puh, she turned her gaze from his. Looking directly at him was a lot like staring into the sun. Dangerous to one’s health.

  “So now I’m pet again? Not genie? Not woman?” She wished she hadn’t said that, but her brain and her mouth rarely worked hand in hand.

  She heard his smile as he said, “You’re right, I shouldn’t call you pet. I’ll be dragging you into my camp soon enough. I’ll need to introduce you as something—”

  “Robin? Where’s Maid Marian?” she asked, trying to switch subjects.

  “Maid who?” His eyes tightened into a sharp frown, staring at her as if she were crazy.

  Heart thudding almost violently in her chest, Nixie sat straight up. “Marian?”

  He cocked his head. “Are you all right, woman?”

  What? But that didn’t make any sense. “You know.” She flicked her wrist with excitement. “The love of your life?”

  Either he was a good liar, or…

  Wetting her lips, she waited for his answer.

  “Oh,” he scoffed, “if you’re referencing a story about me and my men, I know not. The stories told of Kingdom are rarely true.”

  Nixie had to remind herself to not let her jaw hang open. “What?” she spluttered, blinking, because what he was saying totally wasn’t computing. “There are always some threads of fact, though, right?”

  “About a woman?” He laughed, a giant, booming sound that echoed through the still woods. “I’d say not.”

  “Well, do you know of her at all?” Nixie flicked at the dried tip of a twig.

  Dad had always told her how fallacious fairytales were. She’d known that. He’d told her his story many times. That he wasn’t this evil genie hell-bent on taking over the world, killing the king he’d served so that he could be with his queen.

  Okay, so, granted, her dad had had an affair with the queen, but there’d been mitigating circumstances and it wasn’t like her dad was cool with it. He’d learned his lesson. The hard way. It’d very nearly taken his life, but he’d learned and he and Mom were so completely in love it almost bordered on eye-rolling at times, but the truth was, she loved seeing her parents so completely devoted to one another.

  Because of them Nixie had grown up a romantic. Knowing that no matter how long she had to wait, her perfect other half was out there.

  And though dad had told her the tales as Earthlings knew them had very little shred of fact to them, Nix had devoured them, wishing for her very own Prince Charming.

  One of her favorite tales in the world had been Robin Hood and his utter devotion and adoration for his beautiful Maid Marian.

  “I’m afraid not, pet.” His smirk was broad. “Though if you’re petitioning for the spot, there just so happens to be an opening. I’m completely unattached.”

  Lip curling up at him, she rolled her eyes. “Why do you act like this?”

  “Act like what?” He sat up, snapping the twig she’d been flicking at in half.

  “This.” She fluttered her fingers in his face. “All ‘my pet’ this and ‘my pet’ that. I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t like it.” His words were flat.

  “Not if you don’t mean it.” Wait? What? She hadn’t meant to say that.

  Nixie wasn’t sure what it was about her words that’d made the flirtatious twinkle in his eyes die out, but suddenly she wasn’t staring at the irreverent Robin, but the one he was around his men.

  The cold, silent leader who saw so much more than what met the eyes. A ruthless, cunning man stared back at her.

  She felt silly for having blurted that out in such a way that it made her sound sorta psycho, it wasn’t like they were dating or anything. He was her master, he could address her anyway he liked, and yet…at least in the privacy of her mind she could admit that she hated it. Hated to hear him use a term of endearment in a way that meant nothing to him.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry. You can call me whatever you—”

  “You wish to know the way my mind works, is that it.”

  It wasn’t really a question, so she didn’t treat it as one. Nixie nibbled on a corner of her lip, stomach suddenly growling with a need for food. There was food inside her lamp. All she’d have to do was slip inside and she’d have a nice, warm bed. Whatever food she liked, but the thought of going back in there, it made her want to cry.

  Everything in there was fake, just a mirage, smoke and mirrors. The wind wasn’t real, her parents weren’t real, the beautiful Chicago skyline wasn’t real…none of it was real. This was real. The night. The fire.

  Him.

  Raising his legs, Robin crossed his arms over his knees and stared out at the flat, open stretch of forest. Robin had been very meticulous in where he’d chosen their camp tonight. She’d yet to see another living soul aside from him and his men, and yet, he constantly acted as though they were being followed.

  Maybe all his years of hiding, of running from the law of his land had made him overly shifty and nervous. Then again, maybe his stories were entirely wrong, and Robin wasn’t running from the law at all. Maybe he lived in a nice hut, surrounded by a bunch of sweaty, smelly men who looked to sit around the campfire and make fart jokes all day.

  Hell if she knew.

  “Long ago I shut myself off. Turned off my emotions,” he answered his own question. But his eyes were distant, staring at a spot over her shoulder; he looked like he wasn’t even aware she was there anymore, like he was just speaking aloud to himself.

  Nixie wanted to turn around, to look at whatever it was he did, but she didn’t dare for fear of breaking the spell. Instead she ran her fingers up the pink silk seam of her pants and screwed up her courage to say, “You have emotions. I’ve seen them.”

  “No.” He finally looked at her, his electric-blue eyes glowed hypnotically, making her pulse pound and her legs feel weak and unsteady.

  She was grateful she was sitting.

  Beautiful eyes. Such beautiful eyes. She’d always thought it was a man’s smile that was her kryptonite, but Nixie was discovering that eyes held just as much appeal.

  “What you see, what they all see, it’s my mask.” His voice was cold, inflectionless. “I’m sure there are emotions buried deep, but I’ve long since forgotten what they feel like. There is only one that feeds me now.”

  She frowned. The night felt suddenly overwhelming and oppressive. Like she shouldn’t speak above a whisper for fear they’d be overheard—even though she could hear nothing heavier than the tread of animal paws around them.

  “What feeds you?”

  His look was cold, blank, when he said, “Vengeance. When you see me laugh, or erupt, or tease, it’s an act. It’s all an act.”

  “I don’t believe that’s true.”

  “How would you know? You know nothing of me, pet,” he sneered the last. “If you knew what I’ve seen, the things that’d been done to me, you would understand.”

  “No.” She shook her head harder. Back on Earth, Nixi
e had been set on studying criminal psychology. She’d always been fascinated by the darkness of the mind, the places where it could take men, even good, brave men. The propensity even the sanest had for evil was a simple fact of human nature.

  Strip a human down to their basest form and they were really nothing more than animals.

  Of course, she’d never gotten the chance to do much more than enroll in college for it before she’d been snatched away, but all her life Nixie had had an obsession with studying the human mind.

  Learning its dark and twisted ways. Even the most vile, the most evil, had one thing they cared about. Maybe not a someone in particular, but something. They could be cold, cruel, calculating killers, but even the most pathological had that one weakness, that one chink in their armor.

  Robin wasn’t heartless or cold or cruel. She saw that in the way he treated his men. How he’d wasted a precious wish on making them forget her, to keep her safe—that wasn’t the work of someone with no heart.

  “You think you don’t feel and maybe to you, you don’t. Maybe you’ve buried it so far down deep that you can’t recognize it for what it is. But I saw you back there with your men. I saw the way the fire blazed in your eyes when John had his hand wrapped around my throat. I think you can feel, Robin, I just think you don’t like feeling. And that, my friend, is a very huge difference.”

  Snorting, suddenly his lips were twitching and the intense moodiness he’d worn like a veil lifted. Like a chameleon changing its colors…turning from darkness to light. “You intrigue me, woman.”

  Robin seemed as shocked by his confession as she now felt.

  Now she was a woman. Not a pet, not a genie. A woman. Interesting. He might not want to get too close to her, might not want to know her more, but whether he acknowledged it not, Robin was curious about her.

  Just as she was curious about him.

  Feeling bold, she wet her lips. His gaze snapped down to the movement like a hawk spotting prey. She shivered under the heavy weight of his stare.

  “Tell me more about myself, then. Let’s see what you glean just from this outer shell.” Reaching into his pocket, he extracted two golden apples. Handing her one of them.