The Accidental Genie

by Dakota Cassidy

  Oh, for sure it was so not bright she wouldn’t need shades. Jeannie fought to keep her panic to herself. One fact at a time, Jeannie.

  “So, back to Burt. Why did you curse him to the bottle?” Sloan asked, reading her mind, his eyes now intent on Nekaar.

  “Alas, much like your human world, we have our share of upstarts—troubled souls who wish only to create mischief and discord with their gift of trickery. Burt was one of them. He could no longer be allowed to roam between the veils freely. He flaunted his magic. He abused it, using it on those whom were helpless to defend themselves.”

  “So he cracked on humans?” Nina asked.

  Nekaar frowned, the solid stone of his features lining. “Cracked?”

  “Took advantage of humans,” Jeannie added helpfully.

  Nekaar sighed long and put upon, his thick wall of a chest rising and falling under his vest. He dipped his shiny head low. “It is so. Thus, I imprisoned him to the bottle for eternity.”

  Jeannie spread her arms wide. “Well, glitch in the cursing thing, yes? Because here I am—stuck with a bottle and a man I can’t get more than a few hundred feet from. So what happened? How did Burt manage to break your curse? Who would steal the bottle? And what’s with this attached-at-the-hip thing?”

  His look was dry, his words drier still. “The curse was broken because you, madam, let him out of the bottle.”

  Jeannie’s anger spiked. “Well, hold the hell on now. I don’t want to go all Girl, Interrupted on you, but why, if Burt is such a bad genie, would you ever leave his bottle just lying around so just anybody could open it? I mean, hello. It was at a party I was catering, for gravy’s sake. Why wasn’t it in a genie holding cell or something? And why would you imprison him, in of all things, a gin bottle? It’s like putting him in a can of Coke! Maybe, if you’d locked him in, say, a can of spotted dick, or even Spam, your chances would have been less likely someone would have opened it, and he would have escaped. Who eats spotted dick? Never mind. I’m sure there are lots of people who do. But I think there are far more who drink booze. I mean, c’mon. A bottle of gin? If you ask me, that was just careless curse planning, genie. Weak, weak, weak!”

  Nekaar rumbled his discontent, making the room shake and sway. “I will not have you defame my djinn capabilities, you disgraceful mortal!”

  Sloan set Jeannie behind him in what she gathered was an effort to defend her, but she was tired. And cranky. And damn well fed up to her swollen eyeball with this whole genie bag.

  She gave Sloan a shove and stepped in front of him, her nostrils flared in anger. On tippy toe, she rose, rolling her neck at him. “You listen here, you crazy, chick-trouser-wearing, crappy-cursing, elitist djinn snob. You back the hell off and quit calling names! I’m a disgrace, my eye! If it weren’t for you, this wouldn’t be happening! Now, if you have absolutely nothing useful to offer in the way of fixing the mess you created, get the hell out of my house!”

  “Niiiice, homeslice. Way to slap an asshole down.” Nina thumped her on the back, then stood behind her in protective mode, placing her hands on Jeannie’s shoulder.

  There, Nina approval. So, hah!

  Nekaar lifted his chin in arrogance. “You, pale of skin”—he sneered at Nina—“have a vile mouth.”

  “And you, bald of head”—she sneered back—“have sissy pants.” She pointed at the filmy cloth covering his tree-sized legs.

  “Hold up!” Wanda ordered, parting the group and giving Nina a hand signal of warning. “Stop right there. You may not like it, Nina, but Nekaar’s our only solid lead to the djinn world. So don’t razz the caged tiger, huh? Jeannie? While it’s super-duper awesome to see you stand up for yourself and find your voice, there’s a time and a place, agreed?”

  Jeannie let her head fall to her chest. “Sorry,” she mumbled. In truth, she was really just taking her frustration out on Nekaar. He’d done the right thing by capturing Burt. His intentions, if nothing else, were good. Wanda was right. They needed this nutball to help them.

  “Okay, so, put away your easily affronted genie sensibilities and help us. Tell them what you told me about Burt,” Marty encouraged with a smile.

  Nekaar stood silent and regal.

  Marty sighed, running a hand over her neck to massage it. “Now, don’t be petty, Yul; do it or I’ll hunt down your bottle again. And this time, I’m bringing swatches and as many fluffy, pink pillows as I can wrap my werewolf hands around.”

  Nekaar’s stiff posture slumped slightly. “Burt’s bottle was stolen from me. I do not know who took it, nor do I know how it ended up on this plane. I am responsible for your plight. There. We have cleansed in a group setting. I consider that absolution. Now, may I go, madam?” he asked Marty in a peevish tone.

  Marty planted her hands on her slender hips and shook her head. “No. No, you may not go. You’re more than a little responsible for losing track of Burt’s bottle. If you’re the upstanding djinn you say you are, you’ll not only help, but you’ll tell me why your face was flashing all sorts of signals when we told you Jeannie had granted more than three wishes. Which, if I remember as we chatted over a pot of jasmine tea, you said was all you were obligated to grant the person who sets you free. In turn, the genie is set free from enslavement. End contract. As you can see, that’s not the case with Jeannie. We’re on wish number five, if we’re counting Keegan’s wish, pal. Ante up, genie.” She snapped her fingers under his nose.

  Nekaar rolled his genie eyes at a very bossy Marty. He shook his fingers at her, glistening with rings. “You are maddening.”

  “And you’re going to sleep amongst a bunch of throw pillows in three, two, one . . .” Marty threatened, the tassels on her vest quivering when she shook her finger at Nekaar.

  The genie cleared his throat, the thick cords moving up and down his deeply bronzed neck. “This is the dilemma as I see it. Upon release from his eternal prison, Burt cursed Jeannie to the bottle. If he were an honorable genie, of which I have informed you, he is not, he would have granted you your three wishes and been freed from the curse I placed upon his dark soul. As is quite obvious, Burt defies honor and sought only to gain his freedom. It is also my assumption that when he blathered his curse upon Jeannie, he somehow confused his words and tethered you to your master for eternity. Burt was never very adept academically. He was always mucking something up. Often, he would create havoc during lessons. That he doomed you to another poor soul makes enormous sense to this djinn. Burt and I practiced often together. I still bear the scars of our class on creating thunderstorms for botanical purposes.”

  Sloan, who’d remained silent while he absorbed the information bandied about, finally spoke. His deep, gravel-hard voice sent chills up Jeannie’s spine. “So Burt, the guy you lost track of, cursed us to be together for eternity? Eternity?”

  “It is so,” Nekaar said in his hushed, yet somehow booming voice.

  “Jesus Christ,” Sloan murmured.

  Jeannie heard the disbelief in Sloan’s voice, and she was sure she heard disappointment, too. Deep disappointment, the kind that should be expected when one found out they had a forever albatross around their neck. Even though she was experiencing the same disappointment, she found it still hurt a little. So she wasn’t blonde. She was still funny—and a little interesting.

  Taking a deep breath, Jeannie plowed onward. Good or bad, she had to know what could be around the corner. “So how do we fix it? Can’t I just wish my way out of this?” She’d given that notion some thought. If she was just granting any old wish, why not her own?

  Thunderclouds flashed across Nekaar’s angular face. “No, madam. You must never, ever, ev-er make a wish for personal gain. Djinn code strictly prohibits it. Burt often abused his magic, and you see what happened to him.”

  Silly, Jeannie. You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? Her snort dripped sarcasm. �
��Yeah. Because as a result of what happened to him, this happened to me.” Jeannie circled the space between her and Nekaar.

  “A thousand apologies, madam,” the genie offered with a bow. Yet, she wasn’t convinced he really had any sincerity going on to match his contrite look.

  “Spilled milk and all,” Jeannie retorted. “So, if I have to be a genie forever, fine. I’ll figure out the death-by-push-up-bra thing, but I can’t have Sloan stuck to me forever. This isn’t his fault. He was just helping me, and because he was just being a decent person, he has to be stuck with me forever? That’s crazy—and unjust—and crazy. So what do we do?” She closed her eyes then, waiting for the inevitable.

  Nekaar’s sigh was full of remorse. “I am afraid only Burt can reverse a curse of this magnitude. To do otherwise would be to meddle in another djinn’s magic. Magic, in our world, is quite personal in nature. It is the signature mark of each djinn’s work, much in the way you identify a popular singer’s voice or a particular author’s writing style. It is unique and carefully cultivated over thousands of years. I have seen but one attempt to break a bond by a djinn who meddled in another’s magic, and then only once in all my thousands of years . . .”

  Jeannie’s eyes popped open. “And?” Wait for it because for certain the answer would be exactly what she didn’t want to hear.

  Nekaar’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in a gulp. “And one of the two parties no longer roam your plane. Or any plane.”

  Bingo. “So this person is dead?” she squeaked, the tremor in her voice pounding in her ears.

  His eyes, for all their snooty arrogance, flashed a moment of sincere sympathy at her. “It is so, madam.”

  Forever. It was really true. She was stuck to Sloan forever. How did you ask the person who saved you from death by beer stank to also consider finding a way to break a curse that could leave him dead?

  She’d been telling herself over and over it could be worse, but even the best relationships in the world couldn’t withstand that kind of twenty-four-seven pressure. How in the world could she and Sloan survive something like continual proximity when they hardly knew each other? Choosing to be with someone forever had a whole new meaning with this new information.

  “Well, then, there’s some good news,” Sloan offered, letting his fingers stray to her in reassurance. “I’m a werewolf. I have eternal life. Problem solved. Can’t kill me if we break the curse. The only person we have to worry about is Jeannie.”

  Nekaar sighed again. “I am aware of your paranormal origins due to the incessant ramble of the one with the crimson lips and sunshine-dappled hair. However, I am afraid your nature can be trumped by djinn magic. Nothing, and, sir, I do mean nothing, can trump the magic of the djinn.”

  Jeannie warred with her knees, silently directing them to stay locked in place.

  Nina put her hands under Jeannie’s elbows to keep her from swaying. “Fine. So we need to find the greasy asshole who cursed her to the bottle. That’s on you as far as I’m concerned, Aladdin. You fucked up when you lost that damn bottle. So when, note I’m using the word when, you get your hands on this Burt, just give him to me. I’ll fucking make sure he reverses this curse. Count on it. In the meantime, explain the wishes gone wild, dude. Why the hell aren’t her wishes all dried up by now? Last count was five.”

  Confusion skittered across Nekaar’s elegant face, and then he replaced it with his haughty mask. “I have not the answer to this, angry one. Yet, I find Jeannie’s dilemma most troublesome. There are no djinn I know of with this magnitude of power. We grant three wishes and we are, as you of this realm say, out. And wishes bestowed upon another are only allowed upon release from captivity as rather a courtesy for our freedom. That you have been granted this gift is quite puzzling. I shall chalk your unlimited power up to Burt and his irresponsible desecration of a curse with the proper intent.”

  “So this all leads back to Burt. Which means you’d better get to doin’ whatever it is you genies do when you got a shitty djinn on the lamb, and fucking fix this,” Nina demanded. “So find Burt. Find him fast, frilly pants, or I’m gonna take your ass out.”

  Jeannie found her voice again and asked, “What if we can’t find Burt? Is it really true that, in order for me to get out of the bottle for good, I have to curse someone else to it?”

  “Without Burt, yes, madam, that would be the answer.”

  Nina shook her head. “But what does that do to the rest of this shit? Like her wishes gone wild? Sloan stuck to the midget like she’s one of those beds in a sleazy hotel with the coin operated massage machines is one thing. Her sending people to hell just because someone wished it out of the GD blue from five hundred feet away is a whole other ball of wax.”

  “You are truly made up of all parts distasteful.” Nekaar turned his nose up at Nina.

  “And you’re truly going to be the limbs I gnaw on from my plate at genie lunchtime if you don’t shut the hell up. Quit dickin’ us around and help find Burt,” Nina growled.

  “As you wish, madam,” Nekaar replied with unusual obedience. He snapped his fingers, and out of a thin air, a cell phone appeared. His fingers flew over the face of the phone, his smooth brow wrinkled.

  Nina patted Jeannie on her trembling back then stepped from behind her and tugged on a strand of her hair. “So, it’s gonna be okay, right, shawty? Dude will find Burt, and we’ll get you unhitched, and then you can go on your genie way. Yeah, you might still be a genie, but you can work with that shit. If I can be a vampire, you can be a genie. Good news all round, right, kiddo?”

  “Do you think finding Burt is going to help with the wish thing?” Jeannie’s eyes pierced Nina’s. If she could count on anyone to tell her the God’s honest truth, it was Nina, simply because she didn’t really care if it upset you.

  Noting her shiver, Nina buttoned her sweater like she was a child needing tending, tucking the lapels under Jeannie’s chin. “Yep. It’s gonna be fucking awesome. And if Burt gives us a hard time—I’ll show him the way of the vampire.” She flashed her fangs.

  And then another thought occurred to her. How did one go about living their life as a genie? If you couldn’t grant wishes for the greater good unless you were freed from a bottle, what did genies do all day?

  “Don’t let that imagination get the better of you, Jeannie,” Sloan warned, cupping her chin so their eyes met.

  “My imagination has officially been bested by real life. I keep asking myself, what next?”

  “Look. I’m here to tell you that, even if we never find Burt, it’ll be okay. We’ll just figure something out.”

  Her glance was filled with skeptical disbelief. “Do you think your leggy blonde dates are going to feel that way? You know, when I’m unwillingly pressed up against the door that just beyond holds your Lair of Love?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not called the Lair of Love. It’s called the Haven of Heat. Lairs are for sissies,” he teased, squeezing her jaw. “I know I keep saying this, but it bears repeating. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Dreadful news,” Nekaar muttered, his head low when he held up the phone for Jeannie to see.

  Her eyes scanned what appeared to be a Facebook page. She squinted at the avatar in the upper-left-hand corner—a picture of the Robin Williams–voiced character of Genie from Aladdin. Live out loud, right? The banner flying across Genie’s jovial face read BOTTLE BABES.

  Jeannie shook her head in disbelief. “The djinn have a Facebook page?”

  Nekaar’s chuckle was oddly watery. “Hide in plain sight, yes, madam? Nary a soul believes it is real. We allow the outside realm the belief that we are all, um . . . ‘cracked-out wannabes’ is what I believe the most crude of social networking have labeled us.”

  Nina cackled her understanding. “We get that shit all the time.”

  Jeannie’s gasp interrupte
d Nina. Sloan came instantly to her side, placing an arm around her shoulder to lean in and read Nekaar’s phone from over her shoulder. Instead of fearing Sloan’s comfort, Jeannie leaned into it this time without a second thought. “Well, shit,” he spat.

  “Fuck, now what?” Nina demanded. “Did they run out of little genie pants in your size, Aladdin?”

  Oh, look. Omar made harem pants now. Buy one get one free. Jeannie shook her head. “No. They have plenty of harem pants,” she responded, now even more familiar with defeat. “Pants aren’t the problem. This is.” She cleared her throat and read the post dated yesterday—the very day she’d been cursed to Burt’s bottle. “It is with sadness that we bid fellow djinn Burt safe passage to the Realm of New Beginnings.” Then she lowered her voice out of respect. “And four hundred and eighty-two people like this.” It appeared Burt didn’t have a whole lot of love, the genie community.

  Nina plucked the phone from Jeannie’s trembling hands. “I guess the Realm of New Beginnings isn’t like genie rehab, huh, Gunga Din?”

  Nina scrolled some of the comments, making Jeannie bite the inside of her cheek. Oh, genies were mean. How cruel to wish the tread marks of a rabid camel upon Burt’s black soul.

  Jeannie gazed at Nekaar’s crumpling face with sympathy, pushing her own worst fears aside. “This Realm of New Beginnings is bad, isn’t it?”

  Pressing his fingers to his eyes, Nekaar shook his head up and down hard. He shook it so hard, Jeannie feared it would fall off his neck, and then he collapsed on her couch in a dramatic, gulping sob. His wide shoulders quivered when he buried his face in one of her throw pillows.

  The group passed bewildered looks. Jeannie knelt in front of him, putting a tentative hand on his arm. “Nekaar? I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

  “Buuuurrrrt,” he cried. “Burt’s dead!”

  Yeah. Things just kept getting shinier. Poor Burt. Poor her. Poor Sloan. “And this makes you sad because?”