It did the trick.
The man smiled and snapped his fingers again. “Fetch the bag.”
Adira nodded and scurried forward, approaching Lucien with her head low and unspoken words of apology in her gaze. She took the duffle from his hands and went back to the wish merchant’s side.
“I wish us to be home,” the man said.
With another burst of glitter in the air, they were gone.
Imari sat cross-legged on her bed, the bottle a few inches in front of her. She’d been sitting there, staring at it since Lucien left. And questioning her own actions. She should have given it to him. What was wrong with her? Greyson said he was trustworthy. And Greyson wasn’t a guy who’d feed her a line of baloney just to make himself look good.
Lucien had saved her life after all. That was worth something. How could she doubt his intentions now?
She didn’t, actually. No, when she dug down into what she was feeling, the truth was something different. She was petrified to turn the bottle over to anyone. That fear was as real as the metallic taste that had filled her mouth when she’d thought about putting it in his hands. As real as the ringing in her ears and the pounding of her heart.
She could not go back to being someone’s possession again. No matter if that someone was the wish merchant or Khalid, it wasn’t a path she ever wanted to walk.
A deep sigh slipped out of her as her heart grew heavier. No, she couldn’t give her bottle—and control of her life—to someone. But what if the wish merchant didn’t leave town?
It was great to think he’d seen Lucien and hightailed it out of Dodge, for sure. And it was possible. Except…wish merchants didn’t give up that easily.
With that in mind, she took the bottle in hand and got off the bed. The safe was the best place for it. Staring at it wasn’t going to change anything.
A sharp pounding on the door caused her to jump and nearly drop the bottle. Who could that be? It was late now. Nearly ten. The wish merchant? Her pulse increased again.
Her nerves were a jangled mess. She needed to be in bed. Asleep. Instead, she padded out to the living room, stopping to put the bottle back in the safe and give the tumbler a spin to lock it.
Then she went to the door. She glanced through the peephole and relaxed. Lucien. She opened the door. “Did you forget something?”
He pushed his way in. “You’re not safe here.”
“But you said yourself the Excelsior is a good—”
“The wish merchant is still in town.”
The breath left her body. “H-how do you know that?”
“I ran into him in the parking lot. He’s got a woman with him who does whatever he tells her to do. I believe she’s also a genie, but I’m not certain. At his command, she tried to freeze me in place.”
“Was there any glitter?”
He frowned. “Yes. Why?”
“Genie spells leave a trace. What do you mean she tried to freeze you?”
“I let them think her spell worked, but it had no effect on me.”
She pondered that a moment. “Our spells don’t work on vampires since they’re technically dead. Maybe you fall into that category too.”
“Maybe. Whatever the case, he thinks he has your bottle. He had her take my duffle bag, so I assume he thought it was in there. Then he had her transport them home, wherever that is.”
Imari felt ill. “That’s not good. Not good at all. If he’s already got a genie, he’s unstoppable. No doubt that’s how he got into Insomnia too. Probably wished to appear as a supernatural to anyone who saw him. What did she look like?”
“Like you. Dark hair, dark eyes. Pretty, but not like you. She seemed scared of him. He called her Adira. Know her?”
“No, but I’ve been retired a long time and there are a lot of us.” She wrung her hands. “This is not good.”
“You said that. Why does he need you if he has a genie already?”
“The genie in his control might be running out of wishes. Or he’s got a buyer willing to pay for a genie of their own and he doesn’t want to part with his.”
Lucien grimaced, perhaps at how awful the whole thing was. “Look, he’s obviously not afraid of me now that he thinks his genie can control me, but you still need to pack a bag and leave. I am positive that as soon as he figures out the bottle isn’t in that duffle, he’ll be back.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Where am I going to go? I don’t want to bring trouble to my friends’ doorsteps.”
Lucien looked like he was trying not to answer. But something pulled the words out of him. Something unfamiliar, by the look in his eyes. Kindness? Compassion? She wasn’t sure. “He knows where you live. He doesn’t have that information about me.”
She stared at him, a little dumbstruck. “Are you asking me to come to your house? To stay with you?”
“You won’t be alone with me, if that’s what you’re worried about. Now hurry up.”
His comment made her ask, “Who else lives there?” Was the angel of death married? That couldn’t be. Could it? What on earth would his wife look like?
“We need to leave.”
“Right.” She ran to the bedroom, grabbed an overnight bag and threw some things into it, then zipped up the bag. He was bossing her around, but at the moment she was flustered and didn’t mind that much. But he’d better not keep it up. She ran back to the living room. “What about the bottle?”
“Bring it.”
She got it from the safe and tucked it into the bag with her clothes. “Ready.”
“Let’s go.” He hustled them out of the building and to his car, his gaze sweeping the grounds, no doubt looking for the wish merchant.
“Nice ride,” she said. That was an understatement. The Bugatti was top-end, one of the models that had only been produced in small quantities. In the case of this paintless beast, very small quantities. It was a welcome distraction.
With a nod, he opened her door for her, then jogged to his side and slid behind the wheel. They were on the road in no time.
That was when he finally spoke. “It’s a Bugatti.”
“I know. A Bugatti Veyron Pur Sang, to be exact.” She ran her hand along the door panel. “Only five of these incredible machines were produced, and they were built specifically to be paintless in order to show off the Veyron’s exquisite aluminum and carbon fiber frame. This isn’t so much a car as a work of art.”
He took his eyes off the road long enough to throw her a confused look. “How do you know so much about this vehicle?”
She laughed and stared through the low-slung windshield. “I’m a genie. What do you think most men spend their wishes on? Cars they’d never been able to have, that’s what. It’s my job to know about these things.”
“Do you…like cars like this?”
“I think they’re fascinating. And beautiful. Especially the vehicles that are made in such small quantities. They’re more like sculpture than transportation. So yes, I guess I like them very much.”
“Then you’re going to enjoy my garage.”
“How many cars do you have?”
“Currently, twenty-seven. With two more on order and a third that I’m on a waiting list for.”
She snorted softly. “I guess you weren’t kidding when you said you have all the wealth and possessions you need.”
“No, I wasn’t. And I don’t kid.”
She almost laughed at his bluntness. Instead, she hugged her bag to her chest. There wasn’t much room for it elsewhere in the vehicle, but she was fine with that. It was good to feel the bottle safe against her. She tipped her head back and watched Lucien as slyly as she could. His handsomeness was becoming more apparent. “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Letting me come to your house. I get the sense that’s not an offer you make lightly.”
“It’s not an offer I’ve ever made.” His eyes stayed on the road, but that did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze.
She stared at him outright. “You’ve never had company?”
“Company, yes. Overnight company, no.”
“Is that an angel-of-death thing?”
“No.”
He was a veritable fount of information. “You said we wouldn’t be alone. Who else lives at your house, then?”
Silence spilled out between them until finally he spoke. “I have a…housemate.”
That told her nothing. “I see.” Except she didn’t. And his unwillingness to share unnerved her. “Is this housemate someone I need to be concerned about?”
“Not unless you’re afraid of ghosts.”
She blinked at him, giving that some thought. The angel of death had a ghost for a roommate? That seemed odd even by Nocturne Falls’ standards. “I’ve never met one, so I can’t say. Is he one of those ghosts of Christmas Past with the chains and such?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Was that an attempt at a smile? Or an attempt not to smile? “That was Marley in chains, not the ghost of Christmas Past. And no, she’s nothing like that.”
Imari wasn’t sure what surprised her more: Lucien’s knowledge of Dickens or that he lived with a female ghost. Maybe that was the only kind of woman an angel of death could be with. “She?”
He nodded, but said no more.
Imari sensed that was the end of the conversation. Of all conversation, really. She was fine with that. He was already putting himself out. She slipped down in the seat a little, getting comfortable. If he didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t going to force him.
Besides, she had plenty to think about. Lucien lived with a ghost. Questions filled her head. No doubt she’d learn more when they got to his house and she met this ghost. Why a female ghost? Was Lucien the reason this woman was a ghost? Why would a ghost want to live with the angel of death? Why would anyone? Were they in love?
The only reasons she could come up with were either the ghost had no choice, or the ghost and Lucien had some kind of connection.
Which raised more questions.
But before she could organize her thoughts, the car turned into a parking lot she recognized. She sat up, little alarms going off in her head. They were back at Insomnia. “Why are you taking me here?”
“I live here.”
“You live at a nightclub?”
“After a fashion, yes.” He drove around to the back of the building, toward a decrepit loading dock. He pulled a little black remote from the side pocket of the door panel, pointed it straight ahead, and clicked it.
One of the cargo doors lifted, and the loading platform it sat on sank into the ground, revealing a down ramp.
He entered.
She glanced over her shoulder. The door and platform were already returning to their places. How very secret agent.
A thin band of lights illuminated the tunnel they were in. It went down for a good bit, then curved. A set of wide steel doors opened ahead of them. They drove through those as well, and as they did, new lights flickered on.
Her mouth fell open at what the lights revealed.
An underground garage with glossy black floors, like granite, and the walls and ceiling were luminous panels that glowed brighter where each car was parked. And the cars. Rare, priceless, and beautiful. All immaculate, too.
She’d never seen anything like it. And she’d seen some amazing things. “This is…” She shook her head. There was no right word.
He pulled into an empty slot, turned the car off, and looked at her. “I told you you’d like it.”
She nodded.
His mouth curved in a genuine smile. “Nothing to say? No questions?”
She found her voice. “Just one. Are you actually Bruce Wayne?”
Despite the doubt and trepidation coursing through him, Lucien laughed. “No, I promise you, I am not Batman.”
“No, of course not,” she said, taking another look around. “He could never afford all this.” She gaped at the vehicles, open-mouthed and shaking her head.
Impressing her pleased Lucien, for reasons he couldn’t name. Perhaps it pleased him so because, outside of Hattie, impressing anyone wasn’t something he’d accomplished in many, many years. Imari was a genie, after all, accustomed to great wealth and extravagant riches, and yet she found his collection interesting. That was quite a feat.
He also enjoyed the wonderment in her gaze. It was almost childlike. He was astonished that she could express that kind of emotion considering all she must have seen in her life. Even more astonished that he was the cause of such a response.
But it troubled him, too. Not her wonderment, but how much he liked pleasing her. How much he liked evoking emotion in her. How easily he could see himself becoming addicted to the pleasure he was feeling in this moment.
Becoming addicted to her.
That couldn’t lead to good things. Not for him, anyway. Or her, for that matter.
Everything in him tightened up, extinguishing the small joy he’d just experienced. An emotion like joy might be fine for her, but it was foolishness for him. He knew better than to let himself forget how untenable his life was. Doing so would only cause them both great pain later on.
He got out of the car and walked around to open her door. “We should go in.”
She looked up at him, bag clutched against her. “Okay.”
He stepped back to give her room as she swung her legs around, but the effort of getting out of the low Bugatti while holding on to her bag caused her to fall back into her seat on the first attempt.
He held out his hand. “Give me the bag.”
She hesitated, and he remembered she’d put the bottle in there.
The muscles in his jaw tensed. “Give me your hand, then.”
She took that offer, placing her fingers lightly into his gloved ones.
Color exploded back into his world, and he gasped at the sight of his beloved cars awash in all the brilliance of the rainbow. Slowly, he looked from one end of the garage to the other. Radiant sunny yellows, vivid marine blues, and fiery reds filled his vision.
Mixed in were gleaming silvers; a single emerald green; blacks so dark they seemed to absorb the light; a couple snowy, pristine whites; one garish, gorgeous citrus orange; and a royal purple that he had no recollection of agreeing to.
“You okay?”
He remembered himself and pulled his gaze back to her. “Yes.” He helped her up, then let go of her hand, lingering for a second longer than he should have. The garage and everything in it returned to its normal shades of black and grays.
He stared at the ground. It was easier than looking at the cars and thinking about what he could no longer see. And it was far easier than looking at her and knowing what he could never have.
“You’re not okay.” She was right in front of him. Too close. The tips of her embroidered silk slippers were almost touching his Italian leather loafers. He could smell her perfume. Or her shampoo. Or whatever it was that caused her to smell like some exotic pastry and make his mouth water. “What just happened?”
“Nothing.” He reached around her, closed the car door, then walked toward the entrance to his home.
Her footsteps echoed through the vast space as she hurried to catch up. Thankfully, she let the matter rest.
He reached the door ahead of her, opening it for her to go in first. She did, and he followed into the mudroom. It wasn’t an impressive entrance. Spacious, but nothing special. He wasn’t sure anyone besides him and Hattie had ever used it. Greyson always came in through the club entrance. “I’ll show you to a guest room.”
“If you don’t have visitors, why do you have a guest room?”
That was a good question. The answer was Hattie, but he didn’t want to explain all that to Imari. “My housemate prefers it that way.”
Imari’s expression said myriad things, but mainly that she had many questions. None of which he planned on answering. He was opening his home to her, not his life.
A voice rang out. “Lucy? Is that you?
”
Imari’s brows shot up, and her eyes filled with new questions, but she said nothing.
He closed his eyes and growled. That wasn’t a nickname he’d wanted Imari to hear. “Hattie, we have a guest.”
“Greyson?” She materialized in ghost form at the entrance to the mudroom.
“No.” He gestured toward Imari. “This is—”
“Imari Zephara!” Hattie instantly became corporeal and clapped her hands. “What a nice surprise!” She sent a cross look Lucien’s way. “Why didn’t you tell me we were having company? I should have straightened up the house.”
“The house is never un-straightened, Hattie.”
“I could have made cookies.”
“Didn’t you do that this afternoon?”
She thought for a moment. “No, I made apple tartlets. Completely different.”
“Are they?” Sweets were sweets.
“Yes. And you should have told me Imari was coming, regardless of what I baked.”
Imari laughed softly.
Hattie threw her hands up. “I’m so sorry, we’re going on like you’re not even there. Come in, dear. I’m Hattie Dupree.”
“Nice to meet you, Hattie. How do you know my name? Have we met?” Imari asked.
“We haven’t met, but I have my hair done at the spa where you work. Shelley does it. You know, the little wood nymph with the cotton candy pink hair? She’s so good.” Hattie hooked her arm through Imari’s. “Would you like a cup of tea? We have some excellent varieties.”
“I bet you do.” Imari glanced knowingly at Lucien before answering. “I’d love some.”
Hattie and Imari headed down the hall toward the rest of the house, leaving Lucien behind.
He stared after them for a second, then shook his head and followed. “Hattie, perhaps our visitor might like to see her room first? Maybe put her bag away?”
Hattie sucked in a loud breath as she came to a stop in the living room. “Of course! I’m so sorry, Imari. We haven’t had a guest in so long, I’ve completely forgotten how to behave. Come. I’ll show you your room, and then we’ll have tea.”
The Reaper Rescues The Genie Page 5