Death Rite Genie: An Urban Fantasy Folly

by AE McKenna

  “Nah, but I will go inside my bottle soon.” He shook his head, glancing around the road.

  Pristine houses with fenced-in yards lined the street stretching before and behind us. Maybe the djinni mafia that used Realty Lane for their dirty deals didn’t wander this close to Omaha. Then again, the Midwest teemed with human child traffickers, so it was probably only a matter of time until they came across us. I squinted at the sign, wondering if there was a way to lock it against the Blight Lord and its minions.

  “Hey, what’s that?” I pointed at the glyph—a few lines above a waterfall—embossed on the sign we’d run through.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s a glyph for the Devil’s Bridge.”

  “The Devil’s Bridge?”

  “It’s the first time a human tricked a fae. It’s a pretty big deal… Do you still have the notepad from the attic?”

  “No, I dropped—”

  My bottle regurgitated a wrinkled legal pad.

  I scooped it up. The glyph wasn’t the same. It appeared to be half a cloud resting on three horizontal lines. Maybe. I’m not an artist; I’m not great at describing things. I tilted my head, trying to see it, but there was only a passing similarity. Mal flipped it upside down in my hands. It was the same glyph that was scrawled on the realty sign.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Smoke and mirrors. I should’ve known.”

  “So, I guess a human tricking a fae is a big deal.”

  “It was then. Fae hold grudges. I think Penny has something to do with Devil’s Bridge.”

  My stomach dropped. “Of course she does.” I sighed. “Where’s Devil’s Bridge?”

  He tilted his head. “You don’t know off the top of your head?”

  “Gimme a break. Tons of bridges are called that.” I must’ve amazed him with my obscure travel knowledge when we’d first met. “But you know, so tell me.”

  “Wales.”

  “The UK?”

  He nodded, the movement leeching color from his already pallid complexion. Guilt gripped my throat so hard it hurt. I’d brought him to a house filled with traps, animated flowers, and trees. Sure, I had bumps and scrapes, but he was badly hurt.

  “Get in your bottle. I’ll hang out here until you’re healed,” I said.

  His eyes briefly closed. “It’s gonna take me more than a few minutes. I don’t want you hanging around here that long.”

  “Okay, so point me in the right direction and I’ll head for Wales.” Which made me nervous. Maybe there was a GPS system I was unaware of. “I’ll hold on to your bottle—crap. I left my bag in the basement.”

  “Take this road until you reach a museum in Omaha and get on Archaeology Way.” He pointed in a random direction. “Just keep going northeast. You’ll have to cross the Atlantic, but if you hit Canada first, it won’t be as bad as it was when we crossed the Pacific.” A messenger bag appeared in his hands and he passed it to me. Then he fist-bumped me. “You’ve got this, Luce.”

  Mal shifted into camouflage-colored smoke and disappeared, leaving behind a clear-corked bottle. I picked his, and my bottle, up. His was heavy, but nothing I couldn’t manage. I stashed both our bottles in the bag, slung it across my shoulders, and shifted into not-quite-navy smoke.

  Maybe I should’ve mentioned I was directionally challenged before he retreated into his bottle.

  Chapter 6

  Through the churning twists of dark blue smoke, Realty Lane looked like a Technicolor ’50s family sitcom. There wasn’t a milkman making deliveries, cars parked on curbs, or kids playing in white picket fenced yards, however, an occasional balloon floated across the sun-bright sky.

  Colonial, bungalow, ranch, and even brown brick townhomes stretched before me in straight rows, each with a for-sale sign in the front yard. Some realty agencies were commercially human. Others weren’t discernable through my rotating winds as I trundled down the smooth pavement, maybe going toward Omaha, probably heading to Texas.

  GPS is fantastic. It became my best friend when I went to culinary arts school. It gave me a sense of independence and took away the secret fear of becoming so utterly lost that I’d need to call for help. Much to my disappointment, GPS doesn’t work in the Lantern. Neither does my phone, so if I get lost, I’m shit out of luck. A chill swept through me and my teeth chattered involuntarily. Crap.

  I wondered again what happened to my mom and grandma. Mom could take care of herself, but Mags? She’d never spoken about daring escapes or outsmarting criminals. I worried something terrible had happened to her, and maybe that was why Mom had left that warning in the kitchen and disappeared. I hoped I found them soon. I didn’t believe I had a lot of time on my side.

  I squinted at the sky. It had one of those high noon suns, and if I remembered correctly from my long, exhausting race on Realty Lane with gold fever, it would always be a high noon sun. It wouldn’t help me with directions at all. And that was assuming the Lantern worked in normal directions. I’d just walked through a realty sign into another realm that most of humanity knew nothing about. I could handle getting lost. Mal was in my messenger bag, and once he healed, he’d get us unlost. I’d be fine, even if I headed south instead of north.

  Mal’d been badly hurt for my sake. I could just puke from remembering his broken arm and collarbone, not to mention what had happened to his legs. I hoped he was okay. He insisted he would be, and I believed him, but seeing him broken like that so soon after the smoldering exchange in the linen closet acted like a bucket of ice water.

  I still had the hots for him. That wasn’t a surprise. But I was bad news for him. A shame since I genuinely liked him as a person. He was… sweet and supportive and special. My best friend. I loved how he interacted with his family. Plus, he really knew how to make my claustrophobia disappear like no one’s business.

  My stomach fluttered. I thought he would kiss me. The last time he’d looked at me like that was in the motel in Keystone under the influence of my emotions. But we didn’t have a djinni silk bond anymore. This was dangerous territory. I liked Mal—a lot. I liked him more than a friend, but it was more important to have him in my life than any relationship that would inevitably break. What then? Lose my best friend? I think not.

  My smoke tore away from me, and my face smashed against an invisible wall.

  “What the hell?” I glanced around, rubbing my nose. The sun still held its prominent position in the blue sky, shining on a dilapidated two-story house with a minimalist’s nightmare in the garage—I hadn’t known djinni could be hoarders.

  I scanned the rest of the street. Nearly all the houses were ready for a showing. Manicured lawns, doorplates and wreaths, and realty signs—though some were for sale by owner.

  Why did I stop, and why can’t I lift my feet? I called my smoke, but it wouldn’t come. What the hell? Aside from the hoarder house, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The realty sign in the yard read for sale by owner, and it had a strange glyph instead of a phone number—however, this was different from the one at my house. Why couldn’t I move? I didn’t want to be stuck on Realty Lane!

  The door to the hoarder house opened and two men stepped out. One was short and bulky with a large nose and a dark five-o’clock shadow, while the other was tall and lanky with a black goatee. As soon as their feet touched the grass, I knew they were djinnis like me. Like when you see a person in a pizzeria and you just know they’re a double pepperoni person. They approached me like a pair of vultures circling carrion, except I wasn’t dead. At least not yet.

  I became aware of my bottle inside my bag, its presence heavy and alert, but that was common in the Lantern. I need something sharp.

  I expected the can of mace to appear in my hands since she’d been pushing me to mace someone all day, but nothing happened. The djinnis approached, both smirking and hooking their thumbs in their belt loops. I darted a look around. Plumes of different-colored smoke zipped up and down the street, none of them slowing. Hideous men and women—some had wings,
some had talons, and I’m pretty sure one of them wore a devil mask—led djinnis and humans by chains toward the hoarder house. My ribs squeezed my lungs, and I tried to suck in a breath. I was in trouble.

  The lanky fellow stopped an arm’s width away from me and stroked his jet-black goatee like a villain’s beard. “Who’s this? Not seen her before.”

  I understood stranger danger. I wouldn’t answer him until he pointed a weapon at me.

  The short and stocky one curled his lip back, revealing bucked teeth. “This trap caught you a sweet little mouse.”

  “Trap?” I squeaked.

  Both men laughed. The lanky one had a deep belly laugh, while the short and stocky one sounded like a hyena. Lanky pointed at my legs.

  I frowned at my feet. Grass stains and possibly compost juice covered my yellow chucks. At first, nothing was apparent. Then, like a camera coming into focus, blue mushrooms surrounded my feet. Those weren’t natural. “What are those?”

  They laughed again. Apparently, I’m hilarious.

  “Oh, my.” Lanky’s grin turned feral. “She’s young.”

  “And stupid,” Hyena said.

  I glared. I could really use something sharp right now, bottle. I held my breath. And I promise to find a good name for you.

  A block of extra sharp cheddar cheese appeared in my hands in a puff of white smoke. Lanky and Hyena guffawed, clapping each other on the back. I gaped. For one, my bottle had puns, and they were cheesy. Two, my smoke wasn’t white. I peered at the dark blue mushrooms ringing my feet. They were the same color as my smoke. A trickle of sweat itched along my scalp despite the chills racking my body.

  “Our little mouse is hungry.” Lanky mimed nibbling food. “Maybe I’ll leave cheese traps from now on.”

  “Ha.” I hesitated. What am I supposed to do with cheese—aside from eating it? I needed something to protect myself with, something with an edge. I had chef knives in my bottle. I tugged the bag forward and peered inside.

  Hyena snickered. “Oi, you think she’s gonna fetch some crackers?”

  A packet of saltines tipped out of the bottle and my ears flamed. You’re not supposed to take suggestions from other djinnis! Mal’s bottle lay nestled in a red sweatshirt. I didn’t remember doing that, but my bottle might have a soft spot for him, too. I brushed my fingers against the cork, thinking I should call to him. As soon as I focused on him, the feeling of pain and slumber met my fingertips, and I snatched my hand back.

  I didn’t need to call him for help, not yet, and with the amount of pain he was in, he might not be able to help, anyway. Besides, I was a badass. I didn’t need a man to help me. I tapped my bottle. Give me a weapon.

  A pizza wheel appeared in my hand in a white cloud. Lanky and Hyena lost it. Their laughter echoed along Realty Lane, causing some other unearthly beings to look in our direction. I ground my teeth so hard my jaw ached. It was bad enough they’d trapped me—who lays faery traps in the middle of the road anyway?—but their laughter just pissed me off.

  I stashed my block of cheese, straightened the messenger bag, and spun the wheel of my pizza cutter. “Come closer, pal, and find out how fast I can slice up a pie.” I held the pizza wheel up, tilting it so the sun glinted off the stainless steel, and beckoned them to me.

  My next investment would be a mezzaluna. All my kitchen gadgets would serve a double purpose from now on. Next time, assholes like these wouldn’t laugh at me. I bent my legs, and something in my pocket poked my hip. The mace! It’d been there the whole time.

  I dug it out, flipped the cap—it went off in my face.

  I dropped both the mace and the pizza wheel. “Motherfucker!” I clutched my eyes. At least I wished I could. They watered, which spread the evil spiciness all over my face. My nose, throat, and mouth were on fire, and it felt like it was all coming from inside my head rather than outside.

  I was dimly aware of the laughter as hands gripped my arms and lifted me off my feet. I couldn’t see where I was going. I was too busy latching my eyelids shut and elbowing the djinnis to let me hold my face. My nose was a faucet, and weirdly, my snot acted as a pain reliever.

  I tried to open my eyes and got a view of my feet and the blue mushrooms ringing them. That was interesting, but I didn’t understand why. The burning sensation intensified when exposed to air and I clamped my eyes closed. My throat swelled and I coughed, hoping I breathed fire. Hey, my throat was hot enough, I wouldn’t have been surprised. No such luck.

  A door creaked open and the light behind my eyelids dimmed considerably. I heard voices, a cacophony of conversations, but couldn’t make out a single word. I was having trouble breathing, my heart was beating too fast, I worried I’d pass out, and dear god, just let me hold my face.

  “What did you do to it?” someone asked.

  “Not a smoking thing,” Lanky replied.

  Hyena laughed. “Little mouse did this to herself.”

  “Omawynn ain’t here yet,” the person said. “Get it sorted. I can’t even get a read off it.”

  I loudly cleared the phlegm from my throat and swallowed. “I’m a person, not an—”

  “You’re merchandise,” the person snarled. “Take it upstairs.”

  I sobbed, not that I meant to. I was still reeling from the mace.

  “Oh, cheer up, mouse,” Hyena said. “You’ll have another master in no time. One who’ll want to keep ya.”

  I froze; the burning sensation from the mace didn’t register. My pulse pounded in my head. Master. A master. They’d seen my wrists. It wasn’t hard. I was wearing short sleeves. I stumbled upstairs, digging my heels in, but it was like oil slicked my soles. I pumped my arms, trying to dislodge the djinnis. No dice. I clawed, scratched, and screeched, but they batted my swings away as if I were weak as a kitten. Tears coursed down my cheeks. No. Please, oh please, don’t enslave me! They propelled me into a room and ripped my bag off.

  “No! That’s mine.” I swiped for the bag, needing to keep Mal safe, but Hyena kept it out of reach.

  He peered inside and laughed, tossing it next to me. “She really did have crackers in there. And that’s it. What idiot comes to the Lantern with only cheese and crackers?”

  Lanky scowled at me, but he didn’t retrieve the bag. Instead, he flicked off the light and shut the door, dousing me with isolation. The tumble of a lock engaging chilled me to my core. I was certain I’d die soon, because there was no way in hell I’d wear gold again.

  Gradually, the pain in my face subsided, my eyes and nose stopped leaking, and my throat didn’t feel swollen. I was in a creepy office with a desk and filing cabinets. Dolls lined the shelves. Some were those Victorian porcelain-type dolls, others were cabbage patch kids, and then there were the ever-present horror story ones with the lazy eye and scattered tufts of hair. I shuddered. How much time has passed? The sun was still at its zenith. I didn’t wear a watch—I hate having things on my wrists—and my phone was in my bag.

  My bag!

  It’d shocked me when Lanky and Hyena had left it, joking about my snack. I half-hoped my cheese was still good, but it ranked low on the important meter right now. I clambered to my feet, and again the sight of the blue mushrooms caught my attention. They were definitely the same color as my smoke and ringed my feet like a fence. I grabbed one, but they wouldn’t budge. I moved to take a step and stumbled forward, smacking into a wall of air.

  A faery trap. It had to be. Mom had warned me about faery traps on Realty Lane. Mal had backed up her concern, but I’d never seen one before. I tried to remember if I’d seen anything while I was smoke, but honestly, I was too focused on traveling in a direction that I wasn’t even sure was the right way. I should’ve slowed down and watched where I was going. It wasn’t as if I was in a race for my life. I needed to escape and find Mom and Mags.

  I patted the air around me like a mime I’d seen in Sydney. Is this how they came up with the idea? I was told humans steal everything from the fae. I glowered at the mushrooms. Well, they can k
eep those. I stooped for my bag and smacked my head.

  “Argh!”

  This was bullshit. I didn’t want to hang around while they discovered what type of djinni I was, or for this Omawynn fae to show up. I’d only had a conversation with one, and he was a dick. I wasn’t in a hurry to meet another.

  I crouched on my haunches and stared at my bag. It was so close that my bottle wouldn’t reappear in a puff of smoke—though would it? Each time I’d summoned something, the smoke had been white. Could it move now that my smoke was colorless? I trailed my fingers over the mushroom caps and felt a familiarity in them, even if pain darted through my head. It was the same sensation, though muted, as when I interacted with my bottle. The faery trap had taken my power.

  Something inside me raged. Sure, I had bad luck, and I wasn’t the best at using my power outside my bottle, but it was mine. How dare they take it away from me? How dare they promise me a master again?

  “Never again. They can take their gold and shove it up their ass.”

  The creepy dolls were unimpressed with my determination, and so was I. It was hard to feel like a badass when your own magic trapped you. I rubbed the mushroom cap some more. Pressure built in my head, pressing against my skull. My brain might have been playing tricks on me, but the color looked paler than before. I touched the air, then pounded it. No dice.

  I needed my bottle. I wanted my bottle. I knew she could help me. She had to, if only she wasn’t out of reach. The bag shifted and the crystal stopper for my purple-metallic bottle poked through the opening. My mouth fell open. Hyena had commented there were only cheese and crackers in there. It didn’t take a genius to know better. Mal’d explained his blending-in powers were mostly passive. They’d probably included my bottle when it sensed danger. Or maybe Hyena wanted to give me a shot at escaping.

  My bottle rolled out of the bag in wisps of white smoke, the cheese and crackers following. My stomach growled and I sighed softly. “Don’t suppose this faery trap would let me have a snack, would it?”