At Your Command

  Despite orders to the contrary, Maggie's cheeks grew warm.

  "I suggest you start with Tom there. Chet won't be back from driving Glenn to the airport for some time. He said something about seeing Shelley this afternoon."

  Shelley. Of course, Chet hadn't just forgotten about her turning down his second proposal of marriage, he'd also forgotten her warning to tread softly with Shelley's husband.

  Chapter 11

  ALMOST THREE months on his own and Tom still could not lie in his bed in Mrs. Hanson's spare room without thinking of Maggie. How had he managed to bungle things so badly? Even Sarah's beast, Sam, resting on his lap could not comfort him. He had lost his Maggie. Knowing he was free to go his own way, within limits, failed to compensate.

  The first days on his own had been exciting. No master had ever given him this kind of freedom, even before the curse. So much to do and see. Moving into his very own room, reporting to work, walking to the post office, making deliveries. Tom didn't think Maggie appreciated all her village had to offer. Here people welcomed him without suspicion. More importantly, he'd never once seen a head rolling in the streets without a body attached.

  Maggie. She was the catch. He had to know where she was at all times. Well, not exactly where, but he'd put a location spell on her. If she neared his distance parameters, or the airport, he would know, but he had to keep out of her way. It seemed to distress her greatly to see him, and Chet maintained contact from California. Sarah mentioned him when they spoke. Tom needed to give them time alone together if his Maggie was to find her own happiness.

  If she didn't rejoin Chet soon, Tom would have to consider finding her a mate in Rawley. Sam strained beneath his fingers as Tom considered witnessing a successful courtship in the confines of the small town. Doomed to watch as she fell in love, married and had her family. He could almost wish he was returning to his box.

  In the abyss, a flood of memories would join those of his Maggie and help block them out. If he really granted her third wish, he would not have to endure this dreadful weight on his chest--sorrow that he and Maggie would never again share the same bed.

  A knock on the door chased the cat from his lap. Tom took his time straightening his hair in the mirror above his dresser. Such a luxury to have a door with a lock and no one making demands, but politely requesting an audience. "Just a moment."

  How odd he looked with his hair shorn. He'd never altered his appearance for a master, but he did so for Maggie. She had said it was important for him to fit in. No one else in town wore their hair as long as he. Besides, he was an example now. That's what Coach Therman said when Tom volunteered to help with the grade school soccer team.

  Tom put down his comb. Now that his hair was short it insisted on curling and he couldn't fix it. With a final look in the mirror, Tom fastened all but the top button on his white dress shirt.

  When he opened the door, the wind rushed from his lungs, leaving a painful vacuum behind. "Maggie."

  She stared at him so long he was tempted to touch her to see if she was real. "You cut your hair," Maggie said.

  "Not I, but Melanie of the First Cut. Mr. Johnson recommended her."

  "I like it." Maggie ran her fingers through his hair. Sparks flew from her fingers to the back of his neck.

  Tom stiffened. He hadn't expected physical contact. She straightened his shirt collar, finding the metal one under his shirt and drawing her fingers across it. Tom flinched at the reminder.

  "How are you two doing on your own?" She peeked over his shoulder, obviously looking for the cat.

  Sam, the deserter, rushed passed her into the hall, leaving him to face her alone.

  "Can I come in?" Maggie asked.

  What would his new friends suggest? "It would be more appropriate if I were to entertain you in the drawing room."

  Maggie pushed past him. "Been getting advice from the post office again, Tom? As usual, they're a few decades behind the times. Besides, Mrs. Hanson had me playing hymns. I don't want to risk her cornering me again."

  Most of what she was saying made no sense to him, but he was paying more attention to her feet than to her mouth. "I can play two scales..."

  "That's nice, Tom. I came here, because...well, are you avoiding me for some reason?"

  "...and one song, but it's very sad. Many men on a river pulling a boat."

  What was she wearing on her feet? Why was she walking around half-naked? For his benefit or did everyone see her dressed like this? Her arms and legs were completely bare.

  "Because if you are, there really isn't any reason for it. I'm not angry with you. I've straightened everything out with Chet, so you have no reason to worry on that score."

  One foot was tapping now. Delightfully half-naked feet with pink polish on the nails.

  The tapping stopped. "Tom, I'm trying to talk to you. Would you please look me in the face."

  The last finally got his attention. Mr. Larsen had told him the same thing his first day at work. Always look the customer in the eye. Maggie had such beautiful blue eyes. "What are you wearing?"

  Maggie blushed pink and looked down. "Sandals."

  "They suit you."

  "Which is why I've come." She held out a bag. "Mother sent these. Now that summer is here, she thought you could use shorts and things, for your days off, that is. How is work going?"

  "Fine." He took the bag, avoiding direct contact with her. He wanted to say more, do more. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. Remove the sandals from her feet and pull her onto the bed with him.

  If you want Maggie to be happy, you must stick to the plan.

  She was staring again, this time at his chest. He looked down but could see nothing wrong. This morning he had showered and he'd spilled nothing on himself at breakfast. He managed not to tug at his collar. He wore button-down shirts to keep it covered, but she knew it was there, the badge of shame he could not remove, forever reminding him of his servitude.

  He turned, setting his face in stone to keep her from seeing how very much he wanted her to stay. Maggie was sitting on his bed.

  "Is this why you came?" he asked. "To ensure my body is adequately covered? Or maybe you need assurances? I have not been practicing magic." Except for the location spell, of course, but that didn't count. Making certain Maggie didn't set foot out of town was a necessity, and thinking about her feet was a mistake. Tom returned to flattening his hair.

  "I wanted to see how you were doing on your own. I've tried to catch you at work, but you always seem to be busy. When I came by here the other evening--"

  "I watch Andy now until his father comes home from work. His mother has been delivered of a child and must rest. I have taken another job, at the cinema in the evenings. The regular projectionist is on vacation for the month of July. It is a simple task, the equipment easy to understand, and..." he stopped himself before he could reveal more.

  "That makes what? Four jobs? Is this getting to be too much for you, Tom? If it is, all you have to do is say so. Working is a new experience for you, so I'd understand--"

  "Lonely," he said, not certain why he'd said the word. Maybe because he didn't want her to think he was a failure at living by his wits and the sweat of his labor. He would rather admit to a more human emotion. "I became lonely at night. I enjoy watching the movies."

  Maggie continued to perch uneasily on the edge of the bed, making no move for the door. Tom squared his shoulders, determined to endure her presence.

  "I may not have a profession, Maggie, but I can take care of myself. Mr. Johnson--"

  "The mayor?"

  "Yes, I have explained to him my difficulty with your security system."

  "Social security? What did you tell him?"

  "That I do not know where I was born or who my parents are, that I have never attended a school, and the only name I have is Tom."

  Soon the whole world would know, or at least the state of Minnesota. He didn't have a real name. Maggie would find her happiness with
someone she would not be ashamed of. Chet, or someone like him.

  "What's an amnesiac?" He really did need to get a book of words. Until now, he'd depended too much on Maggie. He had to be his own man.

  "Someone who has lost his memories."

  Tom nodded, now understanding. "I have not lost them, but perhaps it is best others believe so. Mr. Johnson said he would check into the matter and discover what is necessary for me to obtain a number so I might work. For now I have a room here and a morning meal in exchange for my work in the house and the garden. I wash dishes at the diner in exchange for lunch and some small items at the drug store. After school I care for Andy and share the evening meal with his family. My nights are spent being entertained by your Hollywood in exchange for, what did Mike call it, money under the table. I'm not supposed to tell anyone. On Sunday I attend church. You have not been attending. Pastor Martin asked about you, but I told him I no longer sleep in your bed and so cannot demand your presence.

  "So you see, My Maggie, I can take care of myself. Sarah could have left a message for me to pick up the clothing. She visits Andy's mother during the day. Why are you really here?"

  "I...I missed Sam."

  Her words stung. To express interest in him was too shameful even in private. "I will return the cat if that is what you wish."

  "I don't have any more wishes, remember?"

  Tom fought to keep his anger from showing. "I can count to three, My Maggie. One, a silver goblet full of wine. Two, a happy Lady Sarah. Three, all negative affects of my visitation erased. If you now wish me to return to the abyss, you are too late. To wish is an expression used by your people to express a desire."

  "It was only a joke, Tom. Of course, I don't want you to go back there, and I want you to keep Sam. He did follow you here and Mom doesn't seem to miss him. Apparently, she's still planning to sell the house."

  Once Sarah was gone, Maggie would have no reason to stay. He would have to follow her wherever she went, of course, but it would have to be in secret. Only here in Rawley could he allow her to see him. Shelley had explained the term to him--stalker. Tom did not want to stalk Maggie. It would trouble her.

  "You had hoped she would stay. If you really believe that would make her happy, perhaps I could--"

  "No, Tom, no more magic. I guess I don't understand how she could forgive a man for lying to her that way."

  Tom stared at his feet. He understood Glenn all to well. If it would bring Maggie to him, no lie would be too large or too black. She condemned a man for such a small thing. Many men took more than one wife and now Glenn had none.

  What would Maggie think if she knew he was a thief? They might not chop off people's heads in the streets of Minnesota, at least he'd never seen it done, but they had laws against such things he was certain. Mr. Johnson had mentioned he would have to answer questions to obtain this powerful number. Would they ask him about his past? Would they allow him to remain if he told them he was a thief?

  In the face of such questions, getting a real job no longer seemed important. A job was only a more efficient way of filling his days. His time might be as well spent performing small services and deeds. What he wanted was to fill his days, his bed, his heart with Maggie.

  MAGGIE STOOD, leaving Tom's bed feeling lighter than when she arrived. Talking with Tom again seemed to restore her balance. Maybe that was why she'd sought him out. Her subconscious knew she needed this. Talking with someone who had a fresh perspective, someone who wasn't judgmental. Chet would have launched into some theory about the kind of woman who dated married men. Or mentally unbalanced men. Not helpful at all.

  With Tom she walked the short distance from his bartered room to his afternoon job of dirty dishes, a duty performed in exchange for a meal and all the toothpaste and soap he could use.

  If she observed Tom as a stranger, she would have labeled him as almost dysfunctional. Not a fair assessment. He functioned at his own level, and she was the only one who wished he was more. Everyone else accepted him as he was. But a dishwasher/babysitter hardly seemed an appropriate companion for a professional woman with a master's degree--still she had sought him out.

  Why? Maggie had been asking that question ever since Tom moved out of the house. So much happened that day. Glenn walked out of her mother's life again, yet Sarah continued to sing while she washed the dishes. Chet returned to California, without Maggie, at her insistence, but she didn't feel like singing at all. It didn't make sense.

  How could her mother be happy when the man she professed to have always loved walked out of her life again? More importantly, why didn't sending Chet away bring Maggie peace? She couldn't help but think it had something to do with Tom.

  Peaceful didn't describe her since Tom slung Sarah's old duffel bag over his shoulder and walked out before lunch, as threatened. Since then, she planned her days to intersect his, never succeeding until now when she confronted him directly. She hadn't even known about Tom caring for Andy after school. Had Tom asked Shelley not to tell her?

  Maybe she was making this too hard. It could be Tom didn't need or want her in his life. Maybe it was Tom's own wish he fulfilled that day.

  "How are you getting along with Andy's father?" she asked, keeping the conversation professional.

  Tom shrugged. "He is an angry man, but sad too, I think. The new child worries him. He fears he does not have room for another."

  "The house is too small?"

  "No, his heart."

  An interesting observation if overly poetic. Based on Shelley's descriptions her husband, Andrew was depressed. Anger was a common symptom of depression in men. Maggie had only met the man once. He was even more adept at avoidance than Tom.

  A half block from the diner Tom stopped and looked around. "You will want to leave. I use the back entrance."

  She wasn't going to let him get away so easily. She had enough to do without chasing him around town another three months. "When will I see you again?"

  "Wouldn't that defeat the purpose of your third wish?" He sounded angry, his color high against his crisp white shirt. "I believe the idea was for you not to see me again. You said, `I want you out of my life. I have to get on with my life.' A jinn and the happiness of one Maggie Yates are mutually exclusive."

  Had she really said that? She remembered something of the sort. Just her luck that genies, or was that jinn, had memories like elephants.

  "You want to live a normal life," he continued, "and so do I. I must not see you any more, Maggie Yates."

  So that was the way it was. They had become enemies during the past months without her knowing. Had something happened since he'd moved? Was someone taking advantage? The urge was strong and sudden. Her hand curled into a fist at her side as she fought to keep from touching him. She wanted to see for herself that no one had hurt him.

  His hand was on the handle now. Sounds from the kitchen and the smell of grease and fries came through the screen door. "I will not stand in your way, Maggie Yates. Don't you stand in mine."

  Tom slammed the door behind him, leaving her to count the holes in the screen.

  She didn't like how he'd switched to using her full name, like he was perpetually angry with her and calling her on the carpet each time he said her name.

  My Maggie, what would she give to hear him call her that again.

  Well, she wasn't going to leave things like this. She was responsible for Tom, and despite his bravado, she wasn't certain he could function without her.

  Before she could leave the alley and step onto main street, the two most powerful men in town, the major and the head of the board of education, rounded the corner and moved to follow Tom into the back of the diner. Rawley was a small town, but its school district included most of the county.

  She hesitated, wondering if she could get away with ducking the other way before Mr. Johnson and Mr. Bergen spotted her. No such luck.

  Mr. Bergen of the board of education smiled and extended his hand. "So, Miss Yates, are you
serious about that application of yours?"

  She must be serious. Otherwise, she wouldn't be trying to use telekinesis to make her cutoffs grow to cover another six inches of her thighs.

  "Yes, sir, I am. I would have to find another part-time position in the area, but I'm looking into it."

  "We always like to have our young people come back and work in Rawley," Mr. Bergen said. "We're going to breakfast. Would you care to join us?"

  "Through the back door?"

  Ben Johnson, the mayor, frowned. "Is something wrong with back doors, Ms. Yates? We were planning to speak to Tom on the way to our table. A very busy man, our Tom." He said the word "our" as if the town had recently taken possession.

  "Yes," Mr. Bergen broke in, "we were so impressed by his theatrical presentation on history for the third grade that we would like him to repeat the performance this fall for more classes. Is that usual, Miss Yates, for someone with amnesia to have such extensive recall in another area?"

  "I'm not really an expert--"

  "I suspect this Gulf War syndrome thing," said Mr. Johnson. "He has the look of a marine to me. Has the build too, just needs a decent haircut. I've called the sheriff to arrange getting fingerprints. Wouldn't be surprised if he has a security clearance. All the bright ones do. We think a lot of Tom down at town hall. I'll pull up an ID on him eventually."

  Of course, he wouldn't, Maggie knew, not unless Tom did some magic juggling of the records. Tom had become a fixture at the post office, but what on earth was he up to down at town hall? At least they couldn't deport him, they wouldn't have any idea where to send him.

  "He'll be supervised, of course," Mr. Bergen added, "since we can't do a complete background check. We would have asked you for a recommendation, but Tom indicated you haven't known him the required number of years."

  Mr. Johnson spoke as if she weren't standing there. "I suspect that after her years out West, Ms. Yates doesn't hang out with dish washers in small town diners."

  Before Mr. Bergen followed him through the screen door, he squeezed her arm. "Don't worry about the mayor, Maggie. Ben has nothing to do with the hiring process. I'll get back to you in two or three weeks. We know you have plans to make, and will let you know as soon as we've made a decision."