At Your Command

  That and the knowledge he had to find someone he would recognize when he saw her.

  TOM LOOKED LIKE a perfect stranger standing in his private hospital room. He wore a blue suit with a sweater vest and a highly polished dress shoe on his good leg. A black, wool topcoat lay draped over his hospital bed.

  Where was her Tom? The one who wore blue jeans with button-down shirts and tennis shoes when the law required footwear.

  Tom hadn't been coherent the first week, responding to her voice no differently than the others. He insisted he had to "get to work" and fought against his restraints. The only name he'd called was Tandia, and they didn't know if that was a place or a name. All normal according to the doctor, who felt part of the problem was Tom's blurred vision. When his sight returned, Tom became even more agitated, and the doctors decided to hold off on visitors for the time being.

  When Tom had recovered enough to receive visitors again, he'd insisted on none. The doctors were vague about why. They implied he was deeply troubled by his loss of memory and wanted to wait until he remembered his friends before he saw them again.

  Now she noticed why he looked so different to her. It wasn't just the clothes. He hadn't shaved this morning and it showed. The dark shadow that covered his face enhanced his glum expression, and his hair had grown, curling below his suit collar. One more sign that Tom was no longer who he'd been.

  Maggie could have told the doctors he wouldn't remember, but she didn't know how. She answered their questions the best she could without muddying the issue with talk of genies or evil jinn. Tom had fulfilled her wish with a vengeance. He was no longer a jinn and he didn't remember anything associated with being one.

  What did that leave him but a few scattered hours when the demands of selfish masters left him time to rest? She had been one of those masters. She was part of his life as a jinn.

  Stopping their visits to see Tom was the hardest thing she and Ben had ever done. After consulting with his doctor and social worker, they had directed their energies to preparing for Tom's homecoming. Ben was providing a bedroom on the first floor of his house. Ben and his wife would watch him during the day, Maggie had promised to keep him company evenings, and Ben was organizing a team to take turns keeping an eye on him at night. Nothing was too good for Tom.

  She expected him to look up and see her standing there, as he always did when she entered the room. He leaned heavily on a cane, his right leg in a cast to above his knee. The compound break had affected both lower leg bones and the twist when he fell had torn ligaments in his knee. It would be a long time before Tom returned to kicking soccer balls with Andy in the backyard.

  Tom didn't look up, not even when the social worker walked past Maggie, giving her a reassuring smile and pat on the arm. Miss Lunder stood in front of the window to distract Tom from the snow, which had been falling since yesterday.

  "Miss Yates is here for you, Tom. Are you ready to go?"

  Tom looked past the social worker, not taking his eyes off the snow. "I have the doctor's instructions." He held up a packet of papers, identical to the ones Maggie clutched.

  "Do you remember Margaret Yates?"

  "Yes," he snapped the word. An angry stranger had taken the place of the Tom she remembered so well.

  Maggie crumpled the papers in her hands.

  Tom continued, his voice a parody of the soft tones he'd whispered in her ear. "I will stay with Ben Johnson and his wife. Miss Yates will come in the afternoons and at night I will howl at the moon."

  The social worker blushed at the last, and Tom finally smiled. His lip curled into a grimace when he repositioned his foot.

  Maggie squared her shoulders and stepped into the room. His hair curled enticingly over his ears. Tom had always preferred button down shirts to hide his silver collar. Now the white linen accented his dark skin and shiny black hair. Standing close behind him, she could see the fine detailing in his clothes. This housekeeper, whoever she was, had sent the best.

  While she continued to stare, Tom leaned his cane against the chair and raised a hand to run a finger between his shirt and neck. Maggie wanted to put her arms around him and pull down his shirt to see for herself that the silver collar had not reappeared around his neck.

  Maggie put as much distance as she could in her voice. "If that will make you happy, you can do all the howling you like."

  She didn't know who this Tom was or how he would react. She was prepared for anything. She'd cried about it last night and she wasn't going to shed another tear. If Tom didn't remember her, considering her wish, the condition was most likely permanent.

  Tom glanced in her direction. No lightening flash of recognition, no thunder clouds at his feet. He retrieved his cane and moved to lean against the windowsill to watch the snow fall. "You must be Miss Yates."

  "You remember me?" Hope thudded in her chest.

  "You don't look like someone who would have the name of Ben Johnson." His voice had softened, but it had not regained its familiar lilt.

  Her one wish was that he look into her eyes, cross his arms over his chest and call her My Maggie again.

  He turned toward her, but the social worker stepped between them. "You have the doctor's instructions and the numbers to call if you have any questions?" she asked Maggie.

  Maggie nodded as she picked up Tom's coat. They would make an odd pair, him dressed like some Wall Street Executive and her wearing jeans with boots and winter coat borrowed from her brothers' old closet.

  "Well, I'll leave you two to it then."

  Tom finally gave Maggie his full attention. He started at her feet and worked his way up.

  Her words from that fateful night returned to her. I wish we had a second chance. That we could meet again for the first time. That you weren't a jinn.

  "I'm going to take you to Ben's house. He has a room for you to stay there. His youngest left for the Navy a couple of years ago so he has lots of room. But I guess the doctor told you that."

  "I...I am much obliged to Ben Johnson for his consideration." Tom gave a stiff bow and licked his lips, looking uncertain and suddenly not at all like an executive.

  "You'd better put on your coat first. It's really snowing out there."

  He handed her his cane and took the coat from her, his fingers skimming her arm. A small gasp sounded from both of them. Had he felt it as well, the spark that flew from one to the other and back again? Was it static electricity, the result of low humidity, or was it magic?

  "You will need your snow removed from your driveway I am thinking, or your car will become trapped."

  It was back, that gentle accent, the dipping and rising of the words. Somehow, it made his voice more painful to listen to now that they were strangers again.

  "You're not in any shape to be shoveling snow today or next month. You've got to rest and take things slow."

  "Giving me orders already, my...Miss Yates?"

  She stared hard at his mouth, then into his eyes. She had the distinct feeling he was teasing her. "If you're talking about granting my every wish, I prefer having things done the old fashioned way."

  "Ah, an old fashioned girl. That explains things."

  "Explains what?"

  "Why you are keeping me at bay with my cane."

  She looked down to see she had pointed it at his chest, preventing him from approaching.

  "I assume you are protecting your honor, but I do believe I need the aid if I am to navigate to the wheelchair."

  The smile that lit his face didn't warm her heart. It set it on fire. This was Tom.

  "I do believe I can protect my honor without resorting to violence, Mr. Rawley, and I can shovel my own snow."

  He took her arm with his free hand, and together they made their way toward the door. "But perhaps when I have recovered we can shovel snow together. I so enjoy having hot chocolate afterward and a cup of chili. Did you know that despite the name, chili can be very hot?"

  By the time they reached the door to his hosp
ital room, Maggie could no longer contain herself. The doctors had warned her not to press, so had Ben and her mother, but she had to know. "Tom, do you remember?"

  His hand left her arm and caressed her hair, his warm mouth against her cheek, made her shudder.

  "I remember two, no, three things quite clearly, My Maggie. I live with a cat named Sam, I'm madly in love with you and I want to kiss your feet."

  When she turned to face him, he started to tip, regaining his balance when he leaned against the door.

  One look in his eyes and she knew. He might not remember anything else about his past, about being a jinn, but he did remember her. That was enough magic for a lifetime.

  "I think we'd better leave feet kissing until we're home, don't you?"

  "If that is what you wish, My Maggie. I am at your command."

  ~ The End ~

  Christine W. Murphy

  MORE THAN once when she was a little girl, Christine came to the conclusion that she'd been dropped by an alien space craft and left to grow up in a small town in Minnesota. She wanted to know when they would notice she was missing and come back for her? After graduating from Concordia College, only 20 miles away, she decided drastic action was called for and she joined the Navy to look for them. The Navy, in their infinite wisdom, sent her to Iceland, one of the few places in this world with more Lutherans per square foot than Minnesota. After serving in Florida, Iceland, and Virginia, she realized no one was coming for her and she decided to settle for domestic bliss.

  Christine lives in New England with her husband, three exceptional children, and one crazy, red Abyssinian cat. Freelance technical writing and typesetting jobs constantly interfere with her creation of worlds where she feels more at home. She has three other books available through Hard Shell Word Factory. For the Emperor, her first published book and EPPIE finalist, is a science fiction romance set in the same galaxy as Highlord of Darkness. Through Iowa Glass is a romantic suspense set in another strange and alien world, Iowa. At Your Command, set in her home town, is her fourth book with Hard Shell Word Factory. You can contact Christine at [email protected]