The Genie's Witch (Dirty Djinn), page 1
The Genie’s Witch
Copyright 2014 © Lyn Brittan
www.lynbrittan.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this eBook or bound book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. This eBook/Book may not be sold or given to other people. If you would like to share this story, please purchase additional copies.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Also by Lyn Brittan
Dirty Djinn
The Genie’s Witch
Outer Settlement Agency
Solia’s Moon
Anja’s Star
Quinn’s Quasar
Outer Settlement Agency Omnibus
Watch for more at Lyn Brittan’s site.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
The Genie’s Witch | Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Fin
The Genie’s Witch
Chapter One
“Where’s your lamp?”
“Where’s your broom?” Tig shoved past the dark skinned witch and double-checked the gate number on his ticket. His flight left in eight minutes. He’d let nothing keep him from getting out of Galveston.
One wish. All he needed was for one of these frenzied humans around him to wish that everyone else would stop moving, and he could breeze through the crowd. Stupid djinn magic. His heart didn’t get a single wishly tingle. His toes received a fairly bruising welcome, though. “Ow! Excuse you. Watch your bags.”
Her. Again. Tig jerked around to glare at the wholly unapologetic witch who elbowed her way in front of him. She kept her head low, face still shielded by her hair. “I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“So does everyone here. Can’t you do something about this?”
The woman looked at him, really looked. He knew her view was awesome, but his wasn’t so bad either. Despite the arched eyebrow and crossed arms, she was a stunner. Her skin was the color of coffee fresh from the cane. Brown eyes, while currently rolling at him, kept him mesmerized. Then she opened her stupid mouth.
“What’s wrong, genie? Can’t you just wish yourself where you want to be?”
“It doesn’t work like that. Just do something or wish something - a little Magical solidarity here!”
“Fine.”
The second she winked, he knew she’d screw him over. The tiny witch closed her eyes and mumbled a few words. When she opened them again, the airport fell silent.
Witch?
He meant bitch. She had the nerve to blow him a kiss and dart away between the stilled crowd. Sometimes being a djinn was a wonderful thing. This was not one of those times. The woman had the right of it. His magic was always tied to the wishes of someone else. It wasn’t a curse, but just the way things were for his kind. Even worse, he could see magic while being a victim off it. And so with no choice, he watched her slide away, captured by her spell as much as the humans around him. The only magic he could do without any wishes in the air, would be to go into the lamp he kept attached to his necklace. That wouldn’t do him any good now.
While he plotted appropriate retaliation, a clock ticked in the distance. That told him something. The witch was powerful enough to still others, but not time. No matter. He’d still miss his plane because of it.
Correction: Because of her.
He tried blinking and after several attempts, managed a half one. Murmurings around him picked up, signaling the end of this temporary imprisonment. The humans wouldn’t notice anything, but his muscles quivered and he worked very hard not to grind his teeth.
Another tick of the clock.
Tig’s hands balled into fists and he ran, not giving a single fuck about who he crashed into along the way. The Imbolc holiday fast approached and every would-be witch was heading to the port cities of the Gulf Coast. From here to Charleston, the rush was on for every real Magical to head north. It was the only way to avoid the crystal toting, velvet wearing pseudo-witches.
There would be too many jacked spells and untrained wishes running around for him to be safe. He considered staying in his lamp to avoid the full brunt of the wishes, but he would still be able to feel the pull. There were better ways to enjoy the week. So here he was, joining the exodus. He’d waited until the last batch of flights on the last day before Witching Season. If he didn’t get out now, he was screwed.
The gate came into view just as they closed the loading terminal door. “You’ve got to let me on this plane. I have first class seats.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s important.”
“I wish I could help you, Mister…”
“Just Tig. First and last name. You won’t remember it or my face, but a wish is all I need.”
Chapter Two
Dinah tried to feel bad about what happened in the terminal, but was mostly unsuccessful. Her nerves had been plucked since the moment she entered the airport. No, she probably shouldn’t have snapped at the genie…and wouldn’t have if she’d seen his face first.
He was one of the legit ones. Middle Eastern, honey colored skin, a square jaw and eyes that went orange the more she egged him on. Beautiful. Pissed, but beautiful.
Anyway, it wasn’t entirely her fault. He had to be older, by like a billion years. He should have known better than to throw out a broom comment. Not that it mattered. She’d never see him again and by this time tomorrow, she’d be in a nice bed and breakfast in Napa Valley.
She’d just closed her eyes when the oohing and awing from the flight attendants wrenched her from the loving arms of peace. From her front row seat in coach, she saw the subject of this vocal adoration entering the plane, after staff shut the doors once already.
Little wonder how that happened.
The genie straightened his tie, frowned at her and gave a slight bow to the chief attendant. “I bet you wish you had a seat for me in first class.”
Sonofabitch.
The woman, old enough to know better, giggled and took his boarding pass. Dinah cocked her head to read the ridiculous name and the genie’s tanned face glowed red, before it deepened to an angry brown. He put his hand over the attendant’s and the slip of paper she held. Smart man. She could put a definite hurting on him, if she’d known the full of it. Names held power and this genie wasn’t in the mood for sharing it. He probably hadn’t been dumb enough to use his real one…his real, real one…she understood guarding even half of it.
With a choice finger raised behind his back, he followed the giggling woman through the business class curtains.
Dinah shifted in her seat for a comfortable position. Unsuccessfully. She could magic her way up front, but she was tired enough already. Stopping a terminal of people, even for a few seconds, had left her with a pounding head, an aching chest and a stomach that threatened to riot. Nope. Couldn’t do it.
Wishing it wouldn’t help either. Without the genie’s lamp in her possession, she wouldn’t be able to force him to do anything. Not that she ever would. It was a little too close to enslavement for her tastes. Without the power of the lamp, a wish could only be granted at the pleasure of the genie.
So, no, then.
She could, however, annoy the hell out of him.
I wish I were in first class.
Something chimed, but her hope fizzled as the safety video started to play.
I wish I had better seats.
Still nothing.
I wish the sky were pink.
I wish for elephants on the plane.
I wish for buckets of candy.
She knew he heard her. Had to – that was their genie thing. It was also, probably, why he’d left town and on that, she could sympathize. For as irritating as post born witches were, what they did to him had to be a thousand times worse. A tiny ping started to niggle in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t feel sorry, exactly, but…
I wish I could apologize in person.
“Miss?”
“Yes?”
The flight attendant looked down, nibbling her bottom lip. “There seems to have been some problem with the flight data. As soon as we get to cruising altitude, we’ll move you up to first class. On behalf of the airline, I sincerely apologize.”
*****
“Tired of slumming it? All of a sudden my magic’s the best thing around?”
She had the grace to look sheepish. With her chin buried in her chest, she slid into the cushiony seat next to his. “Thank you.”
“And?”
“Really?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I am sorry. And I do mean that. Dinah,” she said. “My name’s Dinah.”
“Tig.”
He waited for it and got it. People always asked. Dinah’s eyebrows scrunched together before she gave in to her curiosity. “Short for?”
“I’m not in th e business of giving witches my whole name.”
“I didn’t mean…it’s just that Tig is rather—”
“Tiglathpileser.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. You should hear the rest.”
Dinah settled back into her seat, eyes twinkling. “Tigla…pisser…”
“Hence, Tig.”
The flight attendant stopped by and Tig shot a hopeful nod to Dinah. She didn’t disappoint. “I wish you’d bring us the most expensive champagne on this flight, complimentary of course.”
Tig chuckled into his napkin and gave her a thumbs up. The flight attendant’s eyes crossed for the briefest of moments, before she disappeared into the galley. She moved so fast that the small kerchief around her neck trailed behind her in the air.
“How does that work?”
He held up a finger to halt conversation until the returning and out of breath attendant finished pouring. When the woman skipped away, he raised his glass in a mocking toast. “Same way yours does. Magic is magic. What makes names so powerful? They’re just words.”
“No, no, no.” Dinah popped up and sat her glass on the tray. “Names are essences. They’re who we are. We’re given names at the moment of new life, new possibilities and supreme love. What’s more powerful than that?”
“See? Hope. That’s all that wishes are. Hope makes that child, that future. Why do dreams come true? Luck? Nah…hope. Every once in a while, humans get it right, but most of the time they confuse the two. Me? I get it right all the time.”
Dinah leaned back into her chair and nodded. She brought the glass to her lips, but didn’t drink. “Yep. That’s why I always get nervous this time of year. Too many half-assed witches walking around, whispering names into mirrors. Crazy.”
“Words have terrible power.”
She nodded before guzzling a mouthful of the champagne. “Some pretty kickass ones too.” She popped up the footrest, pushed down the seat and flipped on her side. “I like champagne. I like first class. Magic rocks. So, Tig, what do you do when you’re not scamming your way into first class?”
“Do? I’m a genie.”
“Got that. But how do you live? What is your work? Your business?”
“Genie business.”
The little thing rolled her eyes and leaned up on her elbow. “How do you make money?”
“I…am…a…genie.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you sit around all day and wait for people to wish they were rich?”
“They do it all the time.”
“Stop.”
“Dead serious.”
“Not them. You! You’re a parasite. What kind of man…” Her voice trailed off as a snack tray rolled by. She didn’t let it pass undisturbed, taking a handful of items and stuffing them in her purse. He held his tongue. For now.
“I assume you work, then.”
“It’s what normal people do.”
“You’re not normal people. You’re a witch.”
“But that doesn’t mean—”
“Am I hurting them?”
“No, but—”
“No harm, no foul.”
“Feels pretty freaking foul to me,” she said under her breath.
“Was I meant to hear that?”
“Yes.”
“You’re right,” he said with a sigh.
“I know I am.” The self-satisfied smirk didn’t even wobble when she snatched another handful from the cart’s return trip.
“Because, Dinah, we should never, ever use our abilities for our comfort.”
Whatever high and mighty message she was going to make with her index finger directed at his face, she dropped. “Maybe I see your point.”
“Do you? More champagne?”
The woman rolled her eyes and put a few bagels in her purse. Before he could enlighten Dinah on her rudeness, she threw him a wink. “So, what’s in Chicago?”
Mercurial minx. Damn him, but she was starting to make him enjoy her.
“It’s a connection to Vegas.” He waited a second for her to finish snickering. “Before you ask, yes, it happens to be a great place for the djinn. Who doesn’t want to get rich in Vegas? You?”
“Napa Valley.”
“I win.”
“Oh, c’mon. It’s nice this time of year. There’s a little chill in the air, but it keeps the tourists away. You should come. I mean…go, sometime.”
“Maybe.”
No, not maybe. He wasn’t about to change his vacation plans for an ornery witch he’d just met.
One with huge, hazel eyes and lips he wouldn’t mind seeing wrapped around his…no. No.
Down boy. “So, you’re from Galveston, then?”
“Yeah. My family comes from a long line of witches. We’re descended from a woman in Salem, who ran away with her African indentured servant. The family stayed up North as the centuries went by. We only came down to Galveston two generations ago because of my great, great grandfather and the Creole queen he had to have. It caused quite the scandal, we’re told. So how does a genie—”
“Djinn.”
“Sorry, djinn, get here? Or there? I’m assuming you’re in Galveston. And how long have you been here? I mean, I know there are a lot of Others, but I think I’d have heard of you.”
“Because of my stunning good looks?”
“Because of your pompous propensity for assholeism.”
“Cute. But, no. I tend to avoid the limelight. Something my parents taught me a while ago.” He swallowed past his tightening chest and skipped through his past, landing only on the happier times. “I was born in Algiers. I think. My parents are so old they can hardly remember anymore. I—”
“Stop. I can’t let that go. How old are they,” she asked, shooting her seat back up and leaning forward. “In people years, I mean.”
“As opposed to what? Dog ones?” The knots that bound his chest unraveled and he snorted at her shrugged shoulders and twisted mouth. “Mother remembers the rule of the Ottomans. My father goes even further back, to the Fatmids.”
“And you?”
“I’m the last of…well…a lot. I wasn’t born until around the Spanish American War. Imagine the wishes I had growing up.”
Dinah’s face softened and she laid her hands on his. Big mistake. Crazy, super, great, terrible and wonderful mistake.
Djinn weren’t like werewolves, dogs sniffing out a mate. They weren’t suckers either, killing their women in a twisted version of love.
Passion made up the meat and bones of his kind. For djinn, touch registered as the preeminent sense. That’s how they found their mates…and he’d just stumbled across his.
Bloody, fucking hell.
“That must have been horrible for a young djinn. I’m sorry. You okay? Please, say something. I didn’t mean to bring up something like that.”
“Uh…it’s fine. Really.”
“We can talk about something else.”
Get it together. “No…it was some time ago. We moved often, but it didn’t matter where we were. The world just sorta went crazy. From that war to the Boer Wars, World War I and World War II, Korea, Sino-Japanese, Vietnam…you get the picture. So, don’t judge me too unkindly when I rush through an airport. You’d be surprised how good places like Vegas and Ibiza are for our kind. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not broken. You get used to it.”
“I see nothing but sucky disadvantages.”
Tig refilled her glass and lifted his own in silent toast. “Not so bad from where I’m sitting at the moment.”
“That’s probably true. I bet your view is pretty fantastic.”
He coughed up the champagne he’d been trying to swallow, but couldn’t stop grinning, even as he patted away the mess. Dinah helped, giggling and dragging a napkin across his chin. He brought that hand to his lips, never once dropping his gaze from her face. She tried to turn away, but he couldn’t let her and brushed his lips across hers. The second he did, a streak of white, hot power ran through his body.
No. No.
Yes.
She’d be good for him. His body and soul reveled in it, even as his mind struggled to come to terms with his new, and very unexpected, reality.
“Whoa.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Well, I did, but…”
