Wish For Me: The Djinn Order, #1

If I find one more shrunken head in a jar, I quit.

I’d had no idea that my grandmother, Old Addie, was actually ten times the batty old crone I’d thought she was. That was because she’d kept the evidence locked away in her basement, hidden away from all sane eyes. Now that she was dead, my mother, aunt, and I were forced to sort through the madness and decide what stayed and what got put out for the garbage man. I’d suggested torching the entire establishment and just being done with it, but my mother had shot that idea down with a few choice words and a glare like only she could dish out.

I think the heads have a certain appeal, my Aunt Elena said, holding up a jar in front of her face. Look, this one is even smiling. She stretched her smile out to match the shrunken head’s gruesome grin.

You’re a freak, I laughed.

If I’m a freak, so are you, she replied. We already know Kit’s one. She jerked her thumb in my mother’s direction.

Mom barely spared us a glance. I hear mouths moving and not much else, she said in that tone that drove both me and Elena crazy.

We’re getting work done, Elena said, tossing her long, dark brown hair. I’m trying to decide which head is going home with me tonight. It’s down to No-Nose Nate or the one whose teeth are floating in the jar around its head. We’ll call him Floating Fred.

But the one with the glass eye has been watching you all day, I said. I think he likes you.

Elena nodded. You’re right. Glass-eyed Greg it is.

We could no longer hold it in. We cracked up.

I swear Elena, you’re like a child sometimes! Mom exclaimed, her French accent a bit on the thick side because she was irritated. Almost twenty years living in America and my mother still had that damned accent. You’re supposed to be keeping Glory on task, not feeding into her antics.

You’re just mad because you’re old, Elena said, intimating the fact that my mother had recently turned forty, the age she’d been dreading for the past year like it meant certain death or something. Elena was only twenty-seven, eight years older than me, and my aunt loved to remind Mom about this. So when I looked up to catch her shooting Elena the finger, all I could do was laugh.

But because I didn’t want to spend too much more of my Sunday in this stuffy ass basement, I got back to work, opened another box, and began to rifle through it.

What is all this stupid shit? I mumbled, pulling out moth-eaten linens, gaudy knick-knacks, and old, dusty books with strange symbols.

Mementos of a life well-lived and well-traveled, Elena replied as she rummaged through a box of shit I was sure was trash but she seemed to think was treasure.

I had to admit that Old Addie had seemed to be overly content with her life, even if she was a mean hag. She had regrets, just like any person, but she was happy and always talked about how normal living was underrated. Whatever the hell that meant. Looking around, nothing in my grandmother’s basement spoke to normalcy. Everything I saw only confirmed what I already knew: Old Addie was bat-shit crazy.

The hell… I pulled out a bag of rodent skulls, rodent skulls, from a beaten up box labeled Safe Keepings. Old Addie was looking battier by the second. With a sound of disgust, I tossed the bag aside.

Now this is more like it. My next find was a burgundy bowler hat complete with a ribbon and feather. I blew at some of the dust covering the hat, then slid it down over my ash-blonde pixie cut. I turned to show Elena, but she had been roped into an argument with my mom over what to do with some dishes they’d found. Turning back, I grabbed my backpack and tossed the hat inside, already dreaming up an ensemble to go with it. Now eager to find more treasures, I dove back into the box. I found a ratty old purse, a busted speaker with no cord, and a cracked boomerang before I discovered the jeweled treasure buried at the bottom of the box.

It was a vase. No, it was more than a vase, but the hell if I knew what it really was. It was shaped like a vase, with a long, thin neck and a wide, round bottom. Colored jewels—real or not, I didn’t know—sparkled all along the rim of the vase’s opening and along the base. In between lay a network of tiny antique gears that all seemed to be connected in some way, like they could be powered to make the vase actually do something. After further inspection, I found a small key hole near the top of the vase’s neck, fueling my suspicions.

With a surge of excitement, I turned the dusty box upside down and shook it. Sure enough, a key dropped out and hit the cement floor with a tiny cling.

I grabbed the key up and tried it out on the keyhole in the vase. It was a perfect fit. I moved to turn it, but not wanting mom or Elena to try and claim my find, I held off. I didn’t know what would happen if I turned the key, and if it was something cool, or terrible, I wanted to be alone when it happened. So I shoved the vase in my bag beside the bowler and swore the second I was back at my place, I was turning that damn key.

Hours later, the three of us emerged from the basement, tired and filthy. Mom and Elena decided to spend the night at Addie’s so they could get back to work bright and early the next morning. I had class the next day, thank God, so I hopped on my little moped and rode twenty minutes away to my apartment in Brighton, claiming to be way more exhausted than I really was.

It was dark by the time I got on the road, but I didn’t care. I loved riding at night and the weather was perfect that evening. Summer nights in Boston were the best. With the ocean right on our doorstep, there was always a breeze blowing. Well, not always, but enough to keep it from feeling like the Earth’s thermostat was set on ‘hell’ during the summer months.

My roommate and best friend, Ashlyn, was out when I got in. Starving my ass off but too lazy to cook, not that I could anyway, I warmed up leftover chicken enchiladas from the night before and then took a quick, hot shower. Usually I would have drawn out my shower for as long as I could, but I had plans that night and I couldn’t wait to get to them.

After locking my bedroom door as I always did before I could fall asleep, I climbed onto my bed, bringing my backpack with me. I unzipped the bag and pulled out the vase. It was still so freakishly amazing that I let out a ridiculous squeal. I sounded like such a girl it made me cringe, and after composing myself, I retrieved the key from the bottom of the backpack and slipped it into the keyhole.

Here goes nothing, I mumbled.

I turned the key. Click. Nothing.

Click. Still, nothing.

With a sigh, I turned it one more time. Click.

Nothing.

Piece of shit, I mumbled.

That’s when the gears started to move.

I dropped the vase like it had burned me and scrambled away. The key fell out of the vase, off my bed and bounced away somewhere. I refused to get up and look for it as I watched the vase’s gears grind, clink, and shift around into different positions. With an abrupt clink, the gears stopped moving and enchanting music drifted from inside the vase.

I laughed out loud. It’s a fucking music box. But I was sort of let down. For some stupid reason, I’d been hoping it was more than what it appeared to be. No, I hadn’t expected the vase to be a music box, but that was lame at best. The day was officially a bust with only the old bowler to show for it.

Thanks for nothing, you old hag, I said to the sky as I buried beneath the covers. The music kept playing while I drifted off to sleep picturing Old Addie laughing her ass off at me up in Heaven. One thing I did love about my grandmother was her sense of humor, so I wasn’t too worried about her coming back to haunt me for being a smart-ass.

I jerked awake a few hours later, sensing someone standing over me as I slept. Why I didn’t immediately scream, I don’t think I’ll ever know, because once I focused in, I could see there was indeed someone standing over me. I flew into a sitting position and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with two fists like a child in a cartoon movie. In a dizzy scramble, I reached for my bedside table lamp and switched it on.

"Fuck…me," I mumbled under my breath.

It was a man. And shit. He was gorgeous…like sigh and stare with the dreamy eyes gorgeous. Kiss me, I’m yours forever gorgeous. I will get naked right now, just ask me gorgeous.

Tall, dark, and handsome. It’s cliché, but hell, that’s what I was looking at. His black hair was loose and wild and hung to right above his shoulders. Running my fingers through it? Oh, that was happening first chance I got. His skin was dark, like sienna brown, and smooth as melted caramel. His chest peeked through the opening of his brown leather duster, and yes, he was chiseled. So were his arms and I had a perfect view of them as his duster was sleeveless and matched the leather pants he was wearing. It was obvious thick, powerful legs were housed in them, and with that, he became the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. But then I looked up and met his eyes, and if I hadn’t already been lying down, they would have knocked me on my ass.

They were amethyst, the most beautiful shade of violet in the universe, making my blue ones appear dull and lifeless. The only other person I’d ever heard of having amethyst eyes was Elizabeth Taylor. But since I’d never met Miss Taylor, this man was one of a kind in my world and that confirmed that if there was ever a man I’d dreamed of hitting the sheets with, this was him.

Why do you stare at me like that? he said, raising one silky black eyebrow into a sexy arch.

Damn. That voice. A deep baritone with a foreign accent attached. It shouldn’t have done what it did to me. How could a voice send a shiver all the way down my spine to the tips of my toes and make me gyrate my hips into the bed trying to keep my lust at bay?

Must I ask twice, human?

My look of admiration melted into a frown. You’re standing in my room in the middle of the fucking night like some kind of psycho-stalker serial killer, asshole. That’s why I’m staring at you.

And had this dude just called me a human? I snorted. He had. Probably because he thought he was a god. I snorted again. He was.

You are the one who summoned me, human. So reserve the flippant tongue for whichever pathetic human male you usually speak to in that manner.

My frown morphed into a glare. "What the hell are you even talking about? Summoned you? And there is no man. But if there was, he wouldn’t be pathetic!" I could have left that last part off, but whatever.

The man didn’t seem to hear me anyway as he walked around my room, picking things up and studying them with a disgusted look on his face. I glanced at the window. Is that how he had gotten in? Or had he picked the lock to my bedroom door? I still couldn’t understand why I wasn’t screaming my head off or trying to kick his ass. I figured it was his lack of aggression. He wasn’t trying to hurt me, so I wasn’t freaking out. Or was he really just that damn sexy? My eyes ran the length of him and I shivered again.

Oh, come on! I exclaimed, cursing my stupid female hormones.

The man looked at me. Come on to what?

I waved him off. I was talking to myself.

With a shrug, he turned away again to start going through my underwear drawer. I honestly didn’t even mind. He was sexy and I had cute underwear. No granny panties for me.

Has anyone ever told you that talking to yourself makes you appear to be less than sane? He held up one of my purple bras adorned with pink lace.

Nope, I said. My grandmother always told me that as long as you don’t answer yourself, you’re all good.

The man didn’t respond and that annoyed me. That joke usually pulled a laugh out of most people. At the very least, a smile. This guy gave me nothing.

What’s your name? I asked. Why did I ask? It was another question I couldn’t answer. I should have been on the phone with the cops instead.

One of my favorite thongs dropped from his fingers back into the drawer. He closed it and turned to face me. Irving.

I waited. That’s it? Just Irving?

He rolled his amethyst eyes. Irving Amir. At your service.

At my service?

And you are, human? he said.

I frowned at him. Why do you keep calling me human?

Are you not a human?

Yes, but— I shook my head. I checked the digital clock on my side table and it read three in the morning. Yeah, it was too early for mind games. Glory St. Pierre.

Glory St. Pierre, he repeated. Is that all? Humans usually have three names.

I shook my head. Not telling. My middle name is top secret. Very few people still living even know it.

That seemed to interest Irving. I will find out in due time.

I smirked, totally secure in the knowledge that he never would. So, why are you here? I held up a hand. If you’re here to kill me, at least let me put some make-up on so I can be a pretty corpse like the ones in the movies.

I laughed. He didn’t. I wanted to punch him, but before I could even open my mouth, Irving stalked forward and snatched all of the blankets from my bed.

Hey! What the hell are you doing? I exclaimed.

There it is, he said.

There what is? I looked down and saw the gold mechanical vase. Oh, the vase thing?

He shot me a look. "It is not a vase. He looked down again. It’s a Chronolier."

A what?

"A Chronolier. It means ‘golden exodus’."

Golden exodus?

Yes. But in simple, mortal terms even you could understand, it’s a lamp.

I frowned. Like a light lamp?

No.

A lava lamp?

"What in the hell…no."

I thought about it some more. Then laughed. You can’t mean what I think you mean.

He cocked his head at me. "What is it you think I mean?"

I pointed. "You think that’s a lamp. Like a genie lamp."

"Djinn is the correct term and I don’t think anything. I know."

"How do you know?"

Because, he said, I’m the Djinn it belongs to.

He didn’t even give me a chance to process that.

Where is the key? he asked.

The key? I remembered it had fallen off my bed and landed somewhere…

There. Irving knelt down and retrieved the key from under my bed.

So it is, I mumbled, trying to blink away the approaching dizzy spell.

Thank Sultan, he said, examining the key as he stood. He held it up. "This key is quite valuable, Glory St. Pierre. You should try not to