Destiny's Magic by Martha Hix

continued to size up Susan Paget. The Englishwoman appeared more refined than her boy, and seemed to be trying to shape him up. Obviously, she loved him dearly.
    Phoebe bent her head in contemplation. What kind of mother allowed harsh hands to touch her child? Susan Paget had, in spite of her devotion. Like her nosy nephew, Phoebe itched to find out the whole story. It was a nasty one.
    The Pagets were a bit pitiful. Pity had caused Phoebe to bring them aboard last night, when good sense warned her off.
    She’d arrived with several intentions. Phoebe hadn’t expected to meddle in the bridal choice, but her nosiness remained an awful fault. Worse than a spinster itching for a man on a cold winter’s night. Or on a hot summer’s night, for that matter.
    Burke’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Susan, what part of New Orleans does your father live in?”
    â€œNear the Vieux Carré.”
    â€œHow near the Quarter?”
    â€œWest of Canal Street.”
    Burke fiddled with the stem of his water goblet. “I know a fair amount of people thereabouts. Perhaps I know your father. What’s his name?”
    â€œI daresay you don’t know him.”
    Phoebe pushed the shortcake away. Where was his shame? Her bruises hadn’t faded from her last man, yet Burke hankered to become the next one.
    Where was Sister at a time like this? Phoebe faced all life crises with Tessa, and some with the genie. Be that as it may, Phoebe had been the only one who dared walk up this riverboat’s gangplank. For all Burke’s fury at her in the magic-lamp debacle of 1864, he downright despised Tessa and Eugene.
    She recalled departing from her boon companions.
    Taking lemonade, they were in the solarium of the Memphis family seat. Tessa reeked of sandalwood eau de toilette, since Eugene preferred the smell. The genie wore a golden earring, as always. He’d lounged in Fitz’s favorite chair, as always.
    In the early days of knowing the Arab of magical powers, Phoebe decried the sponge and layabout. That worked out over the years. Free-lunch Eugene had proven a pleasant escort to both O’Brien sisters. Yes, he favored the short, round sister, but Tessa’s contentment was worth it. Phoebe, being ignorant of sex, had no idea how the eunuch brought Tessa to blushing cheeks and starry eyes. Must be magic. Certainly, he’d never offered to share his secret with Phoebe.
    Tessa’s satisfaction hadn’t been all that evident a month earlier. Silver-shot ringlets jiggling, she’d fiddled with the lace of her collar. “Shall we wish Burke a happy birthday?”
    â€œNo wishes.” Phoebe stood firm. “We’ve nosed in enough.”
    Eugene, his head as smooth and shiny as a pearl, picked through a bowl of pecans. “He will view it as intrusion when you meet his riverboat.”
    â€œI’m willing to risk that,” Phoebe replied.
    Trembles set Tessa’s double chin in motion. “Use your last wish, sister. Ask for Burke to come back to the fold.”
    Eugene cracked a pecan between his gold-capped teeth. “Better you use your last wish for pressing necessity.”
    â€œI’ll think about it,” Phoebe hedged.
    Ever since getting control of the lantern, she’d guarded it like a dog with a bone. Many times her lack of love life had caused her to consider using her third wish on herself. She wanted to wish for a man. Going to her grave a virgin—the mere thought sickened her. She yearned to be a tart.
    The genie contemplated a nut half. “Since milady Tessa wasn’t specific enough in her wishes for the nephews, there could be trouble in the offing for Burke and his bride.”
    â€œI should’ve loaded up on adjectives. Serene brides, untroubled engagements and weddings.” Wistful, Tessa said, “If only we could give someone else a turn at the lamp.”
    â€œWe have been over this a thousand times.”