palms flat and serene on his folded thighs. Joseph sensed the tiniest spark anchored deep within the stone. Part of him was still in there, still revivable, though not by him.
Then again, maybe he didn’t want to revive himself.
If that were true, all the more reason to make a sincere attempt.
Unnerved by the sight of his familiar yet strange face, he circled the marble form until he was behind it. He laid his palms on the waves of his original’s frozen hair. Quieting his emotions, he willed the magic that remained to him to radiate down his arms.
The small spark within the statue didn’t react at all.
Should he turn up the power and risk doing unknown damage? Joseph tried an incrementally stronger surge. Nothing happened. Like everyone else who hadn’t recovered from the curse, Joseph’s original stayed locked in its suspension.
He dropped his hands. He’d tried and failed and for now he could give up.
His mood lightened shamefully.
~
As soon as the carpet lifted off the commemorative arch, Joseph started questioning his actions. Had he tried hard enough? Should he turn back and try again?
“Stop,” he said aloud to himself.
Confused by the order, the smoothly gliding rug juddered to a halt.
Clearly, he hadn’t been paying attention to the route. He’d overshot the palace by at least eight blocks. Now he hung over the winding cobbled byways of Old Town, where—despite the hour—a few businesses displayed signs of life. Two taverns were lit up, plus an outpost of the always popular Temple of Aphrodite. Righteous djinn of the Glorious City were free to honor any aspect of the Creator that called to them. As in olden times, having sex with the priestesses of the goddess qualified as worship.
If some priestesses made their living from this worship, that was their concern.
Business was good, apparently. Handsome carvings decorated the narrow building’s front. Dolphins leaped from foaming pale jade waves with ruby apples caught in their smiling mouths. Mother of pearl cased the lintels, and flourishing rose and lime trees spilled from pots by the door. Perfume trailed out the windows in heady whiffs, inviting both the reverent and the lonely to draw closer.
It was precisely the sort of place Joseph made a habit of avoiding.
When he was twenty-two, an evil sorcerer had ripped his scrotum from his body. Some djinn who’d been castrated at that age would have retained their ability to function sexually. Joseph didn’t know if his former master had added magic to his violence, but he hadn’t been one of them. His parents had apprenticed him to the sorcerer when he was just fifteen, after which he’d lived more as the sorcerer’s prisoner than his student.
Joseph had kissed girls in his youth, but he’d never made love to one.
He drifted closer to the temple, his carpet still out of reach of the sanctuary's soft lighting. The nearest window was open, the decor inside vibrant blue and gold. One of the young priestesses sat at a vanity mirror, combing her long auburn hair. She was naked from the waist up—perhaps from the waist down as well; the upholstered chair and the angle hid that from him. As she ran her comb down her gleaming tresses, the curves of her breasts came into and out of view. They were very pretty, full and temptingly shaped. Joseph’s heart beat faster, his breath catching in his throat. His fingers curled toward his palms, almost feeling the weight of those creamy globes. The priestess’s eyes were drowsy, her head tilted to the side. She didn’t know she had an audience. If she had, she wouldn’t have slid one hand down her belly and tucked it between her legs.
Joseph’s cock went so hard so fast that the pain of his lust jerked him out of his reverie.
He couldn’t do this. Bad enough he was spying on this female without her leave. It was crucial he not walk any farther down the path of being an able man. His original was a eunuch. Joseph must act—and think—as if he
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