of too much fabric softener and the next she was bathed in orange, red and every possible shade of gold. Fabric hung from the ceiling and a stack of pillows surrounded a short table to her left. Shoeless, a cotton as smooth as the finest of silks enveloped her toes. A small path cut through from one side to the other. She followed where it led.
On the far wall rested an antique desk of sorts, the kind with a billion tiny drawers. Yet a modern leather chair on wheels sat in front of it with a closed laptop on the seat. She couldn’t help but take a peek, running over and dragging her fingers across the old wood. “May I?”
“Sure.”
It was a mishmash of the universe. Figs in one drawer, purple socks in another. And bottles, so many bottles. She held up one over her shoulder.
“Plum wine,” he said.
And another one.
“Peroxide.”
And a third.
“Pimento.”
“Does everything you own begin with a ‘p’?’’
Tig dropped into the chair, tossed the laptop on a shelf – one that hadn’t been there moments earlier – and kicked his feet on top the desk. “Well, you’re in the ‘p’ section.”
“You’re so full of it.”
“No I’m not. Go ahead and move it along.”
“How?”
His hand made one slow lateral wave. “Like an iPad.”
“Stop.”
“Try it. Where do you think they got the idea from?”
Doggone if she didn’t. Everything looked the same, until she opened a drawer. Sugar. Salt. Sardines. And seemingly unending rolls of satin. He pulled her giggling butt into his lap and sent the chair around the massive room. The walls shifted as they moved, bending into curves, hidden panels, endless wardrobes and, on the right, a four posted bed with drawn back curtains. “That’s the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.”
“Or the smallest,” he said behind her. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“There’s nothing humble about this, honey. It smells like...” She clawed her hands in the air, searching for the right word. “Almonds? Wood?”
“Home. Old Algiers. We’ll go, if you like.”
We. Home. Lamps. A metric ton of bricks on her chest made taking another breath an uncertain thing. “Djinn don’t bring people into their lamps, Tig.”
“Hafiz Khalid Tiglathpileser Wahid. That’s my name. Say it.”
She closed her eyes, the sting of unshed tears too much to stand. “Stop it. People who should know better, don’t give Magicals their full names.”
“Tell me yours.”
“Tig.”
“You know why. I tried to keep it from you, but I can’t, Dinah. Say my name and tell me yours.”
And damn her if she didn’t. Not just the one on her passport, but her name , the one called out to the sky on the night of her birth.
Turns out, she knew a little more about djinn than wishes. Every Magical had ridiculous stories about their kind.
Every so often, the legends end up being true.
Sometimes you could catch a bogeyman out the corner of your eye...if he wanted to keep you.
Sometimes brownies did live in the planks of old houses...for the right woman.
And sometimes, djinn opened their lamps...for their life’s partner.
It’s weird what that does to a girl. In one second she’d jumped from wondering when he’d call, to trying to get out of the wedding. She dried her sweaty hands on the robe she had clutched around her. Damn him for bringing her here. It was supremely unfair to throw this on her. She made her future, not his crazy, djinn magic. Fate? Didn’t believe in it.
Much.
If he’d only let this happen naturally, like a normal person, it wouldn’t be so weird.
...said the witch about the djinn...
She sighed and turned away.
He couldn’t help it. She knew that. Truth be told, she’d have been even more pissed if he’d known and didn’t tell her until after months of dating.
That didn’t make the situation any less insane. Or creepy.
Space . She needed space.
“This is a lot.”
“What is? Now say it. I need to hear the words, Dinah.”
But she
On the far wall rested an antique desk of sorts, the kind with a billion tiny drawers. Yet a modern leather chair on wheels sat in front of it with a closed laptop on the seat. She couldn’t help but take a peek, running over and dragging her fingers across the old wood. “May I?”
“Sure.”
It was a mishmash of the universe. Figs in one drawer, purple socks in another. And bottles, so many bottles. She held up one over her shoulder.
“Plum wine,” he said.
And another one.
“Peroxide.”
And a third.
“Pimento.”
“Does everything you own begin with a ‘p’?’’
Tig dropped into the chair, tossed the laptop on a shelf – one that hadn’t been there moments earlier – and kicked his feet on top the desk. “Well, you’re in the ‘p’ section.”
“You’re so full of it.”
“No I’m not. Go ahead and move it along.”
“How?”
His hand made one slow lateral wave. “Like an iPad.”
“Stop.”
“Try it. Where do you think they got the idea from?”
Doggone if she didn’t. Everything looked the same, until she opened a drawer. Sugar. Salt. Sardines. And seemingly unending rolls of satin. He pulled her giggling butt into his lap and sent the chair around the massive room. The walls shifted as they moved, bending into curves, hidden panels, endless wardrobes and, on the right, a four posted bed with drawn back curtains. “That’s the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.”
“Or the smallest,” he said behind her. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“There’s nothing humble about this, honey. It smells like...” She clawed her hands in the air, searching for the right word. “Almonds? Wood?”
“Home. Old Algiers. We’ll go, if you like.”
We. Home. Lamps. A metric ton of bricks on her chest made taking another breath an uncertain thing. “Djinn don’t bring people into their lamps, Tig.”
“Hafiz Khalid Tiglathpileser Wahid. That’s my name. Say it.”
She closed her eyes, the sting of unshed tears too much to stand. “Stop it. People who should know better, don’t give Magicals their full names.”
“Tell me yours.”
“Tig.”
“You know why. I tried to keep it from you, but I can’t, Dinah. Say my name and tell me yours.”
And damn her if she didn’t. Not just the one on her passport, but her name , the one called out to the sky on the night of her birth.
Turns out, she knew a little more about djinn than wishes. Every Magical had ridiculous stories about their kind.
Every so often, the legends end up being true.
Sometimes you could catch a bogeyman out the corner of your eye...if he wanted to keep you.
Sometimes brownies did live in the planks of old houses...for the right woman.
And sometimes, djinn opened their lamps...for their life’s partner.
It’s weird what that does to a girl. In one second she’d jumped from wondering when he’d call, to trying to get out of the wedding. She dried her sweaty hands on the robe she had clutched around her. Damn him for bringing her here. It was supremely unfair to throw this on her. She made her future, not his crazy, djinn magic. Fate? Didn’t believe in it.
Much.
If he’d only let this happen naturally, like a normal person, it wouldn’t be so weird.
...said the witch about the djinn...
She sighed and turned away.
He couldn’t help it. She knew that. Truth be told, she’d have been even more pissed if he’d known and didn’t tell her until after months of dating.
That didn’t make the situation any less insane. Or creepy.
Space . She needed space.
“This is a lot.”
“What is? Now say it. I need to hear the words, Dinah.”
But she
Similar Books
