lambs. “Let’s try again,” he said. “What’s your first wish?”
“I don’t know!” I was terrified that whatever I suggested would bring on another rant like the one I’d just witnessed. Sure, there were a million things that would help me perfect my single life. A secure Survival Job. Starring in that Mamet play. Permanently plucked eyebrows. (Yeah, even in my excitement about having wishes, I recognized that last one wasn’t exactly on equal footing with the others. But think of the lifelong impact, the hours that I could devote to other, more important things!)
I wasn’t sure what I truly wanted, what would make me happy. Make me strong. “Can I wait a day or two? Can I have some time to get used to this entire idea?”
He shook his head in disgust. “Yes, you can wait. Summon me as soon as you’ve made up your mind.”
“Summon you?”
Fully restored to cop mode, he nodded tersely. “If you’ll take a moment to review your fingers, ma’am.”
Review my… I raised my hand, turning it slightly in the kitchen light. I could just make out a faint tattoo on my finger and thumb, rippling flames, like a shadow of the ones on Teel’s wrist. When I rotated my hand, the color glistened, changing like oil spread over water. “How did you—?”
“Press your fingers together when you need assistance, ma’am. Saying my name will summon me.”
This was insane. If he hadn’t been a policeman, if he hadn’t spoken with such blunt certainty, I never would have believed him. Before I could protest, though, he raised his fingers to the brim of his cap. “Ma’am,” he said, by way of leave-taking.
“Where are you going?” Was I supposed to let him just walk out of here? Were genies allowed to roam around New York City?
“You read the contract, ma’am.” Um, not exactly. At most, I’d skimmed the major paragraphs. “I’m entitled to go on patrol between your wishes.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to sound as if I’d known that all along. “Of course.”
“Ma’am,” he said again, already striding across the kitchen. At the apartment door, he nodded approvingly at my trio of dead bolts. “Make sure you lock up after I’m gone.”
I did, and then I dove for the phone on the kitchen wall. As I punched in Amy’s number, I tried to make myself take deep breaths, to keep from hyperventilating. My lips tingled as I waited for her to pick up.
“Hi,” she said after the third ring, obviously hassled. “Can I call you back?”
“No!”
I heard the exasperated sigh that she almost managed to cut off. Her tone was tight as she explained, “Justin and I are finishing our broccoli . Before he takes a bath . So that he gets to bed on time.”
I glanced at the clock on the stove. Okay, so I was interrupting dinner, a meal obviously made more challenging by my nephew’s least favorite vegetable. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know my timing’s lousy, but I have got to tell you what just happened.”
“Justin!” she snapped, ignoring me. “You are going to deliver the goods before you leave this table! Two more bites!” A long pause, my fate resting in the mouth of a five-year-old. I wished that I could invent some flavor-changer, so that vegetables all tasted like candy. Think of the parent-child relationships that one could save…
“One,” Amy counted, and then after a long pause, while I imagined my nephew’s face contorted into cruciferous agony, “Two. Okay, swallow, and then you can go play for a few minutes.” Amy sighed gustily. “Sorry,” she said to me. “What’s up? Is the apartment a disaster zone?”
“No, no, it’s perfect. But you won’t believe what I found in the kitchen.”
“Roaches the size of Montana?”
“Amy!” Why did she have to be so negative? “I’m serious.”
She switched into Concerned Big Sister Mode. “What’s going on?”
That was better. “When I got here, I walked into the kitchen, and there was this big box on the counter. It
“I don’t know!” I was terrified that whatever I suggested would bring on another rant like the one I’d just witnessed. Sure, there were a million things that would help me perfect my single life. A secure Survival Job. Starring in that Mamet play. Permanently plucked eyebrows. (Yeah, even in my excitement about having wishes, I recognized that last one wasn’t exactly on equal footing with the others. But think of the lifelong impact, the hours that I could devote to other, more important things!)
I wasn’t sure what I truly wanted, what would make me happy. Make me strong. “Can I wait a day or two? Can I have some time to get used to this entire idea?”
He shook his head in disgust. “Yes, you can wait. Summon me as soon as you’ve made up your mind.”
“Summon you?”
Fully restored to cop mode, he nodded tersely. “If you’ll take a moment to review your fingers, ma’am.”
Review my… I raised my hand, turning it slightly in the kitchen light. I could just make out a faint tattoo on my finger and thumb, rippling flames, like a shadow of the ones on Teel’s wrist. When I rotated my hand, the color glistened, changing like oil spread over water. “How did you—?”
“Press your fingers together when you need assistance, ma’am. Saying my name will summon me.”
This was insane. If he hadn’t been a policeman, if he hadn’t spoken with such blunt certainty, I never would have believed him. Before I could protest, though, he raised his fingers to the brim of his cap. “Ma’am,” he said, by way of leave-taking.
“Where are you going?” Was I supposed to let him just walk out of here? Were genies allowed to roam around New York City?
“You read the contract, ma’am.” Um, not exactly. At most, I’d skimmed the major paragraphs. “I’m entitled to go on patrol between your wishes.”
“Oh,” I said, trying to sound as if I’d known that all along. “Of course.”
“Ma’am,” he said again, already striding across the kitchen. At the apartment door, he nodded approvingly at my trio of dead bolts. “Make sure you lock up after I’m gone.”
I did, and then I dove for the phone on the kitchen wall. As I punched in Amy’s number, I tried to make myself take deep breaths, to keep from hyperventilating. My lips tingled as I waited for her to pick up.
“Hi,” she said after the third ring, obviously hassled. “Can I call you back?”
“No!”
I heard the exasperated sigh that she almost managed to cut off. Her tone was tight as she explained, “Justin and I are finishing our broccoli . Before he takes a bath . So that he gets to bed on time.”
I glanced at the clock on the stove. Okay, so I was interrupting dinner, a meal obviously made more challenging by my nephew’s least favorite vegetable. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I know my timing’s lousy, but I have got to tell you what just happened.”
“Justin!” she snapped, ignoring me. “You are going to deliver the goods before you leave this table! Two more bites!” A long pause, my fate resting in the mouth of a five-year-old. I wished that I could invent some flavor-changer, so that vegetables all tasted like candy. Think of the parent-child relationships that one could save…
“One,” Amy counted, and then after a long pause, while I imagined my nephew’s face contorted into cruciferous agony, “Two. Okay, swallow, and then you can go play for a few minutes.” Amy sighed gustily. “Sorry,” she said to me. “What’s up? Is the apartment a disaster zone?”
“No, no, it’s perfect. But you won’t believe what I found in the kitchen.”
“Roaches the size of Montana?”
“Amy!” Why did she have to be so negative? “I’m serious.”
She switched into Concerned Big Sister Mode. “What’s going on?”
That was better. “When I got here, I walked into the kitchen, and there was this big box on the counter. It
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