Writing! Excited about Wirting!

So! Since dad's death I have written absolutely nothing of my own. I've done little things. Outlines, character pages. But nothing serious. But now? Now I can show you, internet, what I wrote tonight in the last three or four hours. THREE THOUSAND WORDS. Holy shit. That's a first chapter right there! That's damn impressive,  I don't care what anyone says!

I stared at a blank document for nearly an hour before actually doing things. I kept trying to talk myself out of it. "No, I'm not in a good mindset tonight. It'll be shit." "No, I'm not ready. It'll be shit." "I'm not sure where exactly I want to go with it. It'll be shit." Getting a theme here? But I did it! And I'm so glad I did. It feels good!

So here you are, internet. Hopefully there's someone out there to read it who will actually see that I wrote it. Because holy shit! I wrote!



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Eden slammed her hands on the steering wheel. She been driving for two days. She’d stopped once at some little place in Utah last night just to sleep for a couple hours. Now she was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by the definition of rolling hills. Beautiful scenery, tall pale grass and emerald green trees as for as the eye could see. Or at least it would be beautiful if she wasn’t stranded. It seemed to taint everything.

She slammed her hands on the steering wheel again. And once more for good measure. The car had just stopped, made a few little spluttering noises and chugged to a stop. The old station wagon, Clara her dad called it, managed to get her this far. From L.A. to Wyoming. Middle of nowhere Wyoming. She had to ask for directions in Livingston to a little town called Millhope. Then she stopped at a diner there in Millhope and a sweet lady named Annie gave her directions out to Hart Stone Ranch.

They’d been simple directions. Take River Road west out of town then turn right at the unmarked dirt road past the burnt tree stump. She took the right turn, but Annie had told her it would take about twenty minutes. She’d been driving on the dirt road for half an hour, the trees on each side just getting thicker. No ranch in sight.

After stewing in the car for a few more minutes, she finally climbed out. Immediately the wind assaulted her, slamming her door shut again for her. She checked the door and had to bite her lower lip hard to keep in a loud curse when she found it was locked. With her keys in the cup holder.

She rubbed at her eyes as the wind whipped her dark hair around her face. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to cry. She looked both ways down the road. According to Annie the ranch couldn’t be too much further down the road. And the other direction was a half hour drive back to the main road. Groaning she pulled her long hair into a quick bun and started down the street.

She’d been walking for only about ten minutes when she heard the rumble coming down the road. She stopped and turned to watch an old yellow truck bounce its way down the pitted road. The driver pulled to a stop beside her and leaned way over to roll down the window. The man inside was young and blonde, a brown well-worn Stetson perched on his head. A little rough around the edges, well built, shaggy and stubbly. Just the kind of guy her friend Bettina would go for.

“Hey,” he called, resting against the steering wheel. “That your station wagon back a ways?”

“Yeah. Broke down,” she replied, trudging over to hold herself up on the truck. She was grateful for the wind block if nothing else.

“Are you lost?”

She laughed. “God, I hope not. I’m trying to get to the Hart Stone Ranch? Please tell me I’m going the right way.”

The driver stared at her a moment, looking confused. Come to think of it, Annie at the diner had given her that same look. “You’re headed the right way,” he finally said. “But why you headed out there?”

“I got a job working for Mrs. Molly Porter.”

“Oh! I heard Miss Molly mention she’d convinced Gideon to let her hire some help for the summer.” He leaned over to push open the door, making her realize there was no handle on the outside. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride. We’ll get your things and I’ll send Jim back to see to the car.”

“Thank you,” she said emphatically as she climbed in. “But I locked my keys in the car as well.”

“Just not your day, is it?” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Well, if you can do without for a couple hours, I’m sure Jim can see to bringing your stuff up as well.”

“That’d be great. You are my hero,” she gushed.

“It’s no problem. I’m Cody Stone,” he said, offering his hand and a charming smile.

“Eden Dale.” She returned the smile and slid her slender hand into his for a firm shake.

“Are you from Montana, Eden?” he asked as he put the truck back into gear and started down the road.

“No, I’ve never even been out here. I’m from L.A.”

He barked out a surprised laugh. “What are you doing out here? I thought city folk normally, y’know, stayed in the city.”

“Normally I’d agree,” she said with a smirk. “I guess I just got sick of people. Everywhere. I wanted a new start in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well you’ve succeeded.”

He only drove a couple minutes longer before the trees seemed to just magically open up to reveal a wide expanse of land. To the right an old, but well kept ranch house. Three stories tall with a porch that wrapped all the way around. Potted plants lined the railing and hung from the awning giving the otherwise plain exterior and bright and colourful appeal.

To the left was a large barn and a wide open expanse where a few men were working with two large horses. Beautiful dark horses with shining coats. There was activity all around. She counted at least a dozen men milling around, carrying heavy sacks or leading horses. Each one seemed burlier than the last. The men she was used to being surrounded by were much leaner than this. And far less intimidating.

Cody drove the truck under a tall wooden arch, the words Hart Stone carved expertly down each side. He continued down the drive that ran between the house and the barn and pulled around behind the house. There were several more vehicles around here. Mostly trucks not so different from Cody’s, a few smaller cars, one yellow bug, and one incredibly expensive looking, cherry red convertible.

Behind the house she could see another smaller house that, if she had to guess, was for the workers. Hopefully she’d get a tour. She could see a few other buildings further away. The whole place was framed by wide open land, those same beautiful, rolling hills and green trees. She was glad she could finally enjoy them for a moment.

She had gotten so distracted by the surroundings she actually jumped when Cody opened her door for her. He chuckled and held his hand out to help her down. Suddenly a thought occurred to her.

“Wait, Cody Stone? As in Hart Stone?”

“Yeah, Gideon’s my cousin. My uncle, his dad, owned the place before him. And our grandfather before him. Hart came from grandma, Stone came from granddad.”

He led her over through screened area of the porch. Jasmine plants climbed up the railing here and hit her senses strong. There was a little swing and she noticed a children’s book left open on the ground. Cody scooped it up as they went inside directly into the kitchen. The smell of jasmine gave way to what could only be biscuits and gravy. And the best smelling biscuits and gravy Eden had ever encountered.

The kitchen was large, at least the size of Eden’s old apartment. A large island sat in the center surrounded by a dozen bar stools. The appliances were all high end, except the old gas stove.

“Miss Molly?” he called into the house.

“Quit hollering, Cody,” came a woman’s voice with a lilting southern accent that Eden found happily familiar.

As she came around the corner it struck Eden that she would have known this woman even if they’d met on the street. She was the spitting image of her sister, Meg. Short, even a little shorter than Eden herself, a little round, especially her face. With a pile of salt and pepper hair knotted atop her head. Big green eyes that smiled with a merry mischief that made her seem so much younger than she was.

“And take your hat off in my house,” she said sternly, though a smile tugged at her lips.

He did it immediately. “Sorry, Miss Molly.”

She turned those green eyes to Eden and smiled even wider. “And you must be little Edie Dale. I haven’t seen you since you were a teenager, but damned if you haven’t changed a bit.”

She pulled Eden into a tight hug that she was only too happy to accept. “Hi Mrs. Porter.”

“Call me Molly, dear. Or Miss Molly like the boys do.” She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “God, you’re thin. But that’s to be expected. Meg told me not to expect you until next week.”

Meg Shields had been her ballet teacher and very dear friend as far back as Eden could remember. She’d saved her life in more ways than one throughout the years. Molly used to visit twice a year for both of Meg’s big performances. Eden had always spent more time with them than at her own home. And Meg her family had always welcomed her with open arms. Even more so after Meg found out about…

Eden shook her head and gave Molly a bright, practiced smile. “I wanted to get out here as soon as possible. Needed to.”

Molly’s smile turned a little sympathetic and she patted Eden’s hand. “But where are your things, dear?”

“In my car,” she groaned. “It broke down a ways back and I locked my keys in. Cody just happened to be driving by and offered me a lift.”

“I told her I’d send Jim back for the car?”

“Oh, of course. He’s upstairs working on Lilah’s birthday present.”

Cody nodded and turned back to Eden. He gave her a big, sweeping bow laughing as he did. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Eden Dale. I shall tend to your steed immediately.”

“Oh get out of here you ham.” Molly said, shooing him away. He gave them a wave and hurried away. “He’s a harmless charmer. Well, let me show you around.”

Without another thought she led her through the house. There was the kitchen of course, then off to the right through a swinging door was the dining room. Straight ahead from the back door, under a large archway was a living room. Large windows on two walls gave the room a bright feel, despite the dark leather furniture. It looked well lived in, the cushions of the couch sagged just a bit to look soft and comfortable, and there was an obvious mark on the footstool in front of the chair where someone had propped their muddy boots a few too many times. A coffee table sat in the middle of the room also bore the scuffs of boots along the edges. There was a record player and stereo along one wall and a large television mounted across from the couch.

Molly led her upstairs to the second floor, showing her where she slept then a few doors down Eden’s own room. It was simple. A single bed against the wall, a desk and dresser and small closet. A small bathroom was attached, and for that Eden was incredibly grateful. Even more so when she saw the clawfoot tub.

“The third floor is where Gideon and Lilah’s rooms are. We don’t need to worry about cleaning up after them. Gideon’s always been good about cleaning up after himself and insists Lilah learns the same.”

“Lilah’s his daughter?” Eden asked for clarification.

“His niece, but her mother’s passed and her father is out of the picture. Gideon is raising her as her own,” she explained.

“How old is she?”

“Five. A little darling. You’ll love her.”

“And Gideon’s wife?”

“Oh Gideon’s not married, dear,” she said with a laugh, like the idea was preposterous.

She led her back down to the kitchen and began explaining what her daily duties would be. She’d wake up well before dawn Monday through Saturday and help with breakfast for Gideon and all the workers. Then lunch and dinner. Saturdays, the boys got off early and were expected to find their own food, so she only had to worry about dinner for Gideon, Lilah, Molly and herself. In between meals they kept the first and second floor of the ranch house clean, Gideon saw clients here and often times he and some of the boys would play poker or watch a game after work. Thursday was laundry day, she was expected to have the workers laundry done by the end of the day. Sundays she was free to do whatever she pleased.

And for this she would make fifteen dollars an hour, ten hours a day, and would have free room and board. Honestly it sounded like a dream come true to Eden. Hard work she could just throw herself into and not think about what had driven her out here.

“Great. Now I’m just about to serve lunch if you’d like to help? Then I’ll handle dinner so you can get settled.”

“That sounds great,” Eden said, suddenly hugging the woman again. “Thank you so much for this opportunity.”

“It’s not a problem at all, Edie,” Molly promised her. “When Meg told me about your troubles, well, you know Meg. She hardly gets emotional. But she was crying that there was nothing she could do. You’re like a daughter to her. That makes you a niece to me. So I know exactly how to help.”

Eden smiled at her. “Thank you,” she said again.

They were just about to call the workers in for lunch when Molly spoke again. “I have a secret.”

“A secret?” Eden asked with a light frown.

“Yes. A secret,” she glanced around, making sure there were no prying ears. “I’ve told Gideon I’m bringing you out to help this summer since he’s hired extra men for the season.” Eden nodded her understanding and Molly hesitated another moment. “But in truth I’m hoping you’ll be able to catch on well enough to do it yourself by fall.”

“What about you?”

“I’m hardly as young as I once was and keeping up after these kids is doing me in. No, come this fall I’m going to retire. I’m hoping you’ll be able to take my place.”

Eden wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She hadn’t planned on this being a permanent move. Just something to help her recover and get back on her feet. But she smiled at Molly. “I’m flattered. Thank you.”

“Now, if you’d like to ring the bell, I’m sure the boys will all be thrilled to meet you. Beyond thrilled, really. I hope you’re up for some pretty intense charms.”

“I think I can hold my own,” she said heading out to where the bell hung.

No sooner than five minutes after she rang the bell did men start pouring in. Each one greeted Molly with a nod and smile as they removed their hats. Then they would noticed her, standing slightly behind Molly.

First she met Jaime and Kyle, brothers from Elliston. Some of the new crop of ranch hands Molly had mentioned. They both had big brown eyes and dark hair. They were only a few years apart, but looked enough alike that they could have been twins. She’d just have to remember that Jaime had the birthmark on his forehead and temple, a dark mark that looked almost like a kiss.

Cody came in next and introduced her to his brother Mark and their childhood friend Mitchell. It sounded like they’d all grown up on the ranch. Mark had dark hair, but the same charming smile and dark eyes as his brother. Mitchell was a red head covered in freckles from head to toe. And shy as shy could be.

The net several men all came in together and blurred together almost immediately. She’d never remember all these names. There was Adam, Joe, Sam, and Dave. And Michael, maybe? She’d have to ask Molly later.

“Normally Jim would have lunch as well,” Molly told her as she made a plate and set it aside. “But since he’s taking care of your car, I’ll just save this for him.” There was a tenderness in how she spoke of Jim that made Eden smile.

The barstools had seemed comfortably spaced around the large island a moment ago, now the ranchers sat shoulder to shoulder. There were two seats left around the table, one between the others, the last sat further away with a larger amount of space left for whoever sat there. She had to imagine that one was for Gideon, the owner. It seemed that even when he wasn’t there, he commanded the men’s respect.

He came in from the main part of the house. He certainly hadn’t been working with his men all day. She supposed the owner of the ranch would have other business matters to attend to. She found herself staring at him and was honestly embarrassed. He was a big man, broad chest, all muscles. He was, without a doubt, the kind of man people called a bear of a man. He wore a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up his forearms and a pair of jeans that fit him in just the right way that any woman would find herself staring. (At least that’s what she told herself. It would be any woman. Not just her.) He had black hair, with a few stray gray hairs here and there. A scruffy beard showed even more gray, but underneath, his face still looked youthful. A pair of crystal clear blue eyes locked onto her and she found herself speechless. 

Then those eyes narrowed in anger and she was speechless for a whole different reason. The handsome bear of a man suddenly seemed dangerous. She suddenly had an inkling of why everyone seemed surprised she was coming here. He didn’t look happy to see her.

“Who are you?”

Work in Progress

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Started this tonight. Paranormal Romance. Not sure about her name. May change it. Already have a Juliet elsewhere. May also change to first person. Not sure, want to go from his head as well, so probably not. Also may remove the fictional town. Feels like cheating. Just have the mom live in Phoenix.

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Juliette gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Why didn’t she leave as soon as she got the first call? Was the test in her literature class really so important? So important she couldn’t gone home when she got the call? Aunt Erin had called on Monday and asked her to come home as soon as possible, said that her mom was very, very sick. Juliette had passed it off as Erin being an extremist of sorts and had said she would come on Friday after her classes. Now it was Wednesday and Erin had called again to say that her mom had gotten worse and the hospital had flown her to Phoenix because they could do nothing more for her in Tunsen.

Tunsen was her hometown. A strange place by any standard. It had been founded under the guise of yet another Arizona mining town by her great-great however many times great grandfather back in the eighteen hundreds. Now it boasted a population of less than two thousand. The closest town was two hours away,  Not that anyone in town remembered or cared that her family were the descendants of Oliver Tunsen. Her mother, Sarah, had been the younger of two daughters of the last Tunsen, and much to Grandpa Tunsen’s chagrin, she had indeed chosen to change her name when she married Jasper Harris. Jasper. Dad. He was a whole different story. She wondered if anyone had called him. She hoped not.

She shook her head to banish thoughts of him. That was the last place she needed to go. She pushed the accelerator down and sped her Jeep around a little Toyota that decided the speed limit really was a limit. Couldn’t they see they were the only one on the entire freeway actually going seventy-five? Didn’t they know she had to get to the hospital?

And she knew she was being unreasonable. But her mum was in the hospital. She wasn’t waking up, Erin said. And they didn’t know what was wrong. She wasn’t surprised Tunsen Medical Center couldn’t help. Since she moved down to Tucson she had realized that Tunsen Hospital shouldn’t even be considered a hospital. You could get a flu shot and they could set a bone or stitch a cut. If you were brave, you could have a baby there, but pray nothing goes wrong because you’ll have to be flown to Phoenix. They just weren’t equipped for anything like that. They didn’t even have an operating room. Hopefully the doctors in Phoenix had a better idea of what was going on.

She squeezed the steering wheel even tighter, her knuckles pale, and glanced up at the exit signs. She couldn’t remember the exit number, but she knew it was 7^th Street. She still hated the freeway after being out of Tunsen for four years, she was so accustomed to its smaller streets and lighter traffic. She let out a panicked caw when she saw it was the next exit, and weaved her Jeep over into the far right lane then onto the onramp, earning her plenty of honks and angry gestures.

Soon she arrived at Good Samaritan Hospital. She’d been here once before when Grandpa Tunsen died. She was only twelve then and thought the tall white building looked like something out of an alien movie. Looking at it now, ten years later, she still had the same impression. Inside it didn’t take her long to find Erin. She was shouting at a nurse about how her sister needed silk sheets.

“Erin,” she called as she came near and the older woman’s head popped up, her anger dissolving into tears. The woman had mood swings like Juliette had never seen in anyone else.

“Julie, baby,” she called, brushing a hand through her pixie short gray hair. She had a streak of hair at her temple dyed pink now, last time Juliette had seen her it was green. She hurried over and pulled Juliette into a hug, hunching over to do it. Erin was built like Grandma, tall and spindly, almost scrawny but never gaining any weight no matter how many cupcakes they ate.

“What’s going on?” she asked, pulling gently from Erin’s arms.

Just like that Erin brushed the tears from her cheeks and her anger was back. She turned her glaring eyes back to the nurse. “I was trying to explain to this nurse that my sister needs better sheets. Silk. Or Satin.”

“Mom doesn’t need silk sheets.” She smiled at the nurse, a cute girl with an upturned nose and curly hair wearing blue scrubs like she’d seen on everyone else. “Thank you.”

Aunt Erin had married Victor Dawson who owned a chain of restaurants throughout the country. And somehow he ended up choosing Tunsen, Arizona to build his mansion retreat in the woods of the White Mountains. Completely random to her, but Tunsen seemed to have that kind of draw. But since then, Erin had gone from living in the rundown condo with the leaky roof that Juliette remembered from her childhood, to Dawson Manor. Juliette had hated staying with her there. She got lost in the massive mansion.

“She deserves silk sheets.”

“She doesn’t even like silk sheets, Aunt Erin,” she muttered, rubbing her hands on her face. “Where is she?”

Erin led her to the room nearby. A heart monitor beeped and kept track of her vital signs, the numbers didn’t mean anything to her, though. Her mother lay on the bed, tucked into crisp white sheets. She was pale, her normally glowing complexion ashen. Her chestnut hair peppered with gray strands fanned across the pillow case. She brushed her hands through her own dark brown curls and slumped into the chair beside the bed.

“What’s wrong with her?” she breathed weakly.

“She has a fever that just keeps going up. She had been coughing all the time, then she starting throwing up. Then her speech was slurred and she couldn’t walk straight, like she was drunk, falling over. It all happened so fast. She passed out and I couldn’t wake her up, I took her to the hospital and they flew her here pretty quickly.”

Juliette nodded weakly and took her mom’s hand. Her skin was too warm and clammy.

“Victor is contacting doctors all around the country and flying out whoever he can.” Erin rubbed her shoulder. “I called your father.”

Juliette flinched and shrugged her hand off unthinkingly. “Why?”

“They were married for twenty years, Julie.”

“What did he say?” she asked, already suspecting the answer.

“He hung up.”

Juliette snorted. “Figures.”

“Julie,” she began but Juliette waved her hand.

“I just want to sit with mom and not think about him. Please.”

Her aunt nodded a bit and rubbed her shoulder again before walking out of the room.

Juliette sighed, leaning forward to put her arms on the mattress, folding them to pillow her head and keep hold of her mom’s hand. “I’m here. I’m sorry, mom. I’m sorry. Please wake up. Please, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll stop fighting. Just wake up.” She pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. “I’ll move back to Tunsen, learn the magic. Whatever. You just have to wake up.”

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Lyric the Djinn

Lyric’s world exploded in colors and sounds and sensations. She quickly formed a body around her essence. Tan skin, deep auburn hair, and chocolate brown eyes. Chocolate. Chocolate sounded amazing. Maybe she could get this master to give her chocolate before they started spouting off wishes. They obviously didn’t have a clue what she was, no preconceived notions about genies forming her appearance straight out of the bottle.

Clothes before chocolate. She wrapped a loose shirt and pair of trousers around her body. It was men’s clothing from her own time. She smirked as a pair of boots covered her feet and she touched down on the ground. Once upon a time her father would have hit her for wearing it. But he was long since gone, and it was something familiar and comforting to wear something from her own time. The last time she’d gotten out of her bottle, she was told she looked like Robin Hood’s merry lady. She still wasn’t sure what it meant.

She had no idea how long she had been confined to the dark, lifeless dimension “inside” her bottle. And now it all came rushing back. The smell of smoke, tobacco smoke specifically, filled her nose. A dim room, lit only by a few lights on the walls. Dark wood walls and wood floors, tables scattered around and a long bar with stools. Music, unlike any she’d heard before played from a small metal box on the bar. She approached it slowly, eyeing it curiously. A man’s voice crooned over the sound of unfamiliar instruments.

She reached forward to examine it, take it apart and find the tiny little man that must be inside when a bottle crashed behind her. She spun around to see him standing there. She knew him instantly, just as she did all her masters. Giaccomo Rossi. Jack. First generation American. His parents came over from Italy and he was born here just after. America. The New World. She’d always wanted to come here. Maybe he’d let her see the outside world. She idly stared into his green eyes and traced his family history back. Often she could find a common line between them, but she’d only found herself in Italy once or twice.

Jack had dropped a bottle of liquor, staring at her now in shock. She had appeared out of nowhere, of course he’d be shocked. It made sense.

“Hello, master. May I call you Giaccomo? Much nicer than Jack. Do you have chocolate? It has been so long since I’ve had chocolate!”

She laughed brightly and opened up her senses. She could smell the liquor he’d spilt, not a far cry from the ale they used to drink in the seaside towns. She opened her arms wide, spinning as she took in the smells and sounds of this new world. Djinn senses were so much stronger than a humans. Mortals live on this world, while djinn are a part of it.

“Who are you?” He asked nervously. “How did you get in here?”

“What year is it?” She asked moving back to the singing man in the box. “The last time I was let out it was… 1922? I believe…”

“It’s 1968… What do you mean let out?” He frowned deeper. “Who are you?”

“Forty-six years. Nearly a lifetime.” She sighed.

“Who are you?”

She tensed. That was three times. Djinn worked under rules of three. Three wishes. Three repetitions for the binding spell. And three questions. Ask a direct question three times and a djinn must answer, whether you are their master or not.

She clenched her jaw. It started like pins and needles through her blood. But it grew quickly. She knew she had to answer, but she hated being forced like this. That was the curse of the djinn. She wondered what free will truly felt like. The pain increased and she knew soon she’d barely be able to gasp in a breath to answer.

“I am your djinn, master.”

“My gin? Like, gin and tonic? That don’t make no sense, lady.”

“Djinn. Commonly known as a genie.”

“A genie? Like… lamps and three wishes?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “You get three wishes. But it is a bottle, not a lamp.”

She scanned the bottles of liquor he kept behind the bar, finding hers nestled amongst the others, looking distinctly out of place. Small, cloudy glass. Uneven shape, hand blown. All bottles djinn were tied to were enchanted to make people want to pick them up. Want to open them.

She pointed at her bottle. “That one. That’s mine.”

James glanced at it, then back at her. “You’re crazy. How did you get in here?”

Two times for that question.

She sighed. “Three wishes. You may wish for anything with a few exceptions. I cannot kill mortals, I cannot raise the dead, I cannot make anyone fall in love with another person – or animal, do not try that – I cannot grant you more wishes, nor can I grant you eternal life. Though I do not know why anyone would ask or such a thing. If they truly understood what it meant they would not.”

“Why did you have to come into my bar, crazy lady? We’re not even open, the door is locked, how did you get in here?”

Three times. She didn’t wait even for the pins and needles this time. There was no point in finding it. “In my bottle. Someone brought it in here. And you opened it and here I am. Three wishes you get. But… first… Please may I have some chocolate, master?” She asked again.

“Fine. Here. My mama baked me cookies.” He set a plate of baked goods on the bar and backed away from her toward  the front entrance. While she plucked a cookie off the top, he checked the lock on the door. Still locked, of course it was.

She took a bite and the doughy morsel exploded in her mouth. Sweet and fine, dark chocolate chips that melted in her mouth. She could trace the cacao beans back to their origin, if she wished. But no, she would rather enjoy the taste in the present. She closed her eyes on the second bite, moaning indecently. So good.

“Why are you doing this?”

“A better question, my friend, is why are you not taking advantage of it?” She asked. “I have offered you three wishes, nearly limitless in possibilities. And you worry more about the state of your locks?”

“Fine, prove your story to me.” He said, folding his arms.

“You wish for a display of magic. Simple.” She waltzed around the room, deciding she liked this new music. She found what she was looking for, a picture of a woman in what she hoped was today’s fashion. She liked it. A boxy little sleeveless dress in bright blue, boots to her knees in white leather and little white gloves up to her wrists. While her clothes morphed, she changed her hair. Finding a short little cut on a picture of someone named Mia Farrow, her hair shortened quickly, cropped close to her scalp and a lighter colour now.

She smiled back over at her master. He was across the room, staring wide eyed at her. Her smile widened into a grin and she popped the body out of existence, reforming it behind him.

“Do you approve, master?”

He stared at her a while longer. “Three wishes?”

“Yes, master. Three wishes.”

His wishes were simple and he barely paused to think about them. Wealth, and a handsome face. She considered teaching him about the consequences of selfishness and vanity. She knew other djinn who killed off  beloved relatives and left their masters untold sums of wealth. She even knew of a djinn who when his master wished for him to “change his face” with no specifics, set his face on fire, leaving it scarred for life. She didn’t think she could be that cruel, she didn’t have it in her. Never had.

She didn’t teach him the consequences. She created a locked box that would never be empty, always full of the currency of the time and land he was in. And gently molded his features, turning his rather aquiline into something smaller and much straight, made his lips fuller, the kind even she would like to kiss, and gave him dark wavy locks that any woman would want to run their fingers through.

He set at a table to contemplate his third wish. “What happens to you? When you grant my third wish?”

She glanced at him, frowning lightly. “It matters not. Please hurry, master.”

“It does matter. What happens?”

Twice. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re a living, breathing person.”

“Yes. And I have been for seven hundred years. I move from master to master, wherever my bottle takes me. It should be of no consequence to you.”

“But what happens?!” Three times. “What happens in between masters?”

She clenched her jaw, needles filling her veins. She didn’t want to answer. She did not want to guilt him into anything. Many of her kind were bitter tricksters by her age. But she couldn’t do it. Mortals didn’t know any better, it wasn’t their fault.

“I go back into the bottle.” She gasped when the pain became too much. Then she stared into him and the words poured out of her mouth. “A dark, lifeless prison. Alone with the passing of time and only my own thoughts and dreams. No sound, no light, no sensation. Nothing. I do not exist within the bottle.”

“Oh.” He said simply, seeming truly upset about it. “What is your name?” He asked after a long silence.

“Whatever my master wishes it to be.” She responded honestly.

“But what do you call yourself.”

She stared at him another moment. “Lyric.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Why does that amuse you?”

“It’s just… a word, not a name.”

“It is a name I chose for myself when I was changed. I had aspirations as a… troubadour, I suppose in that time.”

“Changed?”

“Djinn are not born, master. We are changed.”

“From what?”

“Mortals. Humans. One of you.”

“So is it like… When you die or something you can be a genie instead of an angel?”

“No. Becoming a djinn is usually a curse, or a misguided blessing. It deals heavily in difficult magic. A witch may curse a person into a life of servitude. Others think they are blessing the other with eternal life and youth, incomprehensible power… But they do not think about the way our free will is taken away and bound to that of whoever holds our bottle.” She sighed, staring out the window at an unfamiliar world and wishing she could return to hers. “And sometimes it is a desperate act by another djinn, to save a dying human.”

“Oh.” He repeated, just as sadly as before.

“Do you have your last wish, master?”

“I wish…”

He looked at her, something strange in his eyes and she swelled with hope. Perhaps this improbable candidate would wish her free. Or even break her bottle and free her entirely… Was it possible?

“I wish … that this place, my bar… I wish everyone in the city wanted to come here.”

She stared at him a long moment, almost incredulously. Then closed her eyes, sending out a pulse of thought throughout the limits of the city. The thought was simple go to Jack’s Place. Then she sent out another pulse. This one telling them they wanted to come here to drink and have fun, and not care what happened to the bar in the meantime. No one would understand why they suddenly had no care for his property, but she hoped it would be up in flames by the end of the night.

She’d never done anything like that before. Never used her powers against the mortals. In all her hundreds of years… Gods, it felt satisfying.

“Goodbye Giaccomo. You will need luck. Perhaps you should have wished for that instead.” She said before blinking out of his plane of existence and back into darkness. Who knew how long it would be this time? She settled into the darkness.

At least she’d gotten chocolate.

---

Lyric didn’t know how long it had been when the world opened again, this time truly exploding. She felt the link between her bottle and her essence shatter and she stood in the ruins of Jack’s Place, staring down at the shards of her bottle at Giaccomo’s feet, his face full of fury. A long jagged cut ran down his face marring the work she’d done reshaping it.

“You bitch! You destroyed it! They stole the box! It’s your fault!” He shouted at her.

She couldn’t help it, in the face of his rage, she laughed brightly, letting in the essence of the world around her. “Oh, Giaccomo! You did it after all! You freed me!” She cawed.

He snarled and lunged at her, she made herself intangible and he went right through her. “What do you mean?”

“You broke the bottle. That frees me from this life!” She twirled around, her arms open wide. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

“You’re free? What do you mean?” Twice. “You’re my genie!”

“Was. Was your djinn. Now I have no master. No bottle. Nothing!”

“I don’t understand.” She realized then that he was drunk and probably truly didn’t understand what she was talking about. Still he asked a third time. “What do you mean?”

She thought without a master the pain wouldn’t come. That she was free from the rules. But when the needles starting rafting through her veins again she knew that she would never be completely rid of them.

“When you break a djinn’s bottle, it frees them. Unless some witch binds us to a new bottle.” She waved a hand dismissively. “But they’d have to find me to do that.”

She lifted herself off the ground, using the energies around her to keep her afloat as she grinned down at him. “Goodbye, Giaccomo. And for freeing me… Even if you hoped to kill me…”

She waved a hand and the money box she’d created for him appeared in his hands. She felt the drain on her powers now. With a master that would be a parlor trick. She’d have to learn her new limits. She would have so many new things to learn. Wonderful. So wonderful!