The Djinn

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  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Copyright ©2003 by Marie Morin

  First published by New Concepts Publishing, November 2003

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  The Djinn

  by

  Marie Morin

  © copyright by Marie Morin, November 2003

  Cover Art by Jenny Dixon

  ISBN 1-58608-377-5

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublshing.com

  Chapter One

  It had a strange, pungent odor. It wasn't unpleasant, just powerful, particularly considering the phial appeared to be empty. Elise Beauchamp wrinkled her nose, jerking away from the tiny bottle she'd just opened and waved beneath her nose.

  “Some love potion,” she muttered under her breath. Not that she'd believed any of that malarkey the vendor had spouted. It had sounded good, though, and it wasn't as if the old trinket had cost that much.

  Still, she didn't know why she'd bought it. She didn't particularly care for jewelry. She'd only picked it up to study it because of the tiny, cunningly wrought, glass bottle secured to the chain like a charm. Noticing her interest, the vendor had immediately begun to weave tales about it's history, asserting finally that there was a love potion inside the bottle that would bring her true love to her.

  That alone had almost been enough to make her put it right back, because she'd already found her true love—and lost him, but she supposed, maybe, in the recesses of her subconscious, hope still dwelt that she was not destined to live the remainder of her life alone, and she hadn't been able to leave the charm because she couldn't leave hope behind.

  She'd brought very little money with her and had had to resort to counting the last of her change just to pay for it. She'd told herself that she would just wander around and check out the wares the flea market merchants were hawking, just so she didn't have to sit at home and think about the fact that today would've been her second anniversary ... if John had only stayed home that day, instead of rushing off to work ... or if they hadn't overslept ... or if they'd only slept just a few minutes later.

  It tortured her almost as much to think life without John could be counted in minutes as it did having to learn to live without him. If he hadn't arrived at that particular intersection at that particular moment....

  Sadness filled her, but the tears had all been cried long ago.

  Slowly, the memories receded and she became aware of her surroundings once more, aware that a dark shadow had fallen over her. She looked up. Comprehension wasn't immediate. Sluggishly, her brain assimilated the fact that there was a person standing before her—a man.

  Her first impression was ‘naked'. He wasn't, of course. Just the next thing to it.

  Must be some displaced Yankee, she decided. They might be in Florida, but natives still considered February winter and dressed accordingly. They certainly didn't go around in public places bare chested.

  It was Gasparilla, though, not nearly as wild as Louisiana's Mardi Gras, but some people went a little overboard.

  He wasn't even wearing pants! Not what she'd call pants, anyway. It looked more like those filmy things belly dancers wore, fitted at the waist and ankles, but baggy everywhere else. Since she was sitting on a bench and he was standing, his ‘package’ was practically nose level.

  It was an impressive package.

  It occurred to her that she'd been staring at ‘it’ transfixed for several moments. Even as her gaze jerked upward in the direction of his face she felt blood begin to pound in her cheeks.

  She forgot all about being embarrassed, however, when her gaze reached his face.

  He didn't look at all pleased. His lips were drawn into a tight, thin line, his dark brows arched but pulled into a sharp v above the bridge of a noble blade of a nose.

  It wasn't the scowl on his face that stunned her, however. It wasn't the wicked looking, neatly trimmed ‘Fu Manchu’ that framed his hard mouth. It wasn't even the scalp lock of silkly black hair fluttering from the crown of his head, or his eyes, more gold than brown, glittering with intelligence, curiosity—animosity.

  The moment she gazed up into his face, it was almost as if she'd been struck a physical blow. A shaft of pure animal lust shot through her, right down to her toes, something so alien to her that she wasn't even certain of what had happened at first. It was almost as if she'd been struck by a bolt of lightning.

  She noticed his lips were moving. It took an effort to still the quivering in her belly in response to those lips. Frowning, she tried to hear past the clamoring din her heart was making in her ears and discovered she still couldn't understand a word he was saying. “What?"

  “What is your wish?"

  Elise stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Look. I'm sorry. I don't know what you're selling, but I'm not interested."

  He looked surprised and then irritated. “You summoned me. I have offered to grant a wish."

  Elise gaped at him. She had summoned him? Of all the nerve! She'd been sitting on the bench, minding her own business, completely oblivious to everyone around her. How could anyone, even the most obnoxiously conceited male, interpret that as a come on? “I did no such thing!” she said indignantly. “Now, go away, or I'll call the cops."

  “This is your wish?” he demanded, sounding as indignant as she felt. “That I go?"

  “Didn't I just say so?"

  He frowned. “You must be more precise. Where am I to go?"

  Elise gave him a look, tempted to tell him to go to hell, and then cast a glance around to see if there were any cops nearby. Not a glimmer of a uniform, and wasn't that always the case? Fail to come to a complete stop at a stop sign and there was a damned cop right on your tail. Need assistance, and there wasn't one of them in sight. “What do you want?"

  He crossed his arms, studying her thoughtfully for several moments. “To give you what your heart desires."

  Pain, unexpectedly sharp, lanced through her. What her heart desired? John ... but no one could bring him back to her. The pain cost her her patience. “Who do you think you are, anyway, Santa Claus?"

  He frowned. “I am the djinn, Raheem. My patience grows thin, Mistress. Tell me your wish and I will grant it most gladly so that I may return to my own concerns."

  Elise glared at him. “Your patience?” she echoed. “Look, mister. I don't give a damn who you are, if you're expecting to get something from me, just don't hold your breath."

  He frowned. “Why would I do that?"

  “What?"

  “Hold my breath?"

  Elise rolled her eyes. She would've gotten to her feet and stalked away, except that he was standing so close it unnerved her. He'd said, though, that he was anxious to go about his own concerns, he just had to hear her wish before he could go.

  He was a lunatic, of course. But if it was the only way to get rid of him, why not? “If I wish for something, you'll go away?"

  Something gleamed in his eyes, something wicked. “Yes, mistress,” he said, a slow, tantalizing smile curling those lips in a way that made her heart trip over itself.

  Elise wished she could ignore the effect he had on her, or at least convince herself it was fear that made her heart hammer with excitement at the sound of his voice, the curl of his lips, the gleam in his eyes. She'd never been terribly goo
d at self-deception, however.

  She pasted on a smile, though she was neither amused, nor tempted to flirt with the man. “Fine. Good! I wish you'd go away!"

  His lips tightened with annoyance. “I must have a destination."

  Elise pursed her lips. “Fine! Go find Santa Claus and tell him I want him to bring me back what I lost Christmas before last,” she said tightly, wishing he could bring John back.

  The Djinn frowned, but, to her relief, he straightened, as if prepared to leave. “Where would I find this Santa Claus?"

  “North pole,” Elise said with a cold smile, then turned away, reaching for her purse. If he wasn't going to go away and leave her alone, she decided, she would leave, and if he tried to follow her.... To her surprise, when she looked up again, the strange man had vanished. She glanced around, expecting to see him striding away. She didn't, which was really odd considering the bench was set in a very open area.

  Frowning, she got to her feet, looked around again and finally shrugged. Who'd have thought a man that big could move so fast?

  Shaking off the strange encounter, she tucked her ‘love potion’ into her purse and headed for home. There were just too many weirdos out for her peace of mind.

  * * * *

  Wind driven sleet pelted Raheem from head to toe the moment he materialized. Shuddering, he looked around, narrowing his eyes against the blowing ice crystals. He had never cared for this world, but, as bad as much of it was, within sixty seconds he was convinced that he had discovered the worst it had to offer. There was no dwelling within sight. He would have been surprised if he had seen one. As simple as humans tended to be, they didn't seem so witless as to choose to live in such a place as this.

  The female had said he would find Santa Claus here, however.

  Summoning a cloak of heavy animal hide, he wrapped it tightly around him and began his search. After two days he was forced to conclude that the female was either wrong—which would not surprise him in the least—or she had sent him upon a fool's errand.

  He laughed aloud at that thought, though there was no humor in it. No puny man of the species had ever outwitted a djinn, and certainly no weak minded female could do so.

  Finally, deciding she was probably just too ignorant to know where the person lived, he summoned the winds and moved through the skies, searching for signs of human habitation. He was many miles from the north pole when he at last spotted a tiny community.

  Materializing on the ground once more, he looked around and finally strode towards the building from which music emanated. It appeared to be a tavern. Thrusting the door open, he strode inside and looked around as he shook the snow from his cloak. All conversation had ceased at his entrance. He ignored the curious stares of the humans. He was accustomed to such.

  The man behind the bar was the only person present who's mind seemed unlikely to be fogged by spirits. Raheem strode to the bar.

  “Can I help you?"

  Raheem nodded. “I have been sent to seek out Santa Claus. Tell me where to find him."

  The man sitting on the stool beside him snorted in his beer, then commenced to coughing. Raheem glared at the oaf. The men grinning beside him lost their smiles and returned their attention to the beverage in their mugs.

  “You missed him by a couple of months, buddy. He won't be back until next year,” the bartender offered, struggling against a grin.

  Raheem's eyes narrowed. “How many days until this man returns?"

  The bartender scratched the whiskers on his chin. “I never was too good at math. He comes around every December, though, regular as clock work ... you're a foreigner, aren't you?"

  Raheem frowned. Time meant little to him—in the way of things—but he had no desire to cool his heels in this place for months. “I can not wait that long. I must know where to find him."

  “Try the north pole,” someone called from across the room and then snickered.

  Raheem turned, his gaze zeroing in upon the man. “I have been there. No humans dwell there."

  “Well, he ain't exactly human,” someone else volunteered. “I think he's an elf."

  Raheem looked at the man. “Elves are woodland creatures. No elf would dwell in such a wasteland as this."

  The bartender cleared his throat. “Don't pay him any mind. He's just teasing. He ain't real, you know."

  Raheem turned to look at the man again. “Who is not real?"

  “Santa Claus. I don't know who sent you to find him, but there ain't no such thing. He's just a holiday myth ... for fun, you know."

  Rage filled Raheem. “This is the truth? The man does not exist?"

  The bartender shook his head. In the next moment, however, the doors to the tavern burst open in a swirl of mist and ice. By the time the patrons had managed to close the doors again, the mysterious stranger had vanished.

  * * * *

  Mondays were always the worst, Elise reflected as she sank into the hot, pounding water of her whirlpool. It felt heavenly. Singing under her breath along with the song playing on her headset, she settled back to enjoy her soaking massage. She had just begun to drowse when an icy cold wind brushed her bare shoulders. Her eyes popped open.

  She would've screamed, but she couldn't seem to find her voice.

  Chapter Two

  Raheem glared at the woman as he swiped the snow from his face, flicked it to the floor and then began brushing it from his cape. “There is no Santa Claus!” he snarled furiously. “I am the djinn, Raheem! Do you dare to toy with me, woman?"

  Elise gaped at him, too stunned to do anything else.

  Several things occurred to her almost simultaneously.

  She was naked.

  There was a dangerous looking man standing over her.

  And she knew damn well she'd set her alarms.

  At that thought, she glanced at the bathroom door. It was still closed, still locked. She whirled to look at the stained glass window—the only window in the room. It was still intact.

  Abruptly, anger replaced her fear—or fear spawned the attack mode per her survival instincts. She wasn't sure which and she was in no mood to try to figure it out. Snatching her headset off, she snarled back at him. “What the hell are you doing in my house?"

  The man looked slightly taken aback. Though his scowl remained firmly in place, something flickered in his eyes. “I am the djinn of the phial. You are my mistress. Whither thou goest, I may follow."

  “You may not! Get out! NOW!"

  He glared at her, folded his arms and promptly vanished.

  Elise gaped at the spot where he'd stood only moments before. She might have thought she was losing her mind—except that there was a puddle of melted snow where he'd stood only moments before.

  She was shaking ... sweating from the heat of the water, but still shaking like a leaf. Weakness washed through her in the wake of the adrenaline rush.

  It was the man from the park several days earlier. Stunned as she was to look up and find him standing over her—again—she had recognized him immediately.

  He must be a madman.

  Djinn? As in genie?

  Now that she thought about it, he did sort of remind her of Mr. Clean—what was she thinking?

  With an effort, she climbed from the tub, turned the jets off and popped the drain. So much for relaxing in her bath.

  Maybe that was it? Maybe she'd relaxed too long and the heat had gone to her head? The problem was, she knew she hadn't been in the tub that long.

  She turned to study the puddle on the floor. After a moment, she moved toward it, lifted one foot and stuck her toe in. Hot as she was from having just emerged from the tub, the icy water sent a shock wave through her, making her jaw clench.

  She wasn't hallucinating the temperature of that water. He'd brushed snow from his clothes. She'd seen it. The water was cold enough to be melted snow.

  Maybe she'd suffered a psychotic break?

  Was it possible she could do that and still be able to consider it as
a possibility?

  Shaking her head, she decided to fix herself a drink. She didn't usually drink alone. She'd been so devastated by John's sudden death, she hadn't trusted her self-control in finding relief in drugs. At the moment, however, she felt like she needed something to steady her nerves.

  Drying off, she wrapped the towel around her and left the bathroom.

  The bar, she discovered, was bare. She looked at the two lonely bottles and realized they were from that last party. She had never finished cleaning up after the police had arrived at her door with the terrible news.

  Abruptly, unexpectedly, a knot of misery gathered in her throat.

  She'd thought she had gotten over this part—the part where she had only to look at something that triggered a memory to immediately burst into tears.

  Taking a deep breath, she gathered up the empty bottles to dump them in the trash. As she turned, however, HE was standing right behind her. This time, she had no trouble finding her voice. She screamed like a banshee.

  When she sucked in her breath, her towel fell to her feet.

  His eyes widened, his brows arching upward in astonishment.

  She wasn't certain if the jolt of surprise reflected on his face was because she'd just screamed at him or if it was the ‘unveiling.'

  Pitching the bottles at him, she grabbed her towel from the floor and clutched it to her breasts, trying vainly to grab the ends and wrap them around her with her free hand. “What are you doing here?"

  He frowned. “I am the djinn...."

  “Will you stop with that! Jesus Christ!"

  “I am Raheem."

  He wasn't joking. Elise stared at him a long moment. “You're not here to ... uh.... How did you get in, anyway?"

  He cocked his head to one side. “I entered,” he said slowly, as if he were speaking to a half-wit.

  Elise's lips tightened. “I know you ‘entered', damn it! I asked how you managed it. I locked the doors. I turned on the burglar alarm. It is the very latest in home security. How did you bypass it?"