Authors: Judi Fennell
Not
yet…
Samantha made the mistake of looking at Kal, who did his magical nonmind-reading thing again and winked at her.
“We’ll be along shortly, Dir.” Kal swung his legs over the side of the table and Samantha had to work really hard not to stare at his naked back. God, he was magnificent. “I have to get dressed.”
Oh, no he didn’t.
“Okay. But I don’t have a ride back. I thought I’d go back with you guys.”
“I guess that’ll work.” Kal tossed another fig to the fox and stood, knowing full well the view of his backside Samantha was getting. She could tell from that half smile and the quick glance he sent her.
Tease
.
He winked again. That had all sorts of possibilities—one she planned on taking full advantage of as soon as they got to town.
And then they got to town.
Samantha wouldn’t be taking advantage of anything any time soon.
Kal flew them back in the Mercedes, heading in for a landing on the oval marble platform at the end of the main road simply because there was no other place to land.
A parade was in full swing down Main Street, er, Palm Street, and thousands of Izaaz’s inhabitants lined it, waving colorful banners as if they were the Munchkins awaiting Glinda’s arrival. Matter of fact, one group actually did look like the Lollipop Guild.
Dirham, as usual, was bouncing. On the dashboard in front of her, then onto the space between the seats, then to the luggage shelf in the back; the fox was all over the place.
“Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I? Do you like your surprise? Look how great this place looks. See that building over there that you fixed up? That’s where my friend George lived before he went off to slay that crocodile. Then you know how that story somehow converted the croc to a dragon? Well, he had to go away to hide from all the celebrity. And Maille, too. She wasn’t all that thrilled, no matter how much we tried to explain the misunderstanding to her. But we had some good times there in the old days, me and George.”
George? Dragon? Samantha didn’t want to make that connection or even try to understand what Dirham was talking about.
“And over there in that courtyard? That’s where I saw my first-ever manticore. They’re rare, you know, Samantha. They don’t like large crowds. And over there, me, Remus, and his brother found one of Mayat’s amulets lying on that bench. We took it to Stavros, of course. He gave us some
baklava
as a reward.” Dirham’s tongue circled his snout. “I love
baklava
.”
“I’ll put that on my next wish list,” Samantha said, patting him. “Matter of fact… Kal? I’d like to wish for a
baklava
bakery for Dirham.”
Something—a grimace?—flashed across Kal’s face so quickly that Samantha wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not. But he was smiling now, even had a little chuckle going as he waved his hand and glitter sprinkled the car. “Sixth and Acanthus, Dir. It even has a fox door around back.”
Samantha did a double-take at the
fox
door
but let her comment go when she heard what the crowd was chanting: “Sa-man-tha! Sa-man-tha!”
“What’s going on?” It was more than a little unsettling to have a crowd of thousands calling her name. They’d already thanked her for fixing up the place; what more could they possibly want?
That they wanted more was a given.
Call her jaded—she was—but she didn’t open the door to find out, preferring not to know. Unfortunately, Kal did it for her with a wave of his hand. Having a genie to see to your every whim, presumed or otherwise, wasn’t necessarily all it was cracked up to be.
“Your public awaits, m’lady,” he said.
“Sa-man-tha!” Their chants ratchetted up to full-on scream when the door swung upward. “Sa-man-tha!”
“That’s a good thing?”
“’Course it is!” Dirham bounded onto her lap, then out of the car. “Come on! Let’s go enjoy your parade! Look at all the pretty colors!”
Colors were not Samantha’s focus as she climbed out of the car. Kal was right there to help her, but surprisingly, even
he
wasn’t her focus. Nor were the unicorns, centaurs, ogre/trolls, gnomes, leprechauns, satyrs, or any of the other beings that were now normal to her.
Even the new creatures: birds as large as Kismet, half-bull/half-human creatures, Pan and his family, walking, talking Sphinxes, other birds that looked like dodo birds she’d seen in books, a bunch of yetis and Bigfoot—Big
feet
maybe. And a pair of three-headed dogs—did that make them a six pack? And goblins and gremlins and gorgons, oh my. And all of them were repeating her name and flourishing banners as if she were visiting royalty.
But she wasn’t. No, the reason they were excited was because of what she’d done for them. And what
more
she could do. It was the same thing all over again. Different place but still the same. And this time, her name shouldn’t even be attached to it because they were cheering her for something Kal had done.
Oh, sure, she was the one who’d wished it, but as Stavros had said, only a genie could have pulled the whole thing off. She was merely the vessel through which Kal worked his magic; anyone else could have done the same. She really
was
useless. Just like Albert had said.
Kal flicked his fingers, and the car disappeared in a shower of orange glitter, eliciting another roar of approval from the crowd. Then he intertwined his fingers with hers and Samantha tried to muster a smile, but the truth was hitting her hard.
All her life, she’d been the window dressing. The gatekeeper to the Blaine vaults. Easy access to her father. The so-called friends who’d always been up for the next party or vacation—as long as she picked up the tab. The boyfriends who’d been after only one thing (and
not
what most mothers warned their daughters about). Albert. He’d been the biggest offender. Not only was she useless, but she
was
clueless. Just like he’d said.
One of Pan’s fauns trotted up the steps on pink-polished hooves, pulling a suit jacket over her white tuxedo shirt, and taking a pad and pencil from the breast pocket. She palmed something that looked like a hairbrush from took pocket and stuck it in Samantha’s face, bottom end up, like Samantha used to do as a teenager in front of her bedroom mirror with a Walkman blasting in her ears.
This scenario was just as fake.
“What’s next, Samantha?” the faun yelled above the noise. “What can we expect to see in the coming days? Do you have any more plans?”
Samantha stepped back. Plans? Right now she was dealing with the here and now and the demoralizing realization that she didn’t seem to have a purpose to her life, a fact she probably had known but had repressed, since that knowledge almost cut her in two.
Samantha slid her hands around her waist, the lantern dinging her hip. The microphone hung there for an uncomfortable silence until Kal whispered something to the faun that got her to remove it and trot back down the steps.
He slid his hand beneath Samantha’s elbow. “Are you okay, Sam?”
Never
let
them
see
you
sweat
. She hadn’t let Albert see her break down, and she wouldn’t let the citizens of Izaaz.
Or Kal.
She plastered a smile on her face and nodded. “I’m fine, Kal. Let’s go greet your public.”
Kal looked at her strangely but didn’t have the chance to say anything as a group of fairies as tall as four-year-olds (but who definitely didn’t
look
like four-year-olds in the flimsy, filmy toga-like things they wore) flew up the steps with leis of beautiful orchids in their hands.
Samantha bent down to accept the delicate gift, her emotions just as fragile. “Thank you,” she whispered, her throat clogged with those emotions. She was a fraud. Window dressing yet again.
Oh, she knew no one cared; as long as she gave them what they wanted, they were content. But she wasn’t. She didn’t want to be arm candy, an ornament accepted only because she looked the part or had the money or magic behind her. She wanted to
be
the part. But without Kal, she had as much chance of that as Dirham did of besting a dragon.
The crash of cymbals accompanied by a quick tempo of drumbeats put an end to that thought none too soon. The last thing she needed was to fall apart in front of the entire population of Izaaz.
Kal moved next to her, and Samantha took a shuddering breath as the sea of people below them parted. She would get through this; she’d had lots of practice.
A parade came down the street. Miniature blond horses like Lipizzaner stallions with lion-headed, monkey-like tamarins on their saddles and a herd of antelopes with bells on their twisted antlers led the way, followed by a bevy of belly dancers, the finger cymbals and silver bangles on their swishing hips marking the drums’ downbeat in time with the crowd’s clapping. Several dozen musicians strummed rounded guitar-like instruments or blew into long reed ones, and others shook U-shaped pieces of metal with jangling rings like tambourines.
Behind the musicians, dozens of people followed a palanquin carried by six centaurs, its occupant shielded from view by layers of pastel chiffon veils. A pair of servants held ostrich-feather fans over the procession in a showy display of grandeur, but they were too far removed to be effective.
Samantha could so relate. Without Kal’s magic, she’d be just as ineffective. Just as obsolete. Without her wishes, she’d be nobody.
The parade stopped at the bottom of the stairway. The centaurs rotated the litter to the side, then knelt on their front legs. The fairies who’d greeted her and Kal flew down to peel the veils from the seating area of the palanquin.
A tanned, gnarled old man dressed in silk robes and a turban climbed from the interior, and the crowd segued from Samantha’s name to, “Ber-o-sus! Ber-o-sus!”
The old man clapped his hands, and a dozen dwarves dashed out of the building closest to the stairway, each carrying a stone. In no time flat, they’d constructed a bridge so he could reach the stairway without having to step foot on the ground.
Samantha took a step forward, but Kal gripped her shoulder. “It will be an insult if you meet him halfway. We should wait here.”
She stayed. Bad enough she was a fraud; she didn’t want to be an inconsiderate one. “Who is he?” she whispered.
“Berosus,” Dirham answered, the “duh” unsaid, but not uninflected.
Kal, however, sucked in a breath and answered, “The Oracle,” almost reverently.
“
Oracle
? As in Delphi? Seer of the future? Prognosticator? He who sees all?”
“Not Delphi, Samantha,” said Dirham, his tail twitching madly. “Izaaz.”
Wherever he was from, an Oracle was an Oracle. Would he see her for the fake she was?
Kal couldn’t believe Berosus was here. Oracle revelations were a great honor and rarer than genie magic in Izaaz. Kal should know; he’d petitioned Berosus to reveal the truth about what Faruq had done to clear his name, but his request had been postponed until some gods-knew-when appointed moment that Berosus divined would be the most effective use of his powers.
Maybe that time was now. A little late, given that Kal was on his last master and the High Master was all set to make an announcement, but Kal wouldn’t look a gift unicorn in the mouth.
Then Samantha licked her lips and Kal found himself staring at
her
mouth.
Stop
it!
Kal gripped his hips, his fingers biting into his flesh. He’d been all too focused on Samantha once Monty had explained how he would leave instructions for her to find the lantern after he was gone. Kal had known she would be his last master, and the thought of meeting her, talking to her, touching her, had tortured him whenever Monty had talked about her.
Having done those things, having held her and kissed her, he needed to stop having these kinds of thoughts. They were dangerous not only to his ultimate goal, but also to his heart and the rest of his life, because a genie falling in love with a mortal was not only foolish, but suicidal. Kal already felt more than he should for her, but he hadn’t worked through the past two thousand years to give it all up now for something as fleeting as a mortal life.
The animals climbed the steps and leapt onto the amethyst wall, one line to the right, another to the left. Kal tugged Samantha’s hand so she’d move to the middle of the platform; he’d witnessed a few Oracle visits and knew the pomp and circumstance mystics expected. Berosus was always good for a show, and Kal was more than willing to indulge him if it meant he’d learn he was pardoned or, better yet, had been appointed vizier.
Belly dancers paraded onto the platform, fanning out in front of the wall and, with a final swish of their hips, sank onto the marble, curling their legs into the lotus position. Amita, an old friend on the end, smiled at him as if she knew what was in store, giving him hope—except that hope was locked up in an old trunk in the corner of Stavros’s office and no one but him apparently knew it.
Kal felt for Samantha’s hand—merely to calm her nerves; it wasn’t every day that a mortal met an Oracle.
That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
However, her fingers still bore traces of the oil she’d rubbed into his skin and there was no way he could deny that he wanted to touch her for any reason other than he hadn’t gotten enough of her back in Sven’s courtyard.
Kal kneaded his neck muscles with his other hand.
Kharah
, what had he been thinking back there? He’d spilled his guts—“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” Thank the gods he wasn’t in love with her, or he might have spouted off about that, too, and then where would he be?
Stuck in the middle of the Arabian Peninsula with a mortal and a pair of angry dragons. Nothing about that was optimal.
Then he got a whiff of that lilac scent of hers, and his body went left while his common sense went right.
Kal dropped her hand. This was not the time, nor the place, to head down the path that’d make him hotter than the desert at noon. He needed to stay focused and hear what the Oracle had to say.
He shifted his stance, thankful for the baggy
sirwal
he wore—until he made the mistake of glancing at her. Then he wished for a camel blanket—the thick, scratchy kind—because that would be the only thing that could take his mind off the fact that she was nibbling her bottom lip. The one he’d licked and sucked and kissed.
Yeah, the pants weren’t going to cut it.
“Are you okay, Sam? Is there anything you wish?” Like whisking them out of here. Even Oracles were subject to mortal wishes—or, rather, Oracle revelations took a backseat to any wish Kal was honor-bound to grant.
“No, that’s okay.” She blinked and her breath hitched. “I’m fine.”
Right. And he was a griffin’s uncle. Beneath that serene exterior, she looked done in. Fragile.
Kal bit back a frustrated sigh. He’d forgotten what the time change could do to a mortal’s system. She had to be physically exhausted on top of all the mind-bending things she’d seen—not to mention what’d been going on when Dirham had interrupted them in the courtyard—yet there she was, valiantly trying to mask her fatigue.
If Berosus were anyone other than the Oracle, Kal would have postponed this ceremony regardless of what it meant for him personally, but one didn’t diss an Oracle without very good reason.
Berosus reached the platform, and the music crescendoed to an abrupt halt. It was probably too much to hope that he’d impart his news just as quickly so that Kal could take Samantha to bed. Not in the carnal way, of course, but just get her
into
bed. To sleep.
Yes, that was the reason he wanted to get her into bed: to sleep.
One of the antelopes snorted. He was kidding no one.
“Welcome, most revered guests.” Berosus bowed toward them, then clapped his hands. Half a dozen men in pale yellow
thobes
broke rank from the parade and strode up the stairs carrying a pair of small tables, three upholstered
poufs
, a pillow, and a tea service that they set up in the middle of the platform.
Tea. So much for this being quick.
On the plus side, he now had the chance to get certain body parts under control and cool down.
Then Samantha swayed and Kal put out a hand to steady her, and a certain body part let him know it had no intention of cooling down.
To hide the evidence, Kal bowed lower than he normally would. “It is our honor,
saahbey
. May I present my master, Samantha Blaine?”
Berosus clasped her hands, a great honor and one that meant this audience had nothing to do with Kal.
The thought crossed Kal’s mind that, at the very least, he ought to be frustrated that he wouldn’t have his request granted, but he was more concerned with getting this over with so Samantha could lie down. The end of his sentence would come regardless, and if that was later rather than sooner, he’d live with it.
Because he’d be living with her.
“I am Berosus, the Oracle of
Madeenat
Al-saqf Al-zojaajey.
Welcome to what was once a fair city. Now that you are here, it will be again. It is my honor to thank you for that on behalf of the citizens.”
“Thank you for welcoming me,” Samantha said, her voice soft and controlled, as if she were at one of those society functions Monty had told him about, except that she wasn’t wearing an evening gown, and her bottom lip trembled. Slightly, but Kal saw it. By the gods, what he wouldn’t give to be able to take her in his arms and make that look go away.
What he wouldn’t give to be able to take her in his arms, period.
Then Berosus swept his hands toward the seating arrangement and that thought got tabled.
For now.
Kal shook his head and offered Samantha his arm as they walked over. It was one thing to want to take her to bed to ease the ache a hundred and sixty years of solitude had created, but a far greater thing to want to take her in his arms and offer her comfort.
More than the physical attraction, he was coming to care for her—and
that
was a thought that needed to be tabled not only for now, but forever.
Dirham bounced ahead of them, landing in the middle of the red cushion on the platform between the
poufs
. The fennec circled around a few times, then lay in the depression he’d created and curled his tail around himself.
Kal didn’t have that luxury. All he could do was sit on the cushion and cross his legs, draping the baggy material of his
sirwal
over his recalcitrant body part.
Four women in long, diaphanous skirts sprinted lightly up the stairs, their movements seductive in the way of
chiwaras
—bipedal half-gazelle/half-human women who were the most innately graceful beings on the planet. But today, they left him cold. Nothing could match the soft brush of Samantha’s skin against his, or the flash of fire in her emerald eyes when she smiled.
She wasn’t smiling now, and that flash had burned itself out.
Samantha
was on burnout.
He needed to get her out of here, pronto. If only she would wish it, but he had no time to lead her down that train of thought as Berosus levitated onto his cushion with the full pageantry of his role. Kal could only hope this would be quick.
Except hope was still locked up in Stavros’s office.
Two of the
chiwaras
brought a
tas
toward Samantha and him. One held the basin, the other a ewer of rosewater and hand towels. Together they stood before him first, then Samantha, for the ceremonial washing of hands. Even Dirham washed his paws and accepted a delicate drinking bowl from another woman who handed Kal and Samantha matching glasses.
A fourth woman carried the teapot from the table to pour sweet mint tea with an impressively long, backward arc that was as beautifully artistic as any he’d ever seen, both the pour and the woman, yet he still found himself wanting to stare at Samantha.
Chiwaras
had held men spellbound for generations, which was why they only served Oracles, one of the few races strong enough to resist their allure.
And now Kal was another.
Seven courses were passed, much too slowly for Kal’s liking. He hardly registered the tastes, eating enough to be polite for both of them because Samantha barely had any.
Kal’s concern increased by the minute, so by the time the
baklava
was passed—Dirham making sure he got an extra large piece, of course—Kal was looking for any excuse to whisk her away.
Unfortunately, though, Berosus took far too much time, pomp, and circumstance to share his revelation.
After a hookah had been smoked—Samantha declining and Kal accepting only because he figured it’d go quicker that way—Berosus held up his hands. The crowd quieted. He flicked his fingers and the servers retreated to the perimeter wall, leaving the three of them and Dirham center stage.
A rotation of his right wrist conjured a ram’s horn which Berosus then spoke into. “As you can see from the masses before us, the citizens of Izaaz are singing your praises, Samantha Blaine. I have always known a great lady would come to their aid, but the Mists and Chaos did not choose to reveal her name nor when she would appear. It was the sound of the citizens’ exclamation, the surprise and celebration in their voices, that brought me the truth of who you are.” Berosus tapped her on the knee, a blessing in the eyes of the Djinn.
Samantha sucked in a quivering breath and blinked.
Gods, she really was exhausted. Kal felt like an ass for not recognizing it sooner. He should have insisted she get the massage—
Not the place to go at the moment.
“Ah, you mustn’t cry,
haanim
,” said Berosus. “It is the citizens who should weep for your largesse.” He raised his tea. “I toast you, Samantha Blaine, for giving the citizens of this city hope.”
Kal refrained from mentioning Pandora’s box.
“Their eyes have been opened to the mistakes of the past, and it is a foolish being who does not learn from those mistakes, for they are destined to be repeated unless one does. Changing one’s history changes one’s destiny.”
Berosus sat back, a serene smile on his face, as if the allegory were easily understood.
Kal didn’t understand any of this. The logic made no sense—as Oracle revelations were wont to do. Parables and allegories, cryptic at their best, indecipherable at their worst. Kal had never had so much riding on one as he did on this one—and he didn’t understand a single word. Samantha hadn’t changed anything about the past in Izaaz, merely where they’d go from here.
But people not only didn’t diss an Oracle, they also didn’t question him.
“And to show our appreciation, we wish to present you with this.” Berosus clapped his hands and a trio of trumpeters sounded their rams’ horns as another servant carried a gold-braided cushion on an engraved silver platter over to them.
Dirham leapt onto Kal’s
pouf
and stretched his neck to see what was going on, his claws digging into Kal’s knee.
Berosus stood and took a silver chain from the cushion, dangling an orange gemstone fashioned into the shape of an eagle in front of Samantha. Then he placed it over her head.
“Please wear this as a sign of our appreciation and know that the knowledge you need is always in your heart,” he said while Dirham let out a “Cool!” and started bouncing again.
Kal didn’t know how cool it was. The eagle was a symbol of knowledge and the orange gemstone representative of his personal carnelian. What those two had to do with the so-called revelation, Kal didn’t know. And what he didn’t know worried him.
“And now,” said Berosus, patting Dirham on the head, then sitting back on his
pouf
, “we will celebrate with a dance.”
Kal almost groaned. Celebratory dances could last for hours. He wouldn’t mind if Samantha made a wish right now—any wish—so that they could get out of here. Then he’d have the chance to figure out what Berosus was talking about. There was a clue in there somewhere, as was typical of Oracles, because if the revelations were too easy to understand, anyone could fancy himself an Oracle.
Kal didn’t care who fancied what. All he wanted was some sign from Samantha that she was about to make a wish so they could take off.
A tear trickling down her cheek worked just as well.
Kal levitated and uncrossed his legs from the lotus position as he hovered above the
pouf
, uncaring that he was breaking every protocol there was in dealing with Oracles. His master’s well-being came above all else, and Samantha needed his care.
He held out his hand. “Sam?”
Her tongue flicked out to lick her bottom lip and her eyelashes fluttered. Twin pools of glistening emerald blinked up at him. “Yes?” Her voice was husky as she dashed the tear from her cheek and placed her hand in his.