Loving Djinni Read online

  Considering how incredibly stupid that last bitch who had owned his lamp had been, that last option wouldn't even be so improbable.

  He had been forced to grant wishes to some of the most disgusting, vile, moronic mortals Humanity had to offer over the course of his cursed servitude, but that last one had been truly outstanding.

  Sharu hated his mortal slavers.

  He hated being stuck inside a lamp.

  He hated....

  And then, suddenly, the lamp was moved and for a single moment all he felt was an all-encompassing love for the finder.

  That silly notion only lasted for a heartbeat, of course.

  Sharu silently vowed that he would take bloody vengeance on the poor mortal fool who had stumbled across his lamp. After all, someone would have to suffer for what felt like an eternity locked up in the damned scrap of metal. That someone would surely make a wish that could be twisted into something horrible. Something horrible that would carry Sharu through whatever indignities would be heaped upon him next.

  It only took a moment and there was a scratching and scrubbing of the lamp, and immediately the irresistible force of the curse called him outside. Being basically liquefied to pour out through the lamp's nozzle was always strange.

  Sharu rose out of his lamp and stretched happily. What a wonderful feeling to be free at last! Well, sort of free at least. Rolling his shoulders, he worked out the kinks that always formed from walking hunched over around a low-ceiling lamp. Not that he actually was physically in there, but that's what it felt like to him.

  There was a young man holding the lamp, gaping at him with the typical, slack-jawed expression that told Sharu his new master hadn't known it was a magic lamp he was holding. Just great. That usually meant a heap of inane questions on top of their particularly ludicrous wishes. Next thing, the light went out and they were left in pitch black darkness. At least to mortal eyes.

  Sharu looked around curiously and noted that they were in some sort of underground room. Dusty, hot, empty. Apparently some sort of tomb, but scraped clean of everything remotely valuable. Had they actually buried his lamp with that bitch?

  So his finder probably was some sort of grave robber. A shudder ran down Sharu's spine. He hated doing business with those. Mortals in general were annoying enough, but grave robbers usually managed to combine the all negative traits of humans in one person. They were ungrateful, unimaginative, greedy, filthy, leering ... well, no point in dwelling on it, he'd find out soon enough.

  Time to get down to business. First thing with a new master – take on a shape that will please him. While the curse did not permit Sharu to actually look into the mind of his master, it very much still forced him to serve as well as he possibly could. Since the curse picked the look, taking on a new form didn't require any actual mind-reading and was thus not only possible, but expected of him. More often than not, it led to results that surprised Sharu. And usually, not in a pleasant way.

  He changed, curiously studied himself and silently congratulated himself on being found by a master with at least a modicum of taste. His new body had dark bronze skin, lean limbs, dark, tousled hair and large dark brown eyes. Very healthy, Sharu noted, and muscled like a young athlete. He guessed he looked somewhere in his late teens. Very nice, all together. At least his new owner wasn't looking for a father figure, then. Sharu hated those arrangements.

  As for clothing, he was wearing nothing but a pair of loose, blue pants that were tied around his hips with a cloth belt. Weird.

  Next, he took a closer look at the new owner of his lamp. The man looked like an ordinary northern barbarian. Short blonde hair, blue eyes, average body. Could have been worse. His attire was strange, but then again, that much had to be expected. His new master was pretty far south for one of his kind. That was ... Sharu quickly cast out his senses and confirmed that he was still in what he had known as Egypt. Yes, pretty far south.

  A painful burn on his lower arms reminded him that he was stalling.

  Curse those damned bracers! They were the physical representation of the curse that crippled his existence. As much as he hated being stuck in a lamp, it was the bracers that he hated most. He hated them so passionately because they reminded him every second of how helpless his situation actually was.

  So, better get the show on the road before he was really punished, Sharu decided with a forced smile. Maybe his new master would at least take the lamp somewhere interesting.

  “What is your wish, Master?” Sharu intoned the time-honored question.

  When his new master dropped the lamp in shock, Sharu smiled in genuine pleasure.

  ***

  A smug voice spoke to David in an unintelligible language.

  He almost screamed, but he managed to suppress that. He merely dropped the lamp and scrambled backwards, away from it. There was no one else in this tomb but him! There couldn't be!

  Most definitely, there was no legionnaire materializing from a lamp.

  Gods, he was going completely nuts, David thought. At least it would surely shorten his suffering. He tried to breathe evenly.

  Once more, someone spoke.

  David almost screamed again. He could have sworn the voice was speaking the most flawless Classical Egyptian he had ever heard. Not that he had ever actually heard someone speak Classical Egyptian. No person living today ever had. But this was what it must have sounded like, he was sure. It sounded so fucking real.

  In a weak attempt to convince his rebelling senses that none of this was actually happening, David managed to fumble out his zippo again and light it with trembling fingers – only to stare into the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen on a young man.

  Big, brown eyes in a classical face, politely smiling at him with a slightly mocking air. What little else David could see of his hallucination was just as handsome and even came with midnight blue pantaloons and intricately carved bronze bracers on his forearms.

  This time, David screamed out loud, dropped his lighter and scrambled backwards until his back hit a wall.

  Again, the voice spoke. This time, David had no chance but to clearly identify the language as Classical Latin, and that was a language he actually understood.

  “What is your wish, Master?” the voice asked. And what a nice voice it was – sensual and manly.

  David couldn't help but giggle hysterically, holding his aching head with both hands. Here he was, buried alive in a god-forsaken tomb, hallucinating about a cute male djinni with a sexy voice.

  Gods, he was such a hormone-driven burnout.

  Wait a minute. Hadn't that pantaloon-wearing djinni looked like a Roman legionnaire when he had first emerged from that lamp? Apparently, his subconscious considered this hallucination a work in progress.

  “I'm waiting, Master.”

  Again, the djinni spoke, the distinct impatience in his tone making him seem even more real.

  Shaking his head, David came to the conclusion that if he was going to die here, mad as a hatter, he could at least try to treat his new imaginary friend more politely.

  “You don't happen to speak English, by any chance?” he asked, surprised by the hollow sound of his own voice in the empty room. His spoken Latin wasn't up to snuff and since this was his hallucination, surely it would be accommodating.

  For a long moment, there was no sound but the gentle settling of stones over the entrance and David almost hoped that reason had won out. Maybe he wasn't entirely raving mad.

  “Of course I do, Master.” This time, the sultry voice spoke flawless English. “What is your wish, Master?”

  “Yes, dear illusion, isn't that the question?” David snickered with desperate humour. “What could I possibly wish for in this hopeless situation?”

  “I'm no illusion, Master,” the sexy voice corrected him. There was clear annoyance in the cute djinni's voice, making him even more believable.

  Of course David refused to fall for that trick. The moment he accepted that there was an actual fucking djinni in here with him, granting him a wish, he'd be well and truly out of his mind.

  “Sure, you are totally real.”

  He closed his eyes and rubbed them violently. That was no help at all since it was still pitch dark when he opened them again. His imagination supplied the look of disdain that surely had appeared on the djinni's face by now.

  This was just madness.

  “So what could I wish for, alone in this place except for you...,” David mused, humouring his hallucination. There had to be a reason why his subconscious was providing him with this deliciously pretty boy. “Actually, are you into men?”

  “If you wish so, Master.” Now the djinni sounded as if he was smirking.

  Once more David considered banging his head against some convenient hard surface. He wasn't just raving mad, he was also a hormone-driven wreck, fantasising about sexy and very available boy-djinn. He hated his life.

  “Master?” his relentless hallucination prompted again.

  And what if this was real? If there truly was a djinni in this tomb with him and he was only a wish away from getting out of this hopeless situation alive? His mental health was really in a very bad place if he was even considering this. But what did he have to lose?

  He'd die here whether he tried or not.

  “I want to be home, djinni,” David stated with as much authority as he could muster. “I want to be back in my loft in New York City.”

  Yeah, he was definitely completely mad.

  “Is that your wish, Master?” The djinn asked, annoyingly polite.

  “Fucking yes! Is that too difficult for you?” David growled in the general direction of his hallucination.

  “Of course not.” The djinni actually huffed with indignation. “Your wish be granted, Master
.”

  And then, all of a sudden, light flooded the place. His place. His airy Manhattan loft in bright midday sunlight. When David realised he was sitting on the large couch, pillows around him as if he had never left, he couldn't believe it.

  He just blacked out.

  Chapter Two

  Tsk. Too difficult. Who did he think he was talking to, some third-grade lemure?

  Sharu looked down at his new master with equal parts condescension and curiosity. The man was lying on some sort of divan with a high back, obviously unconscious. For a northern barbarian, he really was a disappointing specimen. No bulging muscles, no exotic blue tattoos, no long, luscious hair in elaborate braids. Just some ordinary guy with boringly short hair and an average face. He wouldn't have fetched much on a slave market, Sharu decided. Farm work stock, maybe.

  Also, outright hysterics and then fainting when your wish was granted – that was new. Sharu had seen a range of reactions from new masters, but this one was so strange he couldn't even say if he felt appalled or amused. What an odd man. Maybe the bad air in the tomb was to blame for his master's reaction.

  Since his new master was in no state to utter further wishes or order him back inside the lamp, Sharu decided to have a look around. After all, he might very well get sent back into his prison as soon as the man woke up. So he'd better make the best of his brief freedom.

  Not that there was very much he could actually do. Sharu snarled. That awful curse had reduced his magic to mere simple tricks, all his true potential locked away for the sole purpose of granting those three wishes. The curse also ensured he couldn't do anything to harm his master – apart from twisting the meaning of his wishes as far as possible, of course. But one didn't need magic to fool a human, really.

  Sharu looked down at the mortal with unbridled loathing. The bastard had managed to phrase his first wish in a way that was pretty much impossible to turn into something horrible. Always the problem with the small, simple wishes.

  However, the fool had wasted a full wish on getting back home. Surely it would be easy to coax him into a lot more stupid choices for his remaining two wishes.

  Curiously he turned his attention to his surroundings and and blinked. His new master didn't look like much, but he sure had one splendid home. The ceiling was as high as that of the greatest palaces he had seen and the room was large enough to hold a modest royal audience. It was filled with all the luxuries a king could wish for and then some Sharu didn't even recognize. Apparently, grave robbing had turned into a much more profitable business while he had been stuck in that accursed lamp.

  The lamp was now sitting on a low table in front of his master. As so often before, Sharu felt the burning urge to kick it. Not that he could, of course. No touching of his own lamp. Sharu instead hissed at it angrily. How long had he been stuck in that thing anyway?

  He started to wander around the hall – it could not really be called a room at that size – and looked at his master's belongings. There were many items Sharu couldn't make sense of at first – like the sculpture of a large, smooth rectangle that was prominently displayed in the sitting area. It took him a touch of magic to realize that he was looking at highly advanced technological devices. The various lamps that dotted the place were activated by something called ‘electricity’ and would give a bright light without any smoke or fire hazard. Amazing. Sharu spent an entire minute doing nothing but switch a tall lamp in the corner of the room on and off. There definitely was something to be said for being able to grasp the workings of any thing merely by looking at it for a while.

  The device he liked best of all his master's stuff was the big cooling box at the rear of what had to be the kitchen. Sharu took out a bottle of brown liquid, hoping it would be alcoholic. It turned out to be sparkling and impossibly sweet, but he drank it anyway. Nothing like a cool drink after an eternity in a lamp.

  Patting some imaginary dust off his silly wide pants, Sharu continued his survey of the place, only to end up standing in front of floor-to-ceiling windows.

  It took him a moment to comprehend that they weren't just gaps in the wall but filled with impossibly large, clear glass sheets. Sharu took another sip of his drink and shook his head. Mortals were dumb beasts, but they sure managed to come up with the most amazing stuff given enough time.

  The windows looked out over an abyss. Or what seemed to be an abyss at first glance. Looking far, far down Sharu realised his master's home was in a mind-bogglingly high building and far below was a street bustling with mortals. All the gods, they must have multiplied like rats!

  Across the abyss – street – there was an even higher building and Sharu could make out more people walking about behind the windows of that tower. He let his senses sweep out a little and realised that this was a town made up of many of these high towers and countless smaller buildings.

  It reminded him of the continuous debate over whether humanity posed a serious threat and should be eradicated altogether or only a mild annoyance and too amusing to kill off. Back then, he had been in the ‘keep them around’ camp. That had been before Shlomo and the curse, obviously. After he had been bound, he would gleefully have slaughtered every single one of the accursed monkeys, but he had never managed to cajole even his stupidest masters into wishing for the end of the world.

  Judging from what he was seeing, now it was too late. If this city was an example of how far mortals had evolved, he doubted that, even unshackled, he would have been able to muster the magic to destroy them and still have a living Earth afterwards.

  What was it his master had called this place? New York City? And why new? What had happened to the old one?

  As if his thoughts of the man had woken him up, a low moan came from the divan. Sharu silently cursed him. He would have enjoyed having a look around a while longer. But duty called.

  He went back to the mortal and watched as he slowly sat up, staring at Sharu with wonder and a good bit of appreciation.

  “You are really real,” he concluded, not very intelligently.

  “Yes, Master.”

  How could a man with so many riches be so dense? Maybe he was some sort of useless prince who had inherited all of this without ever actually having to do anything. And just as the curse demanded, he added another time-honored question. “What is your second wish, Master?”

  ***

  When David regained his senses this time, he first hoped that all of the last few days' events had been nothing but a very bad nightmare. Preferably including the messy breakup with Stanley. He really had to stop popping down everything some vague acquaintance handed him at a party just to feel like he belonged with the cool kids.

  But then, after staring at his dirty shoes and his somewhat run-down off-white suit for a long moment, he realized that it was all true.

  Mustafa, the tomb, being clubbed down with a two-by-four. And, of course, the djinni. The djinni had to be real, too. How else had he escaped the hopeless situation of being buried alive and gotten back to his very own loft?

  Before David had had a chance to sufficiently gather his wits to feel prepared for another encounter with the wish-granting spirit, he appeared. Standing in the middle of the lounge, still wearing those ridiculous pantaloons and bronze bracers, his curly dark hair shiny as silk, a slightly sneering smirk on his perfect lips, and his arms crossed in front of his sculpted chest. Dear god, he was illegally sexy. Literally illegal since he looked like he was barely eighteen. David had welcomed his share of pretty boys in his apartment. But this one definitely topped every single conquest Stanley had ever brought home to share with David.

  The only thing out of place on him was the soda bottle in his hand, which made the whole thing all the more credible.

  The djinni looked slightly bored. Then again, this was probably just another work day for him. Grant a wish? Sure, no problem, dude.

  “You're really real,” David stuttered.