Djinn's Desire: A Mates for Monsters Novella Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Ophir senses portal

  An unspent wish

  Ophir gets her to say yes 25

  The kiss

  The virgin

  Djinn meet djinn

  Questions answered

  Caught in the act 75

  To the bank

  Dark night of the soul 85

  Tanika hugged the empty air where Ophir had stood only

  About the Author

  Djinn’s Desire

  Tamsin Ley

  Thank you for taking time to read Djinn’s Desire. When you are finished reading, please leave a review here http://smarturl.it/review-djinns-desire Enjoy!

  Copyright © 2017 Twin Leaf Press

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  Approximately two-hundred and fifty years ago…

  Ophir halted his horse and sniffed the air. There it was again, the metallic anise-like scent of djinn magic creeping through the mist. Night had fallen hours ago, and his horse had already stumbled twice on the uneven footing of the forest floor. The thick branches overhead cast the world in even deeper darkness, but he couldn’t stop now. He’d lost count of the centuries he’d searched for a portal, and now he was close enough to taste one.

  Home.

  Tapping his heels to the beast’s flanks, he urged it toward the scent, kicking it into a gallop. Most djinn spent very little time on Earth, coming forth to ply their wish trade upon unsuspecting humans. The inconsequential things these mortals would ask for, valuing their own soul so little in the deal. During his long sojourn on their soil he’d come to pity them, like small children full of questions but never old enough to understand the answers. His home dimension was full of djinn fattened on the life-energies of foolish mortals.

  But enough morose thoughts. The scent was waning quickly. Soon the wish would be granted, and his kinsman would return home. The portal would become a mere mortal object until called upon again. He kicked his horse into a lather, leaning hard over the saddle and gripping the beast’s heaving flanks with his knees.

  Ahead, the flickering glow of a fire announced the presence of humans. He burst from the trees to see the ornate, top-heavy shape of a traveling entertainer’s wagon, illuminated by a flickering campfire. Beyond, a scattering of hovels cowered on the packed dead earth next to a hill, shadowed by night. Two humans sat near the fire at the wagon, their faces glowing palely in the fire light.

  Gypsies.

  Slowing his mount, he swung from the saddle and flicked a hand across his clothing to shift it from his current home-spun peasant garb to that of a wealthy merchant. In his full djinn form, he could’ve leveled the camp and sifted through the remains to find what he sought. But for the past six centuries he’d been restricted to small magic, the only kind he could still access in this corporeal form. He’d get the most out of the gypsies by appealing to their greed. Taking his horse’s reins, he approached on foot.

  A dark-haired woman with leathery skin looked up as he approached, her mouth widening into a gap-toothed smile. She set her cup aside and elbowed her companion, a small man wearing a bright red headband and matching waist sash. “Get Alayna.”

  The man took in Ophir with one shrewd glance and darted to the back of the wagon.

  “Greetings, traveler! You’re out late on a moonless night!” She threw both arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “Come, sit by our fire and rest.”

  “Many thanks, good woman.” Ophir donned a grateful smile and dropped his horse’s reins, affecting a limp as he approached the fire. The anise scent was stronger here. So strong it made his mouth water. He’d not been this close to a portal since his entrapment on Earth. “My horse came up lame, and I’ve been forced to walk leagues to reach civilization. Is there perhaps an inn where I could find sustenance?” He knew very well a cluster of hovels like this would have no inn, but it was part of the act. They’d invite him to stay, and he’d use the opportunity to find the portal.

  “Come, come, sit.” The woman beckoned him close, gesturing to the cushions she’d been sitting on. “There’s no inn here, but we’ll share our meager camp with you, and for a small coin we can even provide a bedmate for the night.” She grinned again and waved a hand toward the wagon. A girl had emerged from the back, her small breasts barely large enough to fill the low-cut bodice of her dress. Her dark eyes still held the remnants of sleep, but when she saw him, a smile revealed perfect little white teeth.

  Ophir’s cock stirred—he’d been long without a woman—but this creature was barely past girlhood. “I prefer my women older.”

  “She’s of age,” the woman took the child’s hand to drag her into the firelight. “And eager to please.”

  The girl nodded, sauntering over with an exaggerated roll to her hips, stopping to look up at him through her lashes. “Are you a prince?”

  Ophir cupped her cheek. He did love these human women, always dreaming of a prince. Willing to allow a man to prove his worth between her legs. But even if she’d been older, he had no time to dally in fleshly pleasure this night. The magic was fading with every passing moment. “A mere merchant, I’m afraid. And lovely as you are,” he ran a thumb across her plump lips, searching for the tingling signature of djinn magic on her body. Nothing. “I’d prefer to sleep alone this night.”

  “Maybe you’d enjoy someone with experience?” the older woman said, sidling closer. She’d probably been a beauty in her day, but like all humans, that day had passed too quickly.

  Lifting her hand, he took the opportunity to check her for magic as well, bowing slightly as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Again, nothing. “You share your daughter’s grace, but I truly wish only a place to sleep this night.”

  He pulled a handful of coin from the pouch at his belt, noting the glimmer in both women’s glinting eyes as they followed his hand. “Here’s coin enough to have your wagon to myself for the night, I assume?”

  Dropping the coins one-by-one into the girl’s waiting hand, he used his other hand to sift the air, seeking the source of the magic. It was here, but fading, along with the anise scent. They must’ve banished the djinn back to his portal at Ophir’s approach. He had to act fast before it disappeared all together.

  “Yes, yes, let me get my husband,” the woman scurried toward the wagon.

  Ophir followed close behind. The magic was getting fainter. Was he moving the wrong direction?

  The woman turned to him, her brows knit in a scowl, but she cleared her expression in a blink. “Give me a moment to gather a few things, and the bed is yours.”

  He smiled benignly and nodded, but remained close. She likely meant retrieve the portal to be sure her guest didn’t find it during the night. A portal could be any item here on Earth, as long as it was made of metal. A brass lamp, a gold chalice, even a pewter statue. The djinn had only discovered this plane upon mankind’s discovery of how to process and shape ore. Some rare crafters had skill enough to create a pure molecular structure, opening a path to the djinn dimension. Humans thought they were enslaving the djinn, binding them to perform magic.

  In truth, the djinn were delighted to come forth and exact their price.

  A wail rose from the cluster of nearby hovels, drawing the woman’s attention away from the wagon. Her eyes narrowed, and the sudden stink of fear rose from her skin.

  A second wail joined the first. Then men shouting. Someone had died. The gypsy spun on her heel, leaving Ophir standing near the wagon’s door. She shouted, “Reynard! Hitch the wagon.”

  The girl scurried about the fire, gathering cushions and other
items and tucking them under her arms. The outcry from the village grew louder, as if a door had opened, and Ophir made out angry shouts for justice.

  Calls for the gypsies’ blood.

  Among the houses, a bobbing cluster of flaming torches multiplied, each flame growing larger as the villagers approached. Memories of the demise of his own portal overlay his vision, the conflagration that had melted the golden ring right off his master’s finger, breaking the magic. Killing the mortal woman he loved. Forever sealing closed his door to home.

  “By the lamp,” Ophir swore and grabbed the door latch. He still had a few minutes to search. Lunging up the step and inside the compartment, he sucked in deep breaths to locate the magic’s essence.

  The wagon’s floor was scattered with cushions and dishes and other camp items the girl had been throwing inside. Dried herbs and wispy fabrics hung from the ceiling. A rumpled bed lay along one wall.

  Outside, the gypsy woman screeched obscenities. Villagers cried witchcraft. Metal and wood and bone thudded and clanged. A torch landed inside the wagon’s open doorway, igniting the draped fabric with a roar. Swearing, Ophir narrowed his eyes against the smoke and ruffled his hands through the bedding, hoping luck would be with him. Flames touched his booted foot, but he pressed on. Although the portal could be destroyed by fire, Ophir himself was impervious to it or any other mortal damage.

  The magic was gone. Ophir could feel its passing, but he refused to give up. He began stuffing items into his shirt. A pewter spoon. A brass candlestick. A lone horseshoe.

  The fire ate into the wood posts supporting the ceiling. Just before it collapsed, Ophir threw himself from the wagon, landing hard on one shoulder and rolling to extinguish the flames eating holes in his clothing.

  The gypsy girl, Alayna, was screaming, scruffy men holding each of her arms. Another man pulled a large bloody knife from her father’s belly, letting the man slump to the ground beside the older gypsy woman. The old woman’s eyes were already glazed in death. The man with the knife pointed it at Alayna. “This girl’s for the fire.”

  The girl’s eyes found Ophir, her nearly black irises begging him for help. Her lips trembled. She wasn’t exactly innocent, but no one deserved to be burned alive. No one deserved to die like Emelda. Letting out a heavy sigh, Ophir let the heavy candlestick fall from his fingers and pulled the other items from his shirt. Contact with metal negated his magic. And magic was the girl’s only hope.

  In five strides he stood beside her. In even fewer heartbeats he’d cloaked her in a spell, making her seem insignificant. Unimportant. They could still see her, feel her, but no longer saw her as a threat. The men dropped her arms, stepping forward to lift the limp bodies of her mother and father. “Burn the bodies!”

  The girl dropped to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. The magic would taint her forever. If she was smart, she’d use it to her advantage. If she wasn’t… that was no longer Ophir’s problem.

  Turning, he whistled for his horse and walked back into the woods.

  Current Day

  Tanika Skye jiggled the lock on the accordion grate protecting the salon and gave it a good hard kick before the bolts slid free. Using her full weight, she shoved the screen aside. On the cracked plate-glass door, the Seance Salon’s logo had been hand-painted in bright pink letters around a rendering of a gold crystal ball with a comb and pair of scissors. The remaining glass on both the door and the large window had been painted black to hide the interior from prying eyes.

  She picked up her basket of towels and entered the dusky shop, a small bell above the door frame jingling. The overheads flickered on with an annoying electric buzz, revealing two beat-up hairdresser chairs and their accompanying plate mirrors, a pair of folding chairs next to a magazine rack for waiting customers—which she never had—and a small area at the back surrounded by a threadbare velvet curtain where she did psychic readings. The scent of permanent-wave solution cloyed the air, directing Tanika’s gaze to the hair sink; Birdie had once again neglected to wash the hair-rollers from her last client.

  Or the water’d been shut off. Either was possible.

  Much as Tanika loved this place, sometimes she wondered exactly what she was proving by keeping it open. Dropping her basket of clean towels into Birdie’s station chair, she moved to the sink and turned the faucet to hot. To her relief, a solid stream of water emerged. She checked the black-cat wall clock Birdie had bought on a whim, saying it fit to have a witchy bit of decoration in the salon. Seven-fifty a.m. If she hurried, she could get the rollers cleaned before her first reading this morning and air out the stink. The chemicals didn’t mix well with the scented candles she used during her readings.

  The soft jingle of the store’s bell drew her attention, and she turned, hoping for a walk-in. No one was there. She pressed her lips together and returned to washing the rollers. Sometimes if she ignored his antics, he went away. The water she was running sputtered and turned icy. Dammit. Cringing, she kept washing.

  Then the lights went out.

  With a sigh, she settled back and glared at the dark wall in front of her. “Fucking poltergeist.”

  In response, the lights flickered back on. The nearby velvet curtain rippled, and a scrawny, bare-chested man stepped through it. Not around it. Through it. His voice sounded just as emaciated as his body. “I told you not to call me that.”

  She dumped the curlers into a strainer and turned to face him. “Then stop fucking acting like one.”

  He tilted his head, the craggy lines on his face attempting a pleasant smile. “You know how to get rid of me.”

  “Nope. I keep telling you. You die with me.” She’d been saying this so many years, the words no longer even gave her a twinge of regret.

  His visage turned into a snarl, purple djinn magic sparking in his eyes. “What do you care what happens to me? Your wish has already been paid for. Just embrace it and live out your happy little mortal existence while you still have time.”

  Tanika’s stomach churned, just as it did during each of these interactions for the previous fourteen years. In truth, she wanted to do exactly what he suggested. Create a stable home with a family to love. A little girl’s dream. One she’d eschew forever if it meant the demon—he called himself a djinn, but to her he’d always be a demon—living in her mother’s locket could never terrorize anyone again. She turned away from him, busying herself refilling the shampoo. He usually went away if she ignored him long enough.

  He glided to a stop directly in front of her, his amorphous lower body bisected by the rim of the sink. “How about I swap it out for a new wish?”

  She shook her head, refusing to look at him.

  He slid closer and leered in her face. “You’re going to lose the salon.”

  Her upset stomach tightened into a rock, hating that he was right. Every time she tried to settle into one spot and build a life, something went wrong, and she was certain her demon had a hand in it, much as he denied it. She’d grow comfortable, make a few friends, then somehow everything would get ripped out from under her. If she wasn’t going to embrace the fulfillment of her wish, he’d take away anything that might pass as a surrogate.

  Most recently, her landlord had raised the rent on her crappy little lease, hoping to edge her out and demolish the aging building to make way for a new hotel. She and a handful of fellow tenants were putting up a good fight, but it wasn’t a battle she was likely to win. And finding a lease she could afford elsewhere in town would be next to impossible.

  The bell tinkled, this time for real, and the apparition of her demon popped out of existence. “I’ll be right with you!” Tanika called, drying her hands on a nearby towel.

  Instead of her first client, Mr. Daniels stood at the door, his white apron smudged with what looked like chocolate. “I brought you an éclair, Tanika. Before they’re all gone.”

  “Oh, Mr. Daniels, you didn’t have to do that.” Her hips were curvy enough without his constant feeding. Not that she was
going to say no to a chocolate éclair.

  “It’s nothing.” The white-haired old man took her hand and placed the cream-filled delight in her palm. “I still owe you for cleansing my place of that pesky spirit.”

  Heat crept up Tanika’s throat. The pesky spirit had been her demon, and once she’d figured out he was making trouble after hours, she’d moved her mother’s locket off-site to a safe deposit box. Now the djinn could only materialize through the connection of her unspent wish, keeping his power limited to her direct physical vicinity. “You don’t owe me anything, Mr. Daniels.”

  “I tell all my customers about you.” He looked around at the shabby interior. “I don’t know why you and Birdie can’t get more business.”

  She shrugged. “Not many people believe in magic. Why do you think I’m cutting hair on the side?”

  “You don’t read the bumps on people’s heads?”

  Phrenology? Damn. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She’d need to add it to her list of services. “Uh, yes. Yes, I do.”

  He glanced at her wall clock. “I’d better get back to the cafe, my dear. Have a good morning.”

  Although it was barely after eight a.m., Tanika plopped down in her hairdresser chair and took a big bite of éclair. With no telling what the future might bring, she was going to enjoy every moment of what she had right now.

  Chapter Two

  Ophir laughed as his convertible took the corner with a squeal of rubber. These modern human inventions almost made living on Earth bearable. Almost.

  He pulled into a parallel parking spot along the row of run-down storefronts. Whenever he came to a new town, he liked to hit the oldest neighborhoods first, searching out the antique shops for any sign of his kin. Over the centuries, he’d caught whiffs of portals, but always arrived too late to pinpoint the source. After so many failures, his search had become more of a habit than an intent.