A Risky Proposition (36 page)

I stared at her in confusion.  Then I realized that the laundry room should work just as well as the bathroom for the spell’s purposes.  Sunny was a genius!

“That would be great!” I exclaimed.  “If you can get it out for us, there’s a fifty dollar bottle of champagne in it for you.  Just don’t tell your parents!”

Mickey’s face perked up at that.  What teenager refuses free alcohol—even if they are possessed by a death djinn?

“I’ve gotta run to the restroom,” I glanced meaningfully at Sunny.  “Can you show Mickey where that case of champagne is?”

I darted toward the guest bath as Sunny made a show of doing something with her laptop to give me time to get the cat hairs and matches.  I closed the door behind me and turned the faucet on as I felt along the shelf for the hidden dish.  My fingers tipped it over the edge and my heart plummeted into my stomach as it began to fall.  I caught it at the last second and brought it down safely with a panicked gasp.

When I went to stick the matches into my pocket, though, I saw that most of the white hairs were stuck to the matchbook.  Holding my breath, I picked them off, one by one, and re-counted the tiny wisps…thank Goddess, still seven!  The matches went into my pocket as I snapped off the faucet and cupped the dish in my hands so that its hard-won contents wouldn’t blow away.

“Sorry, Mickey,” Sunny was saying.  “Since you took the time to answer my questions, I want to make sure I save our interview.  But the stupid computer keeps freezing up.”

She and Mickey glanced up at me as I walked back into the living room with my hands wrapped around the glass dish.

I chuckled nervously.  “I keep telling Sunny to bring her dishes to the kitchen.  Other than that little habit, she’s the perfect houseguest.”  The look she gave me was dry as the desert, and I mentally tacked on another bottle of sake to the dinner I owed her.

“Follow me, Mickey, and maybe you can budge that monstrosity of a washing machine for us.” 

My heart tripped in excitement and fear as I led him to the laundry room.  It was dark, and my trembling fingers brushed across the cool metal wall-plate to find the light switch.  Most of the space was taken up by the huge, stainless-steel washer and dryer.  Varnished wooden shelves lined the walls above the two machines, and a thin blue runner rug that matched the wallpaper ran the length of the room.

It smelled of my favorite jasmine and water lily dryer sheets.  A box of them lay open atop a laundry basket piled high with my dirty clothes.  I inhaled, trying to calm myself, and schooled my features into a smile before I turned to face Mickey.  He was right on my heels.

“Close quarters,” I said with a mad titter as he backed up.  “The washing machine’s right there.  Just see if you can’t pull it forward away from the wall a bit.”

“Where’s the case of champagne?”

I could see that this was the point from which the plan was rapidly going to deteriorate.

“Uh, don’t ask me why, but someone left it behind the machine.  Crazy right?”  Mickey was looking at me as if I was a little crazy now.  Well, if you squinted, it kind of looked like there was enough room to fit a few bottles back there. 

“Anyway, if you could just try to pull it forward away from the wall?” I insisted.

He moved past me into the room and paused before the machine, testing its weight with the strength of his arms.  It didn’t budge.  He bent his knees and pulled harder.  I silently swung the door closed and set the dish of cat hairs on top of the dryer behind my laundry basket.  I fumbled with the matchbook, nearly dropping it when Mickey spoke.

“This
is
heavy.”

I stifled the urge to laugh insanely as my fingers steadied around the matchbook and I plucked a match from its bed.  “Try to use your leg muscles.  I don’t want you hurting your back.”

Mickey grunted with effort as I struck the match against the flint strip.  The sour smell of sulfur drifted up into my nostrils, but it didn’t catch.  I struck again and the smell rose stronger, but still no fire.  I prayed the third time would be the charm as I struck it again, fast and hard.  A tiny point of blue flame sprang to life and I cradled a shaking hand around it as I lowered it toward the scant pile of cat hairs.

I was so focused on the match that I nearly shrieked when Mickey suddenly said, “Sorry, Sydney, I think you’re going to have to get a couple of guys in here to move this thing.”  He rose and leaned over the top of the machine, his neck craning as he tried to see behind it.

My eyes shot back to the miniscule trail of smoke floating up from the now dead match.  I fretfully ripped at a fresh match, accidentally pulling out two that stuck together.

“I’m not seeing anything back there, Sydney,” Mickey said in confusion.  He looked toward me.  “Is that smoke?”

I frantically struck the matches, not caring that my fingers were too close to their heads.  I felt the instant bite of white heat as both matches caught and the sparks flared against each other, flashing brightly and joining into one larger flame that licked eagerly down the paper strips.  I dropped the conflagration into the dish, bringing my singed fingers to my mouth as I anxiously watched for the cat hairs to begin burning.  I fervently hoped the match getting burned in there with them wouldn’t interfere with the spell.

Mickey stepped toward me, now looking angry and suspicious.  “What are you doing?  Why is the door closed?” he demanded.

The acrid aroma of burning hair filled the small utility closet and I backed up against the door, staring wildly at Mickey for some sign that the spell was working.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Sydney, but you’d better let me out of here right now.”  Mickey’s voice dropped low in warning and a chill swept through me as emerald fire took over the blue-grey of his eyes. 

I stood motionless, my back flattened against the only exit.  He grabbed my shoulders with surprising strength, and I squeaked in denial as my eyes flew to the guttering flame in the now blackened dish.  His gaze followed mine, falling upon the flame just as it snuffed out of existence.

A look of rage constricted his features and his grip tightened painfully on my shoulders.  I instinctively executed a move that’s been hard-wired into the female brain since the times of being hit over the head and dragged off by cavemen.  I kneed him in the crotch.

His face went slack with surprise, then rigid with pain as he backed away from me and doubled over, clutching his groin.  Shit.  I was in so much trouble if this didn’t work.  Mickey panted as he looked up at me with accusatory fury.  I gasped—his eyes were swirling with color, eerie green flickering angrily through the blue-grey of his irises.

A ghostly form began to take shape in front of him, its substance fed by an other-worldly smoke that seemed to pour from Mickey’s skin.  I stared in shock as the distinctively willowy figure of a woman materialized.

“You bitch!” she wailed, rushing at me.

I threw my hands up in a feeble defense, but my back was already against the door—I had nowhere to go.  I closed my mouth, afraid of what would happen if I inhaled the figure’s smoky form, but it only scattered harmlessly around me.  A faint keening of frustration echoed through my ears as the smoke slowly began to re-gather.

“What’s going on in there?” Sunny’s muffled voice demanded through the door.  I felt the knob turn against my back and I activated the lock to keep her from opening it.  “What the hell?  Syd?  If you don’t answer me I’m breaking this door down!”

True to her word, she started banging against it so hard that the force of her blows vibrated through me.  “It’s okay, Sunny!” I called in a strangled voice.  “But I can’t open the door just yet!”

The banging ceased, but I could feel her there, hovering behind me in worried indecision. 

The shapeless smoke reformed into the amorphous outline of a woman.  She was several inches taller than me, thin and long-limbed, with dark hair and high cheekbones.  A sophisticated dress swathed her slender body in hunter-green, and her earlobes were lined with small glittering studs.  Almond-shaped eyes peered at me sullenly through the smoky veil of her gathering form. 

“Who are you?” I asked in a stunned voice.

“I am the princess Amalia.”  She crossed her slowly solidifying arms over her chest in an imperious stance.

I stared at her dumbly.

She narrowed her eyes.  “Certainly my dear brother has mentioned me.”

I shook my head and a look of surprise flitted across her face before it darkened with irritation.  Her fists clenched and she swore.  “That bastard has always underestimated me—he and my father both.  I am the eldest; it should be me who is next in line to Father’s throne.  Not that ingrate, Balthus.

“But I have my own plans,” she spat, “and I will not be shunted aside simply because I was not born a son!  I
warned
Balthus that he would be forced to bargain with me for possession of his chosen mate.”

“Chosen mate?” I repeated weakly.

She paused in her tirade to stare at me, an unpleasant smile spreading across the sharp vee of her lips.  “Did you not know Balthus has marked you as his chosen mate?  Regardless of who completes your contract, he means to have you in the end.  It is merely a matter of how hard a bargain he will be forced to drive to claim you.  My price will be delightfully high.”  Her smile widened to show even rows of small white teeth.

“I could include something for you in the bargain as well,” she added slyly.  “Perhaps a clause that would prevent him from passing you around for the pleasure of his friends?”

I swallowed in revulsion.

Amalia chuckled.  “No.  As his chosen mate, he would likely guard you too jealously to share you in such a manner.  However I know my brother well.  He likes to think of himself as a Casanova—a great lover and a giver of pleasure rather than pain.  But he revels in power just as much as the next man. 

“Unlike our father though, who takes his satisfaction from the more obvious tortures, Balthus is a master at the subtler art of mixing pain with pleasure.  He will take you against your will, but force your body to enjoy it, taking his satisfaction from your shame as you begin to crave his touch.  I could add a clause to your contract that would give you more control over the physical aspect of your relationship.”

I stared at her in speechless horror as the emerald flames burned brighter in her eyes.

“Just one wish, Sydney.  Anything you want—I can grant it,” she offered soothingly.  “And when my brother comes to claim you, I will drive a bargain that will make your eternity with him far easier to bear.”  She gave me a look that approached sympathy.  “We are both women.  We have both suffered at the hands of men.  And I know how hard it’s been not to make your third wish.  It’s only a matter of time, I’m afraid, and I fear you won’t receive such a generous offer from another.”

My brain clouded with doubt.  Oh Goddess.  It was even more hopeless than I’d thought.  I was so tired of worrying and wondering when I was finally going to slip up.  Maybe she was right; maybe I should take what she was offering now, while it was still on the table.

“I…” I croaked. 

The simultaneous sounds of Sunny’s renewed banging and Mickey’s pained groan broke the spell she had begun to weave around me.  “Syd, goddamn it!  You listen to me!  Don’t you dare listen to that demon skank!”

A vexed growl issued from Amalia’s throat and I suddenly noticed something that should have registered long before now.  The entire time she had been talking, she had been growing less hazy.  There was barely any smoke left to her nearly solid form.  My eyes flew wide as I remembered the last step of the spell—I needed to capture her spirit in some type of vessel!

I looked around frantically, dismissing the washer and dryer—way too big, not to mention there was no way that could be good for the laundry.  The bottle of detergent on the shelf?  I could always buy more.  And maybe she’d accidentally drown in it.  No—no matter how satisfying a thought that might be, it probably wasn’t a good idea to drown the princess of the death djinns in laundry soap. 

Then I caught a faint amber glimmer atop the heap of clothing in my laundry basket.  Hannah’s hideous brooch peeked out from the edge of the front pocket in my discarded jeans.  Good enough—it was even made of crystal!  I made a grab for it and Amalia lunged at me, realizing I’d caught on to my mistake.

I grasped the rough-edged rock just as she made contact with my arm.  Her touch was vaguely solid for a moment, but then it evaporated into insubstantiality.  Amalia howled with fury and I held the crystal out in front of me, my arms shaking, gripping it with both hands as if it was a sword.  There had been no words of incantation with the spell Angelica had given me, only instructions.  I prayed that my mere intent to use the crystal as a vessel to capture Amalia would be enough.

We stared at each other in frozen silence, and then the crystal began to glitter with a weird inner light.  Amalia’s form grew cloudier, and then her lower body lost substance, became smoke, and drifted toward the brooch.  The rest of her quickly followed, her head disappearing last as her disembodied voice wafted past my ears with a faint parting shot of, “You’ll be sorry you didn’t cut a deal with me, you little bitch!”

The crystal grew warm in my hand, trembling violently and emitting a single, bright strobe of light.  Then it fell quiet and still.  I stared at it in awe, afraid to move, but it remained cool and lifeless against my palm.  I looked up to find Mickey struggling to his feet.  He winced as he moved, but his eyes held something akin to worship.