Curse of a Djinn Read online

  Curse of a Djinn

  Lichelle Slater

  Curse of a Djinn © 2019 Lichelle Slater

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 1

  Gwen

  I was $184 short on rent, because I had to dip unexpectedly into my savings account to pay for my textbooks that semester, and had five days to make it up. On top of that, I still had one more textbook to purchase. Regardless of how hard I worked at the Drunken Dwarf Tavern, tips weren’t exactly rolling in right now, and I attributed it to all college students like myself paying for tuition and books.

  I hated working my butt off and making nothing for it, but I’d managed to scrape by on my own since I was ten years old, and I wasn’t going to give up now. Needless to say, I can do this on my own. I’ve always been on my own and have survived just fine.

  Luckily for me, I was resourceful, and taught myself to keep an eye out for houses with foreclosure notices on their doors, and I had my eyes set on a house down Riverview Street.

  If I wasn’t careful, an eagle-eyed PTA mom would call the cops.

  I caught myself accidentally staring at a goblin child poking his head over the seat in front of me as the rickety bus headed down Tremonton Way. The kid stared at me with wide red eyes. He blinked slowly. He hadn’t grown into his horns or oversized teeth yet, and one might mistake him for cute.

  He bit his top lip, revealing the little fangs on his bottom row of teeth that would eventually jut over his top lip when he got older. He continued this motion, puffing air into his top lip and cheeks, then huffed like he was pretending to be scary or something. His mom chatted loudly on her phone, trying to arrange a hair appointment to get her wig redone, oblivious that her child was pulling faces at me.

  I blinked, unamused, and adjusted my backpack on my lap.

  The elf sitting beside me earned a giggle from the child, and I looked from the corner of my eye to see the elf puffing air into his cheeks as well as crossing his eyes.

  I tried not to roll my own as I shifted my attention elsewhere.

  The city of Phoenix bustled with the day workers headed into town and the night workers headed home.

  You would think I meant Arizona, but Phoenix was actually a mountainous metropolis city in Utah. Years ago, they proudly boasted they were the first to accept and implement the “Magical Beings Peace Treaty” and began living hand-in-hand with creatures who possess magic.

  I was one of the lowly humans without even a tinge of magic. Purely non-magical in every sense. I attempted to hold a séance last year on Halloween with my friends and couldn’t even get that to work.

  Riverview Street came into view, and I reached across the elf to tug the cord.

  He’d had his thumbs in his cheeks while waving his other fingers at the child, who now squealed like a little pig in delight.

  I got to my feet and slipped under the arm of a tall man at my side. I’d had a hard time keeping my eyes off him. He had enough muscles to make me believe he was a werewolf, which is possibly also why I didn’t bother to say, “Excuse me,” because . . . well . . . what’s the point? I’d never see him again anyway.

  The brakes on the heavy-laden bus screamed in protest, and the troll driver missed the stop by a good ten feet.

  Grateful to be off that death trap, I didn’t care that the rain threatened to start up again. I did stop long enough to tug the hood of my sweater over my head. The bus groaned as the troll shifted back into gear, and I waited for it to move along so I could jaywalk across the slow street to the opposite side.

  I finally reached my target—a brown stucco house built before the reform, with overgrown flower beds, a lawn no longer made from grass, and a garage door that sat askew. I carefully assessed the street as I made my move to squeeze between the wall and dilapidated sun-melted vinyl fence. Once in the backyard, I—avoiding muddy patches—hopped on to the back porch. I retrieved the lock pick set out of my back pocket and slipped the tools into the lock. Another quick glance around, and I knew I was safe to step inside.

  Unfortunately, with the clouds overhead, the interior of the house was terrifyingly dark. I had to stand for a few minutes and adjust to the dimness of the kitchen before I could proceed. Use of a flashlight would trigger neighbors, and since I didn’t possess magic to help, I was on my own.

  Now and then, I could find a house with a treasure trove of goods to pawn off. Unfortunately for me, this place hadn’t been abandoned. The owners had been given enough time to move. Likely, they were unable to sell or rent the property, or they didn’t care enough to bother trying.

  Either way, each room was completely barren, and my stomach sunk deeper and deeper. I’d hoped to find this place loaded with valuable junk, but clearly I’d never get the time back I’d wasted doing unnecessary research.

  I made my way to the top of the stairs and grinned when I spotted the hatch to the attic.

  When people moved, or other people scrounged through old houses, they often forgot to check the attic. I prayed to whatever gods would listen that I might find something of value up there.

  I jumped and grabbed onto the rope for the stairs. With the weight of my body, the hatch opened, pulling the stairs down with it. I scaled the ladder easily and poked my head over the threshold to see if it was as empty as the rest of the place. Luck was with me after all. Or the rarely acknowledged gods had answered. Either way, the entire attic was packed full of boxes and paintings.

  I climbed the rest of the way and began tearing at the boxes.

  The first box was packed with Christmas decorations. The wife would likely wonder where her special elf nighty had gone to. The next was Halloween decorations. Another, old photos, valuable only to whoever had left them. Then finally a box of electronics.

  I opened my backpack and shoved in an old-school DVD player, a portable projector screen, and a few other small items I knew I could sell. Cords were useless. I’d at least get $50 for this junk.

  Still not enough.

  Against one of the walls leaned a stack of paintings. I knew they could sometimes be extremely v
aluable, but running down the street with an armful of paintings would be stupid of me. Still, the pile caught my attention, and I decided to flip through them.

  The previous owners of the house must have been collectors or artists. Dozens of paintings leaned on one another very carefully so the corners didn’t press against the canvas in front of behind and cause an indent.

  One particular image depicted a scene of an ocean with a small fisherman’s hut and an old wooden dock stretching out into the waves. The colors, even in the dim light, drew my attention to it. Unfortunately, it was covered in dust, and I leaned my head down to blow it off. The residue barely budged. I wiped my hand over the image, clearing away layers of gunk to see the image hiding behind.

  As the dust fell from my fingertips, I noticed a sparkle in the air. My attention shifted away from the painting as my brows pinched. Where had the glitter come from?

  I looked back at the painting to see the colors swirling together and seeping out of the painting like smoke from a fire.

  Startled, I fell backward. The picture tipped forward, falling facedown, and an explosion of dust and vibrant colors drifted away from it, shifting and taking form.

  Chapter 2

  Doren

  I sat upon the sand-dusted stones that lined the edge of the murky reflection pond. My eyes longed to see something different to the mirror-like surface, but no matter how long I stared, or how often I visited, nothing changed.

  Nothing in the djinn realm ever did.

  Staring at the reverse image of myself, my hair remained shades of brown, my skin was still light, and my eyes were eyes dark. The never-changing world of yellow-tan buildings stood as monuments of a city frozen in time. Trapped, just like me, in this prison. The sky overhead had powdered-white, never-moving clouds.

  And everything was still covered in sand.

  I reached my fingers into the mirage of water and felt no wetness. Not even a ripple broke the surface. This was the only location in our pathetic realm I had found with a reflection, the only place I found worth visiting. New djinn used to gather around this place to visit, but I hadn’t seen a new djinn in ages.

  Letting out a bundled breath and adjusting my tunic, I climbed back to my feet. I had an hour-long walk back to my pathetic excuse of a home.

  I resigned myself to this miserable existence decades ago and found the only excitement in my day to be the walks to and from the reflection pond.

  Pathetic, I know.

  Voices laughed, their annoying sound echoing from down an alley, and knew immediately the owner of one voice to be Avashal, a djinn nearly as old as myself. Avashal confirmed his appearance by stepping out from the shadows. He nudged his chin toward me in a short greeting. His white teeth shone even in this sepia world.

  Koltic and Adomal, his two “bodyguards,” stood flanking him.

  “Doren, it’s been some time since we’ve seen each other.”

  “And?” I looked him up and down. Avashal wore gaudy robes and a turban on his head. I hated acknowledging his presence, and knew I needed to keep the conversation short before he dragged it out into a seven-hour-long discussion about how much the mortal realm had changed.

  “If you just told me where we could find your lamp, you could at least visit the mortal realm.”

  I drew a breath in through my nose. “And who said I’m trapped in a lamp? Is that not a tad cliché?” I countered. I began walking again.

  He frowned and stepped in my path. “You would rather be stuck in this vacant world? This world where nothing changes?”

  I met his pressing gaze. “I would much rather live out my days stuck in a place like this than kill another person, who may or may not deserve it, as dictated by my master.”

  “Who cares if those you kill are innocent or not?” He smirked at me.

  I frowned. “I draw the line at children.”

  “I think you should enjoy your power.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’ll never repay your debt if you don’t even try. Embrace your powers, Doren!”

  I shrugged out of his grip. “I don’t even know where it is,” I said. “It got sold at auction, and that’s the last time I was summoned.” I finally managed to move far enough away from him I could walk without him grabbing me again.

  I heard him click his tongue and mutter, “To think that used to be the most feared djinn in our realm.”

  Koltic and Adomal snickered.

  I, however, no longer cared, and hadn’t for many years. In spite of the youthful appearance to my face, I was one of the eldest, if not the eldest, djinn there.

  The last time my master summoned me, he wished me to assassinate a man and his wife. Because my master wished it, I had no choice. I still remembered turning after the deed was done to spot their six-year-old child standing in the doorway, pale as the nightgown she wore. Her icy-blue eyes were frozen wide and filled with tears that didn’t dare fall in my presence.

  After that, I made sure my master would never find me again.

  I hid the receptacle to which I was bound, leaving me stuck in the prison I’d earned without any way to gain my freedom.

  To simply exist is no life at all.

  And yet, that is what I did.

  No matter how many times I had tried, nothing I did could set me free. I couldn’t even die in this realm.

  This was my prison, and the only way out was if the one I wronged became my master and forgave my sins. The probability of that happening after thousands of years was slim to none.

  I pressed my middle finger up to massage my temple as if that would take away the aching pain of starvation in my body. Take away the desire to feed. Take away the craving to tell Avashal what I’d done with my receptacle.

  Without warning, tingling sparked in my fingertips and coursed through my body, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. My heart sped up with both excitement and dread, because I knew what it meant.

  I had been summoned.

  I found myself standing in a dimly lit room. Dust, not sand, hung in the air. No, more than dust. It was a cloud of colors settling around me—blue, purple, pink, gold—colors I hadn’t seen in years.

  I blinked a few times, letting my eyes take in the colors I’d seen for the first time in half a century until they slowly dissipated into the air.

  I exhaled and somehow felt obligated to announce my presence by saying, “I wondered how long it would take you to find me.”

  When I turned, I expected to see the face of my previous master. I was not expecting to see a young woman sitting on her backside on the floor.

  She stared up at me with her jaw hanging open like a rain gutter on a cathedral.

  I moved my eyes to survey the room. I’d seen a storage room more than once, but judging by the pitch in the ceiling, this was a strange storage room. What had happened in the last several years?

  I saw piles of boxes, a rolled-up rug, a wooden chest, and paintings leaned against the wall beside me. Of course, the chance to take in the room was more than the opportunity to check my surroundings, because I still expected to see my master.

  This girl was definitely not him.

  I looked down at her. “And who are you?”

  She finally blinked, her first sign to me that she was, in fact, alive and not a statue frozen by the glance of a basilisk. Slowly, she closed her mouth, but she shook her head and pinched her arm. I assumed to see if she was awake.

  She met my gaze again. “How did you . . .”

  “Appear? You summoned me,” I replied simply.

  “S-Summoned?” she stammered.

  “The name is Doren.” I bowed deeply, showing her my best manners, adding a flashy smile at the end. “And you are?” I lifted my head, still bent over in the bow.

  “My name? Name. Name, it’s, uh, is Guinevere,” she stumbled.

  “Not Queen Guinevere, right?” I glanced around as I straightened. “Because this doesn’t look li
ke a castle, and I didn’t think I could go back in time.” I grinned.

  Guinevere stared silently at me, not catching on to my humor. She finally shook her head and got back to her feet. She dusted off her pants.

  I cleared my throat, drawing her attention again. “Might I ask what year we are in?”

  Casually, I dusted at my purple and gold vest and found myself immediately distracted when I realized I was in color from my vest to my blue pants, golden sash, and curled-toe shoes. It was an undeniable relief to see color again.

  I glanced up from my self-assessment to see Guinevere still staring at me.

  Again, she pinched her arm, only this time with enough force to leave dots of blood behind and earn a hiss. She looked away from her self-inflicted wound to me.

  I slowly raised my eyebrow and then cocked my head. “I’m going to assume you’ve never seen a djinn before.”

  “Djinn?” she asked.

  “Ah, so you do know how to answer questions. I was beginning to get worried you may be part statue. Or gargoyle. Though you have a much better temperament.” I gave her a coy smile, knowing she would find me handsome. Getting off on the right foot meant more success later down the road.

  Guinevere frowned at me. “Of course I know how to answer. You heard me say my name.”

  I nodded slowly. “True, but you don’t seem to be one for conversation.” I folded my arms. “You woke me, so what is your command?”

  “I still don’t know who you are.” Guinevere planted her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed.

  In the dimness of the room, I could barely make out her features. She was nearly as tall as me, maybe a couple inches shorter but not much. She had braided her black hair over her right shoulder, and I could tell her skin was dark, but aside from that, I couldn’t make out the color of her eyes or any other details.

  I clapped my hands together and rubbed them. “To put it shortly, you now own me.”

  She held up a hand. “Whoa, own?”

  I nodded. “You make a wish. I make it come true. That’s how djinn work.”