Bottled Read online

I’ve been asked this question scores of times before. “There’s one room with a table and cushions. The walls are lined with mirrors as well as compartments where I store things like my game cube. And before you ask, no, I can’t take you Inside to see it.”

  “Sounds a little cramped, anyway.”

  “I’m used to it.” Even a vast space would feel confining after a thousand years, knowing it was a prison I couldn’t escape.

  Nathan squints through the car’s front window and hisses out an exhale. “Aw, you’ve got to be kidding.”

  I follow his gaze. White steam seeps up from the edges of the car’s front lid. From his reaction, I gather this isn’t a normal thing for this kind of vehicle. I’ve apparently conjured a faulty engine. That’s not only maddening, it’s wretched timing.

  “I hope that steam doesn’t indicate too serious an ailment,” I say as he slows down.

  We come to a stop on the side of the road. “Ten to one, the radiator’s overheating,” he says. “Gotta let it cool off and conjure some antifreeze. When we get into Portland, we might have to ditch this car and take a bus after all.”

  I climb out, leaving my bear on the seat, and trail Nathan to the front. He opens the lid with care and exposes steam pluming out from the metal tank near the front. We both take a step back from the heat that blisters outward. The smell is of wet grease and smoky rubber.

  “What rotten luck,” he says. “Can you check the fluid level, cool things off, and add anything else it might need without straining your powers too much?”

  “I’ll try.” I close my eyes, gathering my senses and sending them outward. Inside the tank, a mere trickle of liquid exists. I take details of the water and “coolant” mixture from Nathan’s thoughts, and stretch out my hand. With a dredging effort, I manage to percolate fluid upward, filling the space and eliminating the steam. I also notice a nearby hose that isn’t fully formed. There’s a small gap where fluid is leaking, so I expand the black rubber to close the hole. I must’ve missed that when I conjured the engine parts.

  I withdraw my hand and open my eyes. Nathan is standing close to me, gazing at my face with an expression of raw longing and despair. I’m not sensing his mood is related to the radiator repairs, either. I draw in a quick breath and step back.

  “Finished,” I say in a soft voice.

  He straightens and rubs the back of his neck, his expression clearing. “Do you think that’ll do the trick and the car will run now?”

  “Perhaps. I still think it might be wise to utilize that bus in the next city. We don’t want to get stranded alongside the road again.”

  “If we can make it to Portland,” he mutters. “We have about thirty miles left.”

  An engine whirring and a crunching of gravel makes me spin around. Another car pulls into a halt in front of us, dust flurrying up and causing me to cough. Two men occupy the front seats.

  Nathan slams our car’s lid as the men emerge from their vehicle. One man is skeleton-thin, his shoulder bones sharp through the fabric of his shirt. The beginnings of a scruffy beard make his face appear dirty. The other man walks with a swagger and wears rumpled clothing and a pair of leather boots. His hair stands cactus-spine-straight. His eyes rake up and down my figure. A distinct sense of wrongness settles across my skin, and not just from his ogling.

  “I see you got a bit of engine trouble here, folks,” the swaggering one drawls.

  “It was the radiator,” Nathan says. There’s a wary edge to his voice as he eyes the newcomers. He must perceive their blackness, too. “I think we’ve got it taken care of now.”

  The skeleton-man flaps a wiry hand at our car. “Naw, if this car’s overheating, you shouldn’t be drivin’ it. Could wreck the engine. We’d be glad to give you a lift to the next town. Troutdale’s only ’bout five minutes down the road.”

  “No, thanks. We’re fine.” Nathan’s words are firm. He heads toward the driver’s side of our car, but the swaggering man sidesteps and blocks him.

  Nathan’s eyes narrow. His apprehension ripples out in a strong wave as he locks gazes with the man. “Excuse me. I need you to move out of my way. We’re leaving now.”

  The swaggering man exchanges a smirk with his companion.

  “What’s your rush?” the skeleton man asks, strolling toward me. He raps his knuckles on our car. “I told you, you gotta let this baby cool off. She’s probably really hot.” He eyes my chest while a smile creeps across his face.

  I curl my hands into fists. How I wish I had solid knuckles to punch his jaw hard, and spin his leering face away from me. Yet that’s not the biggest problem here. While I’m not worried for my own safety, I can’t let Nathan get hurt. Other cars pass us on the road, but I’m not sure anyone realizes we’re in danger. Or if anyone would risk stopping to help.

  “Don’t come any closer,” I say. “I doubt you want to find out what I am. What I’m capable of. You’ll have nightmares in your dreams for weeks.”

  Skeleton-man’s mouth drops open. He hoots at the same time the other man guffaws.

  “Izzat so?” The skeleton man steps closer. “What are ya, honey, a secret ninja assassin? Wonder Woman in disguise? I think I’m gonna call your sweet li’l bluff.”

  Nathan frowns, although he should know I’m not in true danger. “Leave her alone.”

  The swaggering man near him throws him a look of contempt. Without warning, the man swings and lands a solid punch to Nathan’s stomach. Nathan grunts and doubles over, clutching his middle.

  “Nathan!” I yell.

  He groans and heaves for breath as both men advance toward me.

  “You’re going to regret that,” I say, hoping I have enough power left to carry out my threat. But this needs to be wished, since I can’t initiate it myself. “Nathan, think of something I can do. Now.”

  Nathan flicks me an intense, agonized glance. “Go for it,” he gasps. “Nightmare stuff.”

  It’s a wish.

  Instant images flare inside my mind, grisly and grotesque. I lift my arms. Shapes form in the air along with guttural sounds. Three spiny horns. Wicked teeth and bloodshot eyes. Greenish fluid oozes from a half-decomposed face.

  Not yet aware of the half-formed creature in his peripheral, the skeleton-man reaches for my waist. I grit my teeth against the sheer, blinding pain of the contact, and scuttle backward, trying to keep my hold on Nathan’s wish. The man gawks at me, then at his hand.

  “She’s a ghost!” he cries. “I can’t touch her, Roger.”

  The other man isn’t swaggering now. He sees the beast. He trips in his leather boots, crashing against the front of the car in his haste to retreat. The gruesome head above him gapes its cavernous mouth. The creature roars. A decaying stench blasts out. The whites of the man’s eyes show all the way around the brown.

  The skeleton-man also catches sight of the monster, and screams. Nathan, crouched by the front tire, is squeezing his eyes closed, breathing hard. He claps his hands over his ears to block out the unearthly rasping.

  Sharp fangs clack as the creature lunges at the first man. The man lurches away, but the inhuman teeth snag his shirt, ripping a hole in it. He howls like a panicked hound and scrambles for his car. Shrieking, the skeleton-man follows, eyes watering, mouth distorted.

  The instant their vehicle roars to life and takes off in a spray of gravel, I release the spell.

  The creature vanishes. Its bone-shuddering roars fade.

  “It’s over,” I say to Nathan, but I’m not sure he has uncovered his ears yet. I take a few faltering steps before sagging to the ground beside the car near some bushes. My elbows give way. I collapse onto my side. My ribs and abdomen throb where the skeleton man swiped through me. I’m trembling all over.

  Gravel crunches. Nathan eases onto the ground beside me, facing me. He encircles me with his arm, keeping it inches away, careful not to make contact. The action is comforting even without the sensation of touch. His soul is close to mine. He smells of herbal shampoo and t
he metallic tang of his residual fear. Our breathing intermingles.

  “I wonder if anyone driving past saw that beast.” My voice is faint.

  “Probably not, or they would’ve run off the road,” he says. “All I got was one quick look and heard the noises. That was enough to give me nightmares for a week.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t believe those two men pretended to want to help. It was all a horrible ruse.” I clamp my mouth shut to keep it from quivering.

  Nathan swears. “I wish that type of people would shrivel up and evaporate from the world. Rotten vultures. I also wish I’d taken those taekwondo lessons back in seventh grade. Then you wouldn’t have had to use your powers. And…I wish I could give you a much-needed hug right now.”

  I blink, my lashes damp. “I’m afraid I can’t—”

  “I know, I know. Those are all wishes you can’t fulfill.” He takes a sketchy breath. “Believe me, I know.”

  We lie on the rough, dusty ground while our breathing settles. I absorb his steady aura while a breeze blows around us and a bird twitters in the distance. The strands of Nathan’s hair at his temples are a little lighter brown than the rest of his hair. I’ve never been this close to him before. His mouth is curvy even when he’s not smiling. He radiates a welcome heat. His arm still encircles me.

  I search his eyes, trying to plumb their depths. He searches mine. For a heartbeat or two we share an openness that holds no self-consciousness.

  When the moment fades, I have to blink some more. Confound it…my eyes are watery.

  His eyebrows pucker into a frown. “Adeelah,” he says, as if my name is painful.

  Reality encroaches. We have a deadline. It’s time to resume our regular lives, as discouraging as that may be. “We need to go, Nathan.”

  He removes his arm so I can get up. The loss of it is severe, and I don’t know how to hold onto what’s left of his warm essence. If I could store it inside one of my bottle’s compartments, right next to my Chinese tiles or my game cards, I would. That way I could save a small scrap of our friendship for when I no longer have it.

  He opens the front car door for me. “I’d help you up from the ground if I could.”

  “I appreciate that thought.” I get to my feet and slide inside. “Let’s try to reach the bus station in Portland before something else malfunctions on this fool vehicle.”

  We set off once more. I reach over the seat into the back and retrieve Wefler, my new bear, and curl my arms around its soft fur. Minutes stretch out. Time passes. We draw closer to what I trust is a more reliable form of transportation. I’ll be relieved when we arrive in Portland.

  I give Nathan a sideways glance. “Is your abdomen all right, where you were punched?”

  He shrugs. “I’ll live. Won’t feel like chowing down anytime soon, though. What about you? I hope we didn’t use up too much of your powers.”

  “I’m aching, but not badly. Those wishes weren’t too complex or strenuous.”

  “Glad to hear it. I wonder what those two losers are doing right now. I’m sure no one will believe them if they tell anyone what happened.” He chuckles. When he checks his rear mirror, the sound flattens into a growl. “Give me a stinking break. This can’t be good.”

  “What?” I twist to see. A set of lights are flashing, perched on the vehicle following us.

  “Cop.” Nathan slows, driving onto the side of the road. The muscles of his arms and shoulders tighten. “I wasn’t speeding, so I don’t know what this guy’s problem is.”

  I discover the “cop” he speaks of is a man of law, or rather a woman of law. When she arrives at Nathan’s window in a crisp uniform with silver badges, I hug my bear and try to smile.

  The woman peers in with bored eyes at Nathan. “Are you aware you have a tail-light completely missing, sir?”

  “Uh, no,” Nathan says. “This is my friend’s car. He’s letting me borrow it because mine’s on the fritz.”

  “License and registration, please.”

  Nathan fumbles for his wallet. “Just a sec. Registration papers should be in the glove box,” he says with a nod toward a small front compartment, which jerks me into a panic.

  He’s talking to me. Wishing it. I assume these official papers will prove this is a legitimate car so he won’t be in trouble with the law. I try to conjure fast. White paper. Black lettering. Distant files recorded. According to Nathan’s thoughts, an imaginary guy named Steve Myerson should be listed as the owner—

  My abilities depart, cut off like they’ve been axed.

  What under the heavens?

  An inconceivable noise sounds in my ears. It’s the reverberation of a gong. My bottle’s distinct gong.

  Against my will, I dissolve into smoke, summoned by the overriding authority of my bottle.

  Chapter 18

  I’m whisked through inner space at a dizzying rate, faster than any transfer. My minds spins. Who on earth has summoned me? It can’t be Faruq already, can it?

  Oh, please, oh please no.

  Still clutching my Wefler bear, I solidify in a dim room, and blink to try to determine my surroundings. Quietness. Curtains drawn tight. Rumpled blankets, slingshots, diminutive ninja figurines made of plastic, and a dirt-encrusted soccer ball. The room smells like peanut butter. The human who stands before me holding my bottle is suspiciously short in stature and deceptively angelic of face.

  “I knew you were a genie!” David says in a low, gleeful voice. “Nobody cleans up spaghetti sauce that fast, or fixes a bowl with no glue or cracks. Or is named Adeelah.”

  My insides start to smolder. Seeing Nathan’s little brother standing before me as my master is beyond rational belief, as well as leagues past the limits of my current patience. I’m forced to bow before him and recite my spiel. My teeth clench for the entire duration of my introduction. “I live to serve you, Master. Your wishes are mine to fulfill.”

  “Cool.” He cackles. “I’ve always wanted my own genie. Too bad I don’t have Show and Tell in the summer. Hey, aren’t you supposed to be a guy with big bulgy muscles and pajama pants?”

  I straighten and continue to glare. This is ludicrous. I’ve never had a master so young, and this boy’s timing couldn’t be worse. Among other more dire and serious matters, I’m not sure I completed Nathan’s registration papers before I vanished. I can’t imagine what the “cop” thought when I vanished from the seat. Or how Nathan explained it.

  David points to my bear. “Why are you holding that baby toy?”

  I put my free hand on my hip. “Nathan gave it to me, and you’ve just stranded him far away in a car that’s not functioning well. With a cop asking him for important papers.”

  He blows air out, vibrating his lips and making a fluttery noise. “His stupid car always breaks down. Mom says he should stick closer to Bandon from now on.”

  A strident voice comes from down the stairs, beyond the closed door. “Daaavid! Your mother’s here. I’m leaving now.”

  “Bye, Aunt Mean!” he calls.

  “David Michael Turner,” a different voice says. His mother’s. “That is not a respectful title for Aunt Jean. Get down here at once.”

  Anything could happen now. I must find a way to get my bottle back to Nathan. I wish I could tell his mother the truth, but I don’t dare. Not this close to handing my bottle over to Faruq and being reunited for a lifetime with Karim. Not this close to saving Nathan and his family. Maybe I can leave a note in his room, letting him know it’s his brother who has my bottle. He’ll see it when he returns home.

  If he returns home.

  David pushes my bottle into a familiar backpack and shoves it under his bed.

  “How did you get that backpack?” I ask as I trail him from the room. “It was locked up at the YMCA.”

  “I told Aunt Jean I had to get it for Nathan.” He whispers fast, looking smug. “Then I told the skinny guy who always gives us the racquets that Nathan was sick and needed his pack. I knew he had something special in t
here, since he acted all antsy about it when we went to play racquetball. Wouldn’t let me touch it. He brought it home, and then you were there. Doing magic stuff. And he took it away when you guys left to go to the teen center.”

  So much for Nathan’s secure storage place. I’d like to shake David’s devious little body until his teeth rattle. And the YMCA worker’s, too.

  Mrs. Turner stands at the bottom of the stairs. Her glower changes into puzzlement as she notices me. “Why, hello, Adeelah. My sister didn’t tell me you were here. I thought you were with Nathan.”

  “I…er, was.” I grope for a rational excuse. “He let me get a ride here with someone else yesterday, since he wasn’t certain he’d finish the repairs and make it back in time today.”

  “Oh. Well, he texted me earlier to say he should be home around six o’clock.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” I dearly hope he makes it in that time frame.

  “What happened to your knee?” Mrs. Turner bends to examine my scrape and ripped jeans. “My, that looks painful.”

  “Um, I fell down a mountainside.” Not the truth, but close enough. I’m surprised I haven’t defaulted back to wearing my silken genie dress, as is usual when I change masters. It’s yet another sign that my powers are seriously fading.

  She makes a tsk’ing noise. “There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen, bottom drawer. Feel free to use it.”

  “Thank you.” Nathan must get his thoughtfulness from his mother.

  David bounces around, his rubbery shoes squeaking. “Great news, Mom! Adeelah’s gonna babysit me. So you can go back to the shop by yourself.” He throws me a look that lets me know I need to agree.

  Mrs. Turner beams. “Really, Adeelah? That’d be wonderful. I’d be glad to pay you for your time. He’s always so bored at the shop.”

  I can tell David wants me to agree, so I obey his unspoken wish. “I’m glad to help out, Mrs. Turner.”

  David’s mother nods, smiling. When she faces her son, her cheerfulness fades. “We’ll talk about your behavior with Aunt Jean when I get home.”

  He scuffs his shoes on the floor. “I was just trying to have fun, Mom, but she didn’t like it.” His voice is fainter and meeker than I’ve ever heard it.