Bottled Page 7

  “Yes, both of them must be drinking it. Karim takes it so he can be reunited with me. Faruq wants to live forever. While I long to see Karim, they might both be on that island, and Faruq’s ruthless. He’ll do anything to obtain my services and keep from dying. You might be in direct danger from him. So for those many reasons, I’m less than elated.”

  I lapse into silence and Nathan sinks into deep thought. A thousand-and-one curses. I shudder to think of Karim being forced to meet with Faruq every century to obtain the elixir. I’d rather he had no contact whatsoever with the man. If they’re together, it must be time to make a new batch.

  And in drinking it, Karim condones everything it stands for. I detest that, even though it allows us a way we can be together. At least long ago he promised me he’d never be involved with the djinn entrapment and ingredient preparation. I rest my forehead against my free hand. My wrists ache. My head throbs. I long to curl up on my cushions and sleep so I’ll be stronger to deal with everything I’ve learned. “I need time to sort this through. This is a serious problem to untangle, and I’m tired.”

  Nathan straightens, alert again. “You’re right. Forget the town tour. Let’s think on it and get back together tomorrow night after dinner. I can’t during the day since I’ll have to watch my squirrely brother David.”

  Relief sweeps over me. Nathan’s perceptive. And thoughtful.

  He gives me a shy half-grin. “Oh, and after I tell Beagley you have a boyfriend, maybe we can all get together so you can sound out Cherie and see what she thinks of me.”

  “I’ll do that.” It’s the least I can do after he’s been so kind.

  He checks on both sides and out the back of his Mustang. “No one’s around. Feel free to poof back into your bottle at will.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, and place his phone on the seat before I dissolve into smoke and nothingness.

  Chapter 8

  In the security of my bottle, I pace circles around my center table. I nibble on dates before reclining on my cushions, and finally fall into a fitful sleep. When I awaken some time later, my thoughts are more refreshed and in order. And some of those thoughts seem far too good to be true.

  Karim. I’ve found him at last! And he’s alive.

  I leap up and dance around, my bracelets jangling. I’m so close to meeting my beloved—the thought is beyond belief. Will I be able to see him soon, speak to him? Will he look the same, act the same, be the same Karim I’ve loved all these past centuries?

  Take heart, my beloved. I will find you.

  He’s searching, as I have been. Our persistence has paid off and I must visit this island soon. I can’t sit around waiting for things to happen. And I must go alone. With Faruq on the island, it’ll be frightening and risky enough for me to transfer there. While I know he can’t detain me physically, I don’t want to have any dealings with him or give him inadvertent clues to track me. I must be careful.

  A pox on Faruq and him craving my services. I understand why mine are better than a djinn’s, since djinns are often spiteful and angry after being tricked into bondage, but I still don’t like it.

  A scraping and simultaneous gong above my head catches me unawares. I wriggle into dusky smoke and rise.

  I regain my form in a room featuring an unmade bed, strewn shirts, paper scenes of leafy forests on the walls, and an hourglass-shaped guitar. Nathan stands before me dressed but barefoot, wearing a distracted frown, his muscles tense. At his feet lie a pair of jeans and a shirt that have been doused in something thick, red, and basil-scented.

  “I need your help!” he whispers. “I was trying to make dinner before Mom got home, and David threw his soccer ball into the kitchen and knocked spaghetti sauce all over. Broke a bowl, too. He’s not even supposed to throw that ball in the house.”

  Ah, here’s where I rescue him in his time of need. “Clean-up assistance needed?”

  “Please. David’s doing major time-out in his room, so the coast is clear.”

  I de-sauce the clothes on the floor while he slips on socks and stuffs my bottle in his backpack. He buries his backpack under a pile of clothing in his closet. I follow him downstairs, taking care to make my footsteps light so his brother won’t wonder how I suddenly appeared in Nathan’s room. The kitchen is a calamity of warm sauce that is puddled on the floor, dripping from the cupboards, and spattered across the walls.

  “Welcome to disaster central.” Nathan stands in the kitchen archway and eyes the staircase. “I swear, I’m gonna strangle that kid before he reaches the age of ten. If he wants me to keep watching him instead of Mom eagle-eyeing him at the shop, he’d better knock it off.”

  I raise my arms and concentrate on whisking away the mess. Abbi or Omaa would’ve whipped my sibling’s backside for an incident like this, careless accident or not. Even my kindhearted brother Jamaal would’ve at least twisted the ear of a brother who ruined our meal. David’s a lucky boy to live in the modern world today, and be a part of Nathan’s family.

  Next I repair the broken bowl and clean the cooking pot. I’m refilling the pot with fresh sauce and meat when I realize that if Nathan’s overseeing David, it has to be Tuesday evening. My fingers falter. I’ve slept the cycle of an entire day. I don’t usually sleep that long when I have a master and boredom isn’t my sole companion. What’s wrong with me?

  “Mom’s pulling into the driveway,” Nathan says. “If you stay for dinner, that’ll give you a reason to be here.”

  “Or I could go back into my bottle,” I say between my teeth while conjuring garlic bread.

  “Nah, you’d just have to show up later somehow, since I told Beagley and Cherie we’d hang out with them tonight. Oh, quick—change into a blue shirt. No girl wears the same thing two days in a row.”

  With a terse flip of my wrist, I transform my shirt. If we’re socializing with his friends this evening, I don’t see how I’ll be able to take a trip to The Bahamas. I can’t bear to wait until tomorrow or later in the week to see Karim. This infernal outing had better not last too long.

  I sense footsteps approaching on the porch outside. The front door whooshes opens.

  “Hi, Mom,” Nathan calls. “Adeelah’s here, and we’ve made spaghetti. I hope you don’t mind if she stays to chow.”

  “Not at all.” His mother sounds more pleased than the occasion warrants. She comes into view at the kitchen archway. “Smells delicious. And the house looks so clean and new these days, Nathan. It’s like a different house. You’re doing a great job housekeeping.”

  Nathan ducks his head and drums his fingers on the counter.

  “Hello again, Mrs. Turner.” I keep my words even and perky, even though I feel more like spitting like a disgruntled camel. I’m staying for dinner, indeed. Surely Nathan remembers I’m not touchable. It’s going to be disastrous if his mother or brother happens to bump into me.

  Further conversation is drowned out by thumps and squeals on the stairway.

  “Mom, you’re home!” a young voice cries. David, I presume.

  A tousled-and-brown-haired figure launches itself upon Mrs. Turner and clutches her in an impressive death hug.

  My chafing melts into envy as I watch her squeeze her son. Her head bends close to his. They have such fondness for each other, a sheer delight at being reunited. When I meet Karim we won’t be able to hug. There’ll be no tight embrace or tender caresses, no sweet kisses.

  No touching whatsoever. What a miserable notion.

  I turn away and stare out the window.

  Nathan hands me a synthetic jug of milk and a glass to fill for David’s drink. With an effort, I focus on the task. The milk flows out, white and bubbly and not at all natural looking. I examine it for a handful of seconds.

  “Who’s that?” a shrill voice behind me asks. I don’t have to turn around to know there’s a small pale finger aimed at my spine.

  “Mind your manners, David,” his mother says. “This is Nathan’s friend, Adeelah.”

&n
bsp; I twist to face the boy, and take in the sight of what I assume is a deceitfully angelic countenance. Big fawn eyes. Soft ruffled hair. The only hint of the devilish is a rather pointed chin.

  “Hello, David,” I say. “I helped Nathan make a big pot of spaghetti. Are you hungry?”

  His gaze darts like a lightning bug around the clean kitchen. His mouth curves into a careful smile. “Sure. Adeelah.”

  My reference to the spaghetti is a subtle warning that I’m aware of his misbehavior and the sauce catastrophe, but I can’t tell if it’s made much of a difference. I don’t like the way he says my name. The word is drawn-out and sneaky, as if something is hidden behind it.

  “David, wash up and set another place at the table for Adeelah, please,” his mother says.

  I scuttle away from the sink to stay out of bumping range while David carries out his orders.

  As he washes, he squints at me, then over to where Nathan is removing a parmesan container from the refrigerator. “Nathan’s got a girlfriend,” he chants, his manner more confident. “Nathan’s got a girlfriend.”

  “She’s a friend, Pipsqueak,” Nathan says. “I just met her yesterday.”

  “Suuuure.” David plunks a fork onto the table. He repeats his annoying chant a half-dozen more times while adding a plate and a napkin.

  Mrs. Turner flutters a hand at him. “Stop that, David Michael Turner. Let’s not embarrass Adeelah by teasing her.”

  “Sorry.” He stops his chant, but his sly smile remains.

  We seat ourselves at the table. I keep my elbows in and my legs tucked close to my chair, since David is swinging his feet while he twirls noodles onto his fork.

  Dinner passes with relative ease after we dispense with the necessary fabrications of how I came to be in Bandon. After that, I make polite yet distracted conversation. My mind drifts to Karim. His broad shoulders. His thick, curly hair and strong arms. His deep voice that said such sweet things to me by the garden well so long ago. And now he’s on that island in The Bahamas. I hardly notice the taste of the spaghetti and garlic bread.

  Nathan checks his watch as we finish. “Gotta go, Mom. We’re meeting Beagley and Cherie at the teen center.”

  “Try to be back by midnight,” his mother says.

  “Sure. Just gotta grab my backpack.” He’s upstairs and back down in a flash. We leave as Mrs. Turner begins loading the dishwasher while humming a light tune. David, on the other hand, stands by the kitchen counter. With an amazed and suspicious expression, he’s inspecting the bowl that not long ago had been broken into nine pieces.

  * * *

  The evening breeze is damp and cool as we drive the Mustang to the YMCA to drop off my bottle. Nathan wishes my jacket on me so I don’t have to go Inside to fetch it. He also instructs me to conjure another pair of jeans, a sweater, and four feminine shirts. I visualize them into my bottle, placing them in neat stacks atop my cushions. For tonight’s excursion, he swaps my black shoes for some springy lavender-and-black shoes he calls “sneakers.”

  “Now you look like a real teen girl in the twenty-first century.” Nathan chuckles. “I’m borrowing ideas from Cherie’s clothing. She’s loads more fashion-conscious than I am.”

  “I appreciate your efforts.” It’s true I may appear authentic, but this sham is similar to Bello ordering me to pose as a servant, a masquerade to make believe I live in the human realm. While it’s refreshing to wear something different, I can’t ever let myself grow comfortable.

  Except to grant my master’s wishes, I don’t belong here.

  At the YMCA, Nathan whips indoors with his backpack. I tap my foot against the car flooring, my leg as restless as my mood. When he returns, he drives along the main road toward the outskirts of town.

  “Since we planned to go out tonight,” he says, “I took David to the YMCA this afternoon to play racquetball and got your bottle early. Good thing, or you wouldn’t have been there to save the day in the kitchen. Major thanks for that, by the way.”

  “I’m glad to be of service.” Truly, I am. He’s an easy master to please.

  “Um, sorry we’re doing my mission before yours. Cherie has to work tomorrow night, and Beagley…well, Beagley’s an impatient git. We’ll check out The Bahamas tomorrow as soon as my shift at the shop is done. I promise.”

  “That’s acceptable,” I say, repentant I was displeased with him earlier. One day’s delay won’t make a difference, not when I’ve been waiting almost ten centuries. I should be glad to have this kind of opportunity at all with a master. My servitude with Nathan is unique, more like a partnership than a master-servant relationship. It’s a curious thing.

  “Did you inform Beagley that I’m spoken for?” I ask. When he hesitates and rubs the back of his neck, I narrow my eyes. That tends to be his standard mannerism of discomfort.

  “Yeah, I did,” he says. “I really did.”

  “And?”

  “He was bummed for about two whole minutes. Then he decided it didn’t matter, and he’d act so charming—his word, not mine—that he’d steal your heart away from your guy.”

  I expel an unladylike snort. “I’m unsure why you’re friends with this deluded fellow.”

  Nathan grows sober. “I’ll tell you why, even though it’s an embarrassing story. I hung around him for a couple of years, calling him my friend and mooching off him like everyone else did. His mom’s a software executive and his family’s got serious money. He took me to movies, bought me video games, and met me for grub down at Stark’s. It was a blast. Then three years ago my dad died. Everyone at school got all hedgy, except Beagley. Even Cherie was kind of weird about it. Beagley stuck with me. Treated me like a normal guy instead of a glass egg.”

  Ah. There’s more to the green-haired boy than meets the eye. That, however, doesn’t help my present predicament. “So he’s supportive, but he doesn’t like limitations or people telling him no?”

  “You nailed it. He’s used to getting whatever he wants. Right away. That includes when he wants people to do things for him, as well as when he bought his sporty four-door Jaguar. He’s the bullheaded type. I’ll try to keep him busy tonight, but I warn ya, he’ll be trying hard to impress the socks off you.”

  I nod, although I can’t see how my socks have anything to do with Beagley’s attempts to win my affection. “I hope he doesn’t try to touch me.”

  “Got that covered.” He drives into a parking area, maneuvers his Mustang next to Beagley’s gleaming ruby car, and switches his car to silent.

  “How?” I ask. “Did you tell him I loathe being touched, or that I have a dreadful, contagious disease?”

  He winks. “Nope. I told him if he touched you, I’d break his knuckles.”

  Chapter 9

  Artificial lights glow like a row of suns along the windows at the front of the teen center. On our way into the building, I edge closer to Nathan—but not too close. I hope it’s not crowded inside, or I’ll have a difficult time making it through the evening without being touched. There are too many chances someone will reveal my secret by accident. I can’t risk losing Nathan as my master this close to being reunited with Karim.

  Coming here is a bad idea. Colossally bad.

  I lean toward Nathan. “Perhaps a better idea for you would be making a wish to see if Cherie is attracted to you, and search on your phone,” I whisper. “It worked for locating Karim.”

  Nathan holds the door open for me. “Nah, this is different. I wouldn’t trust any app—or some voodoo response that shows up like a Magic Eight Ball. I need the info straight from the source. Hey, unless you can grant me powers to read her thoughts, or for you to read her thoughts.”

  “I can’t change anything about you or me. But I’m already more perceptive than most humans.”

  “Cool. Good luck, then.”

  As he turns away, I grimace, and a sinking feeling goes all the way through me, from skin to innards to bones. If it weren’t for the chance of seeing Karim tomorrow, I’d discou
rage this daft meeting.

  “Hey, Adeelah and Nathan!” a boisterous voice calls from across the room. Beagley’s green-stained head bobs into view, joined by Cherie’s blond one.

  Nathan raises a hand in greeting. We walk toward them, passing others lounging by food and game machines. The place is a turmoil of conversation, clanking metal, and constant ringing. It smells of sweat and perfume. Other aromas of corn and salty oil hang heavy in the air.

  “I got us some chips and Coke,” Beagley says when we reach them.

  My eyes widen. Oh, no. Coke. This is unforeseen, not to mention disappointing. I hope Nathan doesn’t partake in the substance. “Coke. Isn’t that…illegal?”

  Nathan and Cherie break into noisy laughter, while Beagley grabs a can from a table and pops off a metal tab shaped like a teardrop.

  “Here you go,” he says with a gallant air. “Your illegal drug, miss.”

  Taking care to grab the can below his fingers, I read the words on it. Coke. I sniff at the small opening. The substance is dark brown and smells sweet. I surmise there must be more than one meaning for the word “coke,” not just Rehema’s version. I’ve made a fool of myself.

  “What do you think of this place?” Cherie asks me, sitting on a bench with a Coke can of her own. “This and the new YMCA are pretty much all Bandon has for entertainment. It still doesn’t have a movie theater. We have to drive to Coos Bay or North Bend for that.”

  “It’s lively here.” Being agreeable seems a good idea.

  Beagley’s energy amplifies into my senses, surging with enthusiasm. “Dude, we should all go see a movie this weekend. I’ve heard Renegade Gearheads is good.”

  “Boo,” Cherie says. “I’d rather see Reaching Eternity.”

  “Gag me. Isn’t that a historical documentary or something?” Beagley asks. “I’m so not going to that one.”

  Nathan smiles over at Cherie, warm and puppy-like. “I’ll take you to Eternity.”

  As Cherie smiles back, Beagley snorts. “Fine, you two boring blokes go see the documentary,” he says. “Adeelah and I can go see Gearheads.”