As You Wish (14 page)

“SO I'VE MADE
it through another day without the jinn police coming after me,” Lawrence comments over pizza. It's Friday, and the stars overhead are visible through the greenhouse roof. For the first time, I like this room. Viola is sitting on the floor; Lawrence sprawls across one couch as I slowly sink into the other.

“We still shouldn't go out. Getting in a car is practically asking for a car wreck press,” I say.

“These ifrit guys sound brutal,” Lawrence notes. He's trying to sound casual, but there's the smallest hint of fear in his voice.

“As long as we can keep you physically safe, you'll be fine,” I say in what I hope is a comforting voice. Lawrence doesn't seem totally convinced.

Viola's cell phone rings again. Aaron. Not surprising. He's been calling since we slunk out of the Expo, avoiding him. I have to feel a little sorry for him—I did quite a job when I granted Viola's wish for his love. Poor guy's heart must be breaking that she's ignoring him.

“Maybe you should just answer it,” Lawrence says in annoyance. There's a party tonight, according to Lawrence, that a college-age friend of Aaron's is throwing. Both Lawrence and Viola are supposed to be there, but neither wanted to go—I'm not sure whether it's because of the impending press or because they're just sick of football players and beer.

This is what I'll miss,
I think as I watch Viola and Lawrence bicker over answering the phone. So casual, so lighthearted, even though Lawrence is risking everything just so she can be happy. So I can be happy. Mortal relationships—this is what makes them beautiful. How can I go back to Caliban after this? Jinn relationships don't compare—I presume that this is
our legendary punishment.

Viola gives in and answers the phone, then vanishes to another room.

“I didn't think I'd ever feel this sorry for Aaron Moor,” Lawrence says as he watches her go.

“He loves her. He thinks she makes him whole. It's got to be hard for him just to let her go,” I answer, my voice low and eyes down.

“Well. The course of true love never did run smoothly, I suppose,” Lawrence answers, though it's not clear if he's speaking on Aaron's behalf or mine. Either way, I agree.

“I was thinking,” Lawrence says, glancing down. “Viola summoned you by having a strong wish, right? Something huge. Then you got sort of…assigned to her?”

I nod. How long ago was that?

“Okay, so what if, after she makes the final wish, I figure out some way to wish or…you figure out some way to reassign yourself to her. Could you come back?”

I smile. “Viola can't summon me because she's already been my master. That's why she forgets me—the third wish severs
the connection between Viola and me. And even if you did manage to summon me, what then? Viola will have forgotten about me already. So I grant your wishes and vanish again, then you
both
will have forgotten me. I don't want that for you any more than I want it for Viola.”

But I appreciate the effort more than I know how to say.

“I could hold off on wishing—” Lawrence attempts.

“So that they use Viola to press you?” I ask. Lawrence sighs in defeat as Viola returns to the room, a look of annoyance on her face.

“Aaron has to have gotten the message now,” Viola says, tossing her phone on the coffee table and glaring at it. She drops to the floor, legs folded beneath her.

“I dunno,” Lawrence answers. “Guys are pretty dense.”

Viola nods and leans back against my knees, the tips of her ears turning the faintest shade of carnation pink when our eyes meet. I touch her hair lightly as Lawrence collects our empty dinner plates.

“We should do something. I can't just sit around waiting for evil genies to make me cry,” Lawrence calls as he makes his
way to the kitchen. As he begins to bang around, rinsing dishes, Viola turns to face me.

“Is it safe? I mean, for us to go out with the…ifrit out there?” She says
ifrit
like the word itself frightens her, and I try to make my smile reassuring.

“It doesn't matter where we are, really. We're just as safe out there as in here. We could go to your party, if that's what you want.”

Viola wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “Not a chance.”

“What about this?” Lawrence asks, reappearing in the kitchen doorway with a half-eaten bag of jumbo marshmallows and a box of sparklers. I raise my eyebrows, and Viola laughs.

“We haven't done that since…well, since we were dating,” she says.

Lawrence looks uncomfortable for a glimmer of a moment, but his expression fades into a grin when Viola stands and offers me a hand to do the same. Lawrence opens the back door, and Viola ushers me forward silently.

Lawrence's backyard is filled with faded gnome statues
and trees surrounded by little wire borders. The smell of cut grass hangs heavily in the air, and we walk along a tiny, worn path until we reach the border of the yard. It's dark, but a few streetlights shine through the trees and I can make out a wooden fence on the edge of the property. There's a shallow fire pit that I can barely see; Lawrence and Viola drop down into the pine straw on either side. I sit beside Viola as Lawrence rips through the sparkler packaging. He removes three like he's drawing a sword and leans to hand the rest to me.

“I forgot to grab a lighter,” Lawrence says as I take three sparklers, rolling them between my fingers.

“I'll go get it,” Viola says as she withdraws her own sparklers. The space next to me feels uncomfortably empty as she begins to walk away.

“Wait,” I say, holding up a hand to stop her. “I'll get it.” I beckon for her to lower her sparklers and place my fingertips on the top of a crimson tinted one. My fingers heat up and glow orange, until her sparkler kicks to life in a spray of red and gold. Viola smiles and touches my head lightly as she lights one of my sparklers off hers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lawrence says over the hiss of sulfur and charcoal burning. “But can you manage a campfire, Prometheus?”

I laugh and point my sparkler toward the fire pit like it's a wand, and a few dry leaves smoke, then crinkle to life somewhat undramatically. Lawrence pulls several logs and broken furniture pieces from a covered pile behind him, and soon a tiny fire is crackling, casting our faces in a dull orange glow. Viola's eyes flicker in the darkness, and she tosses her finished sparkler into the flames, moving closer to me as she does so. Lawrence catches my eyes and smiles a little before opening the bag of marshmallows.

“So this is how it works,” Lawrence explains to me. “You light a sparkler and write something in the air with it.”

“A secret,” Viola corrects him. “It doesn't have to be a big secret or anything, just…a secret. Preferably a short one.”

“Right,” Lawrence continues. “So you write it in the air with the sparkler, and whoever can guess it first gets a marshmallow to roast.”

“I should add that we invented this game when we were about eight years old—” Viola begins.

“No,” I interrupt and grin. “No, I like the sound of it. Besides, I can read you both, which probably means I'll get most of the marshmallows anyway.”

They laugh together like this hadn't occurred to them, and then Lawrence touches the tip of a sparkler to the fire. It ignites in a shower of neon green and he leans forward, swirling it in the air like an orchestra conductor. The fire blazes stronger as the sawed off legs of an old chair catch the flames.

“I told,” Viola spells out Lawrence's first two words. He writes the phrase again. For a moment, I try to read Lawrence's wishes instead of the sparkler, but it somehow feels intrusive and I quickly turn back to the green trail of light.

“Mother? Your mother?” I guess at the next two words. Lawrence nods and writes the final part again as the sparkler threatens to burn up.

“You told your mom you're gay!” Viola nearly shouts in disbelief.

Lawrence laughs and tosses her a marshmallow, which she sticks on a bent-up wire coat hanger and thrusts into the fire. “This morning,” Lawrence explains. “It didn't go so well, but
it's better than all the hiding, I guess. But if she sends me to one of those gay-reform schools, you'd better use those Prometheus powers to break me out, Jinn,” he finishes, grinning.

Viola laughs as her marshmallow burns and the outside crinkles like paper; she pulls it from the fire, blows on the charred section, and delicately pulls it off the hanger. She gives Lawrence a long look, but remains silent; I get the impression she doesn't need to say she's proud—he understands.

“Your turn, Vi,” Lawrence breaks the quiet. Viola swallows the marshmallow, and then holds the end of her sparkler in the fire until it crackles and ignites.

Her letters are more deliberate than Lawrence's, like she's trying to read her own words just as we are. She looks through the violet swirls to meet my eyes meaningfully, and her lips part, like she wants to break the rules of the game and tell me. I immediately know what she's writing, but not because I'm actively trying to read her; I just see her so clearly, somehow. Like I've known her for ages.

“You broke up with Aaron,” I say, trying to calm the smile that yanks at the corners of my mouth.

“That's not a secret,” Lawrence complains, and throws a marshmallow at Viola.

“Yes, it is!” Viola answers as the marshmallow rolls into the fire. “I mean, you knew I was going to, I'm sure, but…I actually just told him it's over. I wanted you both to know before…
if
Jinn leaves.”

I nod and gaze into the fire. It's selfish, really, but knowing she isn't with Aaron anymore is comforting; the magic binding him to her will quickly fade. I'd wondered how long Viola would be able to resist Aaron's “charms” after she forgot about me, and us, and…everything. It's hard to ignore the kind of devotion a wish can create.

I refuse the marshmallow Lawrence offers me, and instead light one of my sparklers with my fingertips, without ever looking away from Viola. I write the words over and over in bright blue script. Viola's eyes follow my hand, then shine in comprehension.

“I w—,” she begins to translate the secret, but stops herself short, clamping a hand over her mouth.

“Wait, what?” Lawrence asks. I laugh and turn the sparkler
toward him. It takes only two repetitions till he understands the secret Viola couldn't say aloud.

“I wish I were human,” Lawrence translates for me. I nod and toss the sparkler in the fire. Lawrence smiles and puts a marshmallow on a hanger for himself.

“Not fair. I guessed it first,” Viola pretends to complain.

“Yeah, but that wasn't a real secret either,” complains Lawrence. “You both suck at this game.”

“You're just mad because you're going to gay-reform school,” Viola teases. Lawrence eats his marshmallows melodramatically, until Viola jumps up and snatches the bag from beside him. Lawrence is quick to lunge toward her in response, and I have to pull my legs in to avoid tripping them as they clumsily chase each other around the campfire. Viola pauses to toss a handful of marshmallows back at Lawrence, and when she's concentrating on her aim, I snatch the bag out of her hand and hold it behind my back.

“Who's got the power now?” I grin as I stand up and peg both of them with marshmallows.

“You,” Lawrence says, dropping his hands. “I'm pretty
positive you can kick my ass.”

“Me,” Viola snickers. “Don't think I'm above giving you a direct order if it means winning the marshmallow war.”

“You wouldn't,” I say, stepping closer to her and trying to hide my smile. She comes up only to my shoulders, but she narrows her eyes in a poor attempt to look stern. I laugh and become invisible, stepping out of her reach as she snatches at the now empty air before her.

“Wish for the bag back, Vi,” Lawrence urges her, eyes darting around as if I'll sneak up on him. “There's more mythological men where he comes from.”

Viola laughs and folds her arms. “All right, fine. Jinn wins,” she says in a mocking tone, then drops back to the ground. “But you're lucky I like you more than marshmallows, or you'd already be gone.” I grin and reappear just behind Viola's shoulder, then toss the bag back to Lawrence. Viola turns to give me a fake exasperated look, her hair falling carelessly in front of her eyes in a way that's completely unlike a female jinn. “Stupid no-mermaid rules,” she mutters, eyes glittering.

“I agree,” I answer. Viola leans in to warm her hands by the fire.

“Are you cold?” I ask. She nods, and I hold up a hand, ready to conjure a blanket.

“Wait,” Lawrence says. “I'll go get one for you from the house. I need something to drink after that marshmallow feast anyway.”

“I can do that, too,” I say, holding up my other hand.

“No.” Lawrence stops me. “I don't care what superpowers you have. My mother's tendency toward homophobia aside, she makes amazing sweet tea that no one can duplicate.”

“I'll go,” I say—somehow, I feel a little noble for taking care of her. Stupid, I know, but I like the feeling.

“Really? Thanks. There's a blanket by the door,” Lawrence says.

I brush myself off and walk back to the greenhouse. Viola laughs—the deep laugh that she never used with Aaron. It's soothing, like a medication for the worry of a final wish, and I hesitate to shut the greenhouse door behind me, waiting for the laughter to end. I grab the nearest afghan, which is imprinted
with the image of a cocker spaniel puppy, and turn toward the kitchen for Lawrence's drink.

“I'm so sorry, my friend.”

I know the voice. Each syllable is an elegantly enunciated sound. I hate the voice. It reaches into me and strangles the warmth that Viola created, destroys the hope for more time with her. I drop the cocker spaniel blanket and turn around.