Fiction River: Fantasy Adrift (9 page)

Half...?!?
The jiniri twisted and pulled and strained and raged, but her tether would not break.

The challenger glanced nervously over his shoulder, but traffic whizzed past, ignoring any shadows in the almond grove, not wishing to interfere with any exchange.
These shores were where boatmen landed, bringing in their catches from the sea, melding straightaway into the out-of-control traffic of the city.

“
No one is coming to your rescue,
”
the priest said as he lit the cigar and held the smoldering stick between them.
It came alive with the vudu spell he kept in his smoke.

The challenger coughed in the poisoned cloud and lifted one arm to reach inside his shirt.
He scratched his chest, trying to draw the knife from its sheath that he kept hidden next to his heart—the jiniri knew.
Being jinn, she could see what lay inside.

But the vudu priest could not.
He snickered with his misplaced confidence.

Slowly, sluggishly, the challenger pulled the knife out, catching the last rays of the sinking sun.
He pointed the tip at a crooked angle before the priest.
“
You will pay me for what is mine,
”
the challenger said.
“
You wish to pay with your life?
”

“
I wish you
’
d put that away,
”
the priest said.

He wished.
He
wished
!
The jiniri soared with a mighty leap.
The tether binding her splintered apart as the challenger
’
s shaking arm slid his knife back into the sheath.
Too late, the vudu priest realized his mistake.
Swarthiness drained from his face, and the slash of his grin collapsed into an ooooh of dismay.

Late!

Too late.

The vudu priest abandoned his altar in the almond grove and darted for the street, dodging the buses, the taxis, the trucks, this way and that.
Across the street, he was as good as gone, disappearing into the cracks and holes of the rebar city.

Along with the jiniri
’
s wings.

If she were winged, as she was meant to be, he could not escape.
But she wasn
’
t complaining.
At least she was finally free.
She picked up the vessel that had contained her for countless time and glared at the challenger.
Sweat beaded on his lip.
His eyes darted past her, behind her, to the sea, where a sputtering rumble sounded.
She turned to look over her shoulder and saw a fishing boat approach, flirting with the rocky edge of the malecón.

In that instant of her distraction, the challenger thudded into her, crashing her to the spongy ground, knocking the copper vessel loose from her hands.
The fury that she
’
d kept pent-up too long during the tenure of her bondage fueled her with a strength greater than human adrenaline.
She pushed him away and rolled out from under his pin.

The fishing boat rocked in the waves of its wake.
“
Eh!
”
a man
’
s voice shouted.

She flashed herself to the pair of men on the boat, and when they saw her curvaceous form, they forgot about steering the boat.
It bumped against a rock.

Perhaps the jiniri form could be useful after all.

“
Where
’
s the old man?
”
said one of the men on the boat.
“
We got the package for him. You were supposed to keep him here, waiting for us to deliver.
”

“
I
’
ll take it to him,
”
said the challenger, picking up the jiniri
’
s vessel.
“
Give it to me.
”

“
Give it back!
”
The jiniri lunged at the challenger, but he jerked the copper container away from her.

“
What the hell are you doing?
”
said the boatman with a grunt of disapproval.

The challenger laughed with the same malice as the vudu priest had shown.
“
Being his assistant.
”

“
Then give us proof of the spell he promised us.
”

He tossed the copper vessel toward the boat, missed, and it plopped into the sea, floating there.
“
Do you see any cops?
You
’
re safe, man.
”

“
What about
her
?
”
The boatman pointed at the jiniri.

“
She doesn
’
t count.
She
’
s a woman.
”

Deep within, she felt the simmer of rage.
She watched the last of her coppery prison sink under the waves.
She no longer needed the vessel except as a symbol of her freedom.
Without the symbol, she felt trapped.

She would not be anchored here for eternity.

“
Come and find out,
”
she said.
The well of her essence stirred, and the fire of her power seeped through her being, carried on her mango breath, tempting them in closer.

“
Don
’
t worry,
”
said the challenger.
“
You can bring the coca ashore.
Who
’
s going to stop you?
No one here.
Man, this is the new corridor.
”

The boatmen snorted.
“
What coca?
We
’
ve got puff fish.
For the old man
’
s poisons.
”

“
Lying assholes.
I know what you bring.
”

“
We can
’
t get anymore of anything if the Haitian doesn
’
t protect us with his spells.
The seas are too dangerous.
”

“
I
’
m telling you.
Everything
’
s good.
Plenty of buyers here.
Plenty of bribes.
No one gets caught.
”

The jiniri arranged her new body in a provocative stance as the boatmen tied up their boat and waded ashore.
Already the shadows of dusk were advancing.
She held out her arms to the boatmen.
“
Come closer,
”
she whispered with her mango breath.
She didn
’
t need the poisons of the puff fish for power as the vudu priest needed for his.
Her power came from the council of spirits that she accessed through the well of her essence, deep within her entity.

The boatmen came closer, unable to resist her.
Perhaps she would rethink the meaning of power. Jinn power surged from her body and smothered the humans with her charm.

They froze, drained of all human movement.

Perhaps if she were human she would feel guilty for the ease of overpowering them.
She thought not.
They succumbed to their own weakness.
Three pillars of frozen humans stood idle before her, powerless as long as she breathed her jinn breath into them.
They waited to be devoured by her own whims.
She searched their bodies and stripped them of their knives, their guns, and their bags of powder.
The net of puff fish she left to dry on the rocks.
She ripped open the packet of powder and sprinkled it onto the rocks surrounding the fish.
Already the waves were scouring the rocks clean, returning the bounty to the earth.

Where it belonged.
Not with humans.

That was enough.
She
’
d finished with these humans, but her work was not done.
Today was the day that
her
wish would be granted, and the day was quickly slipping away.

She turned away from the sea, away from the malécon, and headed to the street, fading into the traffic as the men regained their senses.
“
Eh!
”
they shouted.

But she was gone, having slipped past the killing machines of the streets, past honking horns.
On the other side of the street, she faded into the shadows splitting concrete pillars of rebar.
A pile of loose rebar heaped beside the dirt path that rimmed the street.
She picked up one of those metal poles that bent like a whip.
A woman alone on the streets needed a little protection.
And after dark, the streets of the city weren
’
t fit even for a jinn.

She sniffed the air and caught a whiff of sweat, fart, and dead fish mixed in one.
The vudu priest had come this way.
She followed his trail down the path, over a broken wall, through a drainage pipe, past walls topped with rolls of barbed wire, searching for a hole, any kind of hole to let her into the underbelly of the city.
Bars kept her out.

The air pulsed, softly at first.
Had she heard it?
Was she here?

She
’
d already gotten—and granted—her wish.
Her will was free again.

Not the
click tic click
of dominoes but a thrum.
A merengue beat.
The air came alive, pulsing first with the drums, then with voices.
She followed the rhythm.
It felt like an undertow pulling her in.
She should be able to resist it.

She could not.

She was not tethered anymore.
Had her tether severed, even to her home far away in the east?
To her essence of jinn?

The beat sucked her in.
The side street that she followed lost its darkness at an intersection of colored lights and hypnotic rhythm.

Like most street corners, this one had a neighborhood
colmado
, where a handful of people snapped their fingers to the beat, drank
Presidente
, the local beer, smoked cigars, and swapped stories.

Within their midst, behind their skirts, the vudu priest hid.

She tucked her rebar into a shadow and slipped inside, working her way through the crowds until she reached the priest
’
s side.
She breathed her mango breath into his ear before he knew what hit him, and she pulled him outside into the shadows of the street.
She didn
’
t need her rebar to finish him off, but it lay nearby for added encouragement.

“
My wings,
”
she said, blowing a steady stream of jinn power into his face, freezing him into a pillar of stone and overcoming his vudu power.
His power was nothing without his poisonous fish, or his laced cigars, or the chants he recited over sacrificed chickens.
Let his spells protect him now.

“
Wings,
”
he said, mumbling.

“
Where are my wings?
”
The jiniri raged.
She was stuck here without her wings.
She wanted to go home, away from this foreign place.

“
Gone,
”
he said.

“
You will take me to them.
Now.
”

He mumbled something and shuffled into a zombie walk.
She followed, breathing her jinn breath to keep him going.
They retraced her steps through dark pierced with colored lights, through holes and cracks and past barbed wire, through pipes and back to the dirt path where traffic continued to careen along the malécon.
They dodged the cars and buses and taxis and trucks, and they came to the almond grove and the spot where the vudu priest
’
s canvas throne had stood but now was stolen.
The altar, however, remained untouched, as not even criminals were brave enough to disturb that which was taboo.

“
Here,
”
said the priest.

“
You used my wings for one of your spells?
”
The jiniri wanted to screech.
He
’
d sliced up her wings, added them to chicken heads and snake tongues and bat wings and frog legs for his spells.
How would she get home?

Then she realized the fishing boat was gone.
But it would be back, waiting to carry more packets of drugs into the underbelly of the city.
If she was trapped here, she could use her new skills to greet the fishermen.
Again and again.
Until she finally freed these shores from a destiny no good people wanted.

Untethered, she felt her new purpose.
Nobody
’
s wishes bound her but her own.
She
’
d come home at long last, but home had shifted.
It no longer mattered if she was a she—a jiniri—or a he—a jinn.
She was genie, and she loved it.