The Accidental Genie (15 page)

Cooking was how she’d kept the memory of her old life alive. No matter how many things she’d had to change about herself in the name of survival, it was the one thing no one could take from her. There was nothing about gooey macaroni and cheese with a bacon and crumbled potato chip topping that screamed Jeannie Carlyle the way her old hair color or the fact that she was really green-eyed did.

Sloan leaned over her shoulder and captured her gaze in the mirror. “Food, huh? What’s your favorite memory associated with food?”

Her smile held a shadow of regret—one that was a mixture of bitter remorse and the scent of lilacs, her mother’s favorite perfume. “Chicken Kiev and mashed potatoes. It was the last thing my mother and I ever cooked together.”

“She’s gone?”

Jeannie fought the familiar rush of tears whenever she thought about her mother. Her gulp was hard, forcing the muscles in her neck to expand. “She is.”

Sloan’s sleek dark head dipped low in understanding. “Mine, too.”

Jeannie turned away from the mirror. If she had to look at her lying face for one more second, she’d vomit right on Sloan’s dirt-streaked black cowboy boots. She leaned back against her sink and looked up at him to avoid the subject of losing a parent. That had hurt far more than losing her old life. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Werewolf? Do werewolves have jobs?”

“We do. We have jobs and families and friends and all the same things humans do, believe it or not. And I work for Pack Cosmetics.”

Pack Cosmetics? “Like the plant where they manufacture it?”

Sloan clucked his tongue at her. “It’s because I’m pretty, right?”

Her look was confused. “What?”

“You think I work at the plant rather than, say, a desk job involving a suit and tie because I’m pretty, which completely means I can’t be smart.”

Guilt washed over her in a wave of judgmental remorse. “I suck. I guess, if I’m honest, that is what I thought.”

“You do—suck, that is,” he teased with an easy smile. “Actually, I have a degree in marketing. I work in corporate, where they pay me a lot of money to market their product.”

“Ah. So you’re the spin doctor, huh? No wonder you’re so good with the ladies.”

“I was good with the ladies long before I was good with the makeup and perfume.”

“How long have you worked there?”

“All of my adult life, but it’s only just recently that I took my career more seriously and became president of marketing. When Keegan decided to relocate headquarters from Buffalo to Manhattan, I decided I wanted a change—so I relocated.”

Jeannie planted a hand on her hip and gave him a mock saucy look. “Are you going to stand there and try and convince me that you left Buffalo for Manhattan because of work? Or had you just tapped all that Buffalo had to offer in terms of women, and you needed a new hunting ground?”

“Okay, so there was that, too.” He grinned unapologetically.

Which made her grin. “So what made you choose a cosmetics company?”

“I didn’t. It chose me. My pack owns it.”

Jeannie clapped a hand to her forehead. “Duh. Pack Cosmetics. What a clever way to hide out in the open. So do you hire only werewolves? Or are there trolls and ogres in your employ, too?”

Sloan’s laughter filled her bathroom, the acoustics of it warm and deep. “No trolls that I know of. But I think we have an ogre in accounting.”

Jeannie frowned.

“Joking. Most of us are werewolves, but we employ humans, too.”

“Wait. Does the whole world but me know you guys exist?”

His smile was crooked and adorable and it made her heart skip beats. “Nope. Our human employees don’t know about us. We’ve been blending with humans for centuries.”

“That’s a huge secret to keep.” Secrets wore you down. Kept you up at night. Made you hate yourself.

“I disagree. I think the alternative is far worse. It would involve a witch hunt chock-full of silver bullets and a lot of entrails.”

“A silver bullet really ki—” She bit back the word
kill
. “Silver really works?”

He held up his hands and gave her a sheepish glance. “Really-really.”

“Are you guys immortal like Nina and Wanda?”

“We are. And we self-heal, which is why that crack on my head by that sonofabitch is now gone.” He leaned down and let her glimpse his forehead where just an hour ago blood had spilled from his perfect flesh.

Awe made her reach out to brush his hair aside and touch it. Her fingers hovered, afraid.

Sloan took her wrist between his fingertips, wrapping them around it with a gentle touch. “It’s okay, Jeannie,” he whispered low, placing her fingers to his skin.

Jeannie held her breath, and for the first time in twelve years, didn’t even consider snatching her hand back. There was no threat to Sloan’s grip. There was no demand she do as he bid.

She relaxed then, letting her fingers connect with his warm flesh. When his thick, black hair brushed her fingertips, Jeannie fought a loud intake of breath. The soft ends bristled and shifted, making her stomach twist in excitement.

But then her throat closed up. The smell of him. The kid gloves he used with her without even realizing how important, how crucial it was to do so, overwhelmed her—touched her. Jeannie let her hand drop to her side and gulped. “The eternal-life thing—that has to be hard, huh?”

His eyes went dark and his expression sobered. “I haven’t been around as long as some, but long enough to lose people who were important to me because of age. People who watched me stay the same while they changed as most humans do.”

How dreadful and wonderful at the same time. Jeannie shook her head in yet more awe. “So you don’t age?”

“We do. Just not quite the way humans do. It takes us much longer.”

“How old are you?”

Sloan cracked another grin. “Old enough to know you aren’t ready for this conversation yet.”

Jeannie made a face at him. “Oh, and I was ready for ‘you’re a genie, suck it up—and while you’re at it, have some ugly harem pants and chain mail thinly disguised as a push-up bra’?”

He laughed low and delicious, sending a wave of rippled delight along her spine. “Small doses. That’s what the girls of OOPS recommend, and I’m not going to piss them off, because I’ll have to go on living with them even when you don’t.”

Since Sloan had mentioned eternal life, it dredged up another question she was afraid to hear the answer to. She asked anyway—because she was a masochist like that. “Am I immortal, too?”

“Most genies are, according to the myths I read online, but again, another mystery to solve.”

She took another deep breath, albeit shaky. “I’m not sure I’m up to living forever. Seems to me, it only prolongs the length of time I have to spend trying to keep my ass from hitting the back of my knees. The idea of taking Zumba class for an eternity is exhausting.”

Maybe it was her tone of voice. Maybe it was the defeated way her shoulders slumped, but it was obvious Sloan picked up on her mood shift. He tilted her chin upward, running his thumb over her skin with his callused fingertip. “There are good things, too. Like the skin you have right now, which is pretty good, and I know skin. No one in the marketing department—who knows Marty—doesn’t. Means you avoid plastic surgery for a long, long time.”

If he only knew . . . “Best day ever,” she said on a smile, noting how thready her voice sounded.

Sloan tilted his head. “It’s going to be okay,” he insisted again.

“Hey!” Nina snarled, reentering the bathroom and pushing her way between them. She poked Sloan in the chest. “Sloan, get the fuck off her. I swear to Christ, you make a move on a client, and when Marty gets back from Whereverthefuck, Egypt, she’ll kick your ass. She ain’t on the menu, buddy. No genies on my watch. Now get your ass in gear. Casey and Darnell are here, and they think they might have something that’ll help us.” She pointed to the door.

Sloan didn’t say a word, but as he stepped around Nina, he pinched her cheek and grinned. “Have I told you I love you today, vampire? You’re so helpful and warm, supportive—and soooo preettty,” he cooed, then laughed a deep chuckle.

“Fuck you.”

Sloan’s laughter lingered long after he’d gone to stand in the hallway to wait for Jeannie.

Jeannie closed the bathroom door and put a hand on Nina’s arm. “He wasn’t coming on to me. Swear it, MWA.”

Nina shot her a bored look. “If a chick’s hot enough, Sloan would come on to her even if she was on a morgue slab. He’s a hole chaser. Period.”

Hot? Phew. Problem solved. Hot would never apply to her again. Ever. “Well, I’m not exactly hot, so no fears there. And I just wanted you to know nothing untoward was going on. Absolutely no hole chasing. He was just showing me his forehead had healed. You know, the magic of werewolves?”

“Untoward? That’s a big, fancy word for such a little chick. And you know what?”

“You don’t give a shit.”

Nina drove a light knuckle into her shoulder. “Fuck. Can you read minds now, too?”

Jeannie flashed her a coy grin. “No, you silly. I just get the impression you’re doing what comes naturally to you.”

Nina’s eyebrow flew upward. “And that is?”

“Protecting the weak and helpless. Know that I appreciate you keeping man-whore Sloan the Werewolf from sinking his nasty teeth into my unsullied flesh.”

Nina took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest with an arrogant gaze directed at her. “Is that your way of telling me you’re a big girl, and you can handle this shit on your own?”

Jeannie shook her head until her swollen eye ached from the motion. “Oh, hell to the no. Not on your eternal life, Keeper of the Virgins. No way are you getting out of your bodyguard duties. No. Way. I got you, babe, and that means you got me, too.”

“Then get the fuck out in the living room before I kick your midget ass, and when I look out for you—let me look out for your scrawny butt without any lip. Got that shit?”

Jeannie saluted Nina and retorted, “Got that shit, captain.” She flung the door open and rushed out before Nina had the chance to utter another threat.

As Sloan followed her to the living room, Nina’s rush to protect her virtue accomplished two things. First, it made her feel safer than she had in a long time. Safe and cared for. But it also led her to toy with a notion that was, at best, ludicrous. One that was probably as crazy as everything else going on right now.

But what was life without a little crazy?

*   *   *

I
NTRODUCTIONS
had been made, and Casey had relayed what she’d learned from her college friend. Now, as Jeannie assessed these new paranormal people rather than address Casey’s doom and gloom words, her eyes were instantly drawn to the enormous demon in high-tops and more bling than Marty.

As he crossed the room toward her, she instantly looked down at the floor to mask her curious stare and instead listened to the clank of his gold medallions slapping into one another.

He plopped down on her couch, consuming most of the exposed space, and smiled—so warm and teddy bearish, it made Jeannie’s heart throb. But he was a demon . . . “You don’t gotta worry, Miss Jeannie. I get why you starin’, but s’okay. I’m a big dude. E’rybody stares one time o’ ’notha. I’m used to it. And I know you thinkin’, how can somebody who looks like a big ol’ teddy bear be a demon, right? I ain’t got no horns and pitchforks or nuthin’.”

Darnell’s warmth filled her, spreading through her chilled limbs and giving them a warm glow. She tucked her hands into her sweater self-consciously, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry. It was very rude.”

His chuckle was thick and hearty. “It ain’t no thang. You ain’t got nuthin’ to fear from ol’ Darnell. My good intentions is as big as I am. As to your eyeball, sho do make this demon wanna find the brotha and rough him up. Never you fear, though. If he comes round up in here, Darnell gonna make him wish he’d stayed in that hole he done crawled outta. I’ll make him sorry he evah laid hands on yo little person. I got yer back, s’all I’m sayin’. Ain’t no man hittin’ no woman on my watch. Count on it.” He followed his words with a solemn nod.

And Jeannie believed him. Darnell exuded all things good and kind. He also defied everything she’d ever been taught in vacation Bible school.

“So how’s you, Miss Jeannie?” He planted a paw on her shoulder, and it didn’t even make her flinch. “You a’ight, considerin’?”

“I think I am.”

“You’ll adjust. We’ll help,” was his simple answer.

This group of people confounded her. Clearly, they’d all been brought together by circumstance. Yet, they’d not just bonded in their supernatural states, they’d created a family dynamic that was unique to their situations.

The way Marty, Nina, and Wanda worked so fluidly together, even with their bickering, had amazed her, but that there were more people who so willingly gave of themselves to complete strangers had her rethinking her jaded view on humanity—or undead-manity. “I hear you’re sort of the go-to guy when it comes to paranormal events. Do you always help Nina and Wanda like this?”

He nodded his big head like it was no sacrifice. “You bet. Least I sho try. Sometimes it’s outta my wheelhouse, but I can usually find somebody that knows somethin’.”

Jeannie shivered at his generosity—still incomprehensible with her cynical view of the world. “I feel guilty for taking you from your lives—your families.”

Darnell sat forward, resting his elbows on his wide knees. When his chocolate brown eyes connected with hers, they were filled with fondness. “My family’s all them crazy women and their men, their kids and pets, too. Family helps family. Thass just how it rolls, Miss Jeannie.”

Jeannie’s fingers twisted together in a knot. “But to give up so much of your time to someone you don’t even know, and you don’t get a dime to do it . . .”

Darnell looked her square in the face, a grin teasing his lips. “Now who says I don’t know you? You Jeannie Carlyle, the wishanator with the fancy pants and the brokeback magic carpet. I know you as good as I need to.”

Her eyes searched for her brokeback magic carpet, finding him sleeping soundly by the entry to her kitchen.

A tear burned her swollen eyes and the fight to keep them in check made her head ache. This new transition in her life was very different from the last. The last had been rapid and institutionally cold.