Your Wish Is His Command

Copyright 2012 Judi Fennell

Published by Mergenie Books

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or
reviews—without permission in writing from the author at
[email protected]. This book is a work of fiction. The
characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products
of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used
fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more information on the author and her
works, please see
www.JudiFennell.com

This is a short story of what came before
Genie Knows Best
; why Kal removed his gold cuffs to get out
of The Service, and how he came to be
in
The Service with
Samantha. This is
not
Samantha and Kal’s romance, but I hope
you’ll be curious enough to find out what happens with them to read
Genie Knows Best
. And check out the rest of the Bottled
Magic series. Excerpts are at the end of this story.

May all your wishes come true!

~Judi

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Kal’s
Story

Excerpts

I Dream of
Genies

Genie Knows
Best

Magic Gone
Wild

Beauty and The
Best

Beefcake &
Cupcakes

Beefcake &
Mistakes

About the
Author

Other Books
by Judi Fennell

Before The Beginning

Tartessos, Iberian Peninsula 3
BCE

Kal ducked into the first building he came to,
the cool stone shadows doing nothing to dry the sweat from his
body. He’d thought once he got the dammed shackles off, he’d be
free.

Showed what he knew.

Of course, if he could outrun the vizier after
him, he’d be a lot freer.

Then he got a good luck at his hiding spot and
almost groaned. Iman’s home.

Once, not that long ago, he and the widow been
more than friends and she’d been more than happy to help him in
oh-so-many ways. Now? He’d hoped she’d forgiven him for that
kiss-and-run on what became their last night together when he’d
been called, once more, to The Service. The Service he was bound
and determined to be free of.

“
I’ll find your sorry ass, donkey.”
The shadow of Faruq’s angular profile flitted across the far wall
through the window above Kal’s head.

Kal worked to slow his breathing, wanting
nothing to give him away. Faruq was known for his tenacity, and Kal
had known this wouldn’t be easy. Faruq wasn’t about to give up any
of his djinn any more than Kal was about to give up his hard-earned
freedom. It made them at odds more than they’d been throughout the
years.

“
Khaled, you cannot hope to escape
me. Give yourself up. We’ll come to a compromise. It will be worse
for you if I have to bring you to the High Master.”

Kal could imagine Faruq stroking his beard and
flicking his tongue over his lips like the lizard he was.
Compromise? Faruq didn’t know the meaning of the word. Not that Kal
wanted one. He wanted one thing and one thing only; the one thing
he’d gambled his life for ever since Faruq had stolen what was
supposed
to have been his life.

Freedom.

The shadow above the window moved. Kal held
his breath and began planning his next move. He didn’t have many
options.

“
Tell me, Kal,” Faruq whispered.
“Tell me how you did it. How you got the cuffs off.”

Ah. He had something on Faruq. Something Faruq
didn’t know. Something Faruq wanted.

Well, the vizier could rot in the bowels of a
fiery pit before Kal would ever share that knowledge with
him.

Faruq cursed, a term as foul as he was. The
vizier had never liked him, even during those years of hedonism
that came from their youth and the magic they controlled. Back when
they’d developed their powers and learned the ways of the world
that existed beyond the shadow of the minaret where they’d been
raised. Back before they’d been assigned to their individual
prisons and masters. Back before Faruq had stolen the one thing Kal
had wanted above everything.

Faruq had played the game like a pro and
earned his way through the ranks as a sycophant of the High Master,
ultimately stealing his way to eternal servitude to the highest
official of their world on the back of Kal’s hard work and years of
study.

Bastard. He might have stolen Kal’s career,
but he was
not
going to steal the rest of his
life.

Kal slid his lantern from the folds of his
kaftan
. As long as
he
was in possession of this
he
was in control of his destiny. But should Faruq get
it—

Kal didn’t want to consider the
ramifications.

A tiny gasp at the far side of the room drew
his attention. Kal stared at the doorway to the bedroom and saw
her. Iman. He put a finger to his lips and used the other to point
to the window.

Iman was more than just pretty and willing;
she was smart. And she was also, unfortunately, mortal. The moment
she saw Faruq’s well-known profile, she would know the stakes if
the vizier should find either one of them.

“
Come, Khaled,” said the slimy
vizier. “You can’t hide from me forever. That’s a long time and I
have more resources at my disposal than you do now that
I’m
vizier, including the ability to trace your magic. I’ll find you,
Khaled, and you’ll pay. For every day you hide from me, I’ll make
you pay.”

Iman’s eyes grew wide and guilt crawl like a
scorpion over Kal’s skin. All he wanted was his freedom; not hers
taken from her. And Faruq would do it.

He motioned for her to leave. Go back the way
she came and hide. Save herself.

Iman didn’t even bother to shake her head.
Instead she hunched low, hiked up her dress, and slunk across the
floor to flatten herself against his side. “Give me your lantern,”
she mouthed. “I’ll keep it safe.”

Faruq’s profile disappeared from the window…
headed in the direction of her door. The only door in her
home.

Kal didn’t have a lot of time. He couldn’t
transport himself anywhere or the spectral Glimmer magic left
behind would lead Faruq right to him. And if he stayed here, he’d
lead Faruq right to Iman.

“
Kal,” Iman breathed against his
ear. “I’ll hide your lantern for you. Trust me.” She pressed a
small vial into his hand. “Use this if you’re captured. It will
make you seem as if you’re dead, and then you can escape to return
for the lantern. It’s your only hope.”

Kal knew that, but it was so hard to place his
freedom into anyone else’s hands.

And then Faruq’s silhouette moved into the
doorway, hands on his hips, his scimitar gleaming from the caress
of the setting sun, his eunuch guards blocking out what was left of
the light. Kal shoved Iman behind one of the baskets where she
stored her food and trusted her with the lantern.

Faruq took a step over the threshold and his
eunuch guards filed in, forming a half-circle behind him, their
knives in battle-ready position. “Did you
really
think you
could get away from me, Khaled?”

Kal had hoped. He’d really hoped.

But now his only hope was Iman’s word and her
vial of death- mimicking liquid.

The Beginning

City of Paradise, Sahara
Desert

213 AD

The sun slanted through the slit of an opening
his jailers called a window and Kal took another look around his
cell. It was a far cry from the luxury and comfort of his lamp. But
then, his lamp was a far cry from him. But it was safe. That’s all
that mattered.

Well, that and the vial Iman had given him. He
hoped to all that was good in the universe that she’d truly been on
his side. That she’d really wanted to help.

Kal shrugged, a wry smile tugging at the
corners of his mouth. He had no reason not to trust her, but if he
was wrong, he’d never know. Poison or the High Master; he’d be dead
either way.

He flexed his fingers then grimaced. He
couldn’t flex them—not with the notched board they’d tied each one
to so he couldn’t wave his fingers, his method of conjuring magic.
They’d even bound his arms to wooden braces to prevent him from
trying to undo the restraints.

He’d lost his gamble.

Voices sounded outside at the end of the
corridor. Was this the day? The last one he’d ever see? Or would
his jailers torture him yet again?

Kal took a deep breath, gearing up for what
was to come. He’d finally given up the information Faruq had wanted
that diamonds removed the cuffs.

They’d come for him in the middle of the night
before he’d had the chance to remove the vial from its hiding
place. He’d known the pain would escalate, and there was only so
much a man—mortal or djinni—could take. It’d been bad luck that
both had happened that night.

Footsteps sounded now. More guards than the
last twelve dozen times they’d come for him. He knew because he’d
counted. They only needed two men to torture him—well, two and the
fired poker they liked to prod him with. More men didn’t bode
well.