Bad Luck Genie: An Urban Fantasy Folly Read online

  A pink-skinned djinni paced in front of a door, muttering under her breath. She hadn’t noticed me yet and kicked the wall.

  I cleared my throat. “Looks like I’m taking over here.”

  She yelped and placed a hand to her chest. “Shit, Kedge. Don’t sneak up on me like that.” She handed a mask and a pair of booties to me.

  I frowned at them. “What’re these for?”

  “The smell.” She pressed them in my hands. “And there’s carpet in there.”

  She shifted to smoke and left. The Pit Boss had been literal. I should’ve known. Bottle it. I had to do it. I tugged the booties on and covered my face with the mask. Sucking in a breath, I ducked inside the room and nearly staggered at the smell of urine. Two boggarts shifted shapes to match the fears of the bound humans. The boggarts giggled as they pulled strands of fear from them and stored the pheromones in vials.

  It horrified the lightlighter in me. I wanted to rescue the humans and arrest the boggarts for breaking canon. But I couldn’t. So I slowly closed the door, winced as the carpet squelched under my feet, and took up position.

  What am I doing here? I’d yet to see the Curator, but I’d heard he was around. Did it matter? I was beginning to rethink my career path with the CADD. Cybercrimes was straightforward, and I never questioned if what I was doing was for the greater good. I never imagined I’d have to sacrifice a few for the many; I just got shit done. Here…

  The boggarts’ squealing laughter pierced my thoughts. They most likely collected the fear off the humans for the haunted house they ran on Thrill Street, but I didn’t understand why they had to make bets on who made their human piss their pants the most. How the hell would they measure that?

  The smell of cherry blossom from the trees surrounding the card table reminded me of the first vacation I’d taken with my human family. It’d been sakura season in Japan, my step-mother was pregnant with my youngest sibling, and I’d learned so much about my human heritage. If I closed my eyes, I could forget the Spring Court family gambling for the head seat of their ménage via Texas Hold ‘em.

  “The rules of the game remain the same, but the voting for the seat is different,” the Pit Boss said. “In fact, votes can’t be cast. Each vote can only be transferred by gambling, and I will recognize no other method. Each chip is a vote, and you play hands to win votes.”

  The fae murmured their understanding.

  “I will ensure you follow the rules.” The Pit Boss met my eyes. “Kedge will ensure no one gets hurt.”

  I wasn’t entirely worried. Spring Court fae were the tamest of the four courts, placing life above all else. Although, maybe one of them had a bottled djinni and would wish things to go horribly wrong. That’d be more the Pit Boss’s problem than mine. I’d deal with the aftermath.

  The Dealer was present for this match. Not just any dealer—the Dealer. Nothing but the best for this high stakes game, yet it was like watching humans play. They played with the muted air of a funeral, and they only spoke of their current family head who was preparing to take a deep sleep. Fae were immortal, yes, but even they grew tired and needed half-a-dozen centuries to recharge.

  Hours ticked by, and a false breeze rustled the cherry blossoms, petals falling from branches and catching in fae hair. This was the most boring game ever. I didn’t know why I was so surprised the Pit Boss would host a legal game, but I supposed there was a first time for everything. Finally, the game came to an end. A green-haired fae with purple eyes had won the seat. I opened the door, preparing to leave for my next post.

  The Pit Boss grabbed my shoulder. “Hold a moment, Kedge.”

  For all his infamy, the Pit Boss was ordinary-looking, in a black two-piece suit and his brown hair parted off to the side. I didn’t question him. Once the Dealer and the fae filed out of the room, I faced him.

  “Take a seat,” he said.

  I sat at the table. The cards and chips dematerialized. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but one thing I’d learned over the last seven months was to never ask questions unless it pertained to a specific assignment, and I didn’t have one.

  The Pit Boss retrieved sunglasses from his inside pocket and examined the arms. “You’ve been working hard, Kedge.”

  Yeah, I was working hard, and it was only the beginning. I stretched my jaw, activating the recording device in my ear.

  “You proved you can keep your mouth shut when those idiots tore off pixie wings.” The Pit Boss slid the sunglasses on and looked at me.

  He just had to mention the wings when I’d started recording. The CADD knew I’d see things, but my orders were only to act on illegal auctions—and none had been arranged to my knowledge.

  “You keep quiet, people often forget you’re around, and you’re quick,” he said. “Perfect security.”

  I straightened in my chair. This sounded like he was leading the conversation somewhere, but the pause was growing longer. I should say something. “Thanks, Boss.”

  He glared. “I smell a rat.”

  My heart pounded. I shouldn’t have said anything. Was the glare because I spoke when I shouldn’t have or because I was the rat? I mean, I was definitely the rat, but he wasn’t supposed to know.

  “You’re gonna do a little reconnaissance for me,” the Pit Boss said. “Keep your eyes and ears open. I want to know races, Court affiliation—houses. You can do math in your head, right?”

  I blinked. Was he being racist? “Uh…”

  He passed me a digital abacus. “Just keep track of the numbers and I’ll figure it out.”

  I frowned at the abacus. It was small, and it’d keep a record of numbers inputted. I tamped down the urge to prove I could do calculations in my head. Call it growing up with high expectations, but that was something Malware Tanaka had dealt with, not Kedge. “What’s going on, Boss?”

  “I need you to keep track of the money.”

  “I’m going to the counting rooms?” I deflated some. I’d hoped this would be for an auction.

  “Get up.”

  I stood. Something felt off about his attitude, and I tamped down my blending powers that wanted to kick in.

  The Pit Boss assessed me, then nodded. “I’m lending you to a colleague. You’ll do as he asks, but remember who you take your orders from.” He nodded significantly at the abacus in my hand. “Put that away.”

  I put it away.

  The door opened and a silver-haired djinni wearing a purple smoking jacket and an ascot stepped inside. He examined me. I had the distinct impression he had a keen eye. Probably an auditor djinni. Or maybe an engineering djinni, but the ascot made me believe the former.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  The Pit Boss leaned against the table. “I’ve decided to go into business with you, Curator.”

  I didn’t realize the Curator had been pissed off until his expression relaxed and he half-smiled. “This is a cause for a celebration.”

  He summoned a clear bottle, and the raised letters on the side read “Darby’s Prophylactic Fluid.” I wondered if it was real or a replica. Since I couldn’t tell my human family I worked as a knight for the fae, most of them believed I worked with an antiquities department, so I’ve been around the antiques block a few times. A Darby’s Prophylactic Fluid bottle was a rare find in the human world.

  The Curator retrieved a bottle of Pixie Glitz—high-priced champagne—and popped the cork. A pixie zipped out, spraying the room in diamond dust before they crashed to the floor. That’d been their first taste of oxygen—and their last.

  The Curator poured a glass and handed it out. “Let’s talk numbers.”

  The Pit Boss accepted the glass. “Actually, let’s talk security.”

  “Ah, yes.” The Pixie Glitz glugged as the glittery fluid cascaded into the Curator’s glass. “I’ll supply the security. You won’t need to worry about me taking away from your staff, and I only need that small venue.”

  “I’ll still send someone with you to prote
ct my investment.” The Pit Boss gestured at me. “Kedge will watch the auctions in my stead.”

  The Curator froze with the glass of Glitz halfway to his lips, his scrutinizing gaze focused on me. “Him? Isn’t he new in your employ?”

  “Kedge has worked Gamblers’ Road for years.”

  Ganger’s cover for me was solid, but the Pit Boss hadn’t specifically said I’d worked for him. I wondered if that was a clue, or if I was reading too much into it.

  The Curator shook his head. “I don’t know this djinni. I know Brick. I’ll take him.”

  Brick’s name described him well. He was large, he could break bricks with his bare hands, and I was pretty sure they also filled his head. He did everything he was told, including shaking humans down for money.

  The Pit Boss scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. You come to me, fleeing the Museums, asking for a venue. Now you demand my favorite thug after I’ve given you sanctuary and a home for your auction. The gall.”

  “The gall?” The Curator chuckled. “I nearly forgot why I liked you, Boss. Why him, though? He’s new here, and don’t try to talk around not being new to Gamblers’ Road. That expressway bridges countries. How do you know he’s not a plant from the bureau?”

  My bowels turned to liquid.

  “Because he’s overseen the dismembering of pixies, fear poaching from boggarts, and general breaking of fae canons.” The Pit Boss spread his arms. “And I’m still here.”

  “And me? How do you know he’s not a spy to bring me in?”

  “Then I will personally shackle him and give him to you.” The Pit Boss smirked. “What venue did you have in mind?”

  I frowned and didn’t bother hiding it. The abacus in my pocket felt heavy, the earpiece obvious, and I swore an FBI badge suddenly burned into my forehead.

  The Curator narrowed his eyes and drained the Pixie Glitz in two gulps. “Horsemen’s Park.”

  The Pit Boss nodded. “Best to keep it far from Vegas. When will it start?”

  “Within a week. I need to verify your unexpected acquisition yesterday.”

  My mouth dried up. They had to be joking. Horsemen’s Park was the closest gambling venue to Pops. I’d parked my car there and used the door to access Gamblers’ Road seven months ago to infiltrate the Pit Boss’s ring. Had I made a mistake by doing that? No. I couldn’t have. They were chumming it up, slapping each other’s backs. Yet, would I know if a noose was around my neck until it tightened?

  The Curator tipped his chin at me. “I’ll leave for Horsemen’s Park in an hour. You’ll need to be there to set up the stage.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  The Curator shook the Pit Boss’s hand and left.

  The Pit Boss upended his glass of Pixie Glitz on the floor and leveled me with a hard stare. “If that bottle is who I said it is, it’ll be the first one auctioned. Pay close attention.”

  Oh, he better believe that I’d pay close attention to the auction.

  Chapter 5

  “Reveal yourself, jenny.”

  I had no choice. The command took me, and the bottle spat me out. I tumbled to the ground, crying out. The golden chains rang as I climbed to my feet. I was on a stage surrounded by a crowd of people. Around them were roulette tables, blackjack dealers taking bets, and craps tables. Slot machines jingled from another room.

  Maybe these people would do something. I lifted my hands, showing them the chains. “Please! Someone help me!”

  No one blinked an eye. In fact, I didn’t recognize any of these… people? A man in a crisp gray suit had pale blue skin and tapered ears. A woman in a leather miniskirt had white fawn legs. Another woman with all-too-sharp bones and features tilted her head, and the slits under her jaw fluttered like gills. My brain froze. Some kind of costume party? I shook my head. Not everyone was dressed up. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen, with golden curls and jeweled eyes, leaned against a wall, a gold sword on his hip. Men and women just as lovely surrounded him. He yawned and flicked his glance behind me.

  I turned and gaped. Aside from paintings on easels and glittering jeweled boxes, a silver-haired man stood at a podium. Rows of bottles with golden chains led to people who were lined against the back wall. Some bottles were brown or green, others were crystal, and there was even a Jim Beam bottle that had the same shape as mine. They were all like me, some with pink skin, some with nubs on their foreheads, and all kneeling on the stage with their heads bowed. None of them wore a “Dreamy Genie” costume like me.

  I crossed one arm over my chest and the other across my bare midriff, feeling like a disgraceful fool. I faced the crowd again, tears blurring my vision. I blinked them away. “There’s been a mistake. I didn’t agree to this!”

  Some audience members smirked, a few whispered to their neighbors, and the golden-haired man chuckled.

  “Just let me go.” I swallowed. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. Please. Let me go.”

  One of the men sitting at the blackjack table peered at me. He rubbed the back of his neck, his lips barely moving. I had the distinct feeling he was talking to someone, like through an earpiece.

  The silver-haired man clapped his hands. “As the invitation promised, tonight’s main event. I personally evaluated and certified this bottle.” The nametag pinned to his eggplant smoking jacket read “The Curator.” He even wore a paisley ascot. He held my bottle aloft. “Good Folk, it is my greatest pleasure to offer you a chance to own a genuine Avalon jenny. Think of all the good luck this bottle’s jenny will bestow upon you.”

  The Curator kept saying “Jenny” really fast. He must’ve thought it was my name and didn’t want people to catch it. Hell no! They were going to know my name; I’d force them to see me as a real person. Then they’d have to help me.

  “My name isn’t Jenny.” I hiccupped. “It’s—”

  “Silence.” The Curator curled his lip at me. “Despite the garish outfit and bottle, only one wish has been granted. The bottle is unspoiled from prior wishes.” The crowd buzzed, and eager eyes assessed me again. “Bidding starts at—”

  “Fifty thousand!” The golden-haired man took a step toward me.

  “Seventy-five,” the blue-skinned man said.

  The fawn girl lifted her hand. “A hundred!”

  I gasped. “No. No! Stop!”

  The Blackjack man pulled a cellphone from within his jacket and peeked at it. The glyphs on the case were strange, and I thought I recognized it. Which was crazy. Everything around me was written in incomprehensible blocks and symbols. I didn’t know where I was or why I was here. My shoulders hitched to my ears, and I couldn’t swallow the sour taste from my mouth. Someone, please help me.

  “One hundred fifty!” the sharp-featured woman yelled.

  Never mind. I knew why I was here. I was being sold like some kind of art piece because my fiancé—no, ex-fiancé—had a gambling problem and used me to wipe his debt clean. Our engagement didn’t count. I’d never gotten used to calling him my fiancé, and he never gave me a ring. Screw that. I hoped his shit-bag sprang a leak.

  “Two hundred thousand!” the blue-skinned man shouted.

  The Blackjack man’s head jerked up, and he stared at me. He was tan-complected with chiseled features, a cleft chin, and upturned eyes. Hopefully human, but he felt more like me than the rest of the strangers in the room. His cellphone case flashed again, and it hit me. By the angle he held the case, the strange glyph looked more like a knighted penguin…

  A malware logo taking the Internet by storm for the past few years.

  Just a couple of weeks ago, Reese and I caught a newscast of the vigilante known as Sir Penguin hacking scamming sites, sometimes even going so far as breaking the website. Reese claimed his laptop had been infected with the same malware, and that was why his computer was missing—he’d taken it to be fixed. I doubted it then, and now I believed he’d pawned it. No, it hadn’t been that recent. Though it only felt like a couple of weeks, several months had passed with me chained to
a pole inside a bottle.

  The golden-haired man glared. “Three hundred thousand!”

  A terrible buzzing itched along under my skin, rattled my chains, and chattered my teeth. It reminded me of when the bottle forced me to talk. I couldn’t fight it. “Malware, I choose you as my master!”

  Why did I say that?

  A chain whipped out of me like a tendril of smoke and hooked in the center of Blackjack man’s chest. His jaw unhinged as his brows jumped to his hairline, the cellphone falling to the floor.

  The bottle responded, and the gold chains shone with a luster I’d never seen before. Reese never had a chain connected to the bottle, why did this man get one? Maybe because he’s like me? The cuffs on my wrists warmed. My breathing became erratic, but the cuffs didn’t burn me this time.

  Silence fell over the floor save for the merry jangle of a winning slot machine. My bottle reeled in my chains one link at a time. I cried out, breaking the silence. Everyone began yelling. The golden-haired man drew his sword. The few lovely people with him pulled similar golden weapons. The fawn girl had a pair of daggers. They surrounded my new master.

  The Curator retrieved a gun with a wicked long barrel from inside his jacket and leveled it on Blackjack man. “You still have a moment to do the right thing and release your mastery over the jenny. Then circumstances might go better for you when we discuss your real identity.”

  My heart hammered against my chest, and it was hard to catch my breath. I inched toward the edge of the stage, the chains rasping against the wooden platform. Blackjack man’s jaw clenched. I think he was about to say something, but my bottle sucked me inside and dropped me by the pole.

  Chapter 6

  After months of kowtowing to the Pit Boss in Vegas, he finally sent me to act as a thug for an illegal djinni auction for the Curator in bumble-fuck Nebraska. And what happened? I stumbled across the notorious Penny Avalon.