Bad Luck Genie: An Urban Fantasy Folly Page 5

  She’d dropped off the bureau’s radar seven months ago, shortly after her husband’s death. I’d never actively searched for either Avalon, and I couldn’t remember what she looked like, so I’d checked to see if that was her on the stage. At least then we’d have a known location and could recover her bottle to prosecute Avalon for her crimes. Instead, that woman made me her master and broken my vow as a lightlighter. How did my smoke get so twisted in this?

  The chain of ownership burned my chest, each undulation a wave of shame leading right back to that obscene bottle Avalon had conjured. How the hell had she known my true name? The fae and djinni attending the auction gawked at me, weapons drawn and waiting for me to make a wrong move.

  A master! I coughed, nearly puking in my mouth, shaking that damned chain attached to me. It burned, like my skin was boiling from the inside. I grabbed the gold chain, somewhat surprised my palms hadn’t caught fire, and tried to yank it off. I hadn’t heard the contract yet, so I couldn’t really be connected to her by the chain. I couldn’t be a master. None of this was supposed to happen.

  “Time’s ticking, Kedge,” the Curator said, looking at me through the sights of his gun. “Or should I say, lightlighter?”

  Smoke and mirrors, my cover was blown. How could this day get any worse? Well, Avalon hadn’t given me a choice. At least I’d be able to bring her in and somehow salvage my career. I upended the blackjack table and gripped the chain to my chest, yanking that disgusting bottle toward me. It flew right at me, dodged the miniskirt-wearing satyr, and slapped into my hands. Avalon’s frantic and frightened energy pulsed from within the bottle. Orpheus, that revolting Summer Court fae, charged for me, raising his golden sword high. I needed to get out alive. Tucking the bottle under my arm, I called on my djinni powers and shifted.

  Green and tan smoke churned around me as I zipped for the exit. A golden bullet slammed into the ground beside me. My heart stalled, then burst into high speed. I darted away. I’d never get used to being shot at with gold. The fae might be immune to it, but they weren’t as fast as djinni smoke. Fortunately, the Curator’s aim wasn’t perfect. I billowed under the door crack leading to a hallway outside Gamblers’ Road and pushed the smoke away, becoming solid again. Swiveling, I grabbed a nearby chair and jammed it under the doorknob. It’d only give me a minute, but that was all I needed.

  My throat burned. What would I say to Ganger, my supervisor—or my mother—when they learned I’d been made a master? Gritting my teeth, I lifted the bottle and rubbed it. Blue smoke not quite the color of the ocean and not quite navy unfurled, and there she was again, abominable in a damned genie outfit from that racist show, I Dream of Jeannie. I sneered. Avalon had no dignity.

  Her black hair writhed with magic, and a white glow lit up her pale blue eyes from within. “You have entered into a contract with this bottle. In no uncer—”

  “I wish for this djinni to have freewill,” I spat out. I didn’t need to listen to the contract. I knew I’d used all three wishes combined.

  The chain dropped from my chest and disappeared. The damage was already done—I’d forever be marked—but I was too distracted witnessing a djinni gain her freedom to check how bad my burn was.

  The gold cuffs melted from her wrists, leaving behind welts, and the chains disintegrated from the purple-metallic bottle. The bottle remained in her hands. I blinked, my breath sagging from my lungs. Oh, this poor woman. While I’d never witnessed a djinni gaining their freedom, the bottle should have disappeared. Most bottled djinnis traded their freedom for favors for one reason or another. Because the bottle remained, she must’ve been tricked into it, and the horrid gold burns on her wrists proved it’d been one of the utmost betrayals: broken trust.

  She dropped the bottle and clutched the lapels of my jacket. “Thank you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

  I nodded, speechless. No one had ever looked at me as she did now. She saw me; she actually saw me. And she acted like she owed me her life. Despite her poor choice in clothing, her fragile beauty worked for her. Might’ve been the weeping. A damn shame she was a fugitive from the bureau.

  Groaning wood jerked me back to the present. The blocked door warped inward, the planks tearing apart, and Orpheus grimaced through the gap. He must be magically pulling the door apart to get to us. We had to get out of there fast. I grabbed her hand and tugged her after me.

  I shifted to smoke, but she didn’t. She stood rooted to the ground, gawking at me. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d only get captured again. No wonder it’d been easy to trick her into a bottle. It was a good thing she was pretty because Penny Avalon wasn’t as smart as the legends claimed. I blew away my smoke, stomped back to her, grabbed her wrist, and jerked her away from the fae and djinnis breaking down the door.

  “Thank you for helping me. I don’t—”

  “No offense, Avalon, but shut up.” I strode down the hallway. Maybe if we dipped out of the Lantern, it’d help us escape. I had a safe house in the Spring Court we could lie low in until I contacted the bureau and figured out where to go from there. If only Ganger had given me a skeleton key. “Shift to smoke and let’s get out of here!”

  “Shift to smoke?” Avalon stumbled behind me, gaping at her wrists.

  I slowed my pace, clenching my teeth. Right. She was only freed a moment ago. “Might be an after-effect of getting your freewill back.”

  Bottle it; there was nothing for it. She’d never be fast enough in the Faelands. Orpheus and his cohorts would be on us in no time. We’d have to hide in the Iron Realm. Orpheus wouldn’t dare follow us there, but the Curator would.

  Avalon squawked and stuttered to a stop. What now? I whirled on her.

  She held the bottle at arm’s length, her pale eyes round. “It just appeared!”

  Oh, right! Of course. “Get back in your bottle. I’ll carry you through Gamblers’ Road until we reach the Iron Realm.”

  The color drained from her already pale face. “I’m not going back in there!”

  “It’ll be faster, and Orpheus wants your magic.”

  She shook her head, her lips trembling. “But I don’t have any magic.”

  Something wasn’t right, and I started to doubt the frightened young woman before me was Penny Avalon. Orpheus shouted, and the rest of the door caved in. We were out of time.

  I grabbed her hand and knotted my fingers with hers. “Run!”

  She dropped the bottle and ran. She probably hated that thing as much as I was disgusted by it. The Gamblers’ Road stretched before us in hues of neon blue, pink, and purple. Twists of smoke passed us—other djinni traveling the road. Luckily none of them thought to stop us or help the fae gaining on us. They might be our rulers, but they weren’t well-loved. At least not Orpheus, thank the glass.

  The door for Horsemen’s Park appeared. I’d parked my car in the garage there, and I darted for the establishment. Avalon matched my pace. I threw open the door to the Iron Realm, and we tumbled into Horsemen’s Park. I slammed the door shut.

  Avalon opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, probably trying to make her ears pop. I worked my jaw, examining our surroundings. We were in a service corridor for deliveries. A large, wheeled cart blocked half the hallway. Orpheus banged on the door we’d run through, glaring at us through the frosted glass.

  I gave him the finger. “Follow us in here, you golden fop. I dare you.”

  I half-hoped he would, only because he deserved the iron poisoning he’d get from entering the human world. Avalon’s teeth chattered, and she hugged herself. That despicable genie costume looked paper-thin. I shrugged out of my dinner jacket and handed it to her.

  She pulled it on and sighed. “Thank you.”

  “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

  We raced down the hallway, following the signs that’d take us into the racetrack’s main banquet hall. We barged in and Avalon slowed down. I glanced at her. She panted but her wide eyes scanned the sea of people s
itting at the banquet tables and the wall of simulcast horse races. Was she looking for someone? Didn’t matter. We needed to get the hell out of there before the Curator caught up to us.

  I released her hand and she gripped my arm like a vise as we sidestepped around waiters and tables. I saw the elevator banks ahead—the ride to the parking garage and our way to freedom. We moved faster. At least she had the same urgency to escape again. We were about to clear the maze of tables when the elevator dinged and the Pit Boss stepped on the floor.

  My bad luck went from worse to worst.

  Chapter 7

  Blackjack man’s arm tensed under my grip as we halted in the dining area. Horse races murmured from the small speakers on the tables while guests ate and drank. The carpet was that cheap stuff you’d find in an office building, but at least here it was cleaner. Despite the lack of windows, the room was bright, crowded, and lines formed at a counter toward the far end of the banquet hall. Banners for the upcoming Preakness Race simulcast hung from the rafters.

  I shook my head. How could this normal place exist right outside an avenue of electricity and color? Seeing people with deer legs and blue skin, the banality of the racetrack which had once excited me as a new experience now seemed so… unsatisfactory. At least now I knew magic was real—and it was terrible.

  Blackjack man wrapped his arm around my shoulders and ushered me into a chair at a table. Two older men in T-shirts and jerseys frowned at us over their plates of Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes.

  “Those seats are taken,” said a man with hair growing out of his ears.

  Blackjack man glanced at them. “We won’t stay for long.”

  “What’re we doing?” I whispered into his ear.

  “Trying to blend in,” he murmured.

  I needed to find out his name so I could stop calling him Blackjack man, and Sir Penguin sounded a little too ridiculous. I also needed to get into normal clothes. Shivering, I tugged his jacket tighter. It smelled like sunshine and sand. I peered around the room. I didn’t see any signs of Reese, but I also didn’t know how much time had passed since I saw him last. I knew it was May because of the Preakness Race banners, a race for the Triple Crown. I’d read a lot of pamphlets whenever Reese brought me here.

  Blackjack man shifted in his chair, blocking most of the room from me. I peeked over his shoulder and spotted a mob of men in black suits and shades. An air of importance surrounded them.

  A large white man carrying two plates of food hovered at the edge of the table. “You’re in my seat.”

  Ear hairs shrugged. “I told them you’d be back, but they stayed anyway.”

  “Just sit down for a second, will ya?” Blackjack man whispered.

  The mob of black suits halted as a man wearing a purple jacket approached them. The Curator. They searched the crowd of diners, looking for us. My heart turned sluggish and I couldn’t control my shivering. I gripped Blackjack man’s hand.

  The purple metallic bottle appeared on the table in a puff of blue smoke. My stomach grew cold, and I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. It was like the bottle was stalking me. Blackjack man cursed.

  “What the hell?” the white man yelled. “Where did that come from?”

  The Curator pointed at me. Oh god, they wanted to trap me in another bottle and sell me. My teeth chattered, and my limbs shook like leaves in a harsh wind. Blackjack man launched from his seat, dragging me behind him. The jacket caught on the chair, my feet tangled in the chair legs, and I fell to the carpet. Up close, it wasn’t as clean as I’d first believed. Firm hands yanked me upright, and Blackjack man pulled me alongside him.

  “We need to get to the parking garage,” he said.

  “Why can’t you magic us out of here?”

  “It’d break fae canon.” He glowered at me. “We’re surrounded by humans.”

  Whatever the hell that meant, but now wasn’t the time to question him. I glanced at the bank of elevators, but more men in black suits hovered around them. They were like the men chasing us. The sensation that the ceiling and walls were closing in gripped me, and I couldn’t breathe. My knees locked and I couldn’t move. Blackjack man tugged me forward. Right. Freaking out about this right now would get us killed. I pulled in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  I’d attended only a few races and simulcasts with Reese, and leaving Horsemen’s Park had quickly become my favorite part of the experience. I had a decent idea of how to get out of here. I sucked in another breath and focused on the objective: finding the parking garage. I peeked over my shoulder. The Curator and a few goons pursued us, pushing through people with little trouble.

  “There’s another stairwell,” I said.

  “Where?”

  I stood on my tiptoes and spotted the Keno turn-in. Now oriented, I pointed in the opposite direction of the elevators. “There.”

  Blackjack man shoved a few people out of the way, and I followed closely on his heels. He’d saved me once, and I didn’t want to get too far from him in case things went bad again. Which, knowing my luck, would probably happen. We burst into the stairwell.

  “We need to run.” He pushed past me to the stairs.

  I chased him down the staircase. “What’s your name?”

  “Are you serious?” he snapped. “You had to know my true name to force me to become your master.”

  Had I called out Sir Penguin? I stumbled on the stairs, crashed into his solid back, and dropped on my ass. Pain jolted up my tailbone. “Son of a bitch!” I growled.

  He spun, a glare darkening his chiseled face, and I was taken aback by how handsome he was. What was it about angry men I found so hot? It was Reese’s glare that had attracted me to him in the first place.

  Blackjack man held a hand out. “We can’t wait around.”

  The door to the stairwell crashed open, and feet pounded concrete above us. I grabbed his hand, and we ran down the stairs, my butt throbbing with each step I took.

  Pfft! Pfft!

  Dust hit my face, and I squealed.

  Blackjack man spared a glance at the wall, now pock-marked with holes. He ducked lower. “Don’t worry. They’re using normal bullets.”

  “Don’t worry?” I mimicked his hunched posture. “How do I not fucking worry when I’m being shot at?”

  “The bullets aren’t gold.” He ran down another flight of stairs.

  If gold cuffs had nearly melted my hands off, what would a gold bullet do to me? We needed to get the hell away from them. “You passed the door into the parking garage.”

  “I know.”

  We raced down two more flights of stairs until he banged through a door. Sweat gathered under my arms. At least I was warming up. We ran across the parking lot, eerily quiet save for our feet slapping against pavement. He pushed through a door leading to another stairwell and climbed up. I could run down stairs for days, but going up was a different story. He was trying to murder me.

  “Where are we going?” I gasped for breath. Today proved I really needed to get more exercise.

  “Misdirection.” He wasn’t even panting. “I parked on the third floor.”

  I wheezed and chased after him. At least the pain in my butt was now a dull ache, and I couldn’t help but notice he had an exceptional ass. We reached the third story landing, and he opened the door. He paused, his dark eyes darting around the parking garage. Once he felt it was safe, he hurried to a car. I jogged to keep up with his long strides. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I was overwhelmed with shaking. Even my teeth clattered together.

  He stopped at a nondescript beige Honda Civic and searched his pockets. “My keys are in my jacket.”

  “This is your car?” I patted myself down but felt nothing in the pockets.

  “Yeah. What did you expect?”

  “A sports car.” I shoved my hands in the pockets and found large holes in each. I opened the jacket and wiggled my fingers through them. “Oh no…”

  “I need to blend in,
and a sports car wouldn’t.” His brows slammed together. “Smoke and mirrors! You lost my keys.”

  He was probably right, and he patted me down as if I hadn’t done that already. His hands skimmed my waist. This close, I could tell he was fit by the way his shirt strained around his shoulders and didn’t bulge at his gut. He hadn’t broken out into a sweat from all the running, while I could barely catch my breath. If I hadn’t been starving for air, I would’ve sighed. It figured I’d appreciate how attractive he was more than the immediate danger I was in. I needed to get my priorities straight.

  “There are holes in all my pockets.” His jaw clenched. “I need my jacket for a minute.”

  I took it off and handed it to him, feeling guilty. Somehow, this was my fault. “So… what is your real name, or do you want me to call you Sir Penguin?”

  He scowled at me and wrapped the jacket around his arm. “Malware. But you already knew that.”

  “Malware?” I laughed. “Did you change your name to that?”

  He bashed his elbow against the backseat window until it shattered. He ripped the jacket off and tossed it at me. “Cover yourself.”

  Unlocking the driver’s door, he leaned over and did the same to the passenger side. I slipped the jacket back on and climbed in. Malware pried open the steering wheel column and tugged out the wires.

  “So are you really that hacker Sir Penguin? Is that why you changed your name to Malware?” I cackled. I couldn’t help myself. That was one of the stupidest names I’d ever heard.

  “Are you being this dense on purpose?” He held some wires together, there was a spark, and the engine roared to life. He slammed his door shut. “Of course, dressed like a genie, I shouldn’t expect much from you, should I? No self-respecting jenny would wear that.”

  I clenched my fists. “For the last time: my name isn’t Jenny!”

  Malware pulled out and sped down the ramps. “Smoke and mirrors,” he muttered. “D-J-I-N-N-I. Djinni. That’s what you are, that’s what I am, and you are obviously not Penny Avalon. Who are you?”