“So,” he started awkwardly, eyes fixed to the floor. “The Newport Group’s having this… lame party thing, and I know it’ll be really boring, but I thought… you know, I thought maybe we could hang out together and keep each other from getting really bored…” He trailed off and looked up to catch her smiling at him sympathetically. She knew he was asking her to the party – just not in those exact words.

“I’d love to go,” she sighed, still smiling, “but my dad can’t go to them anymore, so I thought I’d hang out with him. You know, to keep him company.”

“Right,” he agreed hastily, trying to backtrack. “You should hang out with your dad.”

“Maybe some other party?” she offered and he nodded.

...
 

“I told you to stop fucking with my life,” he growled as the genie stood in front of him.

“What did I do this time? Wear the wrong outfit?” He glared at her sarcasm as she gestured down at the outfit she always wore.

“Marissa turned me down,” he growled, his gaze fixing on the wall stubbornly.

“That wasn’t me,” she defended. “I stopped meddling, ok? Her turning you down was her decision, unless some other genie’s messing with her.”

He clenched his jaw and fought the urge to argue. She couldn’t lie to him, so he knew she wasn’t.

But it would be so much easier if it was her fault.

...
 

“Why don’t you take your hot little slave girl?” Seth grinned as they lounged in his room, reading comics. They’d taken to not hanging out in the pool house a lot, because it was creepy with the genie watching them.

“The genie?” he lowered his comic to stare at his brother.

“Yeah. I mean, she’s hot, right? And if Marissa hears you went with someone, maybe she’ll realize her mistake, you know? And then the Newpsies won’t hound you the entire time and try to either hook you up with their daughters or hook up with you themselves.”

Alright, Seth was being entirely too reasonable. And he was right – the Newpsies loved to hit on him whenever he was alone. But the idea of spending the entire night with the genie made him want to hit his head against the wall.

She was annoying. She was loud and opinionated and she talked constantly about the stupidest things – like fucking leprechauns. Plus, Seth had been letting her borrow his anime collection, so she’d been raving about that ever since.

It was either Newpsies or the genie.

...

 

“You’re inviting me to a party?” She sounded confused, and she had every right to. He’d made it obvious that she annoyed him.

“Yes,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I need protection from the women here. Plus, Seth says it’ll make Marissa jealous or something…”

“Oh, well, I’m flattered,” she put her hand over her heart and smiled, but he caught the sarcasm. “I’m a shield for Newport women and I get to make some other girl jealous?”

“Sorry,” he shrugged. “It’s ok, I’d rather not waste my last wish on this, anyway.”

She bit her lip and seemed to think for a minute, before sighing. “You wouldn’t have to wish,” she admitted, sounding a little depressed. “I’m allowed to do stuff that doesn’t require magic. Like getting dressed up and going to a party doesn’t require a miracle. The only way you’d have to wish for me to go is if I don’t want to do it. Then you can make me by wishing.”

“Oh.” He paused and weighed the options again – this time adding in the embarrassment of near-begging her to go. Somehow, the pro side still won out. “So… will you go with me?”

“Yes.”

Her answer was automatic and it took him by surprise. He figured he’d have to grovel a bit more, until she got bored and gave in. Maybe she wasn’t as sadistic as he thought.

...
 

“You need a name,” he continued, pacing. He was nervous as hell about taking a fucking genie to a Newport party, which was making him actually talk. “I can’t keep calling you genie all night.”

“No, that’d be a little weird,” she agreed, furrowing her brow. Then she snapped her fingers and her outfit changed again and she regarded herself in the mirror.

“I guess ‘Jeannie’ would be a little obvious,” he reasoned. Through the mirror, she glared at him.

“And let’s not forget: a pun. Puns are the lowest form of humor.”

“Right, no puns,” he grinned and she nodded. Then she snapped her fingers again and the outfit changed.

“Do you have a baby name book?” she looked over her shoulder at him and caught his look. “Of course not.” Her mouth twisted up as she turned back to the mirror and she snapped her fingers again, changing the dress. It was blue this time. “Oh! How about Elizabeth?”

“Why Elizabeth?” He slung the tie around his neck and took hold of the ends, trying to remember how Sandy did it.

“After Elizabeth Taylor. I met her once, you know, back in the sixties.” She smiled happily and smoothed out the now green dress. “Richard Burton got a hold of my lamp. That’s how she got the part in ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’ She was so glamorous, I always wanted to be her.”

“You don’t strike me as an Elizabeth,” he shrugged and she frowned. “What about Taylor?”

“Taylor,” she repeated, testing out the name. “I guess it works. Now all I need is a dress.”

“That one’s fine,” he gestured at the purple thing she was wearing. Apparently that wasn’t the right answer, because she rolled her eyes.

“Right. The first time I get to go out and mingle with real people in… seven hundred years and you want me to wear this?”

“Fine, whatever, just- wait, seven hundred years?”

She nodded and snapped her fingers again and he made a noise of protest at the orange dress. “Yeah, the last master to take me out was in fourteenth century Rome. He wanted to show me off to the emperor and raise his stature, but the emperor had him executed and took me for himself.”

“Wow.” She nodded, and he was glad she thought he’d said that to her story.

“I like this one,” she decided, nodding at the red and gold dress. He swallowed hard and nodded as well. “I guess I should just learn to stick with what I know,” she joked, gesturing at her bottle. He tried to smile and focused on getting his tie done.

...
 

“Did your bottle throw up on you?” Seth murmured as they stood on the fringe of the party. The genie – Taylor – giggled and shook her head.

“I just look best in red and gold, I guess. Maybe that’s why my bottle is those colors? Maybe whoever made me knew that?”

“What d’you mean whoever ‘made’ you?” She shrugged, seemingly unfazed by his question.

“Well, I’m assuming someone made me,” she reasoned. “How else would I get like this?”

Seth shrugged, but Summer had apparently caught his eye through the crowd of people, and he headed in that direction.

“So you’ve always been a genie?” he questioned as they stood and watched the party. “Since the beginning of time?”

“Actually,” she sighed, “the first master I had was around 500 BC, in Persia. The first thing I remember is being summoned.”

“So… were you human before you were a genie?” The thought made him slightly nauseous, but he pushed that down. He’d just always assumed ‘genie’ was like… a race of people or something.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember and Cyrus didn’t mention it, so I just assumed I was made.”

He nodded and let it go, because it was unsettling. Not just because she was – apparently – over two thousand years old, but also because she may or may not have been human.

...
 

“There was one, in France a couple years ago,” she continued after they both stopped laughing. “His name was Henri-Michel, and he was an artist.”

“What did he wish for?”

She started talking about the guy wishing for a better art set and he laughed. Which surprised him, actually, because he was having a better time than he expected. She’d been regaling him with stories that were – frankly – hilarious. Apparently men tended to be incredibly stupid when faced with a girl in a genie outfit and the promise of three wishes.

“…so I thought, you know, artist: probably a good guy, right? He turned out to be this big perv.” She rolled her eyes as she thought back to it, but he frowned.

“Wait, did he make you…”

“Oh, I can’t have sex,” she shook her head.

“Part of the rules?”

“No, I just don’t have the parts for it.”

“You mean you don’t have…”

“Nope. Built like a Barbie.”

“Oh.”

She seemed totally unfazed by the prospect. Sex was fun, and she seemed totally ok with never being able to have it. Probably because she didn’t know what she was missing out on. The bigger problem was, she didn’t know what she was missing out on for everything. She didn’t eat or sleep or – apparently – have sex. She didn’t have friends or family or any human connection besides one person that summoned her and wished for things.

“Everything here’s so pretty,” she sighed, eyes wide as she took in the lights and decorations. “It’s like a grand ball, you know?”

“It’s not so pretty when you look a little deeper,” he muttered.

“Nothing ever is.”

...
 

“She’s pretty,” Summer commented, tapping her foot. He sighed and turned away from the buffet table to face her.

“Look, I know I’m supposed to be with Marissa, but she said no…”

“I know.” Summer’s face softened and she uncrossed her arms. “Look, I love Coop. She’s my best friend, but don’t let her string you along, ok? If you’ll be happy with that girl over there, then do it. Marissa likes you, but she’s… she can be flaky. And I like you, and I think we’re friends, so I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Wow, Roberts. Touching.” He tried to hide a smile with his cup when she glared. “But thanks."

...

 

The genie was still admiring herself in the mirror, but he wasn’t paying attention.

The party was over and so was... this. He’d promised to wish her free – multiple times – but he’d done it casually. It was like telling someone they looked good – a little white lie to make them feel better. He'd promised, but he'd never given it any real thought.

But this time, he was actually going to do it.

Something about tonight had struck a chord. Maybe it was Summer’s comment about deserving to be happy, or maybe it was the genie’s comment about how nothing was ever as it seemed, but it had hit him that she deserved to be free. To be free, have a life, be happy.

Because even though she was twirling in the mirror to admire her dress one last time, she wasn’t happy. How could she be as a slave?

He was going to wish her free.

...
 

Kirsten grinned at her husband – currently pouting in the driver’s seat.

“I’m sorry, honey, I know you hate these parties.”

“It’s not the parties, it’s the people. If I have to hear about foie gras one more time, I’m gonna shoot myself.”

She giggled, placing her hand over her mouth. Then she turned to stare out at the road as they drove, kicking off her heels. She didn’t mind the parties, but it was always nice to get them over with and go home to her family.

“I’ll repay you,” she teased her husband, who turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Now that is incentive.”

She smiled again – this time reveling in her power over him. Even after all these years, he was still entranced by her. The feeling was mutual, though. She didn’t know what she’d do without him. He was her rock, her life support. He was what kept her grounded in reality, kept her moral center pointing north. He was the father of her children and the love of her life.

And that was her last thought as the truck slammed into the passenger side of their car.




part 6 >>