Chapter Six #2
She shrugged and raised her hand , shouting out “Two hundred.”
A man in a plaid shirt sent her a look that made Dimitri’s jaw clench. “Two-fifty,” he said smugly.
“Two-seventy-five,” Felicity shot back.
Dimitri summoned his own aura, glaring at the plaid man with all his might. Which was a lot of might, indeed. The man would not be able to see it, of course, unless he was attuned to the world of magic. But he would feel it.
The man swallowed visibly and lowered his hand.
“Going once,” the auctioneer intoned. “Going twice... Sold for two hundred and seventy-five dollars.”
Dimitri folded his arms and kept glaring as Felicity spoke with the auctioneer, then returned with a yellow slip of paper.
“Okay,” she said with a huff. “This is probably it for the day.”
“Is it?” Dimitri watched the group walking away. “Do you not wish to purchase more?”
“Well, yeah, but we’re going to eat into my grocery fund if I spend much more. And no”—she glared at Dimitri—“I am not going to W-word for food or funds. I am running a profitable business, and I do not need your magicky help.”
He gave her a sultry glance. “Will you accept my non-magical help? Offered freely.” He flexed his arms so that they strained the fabric of his flannel shirt.
Felicity eyed him suspiciously. “I suppose.”
“Excellent.”
She turned to look at the unit she’d just purchased. The door had been rolled down and locked again. “Why this one?” she asked suddenly.
He shrugged. “There is an aura. Something that is not like the rest.”
She looked down at the ground. “You know, when I bought your bottle...I felt something.”
His breast tingled. “Did you?”
“Like I had to buy it. I spent more than I was planning to. And your bottle. When I saw it, I felt...”
“It is not uncommon,” he said quietly. “The magic calls to you with visions of riches and glory. It is the promise that induces our masters to release us as their servants.”
She looked over her shoulder at him, frowning. “I didn’t see riches.”
The tingle in his breast spread. “Perhaps fame as a great artist?” He had been called upon to enhance mediocrity to genius before.
Which he had always done with glee, knowing that the karmic result would be a prodigy unrecognized in their own lifetime.
He hoped that was not what Felicity desired.
He was growing fond of her, and her despair would not taste sweet.
“Not that, either.” She turned fully to face him. “I just felt like it was mine.”
“That is strange.” Though it might explain her reluctance to wish for anything.
The bottle’s magic saw into a master’s soul, dangled visions of their deepest desires before them.
It was why Harold had been such a simple master—he’d had simple needs and wants.
Companionship and conversation, occasionally a meal or drink his fixed income could not afford.
And he’d never wished for Dimitri’s company. It had occurred naturally.
What was Felicity’s heart’s desire?
She shook her body abruptly. “Anyway. Yes, I’d love to have your assistance sorting this unit tomorrow, as long as it is freely given and not in any way forced by magic or wishes or...whatever.”
The next day, they had come with her trailer to unload and sort the boxes.
It was dirty work, indeed—soon they were both covered in grime, though at least Dimitri had the foresight not to bother wearing a shirt.
He’d stripped it off before touching the first box, glaring at his damn jeans, which had instantly shifted to cover his navel. Accursed rules.
He could repel the dirt magically, of course, but now that he had spent some time with Felicity, he didn’t so much mind the smut on her cheeks. It made him want to ruffle her hair and tease her.
It also made him want to strip her naked and scrub her clean.
Then clean her again with his tongue.
Now that he knew how she tasted, the sound of her cries, the rosy flush ecstasy painted across her flesh, he craved more.
And he was well aware that she was not immune to his attractions.
While she was prim and precise and all that was proper in their interactions, he had caught her watching him surreptitiously.
Had preened and stretched casually just for her gaze.
Because he was still trying to seduce her.
He had to make her fall in love with him. It was his only way out.
So he let himself get dirty, filthy, in the hopes that she would feel the same urges as he did.
She busily opened boxes and sorted the contents into various piles, but she was watching him through her eyelashes as he lifted and carried and stretched after each box.
More progress.
When they reached the back of the space, Dimitri zeroed in on the glowing aura. It was a rich, warm white, speaking of age and soul. Something precious, but not as jewels or gold. It came from a leatherbound case that had been laid flat atop the boxes.
“This,” he said, carrying the case reverently to Felicity and setting it atop the box she was sorting.
“Hey! I was—”
“This is it,” he insisted.
Felicity unzipped the case and flipped it open, her eyes widening.
“Oh, shit.” She reached out toward the etching on top of the contents, yanking her hand back at the last moment. “My hands are too gross to touch it. But it looks like...”
Dimitri had already recognized it. If the style had not been enough evidence, the glow was. “It is a Rembrandt.” There were other papers beneath it, each with its own glow, separated by pristine tissue.
“Holy fucking shirtballs.” Felicity flipped the case closed and zipped it up hastily. “This is... It’s...” She swallowed. “Probably stolen.”
“Perhaps.”
She suddenly glared up at him. “This isn’t some psychic wish thing, is it? Like you picked out of my head that I wanted to find a Rembrandt and—”
“You have made no wishes, and I have granted none.” Gods, she was prickly.
“I... I have to find an appraiser. Take it to a museum.” She stroked the leather of the case gently. “If it’s stolen, I’ll give it back. Or maybe donate it somewhere.”
“Or sell it,” Dimitri murmured.
“Maybe.” But Felicity’s expression was troubled now.
“It would pay your rent,” he reminded her.
“It would, but...” She shrugged. “I don’t know.
Like, it’s always the dream, finding something super valuable in a storage locker, but now that it’s happened, I...
” Her jaw set. “I don’t want to get rich off things that should belong to the world.
Great art is... I don’t aspire to it, not really.
I know I just make...silly sparkly things.
They make me happy, and they make other people happy, and that’s good enough for me.
But the truly great artists, the ones with a gift beyond others—they’re Sacred.
Holy. They’re not something I can sell.”
Dimitri gazed at her, feeling a sudden urge to kiss her. Not as part of a seduction, not to gain his freedom. Just... She seemed suddenly precious, her eyes so vulnerable they set something inside him to bloom. It was a familiar feeling, but distant. A long-ago memory.
Felicity stood. “I’ll take this to the Art Institute tomorrow. Donate them. If they’re real, maybe they’ll want to exhibit them, or if they’re stolen, get them back to the rightful owners.”
“You could be rich,” he said quietly, confusion rippling through him.
“I don’t want to be rich,” she replied, just as quietly. “I just want to live. Make cool stuff and afford to live. That’s it.”
Dimitri stared at her, that blooming warmth growing. He couldn’t say anything, because he recognized it now, and... It was forbidden. The greatest of taboos. Gods help me.
She laughed, unaware of his inner struggle. “I guess I’m weird that way. And it means I’ll probably always be on the edge of poverty. But at least I’m walking that edge with my own two feet, making my future with my own hands.”
His throat was choked with the words he could not say. “Your art is not silly,” he said instead. “There is true feeling in it. That is what makes people happy.”
“If you say so.” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, let’s get the rest of this sorted. I want to get to the dump before it closes. Put this in the truck, please.” She handed him the case.
And then she sat back down and resumed pulling garbage out of a box.
As if she hadn’t just held literal riches in her hands and decided to gift them to the world.
Dimitri did as he had been asked, then stood and watched Felicity move. She was grimy and disheveled and prickly, and she refused any assistance she would not ask of an ordinary roommate.
But he could not deny the growing warmth inside him, not as they completed the tasks of sorting and loading and unloading, not as they relaxed on Sunday, watching movies on her laptop and chatting, and not over the weeks that followed, as she continually ignored his flirting, declined to wish for so much as a flea, and treated him as a roommate and friend.
It grew and blossomed and wrapped its tendrils all around him until he could no longer deny it.
It wasn’t the master bond, not the false, sickly glow of their magical entanglement. It was real.
He was falling in love with Felicity.
With his mistress.
And though consent might be a loophole for physical loving, for mutual pleasure, Dimitri was still a genie, a slave to the magic no matter that Felicity repudiated it, and his heart was not his own to give.
It was impossible.
It was forbidden.
And he was truly doomed.