The Djinn’s Wish Waylon #2
When I pulled up to the window, the cashier, a young harpy with iridescent feathers where her hair should be, gave me a wink. “Hey, Waylon! Usual day?”
“Hey, Kira. Yeah, pretty much.” I handed over my card. “How’s your sink holding up?”
She laughed, her feathers fluffing slightly. “No more leaks since you fixed it last month. My roommates actually thank you every time they do dishes.”
I smiled, genuinely this time. It felt good when my work actually made a difference, when it lasted longer than a few weeks before breaking again. “Glad to hear it.”
She handed me my food, and the smell of salt and grease filled the truck. “Have a good one,” she called as I pulled away.
I parked in the shade of a massive oak tree at the edge of the lot and unwrapped my burger, taking a huge bite.
Perfect. As I chewed, I scrolled through my remaining appointments.
First up was Mrs. Henderson with a leaky kitchen faucet.
It was a straightforward job, thank god.
And then Mr. Fang with toilet issues. Vampires were usually clean and precise clients, but they had this annoying habit of filling their toilets with the special solution they used to dissolve.
.. leftovers. Played hell with the plumbing.
My phone buzzed with a text from my boss.
Need you to take one more after Fang. Old client, good tipper. East side, near where you’re headed tonight anyway.
I groaned, stuffing a handful of fries into my mouth. So much for having time to go home and shower before the bathhouse. But I couldn’t say no. Not when I needed the money.
Fine. Send me the details.
After finishing my lunch, I headed to Mrs. Henderson’s place. True to expectation, it was a simple washer replacement that took all of fifteen minutes. She was in her seventies, offered me homemade cookies, and didn’t once try to flirt with me. It was a goddamn miracle.
Mr. Fang’s place was next. His sleek modern apartment reeked of that chemical cleaner all vampires used, making my eyes water slightly.
“It’s making this... gurgling sound,” he explained, wrinkling his nose as if the toilet was personally offending him with its existence. “And sometimes it doesn’t flush properly.”
I nodded, kneeling to examine the toilet. “How often are you using the dissolving solution?”
He shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps... more frequently than recommended.”
I tried not to smile. He did look like he’d put on a few pounds since the last time I saw him.
“That’s your problem right there. It’s eating away at the rubber seals.
” I opened my tool bag. “I’ll replace them, but you might want to consider a special disposal unit for your.
.. dietary byproducts. Maybe a heated composter that can handle animal bones? ”
“They make those?!” He seemed elated.
“They do,” I nodded. “They’re expensive, but it’ll pay for itself in a year with how much dissolving solution you have to buy. And they do free pickup when the bin is full.”
“I’ll go make the call now,” he smiled, trotting off into darker parts of the house.
An hour later, I was back in my truck, checking the address for my surprise final appointment. When I saw the address, my jaw dropped.
It was the bathhouse.
I tipped my head back and closed my eyes, breathing out a long sigh.
If this wasn’t a gift from the gods, I didn’t know what was.
Call it fate, destiny, or whatever you want.
I didn’t care. I was just happy that I was going to the bathhouse.
The moment I fixed whatever it was that they needed, I was heading for the glory holes.
The drive across town felt like it took forever.
But when I finally pulled up outside the bathhouse and killed the engine, a grin spread across my face.
The metal building looked unassuming from the outside.
It was just another warehouse in this part of town.
Only a small, discreet sign marked it as “OPEN.” To anyone who didn’t know better, it might’ve been just an office for a shipping center.
But those in the know understood what went on behind that unassuming metal door.
Grabbing my tool bag, I hopped out of the truck and approached the entrance. Usually, I’d be walking through these doors with a very different kind of anticipation, stripped of my work uniform and ready to strip off everything else. But business before pleasure this time.
The front desk guy, a grumpy human with silver hair, looked up from his novel. He knew me by sight, but when he saw the tool bag, his brows knit together. “You… can’t take that in there,” he said.
“I know,” I laughed. “I work for a plumbing company. We got a call that y’all need some help with something.”
“Michael called another plumber?” the man scoffed, shaking his head.
“Why did we even hire Brad then?” He grumbled to himself as he picked up the phone and dialed.
“Brad? Yeah, front desk. Your backup plumber is here?” He paused for a moment, listening to what I assumed was an explanation.
“Of course.” He put the receiver down. “Brad’s on his way up.
Apparently whatever’s wrong in one of the private pools is a two man job.
” He picked up his book once more. “Feel free to sit.”
“Actually, I was hoping I could get a locker key,” I said, putting on my most charming smile. “I was gonna come here tonight anyway, so I can just drop my tools in the locker when I’m done.”
The man behind the desk raised an eyebrow but nodded after a moment. “Sure thing. You’re a regular I guess.” He reached under the counter and pulled out a small key with a plastic tag. “Number forty-seven, same as usual.”
“Thanks, bud,” I said, pocketing the key.
I was about to head back to the locker room when a door behind the desk opened.
A man emerged and my jaw dropped. He was tall, muscular, and handsome as sin.
He had dark hair cropped short, a jaw that could cut glass, and the kind of build that made it clear he spent serious time at the gym.
From the way his t-shirt hugged his chest and biceps, I’d guess he was a regular lifter.
“You the plumber?” he asked, his eyes giving me a quick once-over. His voice was deep but kind. His accent was east coast, which probably made him a local.
“That’d be me,” I replied, holding up my tool bag. “Name’s Waylon.”
“Brad,” he said with a nod. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. We’ve got an issue with one of the private pools downstairs that I can’t seem to fix on my own. I need a second pair of hands.”
He gestured for me to follow him through the door he’d just come through. As we walked, I couldn’t help but notice how well his jeans fit his ass. Clearly the bathhouse had good taste in maintenance staff.
“So you work here full time?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
“Yeah, about six months now. My title is General Maintenance, but I was hired for the plumbing specifically. Pipes just aren’t made for the amount of water that comes in and out of this place in a single day.
” He glanced back at me with a knowing smirk.
“Michael hired me after I fixed one of their saunas.”
“Michael?” I asked, following Brad through the locker room I’d been in at least a dozen times.
“The owner,” Brad replied. “He’s... particular about the place.”
I’d been coming to this bathhouse for over a year and had never met the owner.
Rumors swirled about him of course. Mostly that he was some kind of demon who fed off sexual energy, that he was centuries old, or that he could read minds.
But then again, people always made up stories about successful business owners who kept to themselves.
I didn’t really care what he was. I was just thankful for the bathhouse.
“We’ve gotta go through the roman bath to get to the private pools,” Brad explained as we approached another door. “Fair warning if you haven’t been here before. It’s usually pretty active on Friday nights.”
I almost laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m a regular here.”
Brad glanced back at me, his smile shifting into an expression of relief. “Thank god,” he grinned. “This will be way less awkward.”
The moment Brad pushed open the door, the humid air hit me like a wall.
The Roman-style bath was a large, open space with a central pool surrounded by smaller hot pools and lounging areas.
True to Brad’s warning, it was busy. Men of all shapes, sizes, and species lounged naked in the water or on the benches.
Some were chatting casually, others were openly fucking either in or at the edges of the pools. It was a delicious sight.
I kept my eyes forward as we walked along the edge of the main pool, though it was hard not to notice the appreciative glances thrown my way. In my work clothes with a tool belt, I stood out. But it was hard to focus on fixing things when I was rock hard. So for the moment, I’d ignore them.
“Down this hall,” Brad directed, leading me past the steam room and sauna I’d been to plenty of times. “Have you been down to the private pools before?”
“Yep. A few times.”
We descended a narrow staircase, the sounds of the main bath fading behind us. The basement level was cooler, dimly lit with blue lights that gave everything an otherworldly glow. A long corridor stretched before us with numbered doors on either side.
“So what exactly is the problem?” I asked as we walked.
“One of the jets in Pool Three is shooting water out at weird angles, and the drain is backing up. I replaced the pump yesterday and cleaned out the jets, but something’s still not right.” Brad ran a hand through his short hair. “I’m starting to think it might be something in the main line.”
“Could be,” I nodded. “Especially in a place like this. You’d be amazed what I’ve had to fish out of drains.”
Brad laughed, a warm sound that echoed in the narrow hallway. “Oh, I can imagine. Been here long enough to have seen some shit… literally and figuratively.”