Chapter Two #2
But his new mistress was peering at him from behind Harold’s favorite chair, frozen in shock, and the impression he was getting from the small part of her he could see was... Well, not someone he would want to seduce.
Wide grey eyes. Orangeish hair tied into messy pigtails.
Smudges of dirt on her nose and forehead and freckles on her rounded, rougeless cheeks.
A bright pink shirt—also dirty—beneath denim overalls.
Her fingernails were trimmed short and painted with a glittery purple.
And though she was mostly hidden behind the chair, she seemed at least a foot shorter than he was.
She looked like a child. Barely thirteen, if that.
And a poorly raised thirteen, if he had heard her right. Unless he had been packed away so long that children were now allowed to curse freely.
Dimitri echoed her profanity in his head. I cannot seduce a child. He was not generally inclined to mercy, but he had some morals.
He would never regain his freedom.
But it wasn’t like he had a choice in who opened his bottle. So he repressed his frustration and pasted a serene smile on his face.
“My heart sings at having such a lovely mistress,” he purred. And it did sing, against his will. Accursed master-bond.
But he’d also learned that it didn’t hurt to give a new master a dose of sweetness before the wishing began. Made them more likely to word their wishes imprudently, which would then allow him to be creative with his own interpretation. He had learned to work within his bonds to his own advantage.
Though he’d never had a child for a master, and it had been a good century since he’d even had a master with children. What would a child wish for? And would her wishes send him on to a new master sooner, or would he be bound to her for her entire life?
Perhaps he could seduce one of her parents. Assuming she was not an orphan.
“Tell me, child,” Dimitri continued in his silkiest voice. “Where is your mother?”
That seemed to jolt her out of her shocked state. She narrowed her wide grey eyes and pointed at him with one purple-sparkled fingertip, the rest of her sinking even further behind the chair. “Who the fuck are you? Is this some...some tick tock trend? Are you filming this?”
His brow furrowed before he could think to keep it smooth. Why was she speaking of clocks? “I am Dimitri,” he said evenly. “I am here to grant your wishes.”
“Are you on drugs?” Her eyes widened again. “Oh, god. Am I on drugs? That’s got to be it. I’m on drugs. That frickin’ bottle had powdered LSD or shrooms or PCP, and now I’m tripping. Fuck fuck fuck.”
Dimitri allowed his eyes to close briefly, keeping his smile in place. “All is well, child. I am the genie Dimitri, and you have released me from my bottle. I am now bound—”
“Twenty-nine!” she shouted.
He blinked. “Do you desire twenty-nine of something? Diamonds, perhaps?”
She rolled her eyes. “I. Am. Twenty-nine. I’m not a frickin’ child.”
“Ah.” Dimitri narrowed his eyes in turn. “Are you not?” What an entertaining guttersnipe she was, if not especially honest.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Even my damn hallucinations patronize me.” She stepped out from behind Harold’s recliner and planted her hands on her hips. “Does this look like a child’s body to you?”
How precious. “You do indeed look...quite mature, Mistress,” he said soothingly.
The brat set her chin mutinously, then moved her hands from her hips to trace a waist that her clothing had disguised, up to curve around—oh.
“I wear a goddamn C-cup!” she bit out, jiggling her breasts with her hands. “And it’s a good thing you’re a drug-induced hallucination, or I’d be really damn embarrassed right now!”
Those were indeed...ample breasts. Which meant Dimitri’s attempt to sweeten his new mistress’s attitude toward him had failed miserably. Indulging a child’s fancy was a compliment. Treating a woman like a child was not.
Especially not if he intended to seduce that woman. Since she was clearly not a child, after all.
And there went his accursed morals again, insisting that seducing his mistress would be inappropriate.
Which probably had something to do with his long tenure as Harold’s companion.
He’d been vaguely aware that social mores had changed of late—particularly when he had begun watching more recent television—but his own habits and instincts were stuck decades ago.
You will have to adjust if you wish to be free, he told himself firmly.
Aloud, he said, “My apologies, Mistress. But I regret to inform you that you are mistaken. I am neither a vision nor an opium dream. And I am here to fulfill your every wish.” Until you wish too far, and the cosmos repays you with pain.
Or until you set me free.
He sent her what he hoped was a smile of sexual promise. It had been a while since he’d had to flirt.
“What’s that look for?” she snapped.
Damn. He was out of practice. “I merely await your whim.” He shifted his expression to practiced blandness.
The suspicion on her face did not fade. “You want me to make a wish.”
“Indeed. I yearn to grant it.”
“Uh-huh.” She set her jaw, regarding him flintily. “Okay, dream-boy. Load those boxes in my trailer.” She gestured at a stack of boxes off to the side of the recliner. “And this shitty chair.”
A twinge of anger flared in Dimitri’s gut. That was Harold’s favorite chair. When his health had begun to decline, he’d spent the bulk of every day there, from his morning coffee and newspaper to the evening news. Who was this woman to call Harold’s chair—?
Ah, but Harold was dead.
The bolt of rage fizzled into a wave of sadness.
Strange. Dimitri had never felt sad at the loss of a master before.
Perhaps because Harold had been the first to treat him as something other than a slave.
He’d been a companion. Perhaps even a friend.
Which was why Dimitri had been with him for so long.
His world had never gone out of balance enough for karma to come calling.
Hell, if Dimitri had thought to hint at it, Harold probably would have wished him free decades before he passed. Without any seduction at all. In the end, Harold had been a good man. Just lacking in imagination. He hadn’t considered Dimitri a slave, and so he’d never thought he needed to be freed.
He’d been a good friend.
This woman, though...
She was clearly no Harold. And once she realized she was not hallucinating, she’d be like all the others. Demanding and demanding and demanding until she tipped the scales and turned her own wishes to ashes.
That was always Dimitri’s favorite part of being a genie, of course.
When the balance of the world restored itself, and he had a moment to gloat before he was trapped again in his bottle, awaiting his new master.
Knowing that his former master was mired in regret and back where they had started.
Perhaps even worse off, if their wishes had been selfish enough.
He enjoyed raising a glass in his bitter confinement to another job well done. And he would do it again, and again.
Unless he broke the cycle.
Unless he induced this dirty-faced guttersnipe to fall in love.
Which would only happen if he convinced her that she wanted him for more than riches and glory.
And so he smiled and picked up the first of the boxes, carrying it into the truck with his own strength, rather than reminding her that she had to say the words I wish so that he could use magic instead.
No reason to waste ammunition when the war for his freedom had just begun.