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The house was quiet. Messy, broken and disastrous, full of holes and branches, but quiet at the very least. A sound or two occasionally creaked out from its tired wooden frame; a groan, a squeak, a whine, yet those noises were expected, and so they did nothing to bother its inhabitant’s focus.
The Djinn pushed his glasses further up his nose, seemingly out of habit more than anything else, as they immediately slid back to their original resting place without fuss. The ‘secret’ cellar room in which their master housed his valuables had become their domain, surrounded by baubles and silverware and coins that gleamed dully in the low light- the most eye-catching of all, the Djinn mused with no small hint of self-importance, was the golden lamp resting in the middle of the table, thrumming with unseen energy. The lamp was as much himself as was the body perched in the chair before it, pen in hand, a furrow between his dark brows.
They’d been at this for an hour or two now, and had a good few sheets of paper stacked neatly beside them to show for it. Though his memory was excellent- a blessing and a curse, as time had again and again proven- the Djinn had made a habit of keeping detailed notes on where his travels took him. This time it was a rickety vampire den in Staten Island, the time before that a child’s bedroom in Cote d’Azur, before that the tundra of Siberia, before that… it went on and on, and his notes were as endless as his adventures. This chapter of their life had just begun, they knew, though with the rate that their master was burning through his wishes, it may just be over soon.
The Djinn had already finished his section about Nandor, confident that the vampire would not be thrilled with the observations he’d made. He wasn’t cruel- didn’t care enough to be cruel, it expended too much energy- just… honest. Bitingly so. Nandor was a strong brute, that much was clear, bravado and self-confidence practically leaking from his dead pores and making it very difficult to hold a conversation with him about anything other than himself. Deep, heavy thinking was not in his wheelhouse- except, yet again, if it regarded his own needs, as demonstrated by their recent marathonal consult about penis size- yet the vampire had been a warlord in his day, so there had to be something contemplative about him. They’d served worse masters, yet even they had to admit not many beat this lot on eccentricity.
He was just beginning his passage about the other male-presenting vampire in the house; Lazlo Cravensworth, a sharper but just as self-centered being with little care in the world other than sucking and fucking. The Djinn let out a sigh through his nose, disturbing a nearby leaflet. The other one, Nadja, was much the same; sharper than either of the men, concerned primarily with her own problems like vampire nightclubs and if the shade of red she wore clashed with the shade of red her husband wore, and together the three of them were the bulls to the china shop they called a house. Not to even mention the… child? The small one with the face of an adult man. The Djinn wasn’t fully aware what the story was about him, and they hadn’t spent enough time with Lazlo, who appeared to be the boy’s(?) main caretaker, to find out.
And then there was the familiar. Now he was an interesting one, try as his vampire companions might to fully disparage him. Tapping their pen gently against the table, the Djinn recalled said penis-enlarging-discussion, remembering the way the boy had caught them in their attempts to pull one over on the pair, pressing on about clauses and loopholes and potential roundabout ways the immortal being could make their lives harder. He was a clever one, he’d give him that.
Not clever enough, they mused with a smile- well, their version of a smile, which really just involved a brief softening of their contemplative frown. The Djinn won over in the end as he always did, granting Nandor the 20% of girth and length he craved; with a stipulation, of course. There was always a twist, but the Djinn was particularly proud of this one.
“And every time I use my new big dick, I will think of you and all you’ve done for me.”
“This is your wish?”
“That is my wish-” “That is his wish.”
“Wish granted.”
To be fair, they had Nandor to thank; his set-up couldn’t have been more tantalizing, more expertly crafted, so much so that the Djinn wasn’t sure they could have done it much better if they’d tried. It had fit so casually into their banter as well, with neither Nandor nor his familiar realizing the consequences of their carelessness until much later on. Every time he attempted intimacy, his thoughts would turn, unbidden, to Guillermo. Guillermo, who he had spoken to as an equal despite their obvious status discrepancy. Guillermo, who he’d allowed to speak for him at times and challenge the Djinn on his behalf. Guillermo, who he’d stolen looks at with big, dark eyes, and it could not have been more evident that he didn’t understand nor intend the longing that they contained.
It was so obvious. Obvious and tiring and hardly worthy of an all-powerful Djinn’s time, but then again even immortal creatures got bored, and when the opportunity laid itself so alluringly at their feet, what could they do but seize it?
There was only a single snag in this trajectory- both involved parties sheer idiocy aside, of course- and that snag had just finished creeping down the unstable staircase on quiet stocking feet.
“Hello, Djinn, good day! Ah, am I interrupting?” asked Marwa, eyes falling to the hand where his pen was cradled. She wore a large sweater, the sleeves of which covered her hands when they weren’t rolled up- though, they had noticed, they were rolled up more often than not- surely purchased for her by the familiar, who wore sweaters in a very similar style. Jeans and socks seemed appropriate for the chilly weather, as did the warm mug in her hands; some kind of tea, the Djinn guessed. She didn’t seem the coffee type. Her hair was loose, curling and wisping around her shoulders like a comfortable shawl.
Clicking his pen to sheathe it, he studied her for a moment before replying, “You are not. What can I do for you, Marwa?”
The woman hesitated, wrapping a second hand soothingly around the body of her mug. The Djinn eyed an empty chair across from him and nodded at it, silently offering it to her. As she crossed the room to settle into it, he tidied his stack of papers, adding the unfinished sheet to the top of the pile and setting them to the side.
“I appreciate your time,” Marwa said, offering a grateful smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, “I just have one question about the, ah, nature of my beloved Nandor’s wishes. A clarifying question, I suppose.”
Far from surprised, the Djinn flipped their pen around their index finger, eyeing her over their glasses with a practiced gaze. Not unkind, but refraining from overt friendliness. He’d had very little contact with anyone in the house aside from Nandor (and Guillermo, by association), and that was intentional; the role of a Djinn was not meant to be permanent nor comforting. They were a means to an end, a creature from which their masters attempted to bring to life their ambitions, greed, and desires. He found it endlessly bemusing how each so-called master assumed they would be the one to gain the upper hand, despite the myriad unlucky souls who’d come before them. “Yes, what is your question?”
On a personal note, they found the nature of ‘pre-questions’ irritating. The ‘may I-’ before the question, the stipulation or nicety before one’s true intentions. Though, he relented, life with Nandor- and life as one of 37 wives before that- probably made such prerequisites a necessity.
She brought the mug to her lips before moving forward, and the Djinn could nearly see her mind turning. “If I may speak hypothetically… if the one who summoned you,” she nodded towards the lamp, “were to have a spouse or immediate family that they were close to, would they be-”
“You’re asking if you could use Nandor’s wishes once you’re married, yes?” the Djinn interrupted, tilting his chin up a tad at the end of his question. This did surprise him- certainly this was not the first time this question had come up, though it was often shrouded by jealousy or ill-intent. A family member whose view of his master was already soured, trying to gain some form of upper hand, or a spouse angered that their partner would not use the Djinn’s powers to give them what they wanted. He had seen both of these outcomes time and time again, yet Marwa did not seem the type.
After a quiet moment spent drumming her fingers against the rim of her mug, she responded, “Yes. That is my question.”
Perhaps she was more perceptive than they gave her credit for; the Djinn could tell she knew the answer even before they spoke by the way her shoulders slumped. “...No. It is not possible, unless Nandor permits it.”
“Permits it?”
“You would communicate to him your wish, and he would pass it on to me. He must be the one who makes the wish, as he is the one I am bound to.” they explained, gesturing vaguely towards the staircase to indicate the eldest vampire.
The Djinn kept his eyes on Marwa, crease ever-present between his dark brows, watching as she looked away to conceal the frown that spread across her lips, the hard blink that betrayed her disappointment. By the time she returned to the conversation they had vanished, replaced by a polite smile and a nod. It had felt like an invasion of privacy, to get a glimpse into her true emotions, to be privy to that heartbeat of despondency before her need to tuck them away took over.
“I see. Thank you then, Djinn, for allowing me a moment of your time. I’ll leave you to your writing.” With that she moved to stand, one hand on her mug and the other pressing against the arm of the chair, and as she turned her head away from them her black hair shifted and fell along with the movement, catching the light and glowing dimly like the ornaments that surrounded the pair.
“Wait,” said the spirit, though he didn’t know why. She did. Marwa glanced back at him, confusion written on her features. They flipped their pen once, twice, thrice, gaining a bit of comfort from the familiar gesture; rarely did the Djinn do anything that wasn’t carefully puzzled out in advance, though they supposed even they weren’t immune to curiosity. “...Why do you ask? What do you wish for?”
The script now flipped, Marwa kept her eyes on him for a few moments, as if trying to work through his intentions, trying to match his previous impassive nature to this sudden burst of inquisitiveness. The Djinn couldn’t blame her, as he was doing the same. But their expression did not waver, would not give her any more clues into their thought process, and so it was up to her to decide whether or not she would continue.
Relaxing a bit more into her chair, the woman shrugged lightly, pushing her hair back into place. “Ah, well, it… it’s a bit silly, really, it…” She hesitated, as if expecting to be interrupted. The Djinn said nothing. “...Well, I actually had two wishes, as greedy as that makes me seem,” she chuckled, “The more important of the two being that I would wish to be… a better partner for my dear Nandor. Clearly, I would refine said wish for clarification’s sake beforehand, but…” Marwa waved a hand.
The Djinn stilled the continuous flipping of his pen, bringing it instead to his chin and tapping it ponderously. They’d had a sneaking suspicion that would be the nature of the wish, though they hoped it wasn’t so. A better partner? A better partner for Nandor?
Marwa took the silence as an invitation to continue, “He is an excellent man, has always been a wonderful husband, for as long as I’ve known him,” she said, either ignoring or simply missing the Djinn’s eyeroll, “I admire his strength and wisdom, as well as his natural aptitude towards leadership. I should consider myself lucky. And- And I do. Very much.”
Catching the slip-up, he interjected, “And why do you wish to change yourself for him?”
“Because he…” She faltered, took a breath, tried again, “Because I believe I could be a better partner to him, Djinn. He oftentimes… I do, sometimes, get the feeling he doesn’t want to… be around me. Spend time with me, ah, alone. I want to be someone he can, as my beloved puts it, hang out with.”
A heavy silence followed her words, during which the Djinn put a few things together.
They recalled the evening of the Night Market, Nandor and Guillermo trading words in the foyer, only broken apart by Marwa’s sudden presence. She’d been smiling, he remembered, eager to approach the cameras that seemed to follow his master’s every waking footstep and share her excitement about the Night Market, but more specifically, about accompanying her betrothed out of the house. Unseen by her, the Djinn had watched Nandor pace towards him, had known what his wish would be before he spoke it.
They could not feel guilt. Over time, they had learned how devastating of an emotion it was, how soul-rending it could be to agonize over decisions outside of their own control. He had to obey a direct wish given to him from the being who summoned him, there was simply no way around it- but he could still remember how her smile had faded into a dull confusion, announcing flatly mid-sentence that she’d decided to stay home, how Nandor had tossed her a few parting words before striding off after Guillermo. Indeed, a Djinn’s excellent memory was a blessing and a curse.
This was not his fault. Nor was the issue left unsaid, the loophole in the manhood debate that he’d been so proud of taking advantage of, because none of this was his business, and he knew better than to get involved in the lives of his charges. Nandor had spent many painstaking hours pouring over the details of his new penis- and balls!- so to slip up so carelessly right at the end was nobody’s mistake but his own.
But now, Marwa had to pay the price for it. Was that fair? A fiance who cared more for his familiar than his partner, who balked at intimacy and spent as little time around her as he could muster? The Djinn swallowed the rising bitterness that rose in their throat. They harbored no hatred for Nandor- again, such intense emotions required too much energy to expend- but could not help feeling… frustrated at his blindness, his obliviousness. He wouldn’t have had to reanimate 37 wives and then do away with 36 of them if he had just-...
“Djinn?” came Marwa’s voice, stirring him from his thoughts. They’d been idle for a few seconds too long, gazing at her without comment nor outward emotion. He came back to himself, remembered who he was and where he was, the situation in comparison to other complicated wishes he’d dealt with in his life, and allowed himself a tiny shake of his head. He must be getting old. That, or this ragtag group of vampires really were the limits of what he could deal with when it came to eccentricity; perhaps they were wearing him down more than he thought. The tangled thread that was Nandor, Marwa and Guillermo was not their mess to solve, and it certainly was not the role of a djinn to play matchmaker or therapist.
They straightened their tie and met Marwa’s expression with careful neutrality. “It has only been a few weeks, hasn’t it? You two have been apart for a very long time, surely Nandor has changed since then. Perhaps the two of you simply need time to reacquaint.” he offered.
She didn’t seem convinced. The woman pulled a long sip from her mug, mulling over his words with a downwards quirk of her mouth that displeased the Djinn for reasons he could not put a finger on. “You may be right. I think I will… sleep on this, and consider taking a step back, letting him have a bit of space. Men do benefit from that at times, and he has more important things to handle right now than… me.” she decided, and he could see her walls had returned, had carefully built themselves back up after that moment of vulnerability. He knew before she did it that she would affix him with a polite smile, and that she did. “Thank you for listening.”
“I am sorry I could not be of more help.” they said, and meant it.
This time he allowed her to stand without interference, and when she reached down to pick up her cup from the table the sleeve of her sweater fell down over her hand leaving just her fingers visible, decidedly too big for her small frame. The Djinn wondered why he had noticed such a miniscule detail. He left it at that.
However, before she reached the bottom of the stairs, Marwa turned back to him with a different look across her features; thoughtful still, but a tad dubious, as if she had come to a conclusion she didn’t particularly like. It hung in the air until she spoke at length. “...May I ask you another question?”
He tilted his head from side to side, as if seriously considering the stipulation. “You may, so long as I can ask you a question in return.”
She wasn’t expecting that, they could tell- with a bit of a thrill, as they did love getting one over on others- but pressed on nonetheless. Instead of returning to the chair, Marwa leaned against the wooden railing, her eyes on them from across the room as opposed to across the table. “Has Nandor ever… used one of his wishes to change something about me?”
Ah. She was clever.
For a brief moment, he thought of telling her. About the hair, about the outings, about the wishes entirely wasted on micromanaging a woman far more astute than the man she… adored. The Djinn understood that, the fact that Marwa did care for Nandor and that informing her of her fiance’s less-than-noble pursuits wouldn’t be doing her any favors. They were not in the business of breaking hearts or of garnering suspicions, they were a neutral party. So they gave a neutral answer and ignored how heavily it sat on their tongue, “I’m afraid I cannot tell you that, Marwa. Nandor’s wishes are entirely between him and I, and I am bound to keep them a secret.”
But that in itself seemed to answer something for her, exactly as he hoped it would.
Marwa turned to look up the staircase, studying the closed door as if she could see through it and to the rest of the house. Her fingers drummed lightly against the side of her mug before she nodded slightly against an unsaid thought, allowed a deep breath to pass though her lungs and passed her attention back to the Djinn. “I understand. You would be betraying his trust, and I would hate to ask that of you.” She cleared her throat. “...You said you had a question for me?”
The Djinn tapped his pen against the table, eyes trailing over to the spot she’d been sitting in moments ago, and then back to her. “I do. If you had been able to use my powers as your betrothed does, you mentioned you would have had two wishes. What was the second one?”
The woman hesitated. Said nothing. And then… she smiled.
Genuinely. Really smiled, the one that lit up her eyes and showed her teeth and wrinkled the bridge of her nose. No hint of nervousness or apologies in this smile, just joy.
“Oh! Yes, well, I didn’t expect you to remember that.”
“I have a very good memory, all djinns do.”
“Ah, I see that now,” Marwa chuckled, “I would have wished for… this one is silly too, though. In my old life, I spent a lot of time studying the stars and making notes on my findings. I love the field of astrology, though back then it was… certainly not as developed as I’ve learned it is now. I had a telescope then that I used to make my observations, and now I would… I would wish to have one again.”
The Djinn hesitated. “...That would be your wish?”
“That would be my wish.”
He clicked his pen.
He shouldn’t have done it, should not have broken his own rules nor used his magic for anything outside of the wishes of the soul he was bound to, yet regardless of this, it was done and he did not regret it.
“Anyway,” Marwa hummed, “I’ve taken up enough of your day. I’m sure I will see you soon, Djinn. Until then.” The woman offered him a bit of a wave- a gesture that was not entirely returned but at least acknowledged with a nod- and began her ascent up the wooden stairs, out of the cellar and back into the house proper. As she left, she took with her a certain sweet-spicy scent they hadn’t been able to place until it disappeared, something like cinnamon, something like cloves.
As soon as the door clicked shut, the Djinn practically dove for the stack of papers he’d abandoned, flipping carelessly through filled sheets until he found an empty one. Pushing their glasses further up their nose, they paid no mind to the way they immediately slid back down, instead unsheathing their pen and beginning to write, starting with the name, ‘Marwa’ in neat letters at the top.
He had far more to note about her than he’d realized.