Genie Knows Best (3 page)

Ah, so the narcoleptic troll
had
been paying attention.

Samantha spun around. “I’d forgotten you were there.” She licked her lips. “What are you?”

Oh, gods, here it comes.
Kal’s ego and libido reined themselves in quickly. That moment was over.

“
What
am I?
What?
”

Orkney’s ire made the ground tremble. Or rather, the stomp of a giant foot that was out of proportion to his height did. He said the reason he grew his hair long was to cover his feet, but, personally, Kal thought it had to do with the narcolepsy—the hair gave him an out when people accused him of falling asleep. But trolls as a race weren’t narcoleptic, and they all had the same hairstyle.

“I am not a
what.
I’m a
who
, and I’ll have you know that I’m a—”

“He’s a blabbermouth, is what he is.”

Kal groaned as Fritz crawled out of the listing drainpipe on Tia Pipa’s Nut Shop. Talk about an end to whatever moment he and Samantha might have had… Where one gnome went, others were sure to follow, especially since many of them carried pint-sized friends beneath their pointed caps.

Surprisingly, this time, only six popped out. But they all had their pitchforks.

But then the shutters on McKeever’s Pub opened and Seamus tapped the window with his shillelagh. His cronies raised their frosted mugs and flipped gold coins toward Seamus, who caught them in his green top hat with a wink at Kal.

So much for fulfilling Samantha’s wish of making all her troubles disappear. From the way she was spinning around as the citizens of Izaaz crawled out of the woodwork—literally—Kal would bet (and from the looks of the leprechauns,
they
already were) that she was thinking her troubles were just beginning.

A genie.

A
genie
. No. That wasn’t possible. Genies didn’t exist. This had to be a dream. It was crazy. It was ridiculous. Insane.

Yet that kiss had been real. Samantha put her fingers to her mouth, the feel of her skin nothing like that of his lips.

She glanced at him. Why had he kissed her? And why wasn’t she giving him hell for it?

She’d been about to, but then pitchfork-carrying, pointed-hat-wearing gnomes had crawled out of the downspouts, and… oh, yeah, that’d be why. It had nothing whatsoever to do with Albert’s offhanded, metaphorical stomping of her dreams and self-esteem. Nothing to do with being blindsided yet again. Being used. No, nothing to do with that at all.

No, the reason she wasn’t taking umbrage with that high-handed kiss was because the insanity of this situation was even more insane than some random guy kissing her.

Some random, half-naked,
hot
guy.

One of the gnomes tripped and his pitchfork went flying, landing at Samantha’s feet.

Gnomes. Pitchfork-bearing gnomes.
That
was insanity.

Then the gnome picked up the pitchfork, tipped his hat to her, and army-crawled back the way he’d come.

She had to be in Oz. Or Narnia. Maybe Middle-earth. Or possibly the Addams family’s neighborhood, because not only was she looking at gnomes, the likes of which she’d only ever seen on television commercials; but a dozen of Cousin Itt’s cousins were shuffling out of one building, and a parade of men no taller than the back of that suddenly appearing chair were filing out of another. Dressed in green, the men had black shoes, black belts, and black bands around their green top hats, all with big gold buckles on them.

Yes, she’d definitely gone over some rainbow because this had to be Oz—and that guy at the head of the green-man brigade the mayor—because she’d planned Dad’s funeral for November seventeenth
not
March seventeenth and she hadn’t had even a sip of the
arak
.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ye, lass,” the mayor said with a heavy, deep brogue, putting the kibosh on Oz. Maybe she was in Brigadoon.

“All right, all right, stand back. Give the lady some breathing room.” The fennec was running back and forth like a Border collie wannabe, as the parade fanned out around them. “She’s still in the adjustment period. No one say anything to upset her.”

Ah, her very own knight in shining fur. Pity he was too late on the no-upsetting thing.

Then a centaur trotted up behind the crowd, taking
upset
to a whole new level.

“Kal!” Half-horse, half-man, the creature fist-pumped the genie over the little people. “How’s it goin’? You done yet? I figured, with the High Master all set to announce something big at the bash next week in Al-Jannah, you’re finally getting that promotion.”

Aladdin—no,
Kal
—shook his head. “Not yet, Wayne. There’s still her.” He nodded her way and the sword swung on his hip.

“Her… I mean, me?” Samantha squeaked. She stuck her hand behind her back and furiously pinched herself.
Wake
up
wake
up
wake
up!
“What do I have to do with anything?”

“Oh lots,” said the fennec, bouncing around. The guy could use some Xanax. “You’re going to—mmmrph!”

Kal scooped up the fox and tapped his snout. “Enough, Dirham. Don’t forget your job.”

Job?
The fox had a job?

Well, sure. Why not? Why not a feather boa, too?

That’d be because the boa idea had been claimed by the pair of sparkling white unicorns—literally sparkling and literally unicorns, horn and all—strolling down the sidewalk.

“I’ll take that aspirin now, if you don’t mind.” Samantha held out her hand to Kal, then tossed the pills into her mouth sans water. Wine. Whatever.

Gulping them down, she grimaced at the chalky residue they left on her tongue. “Wish I had chocolate instead,” she muttered.

And, voilà! A chocolate bar hovered before her eyes.

This time she sat without an invitation. “How… How is this happening?”

The gnome and the army of munchkins chuckled. Even Cousin Itt and his cousins cracked smiles beneath their hair, the upward curve of yellow teeth behind the dreads making them look like Rastafarian jack-o’-lanterns.

Dirham squirmed in the genie’s arms. Nicely muscled forearms that had been around her not five minutes ago—

“It’s because Kal’s your genie and he’s here to do whatever you want.”

Now
that
had some interesting possibilities…

Samantha shook her head. Apparently, betraying, soon-to-be-ex-boyfriends and strange dreams sent one’s libido into overdrive. And let us not forget that out-of-this-world kiss. That definitely had gotten her libido going. Albert had never kissed her like that.

She didn’t think Albert
could
kiss like that.

She touched her lips again. She’d liked it. A lot. If she needed any further proof that Albert wasn’t the man for her—recent double-crossing, manipulative, lying, sack-of-shit status notwithstanding—the fact that his kisses had never left the kind of impression that one from a guy whose last name she didn’t even know, ought to do it.

And then a gnome took off his hat and another gnome—an exact replica of the one who’d been wearing the hat, only smaller—popped out of it like one of a set of Russian dolls, and Samantha relegated everything to insanity, regardless of how wonderfully the guy could kiss. This place was just too much. Too surreal. Too unbelievable. She
had
to be dreaming.

Samantha pinched herself again, hard enough to leave a bruise, but… nope. She was still here. Still seeing things that shouldn’t exist but somehow did.

Including the centaur who walked—cantered? trotted?—over to Kal. “Aw, man, Kal. I’m sorry, dude. I thought you’d be done by now.”

Samantha
was done, wholeheartedly, with whatever was happening here.

“Alad—Kal?” Samantha cleared her throat and stood. Not that her five-three gave her any advantage over him—over the munchkins, yes—but she was feeling at such a disadvantage that, if she could feel like the Jolly Green Giant around some gnomes, well then, she was going to take that advantage.

“Yes, Samantha?” All eyes, including Kal’s warm, dark, melted-chocolate ones, turned her way.

There had to be some rational explanation for all of this. There
had
to be. Genies and lanterns and magic and gnomes just didn’t exist.

“Um…” She shook the curls off her face and tried not to look at anyone but Kal. “Please tell me David put you up to this.”

“David?”

She licked her lips, grasping at the straws lying haphazardly around her sanity. “Yes, David. Hughes. The owner of The Main Event.” She’d recently sent David a slew of referrals for the event company she used for all her functions. He’d done an awesome job in converting the estate grounds into something out of
Lawrence
of
Arabia
; this had to be a bonus he’d come up with to thank her. His way of showing his appreciation for the business.

She wasn’t quite sure it was appropriate, given the reason for tonight’s party, but at least David was giving
to
her instead of taking
from
her. After Albert’s little nondisclosure, she’d take the good where she could get it.

But this… She didn’t know if she could take this. Albert’s defection wasn’t enough; now she had to deal with mythological beings, hairy sitcom creatures, and a devastatingly handsome, half-naked man who could kiss her right out of her
djellaba
if he so desired.

He
could?

Samantha rewrapped her fingers around the lantern’s handle, never more thankful for an interruption than for the fox with his squeaky voice, bouncing as high as her thigh next to her.

And if that didn’t sound insane…

“Owner? There’s another djinni around here?” Another bounce. “Cool, Kal! Someone for you to play with!”

The centaur laughed so hard he started choking. Cousin Itt whacked him on the withers until he neighed. Samantha didn’t want to contemplate what that meant.

Kal looked at her. “I don’t know anyone named David, Samantha. Not in this century anyway.”

She’d had a feeling he was going to say that. Well, not the century part. And did she even want to know what
that
meant? Hell, no.

“So you’re saying that you… and the fox… and the little green men—”

“Leprechauns.” The mayor coughed the word behind his hand.

Samantha shot him a look. Of course they were leprechauns; she knew that—

What?

Samantha shook her head. In denial or to clear it, it was anyone’s guess. “But you all can’t be
real
.”

Kal gripped her shoulder and that touch was definitely real. So were the electricity and goose bumps it ignited. “I assure you, Samantha, we are very real.”

And if all of that wasn’t enough to convince her—not to mention the tingle still going on with her lips from his kiss—something dropping out of the sky and landing on the road in front of her went a long way toward doing so.

Something that looked a lot like a dragon. An iridescent, purple-scaled, ridge-backed, frilled-neck dragon. With lime-green fingernails. Claws. Talons. Whatever.

Samantha shook her head. Again.

There was a
dragon
in front of her.

“What’s your hurry, hon?” The dragon was chewing gum—at least, Samantha was hoping it was gum and not a leprechaun.

She stumbled back to the chair. David couldn’t have had anything to do with
this
.

The dragon ambled closer, its long, pointed nose inches from Samantha’s face.

Samantha held her breath.

“Kal?” asked the dragon—which was so much more
wrong
than a talking fox or people congratulating her for throwing a good funeral. “What’d you do to this one? She’s looking a little green.”

The leprechauns chuckled.

“I didn’t do anything to her, Maille. She’s still adjusting to the magic, and now you all come along and upset her. I haven’t even had a chance to explain.”

Upset… The word didn’t
quite
convey what she was feeling, but Samantha had a feeling nothing would, so it was as good a word as any.

She licked her lips and then wished she hadn’t when the dragon’s eyes narrowed on her mouth. No need to give the giant lizard any ideas.

“You guys really don’t have anything to do with The Main Event, do you?” Samantha was amazed she had enough air in her body to utter that question.

“The Mane Event?” the mayor asked. “Heinz’s place? Faith, lass. Do ye think Orkney looks as if he’s had a haircut lately?”

Cousin Itt—make that Orkney—shook his head with a weird, snuffling sound that Samantha was going to assume was laughter just for her own peace of mind.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the centaur—Wayne. “I’ve seen Heinz’s cuts, and I have to say, that’s one of his better ones.”

Another garden gnome ran out from between the dragon’s front legs and poked Wayne’s fetlock with a pitchfork. “Watch it, Hoof-and-Mouth. That’s my cousin you’re talking about.”

The centaur pawed the ground. “Who are you calling Hoof-and-Mouth, you worm weasel?”

A colorful bird dove from the crooked spire of the highest building, its long purple-and-gold tail feathers skimming inches above the centaur’s head. “Worm weasel! I love it!”

And then the bird burst into flame.

“Show-off,” the dragon muttered, blasting the same spot with her own fire.

Samantha tried to move, but her legs weren’t paying attention to her brain.

Neither were her eyes, apparently, because she couldn’t possibly be seeing little gossamer-winged people flying off every balcony to the accompaniment of the peal of tiny bells with colorful ribbons streaming behind them. Though why they should be any more unbelievable than a dragon, Samantha couldn’t fathom.

There was a lot she couldn’t fathom.

The dragon sent a puff of lavender smoke at the beings. “Great. Just what we need. The do-good
peri
brigade.”

“Hey, Maille, watch what you say about the
peris
. They’re the bright spot in this place.” The gnome who’d gone after Wayne now waved his pitchfork at the dragon.

“I’ll say what I want to,
worm
weasel
, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” She grabbed him by his collar and tossed him into the air.

He landed on his head, grumbling as he rolled over and grabbed his hat from where it had landed on the ground. He punched his fist into the tip—right
through
the tip—then hopped to his feet, pitchfork aimed like a lance. “You are so dead, Maille—”

“Fritz!” Kal got off one word before the dragon torched the gnome’s hat.

“That could have been your head,
worm
weasel
, so I’d step back if I were you.” The dragon lowered her snout to the ground. Her eyes were as big as the gnome was tall. “Got it?”

Samantha had to hand it to Fritz. The little guy stood up to Maille—not that his was all that great of a height, but still, that took some balls. Which the dragon looked ready to fry.

Instead, she gave him a hotfoot.

“Ouch! Curses, you dirt-eating
amadán
!”

“Me? Dirt-eating?” The dragon shook her head, and the frill on her neck rattled. “Take a look in Seamus’s shiny gold buckle, you twit. I’m not the one who lives in a hole in the sand.”

“Now, now, there’s no need t’ be insultin’, Maille.” The mayor stepped forward and removed his hat to shine the buckle on it. “No worm weasel is going t’ use me gold for anythin’. Especially no’ a mirror.”

The rest of the leprechauns’ laughter was cut short by the river of gnomes that popped out of every drainpipe on the surrounding buildings and army-crawled across the sand faster than the leprechauns could run. But not faster than the unicorns, whose boas billowed onto a street lantern when they bounded over a row of empty white planters along the side of the road before fading into the background.