Hope's Wish Read online

  “Whoa.” She laughed. “That’s… umm…”

  Daku wiped his lips with the back of his hand, tossed the empty bottle to James, and gave her another smile. “It was nice to meet you, Ms. Hope. I know Hastin here is meant to be looking after you but try to keep him out of trouble if you can.”

  An unreadable light danced in Tahlee’s eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

  Daku chuckled. Actually chuckled. And dropped her a wink.

  What the hell? If James didn’t know better, he’d think Daku was provoking him.

  It’s possible he is. Kitt most likely told him how you reacted to seeing Tahlee in Kade’s office.

  “We’re all fine here, Dak. Want me to send you,” he raised his hand level with his jaw, fingers poised to click, and wriggled his eyebrows, “back from wherever it is you came from?”

  Daku turned on his heel. “Walk with me to the door, Jimmy.”

  He didn’t wait for James to say anything, striding out of the room with the same confidence with which he entered it.

  James let out a ragged sigh, clawed his hands through his hair, and threw a sheepish smile to Tahlee. “I’ll be back.”

  “Good. Because you have a question to answer.”

  He ground his teeth. Shite. He knew she hadn’t believed him when he’d said being a djinn had nothing to do with why he’d walked out on her three years ago. He knew she wouldn’t stop until she knew the truth. That persistence, that belief in knowing the truth in all situations, defined her. It was one of the things he’d loved about—

  Shite.

  A cold flush swept over him and his breath caught.

  That line of thinking was nothing but dangerous.

  “I’ll be back,” he repeated, hurrying after Daku.

  The dreamwalker waited at the front door, bouncing a keychain in one hand, unwavering gaze locked on the abstract painting on the foyer wall. “Is everything okay, James?” he asked, voice low, as James approached.

  “It’s okay. I should have let Kitt know there was nothing to worry about.”

  Daku lifted an eyebrow. “Nothing to worry about? You revealed what you are to a human. Because she… what? Came upon you projecting yourself into Newton’s place? I could be wrong, I’m only a dreamwalker after all, but I think you’ve got ways of dealing with a compromising situation like that—and they don’t involve full disclosure, yeah?”

  Full disclosure. Ha.

  “I know Hope. She’s a dog with a bone when it comes to getting answers.”

  “Huh. Sure.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  Daku tapped his finger against James’s chest, right over his heart. “I suspect this has something to do with it.”

  “Sod off, Sandman.”

  A sly grin split Daku’s lips. “Reckon I might go for a walk tonight. See what I stumble upon.”

  James leveled his own finger at Daku. “You come anywhere near my dreams, and it won’t matter how much you wish for the pain to stop. I’ll—”

  “Mate.” Daku held up his hands, shaking his head. “It’s okay. I’m fucking with you.”

  A shaky laugh fell from James. “I don’t think I’ll ever get your sense of humor, Dak.”

  “The way I like it. Keeps everyone on their toes.” Daku narrowed his dark gaze. “Although I do think you’re up to the neck in something. Whatever it is, if you need help…”

  “Thanks. Actually, I do. Need help. I think…” He stopped. Even contemplating this made his chest tight, let alone saying it aloud.

  Daku waited.

  “I think there’s a sorcerer practicing magic in LA. Dark magic. I could be wrong, but Nim might be able to sense something. Learn something.”

  “Okay. Learn what?”

  “I think…” The band around James’s chest grew tighter. “I think whoever it is, they have a connection to the sorcerer who summoned me fourteen hundred years ago.”

  Connection. That was one way of putting it. “Is the sorcerer who summoned me” was another way, but despite what James had felt from Tahlee’s laptop bag, he still couldn’t bring himself to believe Syrin was resurrected. It wasn’t possible. The spell Syrin had cast to unmake James was absolute. Once Syrin died, his existence devoured from the inside out, he no longer existed. Not in the temporal realm, the ethereal realm, nor the Order of Actuality.

  He’d erased himself from existence.

  The only reason the same didn’t happen to Rose was—

  “If they do have a connection,” Daku asked, “does that mean you’ll be able to return to the djinn realm?”

  James met the dreamwalker’s pinning gaze. “No. Only the original summoner can revoke the summons. Not a descendant.”

  And Syrin didn’t have a descendant. Rose had died. Horrifically.

  And if the presence you sensed isn’t a descendant? If the impossible has happened?

  “But there’s something not right,” he said. “And I need to know what’s going on, preferably without whoever the sorcerer is knowing there’s a djinn around.” A bitter taste filled his mouth and he bit back a growl. “A djinn is like catnip to a sorcerer.”

  “Glad to hear at least someone finds you attractive.”

  James snorted. “And there’s that wicked sense of humor again.”

  The corners of Daku’s mouth twitched. “Yep.”

  “You’re an interesting individual, Dak. Sure I can’t just…” James made a clicking gesture. “I don’t know how you got here so quickly, but if I can help get you back, I’m happy to do so.”

  “Nah, it’s all good, mate.” Daku jiggled the keys in his hand. “I was, in fact, in the area. Bought a new motorbike a day ago and wanted to take her for a spin on some winding mountain roads.”

  James narrowed his eyes. What were the chances of Daku just being in the area? “Why do I get the feeling Kade’s fingerprints are all over this?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate. Kitt knew you were in trouble. I’d mentioned to him yesterday I was going for a ride today. He called. He was worried about you.”

  “He doesn’t need to be.”

  Daku’s eyebrows lifted. “You sure about that?”

  Before James could answer, the dreamwalker opened the front door. “Okay, I’ll track down Nim, fill her in on the possible sorcerer in town and tell her to go talk to Kitt.”

  “Thanks.”

  Daku turned back to him, expression enigmatic. “If I were you, mate, I’d click your fingers and erase any knowledge of who you are from the human’s mind. Knowing something like that… well, it puts her in more danger than it seems she already is.”

  And with that, Daku stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him.

  James relocked it, activated the human security system, and muttered the incantation Nim had set up to reinforce the protective wards around the house.

  The fact he’d sensed the presence of a sorcerer on Tahlee’s laptop bag meant normal human security measures just wouldn’t cut it.

  If he was correct, and it was Syrin…

  “It can’t be,” he muttered. “It’s impossible.”

  Keep telling yourself that.

  A thick pressure clamped around his temples, and he let out a steadying breath. “It’s impossible,” he repeated.

  Preparing himself for the interrogation coming his way, he headed for the living room. Perhaps Daku was right? Perhaps he needed to click his fingers and remove every word he’d told Tahlee from her mind? It’d be easier, that was for sure.

  A cold fist twisted in his gut at the thought. He couldn’t do it.

  Not to Tahlee.

  Then how are you going to deal with what’s to come? She’s going to ask why you left. And you’ve already failed at lying about it. More than once.

  He ground his teeth and rubbed at the back of his neck. He had no clue. And wishing for one wouldn’t do him a fat lot of good.

  Then this is going to be fun.

  He strode back i
nto the living room, forcing a flippant grin to his face. “Want a cup of—”

  Tahlee lay stretched on her side, hands tucked beneath her head, eyes closed. The almost inaudible buzz of her soft snores stretched his lips into a real smile. Well, that was one way to sidestep the grilling.

  He crossed to the coffee table in front of the couch, crouched until his butt perched on its edge, and watched her sleep. Closed his eyes and let the sounds of her deep breaths roll over him. Pulled breath after breath himself, drawing the scent of her into his being.

  How many breaths of her scent had he taken during his existence? Too many to number.

  Sometimes, the memory of it was the only thing that kept him going, kept him sane.

  An insane djinn was a scary thing. A petrifying thing. His sanity had clung to her scent—delicate, unique, never changing regardless of the perfume or soap she used, at least never changing to him—for so long now, he couldn’t remember a time without it. And yet, the memory could never eclipse or replace the real thing.

  It had always been this way. From the very first time he saw her.

  From the very first time she’d smiled at him. Took his hand. Looked into his eyes and saw his heart. Not just a djinn with the power to deliver almost anything she desired, but a soul, a heart, a being with his own mind, his own wants and hopes, dreams and desires…

  Stop that. Now. It’s too dangerous. Don’t forget why you walked out on her. Don’t forget what Syrin did to you upon his death.

  Cold, gut clenching, he straightened from the coffee table and clicked his fingers. A soft blanket fluttered into existence, draping over Tahlee’s sleeping form. He adjusted it with a gentle touch and left the living room.

  He needed to put some distance between them. Needed to clear his head.

  Needed to remember the curse Syrin had placed upon him.

  Needed, above all else, to deny his love for Tahlee. Love could never be a part of his existence. No matter how much he wished it could.

  He strode through the safe house, wriggling his fingers. Prowling empty rooms.

  A hit. That’s what he needed. The rush of granting a wish or two.

  He stopped walking, knuckles aching as he wriggled his fingers faster.

  Just one wish. Anyone’s wish. A simple one.

  Where was the nearest bar? At this hour of the morning, there was bound to be someone there desperately wanting something, craving something. Money, sex, a taxi…

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he pivoted on his heel and stared hard toward the direction of the living room.

  What was he thinking? Leaving Tahlee alone? What kind of fool was he?

  No, he couldn’t do that.

  Heart a hammer in his throat, he strode back toward where she slept, and then stopped.

  If he looked at her right now…

  Spinning around, he bit back a groan.

  What the fuck should he do?

  The events of the morning gnawed at him—Tahlee’s return, the taint of Syrin, the darkness deep inside him craving to be released after being repressed for eons…

  Shite.

  Scraping his hands through his hair, he looked back toward the living room once again.

  Erasing Tahlee’s memory of his revelation would be so easy. Would make things so much easier…

  He ground his teeth. The ancient darkness of his kind broiled and churned inside him, eager for freedom.

  A click of his fingers; that’s all it would take. One click.

  And then, once he’d removed what he’d told her from her mind, he could… could…

  “Shite,” he growled. He could what? Start again? He couldn’t do that.

  But you could let her deal with the knowledge she now has? You could let it eat her up, unravel her very notion of reality? You could do that? To her?

  But what if Syrin truly was resurrected? Being already exposed to the supernatural elements of existence would help her cope with what was sure to come.

  “Fark.” He clawed at his scalp, breath ragged. Rapid.

  Undo it all.

  The dark option whispered through his mind.

  He could undo it all. Everything. Surrender to the potency of his dark magic and undo everything. Rewrite existence from the second she saw him in the pub.

  Undo it all until the only thing left is the desperate wishing for—

  Head roaring, he dropped his hands from his hair and stared toward the living room.

  Tahlee would sleep for a while. She’d had bugger-all sleep through the night—the quick nap on the drive up here was it.

  He had to get out of here. For her safety. To keep her safe he had to go, even as he knew he shouldn’t. She’d be vulnerable alone.

  She’s vulnerable now. With you, here like this. You know that.

  She was.

  He’d return to this very moment, this very second, but he had to go. Before what little control he had over his darkness shattered.

  Breaths shallow, eyes burning, he thought of a bar. Any bar. As long as it was open.

  And clicked.

  The stench of sour beer and stale smoke flowed into his lung. From a shadowy corner, he slowly scanned his new surroundings.

  Definitely a bar. A country-themed one, judging by the taxidermized animal heads mounted on the walls and the Randy Travis blaring from an unseen jukebox. And the wood. So much wood.

  Wooden floors, wooden tables, wooden seats, wooden bar, wooden stools…

  Five patrons sat scattered around the establishment, nursing various alcoholic beverages in various states of consumption. A lone man worked behind the polished-wood behemoth of a bar, drying glasses with an absent expression.

  Hurry.

  Urgency turned James jittery. Or was it agitation?

  Wriggling his fingers, jiggling his arms, and rolling his shoulders, he closed his eyes and tasted the longing in the room.

  The dank air was heavy with it. Silent, melancholy hopes swirled about with desperate dreams, craven ambitions and dark cravings.

  James released his breath in a slow groan, the despondency like a suffocating shroud. And yet, he’d specifically thought of a bar. Not a café or health club, but a bar. At this time of the morning, those found in a place like this were perfect for his needs.

  He flipped through the wants, thoughts, desires and yearnings of those submerged in their unfinished drinks.

  A quick hit. That’s all he needed. A rush, the rush.

  He’d be able to face Tahlee, navigate their upcoming conversation, after a rush. It’d burn off the agitation building in him.

  Because you’re going to lie to her again?

  Or do something even more severe?

  So much longing for happiness in here. So many wishes for things to be different.

  A strong wave of regret flowed around him, full of an aching need for… something.

  James turned to the owner of the regret, the tingle of wish fulfilment already beginning to build in his core.

  A man sat alone at a table, tie askew, the suit he wore crumpled, as if he’d slept in it. His fingers wrapped around a tall, almost-full bottle of beer, his eyes half-shuttered, his shoulders slumped.

  Even if James hadn’t tasted his need, it was clear the man wasn’t exactly in the emotional place he wanted to be. Probably not the physical place either.

  A fresh wave of regret flowed into James, clearer this time, the longing in the man’s heart sharply defined.

  James smiled. “Easy done,” he whispered.

  Ambling over to the table, he grabbed the back of an empty chair, swung it around and straddled the seat, resting his chin on the top of backrest. “You look blue, sir.”

  The man—in his fifties, with a combover that belonged in a Hall of Fame somewhere—jerked blood-shot eyes up to him. “What? Who…” Any attempt at bravado leeched away, and the man’s shoulder’s slumped again. “Yeah. Been better.”

  He returned his stare to his beer. Raised it halfway to his lips th
en lowered it again. Ragged strips of the bottle’s label were scattered over the grimy table, a testament to his tormented state.

  James studied him. Beaten and exhausted. The mark of a man who’d fucked up.

  “Whatcha say to her?” he asked, turning up his Bible-belt twang.

  The man lifted his head again, surprise melting away to resignation. “That obvious, is it?” He slumped even farther into his chair, turning the bottle around and around on the table with a dejected weariness the likes of which James hadn’t seen for a long time.

  James let out a sympathetic chuckle. “Been there, my friend.” He extended his hand across the table. “James. But my friends call me Jimmy.”

  Gratitude flittered over the man’s face, and he let go of his beer and shook James’s hand, his grip firm. “Andrew. Gribble. Andy. That’s what the missus—” His voice cracked, and his grip grew limp around James’s fingers.

  With a warm smile, James gave Andy’s hand one more firm pump to complete the age-old ritual. “Think you’ve messed up too big this time?”

  Andy met his gaze, worry and grief eating up his face.

  Called her fat. The man’s thoughts trickled through James’s head, a congested river of bruised dismay and self-loathing. Told her she needed to cut back on the cupcakes. What was I thinking? She’s beautiful. I love her. God, I wish I could take it back. What if she tells me to go? What if she won’t let me apologize. Wish I had more courage. Wish I had—

  “Probably,” Andy mumbled, lowering his stare back to the bottle in his hand. He plucked at the label again, like it was a scab on a stubborn wound.

  The tingle bloomed in James’s core. He dragged in a slow breath, studying the top of Andy’s head. “Apologizing is hard,” he said. “Especially when you know you messed up—and the person you’re apologizing to is going to serve you up a new one for being a jerk.”

  Andy nodded, peeling off more of the label in tiny strips. “Amen.”

  “But when you do apologize…” James let the sentiment dangle in the air.

  Andy lifted his attention back to James.

  He shrugged, letting his smile turn self-deprecating. “All it takes is a little courage and a lotta love, am I right?”

  A dry snort tore at the back of Andy’s throat. “If only I had some.” The snort turned to a bleak laugh, and he gave James a wobbly smile. “Courage. I’ve already got the love.”