At Your Command Page 4

  "I only wish to do my master's bidding and return to the abyss," he intoned solemnly and bowed.

  "Then I'll make my three wishes now, and you can go."

  "Good," he replied his arms crossed over his chest again. He didn't look happy, only determined. Rather like Mother these past few weeks. Like someone forced to do another's bidding. Not that her mother and Tom had anything in common.

  Maggie hesitated before she spoke, realizing she wasn't certain she wanted Tom to go. He might be crazy but he was a human being, and someone to talk to. Once he left, she'd have no excuse. She'd have to find another job or tell Chet she'd changed her mind again. She wasn't really considering that, was she?

  No, best get rid of this slightly delusional young man, and direct any fantasizing to the men on her mother's calendar.

  "My feet are cold. Tom, I want you to warm my feet. Can you do that?"

  Chapter 3

  WARM HER FEET? He who had made kings and brought them to their knees, raised up a fortress from nothing and destroyed mighty cities? She wanted him to warm her feet?

  He almost succumbed to roaring in fury. Oh, he would grant her wish all right. Hold her over the nearest erupting volcano. That would do the trick. Or fill a pot with boiling oil and lower her slowly, an inch at a time. Then there was that delightful practice of burning at the stake. That would toast and roast her feet quite nicely.

  After rising to his full height, he began the incantation still uncertain which method would delight him more. The words swirled from his mouth, drawing the ancient powers to him. He looked to his master for inspiration, for a hint of what she would fear most. That was a mistake.

  Cross-legged on her raised pallet, she looked as sweet as Tandia and as in need of protection as Owl. Pleasing to look at, as helpless as a five-year-old camel herder. The magic words abandoned his mouth. He could not burn her to a crisp.

  Besides, he had Sarah, his benefactress, to consider. Her eyes held enough sorrow without having a charred daughter added to her woes.

  The glazed look Maggie had worn while he recited his incantation faded. She smiled encouragingly and wiggled her toes. "Well, aren't you going to warm my feet?"

  "Don't tempt me," he muttered.

  "What?"

  Had any of his past masters made such a foolish wish? The damned fool woman deserved to have her wish granted properly, but Tom admitted with a shrug that he didn't feel like roasting a woman today. Lucky for her.

  After all, he had planned this all along--pretend to grant her last wish, then enjoy his temporary freedom. Instead, he would pretend to grant her first wish, something he had done before with masters who were careless with their words. A want was not the same as a wish. Women were so easy to fool.

  "I said you should not tempt me with a wish that is such a pleasure to perform." Tom dropped to his knees before her and took her feet in his hands. They were tiny things, cold to the touch. No surprise considering the temperature of the house. Sarah had mentioned this before. She had given him clothes because she could not afford to keep the house warmer. Why didn't Maggie ask for an unlimited supply of fuel or slippers for her feet instead of wasting one of her wishes this way?

  "Is that all," she demanded, wiggling her toes in his hands. "What kind of genie are you?"

  Unable to control the urge, he put a hand on his collar and was surprised to find it slack. "One whose only wish is to serve you, master. But I am not a genie." He picked up her feet again, cupped them in his hands and blew on them.

  With a sigh she closed her eyes. "Not a genie?"

  He rubbed his hands up and down her feet while he continued to blow hot breath on them. Each time he sent his breath higher, rippling under her pant legs. His breath caught at the sight of her face, her mouth pursing as if preparing for a kiss as each wave of warmth passed over her. "You are the one who called me such. Genie is a term that came much later than my creation to explain legends of our existence."

  With a gentle groan, she stretched her arms overhead and lay back on the bed. He moved to accommodate her. Next, she stretched her legs, which brought her feet to his chest. Her toes played across his breadth, sending shock waves through him. So long since he'd been touched. So very, very long.

  He took her feet in his hands and began to rub again, touching her ankles and stroking the delicate bones on either side. Her feet grew hot in his hands. He altered his breath to cool them, then brought her toes to his face, warming them again with his mouth. Such perfectly lovely feet.

  Her eyes opened, wide with shock. "What are you doing?"

  His throat threatened to close at her anger. At the sight of apprehension in her eyes, his fear vanished, replaced by a more appropriate emotion.

  What was he doing? He was supposed to be plotting how to trick the woman, not worshiping her feet, sensuous and tempting though they were. She tried to pull away, but he was unwilling to release her.

  He no longer had any thought of fulfilling anyone's wishes other than his own. Her gaze caught in his, he brought her feet to his mouth again and kissed each arch in turn. It had been so long, so much longer than fifty years since he had tasted a woman. He savored the feel of her flesh between his teeth. Then he released her.

  With deliberation, he dropped to his knees beside her bed and bowed his head. "I only act at your command, my Maggie. I can do no other."

  "Yeah, right." She didn't sound convinced, but she was no longer angry. "Well, my next wish is for you to come to the store and help buy groceries. Time to get up."

  "Outside?" He looked out the window and shivered. His memories of snow were vague, but he knew he didn't like it.

  When he turned, he witnessed the oddest sight--Maggie pulling socks over her feet. If she could warm them herself, why had she wasted a wish? Was her life so perfect that she purposely scorned his promise of granting her wishes? Had she wanted his touch, invited it deliberately? And why did he feel such loss when her toes disappeared beneath their coverings?

  "OUTSIDE," MAGGIE ordered.

  Tom obeyed with the look of a man condemned to his death. She pushed him off the stoop and into a snowdrift. He stood staring at his boots.

  "Don't just stand there. You have wishes to fulfill."

  "Two more." He tried to hold up two fingers, but the stiff gloves defeated him. He lifted each foot in turn, appearing surprised to find them intact when they cleared the snow.

  She grabbed his arm and dragged him down the cleared walk. They looked like identical twins, bundled in her brothers' winter clothes. Make that fraternal twins, Tom was a foot taller and quite a bit wider. His jacket didn't meet in front. Her mother had compensated with an extra sweater and a scarf that wound around his neck twice and filled the gap his impressive chest left in the winter coat.

  "The car is snowed in." She pointed to the driveway. Snowplows had left a four-foot drift across the entrance. "We'll have to walk to the store."

  Tom stomped over the snow, examining the drifted pile from several angles. "Does my Maggie wish me to obliterate this white mountain?"

  Maggie tried not to giggle, coughing instead.

  Tom immediately came to her side, his normally smooth brow wrinkled. "Does my Maggie wish me to warm any of her body parts?"

  She squinted, looking in his eyes. She had no intention of letting him lay a hand on her again. It had been entirely too frightening an experience and thoroughly enjoyable. He had warmed more than her feet.

  This time the man was pulling her leg. The harder she squinted, the deeper the laugh lines around his eyes became. Without looking away, she reached for a handful of snow and hit him right in the kisser.

  She braced for retaliation, but none came. By the time he'd cleared the snow from his face, no hint of humor remained. What had she been thinking? That he wanted to play in the snow? He's crazy, remember? Three wishes and boot him out.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Of course, Master Maggie. You will have to try much harder if you wish to harm me.
I possess a great deal of stamina." Tom loosened his scarf. "I am ready to follow your commands. Or do you wish to hit me again?"

  Maggie decided to ignore his question. It showed how out of touch with reality he was. Everyone knew how to have a snowball fight. "Yes, commands. Those are different from wishes, aren't they? Things you do that are necessary, like using the computer to write the list of names I asked for."

  Tom nodded.

  "If I ask you to drive the car as part of my commands to fulfill this wish, you could do it even if you'd never seen a car?"

  "Of course, Master. Any task, big or small, I can accomplish. I can move this white mountain and drive your car wherever you wish. Or I could fly you to this store. That would be much quicker. But I have driven cars before."

  "Yeah, right. Fifty years ago." Fly her? Now that she would like to see, but she didn't want to humiliate Tom. She'd leave that to someone else. Like Chet. With luck, he'd read her e-mail in a few hours.

  She'd made it sound theoretical, of course. She didn't want Chet storming out here or calling the police. This was something she could handle on her own with a little advice. Three wishes and this guy was out. Might as well use her second one to get Mom's groceries.

  "I think I'd enjoy a nice walk in the snow. How about you?"

  He grimaced, stomping up and down on the snow as if he could crush it into oblivion. "As you wish, Master Maggie. I am at your command."

  "Well, this is a pleasant change. I'm usually the one following orders." She pointed to the boxed sled in the side yard. Tom picked up the rope and started down the street after her. "I follow orders back in California, I mean. You'll probably enjoy getting back there. No snow, you know. Just floods, earthquakes, and plagues of locusts."

  Maggie looked sideways at him. He didn't react to her mention of California. "Chet is...was...my boss and I was the lowest creature on the totem pole, aside from the janitor. I swear, I spent most of my time filing reports and correcting that man's grammar. No wonder I decided not to marry him."

  "Chet was not right for you."

  Now she was getting somewhere. "What about Chet wasn't right? Where did you meet him? How long have you known him?"

  "Chet was not right because he is not the love of your life. I did not have to meet this Chet to know that it is so. Sarah has told me. You must find the love of your life to be happy."

  "My mother doesn't know anything about it," Maggie snapped.

  Tom pulled slightly ahead of her, having mastered how to move through the icy ruts of snow on the partially plowed street. He looked angry. As angry as he had when she called him a coincidence. "Your mother is a wise woman, a crone."

  A crone? Who used words like crone? "Don't let her hear you call her that."

  "Sarah is a lady of age and wisdom with ways my Maggie could wish to emulate."

  Where did this guy get off telling her how to behave? First treating her like some kind of deity, then insulting her. "Yeah, like what ways?"

  They made the last turn onto Main Street. Their breath preceded them down the street, Tom's cloud twice the size of hers. As he considered, he reached under his scarf. That necklace of his must get cold out here. He should take it off before he went out next time.

  "The way she deals with her sorrow, for one. You have spent the last three weeks in bed, mourning a situation of your own creation. Sarah's sorrow is much older, but she continues with her obligations and makes plans for her future."

  "Has my mother been talking about me? She had no right to do that."

  They stopped in front of one of the town's two grocery stores--a long, low building, yellow with black graffiti, a quarter the size of the super stores where she shopped in California.

  "Sarah told me nothing."

  Maggie glared at him, then quickly smiled and said hello to a patron she didn't recognize, but who obviously knew her. "How then?" she gritted out between clenched teeth. "How long have you been spying on me?"

  Tom followed her lead and kept his voice low. "I woke from my deepest sleep several weeks before your call to arise reached me. In this state I gather information from the air around me."

  "Like how to speak English, I suppose, and work a computer."

  Tom nodded. "I also learned the heart of your house was sad."

  "Hi, there Maggie. You coming in?"

  Mr. Pederson held the door for them. She vaguely remembered him as someone who sang in the church choir. Probably one of her disappointed wedding guests. She helped Tom lean the sled against the side of the building.

  "Your mom called to add some things to her list. I'll have them waiting for you at checkout." He didn't move away but looked at Tom, waiting for an introduction, no doubt.

  A quick okay was the safest bet. Maggie nodded and shoved a shopping cart in Tom's hands. He managed to look dignified as he followed her down the aisle. They received more than one strained look when she stopped to take off his hat and gloves. She didn't know if they drew attention because he didn't know enough to strip off a few layers to avoid over heating or because of his exotic coloring.

  In retaliation, she smiled and spoke in a loud voice, explaining every package to Tom before she put it in the cart. She'd give everyone something to talk about.

  Maggie canceled her wedding and then showed up a month later with a foreign gentleman who's not quite right in his head. Maggie, you know, the one in the sad house.

  It didn't take long to work their way through the store, even explaining everything to Tom as if he was a half-wit. She didn't have trouble identifying the checkout station with her mother's things. The store had only two and Sarah Yates was probably the only adult in town who asked for chocolate milk. After a quick glance at both piles of groceries, she realized they had forgotten eggs.

  How long was too long to leave a delusional man alone in a grocery store? Two minutes sounded about right. "Forgot something, Mr. Pederson. Tom, you wait here. I'll be back in a minute."

  Just her luck, she reached for the same eggs as someone else. She had another carton in her hands before she realized the person was speaking to her.

  "I've been meaning to come over, but your mom said you weren't up to company and then the weeks just seemed to go by." The woman turned to the boy who tugged at her coat. "You go watch the cars go by, Andy. Mommy wants to talk."

  No, Mommy does not want to talk. Mommy can't leave Tom alone for as long as this person can leave an eight-year-old alone.

  Maggie brought her eyes into focus and engaged her mind. She was pleasantly surprised at who she saw. "Shelley Bergen? It's so nice to see you again. It's been what? Ten years, at least."

  Closer to fifteen and she still looked beautiful. The most beautiful girl in town. I was never the least bit jealous.

  "That's Shelley Summers now." Her smile faded and wrinkles filled her friend's forehead. "And that was Andy. Andrew, junior, but we call him Andy. My husband is the principal at the high school. I don't think you know him. We met in college."

  Married to a big shot in town, a son, and another baby on the way, judging by the bulge that pushed open her winter coat. She went on tiptoe to check on her son.

  Maggie followed suit, relieved to see Tom still at the checkout counter, engaged in conversation with Mr. Pederson. At least she thought she was relieved. What had those two found to talk about? Hopefully, nothing about six thousand year old men and sad houses.

  "I...I was hoping we, you, might have some time to talk. That is, if you're not too busy."

  "Hmmm?"

  Tom had left the counter and stood looking out the window. Contemplating the cold walk back or thinking of some way to embarrass her in front of the whole town? As if she hadn't had enough of that to last a lifetime.

  Her brothers. How was she going to face them? With luck, the when of the question wouldn't be until the annual family get-together at Christmas, almost a year a way. By then, she could have a job on the other side of the world. Right now, she'd settle for one in the next town an
d a place of her own, where her mother didn't discuss her business with every crazy person who happened by.

  "It's Andy," Shelley said, interrupting Maggie's silent monologue. "I know we should get a referral, but that means going out of the system for a specialist. Andrew, my husband, thinks I'm being silly, but I'd really like to talk with someone about Andy. You're still a school psychologist?"

  "What? Yes, I suppose so. Andy seems like a nice little boy." Like little boys, the two of them, Tom and Andy, squatted at the front of the store, doing heaven knows what. "I'd like to meet him. How about now?"

  Eggs under her arm, Maggie sprinted to the front of the store, arriving several seconds before Shelley. There Tom and Andy were, drawing on the storefront window in the condensed water with their fingers. Maggie didn't know which picture disturbed her more. Andy's frost picture was a giant breathing fire down on a little boy, obviously himself. The stick figure sported the same billed cap as the boy. Tom's picture was a naked lady with very big feet. Thankfully, they obliterated both figures with their breath before Shelley joined them.

  "Tom?"

  "Andy?"

  Tom jumped to his feet. So did Andy. Like two soldiers, they stood at attention, awaiting orders.

  "Yes, my Maggie."

  "It's okay, Mom. This is Tom. He's not a stranger. Mr. Pederson introduced us."

  "That's fine, Andy." Shelley relaxed, her face smoothing to that of the homecoming queen Maggie remembered. She looked at Tom and her smile broadened. "This must be the new friend your mother mentioned."

  He'd been in town less than twenty-four hours and everyone knew about him. Failing to suppress her groan of despair, Maggie tried to disguise it instead. "Ohhhhhh, yes. Shelley, this is my friend, Tom. Tom, this is Shelley Summers, Andy's Mom and an old high school friend of mine. She was homecoming queen our senior year."

  Tom took Shelley's hand and looked at Maggie. She could see his knees begin to flex. No, dammit, don't kneel. She shook her head. Miraculously, Tom seemed to understand. He bowed instead.

  "We are honored to meet a queen of this strange land, and one of my Maggie's friends."