At Your Command Page 7

  "My Maggie must be taught. You will sit on this chair." He pulled out the computer chair and placed it in the middle of the room, facing the bed. "Please."

  When she sat, he gave her a smug smile. She had the distinct impression he wanted to pat her on the head, but refrained out of pity. He retrieved the old wooden box, which had fallen to the floor, pulled up the sheet he wore, returned to the bed and sat cross-legged.

  She tried not to stare at his exposed thighs, and settled into her chair, crossing her legs to match his. With what she hoped was an expression of rapt attention and not a leer, she leaned forward. "Go ahead and say what you have to say. I'm listening."

  "I'm not going to say anything. I'm going to show you."

  She nodded while she kept a close watch on the sheet, which was making its way up his legs.

  "I will disappear from your sight for a short time. You must not move. Do you understand?"

  She nodded again. This time she wouldn't let him out of her sight.

  "You will wait for a moment. The time it takes you to blink twice." He held up two fingers as if she were too dim to understand. "Then you will order me to return. Do you understand?"

  "You're going to vanish, then reappear when I call for you. Got it." Maggie prepared herself to look amazed when he pretended to disappear. He probably had some kind of magician's trick that threw that strange smoke into the air like last time.

  "Are you certain, Maggie? This is important." He looked apprehensive now. He tugged at his lower lip with his teeth and checked the fit of his necklace. A shadow circled his neck that she'd missed seeing before. Bruises or dirt. Had he been hurt after all? She couldn't let him run off again.

  She nodded encouragement, her attention still divided. What did she have in the fridge? No telling if he'd eaten today. Meals were something she'd had to remind him of before. Two days, they'd spent exactly two days together. Why did it seem like they'd known each other forever?

  "I'm going to stay right here, blink my eyes twice and then you're back. No running away this time, right?"

  He bowed at the waist, his eyes closed and his palms pressed together. She jumped when the puff of smoke enveloped him.

  Damn, he was good. She almost went to look for him, then remembered his instructions not to leave her chair. When magicians did this on TV, they showed up on the other side of the stage. Not that much maneuvering room here. She leaned to the right to look under the bed. Her quilt lay half on, half off the bed. How could he fit under there? Should she call Chet back? He might be worried.

  Her neck began to cramp before she remembered Tom's instructions. Blink twice. Might as well, he could be watching. She blinked with exaggerated care. Once. Twice. What next? Olly olly oxen free. "Tom, where are you?"

  Nothing. After five more seconds, she'd reached her limit to following instructions. She left the chair and opened the window. All that dust or smoke or whatever it was might spread to the other rooms. She had buyers visiting in the morning.

  Maybe she had the words wrong. Delusional patients could be compulsive about these things. He had said something about orders. She tried again. "I order you to return."

  This time when the smoke rose it dropped rapidly away, blown aside by the breeze from the open window. One moment the bed was bare, the next Tom was in it.

  But not her Tom. This Tom looked about twelve years old. Disappearing and reappearing in a puff of smoke she could chalk up to a magician's trick, not this. This trick couldn't be done with smoke and mirrors, and Tom had only smoke. Putting aside the impossibility of what she witnessed, she watched with fascination as the little boy on her bed began to grow.

  His thin face, full of fear and pain, gradually left the softness of youth behind and grew hard and strong. The only sign of fear that remained she recognized in the hand that clutched at his necklace. Not a necklace, but a collar, a hurtful device that left behind a ridge of bleeding, bruised flesh. The collar grew too and lay loose on his collarbone, no longer cutting into this Tom's neck as it had the young boy's.

  By the time she could tear her eyes from his face, his body had grown into that of a man. Tom, the Tom she knew, sat before her on the bed. Naked, as usual, his broad chest heaving from some unexplained exertion.

  "Now you believe," he announced, then crossed his arms over his chest, as if he'd just delivered the Ten Commandments. "You will make your wish."

  A wish. Sure. She would make a wish. Tom was a genie, a real genie. She tried to focus. She stared at her feet. She looked up. Tom shook his head. Wishing for warm feet was out. He wasn't in the mood.

  What did she believe? Tom wanted her to believe he was a genie, a demon spirit. The alternative seemed to be that she was the crazy one.

  She managed to stutter her request. "I...I want a glass of water."

  Tom crossed his arms higher over his chest, raising his chin to look down on her.

  "Not hard enough?" she asked.

  He narrowed his eyes to slits.

  "A glass of water in a fancy glass."

  She watched his chest with fascination as his muscles rippled. He wasn't ready to do any wish granting yet.

  Was she willing to call his bluff or not? Or was it her own credibility the next few moments would answer? "A silver goblet with jewels."

  He weakened then, his arms sagging slightly.

  "Make it full of French wine instead of water. Expensive French wine." If he could fulfill that wish, she'd know he was for real or she was insane. There wasn't a bottle of good French wine in the county.

  "Very well," he intoned and closed his eyes.

  She was tempted to dash to the bathroom and fill her rinsing cup with mouthwash. It was green, but what the heck, it was worth a try.

  She must have done more than just think about getting up. The chair creaked and Tom opened one eye. Maggie snapped upright. He appeared not angry but disappointed at her weakness. If he could face the consequences of her staying put, so could she. At least she hoped so. It would give them a place to start. If he would only ask for help, she'd find it for him.

  Where in the state of Minnesota am I going to find a funny farm for an overstressed magician. Or an unemployed academic assistant.

  "I'm waiting," she said, closing her eyes again. She held her hands out in front of her.

  The first thing she noticed was the smell. Rich, musty, not unlike the dust that accompanied Tom's disappearing and reappearing tricks. But fruity. She squeezed her eyes closed tighter.

  Something formed between her outstretched hands--smooth, cool, hard. It seemed to float in her grasp, then suddenly take on weight. She almost let it slip between her fingers. Then she was staring into a swirling bowl of burgundy. When she gasped with surprised, the aroma filled her head. French wine and from the smell, a very good year.

  "I don't normally grant such frivolous wishes."

  What did it mean? It was a small thing, really, but significant beyond words. Tom might still be crazy but he couldn't possibly have guessed what she would ask for and prepared ahead of time. He'd been back barely a half-hour.

  She looked up to see him grinning at her. Through his arrogant facade, she could still visualize the young boy, frightened and tugging at his collar, as he looked for approval.

  Her throat swelled, her eyes threatened to overflow. "The wine smells very nice. Thank you."

  "And the goblet? It meets with your approval?"

  "It's lovely," she said, before she had time to study it. Lifting it higher, she examined the heavy, silver bowl. Four dragons' tails formed the stem, their heads and open mouths spaced evenly around the bowl. Colored stones, she couldn't believe they were jewels, served as dragon eyes. A different color for each beast--ruby, emerald, onyx, and diamond.

  Fakes. They were too big to be real. Unless Tom really was a genie or whatever. If he really did possess magic. What other explanation was there?

  Maggie concentrated on what appeared to be the diamond. It looked an awful lot like the engagem
ent ring Chet had given her. Only this one was four times the size. Diamonds were supposed to cut glass. She went to the window and moments later stepped back to stare at a foot long scratch in the pane.

  It seemed her feet had become stuck to the hardwood floor. She couldn't turn to face him.

  "With another master," he said, "I would have conjured a goblet as big as the room. You would have drowned in the wine, unable to climb the smooth walls."

  His words didn't frighten her, and she wasn't certain that was logical. "I guess I'm pretty lucky you like me then."

  He took a step toward her and stopped. Evidently, supernatural powers hadn't given him self-confidence.

  After what she had seen, she had to face it. Tom was tall, dark and cursed. "Do you remember how this happened to you? Or were you born this way, with this power?"

  "I was not born in this box," he said, a slight smile lighting his face. "I have always been exceptional, of course, but at one time I was human."

  The boy Maggie had seen materialize through a cloud of smoke had appeared exceptionally dirty and frightened. And hungry.

  TOM TUGGED AT his collar, unbearably tight, but a quick check confirmed it was his imagination. He was about to lie. Not as serious a trespass as thievery, but a trespass nevertheless. "After thousands of years, my early memories have faded. I was cursed at an early age. The man whose job it was to look after me and my interests accumulated great wealth."

  The man was a thief and so were you. Now you are a liar.

  "I was obviously destined to be a ruler of some sort. A prince. I distinctly remember a circle of people waiting to hear my pronouncements." Waiting to hear you whine about your life. Too weak and frightened to act on your own. If you hadn't been damned that night, you would have crept home to accept your beating and thanked your master for the privilege afterward.

  Maggie cocked her head. She didn't believe him. When had he ever known such an obstinate woman? Or such a beautiful one? She wore tight blue pants, like the ones Sarah had given him that first day, and a sleeveless yellow shirt that didn't quite meet her pants. Bare flesh teased him.

  "Some might consider my predicament a curse, but obviously it is not. At my present rate of aging, I will live indefinitely. No master can resist making his third wish for long. I have power and respect." He resisted the urge to check his collar again. "I have served kings and queens. Built armies and brought armies down." I would trade all that for the chance to be free, for the opportunity to live my life and die. For the courage to kiss My Maggie.

  "Do you remember your other masters after so many years?" She sounded curious and respectful, but she was staring at his collar. Did she know it marked him as a slave?

  He couldn't help but remember each life, each horror. Nothing to do while he waited for the next master to call from the darkness but to remember in excruciating detail what had preceded. He fought to forget them, but the fog around the fire sapped his strength. Eventually he slipped into his past. It always ended the same, alone by the fire with this damned collar tightening around his neck.

  She frowned when he didn't answer. "How many wishes do I get? Have I used all three yet? You did say three, didn't you? And then, you have to leave? Shoot, I've wasted them all, haven't I?"

  Just like the others. She wanted her wishes--fame, fortune, love--then, when she was through with him, he would reenter his prison and, alone, he would remember.

  Anger boiled in him again. Why should she have what he could not? Why did she deserve a better life than he? Tom could almost see Prince in his silk robes and sugar coated lips, telling him to go back to his master.

  A soft touch on his arm returned him to reality. He was sitting on her bed, Maggie standing quietly beside him. Her brilliant blue eyes told him he should not be reliving childhood resentments. She was with him now. He was a fool to waste even an instant of their time together. How could he forget the special power she held over him, the wish only she could grant? Would she allow her slave to press his lips against hers?

  She waited patiently for his reply, like she had when she spoke to the boy, Andy.

  He must be careful about granting her wishes. He had awakened in a complicated world, one he would like to leave without blood on his hands. "No, you have not wasted all of your wishes, my Maggie."

  Her face remained neutral, giving him permission to say anything. The thought that she considered him a boy bothered him. She had tried to hide it, but he knew at first she thought him a madman. This was worse. At least then, she thought of him as a man. He had been reduced in her eyes to a little boy, like Andy, who needed her help and protection.

  He shouldn't have allowed her to see him transform. He knew how he appeared when he first emerged. One of his old masters, an especially sadistic one, had described the transformation in great detail. But how else could he have convinced her of who he was?

  Her hand still rested on his shoulder. He didn't like the pity in her eyes. He wanted to see a woman in love.

  "We can speak about your other wishes later. You must enjoy this one first." He nodded toward the goblet she had left on her chair.

  "I'm not much of a wine drinker. Hot chocolate is more my style."

  A drink for children, to soothe little boys. "I have displeased my master." He turned away, using a technique he'd seen Andy employ more than once with great success.

  "No, really, it's what I asked for." She took the goblet in both hands and took a sip.

  An old wizard had commissioned the cup. He'd wet himself when Tom first appeared in his conjuring room, the old fraud.

  She held the cup out to him. "Would you like some?"

  He almost dropped the cup when she pressed it in his hands. Never had anyone offered him a share of their wish. He had to swallow hard before he could speak. "If that is your desire."

  She didn't look away when their eyes met. While he drank his fill of wine, he held her gaze. For once, he felt more the master than the slave.

  "Have I wasted another wish then?" she asked, sounding unconcerned. It was hard to believe she understood the power he possessed.

  "You have used only one wish. Before I grant one, I will warn you. It's only fair. Wishes are dangerous things." So few of his masters had hesitated when he returned their foolish wishes to their own ears. They rarely understood. Perhaps Maggie would be different.

  He tilted back his head, taking in the wine in gulps. It had been so long since he'd been offered wine. Sarah seemed to drink only coffee, which was quite dreadful, and Maggie drank water from jugs.

  He returned the goblet to her and with his hand, invited her to sit. She joined him on the bed, her hip resting against his. A surprised look possessed her face as she stared into the cup. He tipped the vessel until she took another drink.

  "This is only your first wish. Warming your feet did not take any special powers." He put his arm around her shoulders and pressed her against him. She doesn't pull away!

  She looked especially silly when she grinned--and wonderful. "I knew that. I didn't use a wish when you helped me buy the groceries either. Why did you want me to think I had?"

  To trick you, to destroy you, like the others. Because knowledge is power and I want it all for myself. I didn't want to ever leave this plane until the last possible moment, even if it means denying you your wish.

  She leaned against him while she sipped the wine. How many millennia since he had felt such warmth at his side, such trust? He kissed her hair and breathed her scent. She had tucked her bare feet under her, so he kissed her ear instead. A delightful experience. It made her sigh and shiver in his arms.

  "I pretended to grant you wishes to save them for you. I could tell you were a nonbeliever. It would have been unfair to grant wishes to one who did not take seriously her gift." He trailed his hand down her neck. Such a delicate thing. He lowered his mouth to join his fingers.

  "I've got two wishes left?" The vibrations when she spoke tickled his lips. How breathless she sounded, how eag
er. She couldn't be as eager as he. She hadn't waited nearly as long.

  "Two wishes. Anything you desire." He took the cup from her and drank again. Not for courage, but for strength.

  When her turn came, she took the cup, tipping it to drain it. He had never seen such vulnerability and trust in the same eyes.

  "The cup's still full," she said, her words slurring most delightfully.

  "You wished for a silver goblet with jewels, full of expensive French wine. That is what you have. Not just for now, but for as long as you keep it."

  She left the bed to set the goblet on her desk. She stood in front of him, too far away for him to reach. That she would soon be out of his reach forever, made his heart thud in a way that it never had before.

  Did she fly across the room? Did his Maggie hold some magic power of her own? Perhaps it was only his overheated perceptions. She entered his arms with some force, and then, they were lying on the bed.

  By necessity, their hips met as they lay side-by-side on the narrow bed. He didn't dare touch her, not yet. His hands hovered around her head.

  "Do you always grant wishes with a trick?" she asked. Her breath whispered against his chest.

  "An old habit I'm not certain I can break."

  "I'll have to weigh my last two wishes very carefully."

  Gods, had any master tortured him so sweetly? Unable to resist any longer, he stroked her hair, tangling his fingers in her short, blonde curls. "Careful consideration. That's what I would advise. Lengthy consideration."

  "And if what I wish for is you?" she asked.

  The thudding in his chest increased and threatened to blow him apart. What did she mean? What could she possibly mean? "You do not have to waste your wishes on me. I want for nothing."

  "I wouldn't think of it as a waste."

  "It is unnecessary. I am yours to command." For this brief moment, she was his to enjoy. After staring at her lips for what seemed to be an eternity, he touched them with his own.

  Maggie seemed to lose interest in wishes then. At least she didn't try to dissuade him from stopping her mouth. It wasn't his desire for silence that made him press his lips against hers with force. With an experimental hand against her back, he pressed her entire body against his. Still no protest.