Ari was gawking at him. “Did you really just fulfill January’s wishes?”
“She’s the owner of the bottle, and she let me out. So, yes, I did. That’s my curse—to be the bearer of good fortune to others while always remaining enslaved.” He stared at the floor. “May I ask where I am? Last time, I was in a place called California, in the year 1950.”
“Skip ahead about seventy years and two states up—you’re in Washington state. In a town called Moonshadow Bay,” I said. “Ari and I are witches and we were performing a ritual. Do you think your magic and ours might clash?”
He seemed to startle at that. “I have no idea. I would never consciously interfere with another’s magic, but I’m under a geas to grant wishes.”
“Why?” I asked, the rum suddenly hitting again. I glanced at the bottle and realized that Ari and I had gone through about two-thirds of it. “Ugh, my head.”
“My entire race was cursed by a god. He doomed us to serve others while never having autonomy.” He ducked his head, shrugging as though the world weighed a million pounds, and all of it was resting on his shoulders.
“That’s just wrong.” I frowned. “So, you had to grant my wishes. You can’t take back your energy, can you? Like, cancel them?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid not. What’s done is done, and if there’s some clash between our magic, there’s not much I can do about it. I’m sorry.” He genuinely looked contrite.
I shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what happens.” I stared at the rum, thinking that the bottle looked too empty—but not empty enough. “Want a drink? It’s my birthday tomorrow.”
Ari laughed. “Of course. Why not? Let’s drink with the djinn. It seems like the perfect ending to this evening.” She stumbled over to the liquor cabinet and found another shot glass. As she poured the shots, I thought over what the hell to do with Rameer. I wasn’t about to just hand him off to somebody else like a gift.
“Here’s to you, January. May your wishes come true in only the most wonderful of ways,” he said, lifting his glass.
“I’ll drink to that,” I said. And promptly did.
We went through three more rounds, finishing off the bottle, and Ari and I were thoroughly soused. Rameer didn’t seem affected at all. As I stared at him through blurry eyes, I decided that I had to do the only thing that felt right.
“You have your freedom,” I said, my words slurring just enough to make me wince. I hated being sloppy drunk, but apparently tonight, it had been in the cards. “May you never be trapped again, Rameer.” I held up the perfume bottle. “But can I keep the bottle? It’s so pretty.”
He gazed down at me and for a moment, even through the blur of the rum, I saw a depth in his eyes that moved me. He looked like he had just been handed his life.
“Are you sure, mistress? For you are my owner until you either pass me on or free me.”
That he would even ask, and not just run off, touched my heart. “I’m sure. Go. Be free. Live your life for you, not for others.”
Ari let out a snore. She was asleep on the floor, head propped against the recliner.
“Then keep the bottle, and may only the best of luck come your way.” Rameer paused. I was struggling to keep my eyes open as he leaned down and whispered something to me. I couldn’t quite make it out, but then everything became a warm blur and I felt myself being lifted up. I felt safe, though, and didn’t protest. And then the blur turned into darkness as I fell into a deep sleep.
“Ugh.” I pried my eyes open, wondering what the hell was going on. My head hurt, and my stomach lurched, but as the room came into focus, the cloud began to fall away, along with my headache. I slowly pushed myself up, realizing I had fallen asleep on the sofa. Ari was snoring in the recliner, and we both were covered with throws. At least we’d had the foresight to keep ourselves warm.
“How much did we drink?” I muttered, rubbing my eyes as I looked around the room. There, in the center of the room, was the coffee table. A book, matches, and my thrift-store perfume bottle sat on it. I stared at the bottle for a moment—there was something odd about it—but then I shook off the thought and yawned. Maybe someday I’d manage to pry the stopper out, but until then, it was just a pretty knickknack.
The rum bottle was sitting on the edge of the table, empty, along with two shot glasses. “Ugh, apparently we drank the whole bottle.”
But as I tentatively stood up, I realized that I wasn’t feeling as terrible as I expected. In fact, my stomach began to calm down, and the headache was at low ebb—only a soft pounding in the back of my brain. Maybe I’d lucked out. I looked down, realizing I was in my good nightgown.
That’s right—the wishcraft ritual.
Thanking my lucky stars that nothing had gone wrong during the whole drunken debacle, I gathered the shot glasses, the empty cupcake platter, and the empty rum bottle, and carried them into the kitchen. Then I went back to check on Ari, who was still asleep. She was a lot smaller and thinner than I was and booze hit her harder.
Tucking the throw snuggly around her, I padded over to the stairs and headed up to my bedroom. I needed to shower, and the cats needed to be let out of the guest room. They bounded out, meowing for dear life, and followed me into the bedroom. It was breakfast time, and they weren’t about to let me out of their sight until they were fed.
I gently pulled off my nightgown, grateful I hadn’t spilled anything on it, and stepped into my shower, lathering up as the water revived me. It was seven on a Saturday morning, but apparently I’d developed an internal alarm clock thanks to my job.
When I was clean, I styled my hair and decided to dress up. I shuffled through the clothes in my closet, coming up with a gorgeous retro rockabilly dress. I usually wore jeans and a sweater, but my tastes had been changing over the past few weeks, and I found myself taking more time with my looks. I needed to shop, I thought. Most of my clothes bored me now—especially the ones I had worn to all the artsy get-togethers in Seattle.
Whenever I had been around Ellison, he gaslighted me into feeling like I was ugly and fat. But now, I could feel myself blossoming as my confidence returned. Being open about the fact that I was a witch helped. Ellison had gone from tolerating the fact that I was Otherkin to wanting me to hide it. He had played Darrin to my Samantha. Not only was he a bigot, but he feared women with power, and witches definitely had power. If I had known when we first met…well…there was no going back in time to change things. What was important was that I’d never allow anyone to do that to me again.
I styled my hair and put on my makeup. My hair was down to my midback, and it was mahogany, but I felt ready for a change. Ari was a hairdresser—and a damned good one—and I decided that I’d give myself a birthday gift by having her dye my hair. What color, I didn’t know, but I was determined to have something flirty and fun.
The dress had a green polka dot pattern with a fitted bodice and a flaring skirt, and I slid it over my head, adjusting my boobs so they were sitting right. Underwire helped, but wearing a G-cup meant that some styles fit and some didn’t. The rockabilly dresses were built for women like me—I had a high waist, big boobs, and curvy hips, and my size 14 meant that a lot of modern styles didn’t work well for me. But rockabilly and pinup fit me perfectly. As I eyed the slim selection of clothes I owned that I liked, I decided it was definitely time to shop. Operation Renovation, so to speak.