Djinnx'd (The Tamar Black Saga #1)

  ‘Very clever,’ Tamar snarled, ‘looks as if I’ve been well and truly snookered, doesn’t it? Again!’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘That’s what he said. Oh well, at least you haven’t screwed me over with malice aforethought. Not that it helps.’

  ‘Look at it this way, even if I made my wishes, and set you free, the way you tell it, you’d be back in the bottle again in no time, and for God knows how long. At least this way…’

  ‘I can live in this grotty pigsty, seeing no one but you and the people you know until one of us dies? I’m supposed to be immortal, but in this damp hole – who knows?’

  Denny looked around, as if he were seeing the place for the first time. ‘Oh – well, I suppose it is a bit … I hadn’t really noticed.’

  ‘Of course you hadn’t. You’re a man. I suppose I could do something with it.’

  ‘No wishing involved,’ she added hastily, seeing his face.

  ‘It’s not that; it’s just, well ... I’m the master right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Right, so no pink OK, and no frilly cushions or pot pourii or pictures of cats.’

  Tamar looked disgusted. ‘What do you think I am?’

  ‘You’re a girl aren’t you?’

  ‘Technically, no, not for a long time.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes – well you obviously know nothing about women,’ she said, stressing the last word pointedly.

  Denny silently conceded to this.

  ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have called you a girl,’ he said.

  Tamar looked puzzled at this divergence. ‘Why not?’ she said finally.

  ‘Well, you know, it’s not very PC,’ he said.

  Tamar wondered briefly if he had gone mad. ‘What’s that?’ she said, deciding to humour him.

  ‘Politically Correct, you know?’ he caught her blank expression. ‘You don’t know,’ he surmised.

  ‘Suppose you tell me then,’ she said.

  Denny’s brow furrowed as he tried to explain the concept to her; he realized as he did so, that he himself did not have any clear idea of what it meant either. It had something, he knew, to do with not using insulting terms to describe or categorise people. In Denny’s mind, he had always vaguely classified this behaviour as CC (Common Courtesy).

  Or, as in the case of not calling a six foot four black man a “spade”, CS (Common Sense).

  However, Tamar got the idea. She sighed. ‘I see,’ she said eventually; and added ‘how ridiculous.’

  This was to be the beginning of many diatribes on human behaviour that Denny was to be treated to over the ensuing months. ‘I mean,’ she continued. ‘Where does it end? If you can no longer call an Indian an Indian,’ she plucked an example out from Denny’s ramblings, ‘but he now has to be a Native American, how long before the term “Native American” becomes an insult in itself? Surely, it’s just a matter of familiarity? You calling me a girl as opposed to a woman, isn’t insulting in itself, it only becomes so by implication. Ha! Pretty soon, you’ll have to call women “persons of the female persuasion” at least until the term “female” also becomes insulting. Which is preposterous, what’s wrong with being a girl?’

  ‘Well, nothing I suppose.’

  ‘Right, but saying that you shouldn’t call me a girl is to imply that there is. Same with anything; so what was once a mere description now becomes an insult by implication, you see?’

  ‘I – I think so.’

  ‘I agree that some terms are definitely insulting of course and deliberately so.’ She gave examples. ‘But this idea just creates new and interesting ways to insult people. Typical human thinking,’ she sighed. ‘Why do you do it?’

  Denny shrugged. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said.

  ‘Well, not you personally,’ she agreed. ‘I suppose it grew out of the idea that people will use anything they can against each other,’ she said reflectively. ‘But that’s just people, you can’t change that. Some people will always find a way to be prejudiced. I’ve met people who can make the word “You” sound like an insult.’

  Denny nodded. His father had been one of them; Denny had been a “You” quite often in his youth.

  ‘Anyway,’ she changed back to the previous topic suddenly, having made her point; ‘I hate pink, and frills, and why would anyone want pictures of cats? I just thought I could do something about the damp and put in some actual furniture.’

  Denny’s thoughts skidded to catch up.

  ‘There’s a bed,’ he announced eventually. This seemed to fit the new topic.

  ‘One bed, where am I supposed to sleep, on the ceiling?

  ‘Do Djinn need to sleep?’

  ‘Yes – no, not really. I like it, though. It wastes time. I miss dreaming though; I keep hoping I’ll start again.’

  ‘You don’t dream? You know what, being a Djinn sounds awful.’

  Tamar heard the note in his voice and saw it in his face. He was feeling sorry for her.

  Pity! How had it come to this? Pitied by a mortal! Envied, yes; feared, worshipped, held in awe – but pitied? How had she sunk so low? It was humiliating.

  Wasn’t he right, though? Was it really more humiliating than being at the beck and call of any fool who happened to pick up her little glass prison, than being on the run all the time in between?

  A dream is just a way of making a wish and the Djinn do not get to make wishes. Yes, my life is pitiable; it’s utterly terrible. He’s right to feel sorry for me; it’s just that no one ever had the perception to see it before. It’s because he doesn’t want anything from me.

  Tamar had many faults, but self-pity had never been one of them, so she did not give in to it.

  ‘Anyway,’ she said, rallying. ‘What I had in mind was something like this.’

  She snapped her fingers, and they found themselves in a smart New York style warehouse conversion. Not Tamar’s style really, but it had the advantage of not being remotely feminine and providing a lot of space, so they would not be on top of each other the whole time. Do not think about that. She had chosen the style because she thought he would probably approve of the Spartan aspect of it; if the way he was currently living was anything to judge by anyway.

  As it happened, the style was not the feature that concerned him. ‘It’s bigger,’ he said, shocked ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘Magic – see I knew you didn’t truly believe.’

  ‘Uh huh, well look, you’ll have to change it back if the landlord comes round or he’ll be charging me more rent.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ she spluttered furiously, ‘no oohs and ahs? Not even a “thank you”? Don’t you like it? Isn’t it smart, stylish, spacious, clean?’

  ‘It’s okay; I didn’t mind it before. You were the one who wanted it changed not me.’

  He caught her eye. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry, it’s great – thank you. Um the big window is ... It lets in a lot of light.’

  ‘Too little, too late,’ she snapped and sank down floating cross-legged a few feet off the floor, her head in her hands.

  ‘This is never going to work, is it?’ she sighed. ‘Why don’t you just make three small wishes? Silly stuff that doesn’t really matter; otherwise we’re going to be stuck with each other for the rest of your life. We could end up hating each other. What catch could possibly be worse than that?’

  ‘Nice try,’ said Denny. ‘But no. I’m sure I’ll cope. So you’ll be with me all the time, will you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Dressed like that?’

  Tamar looked down. ‘Oh.’

  She was a gauzy cloud of turquoise chiffon trimmed with gold braid and looked, she knew, utterly ridiculous, like something out of the harem of the richest Sultan in the world and glittering with more bangles and baubles than the entire Tiffany’s chain. The fact was, that although Tamar kept up with human fashions as m
uch as she was able, she had found that, on her first meeting with a new client, the full on traditional “Arabian Nights” rig went a long way toward establishing her Bona Fides. After all, who is going to believe in a Djinn dressed just like everyone else?

  ‘So, I take it you can – ?’ Denny gestured to the transformed room.’

  For answer, she snapped the fingers of both hands and changed into jeans and a black shirt. Her elaborately beaded hairstyle unwound itself into a shining black curtain that fell to her ankles. She left her feet bare, and the only jewellery left was a pair of diamond studs in her ears. She now looked like a perfectly ordinary – supermodel (on her day off) although Denny did not fail to notice that her wrists were still bound by the silvery manacles that she had been wearing when she appeared; now the only outward sign of her true nature and condition, that of a slave.

  The next moment she could have kicked herself. A perfectly reasonable opportunity for a wish – wasted. Still, it probably would not have worked anyway. She could just hear him saying ‘If you want to look ridiculous, that’s your problem.’

  ‘Why do you live here anyway?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s called “being poor”,’ he answered tetchily.

  ‘I could ...’

  ‘NO!’

  ‘Hmm, no need to snap.’

  No answer.

  ‘I could,’ she was thinking, ‘always drive him so crazy that he would agree to anything to get rid of me.’ She was not sure that this would work. She had never met anyone so infuriatingly calm (and she had been around a long time) It was far more likely that any such plan would drive her mad with frustration long before it even began to bother him.

  Anyway, she was not sure that she actually wanted to leave him. Why? Why? It did not make any sense. He was annoying and boring and not at all handsome, although why that should matter ... Djinn were unaffected by human beauty – in theory. Oh well at least she could take refuge in the bottle if it got too much, and she had not told him that either. Why not? Why was she acting like this? What was she feeling? Why did he make her stomach flutter, and not with revulsion either. Tamar had heard of these symptoms before and knew what they usually meant, but she refused to believe it. Djinn were immune to love.

  She had been wooed by lots of mortals in her time, many of them far more handsome and interesting than this one, and had felt nothing.

  It was not unheard of for a mortal to fall in love with a Djinn, and it had happened to Tamar several times. But no Djinn ever fell in love, especially with a mortal, and this one for God’s sake. No, it had to be something else. All the same, it might be prudent to get herself out of here.

  Perhaps he had not fully considered what she could do for him. He must want something; everybody had dreams; everybody wanted something.

  Fame was favourite. Nearly all the mortals she had encountered since the beginning of the twentieth century had wanted to be famous. It was a strange phenomenon as far as Tamar was concerned but easy to do. She and other Djinn, had created many movie and rock stars over the last century (think hard and you might be able to guess which ones) Why they wanted it was a mystery. There was no real advantage to it and it made most of them miserable in the end. But there it was. In the early years of the century, the wishes had been fairly specific. Movie star being favourite – followed by singing star, Broadway and occasionally an author, the most pointless one of all as far as Tamar was concerned and not hugely popular. But more recently they just asked for fame. It did not seem to matter how they got it. A few times she had naively asked ‘Famous for what?’ But the blank stares that this question engendered soon cured her of that. She had never quite figured out the phenomenon of fame or its attraction. Back when she had been mortal, the only famous people had been the gods, and they were fictional as it turned out. Or were they? Her observations of fame in the twentieth century had led her to form the hypothesis that people became fictional after they became famous; but that they had been real enough before that. Fame, therefore, was surely a bad thing. As the poet said, “Fame is an empty purse, count it and go poor, eat it and go hungry, seek it and go mad.” Tamar agreed. Still he might want to be famous, actually he looked the type; well she could but try. And if not that, what else? Not money apparently, true love? She shuddered, still it would be OK, she would not have to stay around and watch. There I go again, she chided herself. Good looks? No, he’s perfect as he is. ‘AAAAGH.’ Still, he might not think so; most humans were unhappy with the way they looked, she certainly had been.

  Then again, maybe he was the idealistic type – world peace? It never worked of course; you could not stop humans with free will from making war if they wanted to, but she would be long gone before he realized.

  Whatever he wanted, she realized, she would have to find out. It occurred to her that she did not have the faintest idea how to do this. Usually, they just told her – were only too eager to tell her. What none of them had ever bothered to do was to find out anything about her. Denny, on the other hand, had found out a surprising amount about her. How had he done that? And more importantly why?

  ‘I’ve got it,’ he announced suddenly, startling her out of her reverie. ‘What about Black?’

  ‘In respect of what?’ she asked puzzled at where his train of thought had been going.

  ‘Your name of course,’ he said. ‘Tamar Black.’

  Tamar stared. ‘How did you know?’

  ~ Chapter Six ~

  Denny was getting used to having Tamar around. He was slightly surprised at how quickly he had adjusted to the idea of having his own personal Djinn, or the idea that such things even existed. Despite his love of all things sci-fi and fantasy related, he had never believed that stuff was real. But, once faced with incontrovertible proof, he had taken it in his stride in a way he would never have believed possible before it had happened. He did not try to analyse the reason for this, but he was dimly aware that others must have had the same type of experience and accepted it, as he had done. Humans, he decided, therefore, must be more mentally tractable than is generally realized.

  He had been wary around her at first, but now he had stopped worrying about bad things happening. After all, it had been three weeks, and, so far, everything was fine. As long as he did not make any wishes, he decided, nothing could go wrong. And, as his initial anxieties faded, he found that he was enjoying her company. She had a lot of entertaining stories to tell. She could talk virtually non-stop, in fact, which saved him the bother of trying to think of something interesting to say himself. The only thing he found mildly irritating was her habit of sneakily trying to make him wish for stuff. But he could not blame her for that really, in fact, he felt kind of sorry for her situation, stuck here with him for the rest of his life. Denny had no illusions about himself; he could well imagine that she would rather be off somewhere else, doing her own thing instead of putting up with him. He felt a little sad about this. Despite the fact that they had no real interests in common, he had begun to think of her as a friend. At least she had shown no signs of wanting to kick his head in.

  He tried to cheer her up by playing some of his songs for her, but it did not seem to help. He wished – no scratch that – he would have liked to have been able to help her out. However, without wishing – and there was no way he was going to risk that – what could he do?

  * * *

  After three weeks, the recently re-named Tamar Black was not getting very far with her new quarry. Although she was getting used to her new name. (Technically it was actually her old name – in a manner of speaking). Denny seemed to think it appropriate in some way that was beyond her comprehension. She did not like it much, but a glance around his room at some of the posters made her realise that she had had a narrow escape. It could have been “Skywalker”.

  She had found out that he worked in a record store, had little love for personal possessions, few friends and no family e
xcept for an estranged brother who may or may not be married. He cared deeply about music, and would pick out dreadful tunes on a battered guitar until Tamar felt as she were if going to scream. It was at this point that she played the fame card, but to no avail. He was not to be caught.

  He wrote songs too; she had suspected this of him but what she had not suspected was that they would be so awful. It was a shame really, because he had an incredible voice (or was she being doting again?) It was melting, deep and sexy, but still, that was not enough to redeem the terrible tunes and lyrics he came up with. However, she did like to hear him singing in the shower, when he would sing (unaccompanied, thank Allah) a selection of Elvis songs or the odd rock ballad.

  He was a loner, not by choice but from social awkwardness. He seemed happy enough to have her around, even though he rarely talked to her. He had few girlfriends – no one serious, and this did not seem to bother him.*

  *[Denny was not quite as unpopular with the opposite sex as he thought he was. Some girls like a man who seems to need looking after. Denny had dated a few nurses, who had first met him in casualty with a broken nose or similar. They soon left him, though, when it became apparent that he did not want to be looked after.]

  He truly did not seem to want anything from her except her company, which of course he could keep for longer by not wishing for anything else.

  She had, therefore, resorted to stalking him – hence the listening to him in the shower – in the hope of catching him out in a “slip of the tongue” wish, a tried and tested method. Unfortunately for her, either he had thought of this and was being especially careful, or it was just not something he usually said. He did not, in any case, say much at any time.

  One evening, though, Denny suddenly wanted to talk. He put down his guitar (thank God for small mercies) and said out of the blue. ‘So what would you do if you were free? Really free I mean – like that other one. Whatisname – Ashpit?’

  ‘Askphrit… Save the world from itself,’ said Tamar, surprising herself. She had spoken without thinking.