Genie for Hire (13 page)

By the time he finished his inspection, Biff felt hungry,
thirsty and tired. He brewed himself a glass of tea and opened a new bar of
halvah. The squirrel woke up and raised its tiny paws in supplication, and Biff
broke a piece off and tossed it to him.

Biff sat behind his desk with his hands wrapped around the
lamp as the tea brewed and the squirrel gnawed at his treat. When the tea was
ready, Biff sipped it as he paged through the book, looking for inspiration and
understanding. What had been in those dolls? Some kind of wolf spirit? No
wonder the dolls had given off such a malevolent aura.

How did Farishta figure into this? Wolves were creatures of
the woods; Farishta was a marid, gaining her power from the sea. How did the
two connect?

Where did the woods meet the water? He discounted anywhere
along the Arctic coast. Farishta could not survive in the cold. The Crimean
Sea? He flipped back to his research on Igor Laskin. Laskin had been born in Sebastopol.
But had Farishta ever been in the region?

He let himself fall into a trance state, remembering
everything he knew about Farishta as a maelstrom of memories. He tried to focus
on Sebastopol, on the Crimean, to see if he could pick that detail out of all
the thousands of bits and pieces he knew about the woman who had bewitched and
tormented and delighted him for centuries.

No luck. Hers was such a powerful presence that she
overshadowed all logical thought.

He was startled out of his trance by the squirrel, standing
on the pillow and chittering madly. When he opened his eyes he saw Farishta
standing in front of him. “You called for me, my love?” she asked.

Farishta looked every bit as incandescent as when he had
last seen her, though perhaps there was a bit of a darkening beneath her eyes.
He noted the faintest trace of gray in her abundant black hair, which she had
pulled back into a French braid, leaving a few tendrils to curl around her
heart-shaped face. Her sable eyes were just as piercing as Biff remembered, her
eyelashes full enough to serve as the “after” picture in a magazine cosmetics
ad.

“Farishta?”

“Yes, my love.” She looked around the office. “You do like
your creature comforts, don’t you, Bivas?”

“They call me Biff here, in this time and place. Bivas lived
a long time ago.”

Farishta lowered herself to the chaise longue, pulling one
long leg, covered in dark purple harem pants, up to her chest. She wore a sleeveless
blouse in a swirling black and white pattern, and pointy-toed black slippers
that were duplicates of the ones Biff wore.

“So, how have you been?” she asked, stroking a delicate
finger along her leg. There was something seductive, yet hard-edged about her
accent; it carried traces of everywhere she had lived for centuries.

Biff was determined to match her nonchalance, though the
sight of her elegantly manicured nail traveling along the fold of her silk pants,
was quite distracting. “Keeping busy. And you?”

“The same. There is so much opportunity for mischief in the
world, you know.”

“Speaking of which, do you know a man named Igor Laskin?”

She narrowed her eyes and spit out a few epithets, in
Russian, Persian, and a language that could have been Plutonian for all Biff knew.
“He is scum. When I find him, I will…”

“Oh, good, you’re looking for him, too,” Biff said.

The squirrel, frightened by her outburst, scrambled beneath
Biff’s desk. He could hear it panting nervously next to his feet.

“He has something that belongs to me,” Farishta said. “I
would like to retrieve it.”

“A set of nesting dolls painted with wolves?”

She looked at him, cocking her head to the side. “Why should
I want such a thing? I do not have the taste for domesticity you do.”

There was a dig in there, Biff thought. “Then what are you
looking for?”

“My amulet.”

As genies, both Biff and Farishta had native power.
Farishta’s was much more stronger than Biff’s, but both of them also had talismans
that stored residual energy and allowed them to rejuvenate after they had
performed great feats. Biff’s talisman was the lamp; Farishta’s was a gold coin
minted in the days of the second temple in Jerusalem. It had once belonged to
Solomon himself, and while not busy dispensing justice or romancing the wives
of his captains, he had searched for wise men who could channel power into it.

The coin’s edges were rubbed smooth by the centuries, and
the embossed pair of palm trees on it could barely be seen. The Hebrew letters
had totally faded away. Farishta had once worn it on a gold rope chain around
her neck, but he could not remember the last time he’d seen it.

“You lost it?” he asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I did not lose it. I
traded it to the Suleiman the Unstable.”

That was the vizier who had held Biff captive so many
centuries before. “I thought you simply outwitted him,” Biff said, sitting up.
“You mean you gave it to him in exchange for my freedom?”

“I thought the amulet would come back to me on its own,” she
said. “But the foul thing has a mind of its own.”

“And you could exist all these years without it?”

“I always believed my powers were sufficient without its
amplification. When I could not recover it I attempted to ignore it.” She shrugged.
“Time passed, and I lost track of it. Have you seen it?”

“Laskin wears a gold coin around his neck.”

Biff nodded. “I’ve seen it, and I knew it had some power. I
should have paid more attention and seen it was yours.” He looked over at her. “But
I’ve sensed you’ve been around him before—why didn’t you just take it?”

“I can’t.” She frowned. “It has attached itself to this man,
and until he relinquishes it voluntarily, or dies, I cannot reclaim it.”

He watched her carefully. He had known her for centuries,
and based on everything that had passed between them he was sure that she would
always look out for herself first. He had to be very careful in dealing with
her.

A month, Biff thought. Laskin had stolen the computer files
from Sveta two days before, and that’s when he’d first noticed Farishta’s
presence. Had she been around for all that time, and he’d never noticed?

“So what have you been doing?” he asked. “Hanging around his
apartment in Sunny Isles Beach? It’s only a couple of miles from here. And you
never called me?”

“You know where he lives? You must take me there at once.”
She jumped up from the couch and in two steps had her hand on the knob of his
office door. “Come, come, we must go.”

Biff remained behind his desk. “If you know his name, why haven’t
you already been to his apartment?” he asked.

Farishta crossed her arms over her chest once again, in a
gesture that reminded Biff of an old television program he had seen in reruns,
in which a very pretty American actress portrayed a genie who lived in an old
bottle that an astronaut had found on a beach. But instead of nodding her head
to create magic, Farishta said nothing.

“You couldn’t find him?” Biff asked. “A simple human being,
and you couldn’t track him down?”

“Not him,” Farishta said, nearly spitting. “The amulet. It
blocks my vision of him, unless he is near water. That is the only time I am
stronger than it is.”

That didn’t make sense to Biff. The shopping center which
held his office, and Sveta’s studio, was at least two miles from the water, and
she’d been at Sveta’s back door with Laskin. “Don’t lie to me, Farishta,” he
said. “I know you were here, in this very building, with Laskin, on Monday
morning.”

She glared at him, her arms still crossed defiantly over her
chest.

“You’re not the only one in this room with powers,” Biff
said. He could feel the squirrel next to his foot, still breathing heavily.

Farishta leaned back against the door, pushing her chest
forward in a gesture that reminded Biff of Sveta, toying with the shoulder
strap of her sleeveless blouse.

“And you can skip the sex kitten act, too,” Biff said. “Just
tell me the truth.”

“I had forgotten how boring you were,” she said. “I followed
him.” She returned to the chaise longue, but this time just sat down on the
edge. “I was able to pick him up when he was at a marina near the ocean. I
tried to retrieve the amulet, but it resisted returning to me. I could only
follow him for so long before it shook me off.”

Biff knew that Farishta hated having to admit defeat, or
that any creature or object was more powerful than she was. “Laskin’s gone,” he
said. “Took off. The police are looking for him, too.”

“It does not matter. I need to see the place where he lives.
There may be something there that I can use to force the amulet back to me.”

He stood up, caressing his lamp as he did. “I doubt you’ll
find anything, but I can take you to Laskin’s place. We’ll have to take my car,
though.”

Farishta could harness the humidity in the wind to take her
where she wished, as long as there was moisture in the air, but Biff had no
such power.

He opened the door for Farishta and ushered her forward. The
squirrel followed, and Biff touched the painted eye before he locked the door.
With Farishta around, he needed all the power he could call on.

Farishta noticed the squirrel behind them as they walked
through the parking lot. “The rodent follows you,” she said. “After all these
years you have acquired a familiar?”

“I accidentally killed him, and then I brought him back to
life, and I haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

The squirrel hopped into the Mini Cooper as soon as Biff
opened the door, and climbed up onto the tiny back seat. “Top down?” Biff
asked.

“Of course.”

As evening fell, the sky colored from a yellow-orange at the
horizon line through gradations of light blue, violet and black. The faint
outline of a three quarter moon hung above the low-rise condo towers.

Biff accelerated down Ives Dairy Road, and the squirrel
gripped the upholstery of Biff’s seat, his fur pushed back by the wind. Once
more, Biff crossed the causeway over the Intracoastal, with the ocean ahead,
and he could feel Farishta’s power swelling from the proximity to the water.
Just being so close to her made him want her. He could feel that old familiar
stiffening in his loins, the endorphins rushing through his blood.

He parked the Mini Cooper and led Farishta to Laskin’s
building. The squirrel seemed content to stay outside, scampering up the trunk
of a gumbo limbo tree.

An old woman the size of a mountain troll stood guard in a
faded housecoat in the lobby of Laskin’s building. “Are you new tenants?” she demanded,
banging her carved wooden walking stick on the yellowed marble floor. The
overhead fluorescent lights and the fading bronze railings gave the place a
sickly pallor.

“Looking,” Biff said. He took Farishta’s hand as he led her
to the elevator.

“I don’t see any ring on her finger! This used to be a nice
building. No fornicating!”

“Sounds like a dull building,” Farishta whispered to Biff as
they got into the elevator.

He slipped through the door into Laskin’s apartment,
Farishta right behind him. She dissolved into a tiny spiraling cloud, zipping
around the apartment in a sparkle of light that reminded him of the fairy Tinkerbell
in the Peter Pan movie, one of his favorites. The cloud was her way of moving
quickly as well as of engaging all her senses simultaneously, as if she had
released a horde of tiny scavenger drones into the whirlwind.

Biff followed the cloud into the bedroom, where Farishta
returned to human shape. “It’s not here,” she said, crossing her arms. “And
where are these dolls you spoke of?”

He stepped over to the shelf where the dolls had been and
pointed to the six circles in the dust. “They were here.” He opened his third
eye, and then shivered. “There’s still a slight signature of their energy in
the air. Can you feel it?”

Farishta’s senses were not as acute as Biff’s, but he could
still see her reaction, as she caught her breath and stepped back. She took
Biff’s arm. “That is very bad, whatever it is.” She slipped her hand down his
arm to his hand, and he felt his skin tingle where she had touched him. “You
have a home, my Bivas?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You will take me there.”

“I don’t have any information on Laskin there. What little I
have is at the office.”

“I am not interested in Laskin at the moment.” She turned to
him, and her aura was overpowering. She put her finger beneath Biff’s chin, and
turned his head to face her. Then she leaned in close and kissed him.

Every sensation he had ever felt with Farishta rushed
through his brain and flooded his blood with endorphins. He kissed her hard,
wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him. Once again, all the
humidity in the air was sucked into Farishta’s orbit, and she created that
whirlwind effect again, sweeping him up with her. He felt as if he had been
separated into a thousand pieces, all of them swirling around at a thousand
miles an hour, each intersecting with bits of Farishta in a mixture of nectar,
frangipani and friction.

She pulled away, and he felt himself reassembling, though
with at least a few pieces out of sync. “Now, for your home. This place is not
suitable to me.”

Half-dazed, Biff followed her to the elevator, leaning back
against the wall as they rode to the lobby. The same old woman was still there.
“This is not some cheap motel!” She shook her finger at Farishta and Biff. “I
see what you’ve been up to! Whore!”

“Now, now, that’s not nice.” Farishta pointed her finger at
the old woman, and a tiny waterspout emerged from it, and then swirled its way
to the woman, turning into a rain cloud as it hovered over her head. Then it
exploded onto her, soaking her from head to toe.

The woman’s mouth gaped open as the water cascaded over her.
“Didn’t expect rain today, did you?” Farishta asked, as she flounced out the
door.