Gifted, Page 2

  At a loss for words, the Genie shook his head.

  “Magic.” She snorted again. “What will you young folk dream up next? I’m old, dammit, I’m not senile.” So saying, she pulled a small, leather case out of the drawer, and from it, an old pair of glasses. These, she perched upon her nose with great authority.

  “Well,” she said, still squinting, “you don’t look as bad as you did last night. And I’m grateful to you for saving my life.” She came a little closer.

  “But—but—”

  “I can probably give you a little more money, for food or whatever. But you can’t stay here.”

  “But—but Mistress, I am a magical creature! I am—I am the last of the Genies!”

  “I don’t care if you’re the last of the Mohicans. You aren’t staying here, and that’s final!”

  * * *

  The horrible bitterness of the brew that the old woman called tea was a new experience—and not a pleasant one at that. He took the opportunity to mix cream and sugar with it until the entire liquid was a syrupy, horrid concoction. The scones and the lumpy butter were at least a little more familiar, and he played at eating them while he sat in one of the two rickety chairs at the tea table.

  “Look, son, why don’t you just tell me what your real name is?” She poured herself another half-cup of the unpleasant liquid, and busied herself making it palatable.

  “I don’t have a name,” he replied. Then, although he knew the answer, he asked for hers.

  “Mine?” She laughed. “Didn’t read the old driver’s license very carefully, did you?” But her smile was good-humored, and she hadn’t snorted in at least two minutes. “I’m Mrs. Susan Clarkson. Sue.” She buttered half a scone, and reached for the jam, before suddenly looking up to meet his eyes. “Don’t you ever blink?” As usual, she gave him no time to answer. “I want to let you know that I’m grateful for what you did out there.”

  He shook his head, bemused.

  “But I’d feel more comfortable if you’d admit to the truth.”

  It was pointless to argue his case, but he felt compelled to it. “Mistress—”

  “Sue.”

  “Sue, then. I am the last of my kin. I am a Genie. I grant wishes. That is my purpose in life. What can I do to prove it to you?”

  She snorted; he knew she would. He had never heard of anyone disbelieving a power they had called upon before. One third of his life had been given and granted—and it earned him mockery and the oddest twinkle of a human eye.

  “You can grant wishes, eh?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you make me young?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you make me rich?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you take me back to the town I grew up in?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed. “Could you make it summer, you funny little liar? Could you bring back the dead?” And at that, her face grew still, and her laughter became a heavy silence.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s enough, boy. It’s not funny anymore.” She pushed her tea aside with such force it splashed out onto the lace cloth beneath it.

  “But I am trying to tell you, Sue—I’m not joking. This isn’t a game—it’s my life. Test it, if you will. Make a wish, and watch it come true. Shall I bring back the dead for you?” He raised an arm, and felt a tingling warmth that made him dizzy.

  “Bring back the dead?” She muttered. “To this? He’s in heaven, he is. He’s happy. You think he’d appreciate being dragged back?” She made a joke of it, and hollow though it was, it was still strong. “Tell me something, Gene. If you can grant all of this stuff, you must know a lot.”

  “I do.”

  “Is there a heaven? Is that where he is?”

  But of course the Genie could not answer.

  * * *

  He tried to tell her that he had no need for sleep, but wasn’t surprised when she called him a liar. She shoved blankets into his arms, and made him pull apart the chair that she called a couch. To his surprise, it became a bed, of sorts. He had seen them often, but had never used one before. She told him to lie down, and because she was his mistress, and he her servant, he did as she ordered.

  There, in the darkness, he stared at the ceiling and counted the broken springs beneath his back. He did not understand this odd woman, with dreams buried so deep they could hardly be reached at all. He didn’t understand why she wouldn’t believe him, because he was thrumming with magic and power so strong he felt that they must be visible. He closed his eyes, and tried to sleep.

  When the lights returned, he knew it was not dawn, and sat up at once. Sue stood in the doorway between the two bedrooms, and stared down at him. “Gene,” she said quietly, “do you ever get lonely?”

  “Yes. All of my brothers are dead.”

  She held out a hand that shook in the light, and he understood that she meant him to take it. He did, and it trembled.

  “I want you just to be with me,” she said, and her eyes were filmy with longing and shame. “That’s all, nothing more.”

  And the last of the Genies, with power that could have turned time or death at her behest, felt the second wish strike him deeply in what could have been his heart.

  * * *

  He stayed with her, of course. And every day she began by telling him that he would have to leave soon. He attended her in silence, and grew used to her complaints, her amusements, and the strict adherence she had to daily routine. He helped her dress in the mornings, when she needed the help at all, and accompanied her everywhere. She became accustomed to his help, and once in a while would entrust him with her purse.

  But she thought him simple, that much was obvious. She taught him about money, taught him about food, taught him about clothing, and even tried to buy him some. She called him Gene; it was her joke, and her private name, and as she was Mistress, he answered to it.

  She talked, slowly, of her life, and he was amazed at the endless detail, the endless memories, that so short a span of years could produce; in the evenings, tea in hand, she would regale him with stories of a youth so long gone he could hear it only in the wistful tone of her voice.

  “I could make you young again,” he would say, but she would only shake her head and smile.

  “And what would happen if I were young again, eh? What would happen if you made me young?”

  “I would die,” he replied.

  She laughed wickedly. Always the laugh. She would slap him on the back, shoulder or thigh—whichever happened to be closest, and say, “Gene, you have made me young again!”

  * * *

  She took him to the ballet. She took him to the movies. She took him to the Salvation Army, and made him work with “real” bums, as she called them. She took him to church, where he met with a priest who talked about an after-life and heaven. Heaven was important to Sue, and she spoke of it with both longing and fear. He didn’t understand it.

  But he grew to understand her, and he was happy, in his way; as happy as he had ever been in the millennia that preceded these few years. He forgot what loneliness was like.

  But Genies are immortal until they grant the last of their wishes; humans are not. One morning, just before the glint of dawn, he felt her shake in her sleep. She was hot; he had not realized how dry and tight her skin had become. When she woke, she coughed and shuddered horribly. He took her to the hospital.

  There, he waited in a room that smelled of vile chemicals. People came and went and he ignored them; they had become unreal. Only Sue was real, and Sue was someplace beyond him. She had ordered him to wait, or he would have been at her side at once.

  The doctor came out to greet him. “She’s got pneumonia, Gene,” she said quietly.

  “Will she be all right?”

  “I don’t know. She’s old.”

  “And if I made her young again?”

  The doctor winced. “I think she’ll be fine, though,” she said lamely. “Why don’t you g
o to her? She’s asking for you.”

  The Genie didn’t have to be told twice. With a gesture of crossed arms and a wrinkle of forehead, he was at her side. She was crossed and tied with tubes, or so it first appeared, and her skin was very pale.

  “Sue,” he said quietly, as he caught her hand in his. “What is this needle doing here? Shall I take it out?”

  She laughed—and the laugh became a terrible cough. “No,” she said at last, when she could speak clearly. “It’s intravenous. Good for me.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Nothing.” She shrugged. “Nothing but stay. Do you mind? I told ‘em you were my son. They won’t make you leave.” She coughed again; the rattle of phlegm at the back of her throat was constant. She was in pain, and that hurt him, although he didn’t understand why.

  “Sue—let me help you. Let me make you young.”

  The cough was laughter, he tried to tell himself that.

  “Always on with wishes, aren’t you?” But she caught his hand and held it tightly. “I wouldn’t be young if it’d kill you, Gene. And you’re what I wished for, you know. You’ve been a good friend. What’d the doctor say? Tell me the truth.”

  “She said she didn’t know whether or not you would be all right.”

  “That’s what I thought. She looked pretty grim.” She was quiet for a moment; the rattle of her chest rose and fell. “But I don’t mind being dead, you know.”

  The Genie nodded; he’d heard it all before, and he knew she found comfort in the belief. But he heard an edge of fear to the words, and rested his head against her chest—whether to comfort her or himself, he wasn’t certain.

  “I’m afraid of the dying,” she whispered, as she stroked his hair with her free hand. “I wish—I wish you could come with me, and stay with me, no matter where I went.”

  And the magic swelled up, recognizing in her words a true wish; it pushed at the inside of his skin, radiating heat, warmth, life; it rushed out through the pores, the eyes and mouth, and the tips of his fingers. He closed his eyes in fear and terror, pleasure and fulfillment, waiting the end.

  The end did not come; there was no end waiting, and no loneliness either. He saw the shape of her death in her face, and felt peace. He caught both of her hands in both of his, and kissed her forehead gently. “Sue,” he whispered, as tears trailed down her cheeks. “I will come with you and stay with you, forever.”

  She laughed, she always laughed.

  She was laughing when they left that room together.

  THE END

  Short Stories by Michelle West and Michelle Sagara

  The first six stories released are connected to the Essalieyan Universe of the novels I write for DAW as Michelle West. Since those are my most asked-for short stories, those are the stories I wanted to make available first. The rest of the stories will be released in chronological order from the date of their first appearance, which are listed in brackets beside the titles, along with the anthology in which they first appeared. All of the stories have new introductions (which will probably come through in the samples if you’ve already read the stories but want to read those.)

  In the Essalieyan universe:

  Echoes (2001, Assassin Fantastic)

  Huntbrother (2004, Sirius, the Dog Star)

  The Black Ospreys (2005, Women of War)

  The Weapon (2005, Shadow of Evil)

  Warlord (1998, Battle Magic)

  The Memory of Stone (2002, 30th Anniversary DAW Fantasy)

  * * *

  Birthnight (1992, Christmas Bestiary)

  Gifted (1992, Aladdin, Master of the Lamp)

  Shadow of a Change (1993, Dinosaur Fantastic)

  For Love of God (1993, Alternate Warriors)

  Hunger (1993, Christmas Ghosts)

  Four Attempts at a Letter (1994, By Any Other Fame)

  Winter (1994, Deals with the Devil)

  What She Won’t Remember (1994, Alternate Outlaws)

  The Hidden Grove (1995, Witch Fantastic)

  Ghostwood (1995, Enchanted Forests)

  When a Child Cries (1996, Phantoms of the Night)

  The Sword in the Stone (1997, Alternate Tyrants)

  Choice* (1997, Sword of Ice: Friends of Valdemar)

  Turn of the Card (1997, Tarot Fantastic)

  The Law of Man (1997, Elf Fantastic)

  Flight (1997, Return of the Dinosaurs)

  The Vision of Men (1997, The Fortune Teller)

  By the Work, One Knows (1997, Zodiac Fantastic)

  Under the Skin (1997, Elf Magic)

  The Dead that Sow (1997, Wizard Fantastic)

  Kin (1998, Olympus)

  Step on the Crack (1998, Black Cats and Broken Mirrors)

  Diamonds (1998, Alien Pets)

  Sunrise (1999, A Dangerous Magic)

  Elegy (1999, Moon Shots)

  Return of the King (1999, Merlin)

  Work in Progress (1999, Alien Abductions)

  Water Baby (1999, Earth, Air, Fire and Water)

  Faces Made of Clay (2000, Mardi Gras Madness)

  Sacrifice (2000, Spell Fantastic)

  Shelter (2000, Perchance to Dream)

  Pas de Deux (2000, Guardian Angels)

  Déjà Vu (2001, Single White Vampire Seeks Same)

  To Speak With Angels (2001, Villains Victorious)

  Lady of the Lake (2001, Out of Avalon)

  Truth (2001, The Mutant Files)

  The Last Flight (2001, Creature Fantastic)

  The Knight of the Hydan Athe (2002, Knight Fantastic)

  Legacy (2002, Familiars)

  The Nightingale (2002, Once Upon a Galaxy)

  A Quiet Justice (2002, Vengeance Fantastic)

  The Augustine Painters (2002, Apprentice Fantastic)

  How to Kill an Immortal (2002, The Bakka Anthology)

  Fat Girl (2002, Oceans of the Mind VI, ezine)

  Winter Death* (2003, The Sun in Glory: Friends of Valdemar)

  Diary (2003, The Sorcerer’s Academy)

  Dime Store Rings (2004, The Magic Shop)

  To The Gods Their Due (2004, Conqueror Fantastic)

  The Stolen Child (2004, Faerie Tales)

  The Rose Garden (2004, Little Red Riding Hood in the Big Bad City)

  The Colors of Augustine (2004, Summoned to Destiny)

  Unicorn Hunt (2005, Maiden, Mother Crone)

  The Snow Queen* (2005, Magic Tails; with Debbie Ohi)

  Shahira (2006, Children of Magic)

  *Set in Mercedes Lackey’s Valdemar, as the anthology titles suggest

  For more information—or just to say hello!—I can be found online at:

  Twitter: @msagara

  Facebook: Michelle Sagara

  My blog about my written works: Michelle West & Michelle Sagara