Owen has only one wish left. And this time, he wants to ensure it doesn’t come with nightmare side effects like his first two did. Unfortunately, Cleo, the scornful genie granting his desires, isn’t willing help. With the wish deadline fast approaching, Owen must find a way to gain Cleo’s assistance, or he’ll be stuck forever in a tangle of his own making.
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Listening Time: 1 hour 18 minutes
Narrated by: Jack Calihan
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“…Maybe if you’d executed my first two wishes better I wouldn’t be so strung out.” Wrong thing to say. If I could have punched myself, I would have.
Cleo
stiffened, eyes wide. And then they narrowed, and I could almost see the
millions of ways she was killing me in her mind right now. I braced myself for
a barrage of scorn mixed with profanity. If there was one thing I’d learned
about Cleo in the past couple of months, it was that she had an extensive
vocabulary of swear words. Not only was her range impressive, it was also
interestingly exotic. I was well acquainted with it because it’d been directed
at me on the frequent occasions I managed to get her to come out of the pill
box. I’d thought I’d heard it all at this point in my life, but she proved me
wrong. And somehow, whenever she directed her skill at me, I couldn’t help but
feel that every term she used was eminently fitting.
“I’m
so sorry you’re dissatisfied with your first two wishes, Master,” she drawled in an uncharacteristically chilly tone that
made me shiver. “I shall return to my vessel and spend my time reflecting on
how to do better with your third wish.” She turned and moved away from the
door.
Fuck. The lack of profanity made me panic. I leapt up the stairs
in one bound and grabbed her arm in desperation. If she evaporated back into
the box, I’d have a hell of a time getting her to come out again. “Cleo, I’m
sorry. Don’t go. I’m an asshole, okay? A dick. I’m—I’m every foul word you’ve
called me since we met.”
The
skin of her arm was soft beneath my fingers, but the biceps was firm. Did she
work out? Would a genie even need to, being able to shapeshift and all? There
was a small strange golden tattoo on her arm. I watched, fascinated, as it
shifted from a crescent moon, to some intricate round design that reminded me
of snowflakes, and then into a symbol of some kind. This close, her scent was
warm in my nostrils. It was a mix of jasmine, incense, and something spicy that
I had yet to identify. The intoxicating medley had visited me in my dreams more
than once.
“Take
… your hand … off me.”
The
words were spoken slowly and in a deadly acid that had me snatching my hand
back as though I’d touched a hot exhaust pipe. She glared up at me and twitched
her arm as if to dislodge any germs I’d left on her creamy skin.
“Sorry.
So sorry,” I said, my words coming out light and breathy as though I might set
off a bomb. I took a half step back from her, lifting my hands in front of me
in that universal I’m-not-armed gesture. “Please don’t go,” I pleaded. “I
really need your help. Please.”
There
were less than three days left for me to make my third wish, and I was
desperate not to fuck it up. I’d made
the first two rather quickly, and they hadn’t turned out exactly as I’d hoped.
Well, no, I can’t say that. I’d gotten exactly what I’d wished for. I was now
ridiculously wealthy and famous. The problem was that both of those things had
come with a lot of problems, like fleeing from people who were trying to kill
me for reasons I had yet to determine. And I really didn’t want to spend the
rest of my life using my new, magically-granted resources running, hiding, and
generally having to look over my shoulder for the rest of my days. Of course, I
could always wish to undo the first two wishes. But who in their right mind
would do that? I ran a hand through my hair, and pleaded with her with my eyes.
Cleo
made a scoffing noise and raked a critical gaze from my black biker boots, over
my favorite well-worn jeans and grey t-shirt, and finally to my face, which no
doubt looked more haggard than ever from worry and an overgrown five o’clock
shadow. “And why should I help you?
Out of the goodness of my heart?”
I
scrambled to think of something to say, but my mind was blank. I was a mere
human. And before she’d come into my life, I was only doing a passable job at
being that. There was nothing I could give her that she couldn’t give herself,
not even freedom.
“I
can’t think of anything,” I said, feeling deflated. “But maybe you can.” It was
a shot in the dark, but worth it. There was a faint glimmer in her
caramel-colored eyes that signaled I was on the right track. Inspired, I pushed
forward, desperate. “Is there something?”
She
relaxed her stance, making hope soar within me. Then she dropped her gaze to
the floor as if—No. Could it be?—as
if she was reluctant to say it. I closed the gap between us again, feeling
bolder, but I didn’t touch her. “Tell me,” I urged in a low voice, fascinated.
“I want to know. No, I have to know.
What I could possibly give you that you would want?”
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About the Author:Jewel Quinlan is a bestselling paranormal and contemporary romance author. Since her debut in late 2013, she has published sixteen stories and has many more to come. Restless by nature, she is an avid traveler and has visited sixteen countries so far. Lover of ice cream, dark beer, and red wine, she tries to stay fit when she’s not typing madly on her computer drafting another romance novel. In her spare time, she likes to do yoga, hike, learn German, and play with her spoiled Chihuahua, Penny.
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