Djinn Box Set

Chapter 1-3

Dale finally decided he should start with the bedroom he was sleeping in. If he got the majority of Aunt Mildred’s accumulated mess out of there, maybe he could begin to feel like the house was actually his. Those boxes Carol dropped off were a start. Dale began excavating the closet in the room he’d slept in. Eight pairs of shoes and eleven purses came out of the floor of the closet. He started on the upper shelf next, thinking he’d deal with the clothing hanging in the closet last. A totally ugly lamp with elephants on the bottom, and four hat boxes were the first things off the shelf. Then came a shoe box labeled black pumps with a tiny picture of a high heeled shoe. He didn’t remember his aunt ever wearing anything high heeled. The box was awfully light. Was it empty?

He lifted the lid. A plume of smoke erupted from the box, swirling up and out. Dale stumbled backward, startled. He fell and landed on his ass. The mini blue-gray tornado swirled up to the ceiling then back down to the floor and coalesced into a…guy. Dale stared at him. What the hell? Where had he come from? And why was he dressed like that? The man was slender with nicely defined muscles. His skin was the warm tan that might indicate Hispanic or middle eastern descent, and he wore exactly one item of clothing, an almost transparent pair of blood red harem pants.

“How may I serve?” asked the man. He pressed his hands together in a praying motion and bent slightly at the waist.

“Uh…who the f**k are you?” Dale demanded. His eyes were drawn to the guy’s crotch. He couldn’t help it. The guy was damn near naked.

“I am Riadh. How may I serve?”

“Where’d you come from?”

The man looked puzzled. “The box.”

“No, really. How’d you get in the house?” Dale demanded.

“I was gifted to Mistress Mildred. Perhaps you should ask her to give you the pertinent details.”

“She’s dead.”

The man looked pained. In fact, he looked as though he might burst into tears. “Then you are my new master if you are the owner of my box. How did she die?”

Dale slowly got to his feet. “A stroke followed by pneumonia and heart failure. She was ninety- four. There wasn’t much they could do. What did you mean by I’m your master? I’m not into the b**m lifestyle.”

“I am a djinn. I must be owned or I am nothing.”

“You’re what?” Dale tried to connect the word the man had used to the spiral of smoke he’d seen. No, that couldn’t be possible. Weren’t djinn some Arabian Nights mythos thing? Mythos as is fairytale. As in not real.

“A djinn. I am an elemental spirit of the desert, harnessed by magic.”

“So do I get three wishes?” It was a smart-ass reply but the only thing that popped into Dale’s head.

“It doesn’t work that way.” The man still looked visibly upset.

“So then why the hell did you say I’m your Master? Not that I’m sure I’m believing any of this, but I’ll humor you.”

“Are you the owner of the box?”

“Yes, I guess so. Mildred was my aunt. When she died, I inherited the house and everything in it,” Dale replied.

“Then I serve you.”

“You said you didn’t do wishes.”

“I perform tasks.” The man inclined his head in Dale’s direction.

“Uh, that sounds like splitting hairs. How many tasks?”

“I am bound to serve you as long as you own me.”

Dale winced a little. He really didn’t like the word “owned.” He’d seen “owned” people in Afghanistan, most of them women. “Can you go back in the box?” It really wasn’t a command, more like a thinking out loud sort of idea. Suddenly the man vanished and the swirl of blue-gray smoke reappeared. It funneled into the box and the lid lifted up then settled on top, closing it.

Dale stood there with his mouth hanging open. Jesus? Really? Okay, he had to be losing his mind. Rattled and puzzled, he carried a stack of magazines downstairs and took them out to the recycling bin, anything to get him out of that room and away from the box. Outside, Dale lingered for a few minutes, sitting on the steps of the front porch. Had he experienced some sort of hallucination? It probably didn’t qualify as a flashback, because lord knows, those were not pleasant and didn’t feature hot as hell scantily clad guys. Maybe he needed to go back upstairs and see if the box was still on the bed. If it wasn’t, then the whole thing had been a hallucination.

He trudged back up the stairs to the bedroom, uncertain what he’d find. The box sat on the bed, unopened. Gingerly, Dale took the lid off again.

Once again a swirl of blue-gray came funneling out and turned into a man. “How may I serve?”

Dale took a deep breath. Maybe he wasn’t losing his mind. “What did you say your name was?”

“Riadh.”

“And you’re a djinn.”

Riadh nodded.

“How did my elderly aunt end up with a djinn in a shoebox?” Dale asked.

“I was a trade, like many of her magical possessions.”

“Whoa…There are more of you?”

“I do not believe she has…had another djinn,” Riadh said.

“But there’s magic…um stuff in this house?”

“Yes, quite a number of items. Are you not aware of her livelihood?” Riadh asked.

“She was a travel agent for a long number of years.”

“Well, I suppose that is true as far as the information goes. She was an adept. She traded in…items of magic.”

“She was a slightly batty, eccentric old lady,” Dale said.

“Who was a reasonably good adept.”

This information was twisting Dale’s head in a knot just as badly as having a conversation with a scantily clad, sinfully hot…genie…er, um djinn. “How long did she have you?”

Riadh looked thoughtful. “If she was still alive, it would be fifty-one years.”

“Wow. What did you do for her?”

“Many things. Cleaning, cooking, negotiations with clients, anything she requested.”

“So…why do you live in a shoebox?” Dale asked.

“He who owned me before, damaged my bottle severely. He was careless and abusive. When he tired of me, he traded me to Mistress Mildred. She did make an attempt to repair the bottle but it didn’t work. She grabbed the nearest container available in an attempt to save my life and somehow changing my containment vessel at a later date never actually happened.”

“What happens if the box gets destroyed?”

“I will die.”

Dale grimaced. “How ‘bout I just set you free and then we won’t have to worry about that?”

“I must be owned. If I am not owned, I cease to be.”

Dale ran a hand through his hair. s**t, this wasn’t going to be easy. He sat down on the bed and crossed his arms. As much as it creeped him out to own someone, if there were other secret magic things in the house, maybe he actually needed Riadh to help him figure out what to do with them. “Do you know where all the magic stuff is in the house?”

“I know where a few things are but I am aware Mistress Mildred often moved items to other places when I was not around.”

“Geez, like I really need my life to be more complicated. How do I find these designated items in all the crap in this house? And how do I recognize them when I do?”

“I can attempt to be of assistance,” Riadh offered.

“Can I just tell you to—go clean out the house or is that not specific enough?”

“Regretfully not.”

“Great. Can we start with help me lug all the stacks of Reader’s Digests and Good Housekeeping magazines in this room down to the recycling bin?” Dale asked.

“Yes.”

“And is there any chance you could put on some regular clothes? The whole half-naked with harem pants thing is…distracting.”

The look Riadh gave him was one of those top to bottom assessments. Dale couldn’t tell if Riadh found him lacking. With a wave of a hand, Riadh changed his clothing to jeans and gray T-shirt. He was still barefoot. “Is this suitable?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”