As You Wish (11 page)

A ROLL OF
thunder rattles through the park, startling the ducks that I was trying to coax toward me. I look up expectantly, but no raindrops fall. I sigh and sit back in the cool grass to wait. Again. For the fourth day in a row.

This
is normal, no matter how boring it is, I remind myself. This is how it should be while I wait for my master to wish—sitting alone. It's good that I asked for the press. I've been repeating that to myself all day, because I know that if I let the lingering doubt in my head speak up, I'll crumble. It's easier to stay bitter—to think of Viola yelling at me, of the days I've lost, of Caliban. To ignore the fact that two people
know me—that two people, until Tuesday, considered me their friend. I suppose one of the two still does.

Lawrence. I showed myself to him. I involved him, and now he might be used to press Viola. She'd wish to help him, to save him. Another bolt of jealousy rushes through me. Viola and Lawrence would wish to save each other. Would they do the same for me? Would anyone?

That's for mortals. See what being here has done to you?

But I still should warn Lawrence, as I remember the time he called me “friend.” Plus, I'm incredibly bored and I haven't had a conversation with anyone in days. I'm already in so much trouble with the Ancients when I get back, what's one more offense? I vanish from the park. Lawrence yells and trips over a baseball bat when I appear in his bedroom.

“You could warn me,” he mutters, rubbing his knee where it crashed into the carpet.

“Sorry, I forgot,” I answer, trying to hide how much of a relief it is for someone to see me again. Lawrence rolls his eyes and pulls himself up into his computer chair.

“It's good to see you, though, really. As long as…don't tell
me she's made another wish?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No…no. That's not why I'm here. We haven't…I mean, she hasn't called for me in days.”

“Me either. She usually can't hold a grudge, but I'm starting to wonder. She's going to a party tonight, so I'm not going since…it's awkward. But if you want to watch
Family Guy
reruns with me, you're more than welcome.”

The offer is tempting, but I hesitate. “Actually, that's not why I'm here.” How do I explain that I might have requested to have him hurt? “Viola is going to wish soon,” I say slowly.

Lawrence raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It's for the better, I mean. Two more wishes and I go back home. And besides, she has Aaron now; she doesn't need a jinn following her around.”

Lawrence laughs and sits back down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, she may say she loves Aaron, but she looks at you the way she used to look at me,” Lawrence says with a sad sort of smile. “You know, before I became a raging homosexual.” Lawrence grins, but I can't even smile back because my head is suddenly too full.

She looks at me the way she used to look at him. The person she loved.

No one has ever looked at me that way. Something inside me pulses, and I turn away from Lawrence as a warm feeling rushes from my head to my fingertips.

No. No. Relationships are for mortals.

I turn back to Lawrence and shake my head. “A bird and a fish might love each other, but where could they live?”

“I don't know, an underwater birdcage?” Lawrence replies.

I sigh and put my head in my hand.

Lawrence stands, folding his arms. “Jinn, is something wrong—”

“I asked for a press,” I say as fast as I can.
Don't look at Lawrence.

“You asked for a what?”

I focus on the old baseball trophies behind Lawrence's head. “Whenever there's a concern about a master not wishing, the ifrit get involved. They press a person to wish—put the person in a situation that he or she will need to wish some way out of. It's not always that pretty, but the ifrit really
are trying to do good. It's their job, helping earthbound jinn escape. I asked them to press Viola.”

“You asked them to hurt—” Lawrence's voice raises, his eyes wide and panicky.

“No!” I snap. Who does Lawrence think I am? “I got the ifrit's word that he wouldn't press Viola directly, that he won't hurt her. It's for the best, Lawrence. There are rules in Caliban, protocol that the Ancients enforce and we have to follow while earthbound. This isn't my world—”

“But she's your friend! You have to warn her! What's wrong with you?” Lawrence shouts, stepping closer to me with each word.

I open my mouth to speak again, but freeze.

Viola.

Her call rips through my head like a scream that causes my mouth to dry and my palms to sweat. A press. It must be a press. My stomach lurches.
It's for the better, remember?
He promised not to hurt her.
It's for the better,
I chant to myself, but the sick feeling intensifies. How could I? What have I done? She's my friend.

The words leave my mouth in a whisper. “She's calling for me.”

“She's at Aaron's party. I'll meet you there,” Lawrence says, grabbing his car keys off his desk. I nod as the world blurs and I vanish.

I expect to arrive in the center of a party like the one before Viola's first wish—red cups everywhere, music thumping, Aaron draped with girls like they're human ivy. Instead, I appear in a starlit garden. Music from the house in front of it thumps dully through the walls, and there's a hum of conversation that's almost hidden by the chirps of crickets. Viola is kneeling by a bed of tulips and hydrangeas, her head turned away. She doesn't even realize I'm behind her. Before I can speak, a voice cuts me off.

“I tried to talk to him, he told me to fuck off. What did I do? I don't understand. We were supposed to be forever,” the voice weeps from between rows of canna lilies. The speaker is…
no
.

It's Ollie. But not the beautiful, mysterious, and bright Ollie that I remember from last week.

This Ollie has mascara streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes are glassy and red from crying, and her face is ugly with grief. Her clothes look different on her—she looks like a lost little girl in her mother's hand-me-downs. A thunderhead rolls in front of the moon and throws Ollie's and Viola's faces into shadow.

“Master,” I say, choking out the title instead of her name.

Remember, it's easier when she's just your master, when she's not “Viola.”
Protocol. Viola turns to me, her face twisted in misery. I want to call her name, so, so badly. And I want her to say mine. I breathe in.

“
Viola.
Please,” she begs, and her voice is trembling. Suddenly nothing else matters—the ifrit, Caliban, aging. How could I have thought any of that truly mattered? I don't know what to do—reach toward her? Stand quietly? Keep speaking, stay silent? What can I do to stop her pain?

Suddenly my body knows what to do even though my head doesn't. I drop to my knees beside her and put a hand on top of hers as the clouds start to drip. Movement from behind the rosebushes catches my eye—it's the ifrit. His silk tunic reflects
the lights from the house, and he folds his arms, giving me a long, perplexed gaze. I leave my hand firmly on Viola's and look away from him.

“It's my fault she's like this. I ruined Ollie. Look at her,” Viola murmurs as Ollie buries her head in her hands. The white artist's palette tattoo on her back looks faded and sickly. A clap of thunder bangs in the distance. People who were partying outside rush into the house, and the music gets louder.

“I don't understand,” Ollie weeps. “I feel so…so…”

“Broken,” Viola whispers. She sits back and puts her head in her hands. “What have I done?”

I respond grimly, “You made a wish.”

And I asked for a press.

“But I never wanted to hurt Ollie. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I just wanted to feel whole again. But I don't, even though I belong now.” The rain begins to transform from a light sprinkle to a hard summer rain. There's no rain in Caliban, either. Water falls on Viola's eyelashes, mixing in with her tears.

“Can I take it back? Wish to undo the first wish?” Viola asks.

“No. No, you can't,” I breathe. “You can't unwish something.”

Viola's gaze falls to Ollie again.

“I have to make it right,” she says fearfully. “What do I have to do?” she asks, looking back at me.

Viola doesn't really want to know—her question hardly pulls at me. Probably because she already knows what she has to do. She just needs to hear it, to know there's no other way.

“You'd have to wish again,” I say, then look away. A feeling I don't know grips me as the words leave my mouth, some sort of writhing between my stomach and my heart. The ifrit gives me a stern look and vanishes. Viola inhales deeply and doesn't speak for several moments.

“I'm sorry,” she finally says firmly. Can she read me the way I read her? Does she know how badly I don't want her to wish? Her voice drops to a whisper. “I have to.”

“I understand,” I answer. He's a great ifrit. It was a good press. And it's my own fault that she wished, that I'm losing her for a world of stillness and solidarity. I stand. I don't want to do this. I want to be anything but a wish granter at this moment.

Viola doesn't look at me, but rather at Ollie, whose hands and clothes are muddy and whose face is swollen from tears. She reaches out and puts a hand on Ollie's arm.

“I wish for Ollie to be okay,” she says breathily, closing her eyes as she does so. She doesn't look at me—I'm glad, because I know my face is contorted into a horrible grimace. I fight it, even though I know there's no point—the wish pulls at me like a strong wave. I wait until the last moment to grant it, until the wave feeling rushes over me so strongly that I feel I might drown. Finally, I wrap one arm over my stomach, the other against my back and bow slowly.

To Viola. To my
master
. How could I hurt her? What have I done?

“As you wish.”

I LOOK INTO
Jinn's eyes as the words leave his mouth. He looks at me differently than Aaron does. As if I could have any hair color, be any size, be sick or healthy, be fat, skinny, or dying, and he would still look at me the same way. The rain makes his golden skin seem slick and polished, and he looks less human than he ever has before. He rises from the bow and breaks eye contact with me to stare into the sky.

“It doesn't rain in Caliban,” he says, letting raindrops splash onto his face. I follow his gaze to the clouds, then remember Ollie. My eyes dart to the bushes where Ollie was, dirty and weeping. She's gone. A bright, apple-colored laugh resounds
through the garden from somewhere in the house. I look inside.

Ollie is sitting on the kitchen counter, framed by the window's pink curtains. Her hair falls in perfectly tousled curls, and her teeth are shiny and white. Her skin is back to its honey color, and when she turns around, I see the white tattoo on her back, as shimmery as ever. Boys surround her, and she smiles at them, then hops off the counter and vanishes from my line of sight.

“It worked,” I say softly. Jinn looks away from the sky, droplets of rain rolling down his cheeks, like tears.

“Yes.” He inhales and talks quickly, in a voice too casual to be genuinely so. “I covered up the memory of Aaron leaving her. I can't erase memories, not really…. Jinn magic isn't that strong—”

“I'm sorry,” I interrupt him, voice breathless.

“Don't be,” Jinn answers, staring at the wet grass. “It's my fault.” His jaw is tight, and there's a hurt look in his eyes. I watch him carefully through the increasing rain, longing to read his desires as he reads mine.

“What do you mean?” I ask, searching his face.
It's not your fault. It's my fault.

Jinn pauses and rubs his face with his hand. “Viola…Ollie was a press. I asked another jinn to get you to wish. I was confused. I was jealous. I didn't understand. I thought I had to get home; I thought I needed you to wish.”

My breath quavers in my throat as water runs off my hair and down my back. He did
what
to me?

“I don't understand,” I whisper.

Jinn bites his lip, then launches into an explanation: ifrit, pressing, time, wishes, Caliban. The words run together like the scent of liquor and smoke from the house.
He wanted to leave. He wanted me to wish so he could leave.
The knowledge twists into me like a knife; he said he liked being here. I thought he liked being with me. I thought he didn't want to leave anymore. I force myself to swallow.

“I asked him not to hurt
you
, so he made
Ollie
hurt over the breakup with Aaron, just to get to you. It's my fault. I'm so sorry, Viola,” Jinn says loudly, to be heard over the sound of the rainstorm.

Jinn did this. And he did it intentionally. I can't find my voice, and I can barely see; everything is blurred and obscured by the raindrops. Everything but Jinn. He's breathing deeply and gazing into my eyes as he speaks. His voice is rough and low, and his fingers twitch as if he's longing to reach toward me. I take a step away from him and fold my arms over my waist. A clap of thunder erupts overhead.

I finally find words. “I would have…you want to go. You wanted me to hurt so you could…,” I trail off as a flash of lightning illuminates the garden. I shiver, though I'm not certain it's from the cold.

“No, Viola, please. It was a mistake. I was scared because…” He looks down. “Because I'm beginning to feel like I'm broken without you. Like something about me, about who and what I am, is going to be gone if I leave you. With you, I'm not just a wish granter. And I'm not supposed to feel that. A wish granter is what I am. I'm
not
a mortal, but I…it's almost like I
wish
I was one.” He says the words with a look of confusion on his face, and I can't help wondering if he's ever had a wish before.

My name shoots across the yard in a slurred voice. Aaron is standing at the door, beer in hand. I groan.

“Viola! You coming back in?” he shouts. I turn to Jinn.

You betrayed me.

“Viola?” Aaron's voice calls again. “You all right?”

“I'm fine!” I lie, glancing back at Aaron. When I look back to Jinn, he's gone.

I exhale and shake the tears from my eyes, then turn and walk toward Aaron.

“Why didn't you come in when it started raining, baby? You're soaked.” Aaron asks as he holds open the screen door. He rubs his hands on my shoulders to warm them.

“I got distracted,” I mumble. Aaron calls out to one of his Aaron Moor Boys, who retrieves a towel. Aaron runs the towel through my hair—tangling it—and then wraps it around me, though I feel so numb I barely notice. He leads me out of the kitchen, and we collapse together on the couch. From somewhere behind me, I hear two girls talking and pick up the phrase “Aaron Moor's Girlfriend.”

Exactly,
I think. This is a party for Aaron Moor's Girlfriend.
For shiny Viola. I thought that was me, but…it's not. I'm not really shiny Viola, and I'm not the old Viola, either. I'm not even an Invisible Girl anymore. I'm just—

“Viola?” A voice calls my name. I look up.

It's Lawrence, eyes full of concern, a frantic look on his face. He extends a hand to me, and without hesitation I take it and stand.

“You going somewhere?” Aaron asks as he swigs his beer.

“Home. Sick,” I lie. I don't care.

“Aw, you want me to drive you? I can take care of you,” he says as he swigs the beer again. I shake my head.

“Where is Jinn?” Lawrence asks as we walk out the front door.

“I don't know. He was here, but then after I made the wish for Ollie, he vanished.” We climb in the car and, seeing I'm shivering, Lawrence turns the heat on high.

“So you wished?” Lawrence says after a few moments of silence.

“Yes,” I answer softly. “I had to. Ollie was…she was a
disaster because of losing Aaron. It was horrible. And it was Jinn's doing.”

“A press. Jinn told me.”

“He betrayed me. He hurt me.”

“Viola…I…I don't think he meant it. When you called for him…you should have seen his eyes.”

“But he still hurt me.”

“He was scared. He cares for you so much that it scared him. Because you're the first, I think. The only.”

I wrap my hair around my fingers. How could someone feel that strongly about me? And how could I feel that way about someone who tried to hurt me?

Because Jinn understands me, in a way that Aaron never will understand me. He knows what I want, what I need, when I need help, when I want to be left alone. I sigh. How could I not care about someone who knows me like that? Someone who cares just as much about me, so much so that I could break him?

It's silent for the rest of the ride, until we pull into my
driveway. I look down and brush my hair behind my ears. I owe Lawrence. For the ride home, but also for so much more.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“I couldn't let Aaron drive you home,” Lawrence says.

“Well…yeah, that. But also, just…thanks,” I answer. Lawrence doesn't reply. I open my door and swing my feet out of the car.

“Vi!” Lawrence calls out just as I'm about to shut the car door. Lawrence looks me in the eye for a long moment. “I'm sorry, Vi.”

I nod and smile a little, then shut the door. Lawrence grins and waves good-bye as he pulls out of the driveway.

I slip past my parents, who have fallen asleep with CNN on the TV. I change into fuzzy pajamas in the bathroom, the kind with frogs wearing crowns on them, the kind that I'd never want Aaron to see me in. I sit on the edge of my bed, and my eyes move to the armchair Jinn usually sits in.

I close my eyes and call his name.