Page 8

Chapter

Eight

Raucous feline complaints roused Mandy. Bach and Mozart sat side by side on the mattress, watching her with matching judgy expressions. Their green-gold eyes radiated the particular disdain only cats could muster over delayed breakfast.

The bedside clock read 10:47 AM. No wonder they were upset… late breakfast two whole days in a row!

"I'm sorry, boys," she mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. "Give me a minute, okay?"

Appeased, the cats accepted this promise of forthcoming food with surprising grace. Mozart's tail curled into a question mark as he trotted off to the kitchen, while Bach let out one final meow of protest before following his brother.

Mandy tested her limits, stretching cautiously. Her back twinged but didn't seize - good, though she could feel the bad pain lurking, waiting for one wrong move to pounce.

She found her slippers, steadied herself against the nightstand, and made her careful way to the bathroom. The warm water against her face usually cleared the morning fog, but today something in the mirror caught her eye.

The pendant.

It hung there against her chest, its surface shifting with those mesmerizing patterns she'd noticed yesterday. Yesterday. When it had summoned a Djinn prince into her living room. When she'd learned magic was real. When she'd been granted three wishes.

Her knees buckled, and she quickly sat on the edge of the tub. The evidence hung right there around her neck, warm and real and rather terrifying in its implications - this wasn't a dream or medication-induced hallucination. A real Djinn prince had granted her wishes, and that reality was both wondrous, and absolutely terrifying in its implications. Everything she thought she knew about the world, about what was possible and impossible, had shattered in a single afternoon.

Mandy closed her eyes and told herself to breathe. Okay, so, maybe she really had met a nice lady named Jacinth in the hospital who had given Mandy the pendant, and the rest was a drug-induced hallucination. The pain medication they'd given her in the ER had been strong - strong enough to make her float away on clouds of cotton wool. That had to be it.

She stood and pulled her robe off the back of the bathroom door, wrapping the soft fleece around herself like armor against reality. Her slippers whispered against the carpet as she made her way into the living room.

Her gaze went straight to the small, lovely table there before her recliner. The delicate piece with its ornately carved legs and inlaid top stood exactly where Kieran had conjured it to put tea on. Her heart stuttered in her chest. She hadn't owned anything remotely like that before yesterday.

Turning slowly, she looked toward the kitchen. There in the dish drainer sat her skillet and large sauce pan, along with the various utensils used to make the spaghetti sauce. On the counter was the silvery bag that held the remains of the loaf of garlic bread. She opened the refrigerator, seeing the two Tupperware containers with the pasta and sauce.

Okay, not a hallucination.

A demanding squawk from Bach snapped Mandy out of her daze. Right. Breakfast for the boys first, existential crisis about magic later. Both cats raced ahead of her to the kitchen, tails held high like exclamation points. Their synchronized dance of anticipation began - weaving between her feet, chirping and meowing as if she might somehow forget where their food bowls lived.

"Yes, yes, I know. You're starving." Mandy smiled despite herself. The familiar morning routine helped settle her nerves.

She opened the cabinet where she kept their food, and both cats immediately started rubbing against her legs, purring so loudly she could feel the vibrations through her slippers. The cabinet held neat rows of canned food - she believed in variety, rotating between different flavors and brands to keep them from getting bored.

"Let's see... salmon yesterday, so how about..." She selected a can of chicken and tuna pate. The pop of the can opener sent both cats into a frenzy of excitement.

"Patience is a virtue, boys." She divided the food between their bowls, adding a splash of water to each as she always did. The cats wound around her ankles, nearly tripping her as she carried their bowls to their usual spot.

"Okay, okay!" She set the bowls down carefully. "There you go."

Both cats dove into their breakfast with characteristic enthusiasm. Mandy watched them for a moment, smiling at their single-minded focus. At least some things remained blessedly normal.

Her own stomach rumbled, reminding her that she needed sustenance too. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the orange juice, pouring herself a tall glass. The kitchen stool creaked slightly as she settled onto it, elbows resting on the cool granite of the island counter.

Mandy stared into her orange juice, watching condensation bead on the outside of the glass. The pendant's warmth pulsed steadily against her chest, its rhythmic presence impossible to ignore. Magic.

Joy exploded through her chest like fireworks. Magic existed! Not just in books or movies or her imagination, but right here in her living room. In her life! She wanted to jump up and dance, to throw open her windows and shout it to the whole neighborhood. To grab random strangers on the street and tell them that everything they'd ever dreamed about was possible.

"Magic!" She flung her arms wide, nearly knocking over her orange juice. "Real, honest-to-goodness magic!"

Mozart and Bach paused in their breakfast, lifting their heads to stare at her with matching expressions of feline concern. Their whiskers twitched as they assessed their human's apparent mental breakdown. After a moment's consideration, they apparently decided food was more important than her strange behavior and returned to their bowls.

Mandy couldn't stop laughing. Tears streamed down her face as years of writing about magic, dreaming about magic, wishing for magic crystallized into this one perfect moment of pure joy. All those times she'd gazed at the stars and wished for something more, something wonderful and extraordinary - and now here it was, hanging around her neck in the form of a mystical pendant given to her by a mischievous Djinn.

Her laughter finally subsided into occasional hiccups. The joy remained though, bubbling just beneath the surface like champagne. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this light, this... happy.

Her thoughts drifted to Jacinth, with her musical laugh and those fascinating dimples. The way she'd moved around Mandy's kitchen last night as if they'd been friends for years, not hours. How easily conversation had flowed between them, ranging from family to writing to the nature of inspiration.

Warmth spread through Mandy's chest that had nothing to do with the pendant. When was the last time she'd connected with someone like that? Sure, she had plenty of acquaintances - other writers she chatted with online, neighbors she waved to, the friendly staff at her favorite diner. But a real friend? Someone to share life's ups and downs with, to call just because, to spend lazy afternoons watching movies and sharing secrets?

Jacinth's face appeared in her mind - those expressive dark eyes sparkling with mischief, that infectious smile that made everyone around her want to smile too. Her genuine interest in Mandy's writing, her playful teasing about character inspiration. The way she'd known exactly when to push and when to back off during their conversation. And she'd shared with Mandy about her own life, too. What a wonderful friend she would make!

The wishes suddenly seemed almost secondary. What was the power to change things compared to having someone like Jacinth in her life? A true friend who understood both the mundane and magical aspects of life. Someone who could appreciate both the struggle of writing dialogue, and the wonder of magical beings learning to use TikTok.

She'd forgotten how much she had always wished for a close friend. Someone to share those small, everyday moments that made life special. Someone who got excited about your successes and supported you through your struggles. Someone who saw past the surface to who you really were. She'd never found that, had eventually given up hoping to find a friend like that.

Oh, she had Sabrina… but she was her daughter, a sacred trust to raise, then let go so she could fly when the time came. Sabrina had her own life now, her own family, and that was as it should be. It just left Mandy a little… lonely.

To be honest, the possibility of friendship with someone like Jacinth felt like the real magic. The wishes were merely the icing on the cake.

Mandy's stomach growled, but the thought of a full breakfast after last night's ice cream sundae made her wince. Still, she needed to eat something, so she dropped an English muffin in the toaster. A few minutes later it popped up golden brown, filling her kitchen with its toasted aroma. She spread butter and raspberry jam across both halves, the seeds crunching pleasantly between her teeth as she took her first bite.

Mozart wound around her ankles, eyeing the muffin hopefully. "Don't even think about it, mister," she told him. "You had your breakfast."

She carried her muffin to her desk and pressed the power button on her computer. The familiar whir of fans and blinking lights provided a comforting counterpoint to the otherworldly warmth of the pendant against her chest. She forced her thoughts away from magical pendants, and Djinn, and wishes, to focus on the present. Time to work.

She'd lost the last two days, and she had deadlines to meet, regardless of the eruption of magic into her life. Her latest manuscript wasn't going to edit itself, and her newsletter needed to go out by Friday. The routine tasks would help ground her, while her mind processed everything else in the background.

Her computer screen flickered to life, displaying the familiar desktop background of a sunset over the Sonoran Desert. Mandy took another bite of her muffin, letting the tart sweetness of the jam ground her in reality while her writing software loaded.

Bach jumped onto the desk beside her keyboard, settling into his usual spot where he could supervise her work, while Mozart stretched out on the window sill, supervising from afar. Their staunch companionship helped anchor her as she dove into the familiar rhythms of her daily routine.

After thirty minutes, Mandy slumped away from her workstation, sweeping stray locks away from her forehead with frustration. The words wouldn't come. Her mind simply refused to concentrate.

Though she could compartmentalize the reality of the Djinn's visit, of Jacinth and Kieran's supernatural nature, and even the confirmation that magic existed, she couldn't escape the persistent thoughts about her three wishes. The endless potential outcomes kept invading her consciousness, nudging at her attention, making it impossible to concentrate on her tasks or accomplish anything meaningful.

She glanced at her word count - a measly hundred and twelve words in thirty minutes. Usually, she could knock out at least three hundred words in that time. But today... today her characters refused to cooperate, their voices drowned out by the whispers of "what if" that filled her head.

Bach stretched and yawned from his perch beside her keyboard, fixing her with that particular feline stare that somehow managed to convey both judgment and sympathy.

"Don't look at me like that," she muttered to Bach. "You try writing when you've got unlimited possibilities spinning through your head."

All the normal, everyday tasks of being an author piled up before her, but her brain refused to engage with any of them. Instead, it kept circling back to wishes, to magic, to the incredible reality that she could literally change anything about her life with just a few carefully chosen words.

Mandy groaned aloud and covered her face with her hands. The enormity of keeping this secret pressed down on her chest like a physical weight. She knew she couldn't tell anyone about this - not even Sabrina. Her daughter would be fascinated, and just think of the conversations they could have! Keeping this to herself was surely going to kill her, but breaking the trust of the Djinn was unthinkable.

The urge to pace hit her hard. That's what people did in situations like this, right? Wore tracks in their carpet while muttering to themselves like lunatics in bad movies. She could picture herself doing exactly that - striding back and forth across her living room, gesturing wildly while having animated conversations with herself about wishes and Djinn princes.

But no. Her treacherous back and arthritic knees wouldn't allow such dramatic displays of frustration. The mere thought of pacing made her joints ache in protest. Even if she tried, she'd wind up right back in the ER, where she'd just been, and she wasn't that anxious to repeat the experience.

Bach walked across the desk and headbutted her arm, purring. She scratched behind his ears, grateful for the simple comfort of warm fur beneath her fingers.

"At least you two know I'm not crazy," she told the cats. "You saw them too. The Djinn were right here in our living room."

Both cats blinked at her slowly, offering neither confirmation nor denial of her sanity.

Mandy pushed back from her desk with a sigh. Maybe if she felt more put-together, more professional, she could focus better. Slouching around in her robe all day certainly wasn't helping her concentration. One thing she'd learned over the years was that looking nice made her feel better, even if no one else saw her. It didn't matter that she was older, with grey, thinning hair. It was about how she felt about herself, and when she was dressed up with nice clothing and makeup, it lifted her spirits.

In her bedroom, she opened her closet and surveyed the contents. Her hand automatically reached for her usual comfortable jeans, but she hesitated. No, today called for more upscale. She pulled out a flowing maxi skirt in deep purple - one of her favorites - and paired it with a soft heather gray top that draped nicely over her rounded curves.

The familiar routine of getting dressed helped settle her mind. She slipped on her most comfortable sandals, and moved to her vanity.

Her reflection stared back at her as she opened her makeup bag. She wrinkled her nose as her greying, salt-and-pepper hair caught her attention. Time for another color appointment, she always had fun with those. An image flashed through her mind of that contestant from the Great British Baking Show, the one with the gorgeous pink and lilac hair that looked like cotton candy. Now that would be fun! She loved going to salons and letting them experiment - after all, if she didn't like the results, it would always grow out.

She narrowed her eyes at her reflected self. "If you write five thousand words, you can go get your hair done in pink and purple. Deal?" She nodded at herself solemnly. "Deal."

Deal offered and accepted - these little rewards and challenges had become her most reliable motivational tool - Mandy turned her attention to her makeup, applying it with practiced strokes - lightly tinted moisturizer with a touch of blush to warm her complexion, mascara to define her lashes. She kept it simple but polished, the way she'd learned from classes at a modeling agency when she'd been in her twenties. Her fingers worked through her hair along with the brush, smoothing out the sleep-tangles.

The last thing was to swipe on her favorite lip gloss, a sheer rose shade that added just enough color without being too dramatic.

"Alexa, play 70s and 80s hits," she called out. The apartment's 360-degree speaker system came to life, filling the space with the opening notes of "Dancing Queen." A smile tugged at her lips as ABBA's infectious rhythm got her shoulders swaying.

The familiar songs wrapped around her like a comfortable blanket. These were the songs she'd grown up with, had danced to in her living room, had sung at the top of her lungs during long car rides. Foreigner's "I Want to Know What Love Is" began to play, as Mandy nodded with satisfaction at her mirror. The woman looking back at her appeared polished, put-together, ready to face whatever the day might bring - even if that was simply progress on her manuscript. The flowing purple skirt swished around her ankles as she rose from the vanity's stool, making her feel as elegant as it had when she was half her age.

Claudia Barry's "Boogie Woogie Dancing Shoes" filled the apartment, and Mandy's body swayed instinctively to the rhythm. Her hips wanted to move, her feet itched to step and twirl. The muscle memory was still there, even after all these years - the way her body naturally found the beat, how her arms would float up gracefully as she spun.

But those days were long gone. Her knees and back screamed in protest at even the gentlest sway. The freedom of movement she'd once taken for granted had been stolen by time, and arthritis, and spinal stenosis. Even simple movements like reaching for something on a high shelf or bending to pick up a dropped pen required careful consideration now.

A deep ache that had nothing to do with physical pain settled in her chest. She missed dancing - really dancing, not just the careful shifting from foot to foot that was all she could manage now. She missed the joy of losing herself in the music, of letting her body interpret the rhythm in sweeping turns and graceful gestures.

Shaking off the momentary melancholy, Mandy moved to her dresser. Her collection of perfume bottles caught the morning light, sending tiny rainbows dancing across the wall. She didn't usually wear perfume when she wasn't going out, but what the heck. She selected her favorite, a delicate gardenia, and the familiar scent wrapped around her as she spritzed a little on her wrists.

Across the room, Bach and Mozart suddenly alerted, rising to all fours from where they'd been lounging on their floor-to-ceiling cat tree in one corner of her bedroom, their ears pricked forward and eyes fixed intently on the doorway.

With resigned amusement, she asked them. "There's a Djinn in my living room, isn't there?"

Mozart's tail twitched in confirmation while Bach maintained his laser-focused stare. The cats had adapted remarkably well to magical visitors, treating them with the same casual disdain they showed all humans who dared enter their territory.

Smoothing down her purple skirt, Mandy was grateful she'd taken the time to dress properly, and that whoever it was hadn't arrived until now. Fifteen minutes earlier and she'd have been meeting whoever it was in her nightgown and robe, with unbrushed hair.

Mandy stepped into her living room, Bach and Mozart padding beside her like feline bodyguards. Her breath caught. Kieran stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the morning light. His tunic shimmered rich blue, silver embroidery catching the sunlight. With his close-fitting dark trousers and leather boots, he looked like he'd stepped from a fantasy novel - though she doubted he'd chosen the outfit for effect. Everything about him, from his ramrod-straight posture to his long silver hair, radiated authority.

Mozart chirped a greeting and trotted over to investigate Kieran's boots, while Bach maintained a more dignified distance, settling onto the arm of her recliner to observe. The cats' casual acceptance of this magical being in their territory still amazed her.

Kieran turned from the window, and Mandy couldn't help noticing how the morning light played across Kieran's aristocratic features, highlighting those remarkable cheekbones and the strong line of his jaw. He possessed the kind of devastating handsomeness that belonged in renaissance paintings or on the covers of fantasy novels - remote and untouchable as a marble statue.

Thank goodness she was well past the age for silly crushes - though her mind unhelpfully reminded her of countless hours spent admiring Aragorn's noble bearing or gazing rapturously at Paul Hollywood's silver hair and bluer-than-blue eyes as he critiqued underproved bread on Great British Baking Show. She was in her sixties, for heaven's sake!

But that was different. That was simply aesthetic appreciation, like admiring a beautiful painting or sculpture. Kieran definitely took the concept of "silver fox" to an entirely new level. The term seemed almost inadequate when applied to an immortal Djinn prince whose very presence made her living room feel like the throne room of some ancient magical palace.

Mozart, however, wound around Kieran's ankles, stepping on his boots and completely unimpressed by all this magical majesty.

Kieran inclined his head in greeting. " Sabah al-khair. "

" Sabah in-nour. Kayf hallak ?" The Arabic phrases rolled off Mandy's tongue with perfect inflection. She blinked, startled at herself. The traditional morning greeting and inquiry after his well-being had flowed naturally, without hesitation or thought.

A ghost of a smile touched Kieran's lips, softening his austere features for a brief moment. "I am well, thank you." His glacier-blue eyes studied her with interest. "Your accent is impeccable."

Warmth bloomed in Mandy's chest at his praise. "The words just flew from my mouth without me having to think about it!" She touched her fingers to her lips in wonder. Though she'd studied Arabic years ago in Cairo, she'd never really used it since. But when he had greeted her, the corresponding response had simply been there, as natural as breathing.

Memories of sun-drenched afternoons flooded back. "I used to be pretty fluent in it. When I attended American University in Cairo as an exchange student, I'd wander the streets after class with nothing but my purse and my English/Arabic dictionary, just talking to people."

Kieran's eyebrow rose in that elegant arch she was starting to recognize. The expression managed to convey both skepticism and curiosity without disturbing his regal bearing.

She grinned, understanding his unspoken question. "And no, I didn't just land in Cairo and start speaking Arabic! They put us through this incredible intensive course - one semester in ten days. Six hours a day in class, then homework until midnight." She shook her head at the memory. "By day three, I was dreaming in Arabic."

Lost in reminiscence, the memories washed over her like a warm desert breeze. "My friend Noura and I would walk to the Marriott on Zamalek after class. We'd claim these huge chairs in the lobby and order asir farawla - strawberry juice with crushed ice."

She could almost taste it now, the sweet-tart flavor cutting through Cairo's endless heat. Remembering those early days of language immersion, a smile tugged at her lips.

"It was strange - I felt like I had such an affinity for it. Everyone always said how difficult Arabic was for Americans to learn, but the language just came to me so naturally, you wouldn't believe it. And it's a beautiful language, so graceful and flowing."

The smile faded as she continued, "But then I came home, and there was never anyone to speak it with." She sighed a little. "I've always regretted losing that language, watching it slip away year by year until all I had left were fragments and memories."

"You haven't lost it," Kieran said, his deep voice resonating through her living room. "The knowledge remains within you, merely dormant until needed. As evidenced by your immediate response to my greeting."

Mandy's eyes widened. "You really think so?"

"Indeed." He inclined his head, that silver-white hair catching the morning light. "Were you to spend time among Arabic speakers, your fluency would return swiftly."

Excitement bubbled up inside her. "You know, there's a masjid - mosque - here, by the University." Her mind raced with possibilities. "I could call them, find out if they work with any refugee resettlement programs in the area."

She leaned forward in her chair, enthusiasm building. "I could volunteer to help new arrivals adjust to life here. They'd get someone who understands both cultures, who could explain American customs and systems."

The idea took root, growing stronger by the second. "There must be so many things they need help with - enrolling kids in school, finding doctors, learning to navigate the grocery stores." She remembered her own culture shock in Cairo, how overwhelming even simple tasks had felt at first. "Just having someone to talk to who understands both worlds would make such a difference. And, I'd get to practice my Arabic again!""

A slight smile played across Kieran's face, warming those glacier-blue eyes. "You enjoy helping others, don't you?"

"Well, you don't have to say it like that." Mandy shifted in her chair, suddenly self-conscious. "Like it's some kind of accusation."

"Not at all." Kieran's voice held a note of amusement. "You began searching for a way to help yourself regain your language skills - and immediately transformed it into a means of helping others."

Heat crept up Mandy's neck and into her cheeks. "I... hadn't thought of it that way."

"I know." Kieran's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "That is precisely my point. It was instinctive for you."

Mozart chose that moment to stretch luxuriously across Kieran's boots, completely unimpressed by the profound conversation happening above him. The sight of her normally aloof cat making himself at home on the Djinn prince's feet made Mandy want to giggle.

Mandy suddenly realized she'd been rude, and blushed fiercely. "Please, won't you sit?" She gestured to the armchair opposite her, the one he'd occupied the day before.

Kieran carefully dislodged Mozart and sat across from her. He gestured toward the delicate table, where elegant crystal glasses of steaming tea waited beside a brass plate of small, round cookies.

"These are Ghoribieh," Kieran said. "Traditional Persian almond cookies."

Pale and perfectly round, each cookie wore a crown of powdered sugar. Mandy took one, and it melted on her tongue - buttery and rich with almond flavor, lighter than the Mexican wedding cookies it resembled.

"These are wonderful," she murmured. "Did you make them?"

"They come from a bakery in Isfahan. Seven generations of the same family's recipe."

Mandy lifted the small glass, the rising steam carryi the now familiar aroma - nutmeg and clove - wafting up, warming and exotic. She took a careful sip, mindful of the hot liquid, and smiled as the spices danced across her tongue.

"Oh! I love the flavor!" she said.

"In Arabic countries, tea is often spiced with what we call baharat - warming spices," Kieran explained.

"It's strong and sweet enough to remind me of my time in Cairo," Mandy said, taking another appreciative sip. "But I never had it spiced like this before." She paused, considering. "Well, there's chai, of course..." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "But I'm absolutely opposed to milk in tea. That's just wrong."

Kieran's unexpected laugh filled the room, rich and genuine. "On that point, we are in complete agreement."

The laughter transformed him. Gone was the austere Djinn prince, replaced by someone whose eyes crinkled at the corners, whose impossibly blue gaze held warmth instead of winter. For just a moment, Mandy glimpsed the real Kieran - capable of finding delight in perfect tea and ancient cookies.

This was what Jacinth had seen - what she'd hoped Mandy could help bring out in him. Not just getting him to laugh, but helping him rediscover joy in life's small moments. The shared pleasure of spiced tea, traditional cookies, easy conversation.

Understanding washed over Mandy like sunlight. Jacinth hadn't chosen her for the wishes at all. She'd chosen her to remind an immortal being that life could still hold wonder. Mandy might not be young or beautiful or powerful, but she knew how to find magic in everyday moments - and how to share that joy with others.

Kieran's laughter faded into a genuine smile - smaller than the full laugh had been, but somehow more precious for its rarity. Like watching a flower bloom in the desert, unexpected and beautiful.

Mozart chose that moment to jump onto the table, whiskers twitching with interest at the cookies. Kieran's hand shot out with inhuman speed, and gently but firmly redirected the curious cat before he could snag a treat.

"I think not, little one," he murmured, his voice carrying that same warmth from his earlier laughter. "These are not for feline consumption."

Mozart gave him a deeply offended look before stalking away, tail held high in wounded dignity. Bach watched the entire scene from his recliner perch, managing to convey both superiority and amusement in his feline expression.

The domesticity of the moment - an ancient Djinn prince protecting cookies from a determined housecat - struck Mandy as absolutely delightful. She couldn't hold back her own laughter, and to her joy, Kieran's rich chuckle joined hers.

Mandy set her tea glass down carefully, gathering her courage. The warmth of the pendant against her chest seemed to pulse in encouragement.

"Just before you arrived," she began, smoothing her purple skirt across her lap, "I was finally accepting that all this is real." Her hand rose to touch the pendant. "The magic, the wishes, you and Jacinth..." She gestured at the elegant table between them. "Even these wonderful cookies from halfway around the world."

Kieran's glacier-blue eyes studied her over the rim of his tea glass. "You had doubts?"

"Of course I did!" Mandy laughed, the sound carrying a hint of hysteria. "I mean, a Djinn appearing in my living room? Magic pendants granting wishes?" She shook her head. "I kept thinking maybe it was the pain medication they gave me in the ER, making me hallucinate."

She picked up another cookie, watching the powdered sugar drift onto the plate. "But then I'd look at this lovely table that definitely wasn't here before yesterday. Or I'd touch the pendant and feel its warmth. And the cats..." She gestured toward Mozart, who had recovered his dignity and was now washing his face. "They see you. They react to you."

The cookie crumbled delicately between her fingers as she spoke. "So either I'm having the most elaborate hallucination ever, complete with physical evidence and independent verification from my cats... or magic is real." She popped the cookie fragment into her mouth, letting it melt on her tongue. "And since these cookies are definitely real, I'm going with magic."

She grinned at him. "Even if it's just for the cookies."