13. Jeffrey

Chapter thirteen

Jeffrey

I feel so stupid how much it deflated me seeing College Boy again— Chance —with someone like a real version of a Mattie-me. I promised Odai I'd fix this, but if fixing me is how I do it, I don't know where to start. I want to fix this, and soon, before everything unravels, becoming more and more dangerous, until I'm eventually… afraid of him.

I don't want to be afraid of Odai.

But I also can't let him hurt anyone else.

Mattie lasted months, enough to pave the way for years of success. We've only had two weeks together, but needing more every time I wish or that we have sex means exponential demand. It might only have lasted months for Mattie because she didn't know the danger sooner.

At least I can't complain about the frisky parts, but what is now usually twice a day is definitely wearing me out. I might even get sick of it.

Maybe .

When wishing, if it isn't for a snack or something mundane, I try to keep my requests to things that better help me know Odai—who he was, how he lived, what he's seen and experienced.

So, on Wednesday night, I ask him, "When you were a performer, did you enjoy it? Is it something you'd want to do again?"

Madame Mattie's is closed by seven on nights without midnight tours, so we have the entirety of the main floor to ourselves, sitting on the sofa, enjoying the open space rather than remaining cooped up in my bedroom.

Odai grins, one arm draped over the back of the sofa toward me like an unconscious—or maybe very conscious—effort to keep me close.

"Do you ask wondering if I would like to join your tours in the role of incubus someday?"

"No! Unless that's something you'd like. Is it?"

"I don't know. Perhaps reliving that part of my life would not sit well with me over time, but I did always enjoy performing. I love storytelling, song, dance."

"Me too. Odai?" I scoot a little closer to him. "If it isn't too painful to share, can I wish for you to show me some of your favorite things you used to perform when you were human? You've seen me perform. I want to see you."

Odai lights up as if I granted a wish of his. "I would like that very much. Which would you like to see? A song, a story, a dance? For my people, performances can involve all three. "

"Whatever you want, so long as it's one of your favorites."

"Then let us start, beautiful one, with a dance." Odai takes my hand and yanks me from the sofa.

"Oh, I—"

"Most dances require more than one person to be enjoyed."

I can't not go with him after that, so I allow Odai to lead me onto the open floor.

"We also need music." He snaps his fingers and music swells from all sides, as if playing through speakers in the walls. It is exactly what I expect: that Middle Eastern sound of varyingly pitched string instruments and flutes, commanding the body to move to their rhythm.

Odai keeps my hand, positioning us side-by-side. I don't even care that the windows mean anyone could see us. We start simple, with sways, steps to the side, and rotating kicks. Once I have the basics down, Odai swings me in front of him to change who is on which side, and we do the same moves again, with Odai sliding in front next time. Again and again, we move across the floor, until we nearly reach the door, and Odai spins me for us to head the other way.

I laugh any time I trip over my feet. I didn't wish for him to teach me, but I'm glad he does.

"There are dances that tell specific stories, but we will need a change in music for my favorite." He snaps his fingers again, and the upbeat music becomes softer. "We are a bit encumbered for this one, however. "

Flourishing his hands up and then sweeping them downward, as they cross his body, his clothing changes to that of the adornments and loincloth I first found him in.

I really like that outfit, but maybe I do care if people see us. "I wish that anyone looking through the windows sees this place empty."

"Granted."

Odai's dark skin is beautifully accented by the gold jewelry. He is broad and toned and so tempting to touch, especially sheened in sweat from how much we've danced already.

He gyrates toward me, hips and waist moving like a belly dancer, and with a new clasp of my hand and sudden twirl, as soon as I am facing him again, my clothing has changed too. It's slightly less revealing than his, though the skirt-like lower half has waist-high slits. Fabric for a top wraps around my neck. The amulet, usually hidden beneath my shirt, hangs beneath where the fabric crisscrosses over my pecs. My hair that was twisted into a bun is down now and curled like on a night as Mattie. While Odai's colors are lavender and deep violet, he's made mine periwinkle and royal blue.

"Some dances are performed alone." He twirls me again, so I am facing forward. "But I can show you." One hand holds my arm, the other at my hips, as Odai moves me in time with his body.

"Is this the fabled dance of the seven veils?" I tease.

"You know the tale of Ishtar's descent into the underworld? "

"…wait, what?"

Odai chuckles, continuing to move me like an extension of his body, and speaks the story close at my ear. "Ishtar, my people's goddess of love, but also of destruction—for what is more destructive than desire and devotion?—descended to the underworld to retrieve her lost love. There are different versions of the story, like with any tale of gods, but let me tell you my favorite, just as you wished."

The heat from Odai at my back keeps me riveted on both the story and the movements of our bodies. I'm not really listening to the music, but its presence makes this feel as if we are somewhere else, in some far-off place and time.

"I prefer the version of love conquering all," Odai says. "Ishtar's beloved Tammuz had been murdered, so she ventured to the underworld to retrieve him, clad in her most powerful vestments. Greeted at the gates, she was told she must divest herself of each article, each veil as it were, the farther she descended, until she stood before her sister, Ereshkigal, ruler of the underworld, in nothing but bare skin."

Odai drags his fingers along the naked expanse of my belly and around my navel.

"Still, Ishtar was not deterred, would not allow how her love exposed her at her most vulnerable to mean that she was weak or could not triumph. Sometimes love requires giving selflessly, while being open to what is offered by another. "

His hips moving in time with mine, so close that I can feel the line of his cock, makes me want to grind back against him until he breaches the silk separating us.

I realize I am no longer wearing underwear, with nothing beneath my high-slit skirt.

"All love, all fertility and growth upon the earth came to a halt while Ishtar stubbornly waited for her sister to yield. Let the whole world suffer, she thought, if she could not have her beloved back.

"Neither sister would relent, and so it was Tammuz's sister, Geshtinanna, who suggested a compromise. She would take her brother's place for half the year, so Tammuz could be in the heavens with Ishtar during that time. It meant he and Geshtinanna would only see each other in the passing of the seasons, for when Tammuz was in the underworld, the mortal world knew winter."

It's Hades and Persephone's story mixed with the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice, only Orpheus in the Greek myth was the one who went to retrieve his wife, and he didn't succeed. Given Ishtar's story is from Babylon, it's no guess which came first, and her myth must have been divided into others.

"The story teaches the importance of familial love," Odai says, "that all love is equally powerful. Though perhaps none so great as one worth fighting for." There is still music, distant and soothing, but Odai brings our bodies to a stop. He moves my hair to drape over one shoulder and kisses my neck.

"Did you tell that story to your prince? "

Odai flinches.

"Sorry!" I feel like an asshole for saying that and spin in his arms. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

He doesn't look angry, but there is pain in his eyes. So much pain. "He was not the one who condemned me, but he made no move to save me either. I loved him, but to him, I was no more than a slave, a possession and convenience for him.

"With you, beautiful one, I almost feel free." He kisses me then with such fervor that my toes curl. His voice is rough and growly when he says, "Jeffrey, it is time that I either grant another wish, or we partake in other desires."

"Other! Please?"

"It would be my pleasure." Odai lifts me and throws me onto the sofa before I realize we've danced near enough for it to catch me.

Cas will be pissed , and Mr. Bevilaqua probably traumatized, if we fuck on the company couch, but I can always wish for Odai to clean up the evidence.

I accept Odai as he descends on me and let him share with me the other talented way he can move his hips.

"Oh, and um, Odai? I wish for you to fuck me with the outfits on."

"Granted."

Afterward, on the sofa that I am definitely going to need to wish for Odai to sanitize, I tell him about the Greek versions of that story, as we lie in our now very sweaty silks. "The Hades and Persephone myth also has variations like the story of Adam and Eve."

"I know that one," Odai says. "Mankind is doomed by the eating of an apple."

"Some say it might have been a pomegranate." It's mostly me lying on top of Odai, encased in his arms. I lace the fingers of our left hands together. "That's in some of the Hades and Persephone stories too." And like on The High Priestess card. "Hades offers her one. It's a very… sensual fruit, sort of evokes the idea of lost innocence and indulgence. I always thought it was kind of sexy watching someone eat one."

"I would like to see you eat one," Odai purrs in my ear.

"Yeah? Then I wish for you to see that too."

It doesn't surprise me when Odai lifts his right arm, and in his hand is a perfect pomegranate half. I sit up enough to look at him as I bite into its seeds with our eyes locked. Its juicy sweetness gushes from the corners of my mouth.

Odai kisses me as soon as I swallow and laps up the spillage with his forked tongue. Any more of that and I'll get hard again. I'm halfway there already.

"In, um, some versions of the myth," I say, with a final lick of my own lips, "it's after Persephone eats the fruit that she belongs to Hades forever."

"Then I guess that means you are mine, beautiful one."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

We might be doomed, but right now, it still feels like we can beat this .

We have to.

I take another bite of the pomegranate, and then kiss Odai again.

Odai

Jeffrey and I awake on Thursday morning to discover Mrs. Sherman has plastered the front windows of Mad Madame Mattie's with fliers.

They are not cordial.

Jeffrey tears them down with fury on his face.

Mrs. Sherman will be dealt with, and her energies are wasted regardless, given my marketing ideas and efforts with neighboring businesses are proving to be even more prosperous than Jeffrey could have… well, wished. It has been agreed upon to reopen some of the tunnels, something I have been preparing for by helping to repair the structural integrity. This will not only procure more patrons but prove safer than in years past.

I try to comfort Jeffrey with this knowledge, but I can tell that Mrs. Sherman's fliers have effectively distracted him for Thursday night's tours. Perhaps he is also distracted by his mission to save me. He learned something at The Magic Shop, but he has not told me what. It must be something difficult, something personal, for when I peeked in on him while he was dressing and making himself up for the evening, he seemed fixated on the mirror like he was trying to see something that isn't there.

Something he wishes was there?

But a wish I cannot grant.

Friday morning comes with the same plastering of fliers, now with mention of official backing from St. Mary's church. Mrs. Sherman might have lost control over her crowd of protesters the other day, but she retains support. Since the church is also in the way of Jeffrey's primary wish, they must be dealt with as well.

"You're going to what ?"

"I am going to visit the church," I repeat, "to propose some promotional opportunities with them like with the other businesses."

"But they hate us! I thought we agreed to focus on our friends first."

"And we have. Now, it is time to make new friends."

I can tell Jeffrey is skeptical, but I have done my research on St. Mary's just as I have on Mrs. Sherman.

I wear an outfit that fits my tastes but is more professional for today's meeting, sleeker and monochrome in all beige. Jeffrey insists on accompanying me. He is nervous when we arrive, fidgety as we are made to wait in the office for several minutes before the head priest and Mrs. Boone, the parish administrator, join us.

"Mary Magdalene," I say, without so much as an introduction.

Mrs. Boone chuckles. "If your intentions are to remind us that the church has a long-standing history of forgiving sinners, Mr. Jinn, I will remind you that they are still required to ask for forgiveness and to attempt to avoid their vices and wrongdoings in the future." She is a stern woman but does not have the vitriol of Mrs. Sherman. The priest, Father Thomas, does not seem outright hostile toward us either. A good sign.

"Precisely right," I say. "Mary Magdalene is the most recognizable name of a sinner who exemplifies your church's beliefs on redemption. I know more such names. Local names. It could benefit us both to feature stories of those who turned to your church in the time of Madame Mattie."

Jeffrey glances at me. It seems he didn't know this part of the brothel's history.

"While our midnight tours aim to entertain," I continue, "capitalizing on those who enjoy a little crude humor, the purpose has always been to spread the building's history, to spread the truth of what happened there. The day tours, which are intended as family friendly, could use a few rewrites, if St. Mary's would like to be highlighted."

Neither Mrs. Boone sitting nor Father Thomas standing beside her responds, but I have their attention .

"Our objective is to help make our community stronger, to bolster each other. Isn't that what Mrs. Sherman with her misguided fliers and occasional bouts on a megaphone claims that she is doing? There are several stories of Mattie's seamstresses and tailors seeking redemption here, along with records of how the church aided the children born of the brothel's wicked practices.

"Imagine the good press, the good will fostered in this community by turning the other cheek, as it were, and making amends with an establishment you could have otherwise been enemies with. If we can agree on that, we can leave out the scandal of Father Lewis, the priest who fell in love with one of Mattie's seamstresses and chose to leave the church with a very public denouncing of its practices."

I see a smile twitch to life on Jeffrey's face.

Father Thomas, on the other hand, looks pale. "I didn't think that story was well known," he mutters, and Mrs. Boone turns to him in surprise.

"I do my research," I say. And I was also there to witness it. "A mutually beneficial solution instead of antagonism. What say you?"

After some whispering between them, what they say is, "We'll get back to you."

That means yes, taking the last of Mrs. Sherman's support.

I should be pleased that I am succeeding so well in fulfilling Jeffrey's wish, not only because each successful step toward achieving it feeds me almost as much as a new wish granted, but because Jeffrey is so happy as we walk back to Madame Mattie's. He practically skips down the sidewalk.

If only I could discover a way to help him with his internal demons, I might feel better about having to leave him. I will have to leave him if he fails to learn how to free me, because he will be forced to lock me away once I become too much of a danger to keep.

Like with what I might have to do after Mrs. Sherman attends the last of Friday's tours.

SJ has come as well, with several employees from Fluid Fashion. They are a delight and fill Jeffrey with confidence. Mrs. Sherman might have undone that, but she makes no attempt to disrupt Jeffrey. No snide remarks. No remarks at all. She keeps to the back, following silently, as if stewing in her rage and plotting something foolish.

I follow behind her and eventually step up beside her after the tour wraps up and most of the patrons head into the gift shop. She is glaring at Jeffrey, who has been pulled aside by SJ. I am curious what they are talking about, for it seems quite serious given SJ's sympathetic expression and supportive touches to Jeffrey's arm.

But I focus on our opponent.

"I understand why you have such loathing for this place, Mrs. Sherman," I say. "Perhaps I would too… if my husband left me for the prostitute he'd been seeing behind my back for years. "

She whips her head around to glare at me instead. "Watch me triple my efforts to destroy this place," she threatens and stalks off, which at least means no confrontation with Jeffrey.

I wish she hadn't said that. Now she is an obstacle that must be eliminated sooner and with more finality.

I should warn Jeffrey about what I'll do. I should. I know he would not approve. But part of me literally cannot warn him, thanks to the cruel nature of my curse.

Another part, perhaps even a monstrous part that has suffered for too long, believes Mrs. Sherman deserves what she has coming.