Genie for Hire (29 page)

Like the needle of a compass, he turned slowly toward a park
on the south bank, where the river met the bay. That had to be Miami Circle
Park, he thought. It was the only known evidence of a prehistoric
permanent structure cut into the bedrock in the United States, and was considerably
older than any other permanent settlement on the East Coast.

He let his mind rove over the land,
identifying the perfect circle that contained twenty-four basins cut into the
limestone. It had once been a seat of great energy, a connection to the sun and
the elemental earth. By focusing on each basin in turn, he could begin to draw some
of the residual strength into himself.

It felt like he was opening the drawers of an
empty cabinet and filling them with the energy from the Circle. When one drawer
could hold no more, he closed it and moved to another. The lamp burned with a
low heat, absorbing energy itself.

An ambulance sped by, siren wailing and lights
flashing. Grumbling motorcycles alternated with low-slung muscle cars and
family-sized SUVs. The biggest trucks made the bridge grating rumble. The air
was oppressively hot and humid and smelled of motor oil and sewage. Biff
ignored it all and focused on pulling in the power the native Tequestas had
imbued in the circle.

When he had filled himself and the lamp with as much outside
energy as he could hold, he peered over the railing to see Farishta’s form by
the riverbank. He sensed her pulling energy from the current. She looked up and
called, “Bivas! It comes!”

Farishta waved her arm toward the oncoming freighter. Then
his cell phone rang.

“Biff? Where are you?” Jimmy asked.

“Middle of the bridge. Right below the column with the
archer on top of it.” He looked at the circular stone column behind him, the
“Pillar of History,” incised with intricate symbols detailing the flora and
fauna of the region. It was topped by a seventeen-foot bronze
statue of a Tequesta warrior and his family. He felt the
strong connection between the warrior statue and the Miami Circle, and tried to
channel that to his use as well.

“Hector’s on a Coast Guard boat with the warrant,” Jimmy
said. “But it’s going to be a lot easier to serve if we can keep the freighter from
reaching open water.”

“We’ll do our best.”

He disconnected the call and looked below. The freighter moved
slowly down the river. Under all the other noise, he heard the cargo ship radio
the bridge tender for an opening, and then saw the lights begin to flash.

He focused his power, and that inside the lamp, on the arms
that lowered to stop traffic. By channeling the energy from the bronze warrior
and the Miami Circle, he could override the bridge tender’s command, and keep
the arms up. The bridge couldn’t open as long as traffic continued to pass over
it.

Below him, he saw Farishta marshaling the water, creating
first a small eddy, then a whirlpool, in front of El Corazón de Managua. The
ship’s forward progress slowed, and Biff saw the captain in the wheelhouse,
struggling to keep the big ship on target.

A smoky smell rose from the cargo ship’s engine room. Biff
wasn’t sure if that was from the stress on the engine, or from something either
Raki or Syl was doing, but he hoped it continued. The freighter was so big and
powerful it was tough for him and Farishta to control it for long.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a Coast Guard boat
approaching across the bay with a lighthouse-sized searchlight on its prow. His
keen eyesight enabled him to make out Hector Hernandez in a windbreaker,
leaning forward into the spray.

The wind picked up, blasting a mix of fresh and salt water
into the air, and Biff was stung with a thousand tiny needles as he had been on
the powerboat chasing Laskin. He felt his control over the bridge arms
faltering as the pain seared through his body. The lamp was no help; he had
channeled all its power to the bridge and there was nothing left to protect him.
Eventually he had to let go, and the arms began to lower in front of the
traffic.

God bless Miami drivers, he thought, as he watched car after
car swerve to get over the bridge before the arms lowered fully. He slumped
against the stone column, his body shivering from the assault of the water. It
was all he could do to stay attached to the bridge as the uprights rose.

He was staring at the freighter when its engine exploded, in
a shower of fireworks that would have put July fourth to shame. The thundering
booms cracked windows on the hotel overlooking the river, and car alarms from
the adjacent garage split the air. A geyser of water swelled up from the river
and showered the bridge, Biff, and the cars waiting to cross.

Angry red welts blossomed over every inch of his skin as the
water drenched him and soaked through his clothing. He struggled to stay
conscious, unable to do anything to heal himself. Though his hearing was super-sensitive,
he was usually able to protect himself from loud noises, but in his weakened
state the cacophony reverberated in his head and the dancing flames ahead of
him seared at his retinas. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to see or hear
again—or even if he could survive.

As he clutched the lamp in one hand and the base of the
Tequesta statue in the other, the fire sucked the humidity from the air and the
heat seared his skin. Very slowly, he tapped into the statue’s energy and the
magic line that connected it to the Miami Circle. The lamp felt tepid in his
hand, warming in tiny increments as it replenished its own power.

He raised himself so that he could look through the railing
for Farishta, down at the water’s edge, but she was gone. Had the explosion
knocked her out? She was a spirit of the water, but what if the fire had attacked
her?

Sparks ignited random bits of newspaper, soda cups and lunch
wrappers along the waterfront walkway, starting tiny fires. A bum pushing a
shopping cart careened down the sidewalk, leaving a trail of crushed soda cans in
his wake.

Traffic was backed up for blocks in each direction from the
bridge, but the protective arms remained down. People waiting in cars jumped
out with cell phone cameras in hand, taking pictures to post and tweet,
ignoring the possibility that fiery debris could land on them.

On the river itself, the eddying water calmed, and the sound
of the cargo ship’s engine faded. Most of the car alarms had been silenced,
though their noise had been replaced by the sounds of approaching sirens. Several
of the containers had caught fire and the crew shouted and struggled to
extinguish them. Slowly, El Corazón de Managua came to a stop in the river just
inland from the bridge.

Biff looked south toward Brickell Avenue and saw a solitary
figure pull herself up onto the roadway. Farishta’s clothes were in tatters,
her shoes were gone, and her hair looked like Medusa’s. But to him she had
never been more lovely.

He reached toward her, and she staggered forward, collapsing
into his arms. They huddled against the base of the statue, the lamp between
them, and watched the Coast Guard vessel zoom up to the freighter and then stop
short, bobbing on the waves a hundred feet away, just out of range of the
sparks.

Together they heard Hector Hernandez address the ship with
his bullhorn. “El Corazon de Managua. Prepare to be boarded.”

 “What about Raki?” Farishta whispered, her usually
mellifluous voice hoarse. “Where is he?”

“I’m worried about him, and Syl,” Biff said. “I hope they’re
both safe.”

The minutes ticked by. The men on board the boat got the flames
under control, and the bridge arms began to rise. Biff continued to draw power
from the Tequesta statue and the Miami Circle, healing the angry welts on his
body and repairing the damage to his hearing and his sight. Gradually the lamp
warmed as it replenished its own powers.

Beside him, he could feel Farishta going through the same
process, drawing her energy from the current below. He saw the color returning
to her skin and felt her limbs, once light as air, begin to resume human
weight.

Traffic resumed on the bridge, though cars drove slowly to
gape at the sight of the burning boat. Police cars and ambulances trapped in
the traffic blasted their sirens and flashed their lights but made only slight
progress.

Jimmy appeared from the south side of the bridge, striding
up the sidewalk to where they still remained on the pavement, backs against the
statue. “There you are,” he said. “I couldn’t get through until traffic started
to move again. Jesus, you both look like shit. You need an ambulance?” He
pulled his radio out off his belt.

“You are always so charming,” Farishta murmured, her hand
clutching Biff’s arm.

Biff shook his head. “We’ll be all right. Just give us
time.”

He looked at Farishta. Her face was smudged with coal dust,
and her hair hung in limp, black strands. She could barely stand up—and that
was something, because he knew that she was much more powerful than he was. But
it seemed like he was the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

Jimmy stepped away from them to communicate by radio with
Hector. Biff could only hear him if he concentrated, but at least he could do
that. Then Jimmy left them to help coordinate the emergency efforts in the
area.

Biff and Farishta managed to stand up and walk down off the
bridge, collapsing on a bench at the water’s edge as a fireboat put out the
flames on El Corazón de Managua. The police had broken through a gate on an
empty lot at the river’s edge, and the barren plot swarmed with cop cars,
uniforms, and the flashing lights of an EMT vehicle.

From high above, apartment dwellers on balconies watched the
action. Lights glowed through broken windows on the hotel on the opposite bank,
and gauzy curtains fluttered out in the breeze. The arched bridge over I-95
hummed with traffic, and the multi-colored lights from the Metrorail bridge
provided a constantly changing display.

They watched as the freighter was towed to the shore, and
Hector boarded it, holding his warrant. The smoke was acrid in the sky, and
Farishta kept coughing. She didn’t seem to be recovering as quickly as Biff
was, and he worried that the effort had been too much for her. Without the
amulet, she might never recover.

He kept his eye out for the squirrel or the butterfly, but
didn’t see either one. Then a pair of Fire Rescue trucks pulled up, their
headlights illuminating the shore.

“Can you sense them?” Farishta asked. “Raki and Syl?”

“I’m trying. But I’m just so worn down.” Even holding the
lamp in his hands he didn’t feel as strong as he usually did.

“What if they were killed in the explosion?”

“You know sylphs are ephemeral,” Biff said. “They can live
an hour, a day, a year—or a hundred. As for Raki, I think squirrels are like
cockroaches. You can’t kill them.”

She pushed against him, and he felt how unusually dry her
skin was. “That squirrel adores you.”

“Really?”

“As much as a creature with such a tiny brain can.”

As they watched, two crews hurried onto the boat, and then
Hector stepped off alone. Biff saw Jimmy approach him, and he left Farishta on
the bench to join them.

“What happened?” Jimmy asked.

“Found Laskin’s body in the engine room,” Hector said. “A
couple of the crew were injured, too.”

Behind Hector, Biff spotted a small, smoke-stained squirrel
struggling to maintain its balance as it climbed tentatively down the cable
that connected the ship to the shore. A white butterfly fluttered above its
head.

Biff focused as much energy as he could on the squirrel,
using his third eye to guide the little rodent safely to land. He left Hector
and Jimmy and hurried to the water’s edge, where he scooped the dirty squirrel
up and carried him to Farishta. The butterfly followed, flitting anxiously
around Biff’s head.

Biff handed Raki to Farishta, and the squirrel scampered up
her arm to lick her face. She smiled wanly and petted his fur. Syl transformed
into a human again, still immaculately dressed in white. But he looked gauzy,
as if Biff could almost see right through him. “What happened?” Biff asked.

“I couldn’t get hold of any of the other sylphs in time. Raki
and I worked on the engine together. There was a crate of palm trees with their
roots wrapped in burlap, and he channeled into it, and then brought me bits of
dirt and stone. I used them to jam up the engine. We didn’t realize it was
going to explode on us, though.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I think so,” Syl said. “Here come the other guys now.”

As Biff looked up, a swirl of butterflies in a rainbow of
black, green, blue and red descended on them like a tiny cyclone, swooping and
diving around Syl. “I’d better go, but I’ll be in touch.” He leaned toward
Farishta and touched her arm. “Can I help you heal?”

She shook her head and tried to smile. He transformed back
into a butterfly, and zipped around Farishta in a tiny sparkle of light. Then he
joined the swarm, which rose up as a mass and drifted away on the light breeze.
Biff watched until he could no longer see them, then turned back to Farishta,
who was cuddling the squirrel in her arms.

Jimmy came over to them. “Wasn’t that your ‘business associate’
I just saw?”

“Syl? He was here but he had to go.”

Jimmy looked at Biff but didn’t say anything for a couple of
beats. “Yeah, right.”

“I must…” Farishta began.  The squirrel chirped and jumped
from her arms to the ground. Then she fainted.

“Hold on there,” Jimmy said, reaching out for Farishta. He
put his arm around her to keep her from sliding off the bench, and she opened
her eyes. “You’re shaking. We’d better get you over to the EMTs.”

“Give her to me,” Biff said. “I know what she needs.”

“The EMTs are right over there, Biff.”