Master of None (3 page)

I pulled onto something resembling a main road and headed south. No idea where I’d end up, but the farther from Trevor, the better. Ian sat silently fuming in the passenger seat. When I couldn’t stand the quiet anymore, I said, “We’d better talk.”

“I would rather not.”

“Tough. There’s a few things we have to sort out if we’re going to be stuck together.”

Ian sank further into the seat. “Must you remind me of that?”

“First, you’ve got to stop calling me by my full name.” I ignored the sulking and concentrated on bland details that wouldn’t strain my brain. “It sounds weird, and people will get curious.”

Ian’s lip curled. “What would you have me call you, then . . .
master
?”

“Not that.” I shuddered. If words could kill, I’d be laid out right now. “Just Gavyn, or Donatti. Take your pick.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“Yes. Wear a shirt. And how long are you going to bleed? You can’t go around all bloody and exposed. People wear shirts under vests, you know.”

“I am djinn, not
people
. And I hate shirts.”

“Christ, you’re a surly bastard.” My jaw clenched hard enough to sink my teeth into my gums. I stared through the windshield and entertained the notion of ramming his side of the car into a tree. “Is there anything you don’t hate?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Well, you’re going to have to dress like a person. Sorry.” A sign ahead proclaimed
GENOA—25 MILES. FOOD—LODGING—BEER
.
That sounded good. Especially the beer part. “Maybe we should head there. Listen, do you need a doctor or something?”

“Gods, no. Your doctors would panic if they examined me.”

“You’re still bleeding.”

Ian glanced down at his chest. “Yes.”

“Okay, then.” I concentrated on the road. “Look, I’m going to pull off in this Genoa place. We can grab a room for the night, and in the morning—what exactly are we doing, again?”

“Must we stop? I want to be rid of you.”

“That makes two of us. But I’m people, remember? I need food, sleep, shit like that. If you don’t want to tell me what you’re planning, fine. Surprise me. But we’re stopping for the night.”

Ian frowned. “What I am planning is not that simple. I cannot just lay it out step by step. I have to serve you until your
life’s purpose has been realized, and then I can go home.” The word
home
emerged on a longing sigh.

I almost sympathized with him for a minute. If I had a home, I’d want to go there, too.

“Uh-huh,” I said. “So, what’s my life’s purpose?”

“I do not know.”

“That’s great. Neither do I.” The road entered a sharp and unexpected curve. I gripped the wheel tighter and eased off the gas. Damn, it was dark in the country. No streetlights, no city glow, and I hadn’t seen another car for miles. “How does this work? You serving me, I mean.”

“Excuse me?”

The warning note in Ian’s voice gave me pause. I chose my words with care. “Well, I have to admit, I don’t know much about djinn. Okay, I don’t know anything. Do I get three wishes?”

Ian muttered something that included
television
and
idiotic.
“No wishes,” he said. “If you need or desire something, I will attempt to fulfill that need or desire . . . in a way I see fit.”

“Oh, good.” Wasn’t there a story about magic backfiring? Something about an animal . . . a monkey. The Monkey’s Paw. An old couple wished for money, and their son was killed in a horrible accident, for which they were compensated. I wouldn’t put it past this djinn to try something like that.
Be careful what you wish for . . . you just might get it.
“So, should I just ask for what I want?”

“You can try.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“I do not intend to make things easy.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Look, you want to go home, right?”

“Yes,” Ian snarled.

“Don’t you think this situation would be easier and done faster if you cooperated? If you didn’t have to put up with my stupid questions, we’d avoid all this dancing around each other. Just be straight with me.”

“Fine.” Ian seemed to relax. A little.

I grinned. Time to push some buttons. “I’m thirsty.”

“How fortunate, then, that our destination has beer.” Ian pointed to a sign indicating ten miles to Genoa.

“Aren’t you going to fulfill my desire?”

“Idiot. If we were close to a lake, I would throw you in.” Ian straightened in his seat and glared. “We do not use magic for trifles. My power is a disruptive force, not a . . . a parlor trick.”

“Okay. No disruptions. Got it.” I tapped the steering wheel and made a mental note to strike the frivolity button. “Speaking of disruptions, you’re a big walking one. And I don’t think that bleeding is going to stop. Have you ever been shot before?”

“No.” Ian made a face. “If I had, I would have known how painful it is.”

“We’re going to have to do something about that. There has to be someone . . . let me think a minute.” I knew all about avoiding hospitals. In my profession, I couldn’t exactly show up at the ER with most of the injuries I received in the line of duty. They always wanted explanations. Had to be someone in the area I could contact, preferably someone not associated with Trevor.

Oh, damn. She wasn’t going to be happy to hear from me.

“Here’s the plan.” I tried to sound more convinced than I felt. “We’ll check in, and I’ll get in touch with Jazz. She’ll patch you up. Might even bring you some real clothes.”

If she doesn’t kill me first.

Lodging in Genoa consisted of a squat, sagging one-story motel painted what used to be pink, with a row of nine doors that I assumed led to eight rooms and an office. The Wandering Inn. How bloody charming. I pulled into the deserted lot and parked as far as possible from the only door not bearing a hand-carved wooden number, hoping the owner was a vampire. Otherwise, whoever ran this backwoods place would have no reason to be around to rent a room at this time of night.

I cut the engine and unfastened my seatbelt. “You stay here. If they see you, there’ll be trouble. I’ll be back in a few minutes, all right?”

Ian nodded. His skin had paled considerably, and his hands lay fisted in his lap.

“You look like hell. Are you gonna make it?”

“I will be fine. Go.”

I slid out and started across the lot, less than assured about the djinn’s condition. What would I do if Ian died on me? Scratch that—not happening. The guy was a magical creature or something. Had to take more than a few bullets to kill him. I hoped.

A light above the office door snapped on when I got close. Something at the window shifted. I caught the impression of a face peering out. At least someone was awake, but whoever it was probably didn’t have a happy reason for monitoring the parking lot at midnight. I reached the door, and before I could knock, it opened.

A double-barreled shotgun greeted me. I damn near laughed. How many people were going to try to shoot me tonight?

“Didn’t think I was serious, didja?” A gravelly voice rolled from the shadows inside the door. “I toldja you punks ain’t gettin’ me out. Toldja I’d blast you if you came back. I already talked to the sheriff, and he said if I hadda shoot, go for it.”

“Uh . . .” I cleared my throat. “I just wanted a room.”

A pause. “You ain’t with that Trevor fella?”

Trevor?
Shit.
Just my luck that the only motel for a hundred miles was a target for Trevor’s “real estate” endeavors. I should have done what Ian wanted and kept driving. Too late now—neither of us was in any shape to head back out. “No. Never heard of the guy.” I managed to sound normal.

The shotgun stayed in place for a moment and finally lowered. A light flickered on inside, revealing the gun’s owner. Sixties, salt-and-pepper hair, sun-weathered skin, and a solid build just beginning to soften around the edges. The aging Marine look.

I felt sorry for him. No one stood up to Trevor’s thugs for long. If the bastard wanted something, he got it—one way or another. And it looked as if he’d get this place over the owner’s dead body.

“Hmph. Thought that was his car.” The old man pushed past me and stepped out into the lot, his finger still resting on the trigger. He peered at the sleek blue car. I wondered if he’d
notice the fine craftsmanship that made the thing stand out like a clown at a funeral. Finally, he said, “Got another guy with you. You a faggot?”

So that was it. He didn’t want any degenerates fouling his upstanding establishment. “Uh, no. He’s my . . . brother.”
Damn it, Donatti, don’t hesitate.
“We had a convention up in Auburn. We were gonna drive through the night, get home tomorrow. But the bastard got sloshed on me at the after party, and I’m too beat to keep going.”

The old man grunted. “Yeah, my brother’s a lazy asshole, too. Room’s two hundred a night for double occupancy. You can take number eight, since you’re already parked there. You want it?”

“We’ll take it.” As if there was another choice
.
Two hundred seemed a bit steep for a middle-of-nowhere dive, but the old man probably figured me for loaded, considering the car. Good thing I’d kept the cash handy. I dug in a pocket and produced two hundreds. “Since this is a cash transaction, I don’t have to sign anything, right?”

Damn. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

The old man’s eyes narrowed. “You ain’t doin’ anything illegal, are ya?”

“Nope.” Technically, it was the truth. I wasn’t stealing anything at the moment, sure as hell not from here, and saving my own ass wasn’t against the law. “Just keeping out of the spotlight.”

Nodding, the old man took the bills and pocketed them. “Hang on. I’ll get your key.” He tromped back inside and returned a moment later without the shotgun. Instead, he carried a key fastened on the end of a sanded wooden oval and a six-pack of Busch Light dripping with condensation. “Ain’t got
an ice machine, but there’s a mini-fridge in the room. Beds’re made. Cable’s out, but you can probably get a couple local channels, weather and crap.”

I accepted the key and the beer with a heaping side of confusion. I had to know. “Do you always hand out booze with room rentals?”

“You jus’ looked thirsty.” The old man shrugged and headed back inside. “Checkout’s at eleven,” he called over his shoulder. “If you’re late, you gotta pay another night.”

“Wait. Can you turn the phone on? I have to make a few calls.”

“No phones in the rooms. Pay phone around the corner of the building.”

Jesus
.
No wonder the place was so dead. All the cost of an upscale room in the city and none of the amenities. Why didn’t he just take the beds out and charge three hundred a night to let people sleep on the floor? “Fine. Can I get some change, then? I’ve only got bills.”

“Don’t keep change around nights. Have to wait for the bank to open in the morning.” With that, the old man entered a room I guessed was his office and closed the door.

I stared after him, more than a little ticked. I’m normally an easygoing guy, prepared to grab the short straw every time, but this was pushing it, even for me. Now I’d have to call Jazz collect. Thank you, phone-smashing thugs and tight-wad motel owners. If she showed up, it would only be to disembowel me.

I headed back to the car and opened the passenger door. Ian slumped in the seat, motionless, eyes closed. I had to fight the urge to shake him—not so much to wake his sorry ass but because it would’ve made me feel better. “Hey. Are you all right?”

Ian opened his eyes and fixed me with a glare. “There is no need to yell. I am right here.”

“Yeah, well, that’s great. You looked dead. How am I supposed to know . . . shit, never mind. I got us a room. Come on.”

The djinn unfolded himself from the car. “I see you have your beer,” he said.

“Uh-huh. How about that.” I looked up at him and thought about asking him to shrink a few inches. This towering bit unnerved me. “See, the owner, he just gave it to me with the room key. I didn’t even ask for it.”

Ian arched an eyebrow. “You did say you were thirsty.”

“So you did have something to do with it.”

“I simply made it possible for your desires to be satisfied. Can we go to this room, please? I tire of your company. Perhaps you will be more tolerable in your sleep.”

I grunted. “I don’t know that I want to fall asleep around you. You might slit my throat or something.” I headed for number eight, key at the ready.

Ian followed at a languid pace. “Djinn do not kill humans. We do not even hurt them.”

“Really? Then why’d you blow Skids’s hand off ?”

“He shot me. Besides, technically, I did not hurt him. The gun did.”

“Oh, I see. So
technically
, causing a heavy blunt object like a television set to fall on my head wouldn’t be you killing me or even hurting me. Right?”

“I told you, I cannot hurt you. You are my—”

“Don’t say it. I know.” I unlocked the door and felt inside for a light switch, suddenly as eager to get rid of Ian as the djinn was to ditch me. Being this surly bastard’s
master
was about as useful as ordering the weather around. And if achieving my
life’s purpose depended on coaxing a flesh-bound hurricane to cooperate with me, I’d take eternal bad luck. Why couldn’t I get the djinn of lollipops and happiness? I’d take a stereotypical genie in a bottle—a female, easy on the eyes—any day over this lanky, overgrown jerk.

I found the light at last. As the owner had promised, the beds were made, one with an olive-green paisley spread, the other with a ruffled pink blanket.

“The pink one’s yours.” I walked into the room and thumped down on the ugly green cover. While waiting for Ian to make his way inside, I gave the place a quick once-over. One nonopening window, three doors—bathroom, closet, entrance. Crud. I’d have been more comfortable sleeping in the car. At least it had two outs. Three, if I counted driving away before any threats-to-come managed to get inside.

I spotted a mini refrigerator beneath a desk on the left-hand wall and crossed the room to stow the six-pack. Twisting two cans from the rings, I closed the vaguely mold-scented appliance and offered one to the djinn, who’d settled uncertainly on the edge of the pink bed.