Three Wishes

Three Wishes

By

Debra Dunbar

Copyright 2015, All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Formatting by
Anessa Books

Special thanks to Racy Tracy and Ronnie Caliente—my Chicago besties who helped me bring this fantastic city to life on the page.
 

Ten years previously—University of California, Berkeley

A
ll that was left of his childhood was an eight-by-ten brown cardboard box.

Carter Phelps blinked to clear the fog from his eyes. For four days, the box had sat at the edge of his bed. Opening it would be like reading the final chapter of a book. Opening it would make him remember how much he’d lost. Opening it would signal the end of all the memories he’d cherished from his youth.

“Time for booze and babes!”

Carter tore his gaze from the box to watch his roommate saunter across the room, a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand, the other noticeably empty of “babes”. Ryan’s huge grin and the open bottle of alcohol could only mean one thing—he’d passed his finals and had turned in the dreaded senior thesis.

A wave of envy and anxiety nearly launched Carter’s breakfast from his stomach. His thesis, half done, still mocked him from the computer screen. If his parents hadn’t been alumni and major contributors to the University, he would have been on academic probation his freshman year, and out by his sophomore. No doubt they’d come through again and he’d walk down the aisle with that precious diploma. He’d still be considered an idiot by everyone who knew him—the disappointing offspring of two brilliant parents. No one believed in him or knew about the ideas that burst to light inside his head—the ones he was unable to translate into words on a sheet of paper.

“Your grandmother died two months ago. Stop staring at that box; open it and get out here—we’re celebrating.”

The closet door swung open as Ryan dug through his clothing, searching for something party worthy. The box. It held everything his grandmother had left to him in her will. She’d practically raised him—a lonely woman who loved children versus a son and his wife who were too busy to care for the unsatisfactory child they’d sired.

Carter pulled the box toward him, and, with a quick slash of the scissors, opened the top. His roommate was right. It was time to put the past behind him and look toward the future—no matter how bleak and lonely that future was.

There were so many items, but his eyes were drawn to the worn pack of playing cards. He could see her hands, rings on each fleshy finger as she dealt. Poker, blackjack, pinochle, rummy, and bridge—by the age of six, he’d been able to beat her at every hand. Her smoky voice echoed in his memory, chuckling and calling him a clever boy. Carter rubbed a spot on his chest and blinked again as he set the cards aside.

Next he picked up a faded picture in a heavy brass frame. Carter traced the image of his grandmother in younger, thinner times, scandalous in tight khaki shorts and button-down shirt, a trowel in one hand. The grandfather he’d never known stood somberly beside her. He was dressed the same, holding a map. At their feet was a hole with partially exposed pottery. He’d heard the tales a thousand times—a wealthy girl at an ivy-league college swept off her feet by a brilliant, intense archeology professor. They’d spent two decades together on digs, dragging their infant son with them, before his grandfather had died suddenly. Carter’s father had inherited the best of both parents—looks, wealth, and brilliance. Carter had inherited nothing.

Beneath the picture, nestled carefully in a faded silk scarf, was a bottle.
The
bottle. Carter’s chest tightened as he lifted it out. Purple and smoky gray, the colors seemed to waltz around the base, lightening as they pressed against the cork that stoppered the gilded top.

“Don’t touch it,” his grandmother had always warned. “Some things are better left at rest.”

But she was dead, and the bottle called to him with a song so sweet.

“Clever boy,” it whispered to him. His heart skipped. Only one person in his life had ever thought so. Now, of all the millions of times he’d felt stupid, was the perfect moment to hear that reassurance.

Carter looked down at the dried, ancient cork wedged in the neck of the bottle. “Ryan? You got a corkscrew somewhere?”

Chapter 1

H
umans looked so tiny when viewed from eleven-hundred feet up. They were little dark specks inching along the concrete and asphalt like pepper grains in a gentle breeze. From this distance, their actions didn’t spark improper desires; their troubles didn’t weigh so heavy on her heart. From this distance, they didn’t matter at all. This was just a job—a job that was one week from ending. One more week and she could go home, away from these beings that twisted her up with their lives.

Leaving should be a joyous occasion, but, instead, the thought filled her with a series of conflicted emotions. It had been difficult to keep a professional demeanor during her time here. She’d gotten attached to the city, to its residents. She’d miss them, even though keeping her distance had become increasingly difficult. The structure and rules of home would be reassuring, but she feared they’d also be... boring.

A bitter gust swayed the skyscraper, and Asta stepped closer to the edge. Early June rocketed between chill and humid warmth, as if the city couldn’t quite give up its harsh winters for the oppressive heat of summer. Here, the weather gave only the briefest nod to spring and fall, launching dramatically from one extreme season to another.

It’s one of the things she loved about Chicago—its honesty, its raw passion. Humans, whose sin rivaled Satan herself, walked arm-in-arm with holy saints. There were times when she felt herself sinking into their midst like quicksand. The top of these lofty buildings was the only place she could find refuge from temptation. Asta breathed the cold air, feeling it wash away the lingering scent of humanity. Her toes curled over the ledge, balancing her body against the strong wind. One more week.

One week to indulge, with the knowledge that the end was in sight, to do all the things she’d dreamed of as she walked the streets of the city. One week to sin.

Sin. Such a frightening word, but she’d never forgive herself if she left without sampling some of the forbidden. She’d never be back. It was now or never, and after a century of longing, it was time to indulge a little.

There. Her body tensed as a familiar note hit her ear, as discordant as claws tearing through skin. Everything else fell away as she concentrated on the sound, memorizing every nuance and tracing it to the source. The sound had been flickering in and out of her awareness for the past few days, but this time it danced too close. Allowing a smile to curl her lips, Asta stepped off the edge of the skyscraper and felt the ground rush toward her.

Chapter 2

D
ar slid the fat envelope toward the sweaty man and watched him stuff it into the pocket of his trench coat, just like politicians had done for centuries.

“Did you get the paperwork?”

“Yep.” Dar grinned. “Bridge repair and I-94 resurfacing. Two million. Bakerson Brothers Contracting is grateful for your confidence in us.”

The Mayor scowled. “Three bridge failures and eight sinkholes in the last week? If this isn’t a better job than the last guys, I won’t be in office for long.”

“Oh, I can guarantee our work,” Dar vowed. Well, kind of guarantee. Until the next demon came along, anyway. Bakerson Brothers had paid him handsomely for his “lobbyist” work. Originally they just wanted the I-94 repaving contract, but when Dar had told them he could get them several bridge repair jobs in addition, they’d jumped at the chance. Not that the city had originally thought they’d needed bridge repair. It had taken Dar about two days to collapse the three overpasses, and then work his charm and influence on the mayor to pad the contract and award it to Bakerson. Bribe and threat—the two best tools of a demon.

The Mayor slipped away around a corner, glancing furtively to make sure no one was nearby. Dar waited a few minutes then followed, cheerfully whistling as he openly counted the money he’d skimmed from the envelope prior to delivery. It would be the perfect end to a perfect day if someone tried to rob him. No matter how many jumped him, they’d pay—although not with their lives. The demon had no moral issues against murder, but his ability to walk among the humans unharassed by angels relied upon carefully toeing the line. Immunity was such a fragile thing. Bridge destruction and corruption were allowed, but killing a human was most definitely not, and Dar enjoyed playing among them too much to give it up over one impulsive act.

He might be a demon, but he wasn’t a fool.

Although a few passersby looked on with curiosity at the wad of bills in his hand, no one made a move. Shame. Dar paused at the corner of Chestnut and Noble, deciding how to celebrate a successful evening. Drugs? Prostitutes? Bar fight? Steal a car and go on a wrong-way high-speed joyride? These were all things that should have filled Dar’s heart with anticipation. Decades ago, he would have given every soul he Owned to have the liberty to do such things without fearing for his life. Now though... now such activities barely stirred his interest.

I’m bored. The thought halted him in his tracks.

Boredom was a death sentence for his kind, usually only striking ancient ones or melancholy plague demons. He was still young, just over a thousand years old, and an odd combination of destroyer and deceiver—demons not usually prone to ennui. Yeah, he got the blues occasionally, especially when some sappy song came on the radio or the deli was out of corned beef, but not like this. Never like this.

It was that damned immunity. Somehow, all the things that had made his life fun had gone away once he no longer feared an angel would decapitate him and turn his remains into a pile of dust. Beating the shit out of someone during an armed robbery lost all appeal without the life-threatening aspect. What he wouldn’t give for an angel swooping down on his head right now. What he wouldn’t give for a little adrenaline-fueled chase through the city.

Incoming.

He felt the angel’s energy signature sweep over him, watched the celestial being soar down Michigan Avenue with a shadow of dark wings. The humans ignored the oversized bird overhead, but every demon within five blocks wouldn’t have been able to miss that energy signature. Silly things. Dar wasn’t sure whether it was pride that made them announce their presence like a bullhorn, or just an inability to be stealthy. Whoever this angel was chasing would be long gone by the time she arrived. A better method would have been to teleport as near her prey as possible. Flying around like a superhero wasn’t going to nab her anything.

Shame to let all her effort go to waste. Maybe he should give her something to chase? Something to almost catch before he slipped away into the darkness. It would be fun, and if the impossible happened and he got cornered, he could always break out his household mark and reveal his immunity.

The thought of the angel’s fury over a demon wasting her time when he was off-limits nearly brought him to his knees with laughter. Bar fights and kinky sex could wait. There was an angel to taunt, and she’d landed just a few blocks away.

***

Asta’s feet lightly touched the sidewalk as she folded and dismissed her wings. The head of her choir would have a fit if he knew how often she flew in the city. Even though the humans couldn’t see her wings, it was still frowned upon to reveal them in this world. Wings were personal, private, and very fragile. It would be like streaking down Michigan Avenue during rush hour. Still, there was a sense of reckless freedom in her disobedience. The infraction bordered on sin, and the thought sent a forbidden thrill through her.

She’d been here too long and should be glad she was heading back to Aaru soon. There, she could regain her balance and realign her vibration pattern in accordance with her place on the path to enlightenment. Here, there was too much temptation, too much sensation. Just too much... everything. And oh did that everything seem irresistible now that her return to Aaru was so close.

It was that temptation that filled her thoughts now, stronger than it ever had over the century she’d spent guarding the humans. Time to cut loose and party a bit before leaving. Flying, a rather tenacious clothing addiction, and that newfound love of coffee were her only sinful indulgences so far. What would a few more matter? Alcohol? A spicy Pad Thai? A ride on the Ferris wheel? A kiss—although who she was going to kiss was beyond her. Humans—yuck. Definitely not a human. Maybe she could convince one of the other enforcers to give it a try. Or a gate guardian? They always seemed to enjoy stepping over the line. Yes, all this and maybe more. One week to be just a little bad then she’d repent and confess all. It’s not like a few sensory experiences were going to cause her to fall, after all.