Excerpt: Love's Potion

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Chapter 1

Jasmine Flynn bolted upright in bed at the scream of sirens outside her bedroom window. The sirens faded to a long, slow wail as she groped for a lamp. Apprehension flooded her as her eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar dark and sinister room.

Then the lamp's light threw the dingy off-white walls into focus, and the used dresser no longer looked like a demon crouched in the corner. Once eerie sounds transformed to the leaky bathroom faucet drip, drip, dripping as the ancient radiator blew off steam.

Jasmine threw the blankets off her, irritated and way too awake. She peered out of the frosted window. Three a.m. and the streets below still teamed with people like rush hour at high noon. New York City never rolled up the sidewalks. Unnatural, the way New York stole away her nights.

Jasmine walked across the cold tiles of the tiny studio apartment to the kitchenette and filled the teapot with water. The perfume bottle she'd left on the dresser caught her gaze. She bought it yesterday on her lunch break from a junk store--a beautiful thing. Intricately carved, with iridescent glass threaded with gold and glossed with a patina of age. The stopper scintillated a billion colored crystals glittering in the dim light like a priceless diamond.

She found the bottle buried under heaps of old fabrics. The shop owner gazed at it as if he’d never seen the bottle before. He didn't want to sell it to her. But she had to have the frivolous purchase, even though her funds were limited and her budget stretched tight. She insisted that he name a price. When she heard the outrageous sum, she passed over her credit card with nary a flinch.

Jasmine picked up the bottle. It sparkled in her hand. What old time fragrance did it hold? Its scent probably soured with time. She tugged at the stopper. It didn’t budge. She struggled with it a few minutes, then growled with frustration and used her teeth.

The bottle hit the floor as a hot wind out of it and rushed against her face. A cloud flowed from it, full of glittering rainbow colors. Jasmine always knew that a for-real horror film couldn't have black folk in it because as soon as the freaky stuff started that was when any sensible bother or sister would hit the door.

So why was she standing there with her mouth hanging open? A man stepped out of the cloud. Jasmine also discovered what it felt like to be too scared to scream. She croaked and fell backward on the bed.

"You better spit out that stopper in your mouth," he said, his voice deep, husky and altogether too calm and reasonable. "You look like you’re going to choke on it."

Jasmine spit out the stopper and dived for the phone.

He waved his hand. "Lady, you might as well chill. I’m not going to hurt you."

Might as well chill? Spooky man had to be kidding. She lifted the phone and frantically pushed 911, her fingers trembling. She lifted the phone to her ear. It was dead. Her stomach twisted and she stared up at him, her gaze full of dread. Too damn scared to scream.

He shook his head at her. "Calling 911 wasn't a good idea anyway. Do you realize they charge to come out? A good amount too." He took a step toward her.

Jasmine opened her mouth and finally there it was. She let loose a screech that shook the windows and bounded off the bed. Feet don't fail me now. But to get to the door of her tiny studio apartment, she'd have to pass right by him.

He was crouched next to the door with both hands clapped over his ears. "In the name of the Most High, please stop that noise," he begged. "It's worse than the hall of banshees."

The teakettle shrieked and he flinched. Jasmine decided she'd have to take another approach. She moved the kettle off the burner and pulled out the largest carving knife she had, wheeling to face him.

"Get out of my house. Get out this second or I swear I'll carve you like a Thanksgiving turkey!" she yelled.

He straightened lifted his eyebrow at the knife. "Supposing I did leave--then you wouldn't get your wish."

Jasmine tightened her hold on the knife and wished fervently she believed in owning guns. "What wish?"

"I'm a djinn--from the bottle." He pointed to the perfume bottle on the floor. "You saw the visual effects. You opened the bottle, released me, and now you get a wish. I thought everybody knew how it worked."

Her eyes narrowed. He wore blue jeans, and a white T-shirt with rolled up sleeves. Was that a pack of Newports stuck in the shirt cuff? "A djinn?"

He sighed. "Commonly know as a genie, but I much prefer--"

"You don't look like a genie. You don't talk like a genie. Where is your genie outfit?"

He grimaced. "What do you think a djinn is supposed to look and sound like? Frankly, dressing up in Aladdin togs is not exactly my style. The whole shiny genie getup looks sort of gay, don’t you think?" He gave her disarming grin.

The finest man she'd ever seen in her life came out of a sparkly cloud from a perfume bottle, and now he was leaning against her wall telling her that genie outfits looked gay. She pinched herself, hard. This got to be a dream.

Now the intruder was peering into her refrigerator. "Not much for cooking, are you?" he asked.

His back was exposed. Maybe she should stab him. But she heard herself saying instead, "I didn't know genies ate."

"Only when we want to. Mind if I make a sandwich?"

The intruder was asking her if she minded if he prepared food in her kitchen.

She decided to ignore Intruder, in hopes that he'd go away. She pulled out a pair of jeans from her dresser, handily adjacent to the kitchen.

Intruder was washing lettuce and spreading mayonnaise on white bread. She took the opportunity to pull a sweater over her head. It looked weird over her flannel nightgown, but the more coverage she had the safer she felt.

He was laying half a pack of bologna on the sandwiched and topped it with three pieces of cheese. "Want one?" he asked.

A polite Intruder. She pulled on her running shoes.

"Suit yourself. But you're kind of scrawny. You should eat." He stuck his head back into her refrigerator. "Got anything other than diet soda?"

Jasmine's nerves stretched to a thread and snapped. "No! Get out of my refrigerator and explain yourself!"

"I thought I just did. Milk will have to do, I guess." He rummaged in her cabinets until he found a large glass and filled it to the brim.

Jasmine edged to the door while Intruder flopped his long body into her lone recliner in front of the television, set his glass down on her end table, and chomped contentedly on his sandwich. Her hand was on the doorknob when suddenly he paused mid-chew. "Got any potato chips?" he mumbled, around a mouthful of sandwiches.

Continued 2