Cobalt Wishes
Janet S. Corcoran (2009)
Melissa didn’t believe in Santa, the Tooth Fairy, or the Great Pumpkin. And if anyone had asked, she would have added Genies to the list of the unbelievable before smoke billowed from an antique cobalt vase, thunder rattled her kitchen windows and a naked man magically appeared before her.
A naked man with a drool factor of 10!
Her mother had taught her to never stare, but she was having a difficult time keeping her eyes focused on the vivid blue ones of her surprise visitor.
“You’ve never seen one before?”
She snapped her eyes up from where they insisted on straying. “Huh?”
“A Genie?”
A fraction of a second passed before she realized he was speaking of himself and not that. “No. No, I haven’t”
“Then I will explain the rules. Nothing global! Don’t wish for world peace because I can’t grant you that. And do not wish for more wishes. I don’t how many times people try that.”
“But I get three, right?”
“Yes.” He crossed his arms. “Three wishes.”
Her gaze skittered over sinewy muscles, defined abs and narrow hips. His nakedness distracted her. “I wish you’d put some pants on.”
As the words left her mouth she held out her hands and cried, “NO!”
Soft, faded jeans, the top button undone, now covered his lower half. “You have two wishes left.”
Did his lip just curl? Melissa braced her hands on her hips. “You’re laughing at me?”
“Happens every time.”
Money, she should wish for money. Most months she barely scraped by, living on a part time secretary’s wage in order to have the time to paint. That was her real passion in life, but it had yet to pay. But how much should she ask for? She didn’t want to be greedy.
“Perhaps your husband could assist you in this task?”
Now she crossed her arms. “I’m not married.”
His ultramarine gaze slid from the top of her head to the tips of her bare feet and the heat he produced sizzled under her skin. “Then you should wish for that.”
“Why? So I can be bossed around, told what to do, pick up after him, do his laundry, cook his meals?”
“You have a high opinion of the institute.”
A sarcastic Genie, just what Melissa needed. “And you know so much about marriage?”
“From what I’ve seen, I have formed an opinion.” The Genie sat down at her table and stretched his long legs out before him. “To have a partner, one to share your dreams with, give you comfort when life is not going according to plan. Someone to hold you in the darkest hour of the night.”
His definition of marriage sounded heavenly, but she had seen the other side, the reality of a marriage gone wrong. She was the product of divorce. “And if you could produce such a man, would you guarantee that he would always be loving and caring? Would you grant me a replacement wish if that man broke my heart?”
“You wish to remain single because of the chance a man could break your heart?”
“Yes.”
“Done.”
Melissa shook her head. Had she just used up her second wish? “Are you serious?”
“You wished to remain single.”
“No I didn’t. You wished it for me.”
“And you agreed.”
“That shouldn’t count.”
He studied his fingernails. “It does.” He looked up at her, his eyes narrowed and his lip curled. “Now, your last wish, what will it be?”
She clamped her mouth shut. She needed to think, come up with a perfect wish now that she only had one left. Sarcastic Genie was not going to manipulate her again.
He unfurled and sauntered toward her. “You would wish for your second wish to be undone, correct?”
Melissa held her breath as the Genie approached. He was taller that she first thought, but she refused to look up at him. Muscular shoulders, smooth golden skin; she bit her lip at the pure masculinity. “No.”
Then her brain forced its way through all the hormonal fog. “You’re trying to trick me again.”
He cocked his head to the side. “I would never do that.”
He was too close. He smelled exotic, sandalwood she believed. She gave her head a shake, forcing her feminine desires aside. “If I ask for the second wish to be rescinded, then it will be over. I will have used my three wishes.”
“So you’re willing to stay single in order to use your third wish on what? Money, fame, immortality?”
She crossed her arms over her chest as he closed the distance. A sheaf of paper could not pass between them. She swallowed. “Do you grant immortality?”
One beautiful shoulder shrugged. “No.”
She gnawed on the inside of her lip refusing to step away and give him the advantage of knowing he made her uncomfortable. Back to deciding how much money she should ask for or perhaps an already established artist’s career.
He wrapped his finger around a lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail and distracted her from her thoughts.
“You’re very lucky. You have the opportunity for love. A first kiss lingers on the lips and in the mind. A look that after twenty years can convey so much to one person. The knowledge that another’s life has enriched your own.” He tipped his head in the direction of the blue bottle. “I have seen all of that, but will never experience it first hand.”
His gaze, intensely blue, held her captive. His finger, still curled around her hair, would have prevented her from moving if she had the desire. But she wasn’t going to fall for his seduction. “So you’ve never witnessed the fights, the struggles as one person exerts his power over another, or the disappointment when one person’s dreams fade for the lack of support?”
“So cynical.” He released her hair, stepped away taking his heat with him. “You humans, always wanting that which is a curse. Riches so as to never work another day in your life, when work defines you, challenges you, results in discipline and pride. Fame so that everyone knows your name, when to be famous all one needs to be is kind and loving. Immortality to live forever, even beyond the life of those who love you, those that matter, until you are alone with your wealth and importance.”
Tired of his arrogance, Melissa jabbed her finger at him. “Easy for you to say, you have all those things. They mean nothing to you. Being human is hard. Not having enough money to do the things you want to do because there’s bills to pay. Watching your loved ones grow old and die. Desperately wanting recognition for the gifts you possess only having to accept that so many others have that gift and have been recognized before you due to any number of reasons that make you sick with jealousy. Live a human life for a year and see how cynical you become. You’ll be begging for the chance to wish yourself back into that bottle.”
“I would not.”
“Bet you would.”
“Doubt it.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“Then I wish for that.” She bit her bottom lip.
He stared at her, unblinking, unbelieving. “What?”
“I wish that for one year you live as a human, and, if at the end of that year you realize that life, human life, is not the fairy tale you believe it to be, then you rescind my second wish and grant me two wishes to complete the original three I was entitled to before you tricked me.” She hoped she had covered all her bases and he wouldn’t turn the wish against her. She held her breath.
His gaze moved past her to his bottle, still sitting on the table. His lip twitched, his nostrils flared. Could a Genie wreck havoc if provoked? Was she in danger? She glanced around, searching for the closest weapon. The umbrella by the back door would have to do. She probably shouldn’t have tried to outmaneuver a Genie.
“Very well.” He held his hand out.
Tentatively she placed her hand in his. “No tricks?”
“Your wish will be granted, just as you have asked.” He shook her hand. His blue eyes narrowed to cat-like slits. And he smiled.
Not the smile of someone happy to be alive or the smile of a friendly passerby, but an all-knowing smile that make Melissa shudder. ‘Be careful of what you wish for’ popped into her head.
“And the pants?”
She refused to glance down. “You can keep them.”
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The Last Wish
Janet S. Corcoran (2009)
I wasn’t sure which stung my eyes more, the sharp ice flakes swirling in the crisp winter air or the tears I tried not to cry. Both made my attempt at retracing my footsteps near impossible. The bitter wind mocked me by blowing snow over what path I had carved. I should never have left the comfort of the manor on such a fool’s errand.
With mistletoe still bundled in cloth next to my breast, I pulled my cloak more tightly around me and tried to cover my hands to protect them from the cold. My skirts soaked up the dampness of the wet sticky snow and slowed my progress. The grey light of day dimmed and my heart broke at a missed opportunity.
A gust of wind whipped the breath from my lips and forced me to pull the hood of my cloak over my head. What light I had imagined had vanished when I pulled the wool from my eyes. I knew nothing of my surroundings. Neither cottage lamp nor shadowed outline would guide me to safety. I was well and truly lost and could only keep going in the direction I believed to be true. If I stopped, I would die.
My lips twitched, but not from the cold or fear. A smile became a chuckle, which led to the giggles. I stepped high; my gait reflecting my mirth as wave after wave of laughter erupted from my body. I could die on the night I had planned to ask for life.
“The lady finds this amusing?”
I jumped at the sight of the black horse standing directly in my way and tipped my head up to see my husband staring down at me. I flew into his arms before he could fully dismount, sending us both tumbling into the ever-increasing snow bank. I kissed his cheeks. His rough-stubble chin. His lips.
He set me from him. “I would be better appreciative of this attention while in the warmth of our bed. Shall I ask what errand has sent you out in a snow storm?”
A chill shivered through me, most likely from the cold.
“What manner of magic do you seek on this the longest, and coldest, night of the year?”
“None.” Even in the dim light I could see his disbelief. I scrambled to my feet. “I simply became lost after visiting the healing woman.”
He rose and reached for the reins of his horse. “I have just come from there.”
The lie froze on my tongue. The healing woman, known far and wide for her tinctures and tonics, did not know the meaning of discretion. “I had to try.”
His hands were warm through the folds of my cloak as he gripped my waist and sat me upon his horse. “Not for me, you didn’t.” He settled behind me, his warmth enveloping me, and nudged his horse into a slow walk.
The same discussion, the same conclusion, year after year, did not stop me from voicing my desire yet again. “I want a child.”
“It’s not for a lack of trying, Ellyn. But if a child is not in our future, so be it. You can’t conjure one up from spells and wishes.” His arm snaked tightly around my waist and his lips brushed my temple.
“The healing woman is convinced – ”
“She’s been convinced every year and every year you go to the standing stones with the same result. Heartache.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “You’ve known of my pilgrimages?”
“I am not a stupid man. And I never thought you were a foolish woman, until tonight. You could have died trying to get back to the manor.”
We rode in silence. I had promised myself this would be the last year of trekking out to the farthest field to beg the pagan gods for a miracle. My husband did not believe in the magic of the stones and he had grown impatient with my obsession. My faith had diminished over the years, as well. The time to accept a childless life had come.
The horse slowed and I pulled my hood from my head, surprised to find not the well-lit inner courtyard of our manor house, but the same grey, bleak surroundings and a dark mass towering over us.
The standing stones.
I glanced down at my husband, now standing with arms outstretched to help me dismount. “Why are we here?”
“I know how much this means to you.”
He remained with the horse while I plodded to the center of the circle of stones, determined to be quick in thanks for his tolerance. I fished out the mistletoe from the inner folds of my cloak. Carefully, so as not to touch the plant with my hands, I laid it upon the ground. The waxy green leaves, bright against the white of snow, renewed my hope. I sank to my knees. The cold seeped through the layers of cloth, but I closed my eyes and prayed one last time for the gift of a child.
“Are you finished?”
The snow had muffled his approach and I struggled to stand. But he dropped to his knees and laid a hand upon my arm. He opened his cloak and extracted a cloth bundle.
Not mistletoe, I thought. Fascinated, I watched him pull the folds away to reveal a chunk of pie. My eyes widened at the significance of his gift.
He held the pie to my lips and recited, “Refuse mince pie, bad luck will follow.
First bite’s wish upon the morrow.”
I made my wish and wondered if he did the same when he took a bite. Huddled together at the base of the stone, we finished the pie and dusted the crumbs from our cloaks. With my hand in his, we rose and left the circle of stones.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
Big hands, rough with the day’s labor, cupped my face; his thumbs traced my lips. “I love you, Ellyn. With or without children, I will love you longer than all the longest nights, deeper than this mountain of snow, and brighter than the star that dares to shine on such a grey and stormy night. You’re the only magic I need.”
I looked up and there, peeping through a hole in the clouds, a star twinkled down at us. Then I looked into my husband’s eyes, dark with passion. I was a fortunate woman and I counted my blessings. With a fistful of cloak, I tugged him closer until his lips were nearly upon mine.
“You wished upon that star, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps.” I kissed him before he could protest too loudly. One last wish on a snowy winter night.
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Copyright: Janet S. Corcoran 2009-2010
