Double the Djinn

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Double the Djinn

Double the Djinn By Aurora Rose Lynn

Aurora Rose Lynn

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Double the Djinn

Aurora Rose Lynn

A Silk’s Vault Electronic Publication, in arrangement with author Aurora Rose Lynn. Copyright © 2005 by Aurora Rose Lynn. Cover Design and Art by Carmel St. James, © Copyright 2005 Edited by Carol Fortado

Silk’ Silk’ s Vault Publishing www.silksvault.com

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in part or whole, in any form or by any means, without permission from both the author and publisher. All characters, incidents, situations, institutions, governments and people are fictional and any similarity to characters or persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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Lydia needed a little something to brighten her day. She didn’t need much. After all, a thousand year old sorceress rarely needed anything outrageously special. At least, that’s what she liked to think. She toyed with an elegant, long-necked bottle of French perfume she had received from an admirer three hundred years ago in the deliciously decadent times when the Sun King, Louis XIV, ruled France and Louise de Vallièr ruled his palace as his favorite mistress. Yes, those had been the days of pampered luxury, when a woman had been treated as if she was breakable crystal. Lydia looked down from her tenth floor apartment at the small cars racing by like swarming ants. She sighed, a deep susurration of longing. After the old king had died, she had moved on as best she could. Today, the cars moved too fast, the young generation was impudent and callous, life had dizzily speeded up and true luxury a la Louis XIV style was unheard of. Lydia yearned to hear the rustle of silk trailing along marble floors, to set her sparkling green eyes on the marvelous chandeliers and paintings only the French masters had creatively dreamed up. Day to day existence was so tasteless and artless now. She sighed again as she lifted the bottle, a rich, powdery blue color to eye level. She had delayed opening this treasure for centuries, knowing the scent rising from within would make her even more melancholy for a time that was long gone. She sensuously traced an enameled finger down its side. Would the fragrance remind her of sweet pink roses or perhaps a heavier scent of a man’s musky cologne? No matter. She would enjoy every drop while the aroma lasted. Deliberately, she began to pull the stopper out. Her heart beat faster. What had her life

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come to if taking a sniff of perfume was all she had to look forward to? Anticipation rose within her like a rosebud unfurling its satiny petals one by one. Slowly, she lifted the stopper up and out of the bottle, brown cork rising from shimmering blue crystal. Her heart sank. She smelled nothing. Not the heady scent of flowers or the fragrance of exquisite French perfume. Her face lingered over the opening, her nose close to the crystal. “Why don’t your get your nose out of there so I can get out?” Lydia jumped back, almost dropping the precious container. Who had spoken with a voice as smooth as fifty-year-old whiskey? A mist swirled around the rim of the bottle. Astonished, she held it at arm’s length, watching as a vapor cloud twisted and turned and shaped itself into a man. Not just any man. A startlingly, irresistibly naked man with bronzed skin and ridged muscles across his chest. A veritable Adonis; a true French masterpiece. Lydia held her breath in awe of the male feast, every inch of the six feet standing before her. “What in goddess’ name?” she finally managed. “Surprised you, huh? I thought you would never open up my prison.” His voice was like cool water burning down a parched throat. He took the crystal from her hands and set it on a nearby end table. “How did you get here?” Lydia asked, disbelieving her eyes. Her ability to create magical spells gave her no clue as to how a gorgeously shaped man could puff like smoke in a chimney from an aged bottle that hadn’t been opened in three centuries. The modern world couldn’t see the kind of ethereal magic she practiced, refused to accept as true its very existence. Unexpectedly, she came to the sad conclusion that she viewed her magic

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in a skeptical light. The realization crept up on her, hitting with such force she almost collapsed at the magical being’s feet. She steadied herself. “You’re the sorceress. Don’t you have the answers?” the being asked, raising thick, golden eyebrows in the kind of inquisitive frown a minor Greek god might deign to bestow on some miserable, pleading peasant. “Now that you mention it, and at my age, I should have all the answers to life but I don’t,” she replied with a great deal of reluctant sarcasm. Who was this stranger to question her? Grinning audaciously, the man shrugged. “That’s why I’m here.” She couldn’t help her eyes straying down to his crotch. He was well hung, to use a modern phrase. The beauty of his male form also reminded her that it had been quite some time since she had enjoyed being with a man. Simply because a woman was a thousand years old, didn’t mean she had to do without sex. “Haven’t seen a real man in a while, eh?” he responded, apparently amused. “You’ve been missing a thing or two.” Lydia felt an uncharacteristic blush heat her cheeks. Anger flared up at the unwelcome intrusion into her life. And desire. “Whoever you are, I want you to leave right this instant.” She wanted this stranger to leave, yet she wanted him to stay, to kiss her, to climb with her to the peaks of rapture. Her body reacted eagerly. Her nipples sharpened into hardened, painful peaks. “Could hardly do that. I’ve waited too long to get out of that damned thing. Guess I couldn’t have dreamed up a prettier sight to set my sore eyes on.” The man folded his arms across his chest, revealing strapping biceps which would put a weightlifter to shame.

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His hair, a golden brown with hints of sunshine, curled low across his shoulders. “How can anyone get in a bottle?” Lydia demanded, unable to fathom how a tall man could squeeze into a ten inch square bottle. One moment she had been alone, the next she had the company of a wickedly nude man. “Magic.” She was getting hot. Dampness seeped between her legs. “Only a few practice magic, and only a rare few can practice to that extent.” “To what extent?” “To put a man in a bottle.” The man shrugged again. “Look, Sorceress Lydia. Make your wish so we can get this over with and I can get out of here.” Hostile creature, she thought. “What’s this about a wish? Don’t I get three wishes?” Wasn’t three the normal number of wishes a Djinn granted? “I would think a stunning woman like you would ask what my name is first. How rude.” “Rude?” she countered. “You barge into my home, uninvited I might add, and you want me to ask your name? Preposterous.” “Typical French dame,” the man muttered. “Try to do her a favor and what do I get? A mouthful, but you do have a pretty French accent.” “You’re not doing me any favors by breaking into my house,” Lydia retorted. Her sorcery spells weren’t the kind where she could just close her eyes, snap her heels and suddenly her wish was her command. They had been years ago, before she found herself living in a world of so-called enlightenment. The spells were the kind that took laborious

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preparation, like slow, rousing lovemaking. There she was again, thinking about sex. “Can we just get this over with? What is your wish? Make it snappy. It’s not like I have another three hundred years to waste.” “Of all the ill-tempered people I’ve ever met.” “Not that you met a whole lot.” Lydia agreed. Most people tended to stay clear of her if they sensed she practiced magic – much like they steered away from witches even though they looked the same as everyone else. “What is your name any way?” “Amas. I’d be gone in a flash before you could evoke your magic.” “Why don’t you leave in a flash now, since you’re not welcome here?” “I’d say we both know that’s not true. If nothing else, you want a man to make love to you. Why not make that your wish? I need a bit of release too, after being cooped up for so long.” Lydia hissed in a sharp breath. She couldn’t deny what he said. But she was a sorceress and had her own ways of relieving the itch. Not that she had used a spell in a while. “Men don’t spirit themselves from bottles.” “Why don’t you use your sorceress powers to see if I’m real or not?” His eyes, a deep chestnut color, challenged her. Powerful energy radiated from him as he shifted and cracked his knuckles. She couldn’t take her eyes from him. Lydia would never have thought she could stay in the same room with a nude man she hadn’t taken the time to acquaint herself with in a platonic sense. What could she reply to his dare? “I’m over a thousand years old. Don’t mess with me.”

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Amas stared for several moments before he burst out laughing. “I’m over three thousand years old. So there.” “My magic is more powerful than yours.” One thing Lydia couldn’t stand was being shown up. She had to be the winner, no matter how small a battle she fought. “Really?” Amas did something with his eyebrows. A cool breeze passed over Lydia’s ass. She looked down at herself. Where moments earlier she had been wearing a blue velvet dress, now she wore nothing. “My clothes are gone!” she cried out. “Yup. They sure are. So show me your magic.” Always having been self-conscious about her nudity, Lydia wanted desperately to cover herself. But how ineffectual were two hands covering her pubic area? And what would she do with her breasts? Two hands couldn’t begin to cover the soft globes. “My magic is more powerful,” she croaked out. “It takes longer to create so it’s more powerful.” “Yeah, yeah. Right.” Before she knew what had happened, she was on her back on her bed with the man kneeling over her. “You have your wish, sorceress. Even you, with all the power you claim to have, can’t create the magic of a man and woman sharing their bodies.” “Get off me or I’ll spell you out of existence.” He shrugged carelessly. “Go ahead. Give it a whirl. If you can.” He did that little something to his eyebrows and they were no longer in her room but on a sandy beach with waving palm trees overhead. The waves of a deep blue ocean lapped close to their

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bodies and the heat from the late afternoon sun washed over her comfortingly. “Just you and me now,” he said in a matter of fact tone. To her horror, her legs were spread wide and the wind fanned her hardened clit. She waved a hand at Amas dismissively. She should have been embarrassed, but she found herself reveling in his gaze. “Okay. So what do you want?” “I want to hear you make a wish so I can get on with my life. You know? The one I’ve wasted for three hundred years in that cheap bottle of so-called perfume.” “Cheap?” Lydia asked, beside herself with anger. “How dare you call my precious perfume cheap.” “What did you think was in there? Eau de roses? Or what about eau de lilacs?” “Dammit! I spent all those years dreaming about opening that perfume at the right moment. What would you know about it?” “That I wasted all those years trapped in there. I would have been better off doing what I do best.” “What’s that?” “Giving pleasure.” Lydia’s anger immediately dissipated, tickled at the suggestion. How could his large hands delight her, smooth over her sensitized skin? “If you could get in, then you could get out,” she managed in a whisper. “That’s the one thing djinns can’t do. Once they’re locked up by the Being, they can’t get out. It’s a law or something.” “A law of what? Djinns?” She gazed into his eyes, fascinated by the fact she had finally met a djinn, the stuff of legends, even in the opinion of a seasoned sorceress. A

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djinn could snap his fingers and transport himself anywhere, even into another dimension, but a sorceress was limited to working with the physical properties of nature, or the planet she had been born on. “We’re to give unconditional pleasure. It is not for us to deny our destiny.” “Hard to imagine,” she muttered. Especially with a golden body like his. Every muscle was sculpted to perfection, every line hard and lean. Against her better sense, she reached out and touched his cheek. He grinned. “Like what you feel?” “Did you really spend those years in that little bottle?” Her fingers lingered against his cheek and against the light beard growth on his rugged jaw. She couldn’t imagine spending such a vast chunk of time imprisoned in such a small space. “Yeah. What bugged the hell out of me was I had no female companionship.” “Couldn’t you create a woman for yourself?” “Why would I do that when the woman of my dreams is outside?” “Djinns dream about women?” She gazed down at his magnificent body and gawked unabashedly at his pulsing cock. “Sure. Your voice with its low, sexy timbre drove me wild. But now that I’ve seen every luscious inch of you, I don’t have to dream about you anymore.” Lydia found herself thrilled to her feminine soul by his statement. “I don’t believe you’re talking about me.” He nodded. “I feel I’ve always known you.” “That is a come on line. You have no idea what I’m about.” She angled a fingertip along his shoulder blade and down his strong arm. Her thoughts whirled in a maelstrom.

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Should she make love to this hunk, even if he was a djinn, or should she order him to take her back to her apartment? “Hey. I couldn’t help eavesdropping on your conversations. I have to admit that after a few years, I got to know you. That plus the fact you talk a lot when you’re alone.” He chuckled. “I know your secrets too.” “You still want to know my wish?” she asked. If he knew all her secrets, imagine the torment he could put her through. Interestingly, she didn’t fear him as she would have other beings that practiced magic. “After we make love.” She batted a fist at his shoulder. “Who said I would?” That was a blatant lie. Her body demanded his touch, his cock sliding inside her and filling her. He chuckled. “I did. It’s a djinn’s way of making amends.” “For what?” “For listening to three hundred years of secrets.” Lydia suddenly felt at a disadvantage. “You know everything about me then. I took that bottle everywhere I moved.” “Ah yes. Through the turmoil of the French Revolution, to the courts of England, to the new America and even to Russia for a few years. What did you find there except bitter winters?” She felt the sudden need to defend herself. “St. Petersburg isn’t that bad if you wrap yourself up against the cold in furs.” Amas nodded. “What made you move there? I couldn’t turn the heat high enough in the bottle.”

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This time Lydia laughed. “I had no idea you were in there.” He sniffed the air and tilted his face to the late morning sun. “Ah, the beauty of Bermuda. The sun, the warmth, the natural surroundings.” “Is that where we are?” “Yes, ma petite. The cold seeped into my bones in old Russia. I’m glad you didn’t want to stay your usual twenty years. I’d have frozen to death,” he exclaimed. She swallowed; glad she had only stayed ten years. The Russian Revolution, not the harsh winters, had brought her visit to an end. His magnificence made her want to merge herself with him, to touch his rock hard penis and lose herself in the magic of lovemaking. Nothing else mattered. With a trace of shyness, she reached out and settled her palm against his erection, felt the throbbing within the blue veins. Stroking her finger along the length of his shaft, she edged her thumb against the cap glistening with pre-come. He moaned, a low, guttural sound torn from deep within. “You may not have any real magic,” he murmured, “but you have a way with your fingers and the way you look at me. Sultry and hot.” “And mesmerizing,” she whispered, fixing her gaze on his cock. What had he meant, she didn’t have any real magic? She had the delicious sensation of feather light hands roaming up and down her body, beginning at her arms, rounding to her waist, down the crest of her thighs. However, those hands never touched the sensitive, yearning peaks of her breasts or traveled too close to her pussy. The caresses left her hot and hungry and wanting him on and in her. Lydia was so engrossed in feasting her senses on his throbbing erection, she belatedly

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realized that his hands rested at his sides. How was that possible when she distinctly felt his hands roving over her body? She sighed dreamily, lost to her surroundings, lost to everything but the djinn’s touch. His eyes, orbs of penetrating brown, lingered on her face. Their eyes met and held. “How do you do that?” she whispered, certain his hands were teasing her beyond her wildest fantasy, driving her to the brink of sexual madness where reason was swept into a small corner of her mind. “Do what?” he seemed to taunt her. “I feel your hands all over me, yet they’re not moving,” she replied breathlessly. Her hands were suddenly immobile at her side. Frowning, she tugged on them, willing them to obey her unspoken commands to move. Nothing responded. “What’s going on?” she asked, all of a sudden frightened. If she couldn’t move, she couldn’t practice her sorcery. “Show me your magic,” he ordered. “I can’t,” she whispered. She hadn’t practiced her hard-earned skills for so many years, she had all but forgotten how. Shame crept over her. She had squandered the heritage her ancestors had left her. Invisible hands passed over her ribcage, down her stomach and toyed with her belly button, causing her pussy to quiver. “Cute,” Amas muttered with a charming grin. “Free my hands,” she ordered with a bravado she didn’t feel. “Make me.” Hidden hands edged her thighs wider apart. Honeyed cream seeped from her sheath as those callused palms traveled up the insides of her silky thighs, teasing the edges of her swollen mound.

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“Say you want me,” he said in a low voice bordering on command, but still a statement. She relented. “I want you, but show me your hands. Don’t bedevil me.” “Bedevil you?” he bantered with a twinkle in his eyes. “Why would I do that?” “Don’t djinns play tricks on people?” Her mind was quickly losing focus on the questions she wanted to ask him. “No, we amuse ourselves from time to time, but I wouldn’t dream of doing that with you.” His hands strayed quite visibly to her upper thighs, but he vanished from sight. “That’s not funny!” she called out. Of all the ways to make love. “Get back here!” A glittering rainbow hovered over her. “You mean like this?” Lydia felt tortured. Amas’ hands continued to wander over her heated flesh, teasing and making her body burn with longing. Now he was creating optical illusions. “You might want to consider that when I climax,” she grunted. “When you climax, this might happen,” he said. The world went dark with zillions of twinkling stars against a black velvet canopy. At first, the stars began to swirl slowly before they ended in a crazy dance of whirling madness, making Lydia’s pupils spin. A finger slid inside her vagina, inching deeper and deeper. She raised her hips, enjoying the hot sensation. The digit, making a swishing sound, slid in and out, faster and faster. Then nothing. She groaned in disappointment, desperate for release. If her hands had been free, she would have inserted her own fingers to bring about the climax her body yearned for.

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“Don’t do this to me,” she cried out in frustrated helplessness. “Get on with it.” “Hmm. For that, I should leave you here.” “No!” Lydia screamed. “You can’t do that.” He hovered above her face, his knees to either side of her head. “Why not?” His penis hovered enticingly, mere inches from her face. “Is this what you want?” “If I suck your cock, are you going to stop torturing me?” she demanded, eyeing his enticingly hairy balls. Her tongue darted out. She licked his smooth skin, even as untended flames roared around her weeping slit. Her swollen nipples were pointed, painful nubs. “I’m not torturing you, ma petite. Simply increasing your delight in a way only I can.” “Conceited fool,” she murmured. A slight breeze whispered over her breasts and the flat of her stomach. She drew her tongue back into her parched mouth. How much more of this excruciating agony could she take? From nowhere, a silver pitcher with a curved arm on either side floated above her and, little by little, poured viscous oil over her breasts. Lydia’s nipples perked to stiff nubs. The warm oil smelled of gardenias, fragrant and strong. She squirmed as the pitcher traveled further down her body, pouring oil on her stomach, her mound and down each of her thighs. The oil flowed down between her legs and lubricated her clit - as if the small piece of flesh really needed it. “I can split myself into two,” Amas said. “Would you like to see?” “Double the pleasure,” she moaned, drinking in the scent of the gardenias. He did that strange furrowing of his eyebrows, and she saw two of him, one a shadow figure, the other real thing. “One for between your legs and one in your mouth.”

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Lydia moaned in ecstasy. If she could only figure out how to duplicate a man with her sorcery, she would have done so a long time ago. Then she could have participated in a private orgy. “Which of me do you like better?” Amas asked, his voice light and carefree. “Just fuck me, will you?” she cried out, no longer caring how many of him there were. “With pleasure.” The unreal Amas, a faded, wispy version of the real one between her legs, lay down on his stomach and spread her thighs wider. Her lungs seized. All Lydia wanted now was release from the incessant craving for climactic liberation. The real Amas at her head leaned forward over her face, blocking out the sun. He tweaked her nipples, pulling and tightening the cinnamon colored aureoles. Her blood heated to within melting point when the real Amas’ tongue lapped at her juices. “More, more,” she groaned. Liquid strokes of his sizzling tongue made her squirm, but he clamped a hand over each of her thighs, holding her motionless. Lydia bucked her hips, aiming her clit closer to his face. She wanted more. Now. “Patience, ma petite,” the real Amas said, his voice nowhere near reassuring. “If I tied you down and did this to you,” she croaked, “how would you feel?” “Why don’t you do that and see what happens?” Back to the failure of her magic again, she noted miserably. The tension inside her made her bow her back, waiting impatiently, clenching her teeth for the imminent explosion. “I want you to see that you can expand your horizons,” Amas said, peering into her

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face from above her. “With a little help.” “I don’t need hel–” She screamed as the long expected convulsion of bliss erupted in a powerful, fierce surge. Not once, but twice. Pleasantly drained, she closed her eyes. “Holy cow. You should look at this,” Amas warned. He sounded almost glad, she thought. She blinked her eyes open but instead of being out on the wave lapped beach, she relaxed on a bed of warm, wet sand in the midst of a sandcastle, replete with battlements. The room of the castle in which she and the two djinns lay had a window through which the sun shone brightly, casting its light directly on Lydia’s pussy. Struggling to sit up, she found her hands still pinned to her sides. “Who did this?” she breathed. “You did, of course.” “My magic is coming back,” she whispered in awe. “You hardly knew it was gone,” the real Amas responded, his eyes mirroring the wonder in her own. “It’s a miracle you recognized that you had hidden away your magic.” Before she could say more, he was in her mouth, splayed over her, rubbing her still aching breasts with the flat of his palms. Lydia shuddered, surrendering to his ministrations. Her pulse skittered in her veins, her crisis of the lack of magic momentarily forgotten. If she thought the need for release would ease with the first and second explosions, she had been wrong. The need was as fierce as ever. She wanted to feel Amas filling her sheath, stretching her wide with his engorged cock. Instead, she tongued the velvety hardness of his cock. She licked and laved the drop

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of pre-come from the glans, tasting salty perspiration. His rod throbbed in time with the regular skipping of his heartbeat. He thrust in and out of her mouth. “Weren’t you Henry the Eighth’s mistress at one time? Before he divorced Catherine of Aragon?” he asked out of the blue. “No,” she said around his rod. “I wouldn’t have minded, though. He was quite the lusty man. At the moment, I want to be the mistress of a djinn.” The words were intended as nothing more than humor. “Your wish is granted,” he said, laughing with his usual sparkle. She thought he would climax but he withdrew, sat to one side in the sand and pumped his hard member. Up and down, almost ravaging her senses. He leaned backwards, driving his shaft up and down with increasingly jerky movements. When his come spurted into the air, droplets sprayed Lydia’s neck and breasts. She gasped in vicarious enjoyment. Thunderous applause rang out from the ocean. Shocked, she turned her head. Her mouth gaped open. A multitude of people stood out in the ocean, the water up to their knees and thighs. She tried to get up. “How dare you expose me to the view of these people?” she remonstrated with the djinn. “Relax, ma petite. Take comfort in the fact they’re not real and will vanish into the next dimension when their purpose is served.” “They will?” she squeaked, appalled at her girlish fear of being naked in front of a group of people. The misty Amas chortled before he nudged her thighs apart even further and settled

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his throbbing cock against her slick entrance. “Forget about them. Nothing matters but the moment.” Lydia hastily put those people, standing in the ocean and ogling her nudity and the djinns’ lovemaking, out of her mind. Liquid fire stroked her as the misty Amas penetrated her and her breathing became quick and ragged. She felt her vagina stretch to accommodate him as he hilted his thickened flesh inside her. Her hands were suddenly free, she realized, as she lifted them to the misty djinn’s back, to rub her palms along the knobby length of his spine. The real djinn locked his warm lips against hers, tasting, delving, scorching her mouth. This was as close to bliss as she would ever get, she sighed. Two djinns riding her with their fierce passion. Her hips bucked and rose to the challenge of the misty djinn’s pumping. She quivered with anticipation, matched his rhythm thrust for thrust. This was a landscape of passion no painter, whether he was French or not, could ever hope to recreate. Dark, primitive desire mingled with heated excitement. Her muscles contracted. She was almost at the edge. She would have clenched her teeth if the real Amas hadn’t been feasting on her lips. The misty Amas’ flesh pounded as one against and in hers. He thrust one last powerful time and her world fractured around her. His hot come burst into her slit. She gasped for air as her nails dug into his back. A cry of exquisite delight came from her lips. She felt certain the real Amas sat back and watched with fascination. Lydia closed her eyes as she surrendered herself to wave after delightful wave. Misty Amas lay panting above her, his elbows braced on either side of her breasts. One last, fading spasm overtook her. Her chest heaved up and down and a coat of perspiration covered her body.

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“Hmm. You might want to open those pretty eyes and see what you did,” she heard the djinn at her head say in a baffled voice. Cautiously and lethargically, she opened her eyes. Astonished, she nearly sat up before she remembered the misty Amas lay between her legs. “I can’t believe this,” she exclaimed in a hushed tone. The palace the French Sun King had prided himself on stood before her in all its magnificence. Countless mirrors, gold painted, barrel-vaulted ceilings, ornate chandeliers and beautifully rendered paintings shone in the sunlight. “No way. You did this,” she flared at the real Amas. He shook his head. “No, ma petite. You are relearning the power of your spells. I hear them in your head as we make love to you.” “I couldn’t have,” she murmured in puzzled incredulity. “How did you do that?” “I didn’t do anything. You did.” Lydia sensed an emptiness between her legs, and when she looked found the misty Amas was gone. “Where is your better half?” Amas shrugged. “My better half? After all the pleasure I’ve deigned to give you, and you call that twerp my better half?” The chestnut colored eyes sparkled mischievously. “Why should he tell me anything?” “I thought he was a part of you,” Lydia murmured, baffled that the djinn had doubled her pleasure with an effortless wiggle of his thick eyebrows. Could she be falling in love with him? She couldn’t allow herself to do that. Whenever she had permitted herself to fall in love with a man, he had jilted her. Or worse yet, he strung her along until the independent part of her, couldn’t take any more, and she walked out.

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“Everything is a part of me,” Amas said with conviction, waving a hand at the mirrors and sky showing through the high windows. “That is what makes me who I am. That should be what makes you who you are.” Lydia sat up and cast a spell. She couldn’t bear the notion of being in the palace when there were only memories to haunt her, not the breathing, living people from the past. A moment later, the djinn and she were back in Bermuda near the ocean waves and the whispering palm trees. “You’ve given me a great gift,” she said softly. The djinn’s eyebrows etched upwards in question. For once, she mused, he was speechless. “You’ve returned my belief in my ability to create magic,” she said triumphantly. “Does that mean you don’t want to be my mistress now?” Amas’ eyes welled with unshed tears. “No, not at all. For once in my long life, I’ve found someone I can be with without being condemned for who I am. I want to be with you, to learn more about you.” Amas nodded. “Is three hundred years enough to get to know me?” Lydia snorted playfully. “Fair is fair. You gave me three centuries.” They sat on a washed up piece of driftwood and watched the sunshine. Lydia created a fantastic rainbow and arched the multitude of colors across the pinks, oranges and dark mauves of the setting sun. The rainbow stayed until late into the night as the djinn and she made love once again.

THE END

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