Page 107 of The Witching Hours

“Jin.”

“I see.” I removed the apron I’d put on to protect my clothes from gunk. “I’ve heard this story.”

“What story?”

“The one where a genie, sorry, I mean jin appears, offers wishes, creates havoc, then leaves with things worse than when he arrived.”

Dreamy laughed out loud. His teeth were far too white for someone so old he wasn’t familiar with our calendar system. “You’ve heard that story?”

“Heard. Read. Seen. You pick. Yeah. I know the story.”

“What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?”

“Masista.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I wasn’t sure if he looked hurt or offended, but I was instantly sorry I’d laughed. “What’s funny?”

I calmed myself. “I could tell you, but you wouldn’t get it. I mean, if you don’t understand Anno Domini, you wouldn’t get why your name is funny.”

He lowered his chin and glared. “Tell me now.”

“Well. Okay. Your name sounds like ‘my sister’ in modern slang.”

“Is modern slang a language?”

“Sort of.”

“So, you laugh because, in your time, my name sounds womanly.”

“Um. Sort of. You need a nickname.”

“Is ‘sort of’ something you say whenever you don’t know?”

I opened my mouth to say, “Sort of,” but thought better of it. He didn’t strike me as the sort to have a sense of humor. So, I changed the subject.

“Let me ask you this. If you were naming yourself, what would your name be?”

He paused for a minute and seemed to be giving it sincere consideration. “Raivamitchra.”

“Excellent. Let’s pretend that’s your name. I’ll call you Mitch.”

“Mitch? Why would you do that?”

“Truncating is the modern way. We’re lazy. Go with it.” I glanced at the vase. “How long have you been in there? And if you don’t even know the modern calendar, how do you speak American English so well? And why did you take the form of somebody I saw this morning? What do you really look like?” I could hear Paddy barking. The neighbors would be gatheringtorches and pitchforks any minute. “And why does my dog dislike you so earnestly?

His smile was so disarming it made me weak in the knees. Poets would call it transcendent beauty. I made a mental note to be impervious to the attraction.

“A long time, by any standard. All jin are able to adapt to the speech of the masters we serve. I took the form of someone who piqued your interest. I resemble what I must. In this case, a desire. As to your warrior dog, he objects to my novelty.”

Wait. Warrior dog?

Mitch’s answers were smooth. Too smooth. “Why did you call Paddy a warrior dog?”

“He is declaring his intention to fight for you.” Mitch cocked his head toward the backyard. “He would die for you if it became necessary.”

Aw. Really?

“Okay. That aside. I think the best way to manage this, ah, interaction, which may very well be a dream for all I know, is for you to go back in this vase and I’ll take it back to the store where I found it.”

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