The Details Are in the Fine Print

“Number 34,” I called out.

34 was a mildly scruffy, nervous looking 20-something clutching a Chinese teapot. I gave him a wan smile.

“Take a seat,” I said, as I gestured to one of the chairs across from my cluttered desk.

“So, what do we have here?” I asked, trying to sound genial.

He put the old teapot on my desk.

“I think I have a genie,” the young man replied steadily.

“A genie,” I echoed, nodding sagely as I studied the worn teapot. It was ringed with faded pink roses around the middle, and the spout was chipped.

“Where did you find it?” I asked, preparing a new case notebook. Djinn contracts were notoriously tricky. There was a metric shit-ton of fine print and contingencies to sift through. Out of all the supernatural contract specialties I handled, Djinn were second only to Faeries in terms of complexity, and don’t get me started on what a clusterfuck those contracts are.

“It was my grandmother’s. I found it in my mom’s basement, as I was going through some old stuff,” the young man explained.

“Interesting,” I said, and indeed it was interesting. Most Entrapped Djinn still reside in their original receptacles. Oh sure, you’ll hear about a genie in an oil lamp, but Suleiman had actually ensorcelled most of them into clay pots or empty boxes. Once a djinni is ensorcelled into a receptacle, they can’t just waltz out at will to find cushier digs; Entrapped Djinn are stuck, until they are released from their entrapment, or a powerful mage with the requisite skill and knowledge transplants them elsewhere. That elsewhere generally isn’t a 1950s medium-grade porcelain teapot from Sears. Wizards and mages tended to shy away from mass produced department and store containers; they lacked the gravitas of old, eldritch-looking chests, or the elegance of polished brass oil lamps.

“Your grandmother, was she a sorceress by chance? Or perhaps a powerful witch, or a particularly wise Wise Woman? I wouldn’t suppose you’d have any idea of the spells she may have used to move and contain the genie?” I asked the kid, all business.

“Um, no?” he responded, uncertainly. “I…I don’t think my grandmother was any of those. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know any spells.”

“You sure about that? Did she have a familiar--a treasured and unusually smart cat, for example? Did you ever--I don’t know--see her perform magic?”

“Well, she once took my nose when I was two--but not really. I mean, it was still on my face and all, she just waved her thumb around and said it was my nose. That probably doesn’t count, huh?” he finished lamely.

“No, it doesn’t,” I agreed. I rubbed the bridge of my nose and suppressed a sigh. Orphaned Djinn were the worst. At least with Owned Djinn, you had some idea of what kind of genie they were, and a history of how they got there and what spells they were bound with. Orphaned Djinn were blank slates until you dragged them out of their hidey holes.

I scribbled down the details as I was getting them:

• Genie in relatively modern receptacle
• Original enscorcellery date and binder unknown
• Current binder unknown
• Djinn class unknown
• Previous contracts unknown

A thought occurred to me that the law offices of Sinbad & Sons as of yet had no official database of Djinn contracts. That would be helpful, to have a nice little history of the djinni and its contract history on hand when working these cases--a Carfax for genies, as it were. You can never have too much information when dealing with that lot.

In the upper right corner of the notepad I made a note to myself: create Djinn database. I’d review it later, maybe get one of the interns to make an app out of it. I pushed the thought aside to return to the issue at hand.

“So, have you released the genie yet?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, slightly nervous.

“And did you make a wish?” I continued, feeling myself grow slightly tense.

“No!” he said emphatically. “I found the teapot buried at the bottom of a box full of junk. It was wrapped in cheesecloth, but still dusty. I put it in the dishwasher to clean it up, and when I took it out, the genie appeared.

“He explained he was a genie and asked me for my three wishes, but I told him to get right back in that teapot and then Googled ‘what to do with genie.’ Your law office was the first result,” he finished.

I nodded with a slight smile. Russ had insisted that Google AdWords was a waste of money, but I was adamant on our continued advertising with it, and so far the ROI has been astounding. Suffice it to say, we don’t have a lot of keyword competition--you can’t get much more niche than supernatural law.

“Good, very good,” I said enthusiastically, feeling my stomach unclench. Djinn contracts were tricky even with the best lawyer setting the terms. Mediating a dispute with some poor schmuck who suddenly finds himself the second party in a djinni’s contract is a right PITA, and I have to admit, I can’t always ensure a good outcome for my client.

“But I can still get my wishes, right?” Number 34 asked with an anxious look on his face. “I mean, it’s not like a one-time, take-it-or-leave-it deal that I just totally blew, is it?” he went on, the worry causing his voice to rise several octaves.

“Calm down, son,” I said. “If everything happened as you said, you’ll still get your wishes--although with genies, what you want and what you get aren’t always the same thing.

“You did the right thing by coming here,” I assured him. “Magical wishes aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be, but don’t you worry. Sinbad & Sons has had a whole millennium of experience with writing, negotiating and mediating magical contracts.”

I gave the kid a jocular grin, and he smiled back nervously.

“So, first order of business,” I said briskly, clapping my hands, “you’re going to write down seven wishes, in order of most wanted to least wanted.”

Number 34 looked puzzled. “But I thought I only got three wishes.”

“Oh you do,” I said, “but not all wishes are enforceable. You need a few contingency wishes to fall back on, just in case.”

I slid a sheet of paper over to the kid, and passed him a Bic pen. He grabbed it, but I kept my grip firmly on the pen as I looked into his eyes. “Don’t be in a hurry to come up with your wishes,” I said sternly. “Take time to think it over, to really think about what you’re asking for, and why. Come back in a day, or a month, a year if you need to. Hell, give it a lifetime if you want--we’ll still be here. You don’t want to jump into this without forethought,” I cautioned.

Number 34 gazed back at me, eyes going big, but he didn’t protest. He nodded, and then took the pen, and started scribbling out a list.

“It’s okay if you want to come back later,” I reminded him.

“No, it’s alright,” he said, “I know what I want.”

My inner cynic laughed. Very few people truly knew what they wanted. I can tell you firsthand. I’ve walked this realm for two thousand years, and even hopped over to a few others. I’ve encountered creatures great and small. Humans, fair folk, and deities; none of them ever seem to really know what they want, not truly. But, he’s my client. My job is to get him the best deal possible, not make up his mind for him.

When he was done, he pushed the sheet of paper back over to me. I read it over, making notes here and there with my golden pen, before placing the paper in a manila portfolio, and sliding it over to him.

“Okay, so here’s what’s going to happen. First, we’re going to need to identify the kind of djinni we’re dealing with.”

“Um, okay--but why? And I’m sorry, but did you say there were different kinds of genies?” Number 34 asked.

“Oh yes,” I said. “You have your literal genie, your benevolent genie, your asshole genie--although, frankly, almost all of them sort of fall into the latter category in some way. There’s your irredeemably evil genie, your annoyingly good genie, and the sort of tired, apathetic genie. If you ask me, those fellows are the ones you want. The good genies have a way of screwing things up, despite the intent, and the evil genies--well, the name says it all.”

“Oh okay,” said Number 34, trying to take it all in. I don’t think most humans ever really suspect the finer details that go into Djinn classification.

“Okay,” I said, “why don’t you bring him out, and we’ll see what we’re working with.”

Number 34 picked up the teapot and rubbed it awkwardly. No genie appeared.

“He was here last night, I swear!” he exclaimed.

“Calm down lad, I believe you,” I said soothingly. And I did. Genies wouldn’t always come when they were beckoned, not unless you were their binder. Most people think that finding a Djinn box automatically makes them the master whom the genie has to obey. This is a misconception. The genie will appear, sure, but until you agree to three wishes, there is no contractual relationship between the djinni and the Findee, and the genie is therefore under no contractual obligation to appear when called.

Oh, they’ll appear in a huff of colored smoke when no one else is looking, but the minute you try to call them back to show your friends, they’ll just stay inside their receptacles, laughing at you. They’re jerkbags like that, even a lot of the good ones.

Fortunately, I knew how to get it out. They’re not obligated to show on command if the Findee hasn’t accepted any wishes or used a binding spell, but by extending the offer of three wishes, they’ve legally opened themselves up to negotiations, which means they must appear when presented with a case for pre-contract arbitration.

I motioned for the kid to hand me the teapot. He passed it over, and I put it on my side of the desk before me, knocked on the lid, and then announced, “Pursuant to section ixxx, paragraph G of the Magical Wishes, Hopes, and Hearts’ Desires Act, I am requesting that you leave the receptacle and speak with me on matters of wish negotiation, on behalf of--” I glanced down at one of the forms spread on my desk, “--a one Mr. Abernathy J. Mahoney.”

The room was silent, save for the sound of ticking from my enchanted grandfather clock. Number 34 looked like he was holding his breath. And then slowly, a fine, blue-tinged mist began to drift out of the teapot, leaving a stench of brimfire in its wake. The mist began to condense into a humanoid shape, gaining solidity and detail with each passing second until at last, the genie stood before us. Most people assume a genie is going to look like a fairytale come to life, with pointy shoes, parachute pants, and a vest. This one was wearing a zoot suit.

“Say, what’s the haps?” the genie said smoothly. One hand was snapping to an inaudible beat while the thumb of the other was crooked onto the suspenders under his jacket.

“Darnell? Darnell, is that you!?” I exclaimed in surprise.

“Ahasuerus, you old dog! How’ve you been? It’s been ages!” the djinni exclaimed.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. A few centuries, definitely. What have you been up to, and why in the seven hells are you in dear old Granny’s Sears teapot?” I asked him.

“It’s a long story, my man,” the Djinn said, slapping me on the back. “But we’ve got nothing but time. Pull out the whiskey--and not that horse piss you keep for the clients, but the good stuff--you know what I’m talking about and I know you have it,” he laughed, cool and charismatic.

“Hold on! Wait,” said Number 34, gaping like a fish. “Do you two know each other?”

“Know each other?” the Djinn laughed, hooking a beefy arm around my shoulder. “A-dawg here is my main man. We go back a cool minute. This chode here saved my hide back in ’46--1746 that is,” he said, ruffling my hair.

“Nothing you didn’t do for me. I’d still be buried in a metal casket under a pile of boulders in Jerusalem if it weren’t for you.”

“This guy!” Darnell the Djinn exclaimed again, after slapping me on the back and knocking the wind out of me. It was like getting smacked by a bear. I had to try real hard to not let the kid see me struggling to get my breath back.

“Oh. Okay,” said Number 34, bemused. His puzzled expression reminded me of what I was here to do.

“Say look, we gotta catch up sometime, but right now it’s business I’m afraid.”

“No problem A,” said Darnell magnanimously. He pulled out the chair next to the shaken young man, turned it back to front, and sat with his legs out and chest against the backrest.

“Alright square,” he said to Number 34, “I gotta say, you didn’t look like the brightest bulb when I saw you the first time, but if you’re here with my boy A, you gotta have a good head on your shoulders. So, whadda we got?”

“First thing’s first, Darnell, how did you manage to get yourself ensorcelled again? Last time I saw you, you were a Free Djinn.”

The genie sucked his teeth, making a sour expression.

“Well, it all started with a dame.”

“Doesn’t it always with you?” I asked. I couldn’t keep the amusement out of my voice. Darnell may be a five thousand year old elemental being, but damn if he couldn’t stay out of trouble with the ladies.

“So, remember that Morella chick I was seeing? Wore black, worshiped Beelzebub, into LaVey?”

“That chick? Yeah. I told you she was bad news. Any fool could see that a mile away,” I said.

“Yeah, well I’m not just any fool. It takes a special kind of idiot to fall for a sorceress like that. And believe me my man, I fell hard,” Darnell said.

I made a sympathetic grunt.

“So, at first things are great. I mean, this doll is crazy, but I like ’em that way, see. One time, haha,” Darnell’s husky voice began to break as he started laughing heartily. “One time there was this family that hated her. This was, oh, maybe back in ’48. Now this family was grade-A L squared, you dig? Real stodgy and stuffy. If you had told me they were conjured up from 1848, I’d believe it. They lived next door, and got the major spooks from her. They started a Concerned Citizens Council and got all the neighbors against her. They said her house was cursed, and told kids she was an evil witch.”

“But, I mean, she was though,” I interjected.

“Yeah, but still. That don’t excuse being rude about it,” Darnel said.

“So anyways she puts up with these losers, until one day the father croaked. Just up and keeled over in the garden. Heart attack, apparently. So she, haha,” Darnell stopped as he broke into a fit of laughter. He laughed so hard, there were tears in his eyes. It took a full minute until he regained his composure, and then he continued. “So he dies, right, and then she reanimates him and makes him say and do all kinds of things. She had his corpse tap-dancing naked in the street while proclaiming--and these are the exact words--‘my wife is a frigid cunt with a steel beam up her arse.’”

“That’s awful!” Number 34 blurted out. He looked shaken and frightened.

“Eh, maybe. You had to have been there,” the genie said, shrugging.

“So yeah, Morella was a real hoot. She was also a conniving b-word. It was fun at first, and then she started nagging me about hanging out with the boys. And then it was ‘wear this today, do this right now.’ No please or thank you. And then she wanted to drag me everywhere, with me having no say in the matter. She made me go to the opera. Can you believe it? The opera. I finally had enough, and we had it out. She yelled that I never loved her. Well you know me, I talk big, but I’ve got a real soft spot for the dames, and I was genuinely over the moon about this chick. So I says to her, you know you will always have my heart. And that’s when she bound me. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I actually told her she was the owner of my heart.”

I winced in sympathy. There aren’t many ways to ensnare a djinni, but getting control of their hearts is definitely one method.

“The bint had it planned all along, she must have. She ensorcelled me into a goddamned teapot. And not even a good one! Every now and then she’d make me come out and grant wishes to her friends. When I wasn’t at her beck and call, she’d let that odious furball of hers use my pot as a chamber pot,” Darnell recounted. “One time she even forced me to perform magic tricks at her nephew’s birthday party.” It was clear by his tone of voice that this final affront was, in his opinion, the worst.

“What happened to Morella?” I asked. “If nothing else, her spirit must still be around, if you’re still bound to that teapot.”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Last I heard, she tried messing around with a vampire, and it didn’t turn out well for her. I don’t get out much these days, what with me being stuck in that damn pot and all, but word on the aethernet is that she’s now the blood pet for some sparkling Nosferatu wannabe. Good riddance, I say.”

“Okay,” I said, filing this information away for later while also filling in some blanks in the case file. Darnell still had a binder, which meant that even after granting Number 34 his three wishes, he would still be trapped to the pot… unless Morella agreed to return his heart. That was a matter for another time, though.

“Pursuant to amendment five of the--“ Darnell cut me off, mid-sentence.

“For Suleiman’s sake, you can just ask me. We’re straight, buddy, you know that. No need for the legal mumbo-jumbo.”

I sighed. “I know man, really, I do, but I’m working here,” I said, as I gestured towards Number 34, who sat clutching the rails of his chair, looking shell-shocked.

“I have to play it by the books. It’s nothing personal,” I continued.

“Yeah, I know A,” the genie said, sighing.

“So, pursuant to amendment five of subcontract ZZY, are you currently in violation of any wishes?”

“Nope,” he said. The genie had abandoned his chair to float in the air in a supine position, his hands laced together behind his neck, the picture of relaxed coolness.

“Are there any pre-existing contracts or contingencies which would prevent you from acting outside of the normal boundaries of the MWHHDA?”

“Nope,” he said again.

“Just between you and me, are you going to be a dick to this kid here?” I asked. Darnell was a steadfast friend and surprisingly empathetic for a Djinn, but he was still a Djinn.

“By Hubal’s balls, I’ll be on the straight and narrow with the kid,” Darnell said. I was satisfied; an oath to Hubal’s balls was sacred to the Djinn.

I turned back to Number 34.

“Alright kid, now that we’ve got some of the important things settled, it’s up to you to determine what you really want,” I said.

“But I--” he began, and I cut him off.

“Yeah, I know, you already gave me the paper. But I can’t stress enough that you can’t overthink this, or wait too long. Kid--Abernathy--are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Number 34 was silent for a long moment as he stared at his shoes, and then with a fresh reserve of resolve, looked up and answered.

“Yes,” he said.

“Okay then,” I said as I clicked my golden pen, “let’s get started.”