The Art of Wishing Page 18

  “No,” he said quietly. “My being his . . . protégé . . . that’s the only reason he let me live this long. He could have wished me free the first time he got hold of my ring. He didn’t.”

  “He saved you for last,” I murmured. Somehow, that troubled me even more.

  “Hey, it’s better than the alternative,” said Oliver, giving me a grin that completely failed to reassure me.

  I shook my head. “But you said you were friends!”

  “We were,” he said, his grin fading a little. “But that was when I knew him as Niall, and when he was showing me how to use my magic. Everything was fine, and then he just disappeared. Twenty years passed, and when he found me again, he was . . .”

  “Xavier,” I supplied, and Oliver nodded. “So what the hell happened? Something must’ve happened. Twenty years is a long time.”

  “I wish I knew. I really do. But he never told me.”

  Looking away from me, he drained his tea like a shot. I shakily downed the last of my hot chocolate. It had gone cold. When I looked at him again, he was studying his empty mug, a dark look on his face.

  “God, Oliver,” I said. “I had no idea. But you have a plan, right?”

  “A plan?”

  “To get rid of him. Or at least get away from him. What are you gonna do?”

  “Margo, there’s nothing I can do.”

  “But—”

  “Look,” he said firmly. “We’ve got two scenarios here. In the first, Xavier waits to take my ring until you’ve made your third wish of your own accord, like he promised. But let’s face it: That’s pretty unlikely. In the second, Xavier bullies you into making your third wish, so my ring unbinds itself from you and he can steal it. Either way, he’s coming back for me. I’d venture to guess he won’t wait very long.”

  I stared at him, chilled by his matter-of-fact tone. “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Of course I’m not okay with it! But it’s not up to me anymore. If I’d gotten away before he found me, then maybe I’d have had a chance. I could have taken my vessel and hidden . . . but it’s too late now. There’s nothing I can do. Excuse me, ma’am. Could we have the check, please?”

  The waitress came over and put the check down in front of Oliver. I didn’t even protest when he paid for my hot chocolate. As we made our way past the defunct jukeboxes and out of the diner, he took my hand again; the spicy tingle of magic snaked up my arm. But this time, it wasn’t reassuring.

  Oliver gave my hand a little squeeze as we headed for my car. “You shouldn’t worry about it, Margo. I’ve been lucky. I’ve had a hell of a lot more time than most people do.” He slowed us to a stop next to my car, then stepped in front of me so we were face-to-face. “I’m serious. I know you want to do something about Xavier. I can hear it.” He touched one finger to my temple. “But trust me. Leave this one alone.”

  “Leave it alone?” I repeated incredulously. “How can you say that? How can you just . . . just put your life in someone else’s hands like that?”

  “I can because I have to,” he said simply. “I’ve always had to. That’s what it means to have a master.”

  “Maybe so, but none of the others were out to kill you,” I said, which actually made him laugh. “Wait. Oliver, I have one wish left. I could use it on him. Make him change his mind about wishing you free.”

  He smiled sadly. “You think I never thought of that? I don’t have enough power. I can grant a wish to change my own mind, or a human mind, but the mind of another genie? Not a chance. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  I frowned. “Fine. Then I’ll wish him free, before he comes back for you.”

  “What?” he shouted, his eyes going wide. “No. No, absolutely not.”

  “Why not?” I said.

  “Because I can’t just kill him, Margo. I can’t.”

  “But it wouldn’t be you,” I said slowly. “If I made the wish, it would be me.”

  For a moment everything was quiet, except for a few cars zooming past, just beyond the parking lot. Slowly, Oliver reached out and took me by the shoulders. He spoke in a low, even voice. “Margo, listen to me. I’ve been a genie for a long time now. And I love it. Honest, I really do. I love giving people what they want, changing their lives for the better in those tiny little ways.

  “But I’ve done things . . . There are people who honestly want nothing more than to hurt other people. Sometimes you can talk them out of it, but not always.” He ran both hands through his hair, agitated and tense. “Have you ever wished a slow and painful death on someone? Have you?”

  “N-no,” I stammered, trying to remember. “I don’t think so. Not out loud, anyway. And I’ve never actually meant it.”

  “There are people who do mean it,” he said. “They’re few and far between, but they’re out there. I’ve met them. One of them—a man from Kiev—he said those exact words to me. He wished for someone to die, and I quote, slowly and painfully. I was bound by those words. He didn’t have to decide how. He didn’t even have to watch. He could just make his wish and consider it done. I was the one who actually had to make it happen. It was one of the few times in my life where my job really did feel like slavery.”

  “Couldn’t you just—”

  “Refuse?” He let out a grating laugh. “No. You can’t refuse. I learned that the hard way. If I refuse, my magic will take over and grant the wish for me, using me as a conduit. It would still be my hands doing it, and my eyes watching, but I wouldn’t have any control over it. So whatever the wish is, you get it over with, and you hope your next master just wishes for a healthy baby, or a huge promotion, or a billion dollars.”

  He slid his hands down and threaded his fingers through mine. His voice was unsteady. “But what you’re talking about . . . that wouldn’t just be you using me as a weapon. That would be me agreeing to it. Benefitting from it. I can’t do that. And if you feel anything for me at all, please don’t force me to do it. I know you’re my master, and you can if you want to . . . but please don’t.”

  He clutched my hands so hard that it almost hurt. But I squeezed back, even harder. “Oliver,” I said, like I could put everything I was feeling into that one word. It came out choked. “I wouldn’t force you. I won’t. Of course I won’t.”

  Relief washed over him like a calming wave, but I couldn’t feel what he felt. How could I possibly be what he needed me to be? How could I open myself up enough to accept the truth of him, only to let him disappear from my life without a fight?

  I didn’t know.

  I didn’t know anything anymore . . . except that there he was, and here I was, and there was too much space between us. So I wrapped my arms around him, wove my fingers into his soft, dark hair, and pulled him close, anchoring myself in the familiarity of his touch. When he leaned down and pressed his lips to mine, I could feel an urgency in his kiss that matched my own. He pulled me even closer, pressing himself against me like he wanted to disappear into me.

  And I let him, because it was the only thing I could do. I just hoped he could hear, somewhere in my thoughts, how sorry I was. Not just for wanting to use him to wish Xavier free, but for not understanding until now that no matter how much I’d trusted Oliver, it didn’t begin to compare to the amount of trust he’d placed in me.

  Chapter NINETEEN

  The next day, after French, I leaned against a bare stretch of hallway wall, keeping a sharp eye out for the person I needed to find. “Vicky!” I called, when I finally spotted her. I waved, and she fought her way through the crowd to get to me.

  “Hey, Margo,” she said, suspicion edging her tone. “Um. What’s up?”

  “I need to ask you a favor.”

  The phrase came out awkward and forced, and Vicky couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d said I was secretly a Martian and I’d come to take over the world. “I . . . what, really? Me? Why?”

  Leaning in closer, I lowered my voice. “Because you’ve seen Xavier before.”

  She hunched
down into herself, like she wasn’t sure whether or not I’d just accused her of something. “Oh, you mean at the bowling alley. Yeah. Why?”

  “I need to know if he was with anyone when you saw him. Like, someone who might be his master.”

  Vicky frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know, um . . . No, I don’t think so. I mean, he could have been, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I’m sorry.”

  I blew out a sigh. That would have been way too easy. So much for Plan A.

  “No worries,” I said.

  “Sorry,” she said again. “But I promise I’ll keep an eye out if I see him again, okay?”

  “Thanks, Vicky,” I said.

  I started to move past her, but she stopped me with a hand on my arm. “Hey, wait a second,” she said, and nervously licked her lips. “Can I ask you a favor, too?”

  “Really?” I said, before I could stop myself. “I mean . . . sure. What is it?”

  Vicky fidgeted with the straps of her backpack. “Um,” she began—but before she could say anything else, some boy walked by and nudged her shoulder. She jerked back in surprise, and he gave her a very obvious once-over, then grinned as he walked away.

  “Who was that?” I asked, looking after the boy. The hallway was getting less crowded. The bell would ring soon, which meant I would be late, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

  Her whole body seemed to sag. “I have no idea. But it happens all the time. It’s the stupid wish. That’s why I need a favor, Margo. I just—” She stopped abruptly, peering at me. “Wait. Oliver did tell you what I wished for, right?”

  I nodded.

  “That wish was the stupidest idea I ever had in my life,” she said, sounding like she wanted to hit something. “And it’s so embarrassing. I can’t even tell anyone. The only good part is, it didn’t affect everybody. And now I’m going around avoiding the people who suddenly want to be all over me, and seeking out the ones who don’t give a crap about me, because they’re the ones who make me feel normal.”

  Vicky raised an eyebrow. “And then there’s you.”

  A knife flashed in my mind, and I tensed at the memory of Saturday night in my car. That wasn’t her, I reminded myself firmly. But my voice still came out squeaky when I said, “Me?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “You hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you,” I said automatically, but if the words sounded as false to her as they did to me, then I was in trouble. I tried to remember if I’d ever acted as nasty to her as I’d felt. I didn’t think I had, but you can never be sure of those things.

  “Okay, maybe not hate. But you don’t like me—and that’s fine. I really don’t blame you. I mean, Naomi’s your friend, not mine. Uh . . . I mean, you guys are still friends after Saturday night, right?”

  Honestly, I had no idea if we were. Naomi still wasn’t speaking to me, and the idea that she might have complained about me to Vicky was . . . I didn’t know what it was, but it certainly wasn’t good. But I didn’t have time to think about that now, so I just shrugged, trying my best to look nonchalant.

  “Well, whatever,” said Vicky. “I’m just saying, she only hangs out with me because of the wish. And I knew you wanted my part in the play. I just wanted to be in the chorus, but the wish . . . I shouldn’t have gotten that part. And nobody seems to know it but you and me. And George, I think, but he’s too nice to say anything.”

  This was it. She was going to ask to use her third wish to undo the second. Everything would go back to normal, and maybe Miss Delisio would even recast the show. All I had to do was loan her the ring.

  It was Saturday night all over again.

  Oliver could tell the difference between Real-Vicky and Xavier-Vicky, but I couldn’t. This was him again. I was sure of it. I should be running. Why wasn’t I running?

  Vicky let out a deep breath, which sounded almost like a hiss in the quiet hallway. “Would you give me acting lessons?” she asked.

  “But I—” I paused. Rewound. “Wait, what?”

  She ducked her head a little, blushing. “Acting lessons. I know I’m doing everything wrong, but Miss Delisio won’t give me notes except if I’m standing in the wrong place or something. She just says I’m doing great, and I know I’m not, and . . .” She sniffed. “And we open really soon, and I don’t want to suck.”

  I let out a breathy laugh, giddy with relief. This was definitely not Xavier.

  “Yeah,” I found myself saying. “Sure, I can do that.”

  “For real?” said Vicky, her eyes going wide behind her glasses.

  I laughed. “Yeah, for real.”

  “Okay!” she said. “Awesome! When are you around? Is tonight all right?”

  “Actually, I’m seeing Oliver tonight.” I hadn’t made any actual plans with him, but I wasn’t sure I could figure out how to be a good teacher on a few hours’ notice. “How’s Thursday?”

  “Oh, um, okay. Oliver. Right. So you and he are really . . . ?”

  She looked keenly at me, and I smiled. “We’re something. Yeah.”

  “Good,” she said. She pressed her hands together, smiling to herself. “That’s good. He’s nice.”

  She seemed gratified, which didn’t make sense. “Yeah, he is,” I said. “But if you think he’s so nice, why’d you abandon him like that?”

  Her eyebrows shot up, and she pushed her glasses up her nose. “Abandon him?”

  “Well, yeah,” I said, with a wry little huff of laughter. “You gave up your third wish and left his ring in the girls’ bathroom, remember?”

  “I didn’t want another wish,” she said defiantly. “You saw how much my second one backfired. Can you really blame me? And I did not abandon him. I left it there so you could find it. I mean, I would’ve just given it to you, but . . .” She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you’d take anything from me.”

  “You wanted me to have it?” I said, bewildered. “Why?”

  She shifted her weight, dropping her gaze to the floor. “Well, I made you mad when Miss Delisio gave me your part in the play. And I made Oliver mad when I didn’t like the second wish he granted for me. So I figured I’d try to make it up to both of you at the same time. Give you three wishes of your own, give him more time with you.”

  “More time with me?” I repeated. “What do you—”

  “Come on,” she laughed. “Like you didn’t know. Ever since he watched the auditions, you were all he could talk about. ‘What class does Margo have third period?’ ‘Has Margo always been able to sing like that?’ ‘What’s Margo’s favorite band?’” She sighed. “Speaking of which, has he had a chance to impress you with his newly accumulated knowledge of Neko Case yet?”

  “That was you?” I blurted out. I’d assumed that Oliver had snapped his fingers and made himself a Neko fan for my sake, like the musical equivalent of becoming fluent in my language. But he’d learned about Neko the real way. Without magic.

  “Yeah,” she said. “It was just a guess that she was your favorite, but I mean, your entire Facebook page is her song lyrics, so . . .”

  “Oh,” I said. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  She shrugged. “I’m just glad it worked out, that’s all. You guys seem . . . Anyway, I have to get to class. I’m already late.”

  Before I could even get the words me too out of my mouth, she was gone.

  And I was no closer to finding a way to save Oliver.

  Chapter TWENTY

  A mandatory college-centric meeting with my guidance counselor kept me late after school. It didn’t last too long, but by the time I left, the student parking lot was mostly empty. I desperately wanted to call Oliver, but there was the small problem of his being able to read my mind. Now that I was looking for solutions to the Xavier problem, when he’d explicitly asked me not to, I didn’t exactly want him peeking into my thoughts.

  The way I saw it, the simplest plan would be to find Xavier’s master, take his vessel, and make a wish. It would be clean and easy, and I wouldn’t h
ave to involve Oliver at all. The only problem was, I had no way of finding out who his master was.

  Lost as I was in thought, I didn’t register anyone coming toward me until a hand waved right in front of my face. Startled, I stopped in my tracks. “Earth to Margo,” said Simon with a smirk. “I said hello.”

  “Oh! You scared me.”

  “I can see that,” he said. “Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re cool—as long as those videos never see the light of day again. Ever.”

  He blinked. “No. I mean the kiss. I’m sorry about the kiss.”

  Wrapping my arms around myself, I forced a laugh. “Oh, great. Just what every girl likes to hear.”

  “No, I mean I’m sorry I didn’t say anything afterward.”

  I sighed. “It was my fault, too. But whatever. It doesn’t matter. It was a whole year ago, and I’m over it, and I have Oliver now. Let’s both just forget it, okay?”

  His face fell, and his lips twisted in a pout just a little too exaggerated to be genuine. “I’d rather remember it,” he said. A feeling of uneasiness crept over me, though I didn’t know why—until he leaned over, cupped my cheek in one gloved hand, and kissed me.

  I’d crushed on Simon for so long, it actually took me a second to remember that I’d lost the desire to kiss him. But when that second was over, I shoved him away as hard as I could. “What the hell?” I said, wiping my lips on my sleeve.

  “What?” he said, spreading his hands to expand the question. “I thought you wanted—”

  “No, I didn’t want!” I cut in. “God, Simon, did you hear anything I just said?” His only response was a blank look, so I pushed past him and strode toward my car.

  But I’d only gotten a few steps before his voice called out, “Give my best to Ciarán.”

  I stopped. Slowly, I turned around to face Simon. He was still standing there calmly, regarding me with a detached sort of curiosity as he idly turned something over in his palm. It glinted in the weak afternoon sunlight.