Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 101: Harrington’s Success
San Francisco, 1834
When the Maristela Bracelet isn’t worn I slip into a dormant state inside the bracelet. However, dormancy isn’t a silent non-existence. It’s a kind of drifting ... a slow, weightless suspension in which time loses its edges. I do not dream. I do not think. I do not feel the world in any way that I can easily explain. But I’m not gone. I am held suspended between two worlds ... a transitional ... perhaps, transcendental ... state that Ixchel calls ‘Yohualli‑Nahui’.
I still feel the faint echo of Ixchel’s last touch, although years must have passed. Years that pass without shape. I don’t know the seasons. I don’t know the land beneath me. I don’t know the man who carries me.
But I feel motion ... it’s a long rhythmic flow of an ocean. I feel cold fog. I feel the creak of wooden beams. I feel the distant pulse of a city being born.
Then, one day, I feel him. Edward Harrington. His presence is sharp, angular, and restless ... the same man who tore the bracelet from Ixchel’s wrist. I can sense the same ambition in him that burned through the Yucatán like a fever. He doesn’t touch me directly. I feel him through cloth, through wood, through the faint vibrations of his voice.
He is older now ... nearing forty. More confident. More certain of his place in the world.
I drift in the darkness of a travel chest as he steps onto a new shore and a quiet settlement.
San Francisco.
The town is small ... a few hundred residents at most ... but it hums with potential ... a low, eager vibration that brushes against me like a curious hand. Harrington breathes it in, delighted. He speaks of opportunity, of land, of influence. His voice is warm with the triumph of his explorations in Yucatán.
He doesn’t think of Ixchel. He doesn’t think of Yalitza. He doesn’t think of the true nature of the bracelet he stole, or his betrayal of the trust the two Zapotec women had placed in him.
He thinks only of himself.
I drift in my dreamless sleep. Days pass. Weeks. Months. Then I feel a new presence ... a softer, gentler presence, and one that is uncertain. A woman. Eleanor.
Her touch is light, hesitant, and curious. She lifts the bracelet from the chest, turning it in her hands. I feel her pulse ... warm, but faint. Her presence is like a thin thread, barely reaching me.
She doesn’t sense me. She doesn’t know what she hold in her hands. She only sees a beautiful bracelet, an ancient artefact her new husband brought from distant lands, and gave to her as a wedding gift.
She smiles and she puts the Maristela Bracelet on her wrist.
The moment her skin touches the gold glyph on the inside surface of the bracelet, I feel a spark. It’s small and fragile, flickering like a candle in wind. It isn’t enough to fully awaken me. Not enough for me to communicate with her without her touching the bracelet’s three gems that summon me. But it’s enough for the bracelet to sense her wishes.
At first, she only wears the bracelet on special occasions. Her wishes are small and made without deep thought. Without being able to communicate with her, I’m unable to guide her away from making wishes that cause unwelcome consequences. Over the first few weeks she makes several casual wishes without realising the magic she is triggering:
“I hope the dinner goes well.”
“I hope Edward’s business improves.”
“I hope we have a peaceful month.”
The magic responds automatically, without nuance, without guidance. I drift in a state of awareness, but I’m unable to shape the outcomes ... unable to warn Eleanor of the cost. On the surface Eleanor achieves her wishes. A guest known to be argumentative has a sore throat and sits silent throughout the meal. A contract arrives unexpectedly. A dispute resolves itself sooner than anticipated.
Although Eleanor finds San Francisco very different from her childhood home, she is pleased with their life in this quiet windswept town. Harrington is triumphant, and his success reflects on her. Eleanor’s own circle of friends grows.
Between each wearing of the bracelet I once again become dormant. The bracelet keeps track of events and I experience the continuity of Eleanor’s life even though I’m only present in brief disjointed moments.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.