Chapter 3

Sunday evening. Six twenty-five. I had had the djinni for two weeks now, and my new life had settled into a routine. I was sitting on the couch with Rachel and Leah. I was wearing silk boxers (white with red dots), and they were wearing smiles. They ran their fingers through my hair.

"You would look so more distinguished with a beard. And then we could run our fingers though your beard."

The phone rang. It was Warren on the phone, trying to do his "adult" voice. "You've got to pick up me and Sis by seven, or Mom'll call the law out on you. She and Stephen have to go up to Tahoe for a "Sales Meeting" and Sis and I need to stay with you, and you need to get us to school every day by eight and Sarah has soccer on Tuesday and Thursday. We'll meet you by the school, but if Mom sees us there when she gets back from Stephen's at seven, it's curtains for you..."

"Hang in there Big W. Your ol' Dad to the rescue."

I heard a sniffle over the phone. His brave front was crumbling.

"Yeah, Dad, but it's hard. And Sarah cries at night, Why can't we come stay with you? I'd even give my room to Sarah."

Under the Visitation Agreement, I was supposed to get each kid separately for alternate weekends, or some such. There was one bedroom for the kids, and Warren referred to it as "his room." Lately, whenever I got them, I got them both together, and Warren slept on the sleeper sofa.

"Let me get my shoes. I'm on my way."

"I love you Dad. Drive safe."

"Love you, son." Click.

I headed for the bedroom to find some clothes. I knew my shoes were by the door, as Rachel and Leah preferred having me pad around barefoot. I dug into the pile of clothing that had been discarded Saturday afternoon after the Costco run. There was one of my usual knit shirts in the pile.

"Eeee yew." A hand offered me a fresh knit shirt in its place, and I pulled the fresh one on. It felt different than my other knit shirts, and I realized, silk. Socks? I didn't need socks. I can't drive without shoes, though. Shoes I needed. Shoes were by the door. Car keys were in the pocket of the jeans.

"We'll pick up, and how do you want to handle your kids? We can always go back in our lamps. We'll do anything you say, Master."

"I'll cook when I get back. That's something that they're familiar with. Life's going to be strange enough for them."

I headed out the door. The Porsche fired up, and I headed over to the bus platform at my kid's middle school. Aaron Burr. William Jefferson Clinton. Warren Gamaliel Harding, or some such notable.

Warren was busy being brave. It's hard when you're twelve, almost thirteen, and you know what a positive role model is supposed to be, and you know that you don't have one at home, and the last you saw of your father was seeing him crumbling in front of your eyes. I was afraid that he was afraid that no one would come to his college graduation: his mother would have something much more important to do, and I'd be gone.

Five to seven. They both looked up at the sound of the car. They knew the rumble of the Porsche, and could distinguish it from the other sounds of the suburban evening, long before the car itself could be distinguished. Warren opened the car door. "I'll sit in back."

The rear seat of the Porsche is basically an upholstered package shelf with seat belts. In Germany, they dispensed with the charade and sold the car as a two seater. Greater love hath no man for his little sister than to sit in the back. Warren tossed his knapsack onto the seat behind me and climbed in. Sarah was in the front seat as soon as she heard the latch snap, signifying that the seat back was locked in place. She leaned out for the car door.

"Seat belts."

"Always, Dad. We're not clueless."

"Hi."

Sarah snuffled. "Uhhh, hi, Dad. I was gonna have Cherie over after school tomorrow, but now that we're staying with you, it won't work for her..."

"We can work something out. But first I need to get you home. Did you bring any clothes?"

"No. we do our own laundry on Sunday evening. Neither of us had anything clean left that we could wear to school, and when Mom told us that we'd be spending the week with you, and that we had fifteen minutes to get over here before you picked us up, or she'd call CPS and say that you'd failed to perform according to the court-declared schedule, and that you were needed to provide shelter for us for the week as previously arranged, and could CPS come and handle the problem of you not cooperating with the courts. So I got Sarah's school stuff all in her knapsack, and I think most of my school stuff into my knapsack, and there are probably some library books that will be overdue next week that are lost somewhere in the house and we'll have to pay the fines out of our allowances, and we figured that we might be able to shake you down for a pair of jeans and a company golf shirt or three. After all, Dad, you don't golf."

Golf. More collateral damage of the Susan wars. Once upon a time I was a decent player and had a regular handicap.

"OK. Home. Dinner. We'll figure out some clothes. And we'll figure out our schedule for the week."

A sigh from the back seat. Warren was twelve going on thirty, desperately wanting to be twelve for a little while longer.

The drive home was a bit more sedate than the run to Aaron Burr Middle School, or Warren Gamaliel Harding Middle School, or whatever it was. Just as quiet.

I pulled the Porsche into my parking spot and killed the engine.

"I've got some friends staying with us. I think you'll like them, too."

"Geez, Dad, just like Mom." The sarcasm was biting.

"Say hello before you judge. If you don't like them, I'll send them away."

"Just for me?"

"For you and Sarah."

"OK."

The walk to my front door was silent, almost foreboding, but warm light spilled out my front window around the edge of the drapes. A happy murmur seemed to come from the house. I opened the door. Rachel and Leah were wearing their uniform of tan slacks, and this time, eBay logo knit shirts.

"This is Warren, and this is Sarah. And this is Rachel, and this is Leah." Knapsacks were dropped and hands were shaken.

Rachel smiled at me. "M... Herb, don't you care for your children any better than this? Bringing them home in dirty clothes? Sarah, you need to clean up, and then we'll get your Dad to cook some dinner." Rachel grabbed one of Sarah's hands and Leah grabbed the other and they led her off to the back bedroom.

Warren looked at. "Who are they, Dad? They work here in the Valley? And Mom is gonna cap your ass when she finds that someone who doesn't look like road kill actually talked to you."

"No, they don't work." Warren's face fell. He knew how far I had to stretch a dollar just to keep him and his sister clothed.

"They don't have to." I continued, "they're djinni."

"Dad, you've gone around the bend. I thought things were getting better. The other girls at school are suddenly looking out for Sarah, so can Sarah and I just get through this week, and then you can go back to... whatever." He started to cry, then set his jaw so that he would stop.

"What's that?" He indicated my new display cabinet, all maple and glass and halogen lighting.

"My new best friends."

"Dad, you've flipped."

"Look son, I'll show you. Open, Sesame." The cabinet unlatched. Warren gave an appreciative whistle. I reached in and rubbed the amber lamp. And the djinni appeared in front of me, wearing an eBay knit shirt and tan Dockers.

"I am the djinni of the lamp. I am yours to command. What is your desire, my Master?"

Warren fainted.

The djinni helped me drag Warren to the couch. We propped him up, and the djinni went to the kitchen for a glass of ice water.

"Welcome back. You will be 'Achmed.'"

"Thank you for naming me, Master. But your son needs all of your attention. Youth is resilient, and can recover quickly, but only if you are there to support his recovery."

Warren took a sip of the proffered water, then put it down on the coffee table.

"OK Dad. This is too weird for words. Too weird even for you. Spill."

"I found the lamps two weeks ago, and spent an afternoon cleaning Achmed's lamp. Then I rubbed it, and Achmed appeared."

"Real djinni?"

"Real djinni."

Achmed smiled. "Show him the watch."

It was still on the kitchen table, next to the salt and the pepper and the napkin holder. I brought it to Warren.

"Gee, Dad, a ten dollar Timex. Does it get any better than this?"

"This was part of my first lesson with djinni. I am responsible for all the repercussions from my requests. So I asked for a twenty and a Timex instead of a marble castle."

"Marble? You were leaning towards the limestone when I pointed out the problems. And you would look like the Grand Vizir if you grew a beard. He had me moving chairs."

"Moving chairs?"

"If a general stumbles over a chair, and will not meet with his captains because he does not want them to see that he has a black eye, and the king loses the war and his kingdom because the general lost a battle because the captains had not agreed on their strategies. Then all that was needed was a chair in the right place, and not armies and wagons and horses and warriors. The Grand Vizir made Sun Tsu seem like a braggart.

"Do you really want a castle?"

"Could I get a mountain bike? A real one?"

I looked at Achmed. "Same price point as that." I glanced over to my desk where Sarah's iPod had sat waiting for two weeks in all of its boxed glory.

"OK Big W. But this week, it's a Costco special. The fancy one comes later."

There was a "pop" and a bike appeared, leaning up against the drapes.

"I'll need to get you a bike lock, so you can't ride it to school until Tuesday or Wednesday."