“For the dozing portion.”
“Creepy. Genie, we’re pausing for the night,” I call out. He pops into existence with Sir Sweeps-A-Lot shivering in his grasp. “Why are you holding my broom hostage?”
Genie glares at him. “He’s in a timeout.”
“What happened?” I ask as I plonk my ass down and pull off my boots and socks. Nobody is going to keep me from a dip in the moonlit water.
“He claimed he could help spruce up the place for my date.”
My shoulders slump. I’m a terrible friend for forgetting my genie had a date. “How did it go? You got rid of the green at least.”
He scowls at Sir Sweeps-A-Lot. “The green genie is yesterday’s news. This diurnal, it’s all about the lamp. A genie of my stature can’t waste time on glory chasers.”
The knights chuckle alongside me. “I see, and how did Sir Sweeps-A-Lot land in a time-out?”
“Picture this.” He waves his hand in the air, and a hazy scene appears over the lake.
The water ripples, then smooths out like a polished mirror. Inside it, a grand golden chamber takes shape. Velvet cushions in jewel tones are scattered everywhere, fountains bubble with something that looks like pink lemonade, and sheer curtains float in a breeze.
“Oh my,” I whisper. “It’s like a boudoir had a baby with a treasure chest.”
“It’s a curated magical residence with forgiving lighting,” the genie corrects.
A golden chaise lounge, draped in silk, sits in the center. A tray of fruit floats by of its own accord, while a tiny orchestra of teacups plays a romantic tune in the corner.
“Your lamp has an orchestra?” I ask.
“They’re pricey,” he mutters. “But I wanted to show how serious I was.”
In the vision, the genie—wearing a deep purple vest—paces.
“I was preparing for Henrietta’s visit,” he explains. “Mood lighting. Fresh fruit. I even rearranged the cloud seating into a more conversational configuration.”
“Very classy clouds,” I agree.
“Thank you. They took hours to whip into shape since they’re always trying to float away.”
The vision shifts as a swirl of glitter appears inside the lamp. A woman steps out of it—tall, elegant, and wrapped in layers of flowing midnight silk.
“That’s her?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says with a smile that tells me how much he likes her. “Henrietta of the Sapphire Sands. Collector of rare lamps. Breaker of hearts. Owner of the most judgmental eyebrows in the realm.”
Henrietta glances around the chamber, lifts one of the floating grapes, and inspects it as if it offended her.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot floats into the vision, drifting in through the curtains like a noble guardian of cleanliness.
“Why is he in your lamp?” I ask. “I thought you kept him elsewhere?”
Genie scowls. “Because someone,” he glares at the broom in his arms, “maintains that he saw a speck of dust.”
In the vision, Sir Sweeps-A-Lot makes a dramatic sweeping motion across the floor. A clean, sparkling floor.
Henrietta blinks.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot sweeps again, catching the edge of her silk sash, and the fabric slides. Just a little.
Henrietta gasps and grabs it. “Excuse you.”
