Sir Sweeps-A-Lot freezes for half a tempo, and I wince as I sense the chaos gathering like a storm.
He launches into action, sweeping around her ankles. Her hem lifts. She spins. He sweeps again, aggression and determination in every movement. His bristles catch more silk, and the layers of shimmering fabric are whisked away like fall leaves in a strong breeze.
“Stop. This is a rare Midas fabric,” Henrietta shrieks.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins, a length of her sash wrapped around his handle like a trophy.
I cover my eyes, then peek through my fingers to watch the disaster. Genie lunges for the broom. “Release the lady!”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot dodges, and in a moment of bratty behavior, sweeps the fabric once more. Another layer of fabric vanishes into a neat little pile on the floor.
Henrietta now stands in far less clothing, her face a picture of fury. She grabs a cushion and hurls it at the genie. “I was promised a romantic evening, not an enchanted stick with an attitude.”
Back at the lakeside, I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter.
In the vision, Sir Sweeps-A-Lot continues his crusade and sweeps the last bit of trailing silk clean off her shoulders.
She shrieks. The genie yelps. The lake vision flickers and blurs out her genie bits.
The orchestra of teacups hits a dramatic note and then stops.
Silence.
Henrietta points at the broom. “It touched my hems.”
“He is very dedicated to hygiene,” the genie whispers.
She glares at him. “Call me when your cleaning implements learn manners.” With a dramatic swirl, she vanishes.
The vision fades, and the lake goes still again.
I burst into laughter. “He stripped your date.”
“He decluttered her,” the genie corrects.
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot shivers in his arms like he’s proud of his work.
Malachi snorts. “He was just trying to help.”
“Help?” the genie snaps. “He turned a romantic evening into a textile massacre.”
I grin at the broom. “At least he has initiative.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot wiggles.
Genie sighs and releases the broom. “He is banned from the lamp until further notice.”
“Don’t be mean,” I say. “He’s an expert judge of character, and he decided she wasn’t worth your time.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot perks up again and sweeps a little circle in the dirt, as if proving my point.
Nash places a hand on my shoulder. “I think you corrupted him.”
I beam. “Chaos likes company.”
Sir Sweeps-A-Lot spins in agreement.
I rise and start undoing the ribbons across my breasts.
