‘We all knew something magical was in the air.’
‘We just didn’t realise who or what it was.’
Gigi chuckled as they chatted among themselves, but even his voice sounded diminished. Shrunken, as if he was no longer the confident, often arrogant genie Beth had grown to love. Love? It came in all shapes and sizes. Lesson learned.
‘Erm, can we wrap this up soon?’ said Sam. ‘I’ve a book signing in Edinburgh later.’
Jinnie raised her eyebrows at Sam. ‘Darling, you’re off the demi-Djinn hook and we’re all emotional wrecks. Scrawling your name on a few paperbacks can wait.’
Sam looked put out. Perhaps the ‘few’ had stung.
‘Beth,’ said Gigi.
She reached out, grasping Gigi’s hands. ‘You’re d-disappearing,’ she stuttered. ‘What happens – I mean, what do we do with the pinball machine when you’re gone?’
‘Keep it, store it, bin it. It doesn’t matter. Once the Wish Master has gone, it is a mere relic of a bygone era.’
‘Sounds like me,’ said Wilma.
‘Shush, Gran,’ said Jinnie.
‘It is almost time.’ Gigi smiled, but tears glistened in his eyes. Tears matched by those in Beth’s. No, now her tears cascaded down her cheeks. She felt a sharp pang of loss. Not like the loss of her precious babies: nothing would ever match that. This … this felt like losing a dear friend. A pal, and a confidante.
‘But is itreallythe end?’ said Jo.
As she spoke, the butterfly zapped around the room, its iridescent shimmer dimming, glitter tumbling from its wings.It landed lightly on everyone’s head, finally resting on Gigi. A second later, it was gone.
‘Does this mean no more genies in Cranley?’ Sam gave a helpless shrug before pulling Jinnie into his arms.
‘Will we ever see anyone like you again?’ asked Wilma. ‘Or is that top-secret, hush-hush stuff?’
Gigi puffed out a breath. It vaporised as if the air was ice cold. ‘Mortals get endings: I just reset. But you, Beth – you grew.’
The words lingered, heavier than the glitter still drifting lazily to the floor. Gigi’s outline softened, his edges blurring like breath on glass.
‘You can’t just reset,’ Beth said, clinging to him. ‘And I hate goodbyes.’
‘So do I, although I’ve been practising for centuries.’ He winked, though the wink juddered. ‘Besides, magic never really leaves. It lingers.’
Wilma snorted. ‘Like a bad smell, which reminds me of DJ.’
Gigi laughed, the sound thinning. ‘Cranley’s a funny little place. It has a constant electricity, like a plug socket that’s never switched off. You lot did that. Community, kindness, chaos. My favourite cocktail.’
The pinball machine flickered. The lights dimmed. One final, triumphant jangle rang out, then silence.
‘Beth,’ Gigi said softly, ‘it has been a pleasure to serve you.’
He pressed a kiss to Beth’s forehead. It felt warm. Solid. Real.
Then he was mist. Then sparkle. Then nothing at all.
The pinball machine sat inert, its dull glass reflecting a group of stunned villagers and a disgruntled cat.
‘Well,’ Sam said eventually, ‘that’s another moment to add to the Cranley craziness collection.’
Kieran laughed shakily and wrapped Beth close. She rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Outside, a sound like a volley of fireworks disturbed the silence, then ceased.
