Genie Knows Best by Judi Fennell

so sure. Why not?” She nodded at the satyr. “Lead on, MacDuff.”
    “You mean Stavros, Samantha,” Dirham piped up. “That’s his name.”
    Samantha didn’t answer. Semantics. Her whole new world was being governed by semantics.

9
    Stavros looked anything but happy as he led them through the administration building toward his office, which, combined with the looks of the city, had Kal on edge. If they hadn’t dropped into the middle of one of the gnomes’ melees, he would have addressed the issue then, but he’d been more concerned with keeping Samantha out of harm’s way than with the state of the union here.
    But all was definitely not right in the state of Izaaz, a fact that had been brought home when he’d seen Bart. The wyvern was always trouble, and Kal would have whisked Samantha out of there, except that she’d decided to stay. Unless one of the dragons aimed deadly fire at her—or she made a wish to the contrary—they were staying put.
    “I could go for some of Aleka’s baklava , Stavros.” Dirham hopped beside the satyr. “Or what about the tsoureki ?”
    “No, my little friend. No more tsoureki , and we’re all out of baklava . Aleka’s is closed.”
    “What?” Kal asked the question at the same time that Dirham squeaked it.
    Stavros held up a hand. “And Martina’s, too.”
    “Why?” Kal opened the door—the upper portion to Stavros’s lower one. “What happened? Martina has made the best chicken Florentine ever since da Vinci designed her ovens.”
    “She said she was tired of cooking.” Stavros scratched his eyebrow. “Imagine. A cook who doesn’t like to cook. This place, it’s not the same.”
    “So where can we get a bite to eat?” asked Dirham, landing on a chair. Which broke, but the fox picked himself up, his perpetual smile firmly in place. “Palm Street looks all closed up. Is it a holiday, or is everyone on vacation?”
    “Something like that, though Seamus and the boys keep McKeever’s open. But I wouldn’t recommend trying to get something to eat there. It’s become their hangout, and the barkeep left a long time ago.”
    Kal didn’t like the sound of this. He didn’t like the looks of everything, either. Granted, he hadn’t been here for a while, but the last time he’d been in Izaaz, the city had rivaled the Djinn capital of Al-Jannah for beauty. It had been full of color and life, the complete opposite of this dried-up husk of a town.
    Plants and flowers had grown like wildfire, and blankets of poppy fields had bordered lush lawns. The palms had been full and green, their coconuts the color of gemstones. The smell of hyacinth and jasmine had sweetened the air, and the buildings had been painted in pastel colors so that when he’d stood at either end of the street, he’d seen those rainbows Dirham was so fond of. Even the sand had been a, well, sandy color, not bleached white, and the stained glass, cut gemstones, and mosaic tiles that had decorated everything had made the city sparkle. It was why he’d thought to bring Samantha here.
    Something drastic had to have happened to leach the color from everything. And when he stepped into Stavros’s office, he realized that more than just the color had been leached out: motivation, purpose. Hygiene .
    Clutter was everywhere, and not the normal workday paper filings and messages tacked all over the place. Boxes of takeout—from Martina’s—were stacked in a corner. A rotary fan with a blade missing thwumped on top of a filing cabinet that was missing a drawer, its cord frayed at the outlet. Grime covered the window, making it seem to be dusk instead of almost noon, and the coffee in the mug on the desk resembled the La Brea tar pits. Stavros had been working behind that desk for at least as long as Kal had been alive so it very possibly could be.
    About the only thing that was in good condition was the frame around Colette’s picture. Stavros had adored his wife.
    Kal held a swinging electric cord