Genie Knows Best by Judi Fennell Page B

Faruq had been incarcerated.
    Kal put Izaaz’s magical updates on his mental to-do list for when he was in office. He’d be cleaning up a lot of messes, Faruq’s and otherwise.
    He started with the mess on the chair in front of Stavros’s desk, magicking the clutter into the drawer he restored on the file cabinet, all under the rationale of providing Samantha with a place to sit. For himself, he brushed a pile of stuff away from the end of the desk and leaned his hip against it.
    Something crashed to the floor, eliciting a yelp from Dirham when it clipped his hind end. The fox raced out the door, scattering papers all over the place.
    Stavros shook his head when Kal went to straighten them up. “Don’t worry about them, Kal. One more mess won’t change things here.”
    Definitely the wrong attitude. No wonder the place had gone down the tubes.
    Kal grabbed an old paper bag and an issue of Izaaz Weekly that had landed on the curled toe of his left khussa . The newspaper was dated ten months ago. Shaking his head, he grabbed the carburetor that had fallen as well and set them all on the top of the file cabinet.
    “It hasn’t been that long since Faruq was arrested, Stavros. How did this place go downhill so quickly?”
    The satyr rested his elbows on the desk. A sweet potato chip crunched beneath one. “It was as if we had a blackout. News hit town and that was it. No one has done anything since that day except sit around and play chess or start a fight. And half the time the chess matches end up in fights so I have to referee. I swear, I’m going to turn this badge in for a whistle.”
    He lifted the coffee mug and swirled it around. Kal would swear none of the liquid moved even a bit.
    “Once upon a time,” Stavros continued, “my job, as Maille pointed out, was basically ceremonial. But now? I’ve tried to organize everyone. Round them up. Make them care. Hades, the ceiling hasn’t been regulated in months; you can see what the sun’s done. I’m worried that mortals’ satellites are going to find us soon.
    “Although, ironically, deregulation actually helped with that because every plant from here to the Weeping Wall has been fried, camouflaging us against the rest of the desert. But no one seems to care that we’re living in less than ideal circumstances and could be discovered at any time.”
    “But how do they live? How do they eat? And a weeping wall?” Samantha slid a pile of poker chips aside and set the lantern on Stavros’s desk.
    “Izaaz’s magic provides for the citizens,” Kal answered, having done a study of it for the new High Master’s thesis he was working on since Faruq had gotten his mitts on the old one. And this situation proved his point: magic wasn’t the be-all everyone thought. A three-wish limit was a better course of action.
    “Pegasus struck the sand with his hoof at what is now the Weeping Wall, creating an unending waterfall that formed the oasis that became Izaaz. Eventually, as the town grew, it became a landing place for displaced beings. As your world loses its wonderment, its belief in the impossible, as it becomes more information-driven, more reality-based, and the population grows and infiltrates so-called mythical beings’ environments, those beings migrate here. Where they can be themselves and not have to hide their powers from mortals. Where they can be who they are and live life as they were meant to.” At least in theory. In practice, though, that obviously wasn’t the case.
    “But if they have powers, why can’t they fix everything?” Samantha asked.
    “No one has the kind of magic you’re talking about,” said Stavros. “Not like Kal’s. Ours is specialized. Dragons used to fill the skies, keeping the peace and the balance with mortals. Dwarves managed the earth and its minerals, fairies the forests, gnomes the land, Kismet and her flocks of birds the skies. Nature entrusted the balance to all of us.
    “But through the advancement of your