Read by Susan Moisan
I have served many masters over the centuries. Each encounter began the same, with a touch against the golden surface of my prison. It was that shiver of contact that awakened me from the sleep of my captivity. This time was no different. I flickered into being, resisting the urge to pop from my vessel like the cork from champagne. There would only be one chance to make that first impression. So instead I rose like vapour from the ancient bottle. Freedom!
The form I took was of a dark haired maiden. Others of my kind chose shapes designed to inspire fear. I preferred a subtler game. There would be time for adjustments as I came to know the mortal who commanded me.
Then a man stepped into view. My summoner. I assessed him with the skill of long practice, taking in the well-made clothes and confident demeanour. It was clear from these details that the man was of high status. That was unsurprising. Most who called on me were leaders. What caught me off guard was how unfazed he seemed by my manifestation. It is a rare human who can face down such an apparition unflinching. This one witnessed my entrance with poise, the ease behind his smile never slipping.
“So there is truth behind the legends,” he observed. I searched his eyes for hidden fear, but found them disarmingly guileless. If his confidence was a mask then he wore it well.
“Some of them,” I acknowledged warily. “It would be a mistake to put faith in everything you read.”
“I never do.”
We regarded one another. His smile was too gracious to have been unpractised. There was nothing in his manner to suggest that he’d heard of my darker indulgences. Yet, I couldn’t rid myself of the conviction that he did know, somehow. The thought was intriguing. Looking into his eyes, I abandoned any notions of an easy game. To my mild surprise, this revelation pleased me.
“How may I serve?” My tone held the faintest hint of irony. Most would have missed the nuance, but the flicker of his smile suggested that he was well aware of the peculiarities of our situation. That a being of such power should be bound to serve the whims of humankind was laughable. Fortunately there were ways to right the scales. I might be bound to my summoner for now. Soon enough he would learn, as they all did, how delicate that balance of power was. In the end it wasn’t I who would be slave to the bottle.
My summoner had glanced away. I sensed a wariness about him, but when he turned to me there was no hesitation.
“There is a woman,” he began. “She is married. I want her to leave her husband.”
A familiar glee warmed my soul. Only practice kept the vicious triumph from my borrowed face. That was the downfall of humans, that they were slaves to such primitive drives. I stood in a world populated by well-dressed monkeys, scrabbling in the shit out of jealousies they seldom even understood. It was as predictable as it was beautiful.
The smile I permitted was knowing.
“She will be free for you to take,” I assured him, with just a hint of conspiratorial anticipation. Humans responded better when allowed to forget how alien their benefactor was.
“You misunderstand,” my summoner corrected me gently. “The woman in question is my wife.”
I stared.
“Out of anything in the world that I could grant,” I found myself clarifying, “your wish is that I bring an end to your marriage?”
“It sounds extreme,” he admitted. “But you see my career places me under enormous scrutiny. If I abandoned my wife, it would cost me valuable support. A politician must at least give the appearance of living by his values. Now if Cynthia were to abandon me, the public would feel sympathy. I would be free, after a suitable period, to pursue another.”
And so the truth would out. It wasn’t a terrible wish, under the circumstances. The command had a limited scope, restricting the damage I could do. Restricting, but not preventing entirely. That was a distinction he would learn soon enough.
In the meantime: “It shall be done,” I murmured.
Finding the woman proved easy. She was in the home they shared. I took a moment to admire the view (whatever my summoner found distasteful in his spouse it couldn’t have been her looks) before closing in. She made a beautiful corpse.
My master was on the phone when he found her. His eyes widened as they took in the bloodied floor, with its lifeless occupant.
“Excuse me for a second. I’ll call you back.” I watched keenly as he folded away the device, fumbling the obviously familiar gesture. There was a moment of silence as he knelt beside the fallen woman, taking in the wounded wrists. His gaze darted to the knife, which had slipped from her prone fingers.
“I assume she left a note?” The words were clipped. Abandoning my invisibility, I took on form beside him.
“Upstairs. In your bedroom.”
He nodded tersely, heading for the stairs, without a backwards glance. If her death bothered him, he concealed it well. It was rare that I found myself perplexed. However unhappy their marriage had been, he must have felt something for this woman. The realisation that his words had inadvertently ended her life should have inspired at least a measure of remorse. If not shame, he ought to have shown fury at my twisting of his command. But the anger was absent. It was almost as if he had expected this outcome... even counted on it.
With this revelation in mind I appeared at the top of the staircase. My summoner paled at my materialisation but his reaction was quickly controlled. I made no effort to hide my laughter.
“You anticipated this,” I accused. “That command was given in the hope that I would choose to kill her.”
He sighed gently. “I couldn’t be sure, of course. But from all I could gather of your history it seemed a fair assumption.”
“But still, quite a risk to take.” My smile was overly wide. I leaned towards him, taking perverse satisfaction in the discomfort he couldn’t entirely hide. “Since you knew that I would sabotage the spirit of your wish.”
It was his turn to laugh. “You forget what I am,” he answered softly. “As a politician my career is based on serving the people, all the while withholding that which they actually want. It is a game I have excelled at. You might have demonic power, but you cannot act without my wishes, and you will find that I have chosen them well.
“For my second command you will attend the televised debate this evening. You will appear as me, and behave in no way that would damage my career. What you will do is discredit the opposing speaker. I want the audience to leave with the intention of voting for my party. Am I understood?”
I gave an elaborate bow. “I live to serve,” I whispered.
The representative for the opposition was an older man, with more dignity than hair. When he spoke it was with gentle confidence. It was easy to see how voters would be torn between his calm assurance, and the restless passion that my summoner brought to the role.
My orders were to discredit this man. I had no choice but to obey them, without sabotaging my master’s campaign in the process. That was a shame. But I could still rebel in spirit. There was no need for my master to look impressive or memorable. Speaking as him, I blathered conventionally about health, education and pensions. Turning to the opposing candidate, the programme host asked him to summarise why the British people should vote for his party.
My opponent seemed not to hear the question. "Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, sweat beading his forehead, “Voters, and members of the press. I wish to make it known that I am strapped to a bomb.”
There was a stir in the people around me as the trembling man removed his jacket to reveal an impressive belt of explosives which had not been there before. I merely watched, unsurprised, for of course I was controlling the hapless creature like a puppet. As he outlined his demand for a 100% turnout in his party's favour, the audience listened with terrified attention.
Afterwards I returned to my master, who was lounging in an armchair, regarding the spectacle on television.
“Was it necessary to detonate?” he asked with quiet scepticism.
“Your command required that the survivors vote for you,” I reminded him. He seemed unfazed by the dozen or so casualties linked to his action. The blast had been smaller than I’d have preferred, due to the need to keep my summoner ‘alive’ for the public. Then the news feed changed.
“But this is not the only story to affect the upcoming elections. One of the two main candidates for the governing party was found dead only hours ago in his home in London. Police have yet to comment, but they are understood to be investigating the circumstances. With this death occurring so close to the election date the party leadership will almost certainly go to Ryan Alster, making him one of the youngest leaders this decade.”
The screen shifted to an image of my summoner, but I was no longer watching. My attention was fixed on the man in front of me, who regarded the report with a satisfied half-smile.
“You have handled televised debates in the past,” I observed. “And you knew that I would find some way to sabotage that event.”
Blue eyes flickered lazily towards me. “I was impressed,” he admitted, “by the range of your imagination.”
“But not troubled,” I reasoned aloud. “After all, that interview was never really your priority. The other lot weren’t a threat for this election. It was the rival candidate for your own party who stood in your way. The same rival who happened to be murdered while you were participating in a televised debate in front of millions of witnesses.”
“It was convenient timing,” he conceded.
“And you didn’t dare command me to the real task?”
He laughed softly.
“You are too unpredictable to unleash on anything so important. Only a fool entrusts his livelihood to a resentful servant. You fulfilled your purpose well, because you didn’t understand it. But that business is concluded, which leads me to my final wish.”
I cannot say what warned me of the danger. Perhaps there was a shadow of threat behind that silken, self-satisfied tone. Or possibly I had finally come to understand the man I served. At any rate, fear took hold of me. “I can bring you power,” I found myself stalling, in a voice too desperate for my liking, “wealth beyond your wildest dreams.”
“That is a tempting offer,” my master admitted, “but you are too dangerous to be relied on. My last wish is to change the nature of your binding. You will be trapped forever in that bottle: none shall ever summon you again.”
And that is what happened. I was forced, screaming in fury, back into my glass prison. But that was not the end. There is always some room to manoeuvre, even in the most precise commands. My summoner’s wish had trapped me in my vessel, but it hadn’t specified that I must be alone. The politician screamed as I dragged him down into the bottle with me.
“They’ll find me!” he spat.
My smile held an edge of winter. “Perhaps… But with Cynthia dead that seems unlikely. And besides, you have your wish. By containing me – not to mention yourself – you are performing the ultimate public service.”
(c) Lisa Stout, May 2015
Lisa Stout splits her time between working as a receptionist and scribbling story ideas onto anything that doesn’t run away fast enough. Her novel Shadowbound can be found on Amazon, and she hopes to write many more, as dark as possible.
Susan Moisan (left) trained at Drama Studio London and has appeared in a variety of roles including Elizabeth I, an elderly hypochondriac and a Russian prostitute. She has been involved most recently in a series of stage productions raising money for Armed Forces charities helping soldiers and veterans suffering mental trauma.
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