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But I also can’t let him hurt anyone else.
Mattie lasted months, enough to pave the way for years of success. We’ve only had two weeks together, but needing more every time I wish or that we have sex means exponential demand. It might only have lasted months for Mattie because she didn’t know the danger sooner.
At least I can’t complain about the frisky parts, but what is now usually twice a day is definitely wearing me out. I might even get sick of it.
Maybe.
When wishing, if it isn’t for a snack or something mundane, I try to keep my requests to things that better help me know Odai—who he was, how he lived, what he’s seen and experienced.
So, on Wednesday night, I ask him, “When you were a performer, did you enjoy it? Is it something you’d want to do again?”
Madame Mattie’s is closed by seven on nights without midnight tours, so we have the entirety of the main floor to ourselves, sitting on the sofa, enjoying the open space rather than remaining cooped up in my bedroom.
Odai grins, one arm draped over the back of the sofa toward me like an unconscious—or maybe very conscious—effort to keep me close.
“Do you ask wondering if I would like to join your tours in the role of incubus someday?”
“No! Unless that’s something you’d like. Is it?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps reliving that part of my life would not sit well with me over time, but I did always enjoy performing. I love storytelling, song, dance.”
“Me too. Odai?” I scoot a little closer to him. “If it isn’t too painful to share, can I wish for you to show me some of your favorite things you used to perform when you were human? You’ve seen me perform. I want to see you.”
Odai lights up as if I granted a wish of his. “I would like that very much. Which would you like to see? A song, a story, a dance? For my people, performances can involve all three.”
“Whatever you want, so long as it’s one of your favorites.”
“Then let us start, beautiful one, with a dance.” Odai takes my hand and yanks me from the sofa.
“Oh, I—”
“Most dances require more than one person to be enjoyed.”
I can’t not go with him after that, so I allow Odai to lead me onto the open floor.
“We also need music.” He snaps his fingers and music swells from all sides, as if playing through speakers in the walls. It is exactly what I expect: that Middle Eastern sound of varyingly pitched string instruments and flutes, commanding the body to move to their rhythm.
Odai keeps my hand, positioning us side-by-side. I don’t even care that the windows mean anyone could see us. We start simple, with sways, steps to the side, and rotating kicks. Once I have the basics down, Odai swings me in front of him to change who is on which side, and we do the same moves again, with Odai sliding in front next time. Again and again, we move across the floor, until we nearly reach the door, and Odai spins me for us to head the other way.
I laugh any time I trip over my feet. I didn’t wish for him to teach me, but I’m glad he does.
“There are dances that tell specific stories, but we will need a change in music for my favorite.” He snaps his fingers again, and the upbeat music becomes softer. “We are a bit encumbered for this one, however.”
Flourishing his hands up and then sweeping them downward, as they cross his body, his clothing changes to that of the adornments and loincloth I first found him in.
I really like that outfit, but maybe I do care if people see us. “I wish that anyone looking through the windows sees this place empty.”
“Granted.”
Odai’s dark skin is beautifully accented by the gold jewelry. He is broad and toned and so tempting to touch, especially sheened in sweat from how much we’ve danced already.
He gyrates toward me, hips and waist moving like a belly dancer, and with a new clasp of my hand and sudden twirl, as soon as I am facing him again, my clothing has changed too. It’s slightly less revealing than his, though the skirt-like lower half has waist-high slits. Fabric for a top wraps around my neck. The amulet, usually hidden beneath my shirt, hangs beneath where the fabric crisscrosses over my pecs. My hair that was twisted into a bun is down now and curled like on a night as Mattie. While Odai’s colors are lavender and deep violet, he’s made mine periwinkle and royal blue.
“Some dances are performed alone.” He twirls me again, so I am facing forward. “But I can show you.” One hand holds my arm, the other at my hips, as Odai moves me in time with his body.
“Is this the fabled dance of the seven veils?” I tease.
“You know the tale of Ishtar’s descent into the underworld?”
