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Bottle Banished - Dreaming of Genie

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 Sometimes Rules are meant to be broken

 

Why Bottles are Bad

Excerpt from Bottle Banished: Dreaming of Genie

 Bottle Banishment in the US―A Brief History

In the US, the act of banishing genies to bottles became protocol in 1894 when a high ranking government official stumbled upon a clandestine group of business men using an enslaved jinn to reap financial rewards with the Stock Market and at Churchill Downs. Their actions had created havoc with major investors, gambling systems, and the even the race horses. Controlling animals and people was possible for skilled genies. Something the government didn’t find tolerable unless they benefited.

Under the guise of eliminating society’s criminal elements, the FBI became official in 1909. Their mission was much broader than the public suspected. They created a top secret division whose sole objective was to hunt the jinn and genies that had made their home in North America with the massive influx of immigrants. Many had arrived with their human masters. Rogue genie hunters quickly got in on the action, some catching their paranormal prey for amusement, forcing them to perform in circuses or as sex slaves for the highest bidders.

By the 1980’s their race had dwindled significantly, making extinction a very real possibility. A majority of jinns and genies had been bottle banished…or worse.

Prologue
San Francisco, CA 1977
 
Genie
“No! Please!” Genie pleaded, her panic rising.

She’d been so careful, cautious to the point of paranoia. “Don’t do this. I will serve you well. I will grant you a wish, any wish.” She struggled to find her tormentor’s one hidden desire. A desire she alone could fulfill.

Until this moment, where others had failed, she had managed to avoid bottle banishment.

Genie prided herself on her ability to stay at least one step, preferably more, ahead of the hunters. She’d survived to 1977 without losing her freedom. It seemed after centuries, her luck had at last run out.

How could I have been so blind?

Trapped inside the dreaded ring of chalk-drawn runes and magical sigils, she was defenseless. Her own magic rendered useless by an ancient spell, cast with assurance, by the smirking hunter gripping her future glass prison in his hand. This hunter, she guessed, was not government sanctioned. His methods appeared less refined, though just as effective. She hated to imagine what he had in store before imprisoning her.

“I sense your fear,” he chuckled, sounding crazed. “See this bottle? You, my beauty, are going inside, where you will stay. I hope you have a strong stomach. I’ve heard ocean waves…”

“Just do it! You offend me!” Her voice wavered despite the brave words.

As a creature of fire, she despised water. To be water bound for eternity was a genie’s worst nightmare. The hunter wanted her to suffer.

His jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed. “I’m tempted to tear that ridiculous harem outfit off and ruin you like your kind ruined my family.”

Genie gasped, stunned by his revelation. She forgot her precarious position long enough to ponder his words. One of her brethren had clearly harmed this hunter’s family, driving his desire for revenge. Never had she hurt a human or used her powers for evil.

Why must I be punished for another’s crime?

“Don’t like that idea, do you? Be glad I’m not into whores, even pretty ones.” Extending the bottle, his gaze hardened. With conviction, he chanted the words every genie feared and hoped to never hear, confirming what she suspected.

Nothing she could offer would stop him.

A sudden explosion knocked her back. She hit hard against the circle’s border, the impact ripping the air from her lungs; still, the hunter’s wards held strong. The resulting flash stole her vision just before another blast created a whirlwind, erasing her human body and turning her to smoke. Sucked into the glass prison, she landed with a thud, her rump hitting the bottle’s floor, firing a spike of pain up her spine. She had morphed into a three inch version of herself.

Forcing her eyes open, she was met with a harsh reality. Unlike a certain popular television show, featuring a genie and astronaut, her bottle wasn’t furnished with plush sofas and colorful cushions. It was barren, boring, and lacked any comforts. The sole thing keeping Genie from complete panic was the awareness that once sleep found her, she wouldn’t awaken again unless the bottle was uncorked.

That might be a long time coming, if ever.

“Ouch!” she cried, hating how squeaky her voice sounded as she bounced from one side to the other, slamming against the glass. Her captor intended to make her final journey an unpleasant one.

When at last her purple prison splashed into the water, she was too banged up to worry about his wave-warning. She scanned her surroundings a final time, noticing the gleam of gold lettering etched around the bottle’s exterior. Unable to make sense of the writing, she hung her head, giving into despair.

To her relief, the rocking motion soon lulled her closer to sleep, rather than causing the promised sea sickness.

Closing her eyes for the last time, she accepted her fate. 

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