Best Wishes

The coffee shop was busy, but not crowded. It was a nice day and most people were getting their orders to go. Alan sat on a comfortable easy chair near the window as he sipped his latte and browsed Reddit. He considered getting back in line to order a biscotti from the miserable barista behind the counter when he noticed a heavyset man in a paisley shirt standing over his shoulder, studying him.

"Ata Kamil? Is that you?" the man asked. Alan craned his head toward the man. It had been two centuries since their last encounter, but Alan recognized him immediately. Ikram seemed to have settled on a style long ago: same thick mess of hair, same long, thin sideburns.

"Ikram. It's good to see you," Alan leaned across the small coffee table and shook Ikram's hand. "I go by 'Alan' now," he added.

Ikram furrowed his brow as he glanced down at Alan's expensive suit and the latest Apple gadget in his hand. "Alan. Very modern." He settled into a chair on the other side of the coffee table. "So, how have you been?"

"Well, it's been a long time. I've served many masters since the one you obliterated in Morocco."

"I was not going to bring that up. It was just business, you know."

"It's fine, all's forgiven. Can I get you a coffee?" Alan started to rise, but Ikram waved for him to sit down.

"No, no. I was going to get a sandwich, but they are out of vegetarian options. I was about to leave when I saw you."

"You've stopped eating meat? Too bad. That pesto turkey wrap is pretty sweet."

"Not too sweet for the turkey in it."

Alan smiled. He casually glanced around the cafe to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping. "And are you in service now?"

"Yes." Ikram shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "My master is a beggar woman...well, former beggar. Now she is a actress. You may have heard of her, um. Brighton Saunders?"

"Oh, yeah? Wow..." Alan shook his head and stated the obvious. "Well, she's terrible."

Ikram burst into laughter. "The worst." He rested his chin on his hand. "It is not much of a twist, her lack of talent, but she worded the command pretty carefully. I would have loved to have turned her into a famous dog or mule or something, but she made sure to specify that she would remain human."

"Oh, the selfish ones. Well, you were always the pretty good with the curve balls."

"Not as good as you," Ikram said. "How many twelve-inch pianists have you granted over the years?"

Alan burst into laughter; Ikram instantly joined in. A youngish couple with fresh coffees glanced down as they passed by them. Irkam wiped away a tear and caught his breath. "This is nice. I barely can get away nowadays, and to run into you. Well, this is something."

"I agree," Alan said, nodding. Ikram returned the nod, then lowered his gaze, quiet. Alan studied him, this all-powerful force locked into the wishes of others. It seemed backwards to him now, those things that were just the way they were the last time they had seen each other.

Ikram took a deep breath and mustered a smile. "And what about you, Alan? Who is your latest master?"

Alan's smile returned. He looked around. The coffee line was comprised of just one person now, who was berating the miserable barista over some screwed-up order. The couple quietly chatted at a table against the wall. Alan, now serious, reached into his inside jacket pocket and dragged out a necklace. On the end, swung a small brass trinket, shaped like a seashell. Ikram's mouth dropped open.

"No!" he said. "That can't be."

"It's true." Alan bowed his head and a roasted red pepper sandwich appeared on the table between he and Ikram. He gestured that it was all his if he wanted it. Ikram stared at the sandwich, his mouth still agape.

"But...how?"

"I found out a good fast ball is almost as good as a curve ball. I was controlled by a confused, young man who didn't know what he wanted out of life. I took advantage of that, suggesting at each step that charm was the thing he lacked. He grew angry, not wanting to waste a wish on something only others would enjoy."

"He fell for the limited wishes thing?" Ikram snapped his fingers. "You know, I try that every time. But they either figure it out or simply keep making wishes out of desperation."

"He would have gotten there too, for sure. But, like I said, he didn't have a game plan. So he saved the first three commands, held onto them for years in fact. Even when things got rough, he wanted to make sure that he got them just right. And all the while I kept suggesting charm was the thing he lacked. But, naturally, he settled for the trio."

"Health, wealth, and lots of sex," Ikram recited by rote. Alan pointed at him and winked.

"But once I granted his fourth wish, he realized I'd been lying to him and that I'd be with him as long as he had this." Alan held up the seashell trinket, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. "And once Kyle reached that new level of anger, I knew I had him. The next time that he got drunk, I again suggested to him that he should wish for charm, something he'd heard from me a thousand times by that point. He glared at me and the shittiest little smile spread across his face. 'Genie,' he said, 'I wish you had charm'.

Ikram sat back, amazed. "And now you do."

Alan smiled as he slid the seashell necklace back into his jacket pocket.

"Brilliant," Ikram said, shaking his head in disbelief. "An absolutely brilliant ploy." He leaned in, his eyes bright. "And this Kyle? What became of him?"

Alan nodded toward the miserable barista behind the counter. Ikram read the name tag on his shirt and began rocking in his seat, trying to control a new wave of laughter as best he could. Eventually, he regained composure. "That is a thing of beauty. And he has no memory of any of it?"

"Just enough to know that his life now sucks in comparison." Alan drank the last of his latte.

"Well, that is just...wow." Ikram grew silent again. "Well, I am happy for you, Ata...Alan. But for those of us not so ingenious, there is still the job." Ikram stood. "I must leave. Miss Saunders is throwing a gala tonight. For this, I am cooking, catering, valeting...you get the idea."

Alan stood and extended his hand. They shook. "Please." He gestured toward the vegetarian sandwich, now in a takeout box.

"No, thank you," Ikram said. "I trust you, but I feel bound to honor my servitude and not accept offerings."

Alan nodded, remembering the sensation of invisible restraints on every limb. Ikram returned a weak smile as he headed out of the cafe.

"It was good to see you again," he said.

Watching him go, Alan crossed over to the coffee line and ordered a biscotti. He could have simply wished himself a biscotti, along with pretty much anything else he might have wanted, but he liked to be served by Kyle. And, though it would certainly test the boundaries of his powers, one day he'd like to be served by all of his former masters. Even the one Ikram took care of in Morocco.

As he waited for the sullen man to bring him the crunchy baked good, Alan thought about the arbitrary line between magic and determination, wishes and objectives. With a thought forming in his mind, he decided that he'd like to check out Brighton Saunders' party and tell her what a terrible actress she is. This might set something interesting in motion for Ikram. Not an offering, but a start. Who knows where it might lead?

Kyle, unaware of the command he once held over the man in the expensive suit, presented his former master with the biscotti. Alan, polite as always to Kyle, asked the miserable barista if he could please get his order to go.