A Billion More Wishes

By Christopher McDevitt

Dennis Harkness is left behind to fend for himself, genie-less. His ex-fiancee, Jenny, and his Djinn pal, Djosar, have traveled to the Genie home-plane while he remains tries his best to put out all the fires he caused with his previous wishes. Angry billionaires, suspicious police and wacky inmates hound and harass him at every turn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher McDevitt
• Release date: Jul 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310057052

Christopher McDevitt

Christopher McDevitt is a former stand up comedian and generally awful person. The married father of one lives in New Jersey where he trains Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and dreams of getting the hell out of that state for a much warmer climate.

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A Billion More Wishes

Christopher McDevitt

Copyright 2014 by Christopher McDevitt

Smashwords Edition

A Billion More Wishes

By

Christopher McDevitt

Copyright © 2014 by Christopher McDevitt

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

First Print Edition

ISBN-13: 978-1310057052

ISBN-10: 1500249688

Cover artwork copyright © 2014 by Joshua Kaulius/Aslan Grealis

Dedicated To

The three most important women in my life: Jessica, Margi and Alaina Rose.

My wife, my mother and my baby girl.

Thanks

This second book is thanks mostly in part to those of you who read the first one. Without your kind words and encouragement, I might have never sat down at a keyboard again. Every second I spend writing the next book is a second I’m not sending you invites for facebook games.

Thanks to my editor, Heidi Zengel, who once again astutely turned my page-vomit into something readable and grammatically correct. If you don’t believe me just proofread this Thank You page.

Thanks to Djosar’s muse, Aslan, for coming home again after his own brief sojourn.

Thanks to Mike Rainey, author of Terrible Advice, for making me think, if this asshat can do it, anyone can.

Thanks to my friend for over 30 years, Joshua Kaulius, for designing the kickass cover to this book. And congratulations on the wedding. I wish I could have been there.

My apologies to my son, Declan, the next book will be dedicated to you, and only you, my Decklebear.

الجن

A Billion More Wishes

الجني

Book 2 of the Saga

Previously in Book 1:

Dennis Harkness discovered a genie, Djosar, hiding away in a gravy boat his fiancée, Jenny, had purchased at a yard sale. Before Djosar could lay out the rules and caveats, Dennis immediately wished for one million wishes. Dennis set about remaking his life wish by wish, often with disastrous results. The fallout from those wishes led to him losing his job, his fiancée and as we venture into book 2 the hits just keep on coming.

At the beginning of book 2, Dennis is all alone. His former fiancée and future mother of his unborn child, Jenny, has travelled with Djosar to the Genie plane of existence, Qaf. The mystical Djinn world is the only place it would be possible for her to deliver the baby due to a wish she made to never gain weight.

Time moves faster on Earth than it does in Qaf and a simple six month journey to the Djinn world will be closer to 5 years for those left behind, namely, Dennis. Honestly, I would just go read Book 1, if you haven’t already. It’s only like 4 bucks and you’ll learn all about Piss Vampires: Vampires who drink pee. Win-win.

*This recap was included at the behest of the editor, I thought you should be left on your own as it clearly states this is the 2nd book in a series.

Section 1: Goodbye To Fun

The second night without Jenny was nowhere near as good as the first. Gus spent most of the evening barking at every noise he heard. He acted like he fully expected her to walk in at any moment, a gigantic bone in tow for him to chew on, and maybe his testicles in a jar, ready for reattachment. Gus is a believer in the power of positive thinking. Despite my best efforts, he greets each morning like it will finally be the day he is presented with a full menu and his own choice of beverage. Gus prefers milk, toilet water, or root beer, in that order. Gus rates the tap water his bowl normally contains only slightly higher than rain water, pond water, and his own urine. He is usually completely game though when it comes to any other urine. Unlike Gus, I knew Jenny would not be returning anytime soon.

The wish-dreams on my second night were stale in comparison to the ones the night before. Even with my enhanced critical-thinking skills and augmented memory, math remains a largely fuzzy subject for me. It never occurred to me that by the very nature of the time difference between Qaf and Earth’s plane that my wish-dreams would quickly become reruns. The dreams became practically the same thing over and over again for almost two weeks before they ever changed significantly.

I’m in a bush of some sort. [Again]

No, I am behind a bush. [Again]

I am naked. [Still naked]

My clothes did not make the trip to Qaf. Djosar? Djosar! I call. This isn’t funny! [I don’t think it’s ever going to be funny.]

"I’m looking, I’m looking…I will find something, Djosar cries from somewhere in the distance. He says, It’s nothing I have not seen before, Jenny! I have excellent night vision." [This is the twelfth time I have heard him make this joke. And I am still not amused.]

Djosar thrusts a pelt through the bush at me. His hand misses a breast by inches. [I know that tit. I’m getting used to this angle. I am Jenny (again). I see what she sees. Feel what she feels. She remains unaware of my presence. Unaware of my boredom. The scene continues for the twelfth time…]

"Wear this, Djosar says. It is djamelskin. It is all I could find."

"Camel skin?" Jenny asks. [I wait impatiently as it takes Jenny a moment to figure out how the garment attaches. It is similar to an animal skin toga. It loops over one shoulder and ties at the bottom on the open end. It covers as much as a bath towel would. I don’t know about Jenny, but I still feel very exposed. I can feel the wind on my arse.]

"Not camel. Djamel. It is an ancestor of the camel. Much bigger. The djamel did not make it on your Noah’s boat." [I am convinced that Djosar makes all this shit up.]

"Noah’s Ark, you mean? That wasn’t real," Jenny says.

"Not the way it is told, no. But there was a flood, earthquakes, tsunamis. The way my da’ told it, it was a very wild time. Shepherds protected their flocks. Entire tribes flocked to the mountains and the highlands, sought the highest ground they could find. The desert did not have high ground, and the desert tribes did not have boats, so the djamel did not survive. Your camels are all that’s left. But here in Qaf, there are plenty. We use all parts of the djamel."

"Like the buffalo," Jenny offers.

"Something like that. Just don’t look the djamels in the eye, they will spit in your face. They’re obedient to the lash but very ornery when confronted head on," Djosar warns.

"I can’t imagine they’ll appreciate our wardrobe choice," Jenny says wryly.

"Just be careful one doesn’t try to mount you. Their eyesight is not very good. Their eyes are heavily lidded. Great for them in the middle of a sandstorm. Not so good when trying to identify females of their species." Djosar offers Jenny a drink from some sort of hide canteen. It appears to be made at least partially out of the same material as the toga. [I almost wish a djamel would try to get its hump on, just for a change of pace. Wishes are no good here, anyway, even if I could commit to the idea.]

Jenny takes a tentative swig from the hide. It is disgustingly warm, but it is water. For a moment, she thought it would be some sort of djamel milk or other Qaf delicacy. She takes a second swig. The more she drinks, the thirstier she is. [My vision begins to blur. Thankfully, I am falling. I am….I am…]

…back in my bed with Day 3 in the books. Having lived with a good woman for so long and a genie in the interim, I never realized what a slob I had become until I had to do without either of them. Jenny’s blood-spotted sheets had made it to the bottom of the basement steps. That was as close to the washing machine as they would ever get. Honestly, I’m surprised they made it that far. When Jenny started spotting, we freaked and got her to the doctor as soon as we could. Good housekeeping was the last thing on my mind. Gus and I slept on the bare pillowtop mattress the first night. I took the king-size sheets off my basement bed the second night and half-assedly put them on Jenny’s queen-size bed. They fit, sort of. The fit was about as good as the smell, even with a decent coat of Febreze®.

That Sunday, Jenny’s mom, Diane, appeared on my doorstep before the morning paper; the subscription having been renewed by Jenny during the nesting phase of her pregnancy. Diane received Jenny’s first letter in yesterday’s mail and was royally pissed that her daughter had not said goodbye in person. A few days before she had gone to Qaf, Jenny wrote a series of letters to her parents. She left them, along with her valuables, in a safe-deposit box we opened when we bought the house. I was to send them one letter (all of which were postmarked) every few months. She told me she planned quite a narrative describing her new-found calling to help the troubled youth of Calcutta. I’m pretty sure she just wished for a cover story and Djosar filled in the blanks.

Diane waved a piece of paper in my face and asked angrily, Dennis, what the hell is this Calcutta nonsense? Sick and starving children? Doctors without Borders?

I had to wonder myself. I mailed the letter without even reading it.

I don’t know. At least you got a letter. I came home and she was just gone, I replied. I opened the door to invite her all the way in. She walked past me and immediately tripped over two days’ worth of pizza boxes. Have I mentioned what a slob I am yet?

This makes NO sense. She’s not a doctor! She’s a vet tech!

Well, in India, that’s like being a doctor, I guess. Their dentists drive cabs here.

Pregnant women do not move to India in their second trimester, Diane said, brushing an open bag of Doritos® off of the loveseat.

What’s really going on here? I don’t believe this for one second.

There’s nothing going on. She left and she took our renter with her. Or he took her with him. I don’t actually know what country he was from. He didn’t look Indian, did he? I offered.

She’s not answering her cell phone.

That much I knew. I had Jenny’s cell phone. Her mom had called it 17 times before the battery gave out.

"I really don’t know, Diane. She and I haven’t really been on the best of terms since the whole