“Is everything okay, Boss? I thought I heard voices.”
“Sure,” I said, “it’s just . . . Guido?”
My mind had to grapple with several images and concepts simultaneously, and it wasn’t doing so hot. First was the realization that Guido was back from his mission as a special tax envoy. Second, that he had his arm in a sling.
The latter probably surprised me more than the former. After all our time together, I had begun to believe that my bodyguards were all but invulnerable. It was a little unsettling to be reminded that they could be hurt physically like anyone else.
“What are you doing back?” I said. “And what happened to your arm?”
Instead of answering, he peered suspiciously past me at the arguing Djins.
“What’s goin’ on in there, Boss?” he demanded. “Who are those two jokers, anyway?”
I was a little surprised that he could hear and see my visitors, but then I remembered that it’s only while a Djin is under contract that he or she can only be seen and heard by the holder of their bottle.
“Oh, those are just a couple friends of mine,” I said. “Well . . . sort of friends. I thought they were dropping by to say ‘Hi,’ but, as you can see, things seem to have gotten a little out of hand. The one with the beard is Kalvin, and the lady he’s arguing with is his wife, Daphnie.”
I thought it was a fairly straightforward explanation, but Guido recoiled as if I had struck him.
“Did you say ‘his wife’?”
“That’s right. Why?”
My bodyguard stepped forward to place himself between me and the arguing couple.