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situation.
    “Shut up, Baktan!” Abdul yelled, his eyes getting the fiery red look that Celia had seen the night before.
    “What is up with the weird names? Actually, never mind. I don’t even want to know! You are the weirdest customers in the world, and I need you out of my house right now!”
    They all continued to stare at her, not a single man moving. She had twelve dreamy, magical men who for unknown reasons were camped out in her kitchen making horrible food and drinking tea. She felt a flash of anger, which threatened to quickly reach nuclear level.
    “Fine. If you aren’t leaving, then I am,” she said with all the dignity she could muster and turned on her heel to head to the door.
    She was down the steps and ten feet away from the trailer before she heard Abdul slam open the door and follow her out. She could tell it was him by the smell of lemons in the air. She whipped around and put her hands on her hips, facing him with slit eyes and her mouth set into a thin line. He was trying to be charming again, running his hand through his hair and looking at her with big eyes as he came after her.
    “Your parents are fine. We just needed to be able to talk to you alone.”
    “How do I know you didn’t magic them away like what happened last night? I know what I saw, and I don’t think you are people I really want to know much about. You or your psycho little friend Reyes.”
    “We thought you saw the magic. Everyone in the bar had the good sense to put their heads down and pray. And then there you were, staring death in the face. You saw it all, didn’t you?”
    Abdul was talking to her straight then, dropping his cutesy act. He was now only a foot or so away from her filling the air with the smell of a small Parisian bakery.
    “Why do you smell so good?” Celia blurted out, unable to handle why Abdul always smelled like warm cinnamon buns or apple pie or something equally delicious.
    “I smell like your favorite things,” he shrugged. “What does it smell like?”
    Celia ignored the question, not wanting to discuss her favorite things with this possible kidnapper with magic powers. “Is this another voodoo spell thing?”
    Abdul sighed and inched a little bit closer. “Not voodoo, but something like that. You know what we are, don’t you?”
    Celia scrunched her face up as she considered. The names, the spells, the 1001 nights. She had a guess but hadn’t really wanted to think about it too hard. She found herself surprisingly cool with the supernatural happenings of the night before, but perhaps that was because she hadn’t said the words out loud.
    “Phil would say you are genetically modified super soldiers sent here by the government to wreck his moonshine business. This might make me the crazier person, but I don't think that is it. I think it is more likely you are...” She paused, unable to finish.
    “Go on, say it,” Abdul challenged, moving closer still until their faces were almost touching.
    Celia looked up into his face with the defiance bred into her by a thousand hot, windy days. “Genies.”
    “Not bad,” he murmured, looking genuinely impressed. “And you’re not afraid or going crazy like most people do.”
    “I’m afraid of about two things, and you aren’t one of them.” Celia was surprised by how true it was – she didn’t feel afraid or even all that concerned. Based on what she learned in CPR class, she thought she might be in a state of shock.
    “Apparently neither is death, considering how you reacted last night.”
    Celia ignored his probing again. “So you are genies and not super soldiers? Don’t you live in lamps or grant wishes or something? Why are you in my town fighting drug lords?”
    Abdul laughed heartily. “This isn’t a fairy tale. We aren’t your little servants here to make you wildest dreams come true.” He looked at her with a sly grin and leaned in to whisper quietly, “Unless, of course, your wildest dreams involve a muscled,