I Dream of Jonni -11- Malamute (Patreon)

We appeared near the little downtown park a block from Sol Berger’s office. Evergreen bushes lining both sides of the sidewalk concealed our magical arrival from anyone who might have been startled. Travis set out immediately in the right direction, carrying the briefcase full of money and I scurried to catch up.

I’d included low heels in my costume but I wasn’t used to walking in them yet. At least they fit much better than most women’s shoes seem to—they didn’t hurt my feet at all; I just couldn’t match Travis’s length of stride.

It occurred to me that there were lots of things I did not know about how to be a girl. I could magic such knowledge up but it would cost me. I guessed I could afford to forget some things about being a boy or male activities like football and car mechanics. Not, I realized, that I knew that much about such things to begin with.

Travis had gotten three or four of his long steps ahead of me when he stopped to look back. “Sorry, babe, am I walking too fast for you?”

Being called ‘babe’ again derailed my thinking and all I could do was giggle. Apparently, I did know how to do that like a girl.

Travis laughed, waited for me to catch up, then took my arm. “It’s easier to relate to you as a girl when you look less like Jonny or that harem girl fantasy.”

“Huh,” I said. And, “Oh.”

“Let me do all the talking with Mr. Berger,” he said.

I had to take that as an order, so I just nodded.

The office building was older gray brick construction with visible new steel reinforcement earthquake retrofit. Travis held the door open for me, which confused me for a moment but I went in, smiling, and he followed. The building directory showed S.A. Berger, Esq. as having an office on the third floor so we rode the elevator up.

We found the office. The sign said Berger, Tiburon and Remora, Attorneys-at-Law. Again, Travis held the door for me and it confused me again when he did it—I was the servant, shouldn’t I be holding doors for him? 

The receptionist smiled at me as I entered and I realized I was grinning and giggling. Travis followed me in and answered the woman’s question with, “Thomas MIkkelson and Jacquie Waalfort to see Mr. Berger.”

Jacquie! That’s me, I thought. I wanted to wiggle in excitement.

Mr. Berger turned out to be a middle-sized, middle aged man with thinning black hair. He came around his desk to shake hands with Travis and give mine a little squeeze before going back to sit down and inviting us to do so in front of his desk.

But Travis had introduced us during the handshaking. “Mr. Berger, I’m Thomas Mikkelson and this is my fiancée, Jacquie Wallfort.”

Fiancée! Fiancée? Fiancée!

I didn’t hear anything for several minutes. Part of me wanted to squeal like a cheerleader after her team scores an exciting touchdown and part was just stunned. Another part vibrated like a tuning fork between being pissed about the most awkward proposal of marriage in the universe and being horrified at the idea of being someone’s wife!

But not just anyone’s wife—Travis’s wife. Travis who, due to Genie magic, owned me body and soul. Travis for whom I felt an unresolved and unaccountable—well, frankly—lust.

Wow. My brain had turned to oatmeal and all I could do was show Mr. Berger my back teeth in a monkey-style grin as I collapsed into the chair beside Travis. I felt my skirt wrinkle under me and attempted the flounce-in-place maneuver to straighten it that I had seen women and girls do almost without thinking.

That ended badly, with me half-in and half-out of the chair and my skirt almost high enough to show my panties. Mr. Berger appeared to be trying not to watch as I sat up straight, half-stood, and smoothed my hand over my very round butt before sitting back down.

Travis glanced at me in the middle of whatever he had been saying and I gave him another monkey grin with a giggle on top. Mr. Berger put a hand over his mouth and his eyebrows did calisthenics before he pulled his gaze away from me and back to Travis.

I still didn’t hear what they were saying. Travis and I were going to get married!

How soon was the wedding? What would I tell my parents? (A real problem since as far as they knew, I was a boy who didn’t even date yet.) Omigawd! What would I wear to the wedding? I had an image of myself as a girly-looking Jonni in a white tux thing like a Rockette costume. No, no, no.

Another image came to mind, me as Jacquie in a wedding gown. I felt my face go hot and my grin turn to wood. I don’t know what Mr. Berger thought was going on with me but he was keeping his eyes on Travis now, so maybe he didn’t notice.

“We’ve found the house we want to live in,” Travis was saying. “We just don’t know who owns it now.”

Mr. Beger nodded. “Not that hard to find out,” he said, going on to elaborate how he would do that.

But I had gotten sidetracked mentally again. Me as a housewife in a pink dress, white apron, and of course, pearls? I giggled and naturally both of them turned to look at me. I put my hands up in front of my face, shaking my head and snickering like a loon.

“Flapjacks,” I said. I have no idea why.

Travis laughed. “Jacquie is still recovering,” he explained. “We just got engaged this morning.” He put a hand out and I grabbed it like a lifeline.

Then I did something I should not have done. As I brought up my left hand, I magicked a ring onto it—a big beautiful diamond engagement ring onto my ring finger. Travis did a subtle double take but Mr. Berger looked impressed.

The ring, in fact, was so gorgeous, it took my breath away. White gold with a yellow gold setting around a rock as big as the end of my pinkie and a bunch of little stones surrounding it. Since magic has to be paid for, I wondered if there was any money left in the satchel we had brought. But I couldn’t worry about that. I had my master glowering at me while trying to smile fondly.

“Malamute,” I said. I have no idea why.

“Congratulations!” said the lawyer, beaming at both of us. “I see why you want a house.”

Travis gave my hand a squeeze and turned back to the business we had come to do.

Mr. Berger had soon agreed to pursue acquiring the house for us after Travis gave him the address and a cash retainer from the briefcase. Travis offered him more of the money to use as bargaining leverage, perhaps, but Mr. Berger refused.

“Money for real estate should go into escrow,” he explained. “Banks are set up to handle that. Put your cash in the bank and we can deal with checks from here on out, Mr. Mikkelson.”

Travis stood, sort of tugging me with him. Then our new lawyer shook his hand again and squeezed mine gently. 

A few minutes later, we stood in front of the building again. Travis pointed, “There’s a bank down the block, let’s open an account with the rest of the money. It sounded like a good idea.”

I nodded, glad that he didn’t seem angry with me.

“Where did you get the ring?” he asked as we waited for a stoplight at the corner.

“Same place you got calling me your fiancée?” I offered. He was still taking strides that were too big as we started across the street and I had to scurry to keep up.

He snorted. “Burma,” he said.

A truck driver beeped at us and when I looked at him, he grinned and tipped his cap. I almost tripped. That distracted me from giving the right straight line. “What?” I said.

We reached the curb and Travis paused to hold my hand with the ring still on it up for a better look. He seemed to be admiring it despite himself “Why did you say flapjacks?” he asked.

I was finally on the same page so I delivered the punchline in the best Cockney accent I could manage, “Oi panicked,” I said.

With both of us laughing like two loons this time, we took our money into the bank.