Chapter 7 – The Dragon’s Den
For George, the latter half of the school day was typically the roughest. His curse had usually exhausted him so much by that point that he had barely any energy to give anyone, let alone pay attention to something he had only a passing interest in, like History class.
However, there were small mercies he could usually count on, and one of them was his teacher, Mr. Mars himself. He was a handsome and charismatic man in his late forties, with short brown hair graying gracefully and deep smile lines around his eyes. He had a reputation for being lenient with his students, caring less about homework and tests and more about weaving a story through the lens of history. Sometimes, he was so passionate about the material that his lectures came off like theater performances, with all the grandeur an overcrowded high school classroom could muster. As a result, Mr. Mars was regarded throughout the school as the history teacher you wanted to have. The alternative was Mr. Veiss’s American History class, which all the football players took for obvious reasons.
He enjoyed dressing up in period-appropriate attire, or at least, as best he could on a teacher’s salary. On this particular day, Mr. Mars was wearing a very cheap-looking Roman legionnaire costume one might find at a Halloween store. The kind that you might wear once and forget about. He’d used it many times during his tenure, evidenced by the copious amounts of duct tape and safety pins, giving it an even more shoddy appearance. But he never seemed to care about such things.
More importantly, for George at least, Mr. Mars never seemed to mind when he was late or uncommunicative. So when George quietly entered and tip-toed to his desk in the back of the room, he didn’t break Mr. Mars’s stride.
Mr. Mars was in the middle of a particularly graphic description of the second Punic war between Rome and Carthage. Specifically, the battle of Cannae, where Hannibal wiped the floor with the largest Roman army ever assembled. While he usually withheld most of the gory stuff, there was enough vivid detail to make it feel like you were really there. Indeed, Mr. Mars was so excited about history that George wouldn’t have been surprised if he actually was. The presentation was so good that it stole the attention of the Genie, who gasped with awe and delight during the most exciting parts.
However, George was having trouble keeping up. His thoughts were drawn to his encounter with Ms. McCoole. He felt much better about the situation now that they’d had a chance to speak. But there was something mildly disconcerting about how easily he devolved into a lecherous beast when given the opportunity. A switch had been flipped, and now that he had a bit of distance and time to think, he wondered where that impulse came from. Even more surprising was how suddenly he could stop when Ms. McCoole used the safe word, given how all-consuming the feeling was. At one point, it was as if she were mere prey to be devoured. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he missed one of Mr. Mars’ famous puns, which had the whole class giggling or groaning.
The Genie was in stitches. “The elephant of surprise instead of the element, cuz of the whole crossing the Alps bit. That’s clever! I like it!”
George had heard it before but was glad she was entertained at least. “Think about it. You have a nice cozy date; the fire is lit, and you’re going in for the kiss when suddenly,” George smacked the desk with a loud thwack, “Surprise elephant!”
The Genie giggled at his surprisingly silly display. However, George got a surprise of his own when Mr. Mars looked over to him and said, “Hey now, do yourself a favor and leave the funny stuff to me ay, George.”
George bolted upright in his chair. He’d intended that to be for his companion’s ears only and didn’t expect anyone else to hear him. He’d already become so used to her ability to keep him hidden that he didn’t even think to be sneaky.
“Oops!” said the Genie. “My bad. I must have let that one slip through somehow.”
“Very funny,” he said, using their connection.
“For serious! That elephant must have been super surprising.”
“Sure, sure.” He couldn’t tell if she was joking, but nobody in class seemed to be paying attention to him, and he figured he’d need to practice speaking to her with his mind anyway, so he let it go and changed the subject. “That was pretty intense before, huh?”
“Oh gosh, yeah, it was! You two were magnificent! I loved seeing her boobs bounce and the noises she made…” She sent a shiver down his spine to bring her point home.
“You don’t think I was too rough?”
“No way! Master, you did everything right. She loves the rough stuff. The choking was a nice touch, by the way. Didn’t see that one coming. Made me squirt a little. So fucking hot!”
He grinned. “Yeah, I honestly don’t know where that came from. I’ve never thought about it before. Um…she said something about knocking her up? She doesn’t actually want that, right?”
“She’s a grown woman with her contraception in order, so she’s not worried. However, if the unlikely did occur, she wouldn’t be that upset about it.” George could feel her breath on his ear. “What do you think, Master? Is that something you want?”
George knew he had to be very careful. One unfortunate bit of phrasing, and he’d cross a line he was sure he was not ready for. “Someday, maybe. That’s another thing I haven’t really thought about. I didn’t think I’d make it this far. What about you?”
Her voice sounded hot and heavy. “I think you already know the answer to that, Master.”
George chuckled nervously and said, “Yeah…I think we understand each other.” He quickly changed the subject, “By the way, during the, uh… romp, did you notice anything strange? About how I was acting?”
If Genie noticed his dodge, she let him off the hook. “What’s strange is that you aren’t doing me like that. I’m so jealous and horny that I might die. You don’t want me to die, do you, Master?”
George smirked. “You’re pouting. I can feel you pouting right now.”
“I totally am! Dammit! What’s a cosmic being have to do to get some dick around here?”
“Tonight, when we get home.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. We’ll make lots of inappropriate jokes, wish up a storm, and fuck each other’s brains out all night. How’s that sound?”
“Don’t mess with me, Master. I’ll choke you out if I have to.”
He laughed out loud, prompting Mr. Mars to say to the class, “See? At least one of you appreciates my humor.”
George’s laugh faded into a nervous chuckle. “Genie, I thought you were hiding us,” he said, faking a toothy smile.
“I’m sorry! I’m just so flustered right now. Can’t we just, like, leave a clone of you here while we start the party early?”
“You can do that?”
“I dunno. Probably.”
“Ugh,” he groaned. “I really need to read your manual.”
“Anytime, big boy.”
However, as plans for their evening were taking shape, an unwelcome visitor knocked on the open door frame behind them.
Mr. Mars finished the joke he was telling, then responded, “What is it, citizen? Speak quickly!” The class giggled at his commitment to the character in spite of the interruption.
In the doorway stood Connor, who, with a casual sway, said, “M’bad. Mr. Veiss wants to see George.”
“Crap,” muttered George.
But Mr. Mars didn’t break stride. “Mr. Everhart is duty bound to listen to my ramblings for the next…” he checked the clock above the door, “Thirty minutes. Is it urgent?”
Connor shrugged, “Dunno, but Coach wants him. If you want, I can go back and get a hall pass, but he’s a busy guy.”
The implication was clear from his tone. Coach Veiss wouldn’t be happy if he had to wait, and the entire school seemed to understand that Veiss ran the show.
After a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Mars looked at George and said, “Fine. Gods forbid our dear coach doesn’t get what he wants.” He grabbed a pad of hall passes out of his desk and filled it out while George gathered his things. As Mr. Mars handed him the hall pass, he said, “Hey, George?”
“Yes, sir?”
The wise history teacher had a glint in his eye and said, “Remember, if you can’t find a way, make one.”
“Huh?” he replied with a cocked eyebrow.
Mr. Mars smiled. “Quote from Hannibal. It’ll be on the mid-term, so write it down.”
Confused, George nodded and left the room.
Connor beckoned George to follow, and the two set off through the halls but said nothing. George was sure Connor was up to something and hoped his companion had some magical insight. “Genie, do you know what this is about?”
“Well, I can say with 100% certainty that he isn’t planning to seduce you. Does that help?”
“It… doesn’t not help.”
She chuckled mischievously. “I’ll keep a lookout. If I notice anything, I’ll let you know.”
The silence as they marched was getting on his nerves. George did his best not to let his annoyance show as he followed a step behind. To his surprise, he was beginning to miss the simplicity of attending class like a typical student and wondered if he’d ever return to something resembling normal.
Finally, after they entered the commons, George said, “So what’s this really about?”
“I told you. Coach wants to see you,” he replied calmly.
“Uh-huh. That code for something?”
“Nope,” was his terse response.
“And why didn’t he just come get me himself?”
“He’s busy.”
“Right. Don’t you have class or something?”
Connor suddenly turned around and got in George’s face, startling him. “Look, shithead, I don’t like it either, okay. Coach saw the video and wants to meet you. End of story. Now shut up and follow me before I get rebellious and take a detour.”
“Video? What video?” asked George.
Connor rolled his eyes and turned around to continue his march. “You need to check your socials, bruh.”
“Dammit, he’s gonna spoil my surprise,” she whined.
“Genie…”
“I mean…what could he possibly be talking about?”
“You’re up to something,” he told her as he caught up to Connor.
She giggled mischievously but didn’t elaborate.
Connor said little else as he led George past the main office and into the athletics wing, where the walls were lined with enormous trophy cases devoted to all the different sports the school accommodated. Stafford Regional was known for excellence in several areas, including soccer, lacrosse, track and field, and badminton. But the main attraction was football. There were so many accolades for football alone that it needed an entire wall to itself and was starting to bleed into other displays nearby. Under Coach Veiss’s leadership, they’d gone undefeated for thirteen seasons, with a fourteenth all but inevitable. A whole generation of students came and went through that school without ever losing a single game. It was common for second and third-string players to get full scholarships, and many played professionally. It was rumored that Veiss had received countless offers to work for any college program he wanted but turned them all down, citing a passionate devotion to his homegrown team.
They entered the gymnasium, crossed the basketball court to the new locker rooms, and then cut through to a heavy door leading to a small hallway. This was an older part of the school that hadn’t been remodeled in decades. It was dimly lit by old dusty fixtures with metal cages around the bulbs, spewing harsh, unfiltered light from the glowing orange filaments inside. The paint was gold and brown, the original color scheme from the early seventies when the school was built. George had never been back there as he’d never had a reason, and going there now felt like he was entering the den of some dangerous beast. It was off limits, not through any policy, but from an unspoken rule that this was the domain of the Dragons and outsiders were not welcome.
Connor held a door open at the end of the hall and beckoned George to enter the old locker rooms. Typical of a setting from an old sports film, each locker was overflowing with sporting equipment, smelly practice jerseys, and well-worn cleats. Above those, the player’s name and number were scribbled in black marker on easily replaced masking tape. The room smelled musty, its floors were scuffed, and various bits of dragon-inspired graffiti could be found in every corner.
In the far corner was another door with a clouded window embossed with Coach Viess’ name. They could hear the man having a loud, jovial conversation on the phone.
Connor pointed at a bench nearby and said, “One sec,” then entered alone, shutting the door behind him. Mr. Veiss put his call on hold to address Connor, but they kept their voices low enough that George couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.
While he waited, the Genie said, “Master, look at that.”
The only wall not lined with lockers had several whiteboards marked with esoteric football scribblings, but there was a corkboard to the side covered in pictures of dozens of women, most of whom were either students, teachers, or alumni. George didn’t recognize all of them, but a spicy photo of Ms. McCoole stood out to him. She was younger; the picture was probably taken during her college days. She was posed in a way to maximize her cleavage, her breasts pouring out of a blue and white bikini. The stunning picture looked like some kind of thirst trap posted on some social media platform and had some serious production value put into it.
“What’s that doing here,” mused George.
“Our dear English teacher got through school posting naughty pictures and videos of herself online. Back then, she modeled under a different name, but a body like hers is hard to hide. Hmmm,” she thought. “It seems she’s being blackmailed to keep her true identity from leaking. That’s only the tamest of pictures they have of her.”
George felt indignation rising within him. “What a bunch of assholes,” he muttered.
Genie read the header above the corkboard, “The Dragon’s Whored… clever.”
He suddenly understood. “Are they blackmailing all of these people?”
“Some of them. Others are just girls they’ve, quote, conquered, end quote. Or aspire to.”
“That’s…fucked up.” A sudden surge of new, unfamiliar emotions flowed through him. He felt a primal urge to protect what was his. He shook them off quickly but still felt compelled to act. “I’d like to make a wish.”
Genie gasped, “Ooooh! Tell me, tell me, tell me!”
“I wish any compromising depictions of Ms. McCoole, including mine, remain hidden unless she wants them to be seen.”
One happy tingle later, Genie announced, “It is done. Take a look.”
George checked the board again, and sure enough, Ms. McCoole’s picture was gone. “Nice! And you know what? I wish the same for anyone else in the Dragon’s Whored be removed unless they want to be there.”
Another tingle and several more pictures were removed from the board.
“There we go. Wow, that board is looking rather sparse.”
Several pictures remained, and George remarked, “I’m surprised there is anything left. Does that mean they want this?”
“Uh-huh. Or they don’t mind. Some of them consider it a badge of honor.”
George didn’t understand that line of thinking, but before he could ask further, he was drawn to a picture still hanging in the bottom corner. Under a section labeled ‘Princess?’ were candid photos of several classmates. But one in particular, a girl with long, shiny, voluminous red and gold hair, practically jumped off the board and tackled him.
“Not her,” he whispered.
“What is it?” she asked.
His heart sank as he remembered yesterday’s rainy death march. “That’s Piper, there.”
“Your Piper? Which one?”
George pointed to the girl’s picture, obviously taken without her knowledge, as she walked through the halls.
“Wow,” she marveled. “She’s so pretty.”
That wasn’t the first thing that came to his mind, but the Genie was correct. Piper was uncommonly gorgeous, with blue upturned eyes, adorable freckles, and a lithe yet curvaceous body. However, though George had always thought she was attractive, she’d never looked so lovely.
“Weird,” said the Genie to herself. “I didn’t even notice her until you pointed her out.”
“Is that strange? I mean, I didn’t notice her picture until now.”
“Yeah, but you made a wish involving all the people on the board. And that would include her, but…” She groaned as if she were exerting herself and said, “I’m getting all kinds of juicy tidbits about these girls. Lots of desire swirling around them. But not her. I can’t get anything on her.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” she said, sounding baffled.
Suddenly, the door to Mr. Viess’ office swung open, and Connor stormed out. “Alright, whatever, I get it!” he shouted over his shoulder.
He turned to George and glared menacingly at him. “You’re still a snowflake,” he growled.
George stood up slowly, and even though Connor was trying to be intimidating, he came off as genuinely unnerved instead. Connor didn’t seem so scary all of a sudden. He looked more like a spoiled child who was told to share.
In one final show of dominance, Connor tried to push past him, deliberately bumping into George’s shoulder. But much to Connor’s surprise, George didn’t budge.
“Mr. Everhart,” called Mr. Viess pleasantly in a steady, authoritative voice, “come on in and have a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
Connor backed out of the room, his angry gaze fixed on George until he left. Once he was gone, George let his tough guy mask fall and turned his attention to the coach. Mr. Veiss motioned for him to sit, indicating with a finger that he’d be with him in a minute.
“Sorry, D-Money, had some monkey business to deal with… no, I’m not busy… yeah, we’re ready for tomorrow. You’re gonna make it, right?… Nice…”
While Coach finished his conversation, George sat in an uncomfortable metal chair across from him. The office was a tiny windowless space with rusty, exposed pipes, making it look like it was once a boiler room. Chunky filing cabinets were overflowing with papers, and an old padded table once used for examinations by trainers was stuffed in the corner. Its surface was held together by duct tape and covered in unopened packages stacked high. There was another door secured by a heavy padlock that George figured must lead to an equipment closet. Hanging on the gray brick walls were old team pictures from years gone by, newspaper articles from when those were still a thing, lewd images of young women, and a flat-screen TV. Every article was about him or his team, every spicy photo had lipstick marks and affectionate affirmations, and the TV was currently playing a professionally produced highlight reel of some of his team’s greatest moments. Coach Veiss’ legendary reputation as a genius leader of young men was on full display and overflowed the cramped makeshift office to bursting. It might have been inspiring to most anyone else, but not to George. Though he considered it to be uncharitable of him, George couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the ego-driven decor.
Then, George spotted something odd. On the coach’s desk was a framed picture of Farah and a woman he assumed to be her mother posing for a typical family portrait.
“…yeah, already taken care of. Will I get to see June and the kids? … Awesome!” As he sat at his desk, Coach looked across at George, rolled his eyes, and gestured to signify that D-Money was a talker. “Yeah. Well, look, I’m gonna letcha go. Lots to do… okay, I will… okay, pal… Right, see you soon… Okay, bye.” He hung up, tossed his phone on the desk, and took a deep breath.
“Sorry about that, son. I swear, some of these kids never really grow up. Know what I mean?” George didn’t have time to answer before the coach moved on. “Anyway, you probably already know why you’re here. Some big balls on you, kid. Respect.”
Confused, George stammered, “I, uh…don’t…”
“May I call you George?” he asked suddenly. George gave him a tepid nod. “George, look at me. You’re not in trouble. In fact, I want to apologize for how my boys have treated you. They’re under a lot of pressure, you see. I run a tight ship, and sometimes… Well, they just gotta let off some steam. Especially Connor.” He winced dramatically. “Great talent, smart, built like a ram, but he has problems. I’m working with him, but it’s a process. You understand.”
George waited several moments for the coach to actually apologize. When it didn’t happen, George replied simply, “Alright…”
But Mr. Veiss took his time. He sat back in his chair and examined George for a few uncomfortable moments, and after George was thoroughly unsettled, Mr. Veiss finally spoke with a slick and casual vibe. “So, George, you’ve been holding out on me.”
“I… I don’t…” George stammered.
He scrutinized George a moment longer and gave him a predatory smile. Then, Coach opened the top drawer of his desk and procured a remote. He pointed it at the TV on the wall and switched it to another feed, revealing the video of George’s lunchroom rumble playing on repeat. The bombastic anthem that Genie played for him in his head was now laid over the footage, perfectly timed to his movements.
“Man, I love this song. You got the touch, bah bah, bahhh,” he sang. “Ooh wait, this is my favorite part!” The camera followed George as he deftly spun Lacy like a top into a low dip. Then the pot of chili splashed all over her, and Mr. Veiss laughed heartily. “Fucking classic,” he said, wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Genie, what is this?” George asked.
“Just a little bit of PR. I wanted everyone to see how cool you could be, so I whipped this up and sent it out.”
“To who?”
“Everyone.”
George shrank in the world’s most uncomfortable chair. “But… if people see that, won’t they know something is up?”
“It’s all good, Master. The video is enchanted, so people won’t notice the magic. It’s all standard Genie procedure. I keep my powers hidden, remember?”
The video started again, and Coach began pausing and unpausing at certain parts like he was dissecting film of his players. “Look at you go. Perfect balance, spatial awareness, strength, agility, speed, reflexes. This is some superhero shit.”
“This is…uh…” George sputtered as he searched for an explanation. Thinking quickly, he blurted out, “Editing… Yeah, just some simple tricks.” He chuckled nervously and added, “You can do some wacky stuff with AI these days.”
Coach muted the video and let it play, then folded his arms across his broad chest and frowned. “Hmm… well then, I guess I was mistaken. Sorry, son.” He stood and extended his hand toward George for a perfunctory shake.
George looked at the coach’s outstretched hand and stood up slowly. He returned the businesslike gesture very cautiously and considered himself lucky that the meeting was over almost before it started.
“Oh, and don’t worry about any nasty repercussions from Principle Archer. My new cornerback is out of this week’s game as punishment for starting the fight.”
“Right,” replied George while trying to squeeze Veiss’ hand the appropriate amount. He’d taken that as a given, considering he hadn’t been brought into Archer’s office yet.
Meanwhile, Coach relaxed, leaned back in his chair, and sipped coffee from his big black and purple mug. “See you around, George.”
Not knowing what else to say, George turned to leave, but no sooner had he reached for the door handle than he felt an irresistible compulsion to react to something unseen. With incredible speed, George turned and caught an object flying directly at his head. It was Coach’s coffee mug.
Veiss grinned. “I like your excuse. Fancy editing is good. If anyone else asks you about it, we’ll go with that. So, what’s your secret? You found something in Grandma’s attic? Member of an ancient bloodline? Bitten by a werewolf? Deal with a devil, maybe? Oh! Possessed by a demon? That’s my favorite.”
George stared at the mug in his hand in stunned silence. The coffee that had once been inside it had splashed all around him but missed him entirely.
“How the fuck…” the Genie muttered.
Coach smirked knowingly. “Nah, don’t tell me. I may not have ‘the sight,’ TM,” he used air quotes for emphasis, “but I know when the wool is being pulled over my eyes. For instance, when we met yesterday, you didn’t look anything like you do now. I can’t even remember what you looked like before.” He shrugged. “But whatever, It doesn’t matter. We’ve all got our secrets. And whatever yours is, it’s safe with me. Just makes things more convenient. That said, let me get to the point.” Then he leaned forward and said, “I want you on my squad.”
George swallowed hard. “Um… what?”
“Don’t look so surprised! You got some serious moves on you, kid. The kind that makes people very happy and very rich.” He clapped his hands excitedly. “Shit! It’s a good thing that I found you first! To think I had a ringer right under my nose this entire time. You and me… we’re going places.”
“But I don’t know anything about football,” said George, hoping that would be enough to disqualify him.
“Hah! Me neither! Well…” he shrugged, “I know some things. But, real talk, it won’t matter. We’ll get you kitted up, run you through a few drills, and I’m betting whatever magical whosie-whatsit you got will do the rest.”
George was about to respond, but the coach talked over him. “Let me finish. Here is what I want. You finish the season with me, run back a few punts, maybe pick up a first down here and there, and I’ll make you the prince of this fucking school! You need friends? How about an entire team of ’em. Want pussy? All you can fuck, and then some. Want to go to college? I can get the school of your choice on the phone right now. Trouble with the law? Chief Sanders is a close personal friend. Hell, you need money? We’ve got generous donors. I’m sure we can work something out.”
Overwhelmed, George could only listen as Mr. Veiss laid it all down.
Sensing his hesitation, Coach said, “It’s a lot to process, I know. But how about this? I know Mr. Reckman has been pestering you for a long time, right?”
George snickered. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Right! Guy’s an asshole, ain’t he? But he does what I tell him. One word from me, and all the bullying stops. You never need to worry about him or anyone else for the rest of your time here.”
“I… I dunno,” said George. He really didn’t. George had kept his head down for six years and avoided the football team whenever possible. And now, Mr. Veiss was recruiting him like he was already a star. George could think of many ways this would benefit him, especially the money. He didn’t know how far in debt his mother was because of him, but it was enough to keep her working seventy or even eighty hours a week.
Mr. Veiss had given George a few moments to collect his thoughts, but not enough to let him think too hard. “So, how’s that sound, Son?”
Being called ‘Son’ brought to mind George’s father and he immediately knew that he had to turn away. Using Genie’s power to win football games for personal gain already felt wrong, but it stood against every scrap of honor George had kept from his father’s memory. He summoned all his courage and said, “I’m Sorry, Sir. I’m flattered that you offered, but I don’t see myself as much of an athlete. I have to say no.”
Mr. Veiss’s smug expression fell into disappointment. He leaned back in his chair and stared at George for a moment, seemingly confused. “Son, did you just tell me no?”
George was unsure how to answer. He sensed that no matter how he answered, it wouldn’t be what the coach wanted to hear.
“You don’t understand what’s happening here.” Mr. Veiss straightened himself and fingered the whistle hanging from his neck. “You see, I wasn’t asking if you wanted to join the team. I want you to join the team, so that’s what you’re gonna do.”
George felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. “Sir, I’m pretty sure you can’t force me to join a sports team.”
Coach Veiss let out a bemused chuckle and smirked. He leaned in and said, “Son, I’m gonna fill you in on a little secret.” He lowered his voice and beckoned George to lean closer. “This school, the staff, the students, shit, the whole fucking town, belongs to me. I’m the king of Stafford, and they are all my subjects. Archer is a decent administrator and a fine piece of ass. A little woke for my tastes, but whatever. She does her little song and dance and pretends like she’s in charge. But even she knows not to tell me what I can and can’t do.”
Coach leaned back and smiled, his point being made. “Now, I told you what I’m willing to do to compensate you, which, by the way, you’re lucky to get after the shit you pulled today.”
George’s eyes went wide as his ire grew. “Me? What did I do?”
The coach scoffed. “Oh, have we already forgotten that little incident before homeroom? My starting left tackle is out for the season with a broken wrist. I suppose you had nothing to do with that either.”
Baffled, George stuttered, “B-but he was the one who attacked me.”
“Oh, don’t play innocent with me. We both know there’s more to it than that. Joey may have picked a fight, but you had the power. And you know what comes with great power, dontcha, nerd?”
George was done with this conversation. He wanted to smack Mr. Veiss’s stupid mustache right off his smug face. But he bit his tongue, unclenched his fist, and headed for the door instead.
The Genie encouraged him, saying, “Fuck this guy. You’re the Master here. Say the words, and I’ll turn his dick off. I’ll shrivel his nuts till he’s spootin’ dust!”
However, just as he was about to turn the door handle, the Coach chuckled menacingly. “By the way, how’s your Mom?”
George stopped dead in his tracks.
“She works hard. It’s a shame that the hospital is laying off nurses. Sure hope she’s not one of ’em. Not with all that debt. But hey, she’s pretty hot, isn’t she? I’m sure the internet will have her; they love MILFs.
George turned around and glared at him.
Coach Veiss smirked. “That got your attention, didn’t it? Good. Now sit down.”
George hesitated, not wanting to believe a mere high school football coach would resort to such underhanded tactics.
But he had hesitated for a moment too long. “Sit… the fuck… down,” the Coach commanded in an almost unnatural voice. There was a brief moment when George felt compelled to obey as if it was natural for him to do so. The room felt tiny, the walls closing in, the lights dimming until the only thing in his perception was Coach Veiss and his commands.
“Oh no you don’t, asshole…” growled the Genie.
His head cleared, and George suddenly realized that he was being manipulated. “What just happened?”
“He just used a spell on you.”
“What?” he asked sharply.
“It’s some sort of enchantment, a…command. I think it’s coming from his whistle.”
Sure enough, the Coach was clutching his whistle tight against his chest. In all the years he’d attended that school, George had never seen Coach without it. If he could use it to force his will on others, it was no wonder he always got his way. George felt a powerful feeling awaken within him. A shadow over his memory had fallen back, revealing a side of himself that had been locked away.
Righteous indignation.
George asked her, “Is it dangerous?”
“For us? Hell no. But not everyone has a Genie on defense.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m gonna pretend it worked.”
“Why? Master, what are you doing?”
“No fucking clue.”
George righted the chair and took his seat as instructed. He knew he wasn’t a good actor, so he stayed calm and quiet to hide his intentions.
“Better,” the Coach said with a more even tone. “Now, here is what’s gonna happen. Starting Monday, you will show up to practice every day after school. You will suit up for games. And when I want you out on the field, you get out there and play like your life depends on it. Because if you don’t, I will ruin you, your mother, your friends, your girlfriend, and everything else you love.”
George nodded, doing his best to look dejected and submissive.
Mr. Veiss seemed to relax and let the hand around his whistle fall. “But… I’m not a monster. My offer still stands. You play ball, and you get to rule this school with me. And trust me, it’s good to be the king. In fact…” He picked up his phone and quickly tapped out a message. Once finished, he said, “I’ve got a little surprise for you. Call it a signing bonus. As soon as the final bell rings, go to the equipment shed out by the stadium. You’ll see how generous I can be when things go my way.”
“It’s Lacy,” said the Genie. “He just gave you Lacy for the evening.”
Before George had time to ask about it more, Mr. Veiss dismissed him. “Now get out of here. Remember, Monday.”
George stood and made for the exit. But, as he was about to step across the threshold, Mr. Veiss said, “Oh, and George? Welcome to the big time.”
