Being a magical slave was exhausting, but at least the drama in this house was better than sitting in a dark lamp.

“Actually, I had thirty-seven wives and one very talented husband,” Nandor corrected. “But Marwa was the one who didn’t mind when I spent three months pillaging and forgot to write. She has a very kind face. Like a symmetrical potato.”

Should we dive into the specific consequences of this wish or move to another episode?

“Marwa!” Nandor cheered, throwing his arms wide. “The war has been over for seven hundred years! Welcome to Staten Island. It is like the afterlife, but with more strip malls.”

“Yes, Master?” the Djinn sighed. “We are down to our final thirty-eight wishes. Please tell me you’ve thought of something better than making your horse, John, slightly more aerodynamic.”

“Nandor?” she asked, her voice melodic. “Is the war over?”