The Epic Crush of Genie Lo (The Epic Crush of Genie Lo 1)

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Praying.” He took a deep breath, inhaling for what seemed an eternity, and lowered his head.

A vibration like a brewing storm emanated from his throat. It hardened into syllables. He was chanting, not like a monk but like a whole choir of monks in an echoing stone abbey that doubled and redoubled their voices. The air tingled with a sense of urgency.

“Na mo guan shi yin pu sa,” Quentin droned.

“Namoguanshiyinpusanamoguanshiyinpusa Namoguanshiyinpusa.”

I could have sworn the ground was shaking under our feet. Quentin grew louder and louder until it seemed like all the glass inside the shop would crack.

“Na mo guan shi yin pu sa,” Quentin continued. “Salutations to the most compassionate and merciful Bodhisattva.”

A burst of light came from the window, startling the bejeezus out of me. Quentin, however, appeared to be expecting it. He got up, opened the door, and motioned for me to come outside with him.

I was so worried at what I might see that I shielded my eyes, a bomb shelter refugee stepping out of the hatch. But the scene in the street was fairly normal. Sunshine, people, cars.

Everything was just frozen in time, was all.

Pedestrians had stopped mid-stride. Anyone who had been talking had their mouths open. A driver checked her mirror for a turn that had been paused indefinitely. The entirety of Johnson Square, as far as the eye could see, had been turned into a snow-globe without any white flakes.

There was no sound anywhere. I snapped my fingers to see if my ears still worked. Thankfully they did.

“Did you do this?” I asked Quentin.

He shook his head. “I’m not that powerful.”

I tried not to touch anything. I’d read enough sci-fi to be unsure of what time manipulation rules applied here. Maybe I could have posed everyone’s bodies in amusing positions, or maybe any contact with them would have triggered a quantum wave collapse or something.

Quentin led me to one person who turned out not to be frozen, just standing still across the street. I probably should have noticed her earlier. She was only the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen in my whole life.

She was as tall as I was. But she wore her height with such grace and poise that it made me feel unworthy to share that trait with her. Her elegant face was the kind that needed to be painted and housed in a museum, just to be fair to everyone born in the next century. She smiled at Quentin, and then at me.

“Genie Lo,” Quentin said. “This is the Bodhisattva Guanyin, the Goddess of Mercy, She Who Hears the Cries of the World. Benefactor to Xuanzang and my friend from the old days.”

“Hey girl!” Guanyin threw her arms around me in a fierce hug.

Huh. I thought the deified personification of kindness and compassion would have touched down on Earth in flowing robes and a crown of jewels. Not jeans and a pixie cut.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, my chin stuck on her shoulder. “Who’s that guy?”

There was another person who was free to move about. He was dressed like a cross between a Secret Service agent and a GQ model. He was as handsome as Guanyin was pretty, his facial features sharper than his five-figure suit. But his air of cold disdain made it clear he wasn’t in the business of handing out hugs. Quentin tensed up when he saw him.

“Erlang Shen,” he hissed with more vitriol than he spent on the Demon King of Confusion. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Erlang Shen pulled off his sunglasses and scanned the block with an imperial, unblinking gaze.

“Escorting the Lady Guanyin,” he said while completely overlooking Quentin. “Aren’t you going to introduce me as well, Keeper of the Horses?”

That had to have been some kind of insult, because Quentin looked as if he’d rather Erlang Shen’s face get acquainted with his fist. All I knew of the other god was that he was the only person who’d ever bested Sun Wukong in a fight. The grudge must have run deep.

“Of course not,” said Erlang Shen. He smirked as if getting under Quentin’s skin was the sport of kings. Then he turned to me and bowed slightly.

“You’re . . . the nephew of the Jade Emperor, right?” I asked.

“Among other things. I prefer to be known for mastering the torrents and bringing life to the fields.”

“He’s basically a glorified ditch-digger,” Quentin said.