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

Half an hour passed before he got bored and stood up.

“Want to go make out while flying through the air?” he asked. “We can land in Wine Country.”

I spun around in my chair to face him. “I don’t know. Any higher than a thousand feet up and I only kiss the ancient legends I’m in a proper relationship with.”

Quentin immediately dropped to one knee. “Eugenia Lo Pei-Yi, will you—”

I knocked him over with a kick before he could finish the sentence.

“Okay, too fast.” He sprang back up and grinned, undaunted. “How about a date then?”

That was acceptable. I took Quentin’s hand and left all my plans, all my fears, all my worries behind me. They’d be there when I got back.

“This looks like the stuff that comes with bubble tea.” Quentin prodded the tapioca pearls that garnished his oyster.

“That’s because it is,” I said. “Give me that if you’re not going to eat it.”

I wasn’t going to let the food go to waste. We were sitting at a table inside the best restaurant in the country.

We’d lost track of time during our jaunt to Wine Country and gotten hungry. Quentin had asked me where I wanted to eat, and I’d said the name of this place as a joke. But after a quick search on his phone, he’d jumped us to the unassuming, renovated saloon that served as the premier culinary destination in the western half of the United States.

The inside of the restaurant was pretty unassuming for a fancy place, mostly white wallpaper and white tablecloths and dark wooden leather chairs. But the other diners had the nervous air of competitive high-divers on the ledge, about to take their last shot at the gold.

Magic and hexes must have gotten us past the door and into our seats. That, or Quentin bribed the crap out of the staff with more gambling winnings than I could have hidden under my mattress. I let the details slide. I deserved a nice meal after everything I’d been through.

A waiter set down the next course as gracefully as a ninja in early retirement. It was something made out of cucumbers, which was much more Quentin’s speed. We both wolfed it down in an instant.

Quentin swallowed his portion first, which gav

e him time to laugh at me.

“What?”

“You’re the only human being here who isn’t taking pictures of the food before eating it,” he said.

“You mean we’re the only human beings. As far as I’m concerned, you’re one of us. Help as many people of Earth as you have, and you’re part of the club. Past the gate.”

Quentin’s eyes softened. “I don’t think it works like that. I haven’t been reborn as a human. I didn’t earn it like you did.”

“You did in my book. Besides, I’m not open-minded enough to have a boyfriend who isn’t at least part human.”

He grinned and shook his head at me. “You’re crazy, you know—”

BONGGGGG.

Quentin was interrupted by the sound of a gong. A big brass gong. A big brass Chinese gong, right here in a French restaurant.

Dozens of pairs of feet tromped over the wooden floors. Two columns of hatted, robed men shuffled into the room, making use of all the space in between the tables. Someone who was better than me at being Asian could have said what dynasty their colorful silken dress was from.

Judging by their subservient posture, they weren’t a threat. Quentin hadn’t leaped out of his seat, ready to fight. In fact, he was leaning back and slumping over like he did when he was bored in class.

The men all took a knee simultaneously, forming a human walkway that led straight to our table. A sedan chair entered from the other end. The golden, lacquered palanquin was borne by silent armored guardians who coordinated their steps like ballet dancers so as not to jostle the occupant.

Ever so slowly the chair made its way across the room to our table. Once it finally arrived, a servant pulled the embroidered silk curtain aside.

Out stepped a fuming, red-faced bank manager. Or a summer camp director. That was the impression I got of the man, even though he was decked out in fineries that could have stocked the Met’s exhibition halls for ten seasons straight.

A servant cleared his throat. “All hail His Imperial Majesty, August Ruler of Heaven and Divine Master of—”