“No,” the naked man agreed. “But they will fit you. And I want yours.”

  Wyatt looked down at his old sweats with their elastic waist and drawstring. “You want to wear mine?”

  “Yes. Tell me to.”

  “Tell you to what?” Wyatt rubbed at his head again. Was there a bump or was he imagining it?”

  “Tell me you want me to wear your…”

  “Sweats.” Wyatt supplied.

  “Exactly. Tell me to wear your sweats.”

  “What’s your name?”

  The man blinked. “What?”

  “Your name? What’s your name?”

  His brow furrowed—dark brows over darker eyes—and then he shrugged. “Saalik. But someone I used to know called me Saal.”

  “Okay, Saal, I would like you to wear my sweats.”

  * * * *

  Wyatt changed his clothes in the bathroom, handing his sweats out through a crack in the door before pulling on the pair of pants he’d been handed. They fit mostly. They could have been tighter around his waist, an even an inch or so longer, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Though, Wyatt wasn’t sure how exactly he’d become the beggar.

  When he finally stepped back out into the bedroom, Saal was gone.

  He followed the quiet sound of music and found him sitting in the middle of a comfortable looking sofa, his eyes glued to the television.

  He didn’t look up from the screen, and after being ignored for several long seconds, Wyatt asked if he could sit down.

  Saal didn’t answer but pointed to a chair.

  Wyatt took the seat and debated what to say. He could explain why he’d broken into Mr. Walters’ house, but Saal didn’t seem to care. Or ask why Saal’d not been wearing clothing, but then, it wasn’t like Wyatt had been expected.

  “Watching a movie?” He knew the answer of course, but it seemed like a nice neutral topic.

  Saal’s eyes flicked to his and then back again. “I find it helps pass the time.”

  “I like those old horror movies. You know, the ones that aren’t really scary.” Wyatt didn’t really have any particular preference but again, he was searching for something to say. “How about you?”

  “I like dramas. Preferably the ones where the characters you don’t like die at the end. This was just getting to the good part when you fell through the window.”

  “Oh.”

  They sat without saying anything else until the credits rolled and Saal snapped the television off and placed the remote on the cushion next to him.

  “So, what is it you want?” He looked at Wyatt curiously.

  “Um…I’m sorry. I know this must be a bad time.” Wyatt rubbed at the back of his head again. “But I live downstairs and someone broke into my place. You probably heard all the commotion. Anyway, I climbed out my window to get away.”

  Saal just blinked at him.

  “So…is it all right if I stay up here awhile? Let them find what their looking for and leave? It shouldn’t take very long.”

  “You’ve been here for ages already.” Saal nodded to the hallway. “Sleeping.”

  “Really?” Wyatt didn’t think it could have been very long. The sun was just coming up. I don’t—”

  “It’s Friday morning.”

  “Friday?” It couldn’t be Friday, if it was, that meant he’d slept for three days. “Are you sure?”

  Saal didn’t bother to answer, just continued to stare at him. It made Wyatt feel self-conscious.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Okay, well, he had broken in, but hadn’t he given Saal his sweatpants? Didn’t that make up for it, at least a little? “I mean, to upset you?”

  “Not yet. I’m just trying to figure out if I’ll regret my choice.”

  “Your…” Wyatt didn’t know exactly what they were talking about.

  Saal got up and paced the floor in front of him. The sweats were too big, but he’d cinched them up tight, and even cuffed the elastic ankles. “Do you know how this works, or do I need to explain it to you?”

  “Um…” Wyatt was sure he looked every bit the idiot Saal probably thought he was. “Are you Mr. Walters’ grandkid or something?”

  “I served Abel.” Saal stopped all the moving, and sat down on the coffee table across from him. He was very handsome in his own unnerving way. “Abel is gone, and now you’re here. So, it’s my turn to serve you.”

  “I don’t need to be served.” Maybe he was a housekeeper? The place was extremely clean. “I do all that stuff myself.”

  “No. I do things you can’t do for yourself.”

  “Saal?” Wyatt thought of all the ass-grabbing he’d endured at the hands of Mr. Walters since moving into the downstairs apartment at sixteen. Maybe he’d had a type. “Were you…like Mr. Walters’—”

  “Yes.” Saal looked relieved that Wyatt had put two and two together. “I was his Jinn.”

  Chapter 6

  1889, New York City

  The sound of the door woke Saalik from a deep sleep, but his excitement immediately dissipated when he heard the murmur of a voice he didn’t recognize.

  “And the rent?” It was a man’s voice.

  “Nineteen dollars a month.”

  “And all these things?” That came from a woman, and Saalik walked silently over to peek through the crack in the open bedroom door. “These crates?”

  “My last tenant passed away and she left all this behind.”

  The woman, dressed elegantly in velvet silk with a chenille fringe, walked to the fireplace and ran her gloved finger across the mantle to examine the dust. “How long since it’s been occupied?”

  “Four months. And we’ll of course have everything cleaned out if you were to sign the lease.

  “Good.” The woman noticed the open door where Saalik hid watching, and he held his breath, but she didn’t investigate further. “It would need a thorough cleaning.”

  “Absolutely. We have a service.”

  “She didn’t die in the apartment, did she?” This came from the man.

  “No, no,” the agent assured the couple. “Of course not. I actually never met her in my life. She made arrangements from overseas, shipped her belongings, and died on the voyage over.”

  Saalik walked back to the bare mattress of the bed and sat down. He’d known she was gone, had suspected it was coming that last night when she’d been so pale, and seemed so desperate. But still he’d hoped he was wrong. But there was really no mistaking the sudden loss of the tether that had bound him to her. It had lurched him awake, and he’d found himself here, in a grand, empty apartment, tethered once again to his bottle, packed away in one of a dozen crates.

  He wondered where she was buried. Wondered if her body had been laid to rest in New York, or if she’d been returned to London, or taken to Spain. If he hadn’t been tethered, he could go and leave flowers at her grave. She had always liked flowers.

  When he heard the door again, he decided to return to his bottle and wait. He was good at that.

  Chapter 7

  Wyatt searched through the disaster of his bedroom, looking for a shirt for Saal.

  His mattress was slit open, his drawers pulled from the dresser, and his closet searched, but it was nothing compared to what they had done to the living room.

  He lifted an arm load of clothes from the floor, dropped them on the bed and started to hunt through them. He found a lime-green T-shirt, but discarded it, sure Saal would look sickly in that color. Not that it mattered. He just needed the guy to put on a shirt. Any shirt.

  He found a dark blue tee and pressed it against his nose, happy when it still smelled of detergent and softener.

  He could hear Saal poking around in the living room and wondered for the millionth time why he’d insisted on coming downstairs. It was embarrassing to have someone see the place like this.

  “I suppose you’ll want me to fix everything?” Wyatt jumped, startled to find Saal in the doorway, watching him with those dark, serious eyes. “You’ll have to ask.”

  “How do you do that?” Wyatt said instead, pointing to the tendril of blue smoke that curled from Saal’s nostril, slowly winding around his bare arms.

  “Wha—” But he noticed the smoke before he finished the question, shook out his arm, and the mist evaporated. “Just happens. I’m out of practice being in public. Abel never let me leave the apartment.”

  “Because you were his Jinn?” Wyatt would have preferred to have forgotten the guy was fucking crazy.

  “Yes.” Saal walked into the room, stepping over where Wyatt’s penny jar had been smashed on the floor. “Is that shirt for me?”

  “Yeah.” Wyatt held it out, uncomfortable to let Saal step any closer. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he thought the guy was dangerous, just delusional.

  Saal stared at him a long moment before Wyatt remembered. “I wish you to put this on, Saal.”

  “You really don’t have to say wish.” But Saal yanked the shirt from his hands and pulled it over his head. When the smooth plane of his stomach disappeared under the soft fabric, Wyatt instantly relaxed.

  “Did Mr. Walters have to ask you to get dressed?” Because maybe that was why Saal hadn’t been wearing clothing. Maybe the old man had grown tired of asking him to get dressed every morning, and eventually didn’t bother with it at all.

  “No.” Saal turned to look in the cracked mirror that hung on the back of Wyatt’s door, admiring himself in the oversized clothes. “He told me not to. He caught me on the fire escape again and was punishing me. So, I needed you to undo his request.”

  The beautiful ones are always crazy, Wyatt. Maybe Teddy had told the truth about something after all.

  “Well, I wish you to wear clothes all the time, if you want. Anything you want.”

  “Anything I want?” For the first time Saal gave Wyatt a smile, a subtle quirk of his mouth that made Wyatt’s stomach flutter, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to make a deal with the devil.

  There was a loud pounding on the apartment door and Wyatt let out a tired sigh. For someone who’d slept for three days, he sure felt exhausted.

  He slid past the preening Saal and out into the hall where he had to step over his broken and abandoned enlarger. It was all he could do not to cry.

  He had hoped the sight of the main room wouldn’t be quite so shocking the second time, but it was, and when he peered through the peephole to find Mrs. Cain, his stomach sank. She’d be furious at the state of the place. Hell, he’d be lucky not to get booted out.

  “Shit. Why now?” He could feel Saal right behind him, watching his world fall apart, playing out like some tragic event in one of his dramas. Maybe if they were both lucky, Wyatt could drop dead on the spot.

  “Wyatt?”

  He didn’t answer, too busy trying to decide what to do.

  “Wyatt?” This time Saal’s voice was a bark, and when he again didn’t answer, Saal touched his shoulder. The gentleness of it was a surprising contrast to the irritation in his voice, and it was a sad reminder of just how long it had been since he’d had anyone touch him. At least a touch that wasn’t Samuel’s rough examination or Teddy’s bruising grip. “Wyatt, you have to tell me to fix this. That’s how it works.”

  “Please.” He was so fucking tired. “I wish you would fix it all. Every bit of it.” But there was no fixing this mess, so he took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “You’re two days late on the rent.”

  “The rent?” It took Wyatt a moment to realize what she was saying. “Oh. I’m…it’s been a crazy—”

  “Don’t care.” She pushed inside before Wyatt thought to stop her. “I’m not running a charity.”

  “Of course not—”

  “What. The. Hell.”

  Wyatt pushed the door closed and steeled himself to face Mrs. Cain’s wrath.

  “Who gave you permission to paint?”

  Paint?

  When Wyatt turned, instead of seeing a room of broken furniture and complete devastation, he found the place immaculate. The floors, that only moments before had been covered with papers, shattered dishes, and the splintered wood from the coffee table, were now clean, the old carpet gone and replaced with pristine hardwood. There was a charcoal gray rug and a sapphire velvet sectional where the old floral couch had been. And leaning in the doorway was Saal, looking pleased with himself in a snug fitting suit.

  “I didn’t realize you had company.” Mrs. Cain looked momentarily uncomfortable, which seemed to please Saal, who only grinned wider. “Well, Mr. Calder, aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “Mrs. Cain, this is…” Wyatt scrambled for what to say and came up blank.

  “I’m Abel Walters’ grandson.” Saal nodded. “I would shake hands, but I don’t want to.”

  Wyatt paled, and his landlady just look confused.

  “What?”

  “He’s a germaphobe.”

  “No, I’m not. I don’t like h—”

  Wyatt hushed him.

  “So you have a key to my apartment.” Mrs. Cain held out her hand. “Your grandfather didn’t have permission to change the locks.”

  “Technically, it’s my apartment until the end of the year. Abel was paid ahead, was he not?”

  After a moment, Mrs. Cain, visibly frustrated, obviously not used to getting any kind of pushback, gave up and turned to Wyatt. “About the rent.”

  “Well…um…I—”

  “You have his rent.” Saal interrupted Wyatt’s stammering. “I was with him when he handed it to you. I suggest you double-check your books.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Cain looked confused again and grumbled something under her breath. “I’d forgot about that.”

  She pushed past Wyatt, and when she cleared the door, he quickly closed and locked it behind her and turned around to stare at Saal, who grinned and took a little bow.

  “How did you—”

  “I said I was Jinn.”

  “Yeah, but I thought you were making that up.”

  “Why would I make that up?” Saal walked to an ornate mirror that now hung in the entry to admire himself in the reflection. “How do you think I look? I saw this in a cologne commercial.”

  Instead of answering, Wyatt crossed to the hall to look in his bedroom. “Oh my God.”

  This time, when he returned to the front room, Saal was back in his sweats and T-shirt and had taken a seat in the middle of the new sofa. “I’d forgotten how much I enjoy early on when people are still impressed.”

  Wyatt ran to the kitchen next. Like the living room, it was immaculate, with perfectly preserved vintage black and white tiles and stainless-steel appliances. “Oh my God.”

  “What’s next?” Saal smiled when Wyatt turned back to look at him, pleased with himself.

  “Next?” He came to sit next to Saal on the couch, and startled, Saal scooted away from him. “Does that mean I have two more wishes?”

  “I don’t know. Do you?”

  “No, I mean, do I only get three wishes like the stories?”

  “If only.” Saal shook his head. “There’s no limit. Besides, you’ve made four already.”

  “Four?”

  “Yes.” Saal counted them off on his fingers. “For me to wear your sweats, to put on a T-shirt, to wear anything I want, and to fix all this. Four.”

  “Are you like a monkey’s paw?” There had to be at catch after all, didn’t there?

  Saal’s brows knitted.

  “You know, will the wishes all backfire?”

  “I suppose it all depends on your wishes.”

  “I wish to see my brother Teddy.”

  Saal went quiet for a long moment, and then frowned. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

  Wyatt didn’t answer, and the next time Saal said his name, something in the tenderness of it and the way he looked at him, had Wyatt threatening to break down.

  “Every wish has consequences, and only you can decide if the risk of the consequences is worth it. Take your time, there’s no hurry.”

  “Yeah.” Wyatt knew that he wanted to see his brother almost as much as he didn’t want to see him. But he wasn’t sure how Saal had known. “What should I wish for then?”

  “How about starting small?”

  “I…” Wyatt shrugged and then smiled. “Do you like pizza?”

  Saal nodded.

  “Pizza it is then.”

  Chapter 8

  Three Years Ago, Picket House

  “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  Saalik was sitting on the fire escape and eating grapes when the argument on the lower floor escalated into a shouting match that spilled outside.

  He was happy for the entertainment.

  The television had been busted for three weeks, and Abel refused to let him fix it. Saalik had already read all the books in the apartment, so he had little else to do but spy on the neighbors to pass the time. He knew most of their names and was pretty sure he’d sussed out the villains of the drama playing out in the house, but these two were new.

  “No. You won’t, Wyatt. There’s a goddamned difference.”

  He remained perfectly still, not wanting the quarreling pair to discover they had an audience, and hoped Abel didn’t return and catch him outside.

  “You don’t understand, Samuel. You don’t know what’s it’s like being trapped.”

  Those words stuck a cord with Saalik.

  “You think not?” The tall, handsome one, the one called Samuel, was furious. “I’m feeling pretty trapped right now.”

  Wyatt, the one with the pale pink hair, dropped to sit on the stairs. His bare arms were bruised and he pressed his palms hard against his eyes, refusing to look at the other.

  “Why did you even apply then? Why did you make me think we’d do this together.”

  Saalik risked scooting back against the brick of the building, into the shadow of the roofline where he could get a better view of the man sitting on the steps.

  “I’m not turning this scholarship down. I’m not going to the community college just to be closer to you.”