“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

  Samuel clenched his fist, pacing the small landing, and the sounds of his heavy steps on the metal echoed.

  “Fuck.” His frustrated scream echoed too.

  After another moment’s hesitation, he disappeared back through the window, and then came the sound of a door slamming.

  The man with the pretty hair didn’t get up. He didn’t so much as look after him, just leaned his head against the railing, unmoving.

  Saalik didn’t move either. Just watched the man, fighting the urge to climb down and console him. He lost track of the time until Abel called his name.

  Chapter 9

  Wyatt opened his eyes and found Saal sitting on the bed next to him. “Good morning.”

  “We need to get my bottle.”

  Still groggy, it took him a moment to realize what Saal was saying. “Oh. Like, your bottle bottle?”

  “We’re tethered now.” He rose to stand and Wyatt reached out, grabbing at his thigh to steady him on the mattress so he didn’t fall.

  “Careful.”

  “But if someone else were to find my bottle, I would become their possession. They would be my keeper.”

  Wyatt didn’t like the way possession sounded, but he nodded. “Whenever you want.”

  “Now.” Saal hopped down to the floor and went to stand by the door and wait. “We should go now.”

  “Okay. Is it okay if I grab a shower?” Saal nodded, and Wyatt dragged himself out of bed. He could feel Saal’s eyes on him as he retrieved fresh clothes from his drawers. And when he looked back, he didn’t turn away. “Saal, were you watching me sleep this morning?”

  He nodded.

  “Why?”

  “I like looking at you.”

  “Um…” It was not the response he’d expected. “Did you get any sleep at all?”

  “I’m tired of being asleep.”

  Wyatt felt bad then, wondering if Saal had been bored or lonely locked away in the upstairs apartment. Mr. Walters didn’t seem particularly social, but then, maybe he was different behind closed doors.

  “How long were you with Mr. Walters?”

  “Not long. Three years?” It seemed like a long time to Wyatt. “Four, maybe.”

  “Were the two of you friends?” Maybe it was a weird question to ask. “Did you—”

  “We need to hurry.”

  Wyatt grabbed a random shirt from the closet and locked himself in the bathroom. If Saal didn’t want to talk about it, he was fine with that. Wyatt would get ready and they would grab his bottle, and then they’d have a talk about boundaries. Wyatt didn’t want to be watched while he slept. Just the thought of Saal’s coal dark eyes was unnerving, though on the few occasions when he smiled, they hadn’t seemed quite so scary.

  When he came back out, he found Saal in his room studying some of his photographs. They’d been stuck up on his wall with push pins before the robbery, but were now in pale wood frames with oversized matts and real glass. They may not have been Raphael’s Portrait of a Young Man but still, they looked like real art like that.

  “Thanks, Saal.”

  Saal blinked at him.

  “For saving my ass. The apartment, it looks beautiful.”

  Oddly, while admitting to watching Wyatt as he slept hadn’t embarrassed him, Wyatt’s words obviously did, and he smiled uncomfortably.

  “We should hurry.”

  * * * *

  Mostly the house was still sleeping when they climbed the stairs to Mr. Walters’ old room, but Mrs. Cain was already awake, smoking downstairs on one of the old chairs near the foot of the wide stairs, with its view of the second floor.

  She watched them disapprovingly when they emerged from Wyatt’s apartment together so early in the morning, as if it was any of her business who came and went from his and Teddy’s place. It made Wyatt wonder if Mrs. Cain had ever been happy. But surely she had. Mrs. Cain had been Miss Cain once, and must have fallen in love, and probably had a wedding with flowers. And smiling friends who’d thrown rice.

  Saal let them into the rooms without any of the trouble Mrs. Cain or the locksmith had, and somehow, even though he’d been there just the morning before, walking inside this time made Wyatt uncomfortable.

  “What all do you want?” Wyatt looked around. Mr. Walters had a lot of stuff, and he was a little concerned Saal would want it all. It wouldn’t be that big a problem but he was pretty sure more than just Portrait of a Young Man were considered stolen or missing, or something.

  “Just this.” Saal appeared from the hall cradling a squat, flat-bottomed vase made of swirling colors and milky white glass. Wyatt had expected something different, something bigger, grander maybe. Certainly more fragile and intricate. More “I Dream of Jeanie” than ancient antiquity.

  “Saal, how old are you?” Because if he’d learned anything from his art history class during his single semester in community college and all his trips to the museum, that vase was old. Old-old.

  “I don’t know.” Saal walked over and held it out to him. “Take it.”

  Wyatt took it gently, careful not to drop it. The weight of it felt familiar somehow, but nothing else in the moment felt particularly significant, but it obviously was for Saal, who instantly relaxed and smiled at him.

  Mrs. Cain was still in her chair when they came back down the stairs to the second floor, but this time she took no notice of them. Instead, staring off, lost somewhere in her own thoughts.

  “Can someone just wish to be happy?” Wyatt whispered the question as he let them back into his apartment.

  “It all depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “What it is that will make them happy.” Saal took the bottle from his hands and carried it back to Wyatt’s room, debating a moment before deciding to tuck it safely in the bottom of the newly materialized nightstand. “The real question is, what would make you happy?”

  Wyatt didn’t even have to think about it.

  * * * *

  Saal let out a loud sigh.

  “Be patient. It’ll only be another few minutes.” Wyatt had dragged Saal down to the far end of the little city park, and now they sat at a picnic table watching the bus stop. But first, he’d bought him a bag of candy from the corner shop, hoping to keep him entertained, but it hadn’t worked. “Just eat your M&Ms.”

  “But it’s cold.” It wasn’t. “Oh, look. A puppy. You should wish for a puppy.”

  “Shhh. It’s here.” Wyatt held his breath as the bus squealed to a stop at the curb at the end of the block and opened its doors. When Samuel stepped off, backpack strap over one shoulder, Wyatt poked Saal with his elbow. “Him. I want him.”

  Saal, who had been chatting nonstop all morning, went completely silent.

  “Make him fall in love with me.” When Saal didn’t answer, Wyatt looked over and found him studying Samuel. “What?”

  “It doesn’t work like that.” Saal got up from the bench and threw his empty bag in the trashcan, his mood abruptly changed. “I can’t influence love, life, or death.”

  “What can you do?”

  “I can make him sleep with you. That’s enough for most people.”

  “I don’t want to sleep with him. Or, I mean, I do, but I want him to look at me the way he used to.” Like Wyatt was worth looking at.

  Saal, distracted with watching Samuel, stepped into the street and Wyatt pulled him back before he was struck by a passing car, and then herded him across the lanes quickly.

  “How does he look at you now?”

  “I don’t know.” But he did. When Samuel looked at him, he only ever saw Wyatt’s plethora of shortcomings.

  “I can’t make him love you. Only you can do that.”

  “I doubt it.” Wyatt shook his head. “He can’t really see me at all anymore.”

  “Then first we need to change that.”

  “So, I could wish for him to see me?”

  “I’m not your monkey’s paw, but it’s still best to be more specific, so there isn’t a misunderstanding.”

  Wyatt considered how he might do that. “Saal, I wish Samuel could look and actually see me, the way he used to see me.”

  “Be more specific.”

  “I wish Samuel saw me as desirable.” Wyatt refused to be embarrassed.

  “You really don’t have to say wish.”

  “Oh.” Wyatt laughed. “Saal, please make Samuel see me as desirable.”

  Saal was quiet for a few moments, head tilted, as if listening to some inner voice, and then his mouth quirked up in a smile. “Simple enough.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, a wisp of blue smoke curling from his lips, and the alarm on the car parked behind them on the street started to scream.

  When Samuel turned at the sound and saw them, Wyatt’s hat was gone, his hoodie and old jeans replaced by something more fashionable and Saalik was no longer in his sweats and T-shirt. Instead he looked like a dream boy in painted-on black jeans, heeled boots, and a fuzzy, oversized blue sweater.

  “He sees you now.” Saalik grabbed him by the collar of his coat, pulling him down. “Don’t waste it.”

  Wyatt kissed him.

  * * * *

  “That was awesome.” Wyatt busied himself chopping vegetables and practically dancing on air. “How did you know that would work?” Because it had. Undoubtedly. Samuel had stopped walking, watched them for a long moment, his mouth tugging down at the corners, and then he’d stormed off.

  “A person’s perception of something’s value is influenced by how others value it. He’d stopped seeing you as desirable and was reminded of your desirability when he saw someone else look at you that way.” Saal sat on the counter as Wyatt worked and reached over to steal a floret of broccoli. “It’s human nature. But mostly, when someone makes a wish, I glimpse the outcomes of any interference.”

  That gave Wyatt pause. “You can see what will happen?”

  “Yes.” He blew on the bit of the broccoli before he took a bite and made a face. “He’s thinking about you right now.”

  The last sentence distracted Wyatt from what he was going to ask next. “He is?”

  “Yes. And he’s going to stop by. He’ll say he’s checking on how you’re feeling, but really it will be because he hasn’t been able to stop remembering kissing you.”

  “Wow.” Wyatt dumped everything into his pot, grinning until the reality of that set in. “But I’m still the same person he thinks is a loser.”

  “And you have time to change that.”

  “How?”

  “Most people start by asking for money.” Saal dropped the rest of his floret in the garbage disposal. “Tell me this will taste better in your soup.”

  “Samuel would just think I stole it. Or worse.”

  “Ask to win it. Or inherit it.”

  “No. I need it to be money I earned.”

  Saal sighed and started poking around the fridge. “You seem determined to make this harder than it needs to be.”

  “Do Jinn get hungry?” Wyatt changed the subject. He’d continued to feed Saal—and Saal had continued to eat—but it only just occurred to him that Saal might not need to. “I mean, do you—”

  “I love food.”

  It wasn’t exactly an answer, but it was good enough. “Well, broccoli cheese soup tastes a lot better than plain steamed broccoli. But if you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”

  The timer on the oven dinged and Wyatt busied himself pulling the bread out of the oven and setting it on the stove top to cool. By the time he’d gotten out the butter, olive oil with herbs, their drinks, and set the table, the soup was ready and the bread cool enough to slice.

  Saal studied the bowl before taking his first tentative taste and grinned. “It’s good.”

  “I cook when I’m in a good mood. At least when I have ingredients.” Wyatt added a little salt to his bowl, and watching him, Saal followed suit.

  “Most people go big. Make me rich. I want a castle. What is it you want? What is it that you believe will win Samuel? What is it he wants you to be?”

  “To not be me.” It was the first thing that went through Wyatt’s mind, but he stopped and shook his head, because, at one time, it hadn’t been that way. “He wants me to go to school like we used to talk about, to be something more than a bagboy. He wants me not to put my brother first, before him, even before me. He wants me to hold hands in public.”

  “He wants you to be brave.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah.” Wyatt had never thought of it that way. “I guess so.”

  “Well, your brother isn’t here.”

  “True.” For now, anyway.

  “And you kissed me on the street. Quite thoroughly I should add.” Saal smiled wickedly and Wyatt felt himself go pink. “So, two down and one to go.”

  Could it be that easy? Because Teddy wasn’t here. And no, he hadn’t hesitated to kiss Saal on the sidewalk. In fact, he’d enjoyed it. And yeah, mostly it was because Samuel would see, but he knew that wasn’t the only reason. And not once had he thought about the reaction of strangers. Maybe he could be the kind of person Samuel wanted.

  “What do you think I should wish for?”

  “It depends. How brave do you want to be?”

  Chapter 10

  Saalik spent most of the night wandering around the new apartment. He felt restless in a way that he hadn’t in a very long time. Not since the days following Elizabeth’s passing.

  He still missed her. Missed their talks, and their outings together. And he missed her wicked sense of humor. She was independent in a way she told him most women didn’t have the luxury of at the time. But then, she’d been newly widowed, and well off when she’d walked into one of several inherited estates and found his bottle boxed up among the fine china and table linens in the attic. She’d needed a companion more than anything else, and that had made all the difference. They had been friends.

  She used to say that they were soul mates, just as she and her husband William had been, and that to find two soul mates in one lifetime left little else to wish for.

  Saalik thought about that sometimes.

  Since Elizabeth, he’d only been tethered to two others before Wyatt. There had been Edward, a man who held little regard for anything but wealth, and Abel who had been much the same. Though where Edward had been brutish, Abel had merely been indifferent.

  Wyatt was more like Elizabeth then any of the others, and yet nothing like her at all. And still, Saalik was certain Elizabeth would have approved of him.

  He walked through the hall and to the foot of the bed, studying Wyatt for a long moment. Any pink that had been in his hair the first time Saalik had seen him was long gone, but the pale blond suited him. It suited the blush of his lips and the blue of his eyes. Saalik hopped up and stepped over him. Even half asleep, Wyatt reached out to steady him.

  Saalik found it funny because he was in no danger of falling.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Coming to watch you sleep.”

  “Can’t you just sleep too?”

  Saalik dropped to sit next to him and rested his chin on his fist. “I’ve told you, I’ve spent too much time sleeping.”

  Wyatt pulled the blankets up to cover his face so that Saalik couldn’t look at him. “I should really look for a job tomorrow. Which means I need to sleep.”

  “What about your next wish?”

  “Can I ask you something?” Wyatt pulled the cover down again to look at him, his face serious.

  “You wish to ask me something?”

  “No.” Wyatt kicked at him, and Saalik grinned. “I just want to ask you something.”

  “All right. Go ahead.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “What?” Saalik blinked. “Does what hurt?”

  “The wishes. When you grant a wish, it doesn’t hurt, right? Or…I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I just…I need to know it doesn’t use up a little piece of you somehow.”

  Saalik studied him a moment. He was sure the question had less to do with concern for him than fear of risking that next wish, but still he felt an odd sort of feeling in his chest that reminded him a little of a certain moment, in a certain alley, behind a certain playhouse.

  Instead of answering, he climbed under the covers. The sheets were cold, too cold, and he scooted into Wyatt’s space where it was warmer, and closed his eyes.”

  “Goodnight, Saal.”

  Saalik smiled without opening his eyes, oddly content. “Goodnight.”

  Chapter 11

  “These are quite good.” Vanessa Corbyn, of Corbyn-Ross Gallery, flicked her eyes up to his and then back down to the pages of his portfolio.

  “Thank you.” Wyatt fought the urge to look out the window and across the road to where Saal stood waiting for him on the other side of the street.

  He’d woken up that morning with a wish firmly set in his mind, though at first he’d been unable to work up the courage to make it. Instead, Wyatt had dragged Saal to his favorite diner.

  Dragged might have been too strong a word. Saal had loved the idea of having breakfast out, but when he’d seen the place he’d been less enthusiastic at the idea.

  “It looks dirty.”

  “It is dirty. But I swear, the food is great.”

  Saal reluctantly followed Wyatt inside, slid into the worn-out booth, listened patiently to all Wyatt’s recommendations, and then proceeded to order tiny, prepackaged boxes of cereal off the kids’ menu.

  He was on his third bowl and still seemed delighted whenever he scooped up a marshmallow—look, it’s another rainbow—when Mrs. Cain walked in and took a seat near the door.

  “Shit.” Wyatt scooted a few inches over, using Saal’s body to block himself from her view.

  “What?” He started to look around and Wyatt stopped him.

  “Don’t. It’s the landlady. I don’t want her to see me.”

  “Want her to leave?” Saal asked between bites. “Just have to ask.”

  Wyatt almost said yes, but then he stopped and studied her over Saal’s shoulder. As she sat, taking slow sips from her coffee cup and looking out the window at passing traffic, she looked particularly alone.