Chapter One

Moreen McGee glanced across the street at the apartment windows as she walked by. This was her fourth pass in front of the building this evening. She’d been by six times the night before, but the witch had never left.

There was no doorman, so that was a plus. Getting inside shouldn’t be too hard. All she needed to do was buzz a few of the apartments until somebody, out of frustration at being bothered by the noise, hit the button to unlock the main door. Then, it was upstairs to Aliya’s apartment, and the deed would be done. In and out. Simple and quick. Painless.

This was all Aliya’s fault anyway. As far as Moreen was concerned, she’d had it coming. No matter what sort of “new leaf” she’d turned over, Aliya was still a witch, and she always would be.

Just as the thought ran through her mind, the front door to the building opened and Aliya walked out. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater, and on her arm was the gorgeous blond Moreen had seen with her at the teen center just two short days ago.

They were laughing and had their arms around each other. The door closed behind them as they turned and kissed, the contact lingering. Moreen sneered as she watched them, so obviously in love it was disgusting. Then, the man walked to the street and hailed a taxi. Perfect. If they were taking a taxi, they would be gone for a while.

She’d have plenty of time.

When Aliya and her man climbed into the taxi and sped away, she stepped into the shadows of the building, then pulled gloves from her pocket and tugged them on. Always best not to leave any fingerprints. She’d learned that the hard way.

The hood of her sweatshirt was already pulled up, her dark hair piled on top of her head underneath it. She had padded herself to hide her curves, so that if people were asked about anyone hanging around, they could say, “well, I think it was a heavy-set young man.”

Moreen crossed the street and started pressing buttons on the building intercom system. It didn’t take long before the door buzzed and she was in. She took the stairs to the second floor, then stopped at Aliya’s door, knocking just to make sure there was no one inside.

When knock went unanswered, Moreen pulled a lock pick set from her pocket, making quick work of the doorknob and the deadbolt. She was inside the apartment in less than two minutes. There was no buzzing of an alarm system, no telltale beeps as the system waited for the homeowner to put in their code.

“Idiot.” She snorted, then cautiously stepped down the hallway and into the main room. It was spacious and beautifully decorated. The sight of the furnishings made Moreen want to puke. Compared to her one bedroom, fifth-floor walkup in Queens, this place was Buckingham Palace.

Her fingers itched to touch things, to examine all of Aliya’s fine belongings. Hell, she wanted to take half of them with her. She was sure a lot of the items would fetch a pretty penny from a fence. The extra money would keep her in food and rent for a few months.

But, as tempting as the idea was, that wasn’t why she was here. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the wallet. Aliya’s wallet.

For the past two days, Moreen had sweated bullets every time someone had come into the youth center. She’d panicked when someone had knocked on her door at home. She just knew they were there to accuse her of theft. Again. All because some snot-nosed teen-age pickpocket had seen an opportunity to make a few bucks, and took the witch’s wallet.

She had seen the kid at work, sliding the wallet from Aliya’s purse with such expertise that the foolish woman hadn’t felt a thing. And then he had run off. By the time Moreen had caught up to him, and thought to return the wallet to her high school rival, Aliya and her two friends were gone.

Moreen had berated the kid halfheartedly, reminding him that she was doing community service, at the Parker Center for Teens, because she’d made stupid decisions, like he’d just done. Still, secretly, she’d been thrilled at his choice of targets. Aliya Baban had been a thorn in her side for years, and Moreen considered her the starting point of her own downhill slide. Meanwhile, the bitch was thriving, with a beautiful apartment and a gorgeous boyfriend. Where was the justice in that?

Still, she wouldn’t let the theft set yet another teen on a path to destruction. She planned on returning the wallet, and all would be well. Over the past two days she’d expected Aliya to show up, to ask if anyone had seen the wallet, or turned it in. And, if she had, Moreen planned to pull it out and act innocent.

“Oh, you mean this? Well, I didn’t open it, so I didn’t know it was yours. I’m sure everything’s in there, cash, credit cards. Go ahead and check.” The kid had promised her he hadn’t taken any money out. Just to make sure, Moreen had made him turn out his pockets, and then checked inside the wallet herself. Sure enough, there was eighty-two dollars cash and four credit cards.

Now, she just had to figure out a place to put it so that Aliya would discover it and say, “Oh wow, there it is. Cool!”

Putting it in the kitchen seemed too easy, the same went for the living room, or dining room, or even the bathroom. It would seem too obviously planted in those places. The best place for it, she was sure, was in the bedroom, lying next to a dresser on the floor. Aliya would just think it had dropped out of her purse. It may take her a few days to discover it, but it would be there, fully intact despite Moreen’s wish to take some of the money and keep it for herself.

She hurried across the living room to a hallway she was sure led to a bedroom. She passed what appeared to be an office, a bathroom, and a bedroom that looked to be for guests before coming to one that looked used. Very used. The smell of sex was in the air. Moreen sneered. Aliya and her blond hunk must have enjoyed a quick fuck before going out for the evening.

The bed took up much of the room, and there was a master bathroom off to the side. Against one wall, though, was a dresser, with drawers hanging open.

“Perfect.”

She crossed to it, debating on whether to leave the wallet in one of the drawers, or lying on the ground. Finally opting for the floor, she dropped it like it was hot, watched it land, then kicked it so that it was half-under the dresser.

“Done.” Now the theft couldn’t be traced back to the Center, and the teen who’d stolen it would stay out of trouble.

Moreen looked at the dresser top, studying the bottles of perfume and necklaces that littered the surface. She reached out and took up one of the bottles of perfume, squirting it into the air and sniffing appreciatively. The smell of roses filled the room, competing with the smell of sex. She hadn’t owned a bottle of perfume in about seven years. Perfume was a luxury that Moreen couldn’t afford. Money spent on trivial things like that would be better saved for food or utilities.

She sat the bottle down, then stared at the object sitting next to it. A lamp, just like those found in the Aladdin tales—something that would grant wishes, giving the person who owned it power and the ability to make things better for themselves. She picked it up and studied it. The lamp’s surface seemed dull and lifeless, and she shook her head in disgust. Leave it to Aliya to have something like this, something that could inspire people to dream, and to ignore it.

Moreen thought of her mother, whom she hadn’t talked to in years. She remembered her mother tucking her in at night and reading her fairy tales when she was a child, especially the tales of Aladdin and his lamp. Because of the lamp, Aladdin had ended up with a better life. She’d always dreamed of that, of finding her own lamp, complete with a genie to bring her riches and clothes and a huge house. It was a time when she believed in fairy tales.

“Right. I’ve lost that time, haven’t I?” She put the lamp back down and headed quickly for the doorway.

She was in the living room when she stopped, an image of the lamp’s dull surface swimming before her eyes. Then, there was Aliya in high school, her clothes perfect, not a hair out of place, telling everyone that Moreen had slept with the entire baseball team. And Aliya had done it just to win a student council election.

Deep-seeded anger took hold of her stomach, spread through her chest and into her hands, which she clenched into fists. “She doesn’t deserve it,” Moreen muttered. “If she did, she’d take better care of it.”

She turned and strode back into the bedroom, picking up the lamp again. She wasn’t a thief anymore, but for Aliya, she would make an exception. The lamp was too big to fit in her pocket, so she unzipped her hoodie, shoved it inside, and zipped it back up, heading for the front door.

Given the condition of the lamp, Aliya would probably never miss it. And Moreen would have the wonderful feeling of pulling something over on the woman who had set her on the path to ruin. A small trade-off, true, but seeing the lamp everyday would bring a smile to her face, she was sure of that.

It was more than an hour, and several subway stops later, when Moreen climbed the last flight of stairs to her apartment. She let herself in and leaned against the door. She hadn’t broken into an apartment in more than seven years. And, even though she’d done this to help one of her charges, she’d still ended up letting her thieving nature take over in the end.

She unzipped her jacket and took out the lamp, putting it on the table and stepping back. It needed to be cleaned. Badly. After taking off her jacket and padding, she crossed the hall to Mrs. Weinstein’s apartment. The older woman answered on the first knock.

“Why, Miss McGee, how are you this evening?”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Weinstein, thanks. You don’t happen to have any brass cleaner, do you?” Moreen figured the woman did, since she had a fantastic collection of knickknacks that she was always polishing.

“Why yes, I do. Did you buy something new?” Her eyes brightened with interest and Moreen winced.

“No, it’s for the center. They have some things there that need cleaning, some… lamps.”

“Well, of course, dear. How much do you need? Anything to help your volunteer work.”

Moreen groaned silently. Her sweet neighbor had no idea of Moreen’s past, of her criminal tendencies, or the fact that her work at the center wasn’t volunteer work, but had been ordered by the courts.

“Just a little bit would be good.” Moreen waited just inside the door while the woman went to the kitchen, rummaged around from the sounds of it, then came out carrying a small, round tin.

“This is about half-full. Will that work?”

“Yes, thank you. What we don’t use I’ll bring back. Thanks so much.”

“No problem, dear. Just remember to wear gloves. This can cause abrasions on your beautiful skin.”

“I will, thank you again.”

Moreen went back to her own apartment, touched by her neighbor’s concern. Mrs. Weinstein had lived a hard life, but she was always smiling, always quick to have a kind word for everyone and anyone. Moreen wished she still felt that way about people.

Inside her apartment, she went in search of an old T-shirt. Once she’d found one, she cut it into strips, then sat down at the kitchen table, pulling her gloves back on. She dipped the strips into the cleaner, then rubbed the lamp. The grime came off easily, and in half an hour, the lamp shone like it was new.

She took off her gloves and picked it up, staring at it with wonder. She felt not a lick of guilt about taking it from Aliya. The bitch deserved it.

She ran her fingers over the surface, then gasped as the floor seemed to move.

Her eyes widened more as a man appeared. He reclined in the chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands clasped together on his washboard stomach. He wore loose linen pants and nothing else. Long, black hair cascaded over his shoulders, and there was a scowl on handsome face.

“Bad little girl.” His dark eyes were piercing, and she swallowed hard. “You really should be ashamed of yourself, Moreen.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Paran, and you stole my lamp. For the next thirty days, I can be your most wicked fantasy come true, or I can be your worst nightmare. It’s your choice.”