Free Wishing in the Wings by Mindy Klasky Page B

ranting about his real estate taxes. Even after he’d paid off his home, he’d complained bitterly that San Diego was trying to bury him with annual levies.
    “Everything’s wrapped up for as long as you own the property.” She clicked her tongue. “Honestly, all of this is in the contract that you signed. Real estate obligations are there on page 74, in simple black and white.”
    I could barely process what she was saying. An hour ago, I’d been homeless. Now I owned a home that was probably worth more than my parents’ and my grandfather’s houses combined.
    Teel allowed a very lawyerly frown to crease her brow. “You should start over there. You don’t want to keep Maureen waiting.”
    I heard the dismissal in her voice. “And you?” I asked. “Aren’t you coming with me?”
    Teel’s carefully glossed lips came close to mocking me. “I already know what the condo looks like.” She shook her head and raised her fingers to her ear. This time when she tugged, I didn’t feel anything, didn’t suffer the electric shock. When she lowered her arm, she wore a stunning wool coat over her suit, a fitted garment with a belt that accented every curve of her figure. A cashmere muffler draped over her shoulders with casual élan, and a pair of fur-lined leather gloves covered her fingers, palms, and tattooed wrist. “You go ahead,” Teel said. “I’m going to spend a little time visiting some old haunts.”
    “Are you allowed to do that?” I blurted, glancing at the lamp, which still lay on my desk.
    “Of course,” Teel said with a sweetness that made me just a little suspicious. “That’s the bargain. You have however much time it takes to make your wishes. And I have my freedom.”
    “But how am I going to find you? What about when I’m ready to make my next wish?”
    She nodded toward my hand, the one that was embossed with my own faintly flickering flames. “We already went over that. Just press your fingers together and call my name.” She tossed one end of her scarf around her neck and breezed over to my office door.
    “Teel!” I called, before she could open it, before she could disappear into the Mercer hallways, into the New York city streets. She turned back with one eyebrow arched into a question. “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for everything.”
    “Oh,” she chortled, and her stern lawyerly facade crumbled before my eyes. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

CHAPTER 5

    AND TEEL WAS right.
    I’d had an image in my mind when I’d described my dream apartment. I’d pictured enough space to move, a little open air to breathe, enough room for a couch and a loveseat in the living room.
    But I had never, even in my wildest dreams, imagined living in the incredible condo that I now, um, owned.
    Picture the coolest apartment you’ve ever seen in a movie, the most incredible airy Manhattan loft. Make sure to include floor to ceiling windows. Toss in unbelievable furniture, fresh from the catalog of your choice—just make sure that there are a few hints of the softest teal, of dusty rose, of wintergreen, all used as perfect accent colors to offset the classic upholstery of the couch, the loveseat, two chairs, matching ottomans, side tables, and a full-size coffee table. Yes, all of that furniture—picture it!—just in the living room!
    Add a kitchen, and a couple of bedrooms, and a view of the river, and you’ll soon understand why I was unable to summon two consecutive sentences as Maureen Schultz showed me around my new home. I’m sure she thought I was nuts—Teel’s magic somehow had her believing that she and I had met many times before, that we’d actually weathered a long business relationship with plenty of failed visits to other buildings before I’d set my heart on the Bentley.
    I tried to remember basic English sentence structure as one part of my mind gibbered, “Mine, mine, mine!” and another chanted, “Eat your heart out, Dean Marcus!” I was still grinning like an