Chapter 21
Malek.
Malek stirred in his bed. He hadn’t been in his own damn apartment for more than forty-five minutes before he heard his name being called.
The low, tangy sound of it—like it was being shouted through metal—made him realize it was either his ring or his guitar, pulling him forward.
As he rolled out of bed and found a hoodie, part of him wondered if his crown or microphone was also being used.
Because he was bound to Caspar, no one could conjure him if they rubbed either object, but Malek would still hear his name being called.
It would be faint, but there. The fact that William found his guitar at a pawn shop gave Malek renewed hope that his items hadn’t gone too far.
They could be in a dump on Toronto Island with the rest of the rejected scraps from alchemists, perhaps close enough to be what was calling him forward.
Malek rose from his bed and went in search of pants.
His name came over and over again, along with the same metallic edge.
He threw on his jeans over his boxers, not bothering with the keycard.
When he reached the hallway, he waited for the sound to guide his next step.
He remembered the strange backwards place that he was caught in for months and months after Abe and everyone else was killed.
Even though he wasn’t corporeal in the Summerland, his loneliness there had felt like a second skin, and contrasted with the bright colours and music that surrounded him.
He didn’t understand how a place that was so colourful could leave him feeling so empty.
But when Malek told this to Twigs, she understood it intuitively.
The Summerland was like a musical about something horrific, like Rent or Angels in America.
Beautiful to look at, but a horrendous tale underneath the glitz and glamour.
As much as Malek hated the Summerland, there was a quiet peace to that kind of beauty.
The bright colours were void. A place without categories and without bodies was alluring.
It had meant that Malek didn’t have to make any decisions, and that was wonderful.
So wonderful that when Jocasta first rubbed the ring, Malek had been furious to be brought out of the Summerland’s hold.
He heard his name and ignored it, until the shouting became violent.
He had to go toward his name when called—there was no other choice.
His duty made him feel powerless, especially when all he wanted was colour and music.
But Jocasta had been kind to him. She wasn’t a slumlord who wanted gold, gold, and more gold.
As soon as she realized what she’d stumbled across, she was happy.
She’d only just killed the last underground boss and was trying to take over the business, but was overwhelmed by all the loose ends.
So her first favour was to ask him to transport a few things across the country—a motorcycle, a few boxes, a necklace, and whatnot.
He was a delivery boy. Then, when she reached the third wish, she made him a deal: Work for her, and she’d keep him safe.
He’d seen enough of her life at that point to believe her words were good.
And so far, Malek hadn’t been let down.
Malek, Malek.
The shouts were coming from upstairs. Malek sighed.
So maybe his other items weren’t as close as he’d hoped.
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to find them.
The offer Caspar and the others made to him earlier in the night rolled around in his mind as he took the stairs to the fourth floor.
He couldn’t imagine being free. He’d sent Jocasta a message before trying to sleep, using a lot of “ifs” and “buts” in the text.
If at all possible, do you think I could become an ex-djinn and maybe still work for you?
I mean, I know I won’t have magic, but so much of what you need is grunt work anyway.
So no more jailbreaks like before, but, you know, we could find other ways of doing business.
If this is cool, just let me know, okay?
Because I found one of my trinkets and I’m halfway there.
Malek checked his phone now, but still saw no response from her. Even bosses needed to sleep, so he tried to not let her quiet bother him.
He followed the call of his name until he was outside Caspar’s apartment door.
When he touched the knob, the door opened for him automatically, though it had been locked before—just like the chains and the guitar strap.
He was getting stronger, and no locks could bind him when he was bound to someone else.
He relished that thought as he walked through the apartment, still filled with sleeping people.
The birdsong outside had gotten stronger, but the sun still wasn’t up.
Malek, Malek.
The sound of his name was almost a roar now.
Definitely coming from Caspar’s room. Malek supposed that wasn’t a mystery, though it was odd that he wanted to use a wish in the middle of the night.
The shouts of Malek’s name were followed by a sound Malek couldn’t comprehend—a jerking, a panting, and then his own name again, but not from the ring—from Caspar’s mouth.
“Malek, Malek. Fuck.”
Malek’s stomach dropped. He stood outside the door to Caspar’s room.
It opened a crack without him touching it.
Caspar’s body lay out on the bed, blankets tossed back.
His golden skin seemed eerily pale in the low glow from the streetlamps outside.
Malek’s eyes soon adjusted to the dark as he watched Caspar fist his erection in his hand, stroking himself eagerly.
The ring brushed his skin each time he moved, incidentally calling Malek with each pump and gasp of his name.
“Fuck.”
Malek bit his lip. He knew he should turn away, but he was rooted to the ground.
The ring kept him there. He’d been called.
However accidental it was, it was still a beautiful accident that he couldn’t help but watch.
Malek stared as Caspar brought himself closer and closer to orgasm.
His eyes were closed as he worked his cock, but his mouth was open and twisted as his hand stroked faster.
Should I join him? Malek wondered. He’s not wishing for me. Calling for me, maybe, but…
“Oh, fuck.” Caspar moved faster over his dick.
Malek huffed and closed his eyes, but only saw Caspar’s naked body from the shower.
He’d really only been checking him out for possession marks, but everything about Caspar was so beautiful.
Brown hair, dark hazel eyes, and golden skin that could be marked with tattoos.
Malek suddenly wanted Caspar to sit down in his tattoo chair.
Early on, before Malek and Abe made a band, they’d wanted to open up a tattoo studio.
The mandala on Malek’s hand had been the first thing he’d done on himself for practice.
The buzz of the needle and the prickling sensation over his skin turned to desire as he thought of Caspar instead of Abe.
Being tattooed together like that would be such an experience.
Malek ran his hand over the mandala, feeling the needle and needing more.
As Caspar moaned his name again, Malek slipped his cock out of his pants.
He stroked himself in time with Caspar’s movements.
No one would see him. The hallway was dark enough, and Malek was sure he was powerful enough to order any human to go back to sleep.
For a moment, it was like Malek and Caspar really were alone.
The crack in the door that he watched through was a portal, and Malek transported himself next to Caspar, inside of Caspar, stitched into his skin like a tattoo, branding him everywhere.
Malek, Malek, the ring called. Caspar panted. “Fuck, Malek.”
Caspar’s groan changed when he came. Malek shot his eyes open to watch as Caspar coated his bare chest and bedsheets, then let out a gasping breath.
Malek hurried to his own climax, coming quietly in his fist and onto his hoodie.
The ring no longer held its call, and Malek could move and walk away now.
But he wanted to stay. After he caught his breath, he heard the low humming of Caspar again.
“Malek, Malek,” he panted. “Come on, man. I know you’re there.”
Malek gasped. He didn’t move. He didn’t know what to do.
“It’s okay,” Caspar said. “Why do you think I used my right hand? I’m a lefty.”
Caspar seemed to wink as he sat up in bed.
Malek hastily cleaned himself off the best he could before pushing open the door.
He fought the urge to lick the come that still lingered on Caspar’s chest, then to turn him over and fuck him into the mattress.
Caspar shuddered as if he was thinking the same thing.
“I’m sorry, I should have come inside.”
“You should have,” Caspar said. “But it’s okay. I’m kind of used to masturbating while someone else is in the room. Prison’s hard. Don’t think I can get off alone anymore.”
Malek chuckled before extending his hoodie. “You’re still… do you want to clean up?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Um.” Caspar grabbed the garment from Malek, cleaned himself off, and threw it into a hamper on one side of the room, mumbling a quiet celebration when it landed true on the first shot. He pulled up his boxers, but still kept his gaze on Malek.
“Are you going to go back down to your apartment again? Or will I have to keep jerking off all night to get you to stay?”
“I wanted to—”
“You wanted to think on things, I know. But I still think you should stay with me. Now that we’ve both gotten off, we’ll probably only sleep.”
“Okay, I’ll stay.”
“Good. Because I kind of wanted to cuddle.” Caspar shifted on the bed, making room for Malek on the double mattress that now seemed too small for their combined height and weight.
Malek slipped off his jeans and slid under the covers.
He was shocked that Caspar kept his word, only slipping his arm around Malek to cuddle and kiss his neck in a soft, affectionate manner.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Caspar said.
“That’s surprising.”
“Oh, shut up. I’m trying to have a moment here after a long-ass day.”
“It has been long. We should sleep in tomorrow.”
“Yes. Agreed. But I’ve still been thinking.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. What about?”
“About the powers that come with this. If I become an ex-djinn, there’s no magic, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Hmm. But it’s still good without magic, right? I mean, you said the physical changes stay, and that we still need to serve. Is it just that we can’t repurpose matter?”
“Basically, yes. You become mortal, too.”
“Aren’t supernaturals mortal, though?”
“Yes, some. Most. Werewolves, water elementals, witches. And djinns can be killed, it’s just that we go somewhere and can be brought back. Some supernaturals can do that, and effectively, it’s immortality.”
“And who wouldn’t want to live forever?”
They were both very, very quiet.
“Well, it can be okay,” Malek said again. “But I was very happy being an ex-djinn.”
Caspar considered this for a long moment, and Malek wondered if he was thinking of Abe, too.
“Well, I still don’t know what’s going to happen in one thousand and one days.
Even if I don’t make my third wish, you’ll be unbound from me either way.
And part of me doesn’t want to make that wish so I can put off making that decision for as long as possible.
Because I don’t want to decide whether or not to be a djinn.
It seems like too much. My parents’ decision and your friends’ decision was honorable.
I get that and respect that. But for me… something feels different.”
“You did only find out about this like twelve hours ago. Give yourself time.”
“I know. I don’t have to make any kind of decision right away, but I keep thinking about that strange dream state I was in when I got all the jewels back. It wasn’t the Summerland, so I’m trying to figure out what it was.”
“I thought you didn’t remember much?”
“I didn’t. I don’t. Only scattered names and faces and voices.
But I like that nothing makes sense, because then everything is possible.
And if I make no decision, then I can have anything I want.
Maybe it’s faulty reasoning, but I keep thinking about that dream state as the state of maybe in my mind. ”
“The state of maybe, huh?”
“Yeah, and I’m trying to make this state of maybe last as long as possible. I don’t like that my parents kept my history from me, but now, what if I decide not to make a decision about being a djinn? Yes and no are false equivalents. There’s still a maybe option. Do you know what I mean?”
“I think so. The state of maybe allows you to have both options—no responsibility of being a djinn, but all the beautiful perks.”
“Exactly. It’s me being bound to you, so my jewels don’t affect me, but I can still look at them and think they’re neat. I like being in the state of maybe. So why do I have to decide my last wish or my future fate right now? I’ve barely been free for three days, man. I’ve already done tons.”
“Yes, you have,” Malek said. “But as beautiful as maybe is, you will still have to make a decision. It’s how you grow.”
“I know that. Deep down, I do. I can’t refuse forever. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the maybe, right?”
“Right. Sure. That I understand.” Malek turned over and kissed Caspar. Soft and tender, like their touches, but it was needed. “And this quest you’ve concocted to find my lost objects? Is that still a part of your state of maybe?”
“Oh yeah.” Caspar smiled. “And honestly, I couldn’t be more excited.”
“You know what? Me too.”