A Strange Hymn
Page 14

There’s nothing graceful about my landing. I slam into the Bargainer, nearly bowling us both over.
He catches me around the waist, his eyes wide, and then he begins to laugh. Presumably at me.
The elation that flying brought me is bubbling up my stomach and out my throat, and I can’t help but join in.
I just flew. With Des. All those years of me hoping to be a part of his world, of despairing that it would never happen—they led me right to this moment. The irony is that it took a madman to make one of my deepest wishes come true.
Eventually our laughter dies off, but I can still see it twinkling in Des’s eyes.
“I like your hair when it’s windswept,” he murmurs, touching a lock of it.
The same can be said for his hair. I’ve always had a weird obsession with his nearly shoulder-length locks, and right now they look especially sexy.
“Was flying everything you hoped it would be?” he asks.
This would be the perfect time to rip him a new asshole for tricking me off a ledge. But I find I don’t want to ruin the moment. Not when I enjoyed myself so thoroughly in the sky, and not when he’s holding me like he’s not sure he ever wants to let me go.
“It was amazing,” I say breathlessly.
His eyes spark with excitement, and Des lets my torso slip through his hands until we’re face to face.
He presses a hard kiss to my lips, his mouth demanding. And then I slide the rest of the way through his arms until my boots touch the ground.
Des steps aside to give me a better view of our surroundings.
“Welcome to Phyllia, the Land of Dreams,” he says.
My eyes devour the shop-lined street before us. Each store is more spectacular than the last.
Hanging in the window of the clothing shop closest to me is a dress that looks like it’s actually made of seafoam. Next to it is a man’s suit, made in a hue of blue I swear I didn’t know existed. There’s a cloak that seems to be made of the night sky, small dots of light flickering in the dark fabric, and a wristlet that looks to be spun from clouds.
Next to the clothing store is a curiosity shop filled with furniture and decorations as unusual as they are alluring. A table made entirely of rose quartz seems to glow from within. Next to it is a glass vial filled with a swirling mist; the sign for it says it’s a Dream-Come-True.
Farther down the street are restaurants whose tables spill onto the streets, the aromas drifting out from them both foreign and appetizing.
I can feel Des’s attention on me. He places a hand on my lower back, leading me forward.
“Here on Phyllia,” he explains, “you’ll find doors that lead to nowhere, people you recognize one moment and don’t the next, places you’re sure you’ve visited before though you can’t say when or how. Phyllia is the place where every one of your fantastical thoughts can come true.”
The Land of Dreams. It’s some strange lovechild of the Otherworld and what I imagined Wonderland might look like. Everything has that elegant, fae touch to it, but nothing is quite what it appears.
We pass by a bubbling fountain that people are gathered around, vials in their hands.
“The waters here can make humble wishes come true,” Des says next to me.
I watch in fascination as a fae woman with golden hair dips her glass container into the water. I’m tempted to try the water myself, just to see what small wish might come true.
We pass by several cafes, and my attention lingers on the low lighting and the soft conversations drifting from within.
“You have restaurants here in the Otherworld,” I say.
“You’re surprised?” Des looks amused.
I am. I assumed that the Otherworld was essentially flowering fields and impossible architecture. Restaurants just seem so … human.
Suddenly, Des is steering me towards one of them.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking you out to eat—unless, of course, you aren’t hungry.”
My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble. I don’t know how many calories flying burns, but the number must be staggering.
“I could eat.”
His lips twitch. “Good. So could I.”
The restaurant we walk into is done up in shades of silver and periwinkle—from the place settings to the mounted mirrors to the walls. Near the top of the high ceilings, plumes of clouds hang, and in the center of each table is a vase full of delicate white flowers that I’ve seen all over Somnia.
As soon as Des and I are seated, I surreptitiously scan the room.
Even at first glance the men and women around us don’t look quite normal. For most, it’s simply small details—eye color that’s a little too bright to be human, or hair too long to be grown by a mortal head. But then, amongst them, there are a few fae that especially stand out. Like the man with lavender-grey skin and a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. Or the woman whose limbs are long and slender, her skin the color of deep shadows.
In contrast to my gawking, the restaurant’s patrons ignore us completely.
“Do these people know who you are?”
“They do,” he says.
“Why aren’t any of them …” I trail off, looking for the right words.
“Fawning over me?” he says, filling in my sentence for me.
“Yeah.”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve cloaked our appearances.”
“Cloaked our …?”
“It’s a small illusion meant to subtly alter our features—to prevent recognition.” He leans forward. “I figured neither of us wanted the extra attention.”
Damn but that was thoughtful of him.
My attention drifts around us again. It’s not just the people here that are unusual. Halfway through the restaurant, the building morphs into a gothic cathedral, the pews and pulpit currently empty.
“Dream logic,” Des explains.
I glance back at him only to realize that someone has already served us drinks and bread.
I blink at the sight. “This place is really …”—unnerving—“magical.”
Des leans back in his seat, a sardonic smile spreading across his lips.
“What do you want to eat?” he asks.
I furrow my brows. “We haven’t received menus yet …”
I haven’t even fully finished speaking when a plate of ravioli drops to the table in front of me.
Now, how the hell did that happen?
Des laughs at my wide eyes.
“Is this even safe to eat?” I ask.
He leans forward, his sculpted forearms resting on the table. “Would I lead you astray, cherub?”
I give him the stink eye. “Last time you said that, you tricked me into falling off a building.”
“Flying off a building.”
I roll my eyes. “Semantics, Des.”
“Semantics are everything, Callie, or have you learned nothing from me?”
I pick up my fork, eyeing my pasta, which is covered in some mystery cream sauce. “No, you’re right. You’ve taught me exactly what it means to be a slippery bastard.”
Des lounges back in his seat, a smug expression on his face. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”
I cut into one of the raviolis and take a bite. Somehow, it’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.
“Good?”
I close my eyes and nod, savoring the taste a little longer.
“And look, it didn’t even kill you.”
Des just had to go and be Des.