This situation isn’t right.
I don’t want it to change.
“So, what’s your real name?” I pester him for the hundredth time.
Tonight we’re hanging in my room. I’m lying in my bed, the credits of the movie we watched rolling down my laptop screen, which is situated next to me on the bed.
A part of me dreads turning and seeing the Bargainer’s face. He has to be bored, sitting in my uncomfortable foldout chair and watching Back to the Future on a tiny screen between us.
But when I turn, I don’t see a bored man. I see a confused one. His brows are pinched, and his lips form a thin line.
“Bargainer?”
“Why did you kill your stepfather?” he asks, his gaze moving to mine.
I sit straight up, my reaction immediate. Old fear pounds through me, accompanied by unwanted memories. My stepfather’s sour breath, the smell of his expensive cologne.
“Why would you ask me that?” I don’t quite manage to keep the emotion out of my voice.
He leans back in my chair, threading his hands behind his head. One of his feet rests on his other thigh. The man doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere anytime soon.
“I think I’m entitled to some sort of explanation,” he says, “seeing as how I’m your accomplice.”
I swallow. I never should’ve bargained for this man’s presence.
I’m a stupid, stupid girl.
“You’re not going to get one,” I say. It’s not that I don’t trust him—because I do, even though I shouldn’t.
But the idea of sharing that part of my past with the Bargainer … I feel queasy at the mere thought.
He watches me for a long moment, then his lips curl into a smile. “Tell me, little siren, are you getting a taste for secrets?” He looks almost proud.
But then it evaporates, and he turns serious again.
He leans those scary, ripped arms of his on his thighs. “Whatever he did to you, it’s—”
“Stop it. Stop talking.” I stand, my laptop nearly falling off my bed in my mad dash to get off the mattress.
The Bargainer knows. Not that it would take a genius to figure out why a seemingly innocent teen would attack her stepfather.
I silently beg him not to push any further. I know I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve, that my broken, battered soul is staring out through my eyes.
The Bargainer’s form blurs. At some point I must’ve started crying, but I only notice it now, when I can no longer clearly see him.
He curses under his breath, shakes his head. “I need to go.”
I blink away the moisture in my eyes.
He’s leaving? Why do I feel so desolate at that thought when a moment ago I was wishing just the opposite?
As he gets up, the Bargainer’s gaze follows the tears that slip down my cheeks, and I can see his regret. That eases my pain. Somewhat.
Just when I think he’s going to apologize, he doesn’t.
He says something better.
“Desmond Flynn.”
“What?” I say.
The air is already moving, shifting as his magic takes hold. “My name.”
It’s only after he leaves that I realize he never added a bead for the information.
Present
Des doesn’t tell me where he’s taking me, nor what task he has in mind for tonight. As the two of us soar over the ocean, all I know is that he’s heading down the coast, rather than inland.
Now that I’ve gotten somewhat used to flying in the Bargainer’s arms, I stare out at the glittering sea and the twinkling stars. Dark though it is, the view is something to behold. I can smell the salt in the air, and the wind weaving through my hair. It makes me yearn for something I’ve forgotten—or lost.
I turn my head inward, my eyes falling to the column of Des’s throat and the underside of his strong jaw.
A fairy is carrying me off into the night. That sounds like all the stories I’ve ever read of them.
Up my eyes climb, to those beautiful, familiar features of his. He glances down, catching me staring at him. His eyes are sly, but whatever he sees in mine causes them to soften.
My heart lodges in my throat. I tear my gaze away before that look can get under my skin.
We turn away from the coast, heading out towards sea.
What could possibly be out there for us?
I find out a short while later, when out of the coastal mist, Catalina Island comes into view. Sitting off the coast of L.A., Catalina is a place where locals go for weekend vacations. Most of the island is uninhabited. We pass Avalon, the island’s main city, moving along the edge of Catalina’s coastline.
We curve around the bend in the cliffs, and a white stone house comes into view, lit up amidst the darkness. It becomes clear by the way the Bargainer maneuvers us in the air that this is our destination.
I drink in the sight of it. It’s perched near a cliff’s edge, much like mine, the back of the house giving way to a terraced yard that ends right at the edge of the property.
The closer we get, the more magnificent the place appears. It’s made of glass and white stone, and as we circle to the front, I catch a brief glimpse of the elaborate gardens that surround it.
The Bargainer glides over the front lawn, and with one final dip, we touch down.
I step out of his arms and look around. “What is this place?” It looks like something out of a dream. A palatial house set at the edge of the world.
“Welcome to my home,” Des says.
“Your home?” I say, incredulous. “You live here?”
I don’t want it to change.
“So, what’s your real name?” I pester him for the hundredth time.
Tonight we’re hanging in my room. I’m lying in my bed, the credits of the movie we watched rolling down my laptop screen, which is situated next to me on the bed.
A part of me dreads turning and seeing the Bargainer’s face. He has to be bored, sitting in my uncomfortable foldout chair and watching Back to the Future on a tiny screen between us.
But when I turn, I don’t see a bored man. I see a confused one. His brows are pinched, and his lips form a thin line.
“Bargainer?”
“Why did you kill your stepfather?” he asks, his gaze moving to mine.
I sit straight up, my reaction immediate. Old fear pounds through me, accompanied by unwanted memories. My stepfather’s sour breath, the smell of his expensive cologne.
“Why would you ask me that?” I don’t quite manage to keep the emotion out of my voice.
He leans back in my chair, threading his hands behind his head. One of his feet rests on his other thigh. The man doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere anytime soon.
“I think I’m entitled to some sort of explanation,” he says, “seeing as how I’m your accomplice.”
I swallow. I never should’ve bargained for this man’s presence.
I’m a stupid, stupid girl.
“You’re not going to get one,” I say. It’s not that I don’t trust him—because I do, even though I shouldn’t.
But the idea of sharing that part of my past with the Bargainer … I feel queasy at the mere thought.
He watches me for a long moment, then his lips curl into a smile. “Tell me, little siren, are you getting a taste for secrets?” He looks almost proud.
But then it evaporates, and he turns serious again.
He leans those scary, ripped arms of his on his thighs. “Whatever he did to you, it’s—”
“Stop it. Stop talking.” I stand, my laptop nearly falling off my bed in my mad dash to get off the mattress.
The Bargainer knows. Not that it would take a genius to figure out why a seemingly innocent teen would attack her stepfather.
I silently beg him not to push any further. I know I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve, that my broken, battered soul is staring out through my eyes.
The Bargainer’s form blurs. At some point I must’ve started crying, but I only notice it now, when I can no longer clearly see him.
He curses under his breath, shakes his head. “I need to go.”
I blink away the moisture in my eyes.
He’s leaving? Why do I feel so desolate at that thought when a moment ago I was wishing just the opposite?
As he gets up, the Bargainer’s gaze follows the tears that slip down my cheeks, and I can see his regret. That eases my pain. Somewhat.
Just when I think he’s going to apologize, he doesn’t.
He says something better.
“Desmond Flynn.”
“What?” I say.
The air is already moving, shifting as his magic takes hold. “My name.”
It’s only after he leaves that I realize he never added a bead for the information.
Present
Des doesn’t tell me where he’s taking me, nor what task he has in mind for tonight. As the two of us soar over the ocean, all I know is that he’s heading down the coast, rather than inland.
Now that I’ve gotten somewhat used to flying in the Bargainer’s arms, I stare out at the glittering sea and the twinkling stars. Dark though it is, the view is something to behold. I can smell the salt in the air, and the wind weaving through my hair. It makes me yearn for something I’ve forgotten—or lost.
I turn my head inward, my eyes falling to the column of Des’s throat and the underside of his strong jaw.
A fairy is carrying me off into the night. That sounds like all the stories I’ve ever read of them.
Up my eyes climb, to those beautiful, familiar features of his. He glances down, catching me staring at him. His eyes are sly, but whatever he sees in mine causes them to soften.
My heart lodges in my throat. I tear my gaze away before that look can get under my skin.
We turn away from the coast, heading out towards sea.
What could possibly be out there for us?
I find out a short while later, when out of the coastal mist, Catalina Island comes into view. Sitting off the coast of L.A., Catalina is a place where locals go for weekend vacations. Most of the island is uninhabited. We pass Avalon, the island’s main city, moving along the edge of Catalina’s coastline.
We curve around the bend in the cliffs, and a white stone house comes into view, lit up amidst the darkness. It becomes clear by the way the Bargainer maneuvers us in the air that this is our destination.
I drink in the sight of it. It’s perched near a cliff’s edge, much like mine, the back of the house giving way to a terraced yard that ends right at the edge of the property.
The closer we get, the more magnificent the place appears. It’s made of glass and white stone, and as we circle to the front, I catch a brief glimpse of the elaborate gardens that surround it.
The Bargainer glides over the front lawn, and with one final dip, we touch down.
I step out of his arms and look around. “What is this place?” It looks like something out of a dream. A palatial house set at the edge of the world.
“Welcome to my home,” Des says.
“Your home?” I say, incredulous. “You live here?”
