I can’t believe I just admitted that. I rarely admit these things even to myself.
Des tips my chin up, his face serious. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, though I’m sure a million different things are going on in his devious mind.
“How about I make you a queen for a night?” he finally says.
I give him a queer look. But before I can read into his intentions, a line of small, twinkling lights appear over his shoulder. As they get closer I hear the buzzing of their wings.
Fireflies. A whole group of them. They fly in one single, orderly line.
My eyes cut to Des, who’s smiling softly. This is clearly his work.
The twinkling fireflies circle me before—horror of horrors—they descend on top of my head.
“I have bugs in my hair,” I tell him, my shoulders tense.
“You have a crown,” he corrects, smirking and leaning against the stone wall.
This is his idea of a crown? I can feel them moving about my hair, and it takes everything in me not to swat them all away.
I’m not really a bug person.
One of the fireflies tumbles off, landing on my scarf. It then proceeds to crawl beneath my scarf and down my shirt.
“Oh my God!” I squeal.
“Naughty bugs,” Des chastises, coming over and helping me scoop the firefly up, “stay away from the pretty human boobs.”
Did he just call my boobs pretty?
The Bargainer captures the bug in his fist, his knuckles grazing my skin. He steps away from me and, opening his palm, releases the glowing critter. The two of us watch it drunkenly canter back to my hair.
I can just barely make out their luminescent bodies flickering above me. The whole thing is so ridiculous and strange that I begin to laugh. “Des, are you trying to cheer me up?”
But when I get a good look at him, he’s not laughing. The insects’ light dances in his eyes as he stares at me, lips parted.
Des blinks, and it’s like he’s returning from wherever his mind drifted.
He takes my hand. “Let’s get out of here. You hungry?” he asks. “Dinner’s on me.”
I squeeze his palm, feeling like something between us changed for the better. But I don’t address it; there’s nothing like a good confession to scare the Bargainer away.
“Dinner’s on you?” I say instead. “Now that sounds interesting …”
He flashes me a wicked smile, his eyes twinkling. “Cherub, I may make a fairy out of you yet.”
Present
I’m already elbow deep into my work by the time Temper saunters into West Coast Investigations, slamming open the door to her office. That woman is like a hurricane.
I hear her click on her message machine and then, a moment later, I hear the tinny sound of a message.
Sipping my coffee, I once again check the Most Wanted list.
The Bargainer is still listed as the third most wanted criminal in the supernatural world. Whatever strings Eli pulled, they’re still holding.
I suppose if the Politia catches me and the Bargainer together, I’ll be viewed as an accomplice.
Motherfuckery.
This is precisely why I keep secrets. The law and I don’t quite see eye to eye.
“Hooooo!” Temper whoops from the other room. I hear the click of her shoes as she jogs over to my room.
“Girl,” she says, pausing dramatically in my doorway. Today her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, “did you hear—”
“—about the hundred-K client?” I finish for her.
I swivel in my chair, the heels of my boots scraping across the top of the desk. “Yeah, I already got a file written up for him.”
The client in question had also called my phone, specifically requesting to work with me. What he needed my help with wasn’t clear, only that he was willing to pay a king’s ransom for it.
I finger the file I created for him. “Seems a little sketchy,” I admit. Not sketchy enough to turn down, but enough to raise red flags.
Temper harrumphs. “If you don’t take it, I will. I’ve got a kitchen to remodel.”
“I’ll take it, I’ll take it,” I grumble. “By the way,” I grab a stack of files to my left and toss them to her, “these are officially yours.”
She grabs the folders and flips through them. “Excellent. Oh, look at this precious gem—a wife beater I get to hex. Poor baby, he has no idea.” Temper slides out of her chair. “All right, I best be getting to work. So many criminals, so little time—” She pauses when she catches sight of my face. “Hey, how are you holding up?”
Whatever she sees in my expression must be giving away some of my inner turmoil. My personal life is never very great, but right now it’s at an all-time low.
I lift a shoulder. “Meh.”
“Meh good, or meh bad?”
“Meh I’m not sure?” I answer.
She leans across the table and places her hand over mine. “I’ve been a bad friend. I assumed that thing with Eli … that it was just a fling.”
I slide my hand out from under hers and wave her off. “Stop being a sap. This isn’t about Eli.”
“Oh good,” she relaxes, straightening. “I was about to feel massively guilty.” She frowns as she takes me in again. “So … what is wrong?”
I set down my coffee and scrub my face. “My past.”
“Ah,” Temper says, “the mysterious past you still haven’t told me about …”
Des tips my chin up, his face serious. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, though I’m sure a million different things are going on in his devious mind.
“How about I make you a queen for a night?” he finally says.
I give him a queer look. But before I can read into his intentions, a line of small, twinkling lights appear over his shoulder. As they get closer I hear the buzzing of their wings.
Fireflies. A whole group of them. They fly in one single, orderly line.
My eyes cut to Des, who’s smiling softly. This is clearly his work.
The twinkling fireflies circle me before—horror of horrors—they descend on top of my head.
“I have bugs in my hair,” I tell him, my shoulders tense.
“You have a crown,” he corrects, smirking and leaning against the stone wall.
This is his idea of a crown? I can feel them moving about my hair, and it takes everything in me not to swat them all away.
I’m not really a bug person.
One of the fireflies tumbles off, landing on my scarf. It then proceeds to crawl beneath my scarf and down my shirt.
“Oh my God!” I squeal.
“Naughty bugs,” Des chastises, coming over and helping me scoop the firefly up, “stay away from the pretty human boobs.”
Did he just call my boobs pretty?
The Bargainer captures the bug in his fist, his knuckles grazing my skin. He steps away from me and, opening his palm, releases the glowing critter. The two of us watch it drunkenly canter back to my hair.
I can just barely make out their luminescent bodies flickering above me. The whole thing is so ridiculous and strange that I begin to laugh. “Des, are you trying to cheer me up?”
But when I get a good look at him, he’s not laughing. The insects’ light dances in his eyes as he stares at me, lips parted.
Des blinks, and it’s like he’s returning from wherever his mind drifted.
He takes my hand. “Let’s get out of here. You hungry?” he asks. “Dinner’s on me.”
I squeeze his palm, feeling like something between us changed for the better. But I don’t address it; there’s nothing like a good confession to scare the Bargainer away.
“Dinner’s on you?” I say instead. “Now that sounds interesting …”
He flashes me a wicked smile, his eyes twinkling. “Cherub, I may make a fairy out of you yet.”
Present
I’m already elbow deep into my work by the time Temper saunters into West Coast Investigations, slamming open the door to her office. That woman is like a hurricane.
I hear her click on her message machine and then, a moment later, I hear the tinny sound of a message.
Sipping my coffee, I once again check the Most Wanted list.
The Bargainer is still listed as the third most wanted criminal in the supernatural world. Whatever strings Eli pulled, they’re still holding.
I suppose if the Politia catches me and the Bargainer together, I’ll be viewed as an accomplice.
Motherfuckery.
This is precisely why I keep secrets. The law and I don’t quite see eye to eye.
“Hooooo!” Temper whoops from the other room. I hear the click of her shoes as she jogs over to my room.
“Girl,” she says, pausing dramatically in my doorway. Today her hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, “did you hear—”
“—about the hundred-K client?” I finish for her.
I swivel in my chair, the heels of my boots scraping across the top of the desk. “Yeah, I already got a file written up for him.”
The client in question had also called my phone, specifically requesting to work with me. What he needed my help with wasn’t clear, only that he was willing to pay a king’s ransom for it.
I finger the file I created for him. “Seems a little sketchy,” I admit. Not sketchy enough to turn down, but enough to raise red flags.
Temper harrumphs. “If you don’t take it, I will. I’ve got a kitchen to remodel.”
“I’ll take it, I’ll take it,” I grumble. “By the way,” I grab a stack of files to my left and toss them to her, “these are officially yours.”
She grabs the folders and flips through them. “Excellent. Oh, look at this precious gem—a wife beater I get to hex. Poor baby, he has no idea.” Temper slides out of her chair. “All right, I best be getting to work. So many criminals, so little time—” She pauses when she catches sight of my face. “Hey, how are you holding up?”
Whatever she sees in my expression must be giving away some of my inner turmoil. My personal life is never very great, but right now it’s at an all-time low.
I lift a shoulder. “Meh.”
“Meh good, or meh bad?”
“Meh I’m not sure?” I answer.
She leans across the table and places her hand over mine. “I’ve been a bad friend. I assumed that thing with Eli … that it was just a fling.”
I slide my hand out from under hers and wave her off. “Stop being a sap. This isn’t about Eli.”
“Oh good,” she relaxes, straightening. “I was about to feel massively guilty.” She frowns as she takes me in again. “So … what is wrong?”
I set down my coffee and scrub my face. “My past.”
“Ah,” Temper says, “the mysterious past you still haven’t told me about …”
