His eyes linger on the action. “Cherub, what happened last night?”
“You’re going to have to take a bead if you want any answers out of me,” I snap, annoyed. If he’s going to fight explaining himself, then I sure as hell will as well.
A little bit of the anger dies in his grey eyes, replaced by that curving smirk. This, he likes. My feistiness, my engagement.
He wraps his hand around my bracelet, and briefly my gaze flicks to his elaborate sleeve of tattoos.
“Tell me what happened last night,” he repeats, and this time there’s magic behind his words.
I shudder as it takes hold, and instantly I regret baiting him. “Nothing.”
I begin to feel pressure against my windpipe.
“My magic seems to disagree,” the Bargainer says.
I want to groan. “What else do you want me to tell you? After you left, I cleaned up my house, hung out with my friend for a few hours, and went to bed early. When I woke up, I found my bedroom exactly how you saw it.”
Des resumes stirring his coffee. “My magic isn’t releasing you, so you might try thinking a little harder.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
He raises an eyebrow. “Or you can slowly suffocate. Your choice.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I wheeze. “I watched TV, I went to sleep, I woke up on a shredded bed.”
Still no relief. And now I feel like just another of the Bargainer’s clients, squirming under his power.
He takes a sip of his coffee. “What happened in the time between you going to bed and you waking up?”
I give him a bewildered look. “I slept.”
The magic presses down my chest.
“Soundly? Fitfully?” he probes. “Did you have nightmares?”
I remember the storm that shook the house, and the moaning wind that invaded my sleep.
“I did dream,” I say.
Is there a tad less pressure on my chest?
“About what?” Des presses.
I try to remember. It’s just out of reach.
“Since when do you read into dreams?” I say.
“Since always. I am the King of the Night. I rule over everything that encompasses, including dreams.”
That made some sort of sense.
I grab my drink and stare down into it, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Those children I met, they were there, holding me down. And there was a voice—a male voice.” What had he said?
Let me in, siren; I’ll give you wings to fly. Just open your door and part your pretty thighs.
My cheeks heat.
Jesus.
“What did the voice say?” Des asks.
“I’m not repeating that in public.”
The fae king looks intrigued.
Now that I recall the dream, the magic intensifies like it knows I’m willfully withholding the information.
When I still don’t answer, his eyes move over me. “You’re really going to hold out, babe?”
Not for long—the magic’s squeezing the life out of me.
“Not in public.” I’m nearly begging.
The Bargainer studies me for a moment longer. He snaps his fingers, and the noise around us lowers, becoming muffled. “That’s as much privacy as you’re going to get.”
It’s enough. Well, to be honest, it’s not enough—I don’t exactly want to admit the content of my dreams to Des—but I’ve already admitted I want his babies, so there’s really nothing left of my pride to protect.
I stare down into my drink. “He said, ‘Let me in, siren; I’ll give you wings to fly. Just open your door and part your pretty thighs.’”
The pressure leaves my chest.
Finally.
Around us, the noise rises once more.
Across from me, Des’s shadows are back. Moody man.
“You never saw who spoke?” he asks.
I shake my head and take a sip of my drink.
I set the mug down gingerly. “Are you actually taking my dream seriously?” I ask.
Des runs a thumb over his lower lip. “Perhaps,” he says distractedly. “In the Otherworld, dreams are never just dreams. They’re another sort of reality.”
I let that sink in. “You … you think something from the Otherworld visited me last night?”
“I don’t know.”
I might have a fae stalker.
One that can infiltrate my dreams.
I feel so dirty. Dirty and vulnerable. My mind can be manipulated by some creature, and I can’t do anything to stop it. I thought staying back at my home would offer me some extra measure of protection, but it didn’t.
“You think this has anything to do with the disappearances?” I ask now.
I’m sitting in the Bargainer’s couch, watching him as he paces back and forth across the room, his arms behind his back.
He cuts a glance my way and, frowning, gives me a jerky nod.
Well, shit.
What had those kids called the man behind the mystery? The Thief of Souls. Not exactly the kind of name that gives you warm fuzzies.
How many times had Temper and I dealt with a similar situation? How many criminals had threatened us over the years?
Countless. And when that happened, the only surefire way to guarantee our safety was to nab the bad guy before they got to us.
I take a deep breath. “I want to help you solve this case. Not just interview servants, but actually solve it.” Before my stalker makes good on his promises.
Des stops pacing. “You wish to help me and my people?” He gives me a strange look.
“You’re going to have to take a bead if you want any answers out of me,” I snap, annoyed. If he’s going to fight explaining himself, then I sure as hell will as well.
A little bit of the anger dies in his grey eyes, replaced by that curving smirk. This, he likes. My feistiness, my engagement.
He wraps his hand around my bracelet, and briefly my gaze flicks to his elaborate sleeve of tattoos.
“Tell me what happened last night,” he repeats, and this time there’s magic behind his words.
I shudder as it takes hold, and instantly I regret baiting him. “Nothing.”
I begin to feel pressure against my windpipe.
“My magic seems to disagree,” the Bargainer says.
I want to groan. “What else do you want me to tell you? After you left, I cleaned up my house, hung out with my friend for a few hours, and went to bed early. When I woke up, I found my bedroom exactly how you saw it.”
Des resumes stirring his coffee. “My magic isn’t releasing you, so you might try thinking a little harder.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
He raises an eyebrow. “Or you can slowly suffocate. Your choice.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I wheeze. “I watched TV, I went to sleep, I woke up on a shredded bed.”
Still no relief. And now I feel like just another of the Bargainer’s clients, squirming under his power.
He takes a sip of his coffee. “What happened in the time between you going to bed and you waking up?”
I give him a bewildered look. “I slept.”
The magic presses down my chest.
“Soundly? Fitfully?” he probes. “Did you have nightmares?”
I remember the storm that shook the house, and the moaning wind that invaded my sleep.
“I did dream,” I say.
Is there a tad less pressure on my chest?
“About what?” Des presses.
I try to remember. It’s just out of reach.
“Since when do you read into dreams?” I say.
“Since always. I am the King of the Night. I rule over everything that encompasses, including dreams.”
That made some sort of sense.
I grab my drink and stare down into it, shaking my head. “I don’t know. Those children I met, they were there, holding me down. And there was a voice—a male voice.” What had he said?
Let me in, siren; I’ll give you wings to fly. Just open your door and part your pretty thighs.
My cheeks heat.
Jesus.
“What did the voice say?” Des asks.
“I’m not repeating that in public.”
The fae king looks intrigued.
Now that I recall the dream, the magic intensifies like it knows I’m willfully withholding the information.
When I still don’t answer, his eyes move over me. “You’re really going to hold out, babe?”
Not for long—the magic’s squeezing the life out of me.
“Not in public.” I’m nearly begging.
The Bargainer studies me for a moment longer. He snaps his fingers, and the noise around us lowers, becoming muffled. “That’s as much privacy as you’re going to get.”
It’s enough. Well, to be honest, it’s not enough—I don’t exactly want to admit the content of my dreams to Des—but I’ve already admitted I want his babies, so there’s really nothing left of my pride to protect.
I stare down into my drink. “He said, ‘Let me in, siren; I’ll give you wings to fly. Just open your door and part your pretty thighs.’”
The pressure leaves my chest.
Finally.
Around us, the noise rises once more.
Across from me, Des’s shadows are back. Moody man.
“You never saw who spoke?” he asks.
I shake my head and take a sip of my drink.
I set the mug down gingerly. “Are you actually taking my dream seriously?” I ask.
Des runs a thumb over his lower lip. “Perhaps,” he says distractedly. “In the Otherworld, dreams are never just dreams. They’re another sort of reality.”
I let that sink in. “You … you think something from the Otherworld visited me last night?”
“I don’t know.”
I might have a fae stalker.
One that can infiltrate my dreams.
I feel so dirty. Dirty and vulnerable. My mind can be manipulated by some creature, and I can’t do anything to stop it. I thought staying back at my home would offer me some extra measure of protection, but it didn’t.
“You think this has anything to do with the disappearances?” I ask now.
I’m sitting in the Bargainer’s couch, watching him as he paces back and forth across the room, his arms behind his back.
He cuts a glance my way and, frowning, gives me a jerky nod.
Well, shit.
What had those kids called the man behind the mystery? The Thief of Souls. Not exactly the kind of name that gives you warm fuzzies.
How many times had Temper and I dealt with a similar situation? How many criminals had threatened us over the years?
Countless. And when that happened, the only surefire way to guarantee our safety was to nab the bad guy before they got to us.
I take a deep breath. “I want to help you solve this case. Not just interview servants, but actually solve it.” Before my stalker makes good on his promises.
Des stops pacing. “You wish to help me and my people?” He gives me a strange look.
