I head to the car and slide into the front passenger seat, the interior smelling like stale cigarette smoke.
More begging comes from the back. “Please, you don’t understand,” Stan says, leaning forward, “I have a family.”
“You have an estranged girlfriend and two children whom you don’t spend time or money on. Trust me, they’re better off without you.” The Bargainer pulls onto the dark road.
“I don’t want to die.” Stan begins to weep.
“Then tell me what I need to know,” Des says.
“You don’t understand,” Stan whines, “he’ll do worse things than kill me.”
Once again the darkness expands around Des. “You know who I am, Stan,” the Bargainer says, his voice icy. “My reputation precedes me. So you’ve heard of what’s happened to past clients who’ve tried to stiff me.”
More sobbing.
“And they paid,” Des says, his voice ominous. “Before they died, they paid.”
Oh shit.
Stan weeps harder, and when I look over my shoulder at him, a snot bubble has formed in one of his nostrils.
That’s just wrong.
“Please,” he begs, softer, “please. I have … I have a family. I have …”
Maybe it’s the snot bubble, maybe it’s the fact that a grown-ass man is being cowardly, and maybe it’s that I have to sit in a smelly car and thus can’t eat my macaroons in peace, but this man is kind of ruining my entire night by being difficult.
I will the siren out, a soft glow rushing over my skin as I turn my body around to face Stan.
“Cherub—” Des warns.
Too late.
“Fulfill your oath to the Bargainer and tell him what he needs to hear,” I command, glamouring the Bargainer’s client. “Now.”
Stan spends a good several seconds fighting his mouth, but it betrays him. He begins to cry even as he says, “They call him the Thief of Souls. I don’t know his real name, or the name of the people that do his dirty work.”
Next to me, the Bargainer’s mouth is a thin, angry line.
“He has many bodies and none at all …” His voice dies away into sobs. Somewhere in there I hear him mumble, “You bitch.”
Des slams on the brakes and the car skids to a halt. A moment later, he’s out of the car, hauling Stan out by his hair. He drags the man into the darkness, and I can tell he cloaked himself in shadows by the way the night deepens.
I hear Stan shriek, and the meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh. Then that, too, grows distant. Finally, there’s silence. Several minutes go by like that, and I’m halfway convinced that the Bargainer forgot about me.
But then, out of seemingly nowhere, Des lands a dozen feet away from the passenger side of the car, rubbing his knuckles.
“You flew!” I say, amazed. He also did God knows what to Stan, but I’m not going to linger on that.
The Bargainer wouldn’t kill him. Right?
Des doesn’t respond to my words, and it’s only as he gets closer that I realize he’s pissed.
He opens my door and pulls me out, holding me close. “Don’t ever do that again, cherub.” His chest is heaving. “Never again.”
The glamour?
“But I helped you,” I say.
He squeezes my arms, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “You put a target on your fucking back.”
I still don’t understand. “I did the same thing in Venice.”
“Which was also problematic,” he says, “but this is different. You made a man talk who was willing to die for his silence.” He lets that hang in the air.
He was willing to die for his silence.
A sliver of fear blooms. I haven’t been taking Des’s bargains seriously. The proof runs up my wrist. To me they always felt like games. Macabre, violent games, but games nonetheless.
And games aren’t real.
But this is real, and because I interfered, I might’ve ruined someone’s life—well, ruined it more than it already was.
Des clenches his jaw. “How many girls can glamour someone? Just think about that for a second.”
I don’t know.
He leans in close. “Precious few.” His eyes narrow. “Do you know what happens if someone comes after that man? If that someone didn’t want Stan to talk in the first place? They’re going to torture him, and what allegiance does Stan have to you? He’s going to squeal as soon as he can, and then whoever he was so afraid of is going to come after you.”
Jesus.
“I can make him forget,” I say, my voice rising. “Just bring him back to me.” I peer over Des’s shoulder and into the darkness.
“Making him forget won’t change the situation,” the Bargainer says. “If the wrong person were interested enough, they could sense your glamour even without the aid of Stan’s memory. And then they could trace it back to you.”
I feel my nausea rising. Not just on my own behalf, but because my meddling might’ve screwed over Stan and Des as well.
The kicker of it all is that I thought the Bargainer would be impressed—proud even. I’d proven myself useful.
I let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” I say softly.
Des’s eyes search mine, and little by little his anger evaporates. He pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s not your fault,” he says, deflated. “I should never have brought you along. I was a fool to let you convince me in the first place.”
More begging comes from the back. “Please, you don’t understand,” Stan says, leaning forward, “I have a family.”
“You have an estranged girlfriend and two children whom you don’t spend time or money on. Trust me, they’re better off without you.” The Bargainer pulls onto the dark road.
“I don’t want to die.” Stan begins to weep.
“Then tell me what I need to know,” Des says.
“You don’t understand,” Stan whines, “he’ll do worse things than kill me.”
Once again the darkness expands around Des. “You know who I am, Stan,” the Bargainer says, his voice icy. “My reputation precedes me. So you’ve heard of what’s happened to past clients who’ve tried to stiff me.”
More sobbing.
“And they paid,” Des says, his voice ominous. “Before they died, they paid.”
Oh shit.
Stan weeps harder, and when I look over my shoulder at him, a snot bubble has formed in one of his nostrils.
That’s just wrong.
“Please,” he begs, softer, “please. I have … I have a family. I have …”
Maybe it’s the snot bubble, maybe it’s the fact that a grown-ass man is being cowardly, and maybe it’s that I have to sit in a smelly car and thus can’t eat my macaroons in peace, but this man is kind of ruining my entire night by being difficult.
I will the siren out, a soft glow rushing over my skin as I turn my body around to face Stan.
“Cherub—” Des warns.
Too late.
“Fulfill your oath to the Bargainer and tell him what he needs to hear,” I command, glamouring the Bargainer’s client. “Now.”
Stan spends a good several seconds fighting his mouth, but it betrays him. He begins to cry even as he says, “They call him the Thief of Souls. I don’t know his real name, or the name of the people that do his dirty work.”
Next to me, the Bargainer’s mouth is a thin, angry line.
“He has many bodies and none at all …” His voice dies away into sobs. Somewhere in there I hear him mumble, “You bitch.”
Des slams on the brakes and the car skids to a halt. A moment later, he’s out of the car, hauling Stan out by his hair. He drags the man into the darkness, and I can tell he cloaked himself in shadows by the way the night deepens.
I hear Stan shriek, and the meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh. Then that, too, grows distant. Finally, there’s silence. Several minutes go by like that, and I’m halfway convinced that the Bargainer forgot about me.
But then, out of seemingly nowhere, Des lands a dozen feet away from the passenger side of the car, rubbing his knuckles.
“You flew!” I say, amazed. He also did God knows what to Stan, but I’m not going to linger on that.
The Bargainer wouldn’t kill him. Right?
Des doesn’t respond to my words, and it’s only as he gets closer that I realize he’s pissed.
He opens my door and pulls me out, holding me close. “Don’t ever do that again, cherub.” His chest is heaving. “Never again.”
The glamour?
“But I helped you,” I say.
He squeezes my arms, a muscle feathering in his cheek. “You put a target on your fucking back.”
I still don’t understand. “I did the same thing in Venice.”
“Which was also problematic,” he says, “but this is different. You made a man talk who was willing to die for his silence.” He lets that hang in the air.
He was willing to die for his silence.
A sliver of fear blooms. I haven’t been taking Des’s bargains seriously. The proof runs up my wrist. To me they always felt like games. Macabre, violent games, but games nonetheless.
And games aren’t real.
But this is real, and because I interfered, I might’ve ruined someone’s life—well, ruined it more than it already was.
Des clenches his jaw. “How many girls can glamour someone? Just think about that for a second.”
I don’t know.
He leans in close. “Precious few.” His eyes narrow. “Do you know what happens if someone comes after that man? If that someone didn’t want Stan to talk in the first place? They’re going to torture him, and what allegiance does Stan have to you? He’s going to squeal as soon as he can, and then whoever he was so afraid of is going to come after you.”
Jesus.
“I can make him forget,” I say, my voice rising. “Just bring him back to me.” I peer over Des’s shoulder and into the darkness.
“Making him forget won’t change the situation,” the Bargainer says. “If the wrong person were interested enough, they could sense your glamour even without the aid of Stan’s memory. And then they could trace it back to you.”
I feel my nausea rising. Not just on my own behalf, but because my meddling might’ve screwed over Stan and Des as well.
The kicker of it all is that I thought the Bargainer would be impressed—proud even. I’d proven myself useful.
I let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” I say softly.
Des’s eyes search mine, and little by little his anger evaporates. He pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s not your fault,” he says, deflated. “I should never have brought you along. I was a fool to let you convince me in the first place.”
