The vision is so realistic that I force myself to move on to another, before I chicken out and leave prematurely.
This one has hair that looks like spun silver and it’s bluntly cropped just past her chin. Despite her silver hair, she looks young, her smooth skin taut over her high cheekbones and square jaw. This woman is all soldier; even at rest I can tell her personality is all hard edges. But not even that saved her. Clutched beneath her hands is a bow, and next to her feet is a quiver filled with arrows.
Another warrior. But not just a warrior. This one has a silver band on her upper arm. A medaled warrior.
I begin to wind my way through the coffins. All the women wear the same black attire, and each carry a weapon. Warriors who are now victims.
The whole thing is putting me on edge. Some of the strongest women in Des’s kingdom lie inside these coffins. How did this happen to so many who were so capable?
And if this monster could do this to these women, what could he do to an average person? What could he do to me?
I begin to hum to alleviate my growing anxiety.
I touch a casket here and there, noticing that the glass feels warm.
My skin prickles. This situation is … is unnatural—wrong at its most basic level.
Without thinking, my humming shifts to singing.
Wake from your slumber,
Rise from your sleep,
Tell me your secrets,
They’re mine to keep.
The siren in me likes to string together rhymes, much the same way a witch does spells. I’m sure it has something to do with how effective my glamour is, but to my ears it’s simply pleasing.
Open your eyes,
Breathe in the fresh air,
Tell me your secrets,
They’re ours to share.
I throw a glance over my shoulder at Des. Arms folded, feet planted apart, and wings out—he looks like he’s channeling something between rock star and fallen angel. The leather pants and the sleeve of tats don’t help. His eyes move over the coffins, almost as if he expects someone to move …
I follow his gaze, instantly tense, but nope, the women are as still as they were when I walked in.
Turning my body back towards the rows of women, I resume my song.
Rouse from your rest,
Shake off this dark spell,
Open your mouth,
You have secrets to tell.
I knew before walking in here that my glamour couldn’t rouse these women. They were all fairies. And yet, I still hold out an inkling of hope that I can help them.
A minute goes by, then another. I wait for any sign of life, but no one moves. And now I feel silly. Singing to a room full of fae that haven’t stirred since they were brought here.
I begin walking back to the Bargainer, my footsteps echoing.
A tinkling laugh rises from behind me.
I pause, glancing over my shoulder. There’s no one there—at least, no one walking or talking.
I begin to move again, my muscles now tense. I’m spooked and imagining things.
“Slave …”
I pause midstep, my eyes going wide as they meet Des’s.
He puts a finger to his lips. A split second later he evaporates into smoke.
Shit. Where’d he go?
A spectral breath tickles my cheek, laughing softly, and I realize right about now that I might have bigger problems.
I twist around, sure I will find someone standing next to me. But no one’s there.
Another laugh rises from the depths of the room, followed by a hum. The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere. It’s all around me, multiplying on itself.
Sleep fair one,
Or are you afraid?
This is a game in which,
You are far outplayed.
I glance around for the singer, but I already know this is some sort of magic beyond my comprehension.
A phantom hand strokes my hair.
You ask us to wake,
When we want you to sleep,
Secrets are meant,
For one soul to keep.
So sing your songs,
And rhyme your rhymes,
He’s coming for you,
These are dark times.
The singing dies away until the room is quiet once more.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe.
Time to get the hell out of this place.
I eye the coffins as I pass row after row of them, expecting any second for these women to attack me.
Just had to stir up trouble, didn’t you, Callie?
Ahead of me the shadows swirl together, coalescing into a winged man.
Des.
The Bargainer’s wings are spread threateningly, and his face is unreadable, which means Des the killer has come out to play.
Someone’s losing their shit.
“Oh, so nice of you to join me,” I say, my voice high. I’m about to lose my shit too.
“I never left you,” he says.
I’m not going to think about that comment. This situation is weird enough as it is.
He stares out at the coffins. “If I were any crueler, I would burn this room down, women and all.”
Normally, a statement like that would shock me, but right now, when I can still feel those phantom fingers trailing down my skin, I’m thinking that leaving these women here, in the core of Des’s capitol, is a very bad idea.
Chapter 20
April, seven years ago
My dorm room has become a collage of me and Des. A string of prayer flags hang across my ceiling, courtesy of a trip to Tibet. The lantern perched on my shelf is from Morocco. The painted gourd on my desk is from Peru. And the striped blanket at the foot of my bed is from Nairobi.
The man’s taken me around the world, mostly on business trips, but sometimes just for the hell of it. I think he likes seeing my excitement. And out of all these trips, I’ve collected a room full of souvenirs.
This one has hair that looks like spun silver and it’s bluntly cropped just past her chin. Despite her silver hair, she looks young, her smooth skin taut over her high cheekbones and square jaw. This woman is all soldier; even at rest I can tell her personality is all hard edges. But not even that saved her. Clutched beneath her hands is a bow, and next to her feet is a quiver filled with arrows.
Another warrior. But not just a warrior. This one has a silver band on her upper arm. A medaled warrior.
I begin to wind my way through the coffins. All the women wear the same black attire, and each carry a weapon. Warriors who are now victims.
The whole thing is putting me on edge. Some of the strongest women in Des’s kingdom lie inside these coffins. How did this happen to so many who were so capable?
And if this monster could do this to these women, what could he do to an average person? What could he do to me?
I begin to hum to alleviate my growing anxiety.
I touch a casket here and there, noticing that the glass feels warm.
My skin prickles. This situation is … is unnatural—wrong at its most basic level.
Without thinking, my humming shifts to singing.
Wake from your slumber,
Rise from your sleep,
Tell me your secrets,
They’re mine to keep.
The siren in me likes to string together rhymes, much the same way a witch does spells. I’m sure it has something to do with how effective my glamour is, but to my ears it’s simply pleasing.
Open your eyes,
Breathe in the fresh air,
Tell me your secrets,
They’re ours to share.
I throw a glance over my shoulder at Des. Arms folded, feet planted apart, and wings out—he looks like he’s channeling something between rock star and fallen angel. The leather pants and the sleeve of tats don’t help. His eyes move over the coffins, almost as if he expects someone to move …
I follow his gaze, instantly tense, but nope, the women are as still as they were when I walked in.
Turning my body back towards the rows of women, I resume my song.
Rouse from your rest,
Shake off this dark spell,
Open your mouth,
You have secrets to tell.
I knew before walking in here that my glamour couldn’t rouse these women. They were all fairies. And yet, I still hold out an inkling of hope that I can help them.
A minute goes by, then another. I wait for any sign of life, but no one moves. And now I feel silly. Singing to a room full of fae that haven’t stirred since they were brought here.
I begin walking back to the Bargainer, my footsteps echoing.
A tinkling laugh rises from behind me.
I pause, glancing over my shoulder. There’s no one there—at least, no one walking or talking.
I begin to move again, my muscles now tense. I’m spooked and imagining things.
“Slave …”
I pause midstep, my eyes going wide as they meet Des’s.
He puts a finger to his lips. A split second later he evaporates into smoke.
Shit. Where’d he go?
A spectral breath tickles my cheek, laughing softly, and I realize right about now that I might have bigger problems.
I twist around, sure I will find someone standing next to me. But no one’s there.
Another laugh rises from the depths of the room, followed by a hum. The voice comes from nowhere and everywhere. It’s all around me, multiplying on itself.
Sleep fair one,
Or are you afraid?
This is a game in which,
You are far outplayed.
I glance around for the singer, but I already know this is some sort of magic beyond my comprehension.
A phantom hand strokes my hair.
You ask us to wake,
When we want you to sleep,
Secrets are meant,
For one soul to keep.
So sing your songs,
And rhyme your rhymes,
He’s coming for you,
These are dark times.
The singing dies away until the room is quiet once more.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe.
Time to get the hell out of this place.
I eye the coffins as I pass row after row of them, expecting any second for these women to attack me.
Just had to stir up trouble, didn’t you, Callie?
Ahead of me the shadows swirl together, coalescing into a winged man.
Des.
The Bargainer’s wings are spread threateningly, and his face is unreadable, which means Des the killer has come out to play.
Someone’s losing their shit.
“Oh, so nice of you to join me,” I say, my voice high. I’m about to lose my shit too.
“I never left you,” he says.
I’m not going to think about that comment. This situation is weird enough as it is.
He stares out at the coffins. “If I were any crueler, I would burn this room down, women and all.”
Normally, a statement like that would shock me, but right now, when I can still feel those phantom fingers trailing down my skin, I’m thinking that leaving these women here, in the core of Des’s capitol, is a very bad idea.
Chapter 20
April, seven years ago
My dorm room has become a collage of me and Des. A string of prayer flags hang across my ceiling, courtesy of a trip to Tibet. The lantern perched on my shelf is from Morocco. The painted gourd on my desk is from Peru. And the striped blanket at the foot of my bed is from Nairobi.
The man’s taken me around the world, mostly on business trips, but sometimes just for the hell of it. I think he likes seeing my excitement. And out of all these trips, I’ve collected a room full of souvenirs.
