A weight lifts from my chest. The pain is still there, but the dam’s been broken, and all that pressure that existed within me now rushes out.
Finally I understand why the Bargainer is so alluring to me. He’s seen Callie the victim, Callie the killer, Callie the broken girl who can barely keep her life together. He’s seen all this, and yet he’s still here, stroking my hair and murmuring softly to me. “It’s alright, cherub. He’s gone, you’re safe.”
I fall asleep like that, locked in the strong arms of Desmond Flynn, one of the scariest, most dangerous men in the supernatural world.
And he’s right. In his arms, I feel absolutely safe.
Present
Back in Des’s Otherworld chambers, I pace, my skirt floating behind me.
He’s coming for you.
The Thief of Souls.
Des warned me it would get worse. I just hadn’t really understood.
“Have those sleeping women ever done that before?” I ask, glancing over at Des.
The fae king watches me from a side chair, his fingers steepled over his mouth.
“No.”
He doesn’t even try to dodge the question like he’s usually so fond of doing.
“And you heard everything they said?”
“You mean their little rhymes?” he says. “Yes, I did.”
He’s been uncharacteristically somber since we left the chamber of sleeping warriors. His wings only disappeared a few minutes ago, but I know better than to assume he’s unaffected by what we heard.
He’s just better at hiding his meltdown than I am.
“First the children, and now this,” he says, his seat groaning as he leans forward in it. “Apparently this enemy has taken a liking to you.” A flash of anger in those silver eyes.
My panic rises all over again.
The Bargainer stands, his presence almost menacing as the darkness curls around him. His hammered crown and war cuffs only serve to make him look more intimidating. He comes up close to me, placing a finger under my chin.
“Tell me, cherub,” he says, tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet those silver eyes of his, which look almost feral, “do you know what I do to enemies that threaten what’s mine?”
Is he referring to me? I can’t tell, nor can I tell where he’s going with this.
He leans in close to my ear. “I kill them.” He pulls away to meet my gaze. “It’s neither quick nor clean.”
His words send shivers up my arms.
“Sometimes I feed my enemies to creatures I need favors from,” he says. “Sometimes I let the royal assassins practice their skills on them. Sometimes I let my enemies think they’ve escaped my clutches only to recapture them and make them suffer—and how they suffer. The darkness cloaks many, many deeds.”
It scares me when Des gets like this. When his Otherworldly cruelty surfaces.
“Why are you telling me this?” I say softly.
His stares into my eyes. “I am the scariest thing out here. And if anything tries to touch you, they will reckon with me.”
The next few days, Des spends in the Otherworld, doing his kingly duties while I stay back at his Catalina home. He’s invited me along, but um, yeah, I’m good on this side of the ley line for now.
Meanwhile, I’ve read over some of Des’s case notes, which largely restate what he’s already told me. It mentions the human servants with their bruises and haunted eyes, the fairies who fall into that deep sleep after caring for those strange children, and the people who chose death over answering Des’s questions. The whole mystery is one sad, disturbing trail of destruction.
When I’m not reading up on the case, I’m either exploring the island of Catalina or Des’s house. Right now, I’m up to the latter.
I wander into the Bargainer’s room, flicking on the lights. My eyes move from the art hanging on the walls, to the metal model of the solar system, to the wet bar.
I’ve been curious as to why Des didn’t want me to see this room when he first gave me a tour of the house. There’s nothing much in here.
I move over to his dresser, opening the drawers one after the other. Inside each are piles of folded shirts and pants. The mighty King of the Night stores his clothes just like the rest of us.
I close the last drawer and move farther into the room, not seeing much else I can rummage through. Seriously, this is one of the most spartan rooms I’ve come across, and I do my fair share of snooping in my line of work.
My eyes land on one of his bedside tables. The only thing resting on it, besides a bedside lamp, is a leather-bound portfolio. I remember from our time together that Des loved to sketch; I even got him a sketchbook at one point.
I move over to the book, my hand curving over the soft cover. But then I hesitate. This is private—it’s essentially Des’s journal.
But he’s never been unwilling to share his artwork before.
Making a decision, I open the portfolio.
I stop breathing the moment I see the first picture.
It’s of … me.
The portrait is quite simple, just a simple basic of my head, neck, and shoulders. I run my finger down the penciled slope of my cheek, noticing how bright my eyes look in the drawing. How hopeful I appear. I remember Des drawing this in my dorm room over seven years ago. I also remember seeing the image and completely not connecting with it. I’d been so lonely then, so full of my own demons, I couldn’t imagine that anyone looked at me and saw this beautiful girl. But I’d been flattered nonetheless.
Finally I understand why the Bargainer is so alluring to me. He’s seen Callie the victim, Callie the killer, Callie the broken girl who can barely keep her life together. He’s seen all this, and yet he’s still here, stroking my hair and murmuring softly to me. “It’s alright, cherub. He’s gone, you’re safe.”
I fall asleep like that, locked in the strong arms of Desmond Flynn, one of the scariest, most dangerous men in the supernatural world.
And he’s right. In his arms, I feel absolutely safe.
Present
Back in Des’s Otherworld chambers, I pace, my skirt floating behind me.
He’s coming for you.
The Thief of Souls.
Des warned me it would get worse. I just hadn’t really understood.
“Have those sleeping women ever done that before?” I ask, glancing over at Des.
The fae king watches me from a side chair, his fingers steepled over his mouth.
“No.”
He doesn’t even try to dodge the question like he’s usually so fond of doing.
“And you heard everything they said?”
“You mean their little rhymes?” he says. “Yes, I did.”
He’s been uncharacteristically somber since we left the chamber of sleeping warriors. His wings only disappeared a few minutes ago, but I know better than to assume he’s unaffected by what we heard.
He’s just better at hiding his meltdown than I am.
“First the children, and now this,” he says, his seat groaning as he leans forward in it. “Apparently this enemy has taken a liking to you.” A flash of anger in those silver eyes.
My panic rises all over again.
The Bargainer stands, his presence almost menacing as the darkness curls around him. His hammered crown and war cuffs only serve to make him look more intimidating. He comes up close to me, placing a finger under my chin.
“Tell me, cherub,” he says, tilting my chin up, forcing me to meet those silver eyes of his, which look almost feral, “do you know what I do to enemies that threaten what’s mine?”
Is he referring to me? I can’t tell, nor can I tell where he’s going with this.
He leans in close to my ear. “I kill them.” He pulls away to meet my gaze. “It’s neither quick nor clean.”
His words send shivers up my arms.
“Sometimes I feed my enemies to creatures I need favors from,” he says. “Sometimes I let the royal assassins practice their skills on them. Sometimes I let my enemies think they’ve escaped my clutches only to recapture them and make them suffer—and how they suffer. The darkness cloaks many, many deeds.”
It scares me when Des gets like this. When his Otherworldly cruelty surfaces.
“Why are you telling me this?” I say softly.
His stares into my eyes. “I am the scariest thing out here. And if anything tries to touch you, they will reckon with me.”
The next few days, Des spends in the Otherworld, doing his kingly duties while I stay back at his Catalina home. He’s invited me along, but um, yeah, I’m good on this side of the ley line for now.
Meanwhile, I’ve read over some of Des’s case notes, which largely restate what he’s already told me. It mentions the human servants with their bruises and haunted eyes, the fairies who fall into that deep sleep after caring for those strange children, and the people who chose death over answering Des’s questions. The whole mystery is one sad, disturbing trail of destruction.
When I’m not reading up on the case, I’m either exploring the island of Catalina or Des’s house. Right now, I’m up to the latter.
I wander into the Bargainer’s room, flicking on the lights. My eyes move from the art hanging on the walls, to the metal model of the solar system, to the wet bar.
I’ve been curious as to why Des didn’t want me to see this room when he first gave me a tour of the house. There’s nothing much in here.
I move over to his dresser, opening the drawers one after the other. Inside each are piles of folded shirts and pants. The mighty King of the Night stores his clothes just like the rest of us.
I close the last drawer and move farther into the room, not seeing much else I can rummage through. Seriously, this is one of the most spartan rooms I’ve come across, and I do my fair share of snooping in my line of work.
My eyes land on one of his bedside tables. The only thing resting on it, besides a bedside lamp, is a leather-bound portfolio. I remember from our time together that Des loved to sketch; I even got him a sketchbook at one point.
I move over to the book, my hand curving over the soft cover. But then I hesitate. This is private—it’s essentially Des’s journal.
But he’s never been unwilling to share his artwork before.
Making a decision, I open the portfolio.
I stop breathing the moment I see the first picture.
It’s of … me.
The portrait is quite simple, just a simple basic of my head, neck, and shoulders. I run my finger down the penciled slope of my cheek, noticing how bright my eyes look in the drawing. How hopeful I appear. I remember Des drawing this in my dorm room over seven years ago. I also remember seeing the image and completely not connecting with it. I’d been so lonely then, so full of my own demons, I couldn’t imagine that anyone looked at me and saw this beautiful girl. But I’d been flattered nonetheless.
