“I’m here to ask you a few questions concerning the disappearances of fairies across your kingdom,” I explain.
She sucks in a breath, her face visibly paling. Now, now she has an idea.
She begins to shake her head, backing up and bumping into the chair behind her. “Please.” She places a hand over the bruises on her chest once more. “I-I can’t.”
Seeing her fear, I would expect her to play dumb. But perhaps both of us know it’s no use.
Her eyes began to dart about, looking for an escape. She edges away from me, clumsily banging into things.
“There’s nowhere for you to go,” I say. “We both know this.”
Despite my warning, she tries to slip past me, feinting to the left before she runs, like I’m going to try to tackle her.
Unfortunately for this woman, I’m used to targets running from me.
“Stop,” I command, my voice unearthly.
Immediately her body halts, her shoulders trembling. When she looks over at me, a silent tear slips down her cheek. The sight of it breaks my heart.
“Please, you have no idea what he’ll do if I talk,” she pleads.
He?
“Let’s sit down,” I suggest, my voice soothing despite the glamour.
Robotically, she moves to the small couch, more tears following the first. When she looks at me, I can see the resistance in her eyes, but she can’t do a damn thing about it.
“What’s your name?” I ask, sitting next to her and taking her hand. It’s already clammy with sweat.
She stares down at her hands in her lap. “Gaelia.”
A human woman with a fae name.
“Were you born here?” I ask.
Drawing in a shaky breath, she nods.
“What do you do in the palace?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She peers over Des, who’s still leaning in the room’s entryway, before returning her attention back to her lap. “I work in the royal nursery.”
My eyes move back to the bruise on her wrist. Again, the impression it’s left on her skin makes it look as though a tiny hand squeezed it too hard. A child’s hand …
I force my gaze back to her. “Why does your king believe you know something about the disappearances?” I ask.
Her expression crumbles, her eyes and mouth pinched as she cries. “Please,” she begs again.
Gaelia looks at me with agony, and I can tell this is her last ditch effort to stop the rest of the conversation from unfolding. She’s pleading for my humanity with her eyes, but she doesn’t know that I have no more control of the situation than she does.
I press my own lips together, my eyes stinging. I don’t want to do this to her. She’s not a criminal, just the last in a line of humans that were once slaves in this world. She’s a victim, one who’s had the misfortune of working in the wrong place at the wrong time. And thanks to me, she’s probably going to suffer for her forced confession.
My eyes flutter as I repeat, “Answer me,” the siren is heavy in my voice.
She draws in a deep, stuttering breath. “Some of the babies in the royal nursery are the children of the sleeping warriors.”
“The women in the glass caskets?” I ask.
She nods. “They are unlike the other children under our care,” she continues. “They are … peculiar.”
Fae in general were peculiar; I can’t imagine what an oddity among the fae looked like.
“Peculiar how?”
Gaelia begins to openly weep even as she answers, “They are listless, almost catatonic at times. They don’t sleep, they just lay in their cradles, their eyes focused on the ceiling. The only time they do anything at all is when, is when …” She touches the bruises on her chest, “they feed.”
Her fingers curl around the neckline of her blouse, and she pulls down the edge of the material. I lean in to get a better look. Beneath the material, extensive bruising covers her chest. Among all the dark discoloration are strange, curving cuts.
Bite marks.
I rear back at the sight. Now that I’m looking, I see the little puncture marks where their teeth split Gaelia’s flesh.
“And when they feed,” she adds, “they prophesize.”
Prophecy. Even earth has supernaturals that can prophesize … but children prophesying? This is peculiar.
Not to mention the fact that said children are gnawing on humans.
“How old are these children?” I ask.
Gaelia is beginning to rock in her seat, holding her arms close to her. “Some are as old as eight,” her lips tremble over each word. “The youngest is less than three months.”
“And which ones prophesize?”
Her eyes focus on something on the floor. “All of them.”
All of them?
“Even the three month old?” I ask skeptically.
Gaelia nods. “She speaks and feeds like the rest of them. She told me you and the king would come. She said, ‘Bare them no secret, tell them no truths, or pain and terror shall be your bedmates, and death the least of your fears.’” She releases a shaky breath. “I didn’t believe her. I hadn’t even remembered her warning until you mentioned you wanted to ask me some questions.” Her arms tighten around herself. “They all show me so many things, so many horrible things …”
“Is that normal?” I probe. “For a child that young to even be talking?”
More tears. “No, my lady. None of this is normal.” Gaelia’s shaking, which had died down somewhat, begins all over again.
“I don’t understand, what is so terrible about telling me this?” I ask.
She hesitates.
“You’re going to have to tell me, one way or another,” I say. “It might as well be on your own terms.”
She covers her mouth with her hand, her sobs beginning anew. I hear her whispering to herself, “Forgive me. Forgive me.” Her rocking has increased.
“Gaelia.”
Slowly her eyes move to mine, and she drops her hand from her mouth. “He doesn’t want to be found,” she whispers. “The children tell me he is making many plans. That he is wary of our king, the Emperor of the Evening Stars,” she says, her eyes moving to Desmond. “But that he fears no others.”
Des comes over now, placing a hand on my shoulder. Gaelia notices.
“He still needs more time,” she continues, wrapping her arms around herself once more. “He’s not unstoppable yet.”
“Why would he tell you this?” Des says.
She doesn’t respond, but her fingers squeeze into the flesh of her upper arms.
“Answer him,” I say softly, my glamour forcing her to answer.
Still, she fights the words for another second or two, until they force themselves out anyway. “Children say whatever is on their minds. Even these ones. In this way, they’re not so different from ordinary children.”
“Why do you believe them?” I ask.
Her lips quiver. “Besides the prophesying? Because for years the nurses on rotation have been complaining of a figure that leans over these children’s’ cradles. And lately, I’ve started to see him as well.”
The back of my neck prickles. The Otherworld is chalk full of boogeymen, and this sounds exactly like one of them.
“What does he look like?” I ask, going off script. Up until now, I’d managed to pepper Des’s questions into the natural flow of the conversation, but now I abandon the rest of them altogether.
Gaelia shakes her head manically. “He’s just a shadow … just a shadow.”
“Where is he?” Des asks.
She shivers, not even bothering to fight our questions anymore. “Everywhere.”
Her words raise my gooseflesh.
“Do you know h
is name?” I ask.
“Thief of Souls,” she mutters. “Thief of Souls.”
“What does he want?” the Bargainer growls.
Her eyes meet ours. “Everything.”
Chapter 13
February, seven years ago
Tonight, Douglas Café is bustling, a dozen different conversations filling the air.
I stare into my coffee cup. “Des, why haven’t you made me repay my debts?”
Des leans back in his seat, his legs kicked up on another chair he’s dragged over.
He sips an expresso from the world’s smallest cup, his hand dwarfing the tiny glass.
He sets the cup down. “Are you eager to, cherub?”
Under the café’s soft lighting, his eyes glint with anticipation.
“Just curious.” I search his face. “Are you?”
“Am I what?” His attention moves casually over the rest of the room. I’m not fooled, just as I wasn’t earlier, when he deliberately took a seat in the corner of the room, making sure his back was to the wall.
Ever since Mr. Whitechapel reappeared with a few less toes and fingers and the Bargainer’s calling card on his chest, the Politia has been on the hunt for Des.
“Eager for me to repay my debts,” I say.
“If I was, then you would have already paid them.”
But why wouldn’t he be eager? Based on the deals I’ve witnessed, I know Des is religious about making his clients repay him in a timely fashion.
My bracelet is now nine rows deep and steadily growing. Not once has he made me repay him. Not for a single wish.
“All these beads make me nervous,” I say, twisting my bracelet around.
His gaze drifts back to mine. “Then stop buying favors.”
I stand, the chair scraping back. “You’re crappy company tonight,” I say.
Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s me.
Because at the moment, I feel so damn disappointed. Disappointed by this evening, by all the others just like it. By wanting something I just can’t have. By being too weak to give up this stupid crush even though I know I should. By collecting lifetimes and lifetimes of debt and shackling myself to a bad man who wants nothing to do with me.
“Sit down,” Des commands, and I feel the brush of his magic in the order.
My legs begin to fold, my body bending to take my seat. I fight the command, but it’s not much use.
I glare at him. And now I understand a bit better why my own power is just so terrible. It’s a peculiar kind of torture, to have your body answer to another person. Peculiar and vile.
“That’s what your repayment will feel like,” he says. “Only the compulsion will be worse. Much worse.” He leans forward. “Don’t be so eager to repay your debts. Neither of us will enjoy it.”
“If you won’t enjoy it Des,” I say, trying to stand up. His magic presses down on me, forcing me to stay seated, “then why don’t you stop making deals with me?”
Again, his eyes glint. “You play a dangerous game with me, siren. Making deals is its own sort of compulsion.” His voice is so low that only I can hear it. “And you offer them to me so easily.” He pauses, his eyes shining wickedly. “Don’t think I’ll ever stop taking them—because I won’t.”
Present
Des and I are quiet as we leave the servants’ quarters.
Next to me, the Bargainer looks grim.
Bloodsucking children, phantom visitors, and a man who goes by the name of the Thief of Souls. It’s enough to give me nightmares.
I rub my arms. “How long have these disappearances been going on?” I ask as we exit the servants’ quarters and enter the garden.
“Almost a decade.”
And in all that time, nothing has been solved …
I’ve done my job, I’ve glamoured an innocent woman at the Bargainer’s behest. I can wipe my hands clean of this task and leave that woman to her fate, a fate that made her mad with terror. A fate she had been warned about by a baby who should be too young to talk.
I pause, stopping in the middle of the stone pathway.
The Bargainer turns to me, his brows drawn together.
“If I’m able to get more information for you from the children, will you take off more beads?” I ask.
He cocks his head. “Why do you wish to see them?” he probes.
As if it isn’t obvious. “That woman back there is frightened of these children and of what they’ve told her. They are the ones we should be interviewing.”
Des sighs. “I am oathbound against using my magic on children, and short of that … I have been to the nursery a thousand times, and a thousand times I’ve tried to talk with them. Not once has it worked.”
“But you’ve never brought a siren with you,” I say.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Gaelia’s beseeching stare and her hopelessness. I can’t seem to just leave it alone.
The corners of Des’s eyes crinkle. “This is true, I’ve never brought a spitfire siren to do my dirty work.” He stares at me for a bit longer. Finally, reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll take you to the children. I doubt it will be very helpful with me there, but I’ll take you all the same.
“However,” he adds, “the moment I sense anything amiss, we’re leaving, no questions asked.”
The protectiveness in his is voice sends shivers down my arms.
“I can work with that.”
“Whose children does the royal nursery take care of?” I ask as we make our way through the palace once more, on our way to that very nursery. It seems strange to me that these peculiar kids, as Gaelia put it, are right inside the castle, in the very heart of the kingdom.
Des clasps his hands behind his back. “The nursery takes care of children orphaned by warrior parents—our way of honoring their final sacrifice—children of nobility working in the palace, and of course, any children of the royal family—including mine.”
“Y-yours?” I echo.
Why had I never considered the possibility Des might have children?
A warrior king like him? He’d have no shortage of women … it’s possible.
Desmond peers over at me. “Does that bother you?”
I shake my head, not meeting his gaze, even as my stomach twists.
I can feel his eyes on me.
“Truth:” he says, “how would you feel if I told you I had children?”
The moment the question leaves his lips, his magic closes around my windpipe.
I clutch my throat, glaring at him. “Some warning would be nice,” I rasp out.
My windpipe constricts. Not the response it wants.
I feel the magic drag the words out, much like my magic dragged answers out of Gaelia.
“I would be jealous,” I say.
God am I glad we’re the only two people walking down this particular hallway. It’s embarrassing enough to admit this to Des without having any additional audience.
“Why?” he asks.
The magic doesn’t let up.
I grit my teeth together, but it doesn’t stop the answer from slipping out. “Because I’m a horrible person.”
The magic squeezes harder. Not truthful enough, apparently.
“B-because,” I try again, “I don’t want anyone else to share that experience with you.”
“Why?” he presses.
You’ve got to be kidding me. The magic’s a noose around my neck.
“Because that’s an experience I’d like to share with you,” I rush to say. Immediately, my cheeks flush.
The magic eases up, but just barely.
Des’s eyes soften. “You’d want to have my child?”
“Not anymore,” I wheeze.
But even now the mag
ic senses I lie. It squeezes my windpipes, choking me.
“Yeeesss,” I hiss out.
All at once the magic releases me, and I know several beads have just disappeared without even looking.
I don’t give a flying fuck.
I’m seeing red.
Des looks so pleased. Pleased and aroused.
“We will be returning to this conversation, cherub,” he promises.
That’s about the moment I pounce on him.
He grunts as I push against the wall and loop my arm around his neck.
Oh my sweet baby Jesus am I angry.
He steps away from the wall, forcing me to lose my footing as he pries my arms off of his neck. Before I can attack him again, he pulls me in close, our torsos flush with one another.
“You had no right to do that,” I say, whisper soft.
Technically he did have every right. That’s what happens when you bargain with Des. He can take whatever he wants as repayment.
His eyes move to my heated cheeks. “You’re embarrassed.”
Of course I’m embarrassed. Who wants to tell the guy that ripped her heart out that, hey boy hey, I still want your babies.
He runs a hand down my back. “You would not be so embarrassed if you knew my thoughts.”
Now my breath catches.
“Rest assured, cherub,” he continues. “I don’t have any children.” He pulls me closer, his lips brushing my ear. “Though I’m always willing to change that.”
Now I try to pull away. “Des, let me go.”
“Hmm,” he says, his hand sliding down the back of one of my thighs, “I think not.” He loops it around his waist. I try to jerk my leg out of his grasp, but the effort is futile. He then wraps my other leg around his hips. “I think I like you right here.”
Next time I fall for someone, it won’t be a conniving, manipulative—
His hand moves lower, cupping my ass.
—horny fae king.
Next time it will be a good boy.
“I don’t even want kids,” I mutter.
Rhapsodic (The Bargainer Book 1) Page 14
