A Strange Hymn (The Bargainer Book 2)

  I groan. I’d forgotten for an instant that I was out here learning how to fly.

  I do as he says, the action stirring my hair. Des watches my wingbeats shrewdly, nodding like an instructor.

  “Now try jumping,” he says. “See if you can keep yourself in the air for any length of time.”

  “Want me to juggle while I’m at it?” I feel like a circus sideshow.

  He folds his arms and just waits.

  I sigh. “Fine.”

  I jump, beating my wings. Nothing impressive happens.

  “Again.”

  I try again and, like the first time, my wings are useless.

  “Again.”

  I try again. And again. And again. After doing it a couple dozen times, I begin to understand that there’s a timing to it. And then, after a few more dozen tries, my wings successfully fight gravity, if only for an extra second.

  Des nods, his face serious. “Good enough.”

  He takes my upper arm, leading me to the edge of the balcony.

  “Goo—good enough?” I look over at him skeptically. “Good enough for what?”

  The Bargainer steps onto the balcony railing.

  “What are you doing?”

  He steps over the ledge, and turns to face me, securing his feet in between the stone balustrade.

  “Cherub, it’s alright.” He says this like he’s the most reasonable guy in the world, and not in fact the dude balancing precariously on the edge of the highest balcony in Somnia.

  He slaps the top of the marble railing between us. “Step up here.”

  A disbelieving laugh slips out. “No way.”

  “Callie,” he says, sounding disappointed, “I’m wounded. I would never lead you astray.”

  Says the man who taught me to drink and gamble. I think he needs to tighten up his definition of astray.

  When I stay rooted in place, he says, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  I fold my arms over my chest, not budging.

  His eyes brighten with excitement. There are few things Des enjoys more than my defiance. Unfortunately for me, it never gets me very far with him.

  I feel the breath of his magic at my back, forcing me forward and then propelling me onto the edge of the balcony in front of him.

  “You are such a bastard,” I say as I climb onto it. Up here the wind is blustery enough to shake my body and whip my hair about.

  From the other side of the railing, Des grabs my waist, bracing me. He grins up at me like a pirate. “Sticks and stones, Callie. Now,” he gives my sides a squeeze, “open those wings for me again.”

  Ignoring all my better judgement, I do as he asks. A gust of wind blows against me, lifting my wings up.

  “You feel that?” the Bargainer asks, studying my every reaction. “That’s an air current. We’ll be using them to travel.”

  “Can I get down now?”

  Des’s lips quirk mischievously. “Cherub, the next surface your feet touch will be in a different city.”

  I feel my face pale. I shake my head. “I’m not ready.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Des’s wings spread wide behind him, and wind tugs at his T-shirt and hair.

  Right now, right in this moment, I’m sure I’m in a dream. He’s too wild, too beautiful, too fantastical to be mine, and what he’s asking me to do is too strange and unbelievable to be real.

  “Fly,” he says, releasing my waist. Power rides his words, pulling my wings into position.

  Before I can object, he spreads his arms out to either side of him. It happens in slow motion, his body tipping away from me and the balcony, the night poised to swallow him whole. His feet slide off the ledge, and then he’s falling.

  “Des!” I reach for him reflexively.

  My body pitches forward, and I lose my balance. Suddenly, there is no more balcony railing to perch on. There is nothing but empty air beneath me.

  Des smiles as he stares up at me, completely at peace with the fact that we’re falling. And then, right in the middle of our descent, he vanishes.

  Vanishes.

  I’m left staring down the palace grounds a hundred feet below, and Des is nowhere to be seen.

  Oh God, I’m fucked. So, so fucked. This isn’t flying, this is the art of dying, and the one person who got me into this mess is gone.

  I guess I now have my answer to that stupid “rhetorical” question: if a friend asked you to jump, would you?

  Apparently, twat-waffle that I am, I would.

  Des’s magic still encircles my wings, tugging at them. I grit my teeth and begin to follow their lead, angling them to catch some of the wind. The force of my descent makes it difficult to control my movements.

  Floor after floor of the palace blur by me, the ground quickly zooming up. I continue to fight the wind that’s trying to fold up my wings, Des’s magic aiding me. Just as I’m beginning to think it’s hopeless, my fall begins to slow.

  I let instinct take over, continuing to tilt my wings to level me out. I go from falling to cutting into the wind, my body beginning to glide over the ground rather than plummet towards it.

  I’m pretty sure I’m no longer going to fall to my death, but I’m still not exactly flying. I’m more like that autumn leaf that gets blown about by a gust of wind.

  Out of nowhere, Des manifests beneath me, his hands moving to my waist. “Beat your wings, love.”

  I can barely hear him over the whistle of the wind in my ear, but I begin to force my wings up and down, up and down.

  I wobble, and for a few seconds I worry that I’m going to lose whatever gains I’ve made and plunge the rest of the way to the ground. But now Des is beneath me, making sure I don’t do exactly that.

  Slowly, steadily, my wings propel me up. Des releases me as I break away from him, rising higher and higher in the air.

  Holy crap, I’m flying.

  A shocked laugh escapes me. It’s more exhilarating than I could’ve imagined. I hit a warm air current, and then I’m gliding, the thermal carrying me on its own.

  A shadow with wicked-looking wings swoops in next to me. I glance over at the Bargainer, his white hair rippling in the air. He smiles at me, and it lights up his entire face.

  “Follow me!” The wind snatches away his words, but I read his lips.

  He pulls ahead then banks right, his body arcing across the sky, those giant wings of his gleaming dangerously in the moonlight. If I thought he was fantastical before, it has nothing on him now. Des is magic, and somehow, through some odd twist of fate, I get to be a part of that magic.

  I follow his lead, adjusting my wings to curve through the air like his do. I laugh again, my heart so much lighter now that I’m officially flying.

  Des is still on my shit list for scaring me almost literally to death, but this might be worth it; it might even be worth the fear and loathing I endured in the days after I received my wings.

  I follow Des until he drops back, and then the two of us are gliding next to each other. There’s nothing quite like the silence up here in the sky. The wind is too loud for us to talk, and yet everything has a quiet pall to it.

  Every so often, Des points to something or other. Once, it’s a troop of pixies, another time it’s the faintest pattern of lights far, far below us where I imagine one of the other kingdoms of the Otherworld—kingdoms that don’t float in the sky—are located.

  He even gestures to a fae couple I glimpse out in the distance, their bodies largely hidden in the clouds. I can only just see a mismatched pair of glittering wings, and two intertwined legs, and then the clouds move, obscuring them from view.

  I notice one or two more of these couples as we fly. Judging by their embraces, they’re lovers who’ve snuck away to be together under the starlight and clouds.

  After what must be an hour or two, I make out a giant landmass ahead of us, blocking out a segment of the night sky.

  Another floating island! Just like Somnia.

  As w
e get closer, I begin to notice the city lights, which twinkle in pale pastel colors.

  Next to me, Des begins to descend, angling himself towards the floating island.

  It’s only once we’re flying over it that I truly get a sense of the place. It’s a land of turrets and motes, towers and bridges. They flash by me as we glide across the landscape. Interspersed between the buildings are huge swaths of foliage. This far away I can’t tell whether they’re fields or forests, jungles or manicured parks.

  As we get closer, I begin to notice the idiosyncrasies of this island. Buildings seem to change size and shape the moment you peel your gaze away, streets lead to nowhere. Even the colors of this place are somehow both brighter and duller than they should be. It looks like a fairytale and a carnival all wrapped into one, and yet … it’s as though everything is not quite as it should be.

  No one looks at us as we begin to land. We’re just two more fairies in this strange land.

  Des glides to a stop, gracefully lowering himself to the ground.

  There’s nothing graceful about my landing. I slam into the Bargainer, nearly bowling us both over.

  He catches me around the waist, his eyes wide, and then he begins to laugh. Presumably at me.

  The elation that flying brought me is bubbling up my stomach and out my throat, and I can’t help but join in.

  I just flew. With Des. All those years of me hoping to be a part of his world, of despairing that it would never happen—they led me right to this moment. The irony is that it took a madman to make one of my deepest wishes come true.

  Eventually our laughter dies off, but I can still see it twinkling in Des’s eyes.

  “I like your hair when it’s windswept,” he murmurs, touching a lock of it.

  The same can be said for his hair. I’ve always had a weird obsession with his nearly shoulder-length locks, and right now they look especially sexy.

  “Was flying everything you hoped it would be?” he asks.

  This would be the perfect time to rip him a new asshole for tricking me off a ledge. But I find I don’t want to ruin the moment. Not when I enjoyed myself so thoroughly in the sky, and not when he’s holding me like he’s not sure he ever wants to let me go.

  “It was amazing,” I say breathlessly.

  His eyes spark with excitement, and Des lets my torso slip through his hands until we’re face to face.

  He presses a hard kiss to my lips, his mouth demanding. And then I slide the rest of the way through his arms until my boots touch the ground.

  Des steps aside to give me a better view of our surroundings.

  “Welcome to Phyllia, the Land of Dreams,” he says.

  My eyes devour the shop-lined street before us. Each store is more spectacular than the last.

  Hanging in the window of the clothing shop closest to me is a dress that looks like it’s actually made of seafoam. Next to it is a man’s suit, made in a hue of blue I swear I didn’t know existed. There’s a cloak that seems to be made of the night sky, small dots of light flickering in the dark fabric, and a wristlet that looks to be spun from clouds.

  Next to the clothing store is a curiosity shop filled with furniture and decorations as unusual as they are alluring. A table made entirely of rose quartz seems to glow from within. Next to it is a glass vial filled with a swirling mist; the sign for it says it’s a Dream-Come-True.

  Farther down the street are restaurants whose tables spill onto the streets, the aromas drifting out from them both foreign and appetizing.

  I can feel Des’s attention on me. He places a hand on my lower back, leading me forward.

  “Here on Phyllia,” he explains, “you’ll find doors that lead to nowhere, people you recognize one moment and don’t the next, places you’re sure you’ve visited before though you can’t say when or how. Phyllia is the place where every one of your fantastical thoughts can come true.”

  The Land of Dreams. It’s some strange lovechild of the Otherworld and what I imagined Wonderland might look like. Everything has that elegant, fae touch to it, but nothing is quite what it appears.

  We pass by a bubbling fountain that people are gathered around, vials in their hands.

  “The waters here can make humble wishes come true,” Des says next to me.

  I watch in fascination as a fae woman with golden hair dips her glass container into the water. I’m tempted to try the water myself, just to see what small wish might come true.

  We pass by several cafes, and my attention lingers on the low lighting and the soft conversations drifting from within.

  “You have restaurants here in the Otherworld,” I say.

  “You’re surprised?” Des looks amused.

  I am. I assumed that the Otherworld was essentially flowering fields and impossible architecture. Restaurants just seem so … human.

  Suddenly, Des is steering me towards one of them.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you out to eat—unless, of course, you aren’t hungry.”

  My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble. I don’t know how many calories flying burns, but the number must be staggering.

  “I could eat.”

  His lips twitch. “Good. So could I.”

  The restaurant we walk into is done up in shades of silver and periwinkle—from the place settings to the mounted mirrors to the walls. Near the top of the high ceilings, plumes of clouds hang, and in the center of each table is a vase full of delicate white flowers that I’ve seen all over Somnia.

  As soon as Des and I are seated, I surreptitiously scan the room.

  Even at first glance the men and women around us don’t look quite normal. For most, it’s simply small details—eye color that’s a little too bright to be human, or hair too long to be grown by a mortal head. But then, amongst them, there are a few fae that especially stand out. Like the man with lavender-grey skin and a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. Or the woman whose limbs are long and slender, her skin the color of deep shadows.

  In contrast to my gawking, the restaurant’s patrons ignore us completely.

  “Do these people know who you are?”

  “They do,” he says.

  “Why aren’t any of them …” I trail off, looking for the right words.

  “Fawning over me?” he says, filling in my sentence for me.

  “Yeah.”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve cloaked our appearances.”

  “Cloaked our …?”

  “It’s a small illusion meant to subtly alter our features—to prevent recognition.” He leans forward. “I figured neither of us wanted the extra attention.”

  Damn but that was thoughtful of him.

  My attention drifts around us again. It’s not just the people here that are unusual. Halfway through the restaurant, the building morphs into a gothic cathedral, the pews and pulpit currently empty.

  “Dream logic,” Des explains.

  I glance back at him only to realize that someone has already served us drinks and bread.

  I blink at the sight. “This place is really …”—unnerving—“magical.”

  Des leans back in his seat, a sardonic smile spreading across his lips.

  “What do you want to eat?” he asks.

  I furrow my brows. “We haven’t received menus yet …”

  I haven’t even fully finished speaking when a plate of ravioli drops to the table in front of me.

  Now, how the hell did that happen?

  Des laughs at my wide eyes.

  “Is this even safe to eat?” I ask.

  He leans forward, his sculpted forearms resting on the table. “Would I lead you astray, cherub?”

  I give him the stink eye. “Last time you said that, you tricked me into falling off a building.”

  “Flying off a building.”

  I roll my eyes. “Semantics, Des.”

  “Semantics are everything, Callie, or have you learned nothing from me?”

  I pick up my fo
rk, eyeing my pasta, which is covered in some mystery cream sauce. “No, you’re right. You’ve taught me exactly what it means to be a slippery bastard.”

  Des lounges back in his seat, a smug expression on his face. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

  I cut into one of the raviolis and take a bite. Somehow, it’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.

  “Good?”

  I close my eyes and nod, savoring the taste a little longer.

  “And look, it didn’t even kill you.”

  Des just had to go and be Des.

  “Yet,” I tack on, because I can be snarky too.

  I open my eyes, and—I shit you not—in front of Des a churro shimmers into existence, plopping onto the table a moment later. It even has that cheap waxy paper wrapped around its base, just like what you’d find at a carnival.

  I raise my eyebrows.

  Des picks up the churro and kicks one foot, then the other, up onto the table. Shamelessly, he bites into the dessert.

  I’ll give him this, he’s owning this moment.

  Crossing his ankles, he says, “Tell me love, what’s a dream of yours?”

  “A dream?” I repeat, another bite of ravioli midway to my mouth.

  “Something you want out of life?”

  I take my bite of the ravioli, chewing slowly.

  Once I swallow, I shrug. “To be happy, I guess.”

  “C’mon, cherub,” he says, pointing the churro at me, “Don’t make me take a bead. I know you’ve got something more specific than that.”

  I stare down at my pasta, sucking my cheeks in. “I don’t know,” I eventually say. “Two months ago I would’ve told you that I wanted a husband and a family.” I’m surprised the confession comes out as freely as it does. Des might not be the only person learning how to be vulnerable.

  The truth is, before Des came roaring back into my life, I was lonely—painfully, achingly lonely, the kind of loneliness that comes from feeling like your life is passing you by and there’s no one there to witness it.

  The Bargainer squints at me, his face inscrutable. “You no longer want that?”

  I meet his eyes. It’s so hard to read him when he’s like this.

  I take a deep breath. “No, I still want that, but …” It takes only a few extra seconds to pry the words loose. “But now I don’t fear that it won’t happen.”