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 magic 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.
Des just smiles.
Fairies.
Then, naturally, someone chooses that moment to turn down the hall. The Bargainer doesn’t make a move to put me down. Instead he begins walking with me wrapped around him like a koala, nodding to the fae woman as we pass her.
So awkward.
It’s not until we reach the double doors that lead to the nursery Des finally puts me down.
In this section of the palace, it’s unnaturally silent. I keep expecting to hear … something. The young are always noisy.
I reach for one of the knobs. Before I can grab it, the Bargainer catches my hand.
“Remember my words,” he says, “anything unusual happens, we’re out of here.”
I stare into those silver eyes, his chiseled features on edge.
“I remember,” I say. Shaking off his hand, I open the door.
It’s almost quieter inside the nursery than it is outside. Even the air here feels still, like everyone’s holding their breaths.
A lone servant fluffs the pillows of one of several ornate couches that rest in the sitting room. Beyond her, a set of French doors open up to a private courtyard.
She startles when she sees us, dipping into a hasty curtsy. “My king, my lady,” she says, greeting each of us, “What an unexpected surprise.”
“We’re here to see the casket children,” Des says brusquely.
Casket children—what a morbid name for them.
“Oh,” her eyes move between us. “O-of course.”
Do I detect unease?
She dips her head. “Right this way.”
As we follow her down one of the side halls that branch off the common area, I notice she discreetly cracks her fingers one by one.
“They’re fairly quiet at the moment.” Catatonic is what she means. “We’ve had to separate them from the other children. There were complaints … ” She doesn’t finish her thought. “Well, you know about that already, my king.”
“Complaints about what?” I ask.
She takes a deep breath. “That the children were feeding off the other children. We decided to move them. They don’t … prey on each other.”
As we trail behind her, stepping over some glass toys and a lyre playing a cheerful tune, I give Des a what-the-fuck look. He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, his expression dark.
She stops at a door and knocks as she enters. “Children, you have company.”
The room we step into is cloaked in shadow, and none of the lit sconces seem to drive away the darkness. The far side of the room is made up of a wall of windows. Several children stand in front of them, staring out at the night beyond. Just like Gaelia said, none of them move a muscle. More lie on the row of beds pushed against the walls. I can’t see inside the cribs, but I know there must be infants in at least some of them.
A wet nurse sits at a rocking chair to our left, pressing a tissue against the skin just above her breast, wincing as she does so. She drops her hand, hiding the tissue in her fist when she sees me and Des, hastily standing and bowing to us each.
The Bargainer nods to her, while my eyes linger on the beads of blood forming where she’d been pressing the tissue to her skin.
“You both can leave us,” he tells the two servants.
The woman who led us here wastes no time leaving, but the wet nurse hesitates briefly, casting a fearful look about the room before she dips her head. “If you need me, I’ll be right outside,” she says, filing out. The door clicks shut behind her.
Now that the two of us are alone with all these strange children, I’m spooked, every instinct shouting at me to leave the room.
Almost as one, the children at the window begin to turn towards us.
I go cold all over at the sight.
Their eyes move to Des.
All at once they begin to scream. Not moving, just screaming. Even the babies are wailing.
Des leans in close. “I forgot to tell you—they don’t like me so much.”
You don’t say?
He steps in front of me, using his body to blockade mine, and I’m not going to lie, right about now I’m ridiculously grateful for my human shield.
You were the one that wanted to see them, Callie. Grow a backbone.
I force myself to step out from behind the Bargainer, scraping together the last of my courage.
What had Gaelia said? That strange though they may be, these were just kids.
Just kids.
I take a tentative step forward, and then another. They’re still screaming, their gazes transfixed on Des.
I begin to hum, hoping that in between kids’ love of music and my own abilities, they might stop shrieking long enough for me to actually interact with them.
All at once, the children’s eyes move to me, some of their screams hiccupping a bit as I begin to glow, the tune I hum beginning to have a magical pull to it.
And then I begin to sing. “Twinkle, twinkle, little star …”
So sue me for not being inventive.
One by one, the children stop crying and begin to watch me, mesmerized. I walk towards them, really hoping this is a good idea.
When I finish the song, the children blink, like they’re waking from a dream. I can’t glamour fae—my powers only work on beings of my world—but music doesn’t need to be controlling for it to captivate you.
Their eyes move to Des, and they tense up again.
“Be calm,” I say, my voice ethereal. “He means you no harm. I mean you no harm.”
It’s a tense few moments while I wait to see how they’ll react. When they don’t begin to scream again, I relax. At least, I relax is much as I can, considering I’m surrounded by a gaggle of creepy kids. A couple of them have dried blood caked around their lips.
I try not to shudder.
“My name is Callypso, but you can call me Callie. I wanted to ask you all a few questions. Will any of you speak to me?”
Their eyes move to me, and they stare unblinkingly at me. I’m seriously concerned that they’ve gone catatonic again when, as one, they nod, circling around me.
“Where are your mothers?” I ask.
“Sleeping below,” one little boy murmurs.
“Why are they sleeping?” I ask.
“Because he wants them to.” This time, it’s a girl with a lisp that responds. As she speaks, I catch sight of two sets of fangs.
I try not to recoil.
“Who is ‘he’?” I ask.
“Our father,” another girl says.
A single father to all these children?
I swear I feel a ghostly breath on the back of my neck. There is no earthly reason why they should know this—or anything else I’ve asked so far—yet they do. And I have a feeling in my gut that they have most of the answers Des is looking for. Whether they’ll share them is another matter altogether.
“Who is your father?” I ask.
They look at each other, and again I get the impression that they make decisions as a collective unit.
“The Thief of Souls,” a boy murmurs.
That name—Gaelia had mentioned it, and I’d seen it scrawled on Des’s notes.
“He sees it all. Hears it all,” another boys adds.
Ten points to Slytherin for the creepy answer.
“Where can I find him?” I ask.
“He’s already here,” says a boy with raven black hair.
My hackles rise at that.
“Can I meet him?”
As soon as I ask the question, the room darkens. The Bargainer doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear that he’s not happy about my question.
“Yesssss …” This comes from one of the cradles on the far corner of the room. “But you cannot bring him along.” The children’s eyes dart to Des.
“Our father will like you,” a redheaded girl says.
“He already does,” another adds.
“He likes pretty things.”
“Likes to break them.”
Again, that chilling breath is breathing down my neck as the children speak, their unwavering gazes fixed on me.
Des’s shadows circle my lower legs protectively. “Callie.”
The children tighten their circle around me, throwing glances over their shoulders at the Bargainer.
Earlier, I’d worried they wouldn’t talk. Now I’m worried that they might be too fond of me.
“Do you know where I can find him?” I ask.
“He will find you—”
“He always finds the ones he wants—”
“He’s already begun the hunt—”
“The hunt?” I shouldn’t ask. I feel like coming to the Otherworld has exposed me in exactly the way I feared it would.
“He’ll make you his, just like our mothers.”
Alright, I’m done.
“I have to leave,” I say.
Across the room, Des begins moving towards me, clearly on the same page.
“Not yet,” the children beg, closing in on me, their hands grabbing my dress.
“Stay with us forever.”
“I can’t,” I say, “but I can come back.”
“Stay,” one of the oldest boys growls.
“She said no.” Des’s sharp voice cuts through the room.
The kids recoil from him, several beginning to scream again. One hisses at the fae king, her pointed teeth bared.
“Stay,” several say to me again. This time they grab my exposed forearms, and when they do …
The air in my lungs leaves me.
I’m falling into myself. Down and down, into the darkness, past cages and cages of women, some who batter the doors of their cells, some who are lying far too still. Floor after floor of them blur together as I plummet.
Then the world flips until I’m no longer falling down, but falling up. And then I’m not falling but flying.
I land at the foot of a throne, the wings at my back spread wide. My surroundings vanish, replaced by a forest. I’m soaring through it, and the trees seem to howl. I fly out of the woods only to crash into my old kitchen, the room soaked in blood.
My stepfather pushes himself off the ground, his body coming to life.
Oh God, no.
He looms over me, his eyes angry. From his head sprout antlers. They grow and twist with each passing second. He stares me down, his face shifting until I’m no longer staring at my father; I’m staring at a stranger, one with chestnut hair, tan skin, and wild brown eyes.
The man in front of me is covered in my father’s blood, and as I watch, he licks a stream of it off his finger.
“My,” he says, “aren’t you a pretty, pretty bird.”
He and the room fade, and the darkness swallows me whole.
