Considering how often and in depth my textbooks’ descriptions of fairy wings were, those bitches must be losing their shit all the time.

But not Des, apparently. I’ve never seen his wings. Not a once. The good news: so far he hasn’t wanted to kill me. The bad news: he hasn’t wanted to rock my world either.

Damn.

I catch up to him. “You’re an unusually well-behaved fairy,” I say, taking a bite of the macaroon.

Sweet baby Jesus, these pastries are good.

He raises an eyebrow, his eyes drifting to my mouth as I polish off the cookie. “Not always. Get a few drinks in me, and I’m a nightmare.”

“A few drinks, huh?” I say, dusting off the crumbs that have trickled down my chest.

Is that really all it takes? He and I have drunk together …

He must see my interest. “Cherub, catching me drunk is never going to happen.”

Our conversation is cut short when we approach a modest looking house, the paint on this one especially faded.

Des knocks on the door.

“See, so well behaved for a fairy,” I say next to him.

He gives me a long suffering look but doesn’t respond.

When no one answers the door, Des bangs again.

And again, no one responds.

“Fucking idiot,” he mutters, backing up.

“I don’t think anyone’s in—”

Des raises a booted foot and kicks the door clean off its hinges, the force causing the metal to shriek.

My eyes are wide with shock as it crashes inward.

Des looks like Death come to collect a new soul when he straightens, dusting bits of wood off of himself. “Stay here, cherub.”

My heart is in my throat, but I do as he asks.

The Bargainer strides inside, the evening shadows clinging to him like wisps of smoke.

He disappears around the hallway.

Each second of silence is agonizing. I eat another macaroon to distract myself, but it tastes like sawdust. Suddenly, I feel like a fool, holding my bag of macaroons, waiting for this thuggish fae king to do who knows what to the poor soul that lives here.

I shouldn’t be here. Good girls don’t do this. And bad girls … well, I’m not one of those am I?

You’ve killed a man. You’re worse than a bad girl.

A shriek sounds from somewhere inside the house, startling me enough to drop my bag of cookies.

“Please, don’t hurt me!” the man inside the house pleads.

When Des comes back to what’s left of the front door, he’s dragging a man by the scruff of his neck. The shadows clinging to his body have deepened. I look pointedly at his back.

Still no wings.

“Just for being difficult, you’re getting charged interest,” the Bargainer says, dragging him down the front steps and onto the man’s lawn.

“Please, please, I’ll pay, just give me a week.”

“I don’t want your repayment in a week, I want it now.” He throws the man onto the grass.

Over his shoulder, the Bargainer says to me, “Pick up your bag, cherub. It’s rude to litter.”

“Says the man who just destroyed a door,” I mutter as I grab the bag, my gaze fixed on what’s happening in front of me.

The Bargainer throws me a smile. “That’s not littering, that’s B&E.” He pauses, and I hear a series of odd groans behind me. “And now it’s just E.”

Without looking, I know he’s fixed the door.

“Show off,” I say, the beginnings of a smile forming on my lips.

For the second time this evening, the Bargainer’s eyes drift to my mouth.

Beyond him, his client shakes on the ground, his gaze meeting mine. “Please, help me,” he begs.

All humor drains from Des’s face as he turns back around.

The Bargainer steps in front of me, and I swear the night darkens. “You shouldn’t have done that.” Thunder rumbles in the distance.

Des stalks over to the trembling man, who’s now crab-crawling away from him. The Bargainer puts a boot on his chest.

“Give me the name,” Des demands.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Des sizes the man up for several seconds, then nods. “Alright, Stan. Get up.”

Don’t get up, Stan, you fool.

But Stan the Fool does get up, a disbelieving spark of hope in his eyes. Like the Bargainer ever releases a man from his debts.

“C’mon,” Des jerks his head towards a beat up car parked in front of the house, “get in.”

Now Stan hesitates, confused.

The Bargainer is already walking towards it. “Keys,” he demands.

When Stan doesn’t hand them over, they float out of his pocket of their own accord. Des catches them in midair.

He raps on the hood of the vehicle. “In. Now.”

“What are you doing?” Stan demands. I can see the whites of his eyes.

“We’re going to visit the Otherworld.” Des unlocks the driver’s side door. “And once we get there, I’m going to feed you to the scariest motherfuckers I know.”

That’s enough to break the mighty Stan. The man begins to whimper even as he gets into the back of the car, and his fear is the most pitiful sound in all the world. I grimace at him. It’s as though he hadn’t known this day would come when he bought a favor from the Bargainer.

When Des’s eyes fall on me, they soften. “Apologies, cherub, for the wrench in our evening. I’ll drop you back off at your dorm. Get in.”