My brows furrow. “You’re not going to try to keep me here?”

  I don’t touch on the fact that right now I don’t want to move an inch from this bed, content to spend the rest of my long life wrapped in the King of the Night’s arms.

  “I will never keep you captive,” Des vows. “Better you happy and free than caged and safe. Besides”—he leans his forehead against mine—“Galleghar clearly hasn’t heard the stories about you if he thinks you’re an easier target.”

  “There are stories about me?” That’s news.

  Des crinkles his eyes and presses his lips together. “Many. What fae can resist a story about the beautiful human who beguiles fairies and escapes the Thief? They can’t get enough of you. Unfortunately, my father and the Thief seem to share that sentiment.”

  I lift a bandaged hand and stare at Des’s work. “I should’ve listened to you,” I say thoughtfully. I drop my hand. “Back when you told me to rest.”

  “I happen to have great ideas,” he agrees, his mouth curving fiendishly. His expression sobers. “But you made the decision a queen would, putting the kingdom’s needs before your own.”

  “Stop using that word.” Queen.

  “It’s going to happen one day or other, Queen Callypso.”

  Okay, I’ll admit, that has a nice ring to it.

  “What do you have against queens anyway?” Des asks.

  I sigh. “I just want to be a normal girl with a normal job who lives a normal life.” I don’t want to worry about an entire kingdom.

  The Bargainer rolls us so he can stare down at me. “Callie, you’ve never been a normal girl, and you’ve never lived a normal life, so I can see the appeal of wanting that. But normal is overrated. Trust me, it’s overrated. I’ve made deals with thousands of miserable normal people.”

  I frown up at him.

  “And I’m sorry,” he continues, “but if you think I’m going to let you settle for normal, you’ve got a fight on your hands.”

  Damn it. Now that he’s drawn lines, I’ll never get him to budge. If there’s one thing Des is good at, it’s fighting. Oh, and deals. And secrets. And sex.

  Screw it all, he’s good at everything. It’s annoying.

  “This is just like high school,” I say, remembering those days he roused or manipulated or bargained me into action. Mean but effective. “You trying to get me to do something you believe is in my best interest.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong, cherub. Tell me I’m pushy and bossy and don’t know a thing about your deepest dreams.”

  See, that’s the rub of it all: now that I know he can hear shadows, he’s probably heard all sorts of things about my dreams that I won’t willingly admit. Things that prove him right.

  “You’re pushy and you’re bossy,” I say.

  He leans in and places a kiss along my sternum. “And I don’t know a thing about your dreams—say it.”

  I feel the breath of his magic wrapping around my windpipe. Only this time, it’s trying to pry the truth out of me, and the truth is that the Bargainer knows a great deal about my deepest desires.

  He moves down my body, placing a kiss between my breasts. “I’m still waiting, love.”

  But I stay silent, and eventually his magic dissolves.

  The Bargainer pauses, glancing up at me. “I love you, Callie, down to every feather and scale. I love your darkness, I love your mind, I love your humor and your most coveted dreams. And I love how you love me—wholly, deeply, passionately.

  “You’re not normal; you’ll never be normal. I’m so sorry to tell you that. You are so blindingly extraordinary that it physically hurts me sometimes, and I’ll never stop pushing you to believe this.”

  Des can’t just say things like that. My weak heart isn’t fit enough to take it.

  I close my eyes and draw in a shaky breath. “Give it back.”

  “What is it I’ve taken, cherub?”

  My peace of mind, my loneliness, my torment. My pain, my sanity, my dull little life.

  So many things that once made me me are now missing, and—

  “Des, I don’t know who I am.”

  “You don’t know who you are?” The Bargainer’s voice drops low. “You’re Callypso Lillis, plain and simple. You were her yesterday, you’ll be her tomorrow. It’s up to you to decide what being you actually means. No one else can do that for you. Not the man who gave you those wings, not the man who’s hunting you. Not your stepfather. Not even me.

  “But whatever you choose to be, cherub, make it count.”

  Chapter 20

  It’s late the next morning by the time I tumble out of Des’s bed. The fairy is reluctant to let me go, and I’m not complaining.

  A girl could get used to this kind of attention.

  I stretch as I pad over to the closet, feeling the Bargainer’s eyes on me the entire time.

  “Creep,” I say, not looking back.

  “I’d have to be dead to not enjoy your backside.”

  I suppress a smile, then begin riffling through the pretty dresses someone’s stocked in the armoire. I’m not a girlie girl by any means, but fae outfits are one exception I’ll make. I grab a dress that looks like the dawn come to life, purples bleeding into pinks and oranges bleeding into yellows.

  I’ve no more than slipped it on when the dress slips itself off.

  Swiveling to Des, I raise an eyebrow. “Unless you want to break my vagina, I suggest you give it a rest.”

  Relentless is a great way to describe the King of the Night’s sexual appetite. Not that I’m a slacker myself, but even I have my limits—especially when my siren decides to take the night off.

  Des appears in front of me, turning my healed palms up.

  “Are you going to read my fortune?” I tease.

  He pretends to peer at them. “You find your soul mate young. There’s love—and it looks like you have a handful of kids—they take after their father, unfortunately. Brats, the entire lot of them.”

  I laugh and pull my hands away.

  “Oh, and you live a long and happy life.”

  I don’t say anything to that. There’s so much uncertainty these days.

  I pick the dress back up.

  “You’re not wearing that today.”

  “Why not?” The moment I ask it, my breath catches. I half expect battle leathers to come raining from the sky and for Des to announce that, once again, the two of us are training.

  Really freaking hate training.

  “I could tell you—for a price—”

  I groan. “Des…”

  A pile of clothes does come raining down, but they’re not battle leathers.

  “Or you could simply put the clothes on and deduce my plans like the good PI you are.”

  I pick up the folded clothing, recognizing a faded T-shirt I own. There’s a bra, panties, and jeans. A moment later socks and white Converses join the pile. All mine, all unfit to wear in the Otherworld.

  My gaze moves to Des. “What do you have planned for us?”

  “Wrong question, cherub. It’s not what I have planned, but where.”

  Oh my God. My grip tightens on the clothing. “Where, Des?”

  Des gives me a wry smile. “You know the answer to that question.”

  I suck in a breath.

  Home. Earth.

  ***

  Traveling on ley lines is no longer the confusing experience it used to be. Before, I couldn’t make sense of these magical highways; my magic wasn’t compatible with it.

  But now my power recognizes these strange roads that cross worlds. The magic is thick, pulling at me from all sides. It tries to drive me in its own direction, but Des holds my hand and directs me forward, cutting through the ley line’s bizarre compulsion as he leads us on.

  Around me, I see landscapes fly by—hills, forests, deserts, oceans, ruins—all of it foreign and fae…until suddenly it isn’t anymore. Gradually, it changes to recognizable cities and landmarks. I see Nepal, Cairo, Berlin, then—finally—Los Angeles.

  With a powerful tug, the Bargainer leads us off the ley line.

  For a moment, I feel the magic resist, eager to keep us locked away on this odd highway, cursed to forever wander. But the moment passes, the magic gives, and suddenly we’re in Des’s house, in the round room that contains the ley line portal.

  I take a shaky step forward, my foot sinking into the soft grass. I touch the wall of the circular room, my fingers brushing against the vines of wisteria growing up it, the plants swaying against a phantom breeze.

  The Bargainer leads me out of the portal room, and it’s only then, only once I see the wood floors, the mounted pictures of faraway places, the mundane lines and details and colors of his Catalina home that I truly process it.

  Earth. I’m really back on earth.

  Dear God, never have I wanted to kiss the ground so badly. If I could bear-hug it, I totally would.

  “Godsdamn, I missed this place,” Des says, glancing around.

  Next to me, my soul mate looks like a memory come to life. He swaggers into his hallway wearing his leather pants, his shit-kicking boots, and a faded Rolling Stones shirt, his tattooed sleeve on display.

  I’ve been so used to him wearing fae attire that seeing him in human clothes in his human home is something out of a dream.

  I release Des’s hand and make my way through his house. My heart aches as I take in the furniture, the photos, the decorations on display because each one screams Des—at least Des as I first knew him, back when I’d never seen his life in the Otherworld.

  I head through his living room and out the back door. Late-afternoon sun hits my skin, and I close my eyes, soaking it in. I might legit cry. It’s not eternal night, it’s not endless day; it’s just your average sunny afternoon in Southern California.

  Opening my eyes, I continue toward the back of the Bargainer’s property, my attention drifting for a moment to the place where I was taken. Any fear the sight might’ve once conjured is gone, though I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe it’s because Karnon’s dead or because the Thief has stopped kidnapping women. Or maybe it’s not the situation that’s changed but me.

  I cross the last of the Bargainer’s backyard, stepping right up to where the land gives way to a cliff’s edge.

  My skin prickles when I hear the surf crashing below. I take a deep breath, drinking in the smell of salt water.

  This is where I belong.

  My gaze moves to the horizon. There’s a short expanse of sea that separates my house from his. On a clear day, you can make out the edges of Malibu, and if you have imagination enough, you can draw in my home among those hills.

  It’s the same sight the Bargainer must’ve stared at during all our years apart. The sight fills my heart with old agony and something sweeter, like the past and the present and the future overlay each other.

  The Bargainer steps up next to me. “It’s warded, you know.”

  I glance at him.

  “Your house—my house too. They always have been, but after”—his voice catches—“after you were taken, I doubled down on the wards. I can’t promise you’ll be safe here,” he says, reminding me of our earlier conversation, “but you won’t be altogether defenseless either.”

  I stare at Des. The setting sun sets his features on fire. My siren stirs within me, awakening now that my magic’s refueled.

  We don’t need defending, she whispers. We need defending from.

  “I’m not worried.”

  Des flashes me a wicked smile.

  People like us are not victims, he once told me. We’re someone’s nightmare.

  His membranous wings appear, unfolding menacingly behind him. “Ready to go home?”

  I raise my eyebrows. I assumed this was our destination.

  “Aw, cherub, you didn’t think I’d take you this far only to stop now, did you?”

  I search his face, my heart expanding and expanding. He looks like something plucked from my most desperate dreams.

  My own wings manifest behind me, punching through the material of my shirt. Des tsks at the sight. He places his hand on the clothing, and in an instant, the ripped cloth stitches itself back together.

  Des smooths my shirt down. When his eyes meet mine, they dance. “Ready?” he asks, backing away.

  I never get the chance to answer. Des backs right off the cliff’s edge, his arms open to the world as he falls backward. My breath catches at the sight. I should know better by now. The Bargainer has wings and magic and the uncanny ability to teleport. Falling isn’t going to do him in.

  He twists in midair, his vicious-looking wings fanning out to catch the breeze.

  He beckons to me. “Coming, baby siren?”

  God, but he looks magnificent and otherworldly, bathed in the dying light of our sun.

  My own wings spread. I take a running leap from the cliff, and then I’m diving, gliding, soaring. I laugh as the wind buffets me upward, catching sight of my Converses in the process.

  Fucking flying over the Pacific.

  The two of us cut across the sky, the ocean blurring by beneath us. This moment could last forever, the breeze whistling through my hair, the blue water under me, the fading day above me. And Des and I, two strange birds ghosting above the world.

  My body is filled to the brim with simple joy.

  Inevitably, we close in on land. If we had any other destination in mind, perhaps that would be a disappointment. But up ahead I catch sight of my house, and a new sort of euphoria moves in to replace the old.

  Home. Sweet, lovely, lonely home.

  We touch down in my backyard.

  I’m back.

  Never want to leave.

  I really don’t. I want to drink my wine, stare out at the ocean, think deep thoughts, sleep beneath my sheets.

  I want to do all that…but I want to do it with Des.

  The Bargainer and I head over to my sliding glass door. Des has only to stare at the handle, and with a snick, the door unlocks itself and slides open. Tentatively, I step inside.

  Home is a house filled with sandy floors, chipped counters, and now my soul mate. He stands in my house like he resides there—like he’s always resided there—and the way he looks around, I have every reason to believe he intends to make this place ours.

  Ours.

  Not going to get over that.

  “Where are all our things?” he asks.

  There’s that word again. Our.

  I move through my (our?) home, expecting things to be different. It feels like ages since I was last here.

  “In the attic.” I couldn’t bear to part with all those trinkets Des and I collected during my junior year of high school, but I also couldn’t bear to look at them. The pain of his absence always sharpened when I saw those physical reminders.

  Des clicks his tongue. “Cherub, we’re going to have to change that.”

  He lifts his hand, and I hear a few distant thumps then scraping.

  Less than a minute later, a weathered box floats into the living room, scattering dust motes as it heads our way. It plops to the floor a few feet in front of me.

  For several seconds all is still. Suddenly, the lid pops open, causing me to jolt.

  And then the procession begins. The prayer flags, the Venetian masks, the painted gourd, and the silks, they float out of the box one by one before lining themselves up on the floor.

  Once our old memorabilia have been removed from the container, my tasteful decorations are lifted from the walls, pushed off tables, and cleared from shelves. They amble through the air, then stack themselves neatly into the box. After they’re all settled inside, the cardboard flaps fold over them, and the box levitates off the floor. It cants drunkenly back and forth as it returns the way it came.

  I raise an eyebrow but say nothing.

  Des smiles, a calculating spark in his eye.

  All at once, the objects the two of us collected together—every shot glass and postcard, every drawing and note—lift into the air. For several seconds, the items hover in midair. Then, like an explosion, they scatter across the house.

  Des finds a place for it all. On walls, on shelves, tucked away in cupboards, dangling from the ceiling.

  I believe this is a fairy’s version of peeing on his territory. And my heart is hurting so damned badly.

  All these things are testaments to our friendship. Because that’s what this has always been. Long before I knew Des was my mate, I knew he was my friend. And even though I wanted him in a distinctly un-friend-like way, that’s all the two of us were for the better part of a year.

  I’m taking in my “new” decorations when the King of the Night comes up behind me.

  He kisses the juncture where my jaw meets my neck. “We’ll go on more adventures,” Des promises, “buy more trinkets, experience more new places together—both in this world and in the other.”

  I turn around. “Why did you bring me here?” I ask.

  Out of all the places in all the worlds, he chose to bring me here.

  Des has the universe in his eyes. “Because I love you, and this is where you’re happiest.”

  That’s not true. Happiness isn’t a place, it’s a person—more specifically, the one across from me.

  The Bargainer leads me over to the couch. “Now, I was thinking that since we finished watching Harry Potter, we needed a new series to binge together…”

  ***

  I spend the evening wrapped in the Bargainer’s arms, the two of us splayed along my couch as we watch TV. My coffee table is a mess of greasy pizza, popcorn, and Raisinets—all casualties of our movie night.

  I trail my fingers over his inked arm. I’m supposed to be paying attention to the show, but I can’t get over the joy I feel. Des is reclining here, on my couch, holding me against him as he watches a show from my living room. Earlier he ran his hands over my chipped countertops, and his boots have dragged sand across my living room. Little pieces of himself are now scattered all over the place. And he’s here not because he wants me to repay the favors I owe but because he’s mine.