Moody fairy. It’s not like he had to take me. He’s a king for Christ’s sake; I’m sure no is the first word in his vocabulary.

I hear a lock tumble, pulling me out of my thoughts, and then the door in front of us swings open of its own accord.

Beyond it is a dark hallway. Exactly the kind of place you don’t visit if you want to stay out of trouble. Which I guess is why the Bargainer’s decided to come here.

Des steps into the hallway, pulling me in after him. Behind us, the door clicks shut.

“Well, this is cozy,” I say.

“Ssshhh, cherub,” he says, “and while we’re on the subject, try not to talk.”

I stick my tongue at him.

“I saw that,” he says, not turning around.

Eyes at the back of his head, this one.

We move deep inside the building, heading down a flight of stairs until we come to a dimly lit area that is really nothing more than a grid of pylons, cement walkways, and large, barrel-like buoys. And between the walkways and beneath the buoys is water.

Lots and lots of water.

Venice is sinking, I remember.

A slick-looking man with receding hair and a huge paunch steps out from the shadows.

“I called you an hour ago,” he says, his Scandinavian accent thick. He flicks the Bargainer’s business card out of his hand.

Des watches it hit the ground. “I’m not your lapdog,” Des says. “Don’t like my methods, call someone else.”

The Bargainer makes his clients wait? I sort of got the impression that he was as prompt with everyone else as he was with me.

Now I feel like a special snowflake.

The man jerks his chin to me “Who’s the girl?” he asks.

“Doesn’t fucking matter. Don’t look at her,” the Bargainer says.

But the man can’t help himself. I’m a siren, I’m made to be distracting. His eyes move over me, his expression turning hungry.

Next to me, I feel the air begin to vibrate with Des’s power. Darkness begins to creep in the corners of the room. I don’t need to look at him to know that he’s tense.

“Listen to what the Bargainer tells you,” I say to the man, putting power into my voice.

Reluctantly, his eyes leave me.

And now I feel like I need to wash my skin. Ugh, the guy is old enough to be my dad.

“What you want?” Des asks, crossing his arms.

“I want my daughter to get into the Royal Academy of Arts.”

A.k.a., the supernatural equivalent of Juilliard. It’s a performing arts school that caters to students with special abilities.

The Bargainer whistles. “Last I heard, almost all the slots for next year’s incoming class were full. I’d have to pull a lot strings …”

“You know I’m good for it,” the man says.

I hear the gentle lap of water as it brushes against the buoys and the walkways down here.

“And what will you give me?” the Bargainer asks.

The man clears his throat. “I have information on a series of ley line entrances that the House of Keys is considering destroying.”

The House of Keys is the supernatural world’s government. It didn’t matter if you were American or Argentinian or Australian, so long as you were a supernatural, you had to follow their laws first and foremost.

“Mmm,” the Bargainer says, “I need you to do better than that if you want the deal. I need you to prevent that legislation from getting passed in the first place.”

“There’s no way,” the man says. “It’s public sentiment. People are worried about their homes, their neighborhoods. There’s been a rise in the changeling population—”

“Best of luck with your daughter’s future.” The Bargainer places a hand on my back and begins to steer us out of there.

I guess shutting a bargain down is as simple as that.

Behind us, the man blubbers out some more excuses and explanations.

We’re almost to the stairway when we hear it.

“Wait—wait! Fine, I’ll do it.”

I cast a side glance at Des. A nefarious smile spreads across his face.

“Then we have a deal,” the Bargainer says, not bothering to look over his shoulder. “Make sure that legislation doesn’t pass. It would be a shame if your daughter didn’t get in to any of the schools she applied for.”

And with that, the two of us leave.

Back out on the streets of Venice, I reappraise Des. “That was pretty cold,” I say as we begin to walk, my boots clicking against the cobblestones.

“That was business, cherub. If you want to come along with me, you better get used to it—and worse.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a bad dude.”

He nods to my bracelet. “One day you’ll have to pay all those back. Are you scared now?”

A little.

But when I look in Desmond’s eyes, I get the distinct impression that he doesn’t want me to be scared. That despite trying to frighten me, he doesn’t want to push me away.

I guess that makes two of us.

“I would be if you weren’t wearing your hair in a girly little ponytail,” I say, reaching for the ends of his white hair.

He catches my hand. “It’s not good manners to taunt a fairy. We have notoriously thin skin.” Despite the threat, his eyes spark with excitement.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “your ponytail is very masculine. I feel like I’m going to grow a beard just looking at it”