Page 29

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 another kingdom of the Otherworld—a kingdom that doesn’t float in the sky—is 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 we get closer, I notice the city lights, which twinkle in pale pastel colors. Des begins to descend, angling himself toward 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 moats, 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.

When we’re nearer, I note 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 fairy tale 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, holding me high off the ground, his eyes wide, and then he begins laughing. 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 justflew. 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 made of actual sea-foam. 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 made of the night sky, small dots of light flickering in the dark fabric, and a wristlet that looks 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. Beside 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 foreign and appetizing.

I 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.”