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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.