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Finally, “No.”

Temper’s tone raises goosebumps along my arms. I know that if I were in her office, the place would be vibrating with it. This is but a glimpse of her magnificent and malevolent power.

“Alright, alright,” I say, backing off on the subject. “You don’t have to find anyone else, but the thing is … the Bargainer has recruited me to help him with a string of disappearances in the Otherworld, and while this is happening I’ll be staying with him.”

Silence. But this time, when the line goes quiet, it doesn’t feel ominous like it had moments ago. It feels … judge-y.

“What?” I finally say.

“Nothing.”

I roll my eyes. “Just say it.”

“Nothing.”

I wait.

She clears her throat. “Now you’re sleeping over at the Bargainer’s place?”

“Not by choice!”

“Mhm.”

“Oh my God, Temper—”

“Bitch, just give it to me straight: are you bobbing for this guy’s bananas? Is that what this is about?” she asks.

“No—no, it’snotlike that. This is strictly professional.”

Liar.

She snorts, seeing right through me. “Doesheknow that?”

“Um …” I don’t really know how the Bargainer feels.

“Okay, babe, let’s regroup for a reality check: You’re a hot-as-fuck siren. He’s a bad dude. Like I’ve-had-nightmares-of-him bad dude. He wants your goods. Hell, I want your goods, and I’m straight as an arrow. So if you stay there, you know what’s going to happen, I know what’s going to happen, black Jesus knows what’s going to happen, and most importantly, the Bargainer knows what’s going to happen: ya’ll are going to get some serious nookie.”

“Temper,” I groan.

“Don’t even act like it ain’t true. And as for your leave of absence, I’mnotfilling in your position. Do what you need to do to get out of there,or I’ll make it happen.”

That evening, Isit with Des in his dining room, Temper’s earlier words echoing in my mind.

She just might be powerful enough to take on the Bargainer, and that frightens me.

Perhaps I should just give into his dares … I’d get rid of beads quicker that way. And physically, I’d enjoy myself—oh, would I enjoy myself. With Des, I’m not scared of getting intimate. I’m scared of the fall that’s sure to follow.

Across the table littered with takeout food, the man himself leans back in his chair, his legs splayed open wide, his face all insolent beauty. This is his broody, regal look. All he needs is his crown.

My gaze moves around us. Des’s formal dining room is almost fantastical. Carved onto the chair backs are all sorts of scenes from what I can only guess are fairytales. Above us, candles flicker from a hammered bronze chandelier, and the walls are painted with scenes from a moonlit garden.

Hard to imagine that this man—thisthug—commissioned someone to design his dining room like this. It looks like ovaries exploded all over it. Sleek, sophisticated ovaries, but ovaries nonetheless.

Sitting with my heels kicked up on his table, I pick up a carton of lo mein. I dip my chopsticks in and expertly scoop out several noodles.

I pause, mid-bite, when I realize Des is just watching me, his expression fascinated.

“What?” I glance down at my chest, just to make sure I haven’t spilled food on myself.