Dark Harmony by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 10

“Still no closer to finding me—or Galleghar—it appears.”

The Thief stands on the other side of the fire, peering down at me with his onyx eyes.

I sit up so fast a wave of vertigo washes through me.

“That was a neat trick you did there, back in Somnia,” he says, circling around the fire as he approaches me.

I scoot backwards, but there’s nowhere to go out here in the Banished Lands. I look for Desmond, but other than the Thief, I’m utterly alone.

He crouches next to me and tilts his head, studying me. There’s something detached and reptilian about him.

“So you can glamour fairies after all,” he says.

I can glamour fairies—I can glamour him.

My skin brightens. “Get away from me.”

He continues to stare at me, his eyes inky. Slowly, he begins to smile. “Enticing, but no. I think I’ll stay right here.”

It doesn’t work on him.

Dear God.

“Shame your wiles don’t affect me.” He reads my face. “Don’t fret, enchantress. I am tempted.”

“Why did you wake them?” I ask as my skin dims.

“Why did I wake them? That’s your most pressing question? Don’t you want to know why I kidnapped them in the first place? Or why I put the women in caskets and the men in trees?”

Of course I do.

He takes a seat next to me, and it takes a great amount of willpower to not recoil at his nearness.

The Thief sighs. “Because I wanted to.”

He leans in. “I put the men in trees because, as the Green Man, I could. I took the women savagely and caged them like I have been caged.” I can feel the sick heat of his anger and his excitement as he talks. “I hid the men and showcased the women,” he continues, “and oh how I enjoyed watching all those fairies fear the unknown. It’s been so long since any of them felt true fear, but now they do.

“So,” he says, facing me more fully, “is that what you wanted to hear?”

Yes. No.

All these years I’ve spent hunting criminals, and the worst ones give these kinds of answers. They committed atrocities because they wanted to. Because they could.

But even as the Thief of Souls gives me this glimpse into his mind, he manages to evade the answer that I really wanted to hear. I want to know what his plans are, not how his sick mind works.

“Enough about me,” he says softly. “I know, enchantress, that if you’re scared or excited enough, your baser nature will expose itself.” He reaches out and strokes my cheek with the back of his knuckle.

I flinch at his touch, my nostrils flaring. I should be sprinting far away from the Thief, but my muscles are locked up. I couldn’t move if I tried.

“The question is,” his hand slides to my lower jaw and he drags my face to meet his, “which route do I explore—your passion or your fear?”

His eyes dip to my lips. God save me, I might as well be back in the Fauna Kingdom’s prison because right now I’m staring at Karnon. It’s a different body, but the same eyes.

My breath hitches at the reminder, and a few seconds later my skin illuminates as the siren unfurls, stretching out beneath my flesh like a stiff muscle.

A fierce fury rises in me, eclipsing my fear.

This barbarian thinks to intimidate us? Scare us?

I grab his wrist and pull it away, leaning into his space. “Whatever you think to do to me, I dare you to try.” I take my other hand and press it to his chest, tapping a clawed finger against him. “But you should know that, if given the chance, I will gut you and make a necklace of your innards.”

Not going to lie, my siren is a real piece of work. But it’s times like this that I appreciate her particular brand of crazy.

The Thief smiles at me, looking like his interest’s been piqued. “I do hope you make good on your threat. I’d hate to see all this vehemence go to waste.” He moves in closer, our faces inches apart.

His breath fans against my cheek. “Find me, Callypso. I’m eagerly awaiting our reunion.”

“Cherub—”

My body startles, roused from sleep by Des’s voice. My eyes sweep over our campsite.

Swear the Thief was here just a second ago.

His presence was so vivid that my mind isn’t convinced I dreamed him up.

But then I’m distracted by Des’s warm body and his penetrating stare.

“Everything alright, Callie?”

I swallow—an action his eyes dart to—and nod. “I’m fine.”

That earns me a frown. But rather than pushing the issue, Des squeezes my hip.

“Someone’s coming,” he whispers.

I begin to get up, looking madly out at the darkness, but he gently presses me back down.

“If you could be a peach and pretend to be asleep, that would be wonderful. I want the fae to come closer.”

Pretend to be asleep after the dream I just had? I think not.

But I do force myself to relax for Des’s sake, even if I don’t close my eyes. Instead I strain my ears and eyes to hear and see anything beyond the fire. One long minute slips into another.

All at once, the Bargainer’s power rushes out of him, thickening the air like darkness is a physical thing. I sense it close in on its prey like a snare, trapping them in place.

The caught fairy shrieks like a wild beast, the guttural sounds punctuated by a string of curses.

In an instant, Des is gone from my side, dissolving into vapor like he was never there. I flip over just in time to see my mate looming over a fairy in the distance. The fae is uselessly fighting the magic trapping him in place, his scythe-like weapon striking the magical barrier over and over again.

Des folds his arms, appraising the man and looking as though he finds him wanting.

After a moment, the Night King takes the scythe away from the man. “You’re going to answer some questions for us,” Des says, “or you’re going to die.”

I pull the charred marshmallow from the fire, assessing the blackened crisp.

Damnit. This is the fifth one I’ve burned. I officially suck at this S’mores thing. To be fair, I’m pretty sure Des’s iridescent fire burns hotter than the fires I’m used to.

I wait for it to cool before I remove it from my stick and grab another from the S’mores supplies Des had presented me with when he returned with his captive.

Pretty sure this is his attempt to keep me occupied while he interrogates his prisoner.

Ashamed to say that it’s totally working.

Meanwhile, several feet away, Des is well into his interrogation.

So far he’s folded the fairy’s weapon into an origami horse, taken away his voice briefly, and removed the last of the items the fairy had on him (a couple stones, a knife, some dried mystery meat, and a necklace made of fae hair—because heaven forbid we meet someone normal here).

“Who opened the tomb?” Des asks the fairy calmly.

The man spits at Des. The spittle never hits my mate. Instead it stops in midair, then reverses its trajectory, splashing against the fairy’s face.

“Who opened the tomb?” Des repeats.

“Suck on my prick!”

“Mmm, tempting,” Des says, cocking his head. “Is that a genuine offer?” His magic unlaces the man’s crudely-made breeches, then it begins tugging the cloth down.

The fairy’s eyes widen and he begins to yank the material back up, fruitlessly trying to keep his pants on. “What in the bloody ferking gods’ names!”

“Cherub,” Des says, glancing over at me, “I think the man’s shy. One moment he wants my attention, the next he’s being a coy minx.”

I pull my sixth marshmallow from the fire; it’s perfectly golden brown.

Success!

“Men give such mixed signals,” I say.

I admit it—I like to toy with my targets just as much as Des does. That was always one of my favorite parts of the PI business.

Grabbing a bar of Hershey’s chocolate and a graham cracker, I pull my marshmallow off its stick.

Get into my belly.

“They do, don’t they?” The Bargainer’s eyes brighten enough to let me know that he likes my brand of wicked. Turning back to the fairy, he taps on his lips. “No need to be bashful. I’m sure your prick will be everything I’ve ever dreamed a prick could be.”

Now the fairy’s bucking, wildly trying to pull his pants up with his legs. He’s failing abysmally at it. “You sick shite!” he shouts.

I begin to munch on my S’more and oh my God, it’s one of the great tragedies of the world that S’mores are only reserved for camping. These little bastards are delicious.

Des’s good humor collapses in an instant. His magic quits tugging at the fairy’s pants. Now that there’s no more magical resistance, the prisoner nearly gives himself a wedgie yanking his pants up.

The night darkens. “I’m done being coy as well,” Des says, his voice like polished steel. “Tell me what happened to the body resting in the cavern beneath that boulder,” he points to the unassuming grave markers in the distance, “or I’ll start killing you in increments.”

“I don’t know!” the fairy yowls.

“Have you ever died in increments?” Des asks. “It’s slow and—well, I don’t need to tell you that it’s painful.”

“I never saw anything! I swear it—”

I feel the brush of magic, and then the prisoner’s hand is jerked in front of him, his fingers splayed out.

“I like to start with the pinkie—begin small, you know,” Des says. Right now, he’s one hundred percent Bargainer. “I’ll remove it, knuckle by knuckle …”

“Godsdamnit! I don’t know where the body is!”

The fairy’s ruined scythe now unfolds, mending itself back together until it looks whole and untouched. It floats through the air, stopping dangerously close to the fairy’s hand.

The fairy lets out a little whimper as the blade caresses his little finger.

“After the pinkie …” Des continues, “well, there are nine other fingers to play with.

“If that doesn’t break you, there’s teeth and toes. Even those are just a taster. And the pain—it’s enough to drive a fairy to do almost anything. You’ll feel the centuries of your life draining away with each amputation, and—if you hold out long enough—you’ll beg me for death.

“Just when you think it’s bound to be over, you’ll realize you’re still alive and aware, and you’ll endure it for hours—days if need be—but it will feel like decades by the end.”

A sheen of sweat’s developed on the fairy’s upper lip. “You’ll never get away with this,” he swears, his voice high. “The king’s men will come for you both before then,” his eyes dart between us.

“The king,” Des says, looking like a teacher whose pupil finally answered a question correctly. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Des sits down, propping his elbows on his legs. “Would the king know where the body went?”

“The king knows all.”

“Does he now?” The Bargainer raises his eyebrows.

The fairy should be worried. Des only uses that voice right before he kicks the hornet’s nest.

The scythe lifts from the fairy’s finger and circles the man.

Des stands. “Let me amend my terms: find me someone who can tell me who did this, and I’ll let you live.”