A Strange Hymn by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 9

I glare at Des for the millionth time as we step out onto the highest balcony of his castle, rubbing my arms against the slight chill. Right now, we’re out at the witching hour, stealing away in the night like criminals.

I can’t believe I’m about to do this.

Fly.

Back on earth, flying means boarding a plane. Here it literally means flapping your wings, which—shocker—I’m not too thrilled about. I mean, even birds can screw up this flying business, and I am no bird.

I glance down at my bracelet, where two beads are missing, the cost of taking a trip with Des.

Two. Beads.

He catches me glaring at my bracelet and, capturing my jaw, steals a kiss that definitely wasn’t his to take. “Cheer up, love,” he says. “This will be fun.”

Fun my ass. The only thing remotely pleasant about this experience is that Des is wearing an Iron Maiden shirt, his tattoos are on full display, and his leather pants are hugging the shit out of his backside.

I mean, I can be mad at him and still enjoy the view.

Over his shoulders, his wings expand, taking up a staggering expanse of the balcony on either side of him. They shimmer in the moonlight, his curved talons gleaming along their edges.

“Stretch your wings,” he commands.

“I’m still annoyed at you,” I say, even as I extend my wings.

The sensation of them unfolding is both uncomfortably foreign and inexplicably satisfying—like taking off a bra at the end of the day. Since my wings appeared, I’ve kept them closely pressed to my back. I hadn’t realized until now how good stretching them would feel.

“I’m aware of that,” Des says, his voice a silken caress.

He disappears. Before I can so much as swing around to look for him, I feel his warm hand run over the upper ridge of my wings. He strokes them the same way he strokes the rest of my flesh, the touch oddly erotic.

“They’re breathtaking, you know,” he says, his fingers skimming over my feathers. “Just one more tempting thing about my enchantress.”

“Enchantress?” The question slips out before I remind myself that he’s supposed to be receiving my ire right now.

“That’s what fairies have started to call you—an enchantress.”

I can’t decide whether I’m more flattered or flustered by this particular detail.

“We don’t have sirens here in the Otherworld,” Des continues, “but from time to time we do have magical beings—enchanters—who can enthrall others with their magic. It’s a very coveted power.”

He circles back in front of me, his gaze moving to my wings. “Try beating your wings.”

I groan. I’d forgotten for an instant that I was out here learning how to fly.

I do as he says, the action stirring my hair. Des watches my wingbeats shrewdly, nodding like an instructor.

“Now try jumping,” he says. “See if you can keep yourself in the air for any length of time.”

“Want me to juggle while I’m at it?” I feel like a circus sideshow.

He folds his arms and just waits.

I sigh. “Fine.”

I jump, beating my wings. Nothing impressive happens.

“Again.”

I try again and, like the first time, my wings are useless.

“Again.”

I try again. And again. And again. After doing it a couple dozen times, I begin to understand that there’s a timing to it. And then, after a few more dozen tries, my wings successfully fight gravity, if only for an extra second.

Des nods, his face serious. “Good enough.”

He takes my upper arm, leading me to the edge of the balcony.

“Goo—good enough?” I look over at him skeptically. “Good enough for what?”

The Bargainer steps onto the balcony railing.

“What are you doing?”

He steps over the ledge, and turns to face me, securing his feet in between the stone balustrade.

“Cherub, it’s alright.” He says this like he’s the most reasonable guy in the world, and not in fact the dude balancing precariously on the edge of the highest balcony in Somnia.

He slaps the top of the marble railing between us. “Step up here.”

A disbelieving laugh slips out. “No way.”

“Callie,” he says, sounding disappointed, “I’m wounded. I would never lead you astray.”

Says the man who taught me to drink and gamble. I think he needs to tighten up his definition of astray.

When I stay rooted in place, he says, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

I fold my arms over my chest, not budging.

His eyes brighten with excitement. There are few things Des enjoys more than my defiance. Unfortunately for me, it never gets me very far with him.

I feel the breath of his magic at my back, forcing me forward and then propelling me onto the edge of the balcony in front of him.

“You are such a bastard,” I say as I climb onto it. Up here the wind is blustery enough to shake my body and whip my hair about.

From the other side of the railing, Des grabs my waist, bracing me. He grins up at me like a pirate. “Sticks and stones, Callie. Now,” he gives my sides a squeeze, “open those wings for me again.”

Ignoring all my better judgement, I do as he asks. A gust of wind blows against me, lifting my wings up.

“You feel that?” the Bargainer asks, studying my every reaction. “That’s an air current. We’ll be using them to travel.”

“Can I get down now?”

Des’s lips quirk mischievously. “Cherub, the next surface your feet touch will be in a different city.”

I feel my face pale. I shake my head. “I’m not ready.”

“Yes, you are.”

Des’s wings spread wide behind him, and wind tugs at his T-shirt and hair.

Right now, right in this moment, I’m sure I’m in a dream. He’s too wild, too beautiful, too fantastical to be mine, and what he’s asking me to do is too strange and unbelievable to be real.

“Fly,” he says, releasing my waist. Power rides his words, pulling my wings into position.

Before I can object, he spreads his arms out to either side of him. It happens in slow motion, his body tipping away from me and the balcony, the night poised to swallow him whole. His feet slide off the ledge, and then he’s falling.

“Des!” I reach for him reflexively.

My body pitches forward, and I lose my balance. Suddenly, there is no more balcony railing to perch on. There is nothing but empty air beneath me.

Des smiles as he stares up at me, completely at peace with the fact that we’refalling. And then, right in the middle of our descent, he vanishes.

Vanishes.

I’m left staring down the palace grounds a hundred feet below, and Des is nowhere to be seen.

Oh God, I’m fucked. So, so fucked. This isn’t flying, this is the art of dying, and the one person who got me into this mess is gone.

I guess I now have my answer to that stupid “rhetorical” question: if a friend asked you to jump, would you?

Apparently, twat-waffle that I am, I would.

Des’s magic still encircles my wings, tugging at them. I grit my teeth and begin to follow their lead, angling them to catch some of the wind. The force of my descent makes it difficult to control my movements.

Floor after floor of the palace blur by me, the ground quickly zooming up. I continue to fight the wind that’s trying to fold up my wings, Des’s magic aiding me. Just as I’m beginning to think it’s hopeless, my fall begins to slow.

I let instinct take over, continuing to tilt my wings to level me out. I go from falling to cutting into the wind, my body beginning to glide over the ground rather than plummet towards it.

I’m pretty sure I’m no longer going to fall to my death, but I’m still not exactly flying. I’m more like that autumn leaf that gets blown about by a gust of wind.

Out of nowhere, Des manifests beneath me, his hands moving to my waist. “Beat your wings, love.”

I can barely hear him over the whistle of the wind in my ear, but I begin to force my wings up and down, up and down.

I wobble, and for a few seconds I worry that I’m going to lose whatever gains I’ve made and plunge the rest of the way to the ground. But now Des is beneath me, making sure I don’t do exactly that.

Slowly, steadily, my wings propel me up. Des releases me as I break away from him, rising higher and higher in the air.

Holy crap, I’m flying.

A shocked laugh escapes me. It’s more exhilarating than I could’ve imagined. I hit a warm air current, and then I’m gliding, the thermal carrying me on its own.

A shadow with wicked-looking wings swoops in next to me. I glance over at the Bargainer, his white hair rippling in the air. He smiles at me, and it lights up his entire face.

“Follow me!” The wind snatches away his words, but I read his lips.

He pulls ahead then banks right, his body arcing across the sky, those giant wings of his gleaming dangerously in the moonlight. If I thought he was fantastical before, it has nothing on him now. Des is magic, and somehow, through some odd twist of fate, I get to be a part of that magic.

I follow his lead, adjusting my wings to curve through the air like his do. I laugh again, my heart so much lighter now that I’m officially flying.

Des is still on my shit list for scaring me almost literally to death, but this might be worth it; it might even be worth the fear and loathing I endured in the days after I received my wings.

I follow Des until he drops back, and then the two of us are gliding next to each other. There’s nothing quite like the silence up here in the sky. The wind is too loud for us to talk, and yet everything has a quiet pall to it.

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 one of the other kingdoms of the Otherworld—kingdoms that don’t float in the sky—are 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 begin to notice the city lights, which twinkle in pale pastel colors.

Next to me, Des begins to descend, angling himself towards 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 motes, 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.

As we get closer, I begin to notice 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 fairytale 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, his eyes wide, and then he begins to laugh. 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 just flew. 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 like it’s actually made of seafoam. 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 to be made of the night sky, small dots of light flickering in the dark fabric, and a wristlet that looks to be 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. Next to 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 both foreign and appetizing.

I can 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.”

The Land of Dreams. It’s some strange lovechild of the Otherworld and what I imagined Wonderland might look like. Everything has that elegant, fae touch to it, but nothing is quite what it appears.

We pass by a bubbling fountain that people are gathered around, vials in their hands.

“The waters here can make humble wishes come true,” Des says next to me.

I watch in fascination as a fae woman with golden hair dips her glass container into the water. I’m tempted to try the water myself, just to see what small wish might come true.

We pass by several cafes, and my attention lingers on the low lighting and the soft conversations drifting from within.

“You have restaurants here in the Otherworld,” I say.

“You’re surprised?” Des looks amused.

I am. I assumed that the Otherworld was essentially flowering fields and impossible architecture. Restaurants just seem so … human.

Suddenly, Des is steering me towards one of them.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you out to eat—unless, of course, you aren’t hungry.”

My stomach chooses that exact moment to rumble. I don’t know how many calories flying burns, but the number must be staggering.

“I could eat.”

His lips twitch. “Good. So could I.”

The restaurant we walk into is done up in shades of silver and periwinkle—from the place settings to the mounted mirrors to the walls. Near the top of the high ceilings, plumes of clouds hang, and in the center of each table is a vase full of delicate white flowers that I’ve seen all over Somnia.

As soon as Des and I are seated, I surreptitiously scan the room.

Even at first glance the men and women around us don’t look quite normal. For most, it’s simply small details—eye color that’s a little too bright to be human, or hair too long to be grown by a mortal head. But then, amongst them, there are a few fae that especially stand out. Like the man with lavender-grey skin and a mouth full of sharp, pointed teeth. Or the woman whose limbs are long and slender, her skin the color of deep shadows.

In contrast to my gawking, the restaurant’s patrons ignore us completely.

“Do these people know who you are?”

“They do,” he says.

“Why aren’t any of them …” I trail off, looking for the right words.

“Fawning over me?” he says, filling in my sentence for me.

“Yeah.”

He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve cloaked our appearances.”

“Cloaked our …?”

“It’s a small illusion meant to subtly alter our features—to prevent recognition.” He leans forward. “I figured neither of us wanted the extra attention.”

Damn but that was thoughtful of him.

My attention drifts around us again. It’s not just the people here that are unusual. Halfway through the restaurant, the building morphs into a gothic cathedral, the pews and pulpit currently empty.

“Dream logic,” Des explains.

I glance back at him only to realize that someone has already served us drinks and bread.

I blink at the sight. “This place is really …”—unnerving—“magical.”

Des leans back in his seat, a sardonic smile spreading across his lips.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks.

I furrow my brows. “We haven’t received menus yet …”

I haven’t even fully finished speaking when a plate of ravioli drops to the table in front of me.

Now, how the hell did that happen?

Des laughs at my wide eyes.

“Is this even safe to eat?” I ask.

He leans forward, his sculpted forearms resting on the table. “Would I lead you astray, cherub?”

I give him the stink eye. “Last time you said that, you tricked me into falling off a building.”

“Flying off a building.”

I roll my eyes. “Semantics, Des.”

“Semantics are everything, Callie, or have you learned nothing from me?”

I pick up my fork, eyeing my pasta, which is covered in some mystery cream sauce. “No, you’re right. You’ve taught me exactly what it means to be a slippery bastard.”

Des lounges back in his seat, a smug expression on his face. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

I cut into one of the raviolis and take a bite. Somehow, it’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.

“Good?”

I close my eyes and nod, savoring the taste a little longer.

“And look, it didn’t even kill you.”

Des just had to go and be Des.

“Yet,” I tack on, because I can be snarky too.

I open my eyes, and—I shit you not—in front of Des a churro shimmers into existence, plopping onto the table a moment later. It even has that cheap waxy paper wrapped around its base, just like what you’d find at a carnival.

I raise my eyebrows.

Des picks up the churro and kicks one foot, then the other, up onto the table. Shamelessly, he bites into the dessert.

I’ll give him this, he’s owning this moment.

Crossing his ankles, he says, “Tell me love, what’s a dream of yours?”

“A dream?” I repeat, another bite of ravioli midway to my mouth.

“Something you want out of life?”

I take my bite of the ravioli, chewing slowly.

Once I swallow, I shrug. “To be happy, I guess.”

“C’mon, cherub,” he says, pointing the churro at me, “Don’t make me take a bead. I know you’ve got something more specific than that.”

I stare down at my pasta, sucking my cheeks in. “I don’t know,” I eventually say. “Two months ago I would’ve told you that I wanted a husband and a family.” I’m surprised the confession comes out as freely as it does. Des might not be the only person learning how to be vulnerable.

The truth is, before Des came roaring back into my life, I was lonely—painfully, achingly lonely, the kind of loneliness that comes from feeling like your life is passing you by and there’s no one there to witness it.

The Bargainer squints at me, his face inscrutable. “You no longer want that?”

I meet his eyes. It’s so hard to read him when he’s like this.

I take a deep breath. “No, I still want that, but …” It takes only a few extra seconds to pry the words loose. “But now I don’t fear that it won’t happen.”

That’s what happens when you discover you have a soulmate. The fear of a lifetime of loneliness evaporates.

Des’s eyes heat at my admission, and I swear if we weren’t in a restaurant full of people, he’d sweep the place settings off the table and make love to me right here.

I clear my throat. “What’s a dream of yours?” I ask, feeling like my skin is lit.

He watches me, his body so still I feel like he’s waiting for a moment to strike.

Finally he says, “We share similar dreams.”

“You want a husband too?” I can’t help but tease him.

He flashes me a wolfish smile, choosing that moment to take another—very suggestive—bite of his churro.

“Perhaps …” he says, “but you’ll do.”

I all but roll my eyes. “I’m thrilled to be your booby prize.”

His lips curve up. He stares at me for a beat, then, coming to some sort of decision, he kicks his feet off the table. Tossing a few coins next to my plate, he reaches for my hand.

“But I’m not finished …” I complain. I’ve barely touched my ravioli, and I plan to eat the crap out of it. I’m a girl who can throw back her food.

“Want something to go?” he asks.

My lips part, but before I can respond, another churro drops to the table, nearly falling into my ravioli.

Now it’s Des’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Looks like someone has a little case of food envy.”

I totally do. He made his churro look good.

I grab mine and let Des lead me out of the restaurant. Outside, the sky is still as dark as ever. I stare up at it as I take a bite of my churro, feeling oddly exhilarated.

Our boots echo along the street as we walk. I don’t know where we’re going, but I don’t much care. Nights like this are familiar to the two of us. Countless times Des took me to some foreign metropolis, and together we’d wander the streets. Sometimes he’d ply us both with alcohol, other times coffee and pastries.

“This reminds me of our past,” I murmur.

Des takes my hand, bringing it to his lips and giving it a kiss.

I feel my heart expand. I get to have this man forever. A lifetime of Des at my side. It’s such a wild thought, I’m not sure I’ll ever fully get used to it.

We get to the end of the block of shops. Here the street opens into a grand plaza. Right in the center of it is a sculpture of a winged couple holding each other in a tight embrace. Only this sculpture floats several feet in the air.

I pause in front of it.

“Who are they?” I ask, staring at the couple. The woman seems to be made of the same dark stone my beads are, her skin drawing in the light. The man she embraces is made of some shimmering sandstone, his skin seeming to glow from within.

“The Lovers,” Des replies. “Two of our ancient gods.” He points to the man. “He’s Fierion, God of Light, and she’s Nyxos, Goddess of Darkness.”

Nyxos … why does that name sound familiar?

“In the myths,” Des continues, “Fierion was married to Gaya, Goddess of Nature, but his true love was Nyxos, the woman he was forbidden from ever being with. Their love for each other is what causes day to chase night and night to chase day.

“Here in the Land of Dreams they’re finally allowed to be with each other.”

I stare at the sculpture a long time, finishing off my churro. Even though it’s just a myth, the tragedy of it still gets to me. I hate doomed love stories. Life’s filled with enough heartache as it is.

My eyes drift past the statue, to an enormous stone bridge the length of at least two football fields that branches off the grand plaza. Halfway across it the lamps that illuminate it fade into the misty darkness.

Beyond the bridge, I can just make out another floating island.

“What’s over there?” I ask, nodding to the landmass. There’s something about it, something insidious and compelling that calls to my darker nature.

Des frowns. “Memnos, the Land of Nightmares.”

“Memnos,” I repeat, staring at it. I remember Des listing off the names of all these floating islands weeks ago. “Are we going to visit?” I ask.

The Bargainer hesitates. “Do you remember the bog?”

How could I forget?

I nod.

“That’s just one of the many creatures that call Memnos home.”

I shiver a little.

Point taken.

“Eventually, I’ll show you the island, but right now …” he takes my hand, giving me a deep look, “right now this trip is for us.”