Rhapsodic
Page 4
That snaps me out of it.
“What?” He can’t be alive. The fear that thrums through my veins is a living, breathing thing.
“It will cost you probably more than you’re willing to offer, but I can still revive him.”
Revive him? What is this dude smoking?
“I don’t want him alive,” I say.
The Bargainer turns, and for the first time ever I get a good look at him.
I just stare and stare. I’d imagined a creep, but wicked though the man in front of me might be, he is no creep.
Not even close.
The Bargainer is gorgeous in a way that only a few rare men are. He’s not rugged, despite the strong jaw and hard gleam in his eyes. There’s a symmetry to his face, a lushness in each one of his features that you see more often in women than men. High, prominent cheekbones, wicked, curving lips, gleaming silver eyes. Not that he looks feminine. That’s impossible with his broad, muscular frame and shit-kicking attire.
He’s simply a pretty man.
A really pretty man.
He sizes me up. “No.”
I stare at him quizzically. “No what?”
“I don’t do business with minors.”
The air shimmers and, ohmygod, he’s leaving.
“Wait—wait!” I reach out. Now it’s not just the air that shimmers. It’s my skin. It’s been doing that a lot lately—glowing softly.
He pauses to stare at my arm. Something passes through those eyes of his, something wilder than shock, something more untamed than excitement. The room around him seems to darken, and at his back, I swear I catch sight of something large and sinuous.
As quickly as the moment comes, it’s gone.
His eyes narrow. “What are you?”
My hand drops. “Please,” I beg. “I really need to make a deal.”
The Bargainer sighs, sounding all sorts of put out. “Listen, I don’t make deals with minors. Go to the police.” Despite his tone, he’s still staring at my hand, now wearing a distant, troubled expression.
“I can’t.” If only he knew. “Please, help me.”
His gaze moves from my hand to my face.
The Bargainer gnashes his teeth together, scowling like he smells something bad. Stares at me in all my bloody, disheveled glory. More teeth gnashing.
His eyes sweep the room, lingering on my stepfather. What does he see? Can he tell it was an accident?
My teeth begin to chatter. I hug my arms tightly to my chest.
In spite of himself, his eyes return to me, his gaze briefly softening before it hardens all over again.
“Who is he?”
I swallow.
“Who. Is. He?” the Bargainer repeats.
“My stepfather,” I croak.
He stares at me, his gaze unflinching. “Did he deserve it?”
I release a shuddering breath, a tear slipping out in spite of myself. Wordlessly, I nod.
The Bargainer scrutinizes me for a long time, his gaze moving to the tear sliding down my cheek.
He glances away, grimacing. The man rubs a hand over his mouth, paces two steps away before turning back to me. “Fine,” he rasps. “I’ll help you at”—more teeth gnashing and another raking gaze which pauses on the tear on my cheek—“no cost.” He practically chokes on the words. “Just this once. Consider this my pro bono for the century.”
I open my mouth to thank him, but he raises his hand, his eyes pinching shut. “Don’t.”
When he opens his eyes, they pass over the room. I feel the magic pulse out of him. I know about this side of our world—the supernatural side. My stepfather built his empire on his magical ability.
However, I’ve never seen this kind of magic in action—magic that can make things inexplicably occur. I gasp as the blood dissolves from the floor, and then the countertop, and then my clothes, and hair, and hands.
The broken bottle follows. One moment it’s there, the next, it vanishes. Whatever enchantment this is, it tickles my skin as it passes through the room.
Once he’s done with the crime scene, the Bargainer heads towards the body.
He pauses when he gets there, peering curiously down at the dead man. Then he stills. “Is that who I think it is?”
Now is probably not a good time to tell the Bargainer that I off’ed the Hugh Anders, the most powerful stock market analyst out there and the man who, for the right price, could tell you just about anything you wanted to know concerning the future. When a drug deal was going to go down, whether the threat on your life was harmless or real, if you were going to get caught for the death of an enemy. If he wasn’t the world’s best seer, he was at least one of the richest. Not that it saved him from death.
Oh the irony.
The Bargainer lets loose a string of curses.
“Fucking cursed sirens,” he mutters. “Your bad luck’s rubbing off on me.”
I flinch, well acquainted with sirens’ predisposition for misfortune. It’s what landed my mother an unwanted pregnancy and an early death.
“Have any relatives?” he asks.
I bite my lower lip and shake my head, hugging myself tighter. It’s just little old me, myself, and I in the world.
He swears again.
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be sixteen in two weeks.” The birthday I’d been waiting years for. In the supernatural community, sixteen was the legal age of adulthood. But now that very fact could be used against me. Once I hit that magical number, I could be tried as an adult.
“What?” He can’t be alive. The fear that thrums through my veins is a living, breathing thing.
“It will cost you probably more than you’re willing to offer, but I can still revive him.”
Revive him? What is this dude smoking?
“I don’t want him alive,” I say.
The Bargainer turns, and for the first time ever I get a good look at him.
I just stare and stare. I’d imagined a creep, but wicked though the man in front of me might be, he is no creep.
Not even close.
The Bargainer is gorgeous in a way that only a few rare men are. He’s not rugged, despite the strong jaw and hard gleam in his eyes. There’s a symmetry to his face, a lushness in each one of his features that you see more often in women than men. High, prominent cheekbones, wicked, curving lips, gleaming silver eyes. Not that he looks feminine. That’s impossible with his broad, muscular frame and shit-kicking attire.
He’s simply a pretty man.
A really pretty man.
He sizes me up. “No.”
I stare at him quizzically. “No what?”
“I don’t do business with minors.”
The air shimmers and, ohmygod, he’s leaving.
“Wait—wait!” I reach out. Now it’s not just the air that shimmers. It’s my skin. It’s been doing that a lot lately—glowing softly.
He pauses to stare at my arm. Something passes through those eyes of his, something wilder than shock, something more untamed than excitement. The room around him seems to darken, and at his back, I swear I catch sight of something large and sinuous.
As quickly as the moment comes, it’s gone.
His eyes narrow. “What are you?”
My hand drops. “Please,” I beg. “I really need to make a deal.”
The Bargainer sighs, sounding all sorts of put out. “Listen, I don’t make deals with minors. Go to the police.” Despite his tone, he’s still staring at my hand, now wearing a distant, troubled expression.
“I can’t.” If only he knew. “Please, help me.”
His gaze moves from my hand to my face.
The Bargainer gnashes his teeth together, scowling like he smells something bad. Stares at me in all my bloody, disheveled glory. More teeth gnashing.
His eyes sweep the room, lingering on my stepfather. What does he see? Can he tell it was an accident?
My teeth begin to chatter. I hug my arms tightly to my chest.
In spite of himself, his eyes return to me, his gaze briefly softening before it hardens all over again.
“Who is he?”
I swallow.
“Who. Is. He?” the Bargainer repeats.
“My stepfather,” I croak.
He stares at me, his gaze unflinching. “Did he deserve it?”
I release a shuddering breath, a tear slipping out in spite of myself. Wordlessly, I nod.
The Bargainer scrutinizes me for a long time, his gaze moving to the tear sliding down my cheek.
He glances away, grimacing. The man rubs a hand over his mouth, paces two steps away before turning back to me. “Fine,” he rasps. “I’ll help you at”—more teeth gnashing and another raking gaze which pauses on the tear on my cheek—“no cost.” He practically chokes on the words. “Just this once. Consider this my pro bono for the century.”
I open my mouth to thank him, but he raises his hand, his eyes pinching shut. “Don’t.”
When he opens his eyes, they pass over the room. I feel the magic pulse out of him. I know about this side of our world—the supernatural side. My stepfather built his empire on his magical ability.
However, I’ve never seen this kind of magic in action—magic that can make things inexplicably occur. I gasp as the blood dissolves from the floor, and then the countertop, and then my clothes, and hair, and hands.
The broken bottle follows. One moment it’s there, the next, it vanishes. Whatever enchantment this is, it tickles my skin as it passes through the room.
Once he’s done with the crime scene, the Bargainer heads towards the body.
He pauses when he gets there, peering curiously down at the dead man. Then he stills. “Is that who I think it is?”
Now is probably not a good time to tell the Bargainer that I off’ed the Hugh Anders, the most powerful stock market analyst out there and the man who, for the right price, could tell you just about anything you wanted to know concerning the future. When a drug deal was going to go down, whether the threat on your life was harmless or real, if you were going to get caught for the death of an enemy. If he wasn’t the world’s best seer, he was at least one of the richest. Not that it saved him from death.
Oh the irony.
The Bargainer lets loose a string of curses.
“Fucking cursed sirens,” he mutters. “Your bad luck’s rubbing off on me.”
I flinch, well acquainted with sirens’ predisposition for misfortune. It’s what landed my mother an unwanted pregnancy and an early death.
“Have any relatives?” he asks.
I bite my lower lip and shake my head, hugging myself tighter. It’s just little old me, myself, and I in the world.
He swears again.
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be sixteen in two weeks.” The birthday I’d been waiting years for. In the supernatural community, sixteen was the legal age of adulthood. But now that very fact could be used against me. Once I hit that magical number, I could be tried as an adult.
