My wet hair whips about my face, the strands now icy cold as we rise in elevation.

“You’re missing the view, cherub,” he says over the howl of wind.

“I’m trying not to barf,” I say, not sure he can even hear me.

It’s not that I’m afraid of heights—I mean, my house rests on a cliff—but being carried through the air by a fairy is not on my short list of fun activities.

But eventually I do lift my head and look down. The water glitters far below us, and ahead of us, the rest of Los Angeles beckons, the land lit up like a Christmas tree.

The higher we rise, the colder it gets. I shiver against Des, and his grip tightens. He adjusts me slightly so that more of my body is pressed against his.

Just as I feared, being this close to him is reminding me of all those other times he held me close.

“Where are we going?” I yell over the wind.

“ … location of your second dare.” The constant shriek of the wind snatches away most of the Bargainer’s words, but not the important ones. I sort of wish it had.

I can’t imagine what’s in store for me, and considering my sordid past, that’s not a good thing.

Not at all.

“You have got to be kidding me.” I fold my arms, taking in the parking lot we landed in and the building beyond it. “This is what you blew off my door for?” I say, my eyes moving over the couches and tables on display in the store’s windows. “A furniture store?”

His mouth twitches. “I’m redesigning my guest bedroom—or rather, you are.”

I roll my eyes. Picking out furniture, that’s my dare.

“The place closes in fifteen minutes,” the Bargainer says. “I expect you to choose and purchase the appropriate furnishings for a bedroom before then.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, I feel the cloak of his magic settle on my shoulders like a weight, compelling me to action.

I begin moving, grumbling to myself. Of all the dumb, inane tasks, he gives me this one. This is what the Internet is for.

I shouldn’t complain, it could be worse.

It should be worse. I’ve seen enough of Des’s bargains to know what repayment involves. It’s never this effortless.

The Bargainer falls into step beside me, his wings shimmering out of existence. It’s all I can do not to look at him. The man is nothing but a will-o’-wisp, the closer I think I get to him, the farther out of reach he seems.

I pull open the door and head inside the store. Spread out before me is a sea of furniture. Fifteen minutes is not nearly enough time to see even half of what’s in here.

Desmond’s magic coils around my stomach, the sensation foreign and uncomfortable.

“What furniture do you want?” I ask, even as the spell Des has put on me tugs me forward.

The Bargainer shoves his hands in his pockets, wandering over to a table and peering at the place settings. He looks comically out of place with his big, manly muscles and the faded Iron Maiden shirt he wears.

“That, cherub, is for you to decide.”

Fuck it, I don’t have time to worry about this man’s tastes. No sooner does the thought cross my mind, than I feel an insistent tug from the magic, making my insides squirm.

Des flashes me a wicked smile from where he lays sprawled out on one of the couches, and I realize I should be more worried about this task than him.

This favor is a far cry from the kiss last night. Then I didn’t feel the magic. But perhaps I only feel the pull when I resist it. The thought makes me disgusted with myself. Last night I should’ve fought against that kiss more.

I move down the aisles, going for the ugliest pieces of furniture I can find. My little act of rebellion. This is what happens when you don’t give good instructions.

I dart a quick glance at the Bargainer, and he watches me raptly.

He definitely has something else up his sleeve.

Don’t focus on that now.

As fast as I can manage, I snatch up the price tags on the pieces I decide on and head to the cash register. The magic is an insistent drumbeat in my veins, quickening by the minute.

The entire time the Bargainer’s eyes are still on me. I know he’s enjoying himself. Bastard.

God, his magic feels so invasive. Like an itch beneath my skin. And while a small, sick part of me thrills at the feel of his magic on me and in me, the bigger, more practical part finds it disturbing as hell.

The woman working at the register looks alarmed when I dump the price tags at her register. “Ma’am, you’re not supposed to remove the tags from the furniture.”

My skin glows lightly. “It’s fine—nothing to worry about,” I say, using the siren in me to compel the store clerk.

She nods her head dumbly and begins scanning the barcodes. Behind me I hear the Bargainer’s rumbly laughter.

“Hmmm.” The woman at the register stares at her computer and her brows furrow. “That’s weird.”

“What?” I say, just knowing this is going to be more difficult than I’d hoped.

“I could’ve sworn we’d just got a new shipment of these on Thursday, but it says we’re all sold out.” The item she’s referring to is a hot pink, leopard print chair.

She sets the price tag aside. “Let me ring up the rest of your items and then I’ll try checking the storeroom for this one.”

“Forget about it.” The magic’s starting to breathe down my neck. I doubt I’ll have time for the clerk to check the storeroom.