She stared blankly at him. He probably thought that meant she was listening to him. She was. It just didn’t make any damn sense.
“But the Faire doesn’t toss the fish back to where it came. It gives the prey to us.” He placed his palm on his chest. “Its chosen children. Myself, Barker, Rigger, Bearded Lady, Soothsayer. The others who you’ve met. There are twenty-one of us in all.” He sniffed dismissively, his expression flashing dark for a moment. “Twenty who matter.” He smiled, the instant of rage vanishing like it had never been there.
The man rocketed from zero to sixty and back again like a hummingbird. It made him dangerous. It meant that at any moment he could just snap for no reason. She wished she could vanish into the cushions of the sofa.
He was waiting for her to say something.
“Okay?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you following me?”
“I understand what you’re saying. But it doesn’t mean I believe you.”
He sighed. “Skeptics. So frustrating sometimes.” Shrugging, he continued. “No matter. Now, listen to me, Cora. Each of us at the Faire have particular talents. I, as you have seen, command strings to manipulate the world to do my bidding. But that is not all. I, like some of the others, can control other aspects of the world as well. Such as you, and your terrible ailment. I wish to take it from you.”
“Take it…like you took my favorite color?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He smiled. “It’s all very complicated.”
“What’s the catch?”
He leaned in toward her again. He gently picked her hand up from where it rested on her lap and laced his fingers into hers. She froze and was unable to do anything but watch as he pulled her hand toward his face and placed a gentle kiss to the backs of her knuckles. “What would you give to make the pain stop? What would you trade…to never have to wake up in agony ever again?”
She shivered. Partially at the dark purr of his words, but mostly due to his touch. It was too sensual. Too personal. She pulled her hand from his and grasped her nearly empty glass with both hands. “I’m not going to fuck you, if that’s what you’re after.”
He leaned back and dramatically snapped his fingers in disappointment. “Fie! My plan is foiled once again.” He shook his fist in the air. “Curse you, and your modern ways, for seeing so easily through my dastardly ploy!” The melodrama increased. “How will I succeed in my nefarious plot when you can decipher me so easily?” He plastered the back of his hand to his forehead and fell back on her coffee table, draping over it like the heroine of some silent movie. “Woe! Woe is me.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. It was too ridiculous not to. His overacting was both bizarre and…disarming. She wouldn’t go so far as to call it charming—but she wasn’t gripping her glass like she wanted to smash it in her hands anymore. “So, that’s not what this is about?”
“No.” He lifted his head and shot her a smirk. “I wouldn’t say no if you offered, mind you.”
She glared.
“That is a negatory reply, I take it. Drat.” He huffed back up to sitting. “Come see me in my tent when you want to discuss the terms of our arrangement. We can negotiate, but I will not do it here in your dreams.”
“I don’t want to go back into the Faire. I’m not going to go anywhere near you.”
“Meh. We’ll see.” He reached out, and she froze as he stroked a hand over her hair. He caught one of her long, wavy strands and curled it around his finger, releasing it to let it dangle down along her cheek. “Just remember when you wake up…and find yourself contorted in suffering from what ails you—that I am not lying, cupcake. I can take it all away. Come see me, and we’ll talk.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Just talk?” No. I’m not considering this. I’m not!
His ever-present grin widened, and he leaned forward. Suddenly, he was caging her against the back of the sofa. His knee was on the cushion between her legs, and his hands were on either side of her as he moved, lithe as a panther, and trapped her.
He placed one hand to her cheek, and she jolted at the touch. He shushed her quietly and leaned in just a few more inches. He smelled faintly like an antique shop and cologne. A little bit like that pleasant and warm smell a place gets when it’s filled with old things. And shit, he was tall. She thought it was just a trick of his pinstripe suit and the way it was tailored to show off his trim frame. No. He really was easily three-quarters of a foot taller than she was.
She felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web.
His voice was a low hum as he talked. Smooth and sultry. God help her, but no one had ever talked to her like that before. Like nothing else in the world existed for the span of this moment—just the two of them. “Just think of it…waking up in the morning and not feeling the pain. Not feeling so tired from the way it breaks you down. I see it in your eyes—the weariness. Every day greeting you with nothing but the promise of more suffering. What would you give to make it all go away? What would you sacrifice to never feel that way again?”
To never wake up with her shoulder or elbows out of place? To not feel her muscles screaming in her back as they tried to hold everything together? To not always feel so tired all the fucking time?
What would she give away to make it all stop?
The answer scared her.
Everything.
She pressed back against the cushions as hard as she could, trying to put as much space between them as possible. She tilted her head to the side as he leaned his in closer to her. He grazed his lips against her ear. He smelled like the past, and it was calling to her.
The glass of limeade fell to the carpet, quickly abandoned as she pressed her hands to his chest and pushed. But he wouldn’t budge. She might as well have been shoving on a wall. “Stop—”
“Shh…” His breath was warm against her, and she felt goosebumps explode over her as he whispered. “Come to me, Cora dear. I can make all your troubles melt away.”
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, soft and slow, and her dream shattered.
She woke up just as Simon had predicted. Her shoulder was out of place. She whined in pain and pushed herself out of bed. It was easier said than done. Going up to the doorjamb, she placed her shoulder against the ridge and pressed until she felt it crunch-slide back into place.
She winced. It had gone numb, and now it was all pins and needles, and she hated that sensation. But leaving it out wasn’t going to be workable either. She just shook it out and tried to regain the feeling in her fingers. It would ache later.
“I can make all your troubles melt away.” The psychopath in her dreams said he could fix it. But how? And more importantly…at what cost?
No. It was just a stupid dream. A stupid, very creative dream. Her fingers were tingly, and she shook her hand to try to get it to stop. She needed a shower. She needed some coffee. She needed to think.
She sat at her table and drank her coffee, thumbing through her phone. She hit Google and started trying to dig up anything she could on Harrow Faire. Anything that might reveal the trick or the scam they had going. The place had to have a reputation—anything at all.