Page 22 of Losing Wendy

“All right, then. But as you’re already mine, and I could easily take you by force, I’ll need something in addition to yourself.”

“What else is there possibly to give?” barks John, to which the Shadow Keeper snaps his head, before slowly turning back toward me.

“A bargain,” he says.

My heart sinks, but somewhere down below someone is yelling that he sees us.

The Shadow Keeper flicks his fingers, and out shoot spindlytendrils that snake down the ladder. Someone cries out, and his outburst is echoed by the pirates.

There’s the crash of splintering wooden crates at the base of the tower.

And then the captain’s voice. “Fine. I’ll get her myself.”

My stomach rolls over as the ladder shakes again.

“What sort of bargain?”

“What sort of bargain are you offering?” the Shadow Keeper teases.

I blink. What else am I to give other than myself? I suppose I’m the heiress to this manor now, as sick as that makes me. Somehow I doubt the Shadow Keeper concerns himself with such mortal cares as wealth.

“Anything,” I finally settle on. “Anything you want.”

The Shadow Keeper places a veiling hand to his chin, thinking. “Anything I want?”

Then he shoots out the same hand.

“What’s the bargain?” asks John.

“The bargain,” says the shadows, “is just as your sister proposed. Anything I want, whenever I choose to call this bargain in. Anything I want, and I’ll bring your brothers along.”

John opens his mouth to protest. “Wendy, you don’t have to—”

But I’ve already taken hold of the shadowed hand.

CHAPTER 9

I’m not sure what I was expecting from the moment my flesh finally grazed the shadows. Perhaps to meld with this creature of the night, for my body to break apart like the ash of a crisp sheet of parchment held over the fire.

Instead, the inner crease of my right elbow stings. Two white-hot ovals appear, separated by an untouched patch of skin between them.

I hardly have time to consider the implications of the mark that signifies this new bargain, because before me the shadows thicken, compressing until they turn solid. In the dull glow of the distorted moonlight, the creature before me shifts, color blooming within the previously vague elements.

Pale skin knits itself over sinew, copper hair lengthening at his skull. The shadows coalesce to reveal a man—fae, given his pointed ears—with a lean build and chiseled shoulders, though his eyes remain black as coal, dyeing even the whites.

Dark patagium forms his wings, which fold in at his side, expanding as he stretches them. He’s dressed from head to foot in black leathers, a strap across his back and a pouch at his hip. Thesame brand that marks me for our recent bargain now settles onto the knuckles of his right hand.

None of that is what catches my attention though.

It’s the playful smirk on the edge of his lips.

It’s the type of smile that should make me want to shrink back, but I’m familiar with the shadows, and all it seems to do is invite my forbearing spirit on an adventure.

The Shadow Keeper is beautiful.

Where the captain is all sharp edges and dark corners, the Shadow Keeper is the glow frolicking in his mischievous eyes, glinting off his copper hair.

“Hello there, my Darling,” he says, allowing my hand to drop limply at my side.

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