Page 17 of Bargains with Benefits
“What’s the full bargain?” She folded her fingers in her lap. “What would I get out of helping you?”
I bristled at how directly she spoke of the exchange, but that was the point—this was transactional. Of course we needed to outline the terms of whatever bargain we struck. I looked around the room and at her. “You want fae to come to this place?”
“I want anyone to come. I want to spread the word to all potential guests,” she said. “You may write your column for the fae, but I assure you,everyonein Sandrin follows your recommendation.”
My cheeks heated at the compliment. At least, I thought it was a compliment. “Yes, well.” I looked around the room again. The inn needed cleaning, but it had charm. I could sell this place. It didn’t even bother me that I was bargaining away a recommendation. Cliff House Inn was the kind of hidden gem I’d select for my column. The problem was that my recommendationswere usually half about the product and half about the proprietor. Readers loved to connect with the person behind the product. They loved a good story. My gaze landed on the ostentatiously patterned blanket she still wore as a shawl. “We might need to update your style to help you better sell your old fae heritage.”
She flinched like I’d slapped her. That was the first time it occurred to me that she might not consider herself old fae. It wasn’t that far-fetched of a conclusion if she’d never been to Pierce House and didn’t claim the family page in the court record. I kept misstepping with that. She held more confidence than anyone I knew, old fae or otherwise. The idea that she might not see herself that way kept slipping through my fingers.
“I—” I wasn’t sure what to say, but she cut me off.
“No, don’t hold back now. You said what you meant.” She stood, letting the shawl fall from her shoulders as she moved toward the windows. The dress she wore underneath was also colorful, if not as bad as the wrap. “I won’t insult your investigative skills. I’m sure you’ve done your homework. It’s why you thought I’d agree to investigate my father in the first place. I’m half-fae. I don’t count myself as one of them, but if you think to sell the inn I’ll have to sell myself as such…fine.”
I wasn’t sure how to recover from that. My fingers twitched on the armrest as I tried to consider my following words better. “I don’t know if you’ve read many of my recommendations, but I’ve done a few that weren’t fae-focused. They didn’t catch on the same. The products weren’t as successful.” I glanced at my favorite boots, remembering my disappointment when that article had run. “I’m only suggesting what gives you the best chance at success.”
She didn’t turn around, still looking at the sea. “I’ll try whatever it takes to save this place. We can do it your way, so long as it works.”
I stood. “We have a deal, then?”
Finally, she turned to face me. Her previously inviting expression was gone, making me feel unwelcome here. Maybe she was better at being old fae than she realized. “So, you’ll prepare me for the attention of the fae. When you think I’m ready—before Long Night—you’ll feature me and the inn in your column?”
“When you’re ready, and you get me access to Pierce House.” Something like a cold wind rushed up my spine, a prickling sensation I wasn’t entirely comfortable with. It wasn’t the playful comfort of my wind. It was just foreboding.
“Agreed.” She held out her hand.
I wondered briefly if we needed to clarify that any romantic inclination sparked last night would need to be put on hold during this business arrangement. My cheeks flushed at my stupidity. She only wanted a recommendation. The sharp lines of her previously open face told me that romance was far from her mind.
Fine. I slipped my hand into hers. Wind wrapped around them and then spiraled up my arm. I could only assume it did the same to her, as she shivered and glanced longingly at the shawl still piled on the chair.
We were doing this. “Agreed.”
9
Luna
Days later, I still stewed from the bargain struck with Vincent.We might need to update your style to help you sell your old fae heritage better.His words pulled at the seams of defensive stitches I had in place for whenever the old fae were mentioned. Convincing myself I didn’t need them was one thing. Being told I needed to become one of them to save my inn was another. Hearing it from someone who was using me to get close to my father, a male he knew I didn’t get along with, was icing on the cake.
I shook my head, working my frustration out on kneading bread dough. The counter was a mess, and I added to it, sprinkling a little more flour on the surface. As my palms pushed into the dough, I tried to push in my anxiety about this bargain. When I folded it to continue the process, I imagined I was covering up my worries and hiding them away. The bargain was my only choice. I needed Vincent’s help, and this was his condition.
Hiding my nerves in bread-making didn’t seem to work, though. I gave the dough a stern glare like it had let me down, even as I continued to knead. My fingers slid into the mixture. It surrounded and stuck to them—still not ready. I needed to speed up. This wasn’t the only item on my list today.
No matter how disappointed I was, I could admit I needed Vincent’s help. I’d spent the last few days studying the other inns in Sandrin and their offerings. While I believed Cliff House had a chance, I would be up against some strong opponents. Winchester Inn was by far the most popular. It was directly on the path where the eastern road poured into Sandrin. The inn itself wasn’t much to look at. It was clean and had no particular style, but nothing could top its location. Convenience to travelers couldn’t be understated.
On the way into the city from the south, there was another popular inn, Earthbend. It was run by a Suden couple and tended to cater to friends and family visiting the military base on the city’s southern tip.
These two were my main competitors. Others scattered the city streets, but they were extra rooms above taverns or boarding houses, offering less comfort than a traditional inn. I would focus on giving visitors a reason to bypass these two easily accessible inns and come to Cliff House. One good thing was that both were almost full. Soon, visitors wouldn’t have a choice but to keep searching. I wasn’t too proud to work with that, either.
I pulled my hand back from the dough to test its tack again. Seeing it was still sticky, I kept kneading.
I tried to remember my childhood visits to Cliff House. Though we’d stayed in the cottage, we’d often encountered guests on the beach. The inn had always been full. I tried to remember some of them—what had drawn them to the inn, their stories. Most recollections of guests were too fuzzy; I’d been pretty young. I shied away from some of our clearermemories, like our last visit. Our haste to leave after Darius’s impromptu arrival had put a damper on the event in my mind. He never visited us when we were at Cliff House. It seemed he and Mom had some understanding. He must have at least known to stay away the weeks we were there. It was further proof he’d rather have nothing to do with me, as if I needed any.
I kneaded faster as the memory snuck in.
Mom had woken me up for a moonlit swim. She knew I loved the full moon—said I’d been born under one. “We need to celebrate you.” She pointed to the sky through the window.
Caught up in her enthusiasm, I was too young to care whether this was a good or bad idea. I dressed for swimming and followed her by lantern light down the wooden staircase to the beach. The lantern didn’t help much. The moon’s light was so bright, it was all I could see. Mom laughed loudly, splashing into the water. She was giddy, free in a way I rarely saw her. Worry usually hung heavy on her brow. I didn’t know the context, but I knew enough to understand that the weight was lifted while we were here.
“Come in, the water is nice!” she called.
