Dangerous Creatures (14 page)

I hate my life
, Ridley thought.
I hate myself. I just wish I hated him.

It would make everything so much easier.

Ridley grabbed the menu off the table, suddenly desperate for a sweet fix. “Now it’s time for some sugar, Sugar. And I’m not talking about
Marilyn’s Megga Monty Christo.
”

“That’s my girl.” Link grinned.

As Ridley started to order, she wondered if Link noticed that she never shook his hand.

Regular people? That’s what he wants us to be?

Breakfast had come and gone, and Ridley still couldn’t let the idea drop. Now she had retreated to the curb in front of the diner.

Here I am again.

Link had gone upstairs to practice, and she needed to figure a few things out for herself.

I should give up now.

When Wesley Lincoln was the guy giving you relationship advice, it was a low point. The odds of that happening were about the same as Mrs. Lincoln telling Ridley to show a little skin. By Siren standards, Ridley was hitting rock bottom.

Regular people.

Regular people aren’t Sirens.

Regular people don’t use magic.

She had to face it. Her relationship was doomed.

She hadn’t known hearing the words come out of Link’s mouth would bother her the way it did. How could she? Not many intelligent words came out of his mouth in general.

Ridley traced the cracked edge of the curb with her finger. It reminded her of the cracked stone walkway that led up to her own front door—the one that her mamma had slammed in her face the morning after her Claiming.

She remembered stumbling up the stone steps, pounding on the chipping paint of the old wooden door. She could still feel the way her clothes constricted her, damp with sweat and fear, as she stood panting on the veranda.

You need to go, Ridley. You can’t come back here. Not anymore.

She closed her eyes as she remembered the screaming and the wailing, the way her voice seemed to belong to someone else. Someone small and fragile and alone.

Someone who still needed a mother and a family, no matter what the moon had told them.

You’ve been Claimed, child. The Dark is your family now.

Ridley pinched her red glitter nails into the soft flesh of her hand. The pain brought her back.

Wake up. That’s not you. That’s not now.

You’re not that girl. Not only that girl.

Ridley looked out at the street in front of her. She could already see a pile of parking tickets on the Beater’s windshield, a metal boot snapped around the tire.

This wasn’t Gatlin. Things changed here.

Things could change.

Ridley couldn’t promise she wouldn’t use any magic. After all, she wasn’t a miracle worker. You couldn’t just go cold turkey.

The rest of it, she could at least try.

For Link.

It was the kind of thing a Lena would do for an Ethan, and if a Lena was what Link was looking for, Ridley could give it a shot.

Like a regular girlfriend would.

But there was a lot she didn’t know, like what regular people did all day.

Work?
It seemed like the obvious answer. Did he expect her to find a job? Earn Mortal money?

Learn all the rules? Stand in the lines? Wait for my turn, like everyone else, every day?

Play nice?

The last thought was too terrifying to imagine.

For the rest of the day, it was all she could think about.

But when Ridley fell asleep, her nightmares were anything but regular. They were filled with disasters, with fires and explosions, with gold-eyed Casters watching her in the shadows, figures of terror cloaked in darkness and fear.

Everywhere she looked was blood. Magic and blood.

Hers and Link’s.

The longer she tossed and turned, desperately trying not to fall back asleep, the more regular life began to look like the lesser of two evils.

Finally, Ridley gave up, clutching her knees as she sat on the striped mattress, staring at the cracked wall.
Maybe it’s a sign.

The next day, Ridley Duchannes had made her decision. She was ready to face the regular world. At least, she thought she was.

She was ready to try.

“I need a job,” Ridley said out loud, testing the words out. They might have sounded more legit if she hadn’t been lying on the beach as she said them.

It’s not my fault the living room floor is a beach
, she thought, irritated.
Besides, it’s only a fake one.

Necro burst out laughing and sat down in the sand next to her, sloshing a cup of coffee that narrowly missed hitting Ridley’s shiny red leather, heavily zippered jumpsuit—the one that made her look like a ninja-robot-assassin from the eighties. It was an outfit that signaled Getting Down to Business, which apparently Ridley intended to do. Even if the waves looked pretty nice, out on the horizon in front of her.

Necro put down her paper coffee cup, still smiling.

“Why is that so funny?” Ridley looked insulted, and this time, she didn’t have to fake it. “Mortals have jobs. They work. They get up in the morning and get on their little train things and go places with telephones and plants and—”

“Elevators?” Necro asked innocently. She pulled out an apple and flipped open her switchblade. With an expert flick of her wrist, she began to carve, smiling to herself.

Ridley was a little unnerved. Yesterday she had met the homeless-punk-looking Necro, the one wearing the jacket made of old carpet samples and black high-top Docs, the one who liked to pass on threats from unnamed people or things from another world. Not the laughing, smiling Necro. Ridley was instantly suspicious. At least she knew where she stood when a girl was threatening her.

“Elevators. Sure. Whatever. Why couldn’t I do that?” Ridley shrugged. “I could completely do that.”

“Ride in an elevator?” Necro fingered the silver hoop in her nose, trying not to laugh. “You really are gifted.”

“Is that a job?” Ridley wasn’t sure. She kicked at the sand. It sprayed up and into the balmy breeze that wrapped itself around the living room.

“Not really. But, man—you’re a Siren. That’s not you.”

“I’m also not a man.” Ridley frowned. “Sirens have had jobs. Some are real pros.”

Necro raised an eyebrow.

Ridley frowned. “Not
that
kind of job.”

“There’s probably an opening at the club somewhere. You could ask Nox.”

“No,” Ridley said quickly. “Not at the club.” She didn’t want to deal with his smug face any more than she had to.

“Hey, a job’s a job. And you’re the one who said you wanted one,” Necro said. She snapped her knife all the way through half of her apple.

“Not that badly.” Ridley shook her head. “Besides, I don’t want a Caster job. I want a Mortal job.”

At that, Necro began to really laugh, as if Ridley had told a joke. She tried to think what it could have been, but she couldn’t come up with anything.

“Again, what’s so funny?”

Necro tried to look serious. “What can you possibly do in the Mortal world? And why would you ever want to do it? Mortals are—”

“I know.” At least they could agree on that. Rid sighed. “You never know. It might turn out to be useful someday. If things get old around here.”

“Things like gambling debts?” Necro sliced through a section of apple.

Ridley ignored the implication. “Besides, I want to show Link that I can get by without the Power of Persuasion. Because he’s part Mortal. And because he thinks that’s all I know how to do. I’m more than just a Siren. I’m also—”

Necro leaned forward. Now she was interested. “Yeah?”

Unfortunately, Ridley couldn’t finish that sentence. If she could, they wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place. Because she wasn’t a regular person. She wasn’t a regular anything. And aside from being a Siren, she wasn’t sure what else she was.

Ridley gave up. “Enough with the interrogation.”

Necro snapped her switchblade shut. “That’s what I thought.”

Ridley clenched her fists. She’d show Necro. Rid would make it in the Mortal world on her own. She could be regular. She could do more than any of these idiots thought she could.

Even if the idiot happened to be Ridley herself.

 
CHAPTER 12 

Hell on High Heels

H
ey there, Hot Rod.”

Ridley used the term loosely, and for once, she wasn’t talking about Link, who was busily rehearsing imaginary drum solos back at the apartment.

She was talking to Nerd Warrior Nick.

At least, according to his name tag.

It had taken her two hours to find the nearest Nerdworld in Brooklyn, which was where Necro had told her to go for a fast, free job search. This particular Nerd Warrior, which was apparently what you called the inhabitants of Nerdworld, looked more Nerd than Warrior.

“Are you talking to me?” Nerd Warrior Nick swallowed, taking in Ridley’s red leather jumpsuit, head to toe. It was a serious eyeful. Rid smiled, satisfied. Score another point for robot-ninja-assassins.