Kill Me Softly (20 page)

The Knights' back door slid open and a parade of people came streaming out: Viv in her teeny white bikini, Blue and Freddie and Wills in swim trunks. The boys jumped in. Viv set a raft on the pool's surface and wriggled onto it, hissing a little when water slithered up the sides.

“It's not even cold,” Wills said. He smacked the water next to Viv, so a tiny wave splashed over her ice white abdomen. “Unless you're afraid the chlorine might bleach you. Oh, too late.”

Viv gritted her teeth. “And you guys wonder why I hate everyone.”

“I'm swimming,” Caspian announced. “Sort of. Do you think that will interfere with my mermaid search? If I fall into the ocean and I'm not drowning, do you think she'll bother to save me?”

“I think your mermaid probably has a life,” Wills said. He'd stopped tormenting Viv and was floating in the deep end, hanging on to a foam noodle. “You can't count on her to be waiting around for you every day. So drowning on purpose just makes you an idiot.”

“Yes, please stay out of the ocean, Caspian,” Freddie said. “Wait for her to make a deal with a sea witch and come to you.”

“But what if she
doesn't
?” Caspian asked.

No one had a good answer for that.

After a while, Henley came around the side of the house. He was dressed up—for him—in nice shorts and a button-up shirt thrown over a tank top. He sat down on one of the poolside lounge chairs and watched Viv like she was a silent movie. His gaze was lovesick and sad, but vicious, too, like his eyes could somehow punish her for not giving a damn that he was there.

Viv lay stretched out on her raft, still as death, staring up at the stars. Freddie was demonstrating how many underwater somersaults he could do in a row. When he came up for air, Caspian exclaimed, “You're like a dolphin!”

Mira frog-kicked over to where Blue lazed at the end of the pool, half hidden beneath the low diving board. His fingers clung to the board. Beads of water slid slowly down his face, his neck.

“You're awfully quiet,” she said.

“I don't have any dolphin tricks.”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “That must be hard for you.”

He nodded, a wry smile creeping up. “It is.”

She reached up and grasped the diving board so she wouldn't have to keep treading. The motion carried her forward, and her bare legs brushed his. The sensation was unexpectedly alluring, and when she didn't rush to move away, he hooked his leg around hers. Neither one of them said anything for a while.

She stared at him—at that cool, impassive face—and wondered why this was so easy for him. How he could like her and make her hate him; and then make her want to be near him. How he could touch her and make her not want to move away. The definition of
Romantic
flared up in her mind.

He and Felix were supposed to be natural charmers. She wondered if
charmer
meant liar.

“Does Felix lie to people?” she asked.

“Ah, we're talking about Felix again.”

She shrugged, her arms making a kind of pull-up motion so that her chest rose out of the water.

“Felix lies to people all the time. Our whole business is about deception: drawing people into the casino with hope and an impossible dream, and sending them home with less money than they came in with. He doesn't wear a sign that says
The House Always Wins
. So, yeah, he lies.”

“You know what I mean.”

Blue raised his eyebrows. Of course he'd known. “You mean does he lie to girls? To get them to fall for him?”

She nodded. Waited.

“You're the one who hangs out in his bedroom. Shouldn't you be able to tell?”

His leg was rubbing against hers, ever so slightly, almost like it was an accident, but it wasn't. It was too regular not to be deliberate.

“Why are you doing that?” she asked quietly. She was grateful for the dark, for the water that hid whatever it was they were doing, for the laughter and splashes—and, yes, even the dolphin tricks—that let the others ignore them.

“I don't know. Why are you letting me?”

“I don't know,” she said.

Once upon a time, she would have slapped him for touching her. Thrown a knife at him, a book at him. So what was this?

“I've never lied to anyone. To get them to …” Blue hesitated, until she nodded, to let him know she understood. “But I've left things unsaid. I'm sure he does that, too. And he might lie. But he might not have to. Why? Are you afraid you're in love with a lie?”

“No …”

“Then it doesn't matter what I say, does it?”

“It's just …” Mira bit her lip, tasting chlorine. “He never told me the things you told me. That's the only thing I'm worried about. Why wouldn't he tell me that he's dangerous? That he could hurt me without meaning to?”

“Because he doesn't want you to know. Come on, Mira, don't let love make you stupid.”

“Did you tell that girl that you … that you—No, right?”

Blue stared at her for a long time. “Do you think that would've happened if she'd known?”

“So I should ask him about it. Let him know that I know.”

Blue shrugged. “If you want to. Just stay out of his room.”

Her breath caught. “His bedroom? Or suite 3013?”

Blue's eyes flickered with something strange, but all he said was, “Both.”

“I'll have you know,” she said, breathing shallowly, “that girls get kissed in rooms other than bedrooms. He kissed me in the flower shop. After hours. The night that I …”

“The night he almost killed you.”

“The night I passed out,” she corrected.

“If that's what you want to call it,” Blue said. “But I think part of you knows the truth. And that's why you're here with me, instead of back at the Dream with Felix.”

“I'm here because I'm trying to be nice. I'm trying to be your friend.”

Maybe that was too much for him—right now when their naked legs were touching, playing at being casual. Maybe
friend
was too close to
I like you
—and that was closer to trust, attraction, affection than Blue was comfortable with. Because there was a change in him; his expression turned cocky, silly.

He was about to break the spell. She braced herself to go back to the way things had been before. Joking. Bickering. The shift was almost like an insult. Because he knew she trusted him—and he wouldn't trust her back.

“Is that what this is?” he said. “What does
friend
qualify me for? Can we be friends with benefits?”

Mira had the urge to hold his head underwater until he broke free and spluttered to the surface, coughing and promising not to be a jerk anymore. She was sure her irritation showed on her face—and just as sure that he was pleased about it. “You know, it's hard to knee someone in the balls underwater,” she warned him. “But it's not impossible.”

Blue's eyes glittered. He was back in his element: playing around, abrasive and safe. “Hey, as long as I repulse you, I can't hurt you—there's no love to steal. So a friends-with-benefits thing could work for us.”

She knew he was joking. She knew, but it wasn't funny.

“No,”
she said, threatening him with a pathetically slow kicking gesture.

“You're right. You'd probably be disappointed. I haven't had a lot of practice, for obvious reasons. How's Felix? Amazing?”

“Felix … has had a lot of practice,” she said dully, not liking the direction this was going in. “That's what you're trying to say.”

Blue shrugged. “It's not like I read his diary. Just something to think about.”

“Maybe I don't want to think about it.”

“Well, maybe you should.”

She closed her eyes; let the subtle rocking of the water carry her. “Shut up, Blue.” The water was almost as warm as her body. If it wasn't for Blue's leg touching hers, it would be like floating in a sensory deprivation chamber. Instead, it was almost hypersensory. Every time he touched her, something new unfurled inside her. “Shut up or I'm leaving.”

“Fine,” he said quietly. “But only because I don't want you to go.”

A
FTER SWIMMING
, they all crept into the Knights' house, their swimsuits dripping water on the floor, their feet tracking grass onto Persian carpets. Every room was decorated to within an inch of its life. Years of wealth and influence had gathered there like dust.

Freddie shushed their laughter. It was late, he said, and his mother was hypersensitive. She'd wake at the slightest sound.

The boys descended to the basement, unbothered by the cold swimsuits clinging to their legs. Mira's hair was soaked, and she was hugging her towel to her body, missing the heat of the pool. Viv brought her to Freddie's room to change.

Moonlight streamed through the windows, casting a bluish glow on old Little League trophies, Freddie's guitars and amp, and a messy twin bed stripped to the fitted sheet. The rest of the covers slumped sloppily to the ground, like they'd been kicked off during fitful sleep.

Mira changed back into the clothes she'd worn earlier. Viv flopped down on Freddie's bed, still wearing her wet bikini. She stared at the ceiling, arms limp at her sides. Like an actress auditioning for the role of a corpse.

“Do you think I'll look pretty when I'm dead?” Viv asked.

Mira's mouth opened without a response.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Viv went on, teeth scraping her ruby lip. “I mean, I am, and I'm not.”

Mira could hear the
tick
of a tiny clock, the blood moving through her head. She barely knew what to say. “What's on your mind, Viv?”

“Not dead, exactly. In an enchanted coma. Don't you worry about that, too?” Viv sighed. “No, I suppose not. Who's afraid of Freddie?”

“I worry about it,” Mira admitted. “I don't want to not be in control. I don't want to be at someone else's mercy.” She went and sat at the end of Freddie's bed, next to Viv's feet, which were pointed delicately like a ballerina's.

“Same here,” Viv said. “But my whole life going forward is going to be like that. I'd have to keep a perfect balance to avoid it. Pretty enough to make Henley the Huntsman want to save me … but not too pretty, because too pretty is what sets my stepmother off. And she wants me gone—she wanted me gone years ago.”

Viv twisted restlessly. “I don't know what she's waiting for. Waiting to make him hate me, I guess. Make him loyal to her so he'll cut my heart out when she asks him to … And then if Henley
doesn't
kill me, there's the matter of being pretty enough to attract some necrophiliac playboy. Someday my prince will come—and be enamored of my lifeless body. There's some happily-ever-after for you.”

The image of Gwen shuffling through the street fair arose in Mira's mind. She imagined the moment when the prince must have found her—dead to the world, numb. He was so in love with her perfect little doll face that he felt compelled to bring her coffin with him so he could look upon her always. Like she was a souvenir, not a person.

Until she woke up, and ruined his fantasy.

“Blue and Layla told me about Gwen,” Mira said, unsure how to offer comfort when everything she'd heard about Viv's tale was twisted and dark. “The other Snow White Somnolent. But I don't—I don't think it always has to be like that. Your prince could … take pity on you, maybe. Feel bad that your life was cut short. And not want to leave your coffin in the woods, or wherever he found it. He wouldn't necessarily be a bad person.”

“No,” Viv said, shaking her head, wet tendrils of hair writhing against the mattress. “The only person who'll pity me is Henley … that's the only way he won't kill me. If he decides not to anyway.”

“I don't think it would be pity, Viv,” Mira said, but Viv wasn't listening.

“Regina had a glass coffin built when I was thirteen,” Viv said. “She put it in the sunroom and she tends to it like it's her baby; she polishes it every day. It looks like a display case, and that's what it is. A display case for my corpse, so she can use my so-called beauty to her advantage, flash my undead pallor at potential suitors, like:
here, take her, please.
She wants to get rid of me … she wants me in someone else's house, as someone else's problem.”

Viv sounded upset, not blasé like she probably wanted to.

Mira laid her hand on Viv's ankle, just to remind her she was there. That Viv wasn't alone right now. Wasn't dead, or in danger. Mira knew she sometimes needed reminding of that herself.

“Couldn't you tell your dad it bothers you? Having the coffin in your house?”

“I've tried—but he doesn't want to hear it. He's spoiled because his curse is dormant, so he never had to go through any of this when he was younger. His only role to play is the inept, worthless father—which he's perfect for. When I complain, he says we need to learn to get along; he has other problems, he's not going to fix ours. And then Regina tells me I'm lucky my dad's so uninterested in my life. I could have a Donkey Skin curse, and wouldn't
that
be awkward?”

“ ‘Donkey Skin'?” Mira didn't know that tale. “Is that—a princess turns into a donkey?”

Viv laughed. “Oh, Mira. That's cute. No—turning into a donkey would be fun, compared to this nastiness.” She sat up, directly into a slice of moonlight. Her skin glowed like a ghost's.

“In the Donkey Skin tale, the princess's mother dies young—like most of our moms—”

Mira's hand trembled against Viv's ankle, and she brought it back to her lap before Viv noticed. That was her mother's fate—her mother's and her father's both.

“—but not before telling the king he can't marry anyone whose beauty doesn't surpass her own. Years go by, and naturally, no one's beauty compares to the dead queen's … until one day, the old lech notices that his daughter is the hottest thing on two legs.”

Viv raised her eyebrows, daring her to make the connection.

A sour taste crept into Mira's throat. She hadn't known her father, but in her mind, fathers were heroes, protectors. “You're not saying—?”

“So the king decides to marry his daughter. He pursues her, no matter what kind of roadblock she throws up, and she has to dress in the skin of a donkey and pose as a filthy urchin to escape. Then she toils as a servant in another kingdom before she finally gets her Cinderella ending, when the local prince notices that the urchin cleans up nice on special occasions. But who knows what went on in that house before she ran away?”

These tales got worse and worse. Mira's hands twitched into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. A fairy had to
choose
that curse. Had to bestow it on a girl no older than Mira, knowing what would happen to her.

Her thoughts went to Delilah—and how cruel a fairy had to be to inflict that on someone. She wondered how much evil Delilah was capable of. And what the fairy had in store for her.

“Like all curses,” Viv said, “your mileage probably varies. But trust me when I say I'd rather have my heart cut out by my boyfriend than deal with my dad trying to sleep with me.”

“Henley wouldn't really …” Mira couldn't contemplate the other half of Viv's statement.

Viv flopped back down on the bed, in the same pose she'd take in her glass coffin. She was shivering, her voice trembling with the vibration. “Who knows what he'll do. He's crazy. I don't even care.”

There was a knock on the door then. Light, polite, so as not to disturb anyone.

“It's open,” Mira called, grateful for the interruption. She was afraid that if they kept going, Viv would sink so deep into her own darkness that she wouldn't be able to dig her out.

The door opened and Freddie slipped in. He bowed his head, as if to apologize for intruding.

“Hey, lover boy,” Viv drawled.

Freddie ducked his head again, embarrassed this time. “Viv. Don't say that. Henley's in the house, you know.” He cleared his throat. “How are you, ladies? I've been sent as an emissary to make sure everything's all right.”

“We're done here,” Viv said, pushing herself off the bed. “I need a cocktail anyway. Is the bar open?”

“Wills is mixing drinks,” Freddie said. “But, Viv, you probably shouldn't—”

Viv dismissed his words with a wave, as if his worry buzzed around her like an annoying mosquito. “Enjoy the dark, kiddies. I'll give you some alone time.” And then her pale slip of a body was gone, padding soundlessly down the hall.

Freddie sat down on the floor, next to a hamper overflowing with boxers and T-shirts. Mira had intended to follow Viv, but the way Freddie planted himself in the room made her think that he wanted to talk to her—even though he didn't say a word.

Silence descended, making every outside sound seem louder. Faintly, Mira could make out a high-pitched trill of feminine agitation—a damsel in moderate distress.

“It isn't funny, Philip! I'm going to have a bruise on my spine!”

“Is that—?” she asked.

“My mother,” Freddie said, plucking a stray guitar pick from the floor. “Probably thinks there's a pea under her mattress. She's hypersensitive, and it's made her into a hypochondriac. Although there might really be a pea there. My father plays tricks on her sometimes.”

“So your parents are cursed, too?”

Freddie nodded, leaned back on his arms, then drew one knee up, restless. “Both sides of my family have a long history of active curses. They're proud of it. Being marked, as a hero, especially, is an honor. It's a sign of good faith on the fairy's part—that she thinks you're worthy of it.”

Mira wondered if her parents had been cursed. If they'd had to fight to be together—only to lose everything at her christening.

Lost in her thoughts, she was surprised when Freddie asked, “Are you scared, Mira?”

“Scared?”

“Your sixteenth birthday is approaching. And things tend to change on days like that. I wondered if … I mean, you seem distracted. I thought maybe …”

“Oh.”

The memory of Delilah's cold nails on her skin came back. Tracing her mark, sizing her up. She could almost hear the fairy's voice, sweet like caramel and sharp like steel.

Darling, what terrifying timing.

“You don't have to be afraid,” Freddie said. “If something happened, I would wake you. If we didn't know where you were when it happened … I would search for you.”

And he would. She knew he would. But …

“I don't want to owe you anything,” she admitted.

He looked stung by her remark. “You wouldn't owe me anything. I'm not out to gain something from waking you.”

She was sorry she'd hurt his feelings—again. But that didn't make her worries less valid. He
thought
she wouldn't owe him anything. He believed that
now
. But how would things change if he restored her to life? How would he feel once he'd saved her and she was as standoffish as before?

Mira didn't want that rescue hanging over her head, pressuring her to fall in line like a good princess and show her gratitude by … by doing whatever was expected after that.

Marriage. Dating. Sex. She wasn't sure how things worked here, how much the fairy-tale community's reliance on tradition had kept them from evolving with the rest of the world. But clearly, there would be pressure to conform—either social or magical—or Viv wouldn't be as scared as she was. Not just of her enchantment, but of what came after.

Mira didn't want to be resigned to her fate. Didn't want to be mired in hopelessness, like Viv was, like it was quicksand—a trap that only grew tighter when you tried to escape.

“Can I ask what I'm doing wrong?” Freddie said finally. His mother's complaints had quieted, giving way to the heaviness of sighs, the flick of Freddie's nail against a guitar pick, the rustle of Mira's legs shifting on the bed.

“Nothing,” she said. “There's not a checklist of things I want that you're not doing. I just—my heart is somewhere else.”

She felt cruel saying that. But it was true.

Blunt rejection seemed to embolden him. “I'll wait, you know,” he said, with a resoluteness she hadn't heard from him before. “I know you don't like me now. But I think you might, eventually. And I would be good to you. I would never hurt you—the way Felix will.”

Mira closed her eyes. Not that again. Not that—always. Her chest tightened, squeezing the air from her lungs. Freddie didn't understand. He couldn't see the way Felix treated her. He saw only the curse, the black-and-white doom of it, the fact that Felix wasn't a hero, wasn't a prince. There was a delicate line between love and death for Romantics, but she was sure Felix would tread it with the utmost care. Hadn't he already?

“People who care about you won't hurt you, Mira. Not even if they can't help it. That may not matter to you now, but one day, it will.”