Kill Me Softly (5 page)

“Oh yeah.” Henley snorted. “Like she doesn't notice.”

The French doors that led to Viv's bedroom were wide open, a breeze sucking the filmy white curtains in and out.

Henley cupped his hands around his mouth and barked, “Viv! Wake up!”

A minute later, a girl stepped onto the balcony. The sunlight revealed her slowly, like it was reluctant to touch her.

Her skin was chalk white, her lips were red-pink like pomegranate seeds, and her hair was as black as a stroke of Chinese calligraphy. She wore a nightgown that lay almost flat against her petite, boyish figure, and a red satin sleep mask that was pushed up on her forehead.

“Hey there, Vivian,” Blue said.

Viv leaned her elbows on the balustrade, and three doves fluttered down from the roof to join her. “God. First the lawn mower and now this. I need my beauty sleep, you know.”

“You'll have plenty of that soon enough,” Blue said. “Might as well stay conscious while you can.” He grinned crookedly up at her, and Viv rubbed a hand across her face, looking miserable.

“If I could control these birds, they'd be shitting all over you,” she said.

“Too bad you own their hearts, not their minds,” Blue said. “Can we come up?”

“I guess,” Viv said. “You're not going to leave until I say yes.”

Henley led them through the back door and into the kitchen, grass clippings dropping to the floor as he tugged his dirty T-shirt on. He looked uncomfortable in the elegant house. Like he didn't belong there, and he knew it.

When they reached Viv's bedroom, Viv was dressed and sitting on the edge of an enormous red and black bed, her body standing out starkly against the bloodred sheets. Viv took a drink from a half-empty Coke bottle and grimaced. “It's flat,” she complained. “And warm.”

“Because you're too damn lazy to go downstairs and get a new one,” Henley said.

“Because I don't want to see the bitch,” Viv snapped back.

Blue flopped down on the bed and grabbed a pillow to get comfortable. “Hey, at least it's a breakfast she can't choke on.”

“Shut
up
,” Viv and Henley said at once.

Mira wondered what
that
was supposed to mean. Maybe Viv had choked on something once? And now they made fun of her about it?

Sighing, Mira sat down in Viv's desk chair, next to a Mac laptop. It was too hard to keep up with these people and their inside jokes; she didn't know what they were talking about half the time.

The laptop's Apple logo was covered by an X of black electrical tape. Mira narrowed her eyes at it.
Weird.

“So what's up?” Viv asked, causing Mira to swivel around in her chair. Viv was staring at her, her dark eyes shining. “Is she ours?”

Blue shook his head. “Out-of-towner. Just doing guard duty.”

Viv nodded, like that made sense to her. “Cute. But you need to get a new hobby.”

A dove fluttered in from the balcony and landed on Viv's shoulder, cooing sweetly. A chain of blue butterflies followed, then drifted toward Freddie.

Freddie laughed again, and Henley grunted and hurled Viv's Coke bottle through the open French doors. The bottle failed to clear the railing, and brown liquid spilled all over the balcony.

“You're cleaning that up,” Viv told him.

“Anything else you want me to do?” Henley snapped.

Viv rolled her eyes. “Take anger management classes? Stop being an idiot?”

“I vote for all of the above,” Blue said, hugging Viv's pillow and rolling over so his back was to them. “You guys make it impossible to sleep.”

“Says the guy who woke me up at seven in the morning!” Viv grabbed her pillow and wrenched it from Blue's grasp, then hit him with it until he finally sat up.

They were all quiet for a moment. A mouse with a daisy clenched between its teeth took advantage of the stillness to scurry across the floor. It dropped the daisy at Viv's feet, then darted beneath the dresser before anyone could step on it.

Mira wanted to ask,
Why is this place crawling with animals? Cute little animals that act like they're in love with Viv?
But the fact that no one else was asking it made her hesitate.

“You should come out with us,” Viv said to Mira, bending down to dig a pair of sandals out from under her bed, and unearthing a tiny white rabbit in the process.

“I really just want to—” Mira started to explain why she was in Beau Rivage, but Viv interrupted before she could finish.

“Don't worry,” Viv said with a smile. “We won't let anyone hurt you.” She turned to the others. “You guys feel like going to Gingerbread?”

“Fine with me,” Blue said. “Felix won't set foot in that place.”

“That's because you guys own, like, five fancy restaurants. I wouldn't go either if I had my own sushi bar downstairs.” Viv slipped on her sandals, winding their red ribbon laces around her ankles. “Just give me a minute.”

Straightening, Viv went over and stood in front of a black-framed mirror. The mirror caught her reflection from head to waist, and Viv looked nervous as she stared into it. Twisting her hair into a messy spiral, she blinked at the glass as if waiting for its approval.

“You look beautiful,”
the mirror said.
“exquisite.”

The mirror … spoke? Mira squinted to see if there was a speaker box attached. Like … maybe you could buy a mirror that came with preset phrases: press a button and it would say,
“You're gorgeous!”

But Viv seemed upset, not flattered. She swore and yanked the pins from her hair, black waves spilling to her shoulders, then flipped her head upside down and mussed her hair with her hands. “Worse?” she asked, with a pinched look on her face.

“Still beautiful,”
the mirror replied.
“More beautiful than she is.”

Mira made a choking sound, and Blue kicked his way off the bed, knocking another pillow down as his boots hit the floor.

“Could you stop playing with your mirror?” Blue asked. “You're freaking out our guest.”

“I was just checking,” Viv said defensively.

“Why bother? You already know what the answer will be.”

“I know. But—” Viv shook her head. “Never mind.”

Freddie got to his feet, sending the butterflies into a frenzy. “We'll go to Gingerbread House, Viv. Pancakes will make you feel better. And maybe you'll gain some weight and Regina will be happier for a while.” He tried on a shining smile, but it didn't seem to improve Viv's mood.

“Regina's never happy.” Viv sighed and left the room, her platform sandals clunking down the stairs.

Mira noticed that Henley watched Viv—watched the space where she'd been, once she was gone—with the same admiring gaze the mirror had fixed on her. The naked longing on his face made Mira shiver.

She felt like she'd stumbled into a world of strangers' secrets—into wonderland, instead of the city where she'd been born—and their secrets were like dynamite waiting to explode. She wasn't sure how much she wanted to know.

“I held her life in my hands.
And then I took it away from her.
”

G
INGERBREAD HOUSE
was a kitschy café, housed in a cottage that had been decorated with candy. The window frames were red and white striped, and lacquered strawberry squares, butterscotch medallions, rainbow-swirl lollipops, and peppermints stuck to the walls.

The early morning crowd was trickling in: a mix of solo diners, couples, and cops. A dozen girls in party dresses walked barefoot through the parking lot, carrying their worn-out shoes—like they'd spent the night clubbing and were reluctant to go home.

A party of middle-aged tourists, dressed in T-shirts that bore the name of a lighthouse they'd visited, was turned away at the door by a woman in a Bavarian barmaid costume, with the explanation that they needed a reservation.

Viv didn't meet the same resistance. She claimed an eight-person table in the middle of the cramped café, then took out her phone and started inviting people. A waitress hustled over to hand out menus, and poured them all cups of sludgy black coffee.

Mira found herself seated near the end of the table, next to Blue and across from Freddie. She'd had a moment in the car—crammed in the backseat with people she barely knew—when the situation had overwhelmed her. She'd felt a sudden burst of loneliness and helplessness—despair that she wouldn't find her parents' graves after all—and hot tears had slipped down her cheeks. She'd quickly turned toward the window and wiped them away. She didn't think anyone had noticed she was upset—and she didn't want them to.

“The pancakes are really good here,” Freddie told her. “So are the waffles.”

Mira scanned the menu. She tried to keep her voice light. “I'm looking for freedom with a side of restraining order, but everything just comes with bacon.”

“The restraining order costs extra,” Blue said, tearing open two sugar packets and dumping them into his coffee. “No substitutions.”

“That sucks. I guess I'll go with bacon,” Mira said.

While the others ordered, Blue brought his coffee cup to his lips and asked quietly, “Why were you crying before? Were you scared?”

Mira shook her head, not sure how much to say. “No. I was … thinking about something that makes me sad.”

“Okay. I wanted to make sure we didn't scare you.”

“You weren't thinking about that when you broke into my room.”

Blue shrugged, looking guilty. “I did want to scare you then. But only to warn you. I never wanted to make you cry—that takes things to a different place.”

“What place?”

“A place where I'm hurting people, not helping them.”

“So you still think you're helping me?”

“Whether you know it or not.” And then he went quiet, shifted his attention to the waitress, laughed at some joke Viv made. He stood up to wave at a big, barrel-chested guy who was heading toward them. The guy looked like he hadn't gone to bed yet. He wore a wrinkled Hawaiian shirt and had lipstick-print kiss marks on his neck—in two different colors. His shaggy golden hair tangled around his face, and he managed to look smug despite his dishevelment.

“That's Rafe,” Freddie said. “He's the one who broke your door down. He would have come in with us, but he had to … ah, escort some ladies home.”

Mira nodded, eyeing Rafe warily. He had one strike against him, and she had a feeling there would be more.

Rafe flopped down next to Viv and slung his arm across the back of her chair—then proceeded to peer down her shirt. “Viv still doesn't have any boobs,” he announced.

Henley smashed his fists against the table, rattling the plates and silverware. Then he muttered something about leaving before he killed someone, and left the café.

Viv sighed. “Stop talking about my boobs, jackass.”

“Rafe, please show some manners,” Freddie said. “At least pretend to have them.”

Rafe ignored them both. “You lost the puberty lottery, Viv. Get your dad to buy you a pair. The same set your stepmom has.”

Viv sipped her Coke, her eyes hooded and dismissive, like she was used to this. “You know, if I had to break your curse, I would kill myself.”

“I would, too. I need something to feel up if I'm fated to be stuck with one girl for the rest of my life.”

“There are ladies present,” Freddie said—his silver voice taking on a sharp edge.

Finally, Blue threw a piece of toast at Rafe. “Keep your curse talk to yourself, Wilder.”

Rafe snatched the toast off his lap, folded it like a taco, and ate it in two bites.

“
You
don't get to complain,” Rafe said with his mouth full, jabbing a meaty finger at Blue. “That's one problem you'll never have—being stuck with one girl. You can have as many as you want. Just keep going on to the next.”

Blue glared at him, coldly, steadily—with genuine loathing.

Then another one of their friends arrived, diverting their attention and keeping Blue and Rafe from fighting.

“What's all this
curse talk
?” Mira murmured to Freddie.

“Just a joke,” Freddie said, flashing an unconvincing smile.

Mira pouted at him. It was obvious there was something he wasn't telling her.

The new girl took a seat at the foot of the table, between Mira and Freddie, and when Mira looked at her—
really
looked at her—she forgot why she'd been pouting at Freddie in the first place.

The new girl was the most beautiful girl Mira had ever seen.

Glossy, straight, black hair hung to her waist. Her doe eyes were long lashed, so dark they were almost black; her skin gleamed like silk. Her face was so lovely that just looking at her made you happy, and she even smelled pretty—like honeysuckle. There were no butterflies floating around her head—but there should have been.

Freddie introduced them. “Mira, this is Miss Layla Phan. Layla, meet Mira.”

“Hi,” Layla said. Her voice was gentle, sweet—but there was something fierce in her expression when she looked at Rafe.

“You don't want to sit by me?” Rafe called to her with a grin.

“No, I don't,” Layla said. “I wouldn't sit by you if every other seat in the room was on fire.”

“Ouch.” Rafe winced, then rebounded with a sleazy smile. “That would hurt me if I believed it. You know you're curious to go for a ride.”

“About as curious as I am to get syphilis,” Layla snapped.

“He meant a ride in his car,” Freddie clarified for Mira, looking like he desperately hoped she was dumb enough to believe him.

“His car has syphilis?” Mira asked, feigning shock. When Freddie blushed, she said, “I know that's not what he meant.”

Freddie nodded, abashed, and rubbed his hands over his face. “You're right, I'm sorry you had to hear that. He will—be reformed, eventually.”

“He is such a tool,” Layla muttered. Her hand was trembling against the table. “I would love to just shoot him with a hunting rifle when his transformation day finally comes.”

“Transformation day … ?” Mira prompted.

Layla's big, dark eyes blinked at Mira and she seemed to remember where she was. “Oh. Nothing. Never mind. Hello. I forgot I don't know you. I … exaggerate. A lot. I don't even own a rifle.”

“You can get one at Walmart,” Viv said. “Charge it on my card. I'll use my coma as an alibi.”

Mira focused on eating her pancakes, even though she was starting to feel sick. What was wrong with these people? Was
everyone
insane?

Next to her, Blue seemed edgy. He was breaking his bacon into pieces. His fingertips glistened with grease.

“I'm starting to think it was a mistake to introduce you to the whole gang,” he said.

Rafe was still hitting on Layla; Layla was fighting with him, insisting that fairies didn't turn good people into monsters, they just exposed the monstrousness that was already there; and Freddie was doing his best to play peacemaker, or etiquette coach from 1850, or whatever he thought he was doing. Henley was watching the group from outside, leaning against the window, smoking a cigarette. Viv was sawing into an apple tart with a masochistic grin on her face.

“No wonder you're such a freak,” Mira said finally.

“Oh yeah, I learned it from watching them,” Blue said with a faint smile.

“I want you to know,” Mira said, “that whatever your intentions are, even if you think they're good, I didn't travel all the way here to be shuttled around and babysat by crazy people. There are things I need to do here, and I intend to do them.”

“Fine, just stay away from our casino.”

“No,” she said.

Blue turned fully toward her then; grabbed her wrist—hard, like he was trying to intimidate her—and she flung her syrup-sticky butter knife at him and twisted free from his grip. Causing a scene, of course. Sometimes you had to.

She sprang to her feet. “Don't tell me what to do. And don't manhandle me unless you want to be dismembered. This is your last warning.”

“Will you keep your voice down?” Blue hissed.

“No, I
won't
,” she said, getting louder on purpose. There was a syrup stain the size and shape of a gash on Blue's chest. People were staring at them, but oddly enough, no one seemed all that surprised by her outburst—and she didn't care if they were. Anger blended with the sugar in her body and made her feel nauseous. She just wanted to go. So she grabbed her bag and, for the second time in two days, stormed out.

“Always popular with the girls, Blue,” Viv said. Mira heard a chair being pushed back like someone was about to chase after her, and then Blue's voice saying:

“Forget it, Freddie.”

“But she's upset,” Freddie said.

“She's a big girl; let her play with fire if she wants to.”

“Nice ass,” Rafe said.

And then the door swung shut behind her, mercifully silencing the peanut gallery; and Mira was plodding through the hot parking lot, her flip-flops squishing like they were about to melt on the steaming asphalt.

Henley looked up at her approach. “Need a ride?” he asked. He didn't look particularly enthused about giving her one.

“No,” she said. “But thanks. Have fun with the crazies.”

He snorted. “I wouldn't call it fun.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

Henley nodded, raising his cigarette to his lips, and she set off toward the Dream.