by Sarah Cross
Oh, and she was naked. Except for the towel.
“Stop,” she whined, closing her eyes and hoping he would be gone when she opened them.
“What’s wrong with you? Did you try to burn your bed? Viv—wake up!” He jostled her shoulder and the towel slipped open. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, but she screamed at him, anyway. Something on the politeness scale between go away and please die.
“Don’t yell at me! I thought you were poisoned. You weren’t moving and—”
“And what? What were you going to do if I was? Call Regina and congratulate her?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I would do,” he snapped.
“I am not in the mood for this,” she muttered, fixing her towel and getting to her feet—which was a mistake, because her feet hurt like hell. She winced and doubled over, grabbing on to Henley to try to relieve some of the pressure. “Ow. Ow ow ow.”
Henley’s whole face changed. He went from snarling to being her best friend again. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Is Regina home?”
“No, no one’s here.”
“Can you—” Her teeth clenched as pain shot through her legs. “Can you carry me downstairs?”
He picked her up and cradled her against him. Now that she was off her feet, they didn’t hurt. She adjusted her towel so she wouldn’t flash him, and he pressed his head against hers and said,
“You’re scaring the shit out of me, Viv.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Can you just take me downstairs?”
Henley set her up on a chair in the kitchen, with another chair in front of her so she could prop her feet. She felt worn-out and nauseated, but also relieved just to be there with him while he took care of her, or tried to. He got her a Coke and then rooted around in the cupboards, looking for breakfast. Viv could have told him not to bother. There was no food in the house except Regina’s protein bars, some orange juice, Coke, vodka, and a bowl of red apples on the kitchen table.
Viv took an apple from the bowl and held it up. “An apple a day—she used to say that to me when I was in middle school. Like it was clever.”
“Yeah, I remember you bitching about it.”
“She also used to tell me not to let that dirty boy in the house.”
Henley gave up on one barren cupboard and moved on to the next. “I know—she always made sure I could hear it. Your stepmom’s not the most subtle person in the world.”
“Doesn’t it make you mad? I don’t see why you don’t hold that against her.”
“I guess I’m too forgiving of people who treat me like crap,” he said, holding her gaze.
“Touché.” She bit down on the apple. The crunch was a satisfying coda to her statement—she thought so, anyway.
Henley’s hand was almost to her mouth when she spit the bite onto the floor, unchewed. “What were you going to do?” she asked with a smile. “Reach in and pry it out of my throat?”
“If I had to.” He looked embarrassed and a little annoyed. She tossed the apple into the bowl and flexed her sore feet against the chair. He turned away to continue searching through the cabinets, and she figured now was as good a time as any to confess. She focused on the broad expanse of his back and tried not to lose her nerve.
“So … I went somewhere last night,” she said. “I got an invitation. To the nightclub in the underworld.”
“The club where …”
She nodded. “Where the Twelve Dancing Princesses go to dance. That’s why my feet hurt.”
“What did you do there? You went by yourself?”
She could see him turning it over in his head, trying not to get nervous, to wait for all the facts. His muscles tensed and his eyebrows furrowed and he looked a hundred times more serious than he should ever have to. But Henley was always like that. Always wary, as emotionally jumpy as a rabbit. Physically, he was a rock, but inside, it was like he was burning up all the time.
“Did Jewel invite you? Who invited you?”
“Don’t get mad,” she said.
“Don’t tell me not to get mad. Just tell me.”
“I’m just saying, because—I know you’ll get mad.” She’d never been shy about pissing him off on purpose—but this was different. This was something he definitely didn’t want to know, and she didn’t want to tell him. But she didn’t want to lie to him, either.
Her lips formed the words a couple times before her voice cooperated. “My prince invited me. He lives in the underworld.”
“You’re lying.” The furrow between his eyebrows got deeper. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. And I thought you should know.”
Henley wasn’t looking at her anymore—he was staring out the window at the massacred garden—but she could see him in profile. She’d always liked his face. He’d had that same frustrated expression when they were kids—except back then it had showed itself when he struck out playing baseball, or when Rafe Wilder said Viv looked like a boy and Henley was struggling not to punch him in the face. Although Rafe still said stuff like that.
“So is he twisted like you thought he would be? Or do you like him?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t think he’s turned on by dead girls or anything.”
Henley’s hands curled into fists. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Do you want me to …”
She laughed. “What? Do I want you to kill him instead of me?”
“I wouldn’t kill you, Viv.” He closed his eyes and let his forehead touch the windowpane. “Although God knows you deserve it.”
She laughed again. “Thanks.”
She believed that he wouldn’t do it right now. She didn’t believe he would feel that way forever.
Henley let out a sigh and grumbled something about the garden while Viv poked at the bitten, slowly browning apple with her finger. Then he said, “You’re not going back … are you?”
“Of course I’m going back.”
“And what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do while you’re figuring out if you want to date this guy?”
The sick feeling rose up in her again. Leaving Henley—choosing someone else—meant losing him.
“Whatever you want,” she said. “I don’t own you.”
“Yes, you do, Viv. You know you do.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THERE WAS NO RIGHT THING to say after that.
Henley moved around the kitchen, rechecking the fridge and the cabinets, not meeting her eyes. He finally gave up with a frustrated “There’s no food here.”
“We could go out,” Viv said.
“I guess.”
She sent him upstairs to get her clothes—a summery red dress, sandals, underwear. The dress was new, and she cut the tags off with a knife she found in the cutlery drawer. Maybe it was more accurate to call it a dagger. It had a jeweled handle, like it should be used for fantasy role play.
“What is that?” Henley asked, coming up behind her.
“One of Regina’s prized possessions, I guess. I don’t know. Is it fancy enough to cut out a heart? I can’t picture her cutting a lime with it.”
“Give me that,” he muttered. She gave it up gladly, and he took it and wrapped it in a dish towel.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“What do you mean, what am I going to do with it? I’m getting rid of it. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s get out of here.”
They took his truck. Henley tossed the dagger into the back, along with the loose mulch and gardening tools, and she didn’t ask him how or when he’d dispose of it.
He was still wearing his grass-stained work clothes, but neither one of them felt like stopping at his house so he could change. They went through the drive-through at a burger place and then just rode around for a while.
The drive had a doomed, depressing feeling, even though they were just cruising the outskirts of Beau Rivage. It felt like h
e was taking her to the airport and they didn’t know when, or if, they would see each other again.
“I’m sweating my ass off in here,” Viv said, to break the silence.
“Tell me where you want to go.”
She bit down on her plastic straw. “Drive us off a cliff.”
Henley popped open the glove compartment and pulled out a road map. “Find a cliff. Maybe I will.”
She didn’t reach for it.
“That’s what I thought.”
In the end, they went to Jewel’s place, because—although neither one of them said as much—they were afraid to be alone. Jewel was more Viv’s friend than Henley’s but, unlike most of Viv’s friends, she didn’t grate on his nerves. Jewel was the Kind Girl in a Diamonds and Toads curse. She’d been nice to the right fairy and now gems and flowers fell from her lips when she spoke, sang, or even made out.
At nineteen, Jewel already had her own luxury condo with a view of the shore. She sang in Curses & Kisses with Blue, Freddie, and Rafe, and probably would have been living in a starving artist’s garret if not for her curse. The nonstop supply of gems enabled her to do whatever she wanted, so long as she didn’t take her freak show outside Beau Rivage.
Jewel came to the door barefoot, wearing a camisole and pajama shorts. Her dark brown skin was free of makeup, but all her jewelry was in: a row of colorful gemstone studs in each ear, and a diamond stud in her nose. The jewelry was her trademark; every stone had come from her curse. Her brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, and a single pink streak showed on one side.
“Surprise,” Viv said. “Uninvited guests.”
“You guys look like somebody died.” Jewel’s voice was throaty and had grit to it. She had a good piss off voice. That was why Viv loved her singing. When Jewel sang that you’d ruined her life and she’d make you sorry, she sounded like she meant it.
“Who died?” another girl called from inside the condo. Luxe. Jewel’s girlfriend.
Luxe was a Kinder, meaning her curse had taken center stage when she was a kid, and she’d never stopped being the brat she’d been during her glory days. She had all the attributes that went along with her Goldilocks curse: butterblonde curls, the charm of a sociopath, no regard for other people’s property. And she complained about everything—but she was cute, and Jewel had this theory about artists and tumultuous relationships: that if she didn’t have a frustrating girlfriend, she’d run out of things to write about.
Viv was not a fan. “I didn’t know you had company,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
Jewel gave her an amused half smile. “If you want to know that, you should call first.”
“Do you want us to go?”
“No. Get in here.”
Viv and Henley followed Jewel inside. The condo’s floor plan was open—the living room and kitchen were right there when you walked in. Shot glasses filled with rubies, diamonds, and other precious stones decorated every flat surface.
“You guys want anything?” Jewel asked, heading toward the kitchen. The light from the wide back windows caught the gems in her ears and made them sparkle.
“A shower,” Henley said.
Jewel pointed down the hall. “It’s all yours.” He headed to the bathroom and Viv went with Jewel into the kitchen, grateful to have a chance to talk to her alone. Her feet were still sore, so she sat down at the breakfast bar and let them dangle.
“What happened this time?” Jewel asked.
“I don’t even know how to start talking about this.”
“You never told me who died,” Luxe called out.
Luxe was sprawled on the couch in front of the TV, her T-shirt pushed up to show her stomach, her skirt short enough to give all three bears a heart attack. Wet flower petals clung to Luxe’s cheek and neck, and the couch cushions were littered with gems—a sure sign that Jewel and Luxe had been making out. They made out all the time.
Viv wasn’t sure if Luxe was perpetually horny or just a gold digger, since Jewel let Luxe keep the gems that fell during their makeout sessions—but she tended to assume the worst about Luxe. The girl had been breaking and entering in grade school, after all.
“No one died,” Jewel called back.
Luxe sighed dramatically and flopped into a new position on the couch. “Jewel, all your furniture is so lumpy.”
“You’re the only one who thinks so. Go hang out in the bedroom if you want.”
“I would, but your mattress is too hard. You need a new bed.”
“I’m not getting a new bed.”
“Unnnnh, I guess I’ll try this chair.…”
Viv rolled her eyes.
“So,” Jewel said. “Tell me what the big crisis is today. Before he gets out of the shower.”
“I met my prince,” Viv said quietly. “The prince from my curse.”
Jewel just stared. “Did I miss something? Like, your enchanted coma?”
“No, he hired a fairy to find me. He lives in the underworld.”
“The underworld?” A pink rose blossom tumbled out of Jewel’s mouth.
“Shh.” This was information for Jewel’s ears only. Viv didn’t want to share it with Luxe. “His brothers have a Twelve Dancing Princesses curse, but he’s a Snow White prince. His name is Jasper. He wants me to come back tonight. He asked me to stay there with him.”
“Are you serious? Does Henley know?”
“He knows I met my prince. But … that’s it.”
“You’re not really considering moving to the underworld.”
“I told Jasper I’d think about it. He says he can keep Regina away from me. And … Henley.”
Jewel snorted, and coughed up a few violets. “Yeah, I’m sure he’d love to keep Henley away from you. What’s this prince like?”
“Uh … nice? I don’t know. He wants to protect me, so I guess he falls somewhere on the hero scale. He doesn’t strike me as the spoiled playboy type. Or the creepy pervert type.”
“Too bad. I know you were looking forward to that.”
Luxe had been sulkily flipping channels, her legs draped over the arm of the chair. Now she was digging around in a cereal box, dangling pieces over her mouth and then dropping them in like she was feeding a seal. “Jewel,” she called, “these aren’t sweet enough. Don’t you have any good cereal?”
“I have cookies,” Jewel said.
“I tried those,” Luxe said. “The peanut butter was too sticky.”
“Oh my god,” Viv muttered. “When does it end?”
“She just needs attention,” Jewel said, a note of understanding making it sound affectionate.
She’s just annoying, Viv thought. But she supposed everyone made excuses for the people they loved. She wondered what kind of excuses Henley made for her.
Jewel coughed some rubies into her handkerchief, then tipped them into a shot glass. “I don’t like the idea of you being in the underworld by yourself. You should bring me with you. Get another opinion.”
Viv nodded. “I’ll try to get you an invitation.”
“Good.”
Henley came back from the bathroom wearing the change of clothes he kept in his truck: a Silva Landscaping T-shirt and shorts. He sat down next to Viv at the breakfast bar, the wooden chair creaking as he dropped into it. He looked tired, like the shower had worn him out. Like it had given him too much time to think.
His hair and the back of his neck were wet, and Viv ran her fingers over his nape to wipe the water droplets off. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch.
“You know what I find pretentious?” Luxe said. “Bears eating porridge. Bears are supposed to eat salmon. What the hell?”
Jewel went over and squished into the armchair next to Luxe, pulling her girlfriend against her like she was a big doll. “You’re right. Those bears were totally obnoxious. They deserved it when you wrecked their house.”
“Thank you,” Luxe said.
“You guys want to watch a movie with us?” Jewel asked.
Viv weighe
d the annoyance of watching a movie with Luxe—who was bound to complain that the volume was too loud (or too quiet), the plot was too predictable (or too confusing)—against leaving, when leaving would mean being alone with Henley, awkwardly silent and haunted by their exchange:
I don’t own you.
Yes, you do, Viv. You know you do.
Viv took her hand off his neck, touched his scarred knuckles instead. “Are you okay to stay for a while?”
He shrugged. “If you want.”
Jewel and Luxe were curled up in the armchair, so Viv and Henley took the couch. There was plenty of room to spread out, but Viv leaned her head on his shoulder, and Henley put his arm around her, and they didn’t talk about it, didn’t say a word about how reckless it was to be over but not over.
They were like a firecracker that had burned up. The pretty picture, the sparkling moment was gone; they were just smoke and ashes now.
In a few hours, Viv would be getting dressed in her Inferno-themed outfit, clutching her invitation, waiting to utter the word yes so the silver marks would appear on her arms. She’d wait for Night to summon her, and then she’d step through a door to the underworld and dance all night with the boy who was meant to be her future. Every turn on the dance floor would be like kissing Henley good-bye.
She curled up with him and pretended they were a normal couple, that they were their old selves. It was amazing what you could believe when you wanted to.
Viv closed her eyes, relaxed into the gentle sensation of his fingers against her hair, steady and calm, like a heartbeat when nothing was wrong. She wrapped her arm around his chest as if she could hold on to that feeling. He was precious to her in moments like this, and it made hurting him seem like something she would never do, instead of something she always did. She regretted so much.…
Just end it, she told herself. Be good to him for once.
But she didn’t.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“IT’S ALL RIGHT. You can come in. She’s gone.”
Henley was surprised Regina was even awake at this hour. It was close to midnight, and the house was dark and still. She stood with her hip against the doorframe, her hair spilling over one shoulder.
