by Sarah Cross
Blue’s fingers curled around the armrest of his chair and dug in. Mira studied him, wondering—was he a Wolf ? But a heart mark didn’t make sense for a Wolf.
His head was bowed, so she couldn’t read his expression. His knuckles were white.
“So … is it worth trying?” Mira asked. “To have anything the fairies don’t want you to have?” She hoped Layla said yes. Layla had to say yes. Because Mira couldn’t imagine giving up and accepting that Freddie was her future, prince or not. She wanted to believe she could fall in love and have it matter, not just fall into place like a puzzle piece.
Layla offered a commiserating smile—in a way, her fate was worse. She didn’t have to worry about plunging into a hundred-year coma—but she was destined to be trapped in a house with beastly Rafe, putting up with his crap until “love” taught him not to be an asshole.
“It’s difficult to escape your destiny,” Layla admitted. “But in your case, your best chance is to figure out what your trigger is—the object that sets off your enchanted sleep—and avoid it. It probably isn’t a spindle; you can’t find those nowadays, and evil fairies don’t take chances. Did your godmothers ever mention anything? An object you weren’t allowed to touch?”
“There were so many things they wouldn’t let me do … I really don’t know,” Mira said. “They had an entire ban on sharp objects. They wouldn’t even let me use scissors unless they were those safety scissors you use in kindergarten.”
“Maybe it’s scissors?” Blue said.
Layla shook her head. “We can’t assume that. Mira’s godmothers were probably just being cautious. The only way to know for sure is to find a fairy who remembers the curse, and ask. We should ask Delilah.”
“No. Absolutely not,” Blue said, getting to his feet. “That’s dangerous.”
“It’s the only way she’ll have a chance to be safe,” Layla insisted. “What if Mira goes off somewhere, and no one knows where she is, and while she’s there, she pricks her finger on whatever triggers the sleep, and no one finds her for a hundred years? I’d rather ask the fairy.”
“So would I,” Mira said. “I’d rather know.” She shivered, wishing the sunlight streaming through the window could chase off the chill that had settled over her. Sleep for a hundred years. And wake up to what? Everyone she’d ever met would be dead. The world she knew would be gone. She’d lost enough when she’d lost her parents; she couldn’t bear to lose everything.
“I’d rather know,” Mira said again. “So I can avoid it.”
“In the Sleeping Beauty tale,” Blue started, “the evil fairy who curses the princess states that she’ll prick her finger and die. It was only through a good fairy’s intervention that the curse got softened to enchanted sleep. Delilah is an evil fairy. If you confront her, who’s to say she won’t take the opportunity to curse you with something worse?”
Mira swallowed. She didn’t want to think about what worse might mean. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take,” she said finally. “I’ve been in the dark too long—I don’t want to stay there. I want to know the truth.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I’LL DO THE TALKING,” Layla offered, crossing her arms and leaning against the gritty outer wall of the nightclub, looking a bit tougher than her delicate sundress should have allowed. “I’m Honor-bound; she can’t curse me with anything worse than Rafe.”
Honor-bound was one of the categories the Marked fell into, like Changed and Somnolent. Honor-bound meant that you broke enchantments. If a girl fell into an enchanted sleep, her Honor-bound prince could wake her with a kiss. If a boy became a Beast, an Honor-bound girl could teach him to love, and redeem him. The Honor-bound were protected from harmful curses because they possessed the power to undo them.
Mira knew this because Layla had spent the afternoon giving her a crash course in fairy-tale destinies.
Now it was evening, and Mira waited with Layla and Blue outside Stroke of Midnight, a nightclub where Blue’s band played sometimes. They’d come here because Layla and Blue knew the fairy who owned the place. Apparently, fairies tended to be reclusive. Their homes were hidden, and they were hard to recognize because they went around in disguises most of the time. So Delilah, the fairy who owned the club—and who was well-known and approachable, if a bit evil—was their best hope. Unless they wanted to go on a quest, hire a go-between to track a fairy down, or ask Mira’s godmothers—which Mira absolutely didn’t want to do.
I’m not ready to go home yet, she’d told Blue when he’d brought up that option. You don’t understand how angry my godmothers will be. I really messed with their heads. This will all be over if I tell them. They’ll take me away.
And though Blue had tried to get her to leave from the moment he’d met her, for some reason, he accepted that without argument. And she felt weird, flattered, like maybe now he wanted her to stay.
Posters advertising upcoming shows were plastered all over the club’s door and stapled to the telephone pole outside—including a Curses & Kisses poster with all four band members mugging for the camera. Jewel bit down on a gem the size of a jawbreaker, her lips curled back in a sexy snarl. Rafe was doing his best to look hot, Freddie was smiling warmly, and Blue was slouching, his hair spiking like a shark’s fin, eyeing the camera like he wanted to mess with it.
Mira let her eyelids droop, tired from all the walking they’d done, the heat and humidity that never dissipated. The club wasn’t scheduled to open for another few hours. It was dead quiet, and the stillness only served to highlight the general shadiness of the area.
Across the street, some guys were crouched, playing a dice game, occasionally whistling at Layla; but Blue and Layla ignored them, and they never ventured closer. A woman with slumped shoulders trundled a shopping cart down the street, one broken wheel causing the cart to swerve. And a girl dwarfed by her fake-fur jacket clopped down the street in platform boots, her legs like matchsticks, her eyes sunken and haunted.
Mira hugged her arms to her chest, feeling uncomfortable. This place was a reminder that she’d been sheltered from more than curses.
“I still think it’s better if we don’t talk to her at all,” Blue said. “We could ask a good fairy.”
“We don’t know where to find one on such short notice—certainly not before Mira’s birthday,” Layla countered. “And besides, Delilah knows everything. She’ll have the answer we’re looking for. Although, if you want,” Layla said, glancing at her phone, “we could call Freddie for backup. One more Honor-bound to keep you safe.”
“Uh …” Blue hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’m not sure how Freddie will react when he finds out about Mira. He’s been waiting for her his whole life.”
“That’s true,” Layla said.
Mira was quiet. She didn’t know how she would react when Freddie found out. Because it wasn’t that she didn’t like him—she just didn’t like him that way.
He’d been waiting for her his whole life … but she’d spent almost sixteen years not knowing who she really was.
“We could ask Felix to come,” she said.
Blue glared at her. “No.”
“Delilah does like Felix,” Layla hedged. But she seemed uneasy at the suggestion.
While they were discussing it, a black town car pulled up to the curb. The men playing dice scattered like crows. Blue straightened, his posture as stiff as Mira had ever seen it, and Layla pressed her hands together in a supplicating gesture. Like they were both waiting for something terrible.
The car doors opened and an ogre in a black suit stepped out from the driver’s side. A genuine ogre—there was no other word for the heavily muscled, gray-skinned man before them. His bald head was mottled with dark gray splotches, and his ears were malformed like a wrestler’s. Broad shoulders strained at the seams of his suit.
The ogre clasped his meaty hands together and stood waiting while a willowy, raven-haired woman emerged from the passenger’s side, one fishnet-clad
leg at a time.
“Here she is,” Layla whispered.
Delilah was dressed like she’d come from a funeral, or a fashion show. She wore a black blouse with an enormous, drooping bow at her throat, a knee-length black pencil skirt, fishnet stockings, and black boots with stiletto heels. A black velvet hat tilted across her hair, and a mesh veil draped one side of her face.
Crossing the street with choppy, hip-swaying steps, she gave them a curious smile. Her lips were the blue-violet color of a bruise.
“It’s all right, Sam,” the fairy said to the ogre—who was glowering at them suspiciously. “I know these children.” She looked at Blue, who was avoiding her gaze. “Problem with the show Saturday? You’d better not be canceling on me, Valentine.”
“No, nothing like that,” Layla said quickly. “We hoped we could ask you a few questions before the club opens. If you have time.”
“Of course,” the fairy murmured, standing back as the ogre unlocked the club’s door.
The ogre sniffed in Mira’s direction, his large nostrils flaring, and she shrank back a few steps. Maybe he ate people. Maybe he’d been displaced from his mansion in the sky by a sneaky teenage boy, and devouring teenagers was how he got his revenge.
The door opened and the ogre flicked on the lights, revealing the dinginess of the club. Stroke of Midnight might as well have been a warehouse; it didn’t evoke the cool, decadent sexiness Mira imagined when she thought of nightclubs. Dents from drunken fists pitted the walls, stains ringed the floor, and the air held the faded scent of smoke and beer. Almost immediately, Mira’s foot landed in something sticky. Her ballet flats made squelchy adhesive sounds against the floor.
They followed Delilah down a narrow corridor and into her office, which had no windows and was painted entirely black—walls, floor, ceiling, everything—so that it was like being trapped inside a coffin. Two acid green lightbulbs gave off a sickly radiance, but it wasn’t enough to keep the room from feeling claustrophobic. Mira was starting to regret this. She wished Blue had argued against it a little harder.
“Now, what can I do for you?” Delilah asked, pivoting to face them. One of her legs was poised behind the other, so that her body seemed to narrow precariously from her hips to the floor. She looked like the blade of a knife.
Layla took Mira’s arm, as if to reassure her—and also to lead her forward and present her to the fairy. “This is Mira. She’s a Sleeping Beauty Somnolent. The princess.”
“Ah! Welcome,” Delilah said. “And you’re looking for guidance?”
“Of a sort,” Layla said. “She’s a stranger to our ways. We were wondering if you knew which fairy had cursed her. Because we need to find out what her trigger is.”
“No one ever told her?” Delilah asked, scandalized. “Where are her parents?”
“She was raised apart from them,” Layla said. Mira squeezed the girl’s arm. She was grateful Layla hadn’t mentioned her parents’ deaths to the fairy. It felt private, and a little like a weakness.
“I’ll see what I can dig up,” Delilah said. She motioned to Mira. “Turn around, dear. Show me your mark.”
“I—but you already know—” Mira was still stammering out an excuse when Layla spun her around and yanked her shirt halfway up her spine.
“Just do as she says,” Layla whispered.
Mira shuddered as Delilah’s long fingernails scraped her exposed mark. The fairy’s touch was rough and cold, like corroded metal against her skin.
“What’s your full name, dear?” Delilah asked. Her fingernails stabbed lightly into the curve of Mira’s waist, as if sizing her up for something.
“Mira. Mirabelle Lively,” she stuttered after a pause. The fairy made her nervous. She knew she needed to cooperate if she wanted answers—but she found herself reluctant to feed the fairy information. Knowledge was power—and handing more power to Delilah seemed reckless.
“Who are your parents? When is your birthday? How old are you now?”
Mira answered every question, shivering at the sensation of the fairy’s cold fingers on her skin. Delilah seemed intrigued when she discovered Mira’s sixteenth birthday was approaching.
“Darling, what terrifying timing. I’ll make it a priority to find out before then. Birthdays have a habit of being rather monstrous around here.”
“Monstrous?” Mira asked.
“Oh yes,” Delilah said, her voice a velvet purr. “Birthdays are days of change. Leaving one year and entering the next. It’s a powerful time, and bad things tend to happen. We wouldn’t want you to be unprepared.”
Delilah circled around to face her, smiling—as if she hadn’t just implied Mira’s doom. “Are you coming to the show Saturday night, princess? With any luck, I’ll know by then. We can chat about it.”
Saturday was the day before her birthday. Three days from now.
In four days, she’d turn sixteen. But on the day when she was supposed to be celebrating—celebrating life, of all things—she could turn into a sleeping damsel, a princess in stasis. Just when the world was supposed to be opening up for her.
And right now she didn’t know how to save herself.
“I—” Mira’s voice felt fragile in her throat. She looked at Layla and Blue, but neither of them gave her a sign. It was her choice to make. “Yes,” she decided. “I’ll be here.”
“Perfect,” Delilah said. “Will that be all?”
“Yes,” Layla said with an overly bright smile. She grasped Mira’s arm—firmly—and ushered her out. “Thank you so much.”
“Yes, thank you,” Mira murmured as they hurried past the ogre.
Layla let out a sigh as the door swung shut behind them, and she practically dragged Mira down the dark hall.
“Sorry for rushing you,” Layla said. “I was certain she’d ask for something in return. And when she didn’t, I wanted to get away from there before she changed her mind.”
“Does she usually ask for payment?” Mira asked.
“Yes! Of course!” Layla exclaimed, as if it should be obvious.
It grated at Mira that no one had bothered to warn her about that beforehand. But it was over, so she didn’t complain. She’d gotten lucky. Inexplicably.
“There must have been something she liked about you,” Layla said. “Maybe she felt bad for you. Even evil fairies must have hearts.”
“Yes,” Blue said—speaking up for the first time since they’d entered the club. “That’s why they curse babies—because they really feel for the underdog.”
Layla frowned. “You’re such a cynic.”
“And you’re a sucker,” Blue said. “Watch, you’ll end up redeeming Rafe after all. The fairies picked you for a reason; they know what your heart’s like. You’re too good.”
Layla muttered something about how no, she certainly was not too good, and hugged her arms to her chest. But the spark had gone from her eyes. She was obviously thinking it over—maybe even steeling herself against the inevitable.
What was it she and Viv had said? That you could fight your destiny—but fate had a way of twisting your efforts and steering you right back.
Mira didn’t want to be steered. She didn’t want to be manipulated, or feel like everything she did and felt was unimportant. She wanted a choice.
As they crossed the empty dance floor, shoes ringing hollowly on the cement, Blue reached out and took Mira’s hand. His grip was strong, secure—he seemed less like the mouthy troublemaker of the past few days and more like someone she could trust.
“Delilah might ask you for something later,” Blue confided, his voice low. “When she has the information you want. But if you tell me what it is … I’ll do my best to help you.”
“Thank you,” she said, surprised. She could feel his supportiveness, his worry for her, in his touch.
He squeezed her hand in lieu of a reply.
Blue released her hand eventually—it would have been weird if he hadn’t, though she noted its absence—but he grabbed it agai
n as the streets grew more crowded, people spilling out of doorways and forming a snaking mob that allowed only foot traffic to pass through. Touristy shops had closed their doors, bars and restaurants had opened them, and a street fair had sprung up: kiosks and food carts filled the streets.
The air was thick with the scents of sugar and exhaust, fumes from roasted nuts and cotton candy machines, salt water and shrimp, sweat and perfume.
“Let’s go this way,” Blue said, tugging her down the packed street.
“Through the fair?” Layla called, grasping Mira’s shirt to keep from being separated. “Why?”
“I want to show Mira.”
“Show me what?” Mira asked.
“Things you didn’t see before. Look between the cracks.”
Mira studied the crowd before her, not sure what she was looking for. A band played at one end of the street, and little kids danced to the music, waving balloon animals and toy swords. There were couples out on dates, hands creeping up the backs of T-shirts to fondle bare skin. Vendors hawked nylon fairy wings, funnel cakes, lemonade, art. Men and women lingered on the thresholds of bars, calling to friends, cozying up to strangers.
It seemed like any other place.
But then a pair of twenty-something girls caught her eye. Sisters, maybe? They walked with the same awkward gait—a kind of limping sashay—and had the same pert noses and cascading dark curls. They limped along in open-toed sandals, perfect pedicures marred by the white bandages they wore.
One girl’s heel was wrapped—and oddly shaped, like part of it was missing. The other girl wore a thick bandage where her big toe should have been.
They were Cinderella’s stepsisters, Mira realized—and this was the aftermath of their curse. In the tale, each stepsister cut off part of her foot in hopes of fitting into Cinderella’s tiny slipper. Mira hadn’t thought anyone would actually do that—but the sisters flaunted their injured feet like they were proud of them.
