I scream, and Mercy panics and shoots up. I slide off her chest. She’s bigger than me, but she’s not bigger than Wilson. I place my hand over her face and shove. Her head snaps backward.
“Give me your crown!” My cries grow louder, more hysterical. “Let it fall from evil and sit upon a head of righteousness!” I don’t know what I’m saying. Wilson speaks through me now, and that’s fine and dandy.
Two arms grab me and drag me off the girl. Soon, two more join the mission to free Mercy from the crazed Minnow. Four arms against my two. Not very fair, if you ask me.
“Let me go.” My chest rises and falls fast, but I’ve regained some control.
It’s the calmness that scares them most, remember? Wilson says.
I remember.
Raquel is hollering in my face and snapping her fingers. She’s background noise. All I can think about is Mercy on the ground. Mercy wiping away the red river beneath her nose. Mercy still breathing. Mercy still alive.
My eyes are on Mercy when I say, “You’re next, Raquel. When you least expect it, I’ll have your head, too.”
The girl with blue toenail polish is hollering. Yelling at me and throwing her arms around her head. But all I can think about are three things.
First, that Dizzy doesn’t care.
Second, that Candy said it would take $1,200 to get a place of my own.
Third, that a place of my own means I’ll never have to rely on anyone again.
Mercy’s voice rings above the rest, and everyone turns to look at her. She’s screaming something but Wilson is too loud inside my head, and I can’t hear her. I clench my eyes shut and push Wilson down far enough so that I can listen to Mercy run her mouth.
Why do you care what she has to say? Hit her again! Wilson is jumping around inside my head, unable to contain his excitement though he was just reminding me to act calm.
Hush!
Mercy’s voice rushes in. “…out of here. Just leave, you freak! Get out!”
“What?” I ask dumbly, because I’ve missed her rant.
Mercy shakes her head like I’m crazy.
She has no idea.
“I said, get out of this house. No one wants you here. Leave right now and never come back!”
The girls look at me. Poppet looks at me. Somewhere in the distance, I hear the sound of heavy footsteps. Maybe Mr. Hodge or Cain coming to see what the uproar is all about.
Dizzy’s abandonment.
Madam Karina’s affection.
Poppet’s kindness.
Twelve hundred dollars.
A place of my own.
I meet Mercy’s icy glare. “No,” I tell her. “I think I’ll stay a while.”
PART III
DOMINO’S RULES
FOR DRINKING THE KOOL-AID
Strategize.
Find favor with the queen.
Get out of your comfort zone.
Become ruthless in your pursuit of victory.
Keep your eyes off the boy who could wreck you.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My, How They Shine
I sometimes do this thing called lucid dreaming. It’s where I fully comprehend that I’m dreaming, but the dream marches on anyway, fumbling around like a great ogre. I don’t always recognize when I’m dreaming. And sometimes, like now, it’s worse when I do.
I’m in my parents’ home. I know because the moon shines in a funny pattern through our beveled windows. A cuckoo clock chimes the time, twelve o’clock a.m., though there’s never been a clock like this in our house before.
I hear the sound of heavy footsteps, and a door opening and closing down the hallway. A man appears with a bag slung over his shoulder. He’s fleeing like a criminal. Or like we’re the criminals and the only chance he has to save his own life lies in these few seconds.
“Dad,” I whisper. But he can’t hear me. He can’t hear me because he doesn’t have any ears.
He reaches the front door and pulls it open, stops and listens for any sign that we’ve woken. I reach out to touch him, but my hand passes through his skin. He’s wearing a baseball hat. He had time to put on a hat, but not to kiss me good-bye.
“Don’t leave,” I beg. My legs start sinking through the hardwood floor until only my hips, waist, chest, and head remain. “Daddy, don’t leave. If you leave, I’ll do the thing I’m not supposed to do.”
A storm rages outside our home. I wonder if he planned it this way—to leave with the thunder masking the sound of his engine starting, with the lightning cutting a path from our home to his new, elsewhere life.
The moment he disappears into the night is the second my mom starts screaming. It’s like she can actually feel the absence of my father. The clock chimes again, and the bells grow so loud that I have to cover my ears. I can’t block the sound of my mother, though. That sound has no beginning and no end. It just…is. I’d do anything to make her happy again if only to kill that dreadful noise.
When I look back toward the front door, it’s gone. In its place is a round table with neatly lined knives. All different shapes and sizes, those knives. Gleaming in the moonlight and calling my name.
I don’t want to touch them.
But I must.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Annihilate the Armor
The next night, Poppet, Candy, and I are getting ready. Though I’m still on edge from my fight with Mercy, it’s my dream I can’t stop thinking about. A memory, really, of the thing my father did that led to Wilson’s birth.
I haven’t spoken to my father in five years. He left me alone with my mother. A woman who grew bitterness in her heart and wrapped it in barbed wire. A woman who loved me and demanded I love her back. Oh, how I loved her, Wilson and I both.
Mercy doesn’t pop her head in to ensure we’re dressing. She doesn’t stomp up and down the hallway or clip orders. Best guess is she’s tending to her face, making the cuts and bruises work in her favor. Anything to earn those coins.
Mr. Hodge caught us right after the fight ended and demanded to know whose fault it was. Surprisingly, no one said a word. The girls have all taken sides: Mercy’s, mine, or no man’s land. But regardless of who supports whom, when it comes to Mr. Hodge, we’re an army of ten.
When Candy leaves the room, Poppet turns in my direction.
“Are you sure you don’t want to borrow one of my dresses?” she asks for the fourth time. Poppet hasn’t thanked me for coming to her defense, and I’m terrified it’s because she’s afraid of me. But her offering me a dress says all is not lost.
I glance at the door and think about my plan. I’ve been turning over an idea in my head ever since I made the decision to stay. I need enough money to get my own place, and I want Poppet to get her car. After ensuring no one is listening in, I sit on my bed and lean toward Poppet. “I want to talk to you about tonight. What are your thoughts on teaming up?”
Poppet licks her lips. “How so?”
“There’s only one Point Girl per flower. But maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. If we showed Madam Karina that we work better as a duo, maybe she’ll divide our profits evenly. Then we could share the title of Point Girl and eventually be promoted to Daisies.”
Poppet lowers her eyes. “I can only sing.”
“Poppet, you’re a terrible singer,” I say. “What you do have is personality. Customers are drawn to you because you’re enthusiastic and outgoing. It makes them feel wanted. But you spend so much of your time worried about the microphone that they don’t see it. Tonight, if you agree, you stay by my side. I’ll ensure no one messes with us and use my sketchpad to provide entertainment, and you keep them talking.”
“I’m not that bad of a singer.”
“You’re the worst.”
Poppet laughs. “We’re not close enough for you to say that.”
I smile and nod. “We’re exactly close enough for me to say that. Any less and it would be outrageously rude, any longer and we’d be the kind of friends who lie to each other.”
“I don’t want to lie to you,” she says.
“Okay, so then—”
“My turn to be truthful,” she interjects. “This heavy makeup, these piercings, the wigs…it’s not working for you.”
I cover my heart in mock horror. “How dare you.”
Poppet stands up, grabs my hand. “I accept your proposal. But only if I can give you a makeover.”
“That’s not happening.”
Poppet purses her lips. “Look, if you want to be a team, you have to trust me the way I trust you.”
I don’t trust anyone. We trusted Dizzy and look what happened.
“You get coins because you’re real,” Poppet continues. “You don’t put on an act like the other girls and guests dig that you’re authentic. But you need something more to draw them in.”
I grin. “That’s what you’re here for.”
“Sit down.” Poppet points toward the vanity ottoman. “Either you shed that shell of yours or we don’t have a deal.”
“No dice.”
“Domino, sit down.”
I sit.
She leaves the room and returns with a wet washcloth. “I’m going to remove your makeup. It might take me a while since you’ve been caking new stuff onto old for days. Yeah, I’ve watched your beauty routine.”
I try to feign shock, but I can’t move a muscle. My body shuts down as Poppet scrubs away at my face. I don’t know why I’m letting her do this. I haven’t left the bathroom without my armor in months, ever since I realized how good it felt to have an extra layer between me and the world. But because I don’t want Poppet to be scared of me, and because I know she may be right, I let her work. My heart hammers in my chest, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin.
I feel exposed.
I feel ugly.
“Look how beautiful your skin is beneath all this junk.” Poppet turns the washcloth over.
“Please don’t say that,” I mutter.
“Say what? That you’re beautiful.”
I wince.
Poppet squats down so that her head is near my lap. She looks up at me, lays a hand on my knee. “Domino, it’s okay to be pretty. And it’s okay to be complimented.”
My throat aches with emotion. She doesn’t understand why this is impossible. She wasn’t there when I used my mother’s beauty to lure them in and do unspeakable things. She didn’t hear when Wilson silenced my tears and offered to take over so that I didn’t have to remember.
“I don’t know what happened to you,” Poppet says quietly, “but I know you’re not the only one with a past you’d rather forget.” She holds my gaze. “I’m going to remove the rest of this makeup, okay?”
My bottom lip trembles, but I refuse to cry.
As Poppet wipes away my foundation and moves to my ears, unhooking my piercings with tender hands, she says softly, “Thank you for what you did last night. You were right. The other girls don’t like me. But that doesn’t matter now.” She meets my gaze with uncertainty. “Because I have you. My partner.”
I grab her wrist and she stops unhooking my lip ring. “That’s right, Poppet. You do.”
At that exact moment, Candy strides into the room. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting a moment?” She shakes her head. “Gag me.”
An hour later, Poppet has removed my gold wig, and I’ve washed out my hair. She’s taken a blow dryer and round brush to my mane, and applied lip gloss, blush, and a touch of mascara to my face. Regardless of how many times I plead, she won’t add any more. Candy sits on the bed, blowing bubbles with cherry-scented gum, as Poppet hands me a white dress.
I hand it back to her. “I don’t do white.”
“You do now.”
“Put it on, Minnow,” Candy urges. “Not like you’ll look any worse in that than you do in any other color.”
I smile at Candy, because I know she wants to see the completed makeover.
I point the dress at Candy and then start to pull it on. “For you, Candy dearest.”
“Bite me.” She blows another bubble.
When I’m done, Poppet gives me two silver studs and a pair of nude pumps. Then she walks me over to the mirror.
“We have to go,” Candy says. “We’re going to be late.”
“Can it,” Poppet snaps, surprising up both. “I want to see her reaction.”
She positions me in front of the mirror, and my stomach churns.
I’m completely and utterly exposed. Blue eyes popping, blond hair shining, thin legs showing, small chest heaving. I turn away and fight rising bile. Poppet takes my chin and turns me back toward the mirror.
“Look at yourself,” she says.
I shake my head.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Minnow?” Candy chimes in. “Look in the damn mirror.”
“I already did.”
“Well, look again.”
I do, but only because Poppet worked so hard. When I turn back, I see my parents staring back at me. My mother’s cheekbones. My father’s nose. They’re gone, but I still can’t escape them. Though my mask is removed, I remind myself that my serpent tattoo still vines up my side—a token I got after I left home. A lifeline that tells me I am still me, and that though I’ve done terrible things, I can slither through tall grass unseen if need be.
You know what you look like to me? Wilson says gently. Strong.
Mercy chooses that exact moment to round the corner and stick her head in. The skin surrounding her eye is black and blue, and there are bruises shaped like fingerprints on her neck. She sees me, and her mouth parts. Her eyes run over me for an excruciatingly long time. Then she says, “If you were trying to look like a tramp, then you’ve succeeded.” She pauses. “Time to go. Now.”
Mercy practically jogs down the hallway so that I can’t retaliate.
She shouldn’t worry. Last night, after I attacked Mercy, I stayed up most of the night pushing Wilson away. Because even though Mercy may have deserved a good butt kicking, she doesn’t deserve the things Wilson wanted to do to her.
There’s a big difference between letting Wilson into my head and letting him take control. Last night, I came way too close to letting that second thing happen. And so I vowed, as the other girls slept and my hand ached from smashing into Mercy’s face, that I would never, ever let Wilson out again.
But I’m still here, he whispers. Just in case.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Cowboy
That night, Madam Karina writes a black number 8 on my left hand. Poppet gets marked with a 9. These numbers won’t last long.
My sketchpad and pencils are set up in the corner of the room, and music beats through my veins. The songs are faster tonight, more tumultuous. Maybe because it’s a Thursday night, and we have to remind guests to relax even though the weekend is one workday away.
Mercy says a few words, staring at me the entire time she talks. Then the curtain is pulled back and seven guests file in.
It’s showtime.
I lock eyes with Poppet, and she nods. Pulling her skirts a touch higher than necessary, she bounds in front of the other girls and reaches a guest first. The boy is no older than fifteen, and has angry red acne rolling across his skin. His white sneakers are scuffed and his jeans are torn, and not in a fashionable way. This boy spent what little money he had to come here tonight. He’s the exact person I would have approached, which means Poppet and I are on the same page.
Don’t approach the guests who have money, I had told her.
Why? she’d asked. They’re the ones who can return over and over again.
We don’t need repeats. We need the most coins, every night. To do that, we need to make a scene. Start with the easy ones, then slowly draw the others in.
Working in this house for only four nights has taught me that the town of Pox isn’t a wealthy one. But they say there’s a larger city an hour and a half away where townspeople commute. Close enough to earn a payday, too far to face a long drive home after having
a beer.
Poppet touches the boy on his arms, his shoulders, comments on his striking smile. The other girls watch Poppet from the corner of their eye, surprised by her aggressiveness, but unconcerned because the boy isn’t worth bothering with.
We can’t compete with Mercy and Raquel and the others who have built up a clientele. And though they want new guests, they want them only if they’re easy, or if they have potential to be added to their repertoire.
But the boy with the red hair and fiery skin?
He’s up for grabs.
A part of me feels guilty, like I’m using him. But then I remember he came here to be entertained, to feel special for a little while, and I know the other girls will laugh behind his back and tell stories about his acne after he’s gone. I won’t do that. Neither will Poppet.
She brings him over to the bar, and I inspect the other six guests. Not many tonight, but that doesn’t matter. We only need to secure the most coins. My eyes fall on a young guy and my breath catches. He’s stunning. Mid-twenties, blond hair, blue eyes. He has a deep dimple in his chin, and a lean body. I could imagine a cowboy hat on his head and a stallion between his legs.
He sees me looking and smiles. It’s warm, but guarded, as if he knows he shouldn’t be here. I glance at his ring finger. Sure enough, there’s an outline of a wedding band that the sun hasn’t touched in years. He probably got married young, and the love has died out. Now he’s here, looking to feel wanted again.
I detest him.
I turn away. It’s not like we have a chance at him, anyway. I’ve seen one other young, attractive man come in here, and the girls practically drew blood trying to garner his attention. They’ll want to make a repeat out of this guy if only to see that dimpled chin.
Our redheaded boy now has a drink in his hand, and I’ve taken a seat in front of my sketchpad. Poppet motions toward me, and he nods enthusiastically. He’ll go wherever she goes, but it’s my job to keep him occupied.
“This is Domino,” Poppet says when the two get close. “She’s an artist. She can draw you anything you want.”
“That’s not entirely true.” I offer the boy my hand, and he brings it to his lips. It takes everything I have not to recoil. Nothing personal. It’s just another level of touching, and I’m not even comfortable with the preliminaries. I jerk my hand back to my side. “I take requests, or I can draw you a surprise.”
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