Three Kinds of Damned

by May Dawson

  Cax returns from the stationmaster, four tickets in his hand, his lips puckered slightly as he whistles. Stelly snatches the tickets from him, and he frowns at her.

  “Remember the time you lost all of our tickets home from skiing?” she demands. “And there were no more seats available and we ended up walking six miles in the snow?”

  “Do we need to tell that story to Tera?”

  I look past Airren, trying to figure out what he saw that he’d seen that made him turn suddenly protective and bossy and secretive. The stationmaster is helping a woman in a blue jacket whose curly-haired toddler twins keep running off, so she has to stop to scoop up one urchin and then the other. Next to them, a man sipping from a metal coffee mug is perusing the newsstand. The little shop behind him advertises Sandwiches—Tea—Cakes.

  “Do you think I have a problem with cake?” I don’t feel amused, and my voice sounds as flat as I feel.

  Then the man carries his newspaper to the cashier, calling out a greeting. Behind him, I see my face looking out from the glossy cover of a magazine. It’s me as a girl, with my long blond hair in a braid draped over one shoulder and a scarlet-trimmed black blazer. It’s my school photo. Blazoned across my chest on the magazine cover are the words Return of the Donovans?

  Let’s just pretend I didn’t see that. I desperately want to get my hands on that magazine. Actually, I want to get my hands on every copy of that magazine and incinerate them, although that might not make me look like a good guy either.

  But I also don’t want to ruin our little expedition. I swivel to face Airren, whose gaze is worried and intent.

  “I think you should eat all the cake you want,” Airren says. “We could buy some on the train.”

  “Only if you eat some too.” When I touch his abs through his shirt, the hard ridges of muscles contract under my touch. I can’t tell if he’s flexing or just responding to my touch, but my anxiety eases enough that I can smile. “You look ridiculously perfect. It’s not fair.”

  Airren’s relief is evident in the smile tugging at the corners of his handsome mouth.

  “You want to talk about things not being fair, Tera?” He skates his thumb across the curve of my jaw, his gaze intent. “Let’s talk about an off-limits freshman having this face.”

  I touch my cheekbone, eying him skeptically. “This face? What about this face?”

  Stelly groans. “The two of you flirting is legitimately the most painful thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t think frosh/upperclass relationships should be banned, but this? This should definitely be illegal.”

  The rumble of the train interrupts our flirting, Stelly’s complaining, and my secret angst over the magazine cover. Still, as I follow the crowd toward the train when it lumbers to a stop, I can’t help thinking I should have snuck into this world under a fake name. There’s no good reason why I came back as Tera Donovan.

  At least, there’s no good reason from my perspective. But I don’t think I was brought home from exile as an act of kindness. Radner talks about making myself useful, but I think someone, somewhere, always had an idea of how I could be useful. That thought hangs like a shadow over my head, every day.

  Airren jumps onto the steps up to the train and turns to offer me his hand. Cax follows me, as if the two of them are intent on protecting me from everything from murderous wizards to tripping on thresholds.

  I take Airren’s hand, even though I don’t need help up the stairs, because I like how warm and hard his palm is against mine. When I reach the top of the stairs, he draws me alongside him into the narrow space between cars. As my cheek brushes the sleeve of his stiff shirt, I breathe in the spicy scent of his aftershave.

  I stumble, and he catches me with a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm and confident. I’m strangely light on my feet as I follow Stelly into the car. Does his aftershave contain some kind of aphrodisiac? Because damn.

  We enter a car that’s all brass and dark wood. Pairs of brown leather seats face each other, with small wooden tables between. Stelly slides in and pats the seat next to her, and I sit next to her, even though I can hear Airren grumble. He pauses in the aisle so Cax can go in first, although Cax eyes him and sighs before he scoots in.

  Stelly plucks a café car menu from beneath the window and hands it to me. “Let’s get drinks.” Her tone takes on a playful note. “Airren was so thirsty back in the station.”

  Airren cuts his eyes at her, but Stelly is uncowed by his obvious irritation.

  “Airren is always thirsty.” Cax says. “Beneath that buttoned-down exterior beats the heart of a natural-born party animal.”

  “And here I thought shopping was going to be the worst part of this trip,” Airren says drily. “I forgot that the worst part was going to be not one, but two Romans who never stop talking.”

  “You love us,” Stelly says. “You’re like our adopted, perpetually angry, older brother.” To me, she says, “Airren always comes home for Christmas with us. You’ll have to come home with us too.”

  “Oh.” I’d imagined I’d knock around an empty dorm, eating granola bars and reading in blissful quiet. But of course that can’t happen; my body guards aren’t leaving me alone anytime soon. I wonder what Mycroft is doing right now without the rest of us. Of course, Mycroft has his own life. Or had one, before I showed up and his life began to revolve around keeping me safe. “Does Mycroft come too?”

  Cax’s eyes sharpen, as if he’s intrigued that I wonder about Mycroft. “No. He spends the holidays with his mom.”

  “He wouldn’t leave her alone. Not after losing Ric,” Stelly explains. “We’re going to have so much fun over Christmas. Dad’s still holding out—he’s a traditionalist and he loves having us all home with snow and a fire and eighty-seven fattening meals in a four-day span—but I think I’ve convinced Mom and Papa we should spend the holiday sailing in the islands. Sun! Beach! Booze!”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly what you said to convince Mom,” Cax says.

  Stelly rolls her eyes. “You were no help.”

  Cax shrugs.

  “Papa and Dad?” I ask.

  “Oh.” Stelly looks around as if she hasn’t realized it’s anything unusual until this moment. “Mom is married to two men. We call Ander ‘Papa’ and Evan is ‘Dad.’ They were both Marines, like Airren, until Mom roped them down, but now Ander’s a professor at the university and Evan is her vice president.”

  “And your mom owns a company,” I fill in from what we’ve talked about before.

  “A big, big tech company.” Stelly shakes her head. “Cax is escaping into the Marines, but my mom is always trying to recruit us.”

  Cax crosses one leg over the other impatiently. “Are you really complaining? Have some sense of perspective.”

  “I hate when you lecture me,” she reminds him.

  “I hate that I always need to lecture you,” he shoots back.

  Stelly shakes her hair back impatiently and looks at me as if she’s pointedly ignoring her brother. “Have you ever been sailing?”

  I grew up near the coast, but we lived inland a few miles, and my father did not take me to the beach. I shake my head, remembering how much I loved my rare visits to the shore, the way the air smelled like salt and the sun warmed my shoulders, raising freckles. I was always fascinated by the paradox: how the sun glinted blindingly bright off an infinite, dangerous ocean, as children ran splashing through the frothy waves lapping the shore.

  “We are going to have so much fun!” Stelly is all exclamation points, all the time, and her bubbly enthusiasm reminds me I have the personality of a bored toad. But her energy is infectious. The invitation leaves me smiling, even if the idea of spending the holidays with someone else’s family is a swift knife through the heart.

  There’s a prickle down the back of my spine. Someone’s watching me. I look up, and my eyes meet the woman sitting across the aisle from us. In her hand is a glossy magazine, and my face smiles out from the cover.

  Althou
gh my heart begins to pound, I raise my hand in a friendly wave. When I turn back to the table, the mood has changed. Airren shifts forward, as if he’s ready to launch himself out of the seat at whatever threat appears, but this threat isn’t something he can punch into submission.

  “It’s all right,” I tell them. My eyes flicker to Airren. I want to ask him why the hell I had to come here as Tera Donovan. I think he knows more than he tells me. But the afternoon held a lightness before I saw the cover, with the whimsy of taking off on the train for a last-minute shopping trip, and I don’t want to lose that.

  Before the train comes to a stop in Wolrich, Stelly is already pushing me ahead of her out of the seats. She practically vibrates with excitement.

  Once we leave the station and cross a few sunny roads to a wide, pedestrians-only cobblestone street lined with shops, I realize that Stelly had a plan all along for our bodyguards: they’re meant to make themselves useful as pack mules.

  In the dress shop, Stelly crowds into a dressing room with me. My lips curl up, because I’m both uncomfortable with her familiarity and touched by it.

  She pulls a shiny, emerald green dress off the hanger and shakes it at me. “This one first.”

  When I peel off my t-shirt and jeans, she gasps. I look up quickly, worried about what she’s seen that made her react that way. Those old scars? Even as my mind races, my hands automatically fold my jeans and place them on the overstuffed pink poof of an ottoman in the corner.

  “Your bra is a travesty,” she says.

  “Is that all?” I touch the strap. I bought it at a thrift store too, which is definitely not my first choice for lingerie. But in terms of priorities in my old life, meals came before pretty underthings.

  She reaches out and cups my breasts. “Good thing those are fucking gorgeous, but you need some better supporting materials to work with.”

  I slap her hands away, laughing. “You are ridiculous.”

  “You wait until my brother gets his eyes on those,” she says.

  “I can hear you!” Cax calls from right outside the dressing room, where Stelly instructed the boys to wait. “Good lord.”

  “You’re going to say that again when you see Tera’s breasts!”

  “Stop,” I hiss, but I can’t help laughing at her too.

  I step into the puddle of gorgeous green fabric she holds out. The fabric whispers over my skin, feeling cool and lush.

  She steps back, her eyes appraising, and her lips widen as if she’s satisfied. “Go show the boys. I’m going to tell the fitter we need lingerie help ASAP.”

  “I’m pretty sure I can afford a pair of panties here,” I mutter.

  “Your money’s no good around me, Tera. I’m still making up for the heinous greeting when we met.” She pulls a face.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I won’t.” She opens the door and takes a step out. “As long as you don’t worry about the bill. Do it for me, it’ll make me feel better.”

  I don’t like owing anyone, but at her pout and her fluttering eyelashes, I shake my head and smile.

  I follow her out of the dressing room, the skirt swishing around my legs, and then pull a face at Airren and Cax. The two of them sit on a long, tufted bench between the dressing rooms, amid three-way mirrors and rows of fluffy dresses. Airren has his elbows braced on his knees, staring at his knit-together hands like he’s deeply fascinated by his thumbs. Cax glares at Stelly as if he doesn’t appreciate the commentary on my breasts.

  Then the two of them look up at me. Cax’s eyes widen, and then he grins slightly. Airren’s eyes wander and then snap back to me again. I’ve gotten their attention.

  Feeling suddenly ridiculous, I grab a handful of shiny skirt and curtsy. As I bend forward toward them, one leg tucked behind the other, like an eight-year-old pretending to meet the Crown, I realize that I am a total idiot. Now I look as stupid as I felt on the inside.

  Straightening, I see myself in the mirror beyond them. The emerald green dress wraps around every curve. I’ve always felt like I had all the curves of a tree trunk, my hips barely wider than my narrow waist, but in this dress, my breasts seem round, with a dimple of cleavage, above my nipped-in waist. The fabric flares below my knees, in contrast to the way it hugs my skin before that. My shoulders and breasts look very white and very naked, and I want to tug the bodice up a little higher.

  Airren and Cax stare at me like I’m the most gorgeous thing they’ve ever seen.

  I drop my shoulders and flash them a smile. “Do I look okay?”

  “Yeah,” Airren says, his voice rough. “You look okay.”

  I glance past them again, feeling their eyes on me anyway. I’ve gotten used to thinking of my hair as mousy blonde earth-side, but right now, it looks sun-streaked and luminous as it falls in loose waves over my shoulders.

  “There must be some kind of magic in the mirrors,” I say with a smile, shrugging one shoulder, as I turn to head back into the dressing room.

  “No,” Airren manages. “Not after the Magic in Commerce Act of 1998. You’ll cover that in class eventually, I’m sure.

  Cax laughs, and then it turns into the fakest cough that he smothers with his palm.

  “What?” Airren demands of Cax.

  But Cax ignores him, jumps to his feet and crosses to me. I take a step back, bumping into the side of the dressing room. I’m not scared. It’s just because he’s startled me, and I don’t want to do the wrong thing.

  I’m not great with people. This boy, with his blond hair tumbling into his vivid green eyes and his kissable lips, is definitely people. Suddenly I have people who matter to me. It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

  He stops abruptly, his lips parting in surprise. His hand rises toward my cheek, but then he hesitates. “I just was going to tell you that it wasn’t the mirror.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  I have the distinct feeling I’ve ruined what would have been a sweet moment.

  He tucks his hands into his pockets. His shoulders rock forward, and he gives me a faint smile before his gaze drops to the ground. “You’re a pretty girl,” he says, and then turns and heads back toward Airren.

  For a few long seconds, I hesitate. Airren looks up at Cax, his blue eyes wary under his thick black eyebrows.

  “Sorry,” I say, a beat too late, to Cax’s broad back. He’s wearing a gray wool vest, the vest from a three-piece-suit, over a black T-shirt. It would look ridiculous on anyone who wasn’t Cax, but on him, it clings in all the right places to his broad-shouldered, tall-and-narrow frame. He makes it look stylish. And the dark wash jeans he wears fit him just right too.

  “You don’t need to be sorry.” Cax glances over his shoulder. His eyes meet mine evenly as he turns to face me again, his hands still buried deep in his pockets. “You apologize too much.”

  I’m on the verge of saying sorry again when I stop myself. “It’s a survival skill.”

  Cax’s eyes widen. I feel my cheeks flush, and I retreat to the dressing room, swinging the door closed between the boys and me. I stare at the polished wooden door between us until I realize then can still see my feet, and then I back into the corner of the dressing room. It’s ridiculous; my feet don’t need privacy. But I don’t know what else to do with myself. I’m just going to hide in the corner and wait for Stelly to rescue me.

  Then maybe I can wait for the boys to forget how awkward I am. Maybe I should spend the rest of the freshman year in this dressing room. I wonder if I can get pizza delivery. As I rake my fingers through my hair, I can’t stop thinking about the flash of hurt on Cax’s face. Christ. I fail at being a girl.

  The toes of Stelly’s black boots appear a second before she knocks on the door. “Let me in, beautiful bosoms. I brought the fitter.”

  My cheeks blaze even hotter as I swing the door open. Stelly’s eyes meet mine and then widen. As she steps in, she turns and swings the door shut on a surprised woman with a measuring tape hanging around her nec
k. “We need one minute!” Stelly calls over the top of the door, then turns to me.

  “Your face looks…” she whispers. “What did those dumb oafs do now?”

  “They didn’t do anything.” I shake my head. “I am just supremely socially awkward.”

  “I love that you used the word supremely.” Her voice is louder than I care for, knowing the guys are close enough to hear. “You own that. Be socially awkward. Tell people what you really think. Avoid—“

  “People by cowering in the dressing room while you name my breasts?” I whisper back hotly.

  She grins. “Were you cowering?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry I called you beautiful bosoms.” She opens the door for the fitter. “Come on in and meet the supreme shelf.”

  The fitter crowds in with us. Stelly mimes me spinning around, then begins to unzip my dress. When I step out of the puddle of luxurious fabric, the cool air raises goosebumps on my arms, and I wrap my arms around my chest. Just what I need right now: to feel even more exposed. She’s given my cleavage one nickname after another, and I don’t know what to make of it. Is she being mean? Or is this just Stelly’s usual brashness and big personality?

  “Arms out,” the fitter says. I spread out my arms, feeling awkward and silly, and the fitter measures quickly and efficiently around my breasts, rib cage and hips. When she kneels and her fingers brush my inner thigh, so she can measure my inseam, I can’t help but jump.

  Stelly rattles off a list. “She needs sports bras, full-coverage, demi-cup, and strapless. Two of all the blah essential colors, black, nude and white, and then one of each of the fun ones.”

  Anxiety tightens my chest. “I don’t need all that.”

  “Now I’m apologizing for them too.” She jerks her thumb at the boys, unseen on the other side of the door. “So let me do what I’m going to do, Tera.”

  “I told you they didn’t do anything.”

  “But you’re upset.” Her eyes are wide, worried.

  Maybe I misread her teasing. I’m too quick to be suspicious, and I wish I could be someone else—someone who could appreciate handsome men and easy friendships. I bite down hard on my lower lip.