She undressed before the full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. Dust and grime smudged her face, but her body looked clean.
Felicité imagined how some observer might see her. Her slim waist highlighted the curves of her breasts and hips. Her legs were long and elegant, and her shoulders were exactly wide enough. She admired the creamy brown of her skin and the new mahogany of her hair. While Daddy’s blue eyes would have made a striking contrast to her hair and skin, the tilted brown eyes she’d inherited from Mother suited her just as well. But she was glad she’d gotten Daddy’s nose. It was so distinguished. Everyone said she had such a pretty face.
She was perfect.
Gritting her teeth, she turned the mirror to the wall.
Why had she even looked? She used to bathe without thinking about her body. All she’d had to do was turn off the light and think about pleasant things until she was dry and a Norm again.
Kerry’s voice spoke in her memory, lilting with arrogance as she’d bragged about her Change power. “I remember my father saying, ‘You’re going to be the pride of Gold Point.’ And then he picked up one of the roses and put it in a golden vase for everyone to admire.”
Felicité smashed her foot into the water, splashing it all over the floor. Great. That was stupid. She’d have to clean it up herself, or risk stepping in the damned puddle and making those damned scales grow.
She toweled her foot dry and used her dirty clothes to mop the floor, then flung them into a corner for the maid to launder.
The bath was full. She shut the water off, then froze with her hand on the faucet.
Felicité’s belly tightened with horrified anticipation. She faced nothing but a porcelain bath filled with clean water, but she felt as she had when she’d stood with Daddy during the battle of Las Anclas and watched the first Gold Point soldier collapse, writhing and screaming. She’d known what would happen, known she shouldn’t look, and known that if she didn’t close her eyes, she’d see something that would haunt her for the rest of her life. But Felicité had kept her eyes open, and watched obsidian branches burst from the back of the dying soldier, clawing their way upward toward the brightening sky.
Felicité closed her eyes, then stepped into the water.
One foot, then the other. Now the hard part was done. She lay back into the tub. As always, there was a moment of quiet bliss. Some part of her couldn’t help enjoying the simple pleasure of heat and weightlessness, of soft warmth on sore muscles.
Then the Change began.
The first sign was the tiniest prickle, not even painful. Then she tingled all over as silvery scales emerged to disfigure her skin. Her toes and fingers itched as hideous webs stretched between them. Then came the painless but horrifying sensation of her neck splitting open on either side. That was the gills forming.
Felicité tried to force her thoughts away from her monstrous transformation, but it was impossible. A membrane slid over her eyes. The flesh of her nostrils started to pinch together. Felicité needed to move fast if she wanted to get clean. How horrible, if she had to get out, dry off, and then bathe again. She ducked her head underwater and roughly shampooed her hair, trying to think of anything but the terrible secret that she had to keep forever.
She’d think of Henry. He was lovely to think about. He had such nice muscles in his shoulders. She loved to run her hands over them, and down his lean, flat stomach. She imagined them lying in bed together, touching each other. She could smell his scent of clean cloth and fresh sweat. Their hearts beat together, his fast, her slow . . .
Felicité jerked upright, her eyes widening. Her heart was beating slower. She could count one, two, three between beats. Then she felt an even more alarming sensation: behind her ribs, her organs were shifting.
She leaped out of the tub, snatching wildly for the towels. Felicité rubbed them over her body as fast as she could, desperate to drive away the Change.
She’d been such a fool. Ever since she was thirteen and she’d first become a monster, she’d known better than to let herself linger too long in water. If she stayed wet for longer than it took to wash her hair, some horrifying inner Change always started. She knew intuitively that if she let it continue, she would never Change back. She’d be a monster forever, and Daddy wouldn’t just give that look of disgust and loathing to other people. He’d give it to her. She’d never again be Felicité Wolfe, his beloved daughter. She’d be a nameless, hated thing.
Felicité turned the mirror out so the maid wouldn’t wonder. Her skin was still tingling, but her heart beat normally and her organs had returned to their proper places. She forced herself to look in the mirror, afraid of what she might see. But to her relief, though her neck and chest had a few scratches from scrubbing too hard, the monstrous scales were gone.
She was a Norm.
Willing herself to believe, she murmured to the mirror, “You have always been a Norm. The Changed are other people. You will never Change.”
Her chin came up, smooth and elegant. Her brown shoulders straightened. She briskly toweled her hair until it was barely damp, then brushed it until it crackled.
With it swirling nice and dry about her shoulders, she reached for her clean clothes, and a pair of pretty low-heeled sandals.
Felicité tugged at her emerald scarf, making sure it was knotted tight. She would never risk exposing her throat again. Five months after the battle, not a day had gone by that she didn’t remember with horror how she’d begun to Change in the torrential rain. Only quick thinking and luck had prevented Daddy from discovering that she was a monster.
Henry had probably already arrived, so she took the time to walk gracefully toward the stairs. Nothing was wrong. She, like her mother, had poise and style.
Sure enough, Henry stood at the foot of the stairs, looking up at her. She tossed back her glorious hair and straightened her spine.
Henry’s eyes widened with appreciation. She gave her mahogany-hued curls another toss. Good. He was staring at her hair, not her throat. It had been worth every tedious minute she’d spent applying the expensive dye. She was a Norm whose only reason for dyeing her hair that autumnal shade was because it was pretty.
Her parents and her little brother Will had gone out. She had the house to herself. Smiling, she went down to meet her boyfriend.
“Felicité!” Henry greeted her with a passionate kiss. “Wow, you look gorgeous. You’re the prettiest girl in the entire town.” Another kiss. “You know, I wake up every morning and think of how lucky I am that you like me, too. I was so sure I’d pine for you forever, and you’d never even look at me. Let’s go to Luc’s. I want to show you off.”
Felicité loved Luc’s, but even the thought of walking all that way made feet throb anew. “Would you mind if we stayed here?”
“I wanted to dance all night,” Henry protested.
Felicité became aware of the faint sound of music. She opened the parlor windows, and saw a string quartet playing for a neighbors’ party. “We have our own music. It’s more romantic.”
Henry gave in at the word ‘romantic.’ “I could dance with you all night. Here, there, or anywhere.”
His arms closed around her, and she slid her feet out of the sandals. It was so surprising and wonderful how Henry, the class clown, had turned out to be the only true romantic her age. She wondered if she’d never noticed before, or if he’d grown up, or if she’d brought it out in him.
They waltzed around the parlor. Other boys she’d dated had been clumsy or inattentive, but Henry was quick to follow her cues. It was so intimate to dance barefoot, alone with her boyfriend in an empty house. Her blisters only stung a little. She loved the feeling of Henry’s steady hand on her waist, caressing the curve of her waist.
Her dress stuck to her back after his hand moved on. Was she sweating already? A few drops of her own sweat weren’t enough moisture to start her Change, but Felicité had never dared to find out how many it would take.
She stopped danci
ng and patted her face with her lace-edged handkerchief. “Would you like to say hello to Wu Zetian?”
“Sure.” Henry made an exaggerated but graceful bow.
Felicité curtseyed, smiling. She knew from his eagerness what he really wanted to see—her bedroom.
They walked upstairs hand in hand. She lit her favorite scented candles, turned off the light, and sat on her bed, her skirts spread out around her. Henry promptly sat beside her, careful not to crush her skirt. Good. Eager, but not too eager.
“Wu Zetian,” Felicité called.
The golden rat ran out of her petal-pink rat house and rose sweetly on her haunches, her bright gaze fixed on Felicité. She was as clever and beautiful as Felicité’s ancestor, the ancient empress she was named for.
Wu Zetian was as much of a delight to Felicité now as she’d been on the first day they’d met, when Felicité had been taken to the rat trainers as a surprise present for her thirteenth birthday. Felicité had known of the golden rat in the litter, but had never guessed that the beautiful creature was destined for her.
“Wu Zetian is brilliant. As well as a darling.” Felicité daintily kissed the tip of her rat’s nose, then flicked her left pinkie finger. At that signal, Wu Zetian scampered back into her house.
“I wish I was a rat,” Henry said wryly.
Felicité playfully kissed him on the nose. “There. Satisfied?”
“No. But if I were a rat, I couldn’t do this.” He brought her chin up with a finger. “Or this.” He brushed his lips over hers, and Felicité rewarded him with a real kiss.
Henry was as good at kissing as he was at listening. Ignoring her skirts, Felicité adjusted herself so they sat hip to hip. He edged her back until they leaned against her pile of silken pillows. She ran her fingers up his arms. One thing to be said for that interminable drilling—his arms had taken on some enticing definition.
Henry had a light touch in exploring her own curves. She kissed him again, confident that he would not be disappointed in what he found. But the touch of air on skin warned her that he was doing more than just exploring. Three, four of her blouse buttons had come undone, and he was busy on the fifth. Felicité jerked aside.
Henry sat up, then frowned. “Oh, no. Did I do that?”
Felicité’s entire body flashed cold with fear. Dreading what she would see, she looked down. But it was only a few pink scratches across her smooth Norm skin.
Henry leaned forward. “Let me kiss it better.”
She longed to let him, but an echo of the terror she’d felt held her back. She forced herself to chuckle as she buttoned her blouse up to her throat. “Wu Zetian got into my bathroom while I was bathing, and the silly thing scratched me when I took her out.”
Henry grinned, returning his fingers to the buttons. “Lucky Wu Zetian!”
She caught herself tugging at her scarf again, and captured his hand. “I’m not ready for undressing. When I am, I’ll tell you.”
“Or undress me. Which you can do any time.” He gave her a hopeful grin.
Felicité tried to smile back, but it felt hollow. Henry had been so dexterous that she hadn’t caught him until he’d nearly undone her entire blouse. What if those sensitive fingers discovered her scales, or reached up beneath her scarf and found gills? She shivered.
“Are you cold?” Henry asked. “Come here. I’ll warm you up.”
Felicité pulled away. She had no gills. She had no scales. As long as her skin stayed dry, she was a Norm. As long as she never permitted anyone’s naked, sweaty body to press up against her bare skin, she was safe.
“Or just I could undress,” Henry suggested.
“Any undressing has to wait for The One.” She instantly wished she could take back those words. Maybe it was time to offer him dessert downstairs. Better to break up the romantic mood than risk a discussion of The One.
“Who’s The One?” Henry asked.
Felicité read the jealousy in his narrowed eyes and compressed mouth, and enjoyed a little thrill of power. “No one. Yet.”
Henry relaxed and ran his fingers through her silken curls. “He might be me.”
She made herself smile. “You never know.”
“Don’t worry,” he said earnestly. “I won’t push you.”
“I know.”
He went on in that same serious tone, so different from his loud clowning voice. “We’re used to knowing each other as kids at school. But we’re about to graduate, so maybe we should try out what it’s like to be together as adults.”
Felicité stroked his hands, glad to abandon the subject of The One. “I meant to talk to you about that. I’ll be graduating on my birthday. It’ll be a couple weeks after the Ranger selection, so what do you think of my party being for my birthday and graduation, and you becoming a Ranger?”
“Great idea. My family . . .” Henry hesitated. “We don’t really do parties.”
Felicité tried not to let her pity show. Poor Becky might never have had any birthday parties if Felicité hadn’t thrown them for her. Not for the first time, Felicité wished she hadn’t lost Becky’s friendship. If only Becky hadn’t fallen in love with a Changed girl! But Felicité didn’t see any way to make an overture to Becky that didn’t start with an apology for everything she’d said about Changed people and a sincere vow that she wasn’t prejudiced, and she couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t.
Brisa will throw her a party, Felicité assured herself. Becky will be fine. She has other friends now. She doesn’t need me anymore.
That line of thought didn’t feel much better than the first. She was relieved when Henry spoke.
“What I’m really looking forward to is my first patrol as a Ranger,” Henry said. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we fought some bandits?”
“If you’re lucky, you can celebrate that at the party.”
She hadn’t meant to start making out again, but it was so sweet to kiss Henry. He was so good at it. Then he stroked her jaw line, his fingers pushing beneath her scarf. A jolt of alarm thrummed through her nerves, and she pulled away.
Henry let her go at once. Then he leaned toward her, his grin wicked. “Let’s play a game.” He ran his fingers through her hair, making her shiver with pleasure. “It’s called Secrets. I tell you one, you tell me one. Whoever knows a secret that the other one doesn’t gets to kiss them. Anywhere they want.”
“Through clothes.” Felicité recognized the emphasis on that “anywhere.”
“Sure,” Henry said easily.
She loved hearing secrets, but she was sworn not to discuss council meetings or anything involving town business. However, she’d never made any vows regarding people’s personal lives.
“I’ve got one about Indra,” Felicité offered. Handsome Norm Indra Vardam, perfect in every way—except for his taste in girls. He was dating Nasreen now, but Felicité watched him closely, and she was certain that he still secretly pined for the monster, Jennie Riley. “Sujata told me he sucked his thumb until he was seven.”
Henry’s laugh blew back a lock of her hair. “That’s great!”
“My kiss.” Felicité kissed behind his ear. He blushed delightfully.
“My turn. You know how Alfonso Medina got those disgusting gecko fingers?” Henry splayed his fingers in mockery. “His father isn’t his real father. His mother had an affair with a Changed neighbor.”
“And got a monster.” Felicité eyed his crooked fingers, but she didn’t need that cue to put disgust into her voice. A person with reptile features was unnatural and horrifying. “That’s what you get for lying and cheating. Anyway, I knew that. Mother mentioned it one time.”
Henry grimaced. “You know all the town secrets. That’s hardly fair.”
“Tell me one about yourself, then.”
“I have a big one.” He paused, frowning. “I don’t know if I should tell you this. I don’t know what you’ll think.”
Felicité wrinkled her nose, hoping he wasn’t going to tell her that his father,
who had left five years ago to “go trading with the Saigon Alliance,” had no intention of ever coming back. Everyone knew that already, and a depressing secret like that would ruin the mood.
But Henry’s voice was light and teasing. “In school . . . About a month before the battle, I . . .” He hung his head. “I hate to admit it.”
She let him squirm, then laughed. “You put that flying roach in my desk, didn’t you?”
He blushed again. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I mean, I knew it would, but I did it so I could rescue you. I thought it would impress you. It was a stupid idea.”
“You’re forgiven. But no kisses for that!”
He looked adorably rueful, which Felicité found charming. “Okay, your turn.”
Felicité combed through her treasure chest of secrets. Should she share something about herself?
She considered him in the soft darkness, tall and broadening so nicely through the shoulders, his fair hair outlined by the flickering candlelight. Who would have thought he could be so interesting? She wouldn’t have expected his courage in battle, either. When it had been down to the ten of them, running to intercept Voske’s strike team of thirty, Henry had been fearless. Even when the crystal trees—
She wasn’t going to think about the battle.
Henry kissed so well. She steered her thoughts toward that, and smiled into the darkness. “When I was little, I used to pretend something about myself that I thought made me more special. Can you guess what it was?”
“I can’t imagine anything that would make you more special than you already are,” he said fervently.
His wrong answer was even better than the correct one. “I used to imagine that I was a princess.”
“You are a princess,” said Henry. “From now on, that’s what I’ll call you. But only I get to.”
She could tell that his thrill was real. He wasn’t putting on a show of being romantic just to please her—he was absolutely sincere. She kissed him again, then waited eagerly for his secret. But it turned out to be a boring one about her cousin Julio flirting with someone else’s fiancée. Felicité didn’t care about Julio’s unending string of girlfriends. It was time for better secrets.
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