by Sarah Cross
“Frederick! Freddie Knight!” the man called. “Hey, buddy—I have something for you; open up.”
Freddie seemed disoriented; he scrambled out of the car, struggling to get a polite smile on his face. “Mr. Phan,” he said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were … am I in your way?”
“Not at all, not at all! Take a look at this.” Mr. Phan produced a ragged-edged vintage movie poster and showed it to Freddie. “What do you think this would set you back—normally, if you got it from an antiques dealer and not from a friend? Give me an estimate.”
“Um …” Freddie faltered.
Mira heard the house door bang open again, followed by Layla’s shoes clattering quickly down the driveway. When she reached Mira, instead of continuing on toward her father, Layla linked arms with her, and leaned her head on Mira’s shoulder like she wanted to hide there. “Oh dear god,” she muttered. “You’re about to see the salesman in action.”
“What do you think—one hundred, two hundred dollars? Either of those would be a deal. A steal, even.” Mr. Phan leaned in, an easy confidence in his movements. “But I’ll give it to you for eighty dollars. That’s practically free!”
“Um, you see, I don’t—I don’t exactly have that much cash on me,” Freddie fumbled, eyes darting toward Layla with a save-me vibe. “So while it’s a generous offer …”
“You know what?” Mr. Phan clapped Freddie on the shoulder. His face broke into a charming smile. “I trust you. You’re good for it, if anyone is. You can pay me the rest later. How much do you have on you now? Fifty? Don’t tell me Philip Knight lets his boys walk around penniless! That would be a disgrace!”
“No, I have money—I mean—” Freddie stammered. He was already getting his wallet out, though he still looked like he wanted someone to save him.
“Aren’t you going to intervene?” Mira whispered.
“I would,” Layla whispered back, “but we really do need the money. So I’m just going to leave my dignity on the driveway, and then go hide under my bed and try to pretend this never happened.”
Freddie was counting out bills from his wallet now—he ended up giving Layla’s dad fifty dollars in exchange for the old poster.
“Here you go,” Mr. Phan said. “Enjoy it. I can’t believe I gave you such a bargain. I’ve got a soft spot for you, I guess. You remind me a little of myself.”
“Oh, er, thank you,” Freddie said, stuffing his empty wallet back in his pocket. He tossed the movie poster into the car without looking at it, like he didn’t want to be reminded that he’d dropped fifty bucks on it—and still owed thirty more. “Good to see you, sir.”
Mr. Phan’s eyes found Layla. He grinned. “Hey, baby! Guess what I brought you? You don’t think I’d come home without a present for my girl, do you?”
Layla cringed. “Dad, I told you to stop bringing me things every time you go somewhere. We don’t have the money.”
“What’s this, eh?” Mr. Phan fanned out the bills in his hand. “Looks like money to me. You let your dad worry about the bills. He’s got everything under control. Now close your eyes.”
Sighing, Layla did as she was told—but Mira could see the tension on her face. “Dad … I’m serious. You have to stop.”
Layla’s dad sauntered over, as upbeat as Layla was down. Drawing a slim jewelry box from his pocket, he opened it to reveal a pearl pendant, then undid the clasp and secured it around Layla’s neck. She shuddered when the pearl touched her collarbone.
“Not jewelry …” she protested.
“Don’t worry so much,” Mr. Phan scolded. “Tonight’s going to be my lucky night at the tables. You’ll see. Nice doing business with you, Frederick!” he called over his shoulder. “Bring that other thirty when you get a chance!”
Once her dad finally disappeared into the house, Layla let out a sigh and yanked off the necklace. “Here, Freddie,” she said, forcing it into his hand. “Pawn it or something. You can probably get eighty dollars for it.”
“No, really, Layla,” he said, pushing the necklace back at her. “It’s okay. I wanted that poster. It’s—your father gave me a good deal.”
“You’re just being nice,” she mumbled, sagging against his car.
“So let me be,” he said, lightly touching her arm. “It’s no big deal.”
Layla pressed her palms to her face. “Don’t pity me. Please. That makes it worse.”
“If I pitied you, don’t you think I’d slay Rafe and make him into a carpet for you?”
Layla laughed a sniffly laugh, and Mira realized the girl was crying. Layla hid it well—her eyes didn’t get red and swollen. She was as pretty as ever—just with two perfect tears sneaking down her cheeks. Wiping them away, she said, “Okay … maybe you should pity me a little.”
Freddie smiled. “That’s better.”
“Thanks for your help, Layla,” Mira said, stepping around to give her a hug.
Layla hugged back. “Anytime. Don’t be a stranger, okay? It gets lonely in this crazy house.”
“I’ll come back,” Mira said.
“Is that a promise?” Freddie asked.
“Uh—I guess.” Mira eyed him oddly. “Why?”
“Well, if it is … then you should stay away from Felix. Or you might break your promise. Inadvertently.”
Mira glared at him until he averted his eyes. Freddie shrugged, as if she couldn’t blame him for saying it. And the sad thing was, she couldn’t; a chill had gone through her at his words. Because he was right. She did have to be careful now. And she was afraid.
By the time they got back to the Wilder mansion, Rafe was awake. Practice began in violent, cacophonous earnest, and after an hour of playing audience, Mira left to sit in the rose garden outside. Curses & Kisses was half good (Jewel and Freddie), one-quarter okay but too full of pelvic thrusts to be enjoyable (Rafe), and one-quarter intentionally offbeat and horrible (Blue).
In the garden, the atmosphere was different—serene and romantic. It was the perfect place to get lost or hold a secret rendezvous. Roses bloomed everywhere, in nearly every color: red for love, pink for romance, white for innocence, lavender for enchantment.
If the tales were true, one day, a single stolen rose would seal Layla’s fate. Too noble for her own good, the girl would trade her freedom for her father’s and agree to live with the wretched Beast. And if Mira’s curse took hold, one day, a bower of roses would form her prison—a coffin of thorns instead of glass. And yet the associations didn’t frighten her. She felt at peace sitting on the stone path that wound through the garden, inhaling the heady blend of perfumes.
By sunset, Mira was propped against the base of a Greek goddess statue, deep inside the garden. She was reading one of the skinny paperbacks she always had in her purse, barely aware of the fading light, when Blue dropped a ruby into her lap.
She closed her book, startled.
Seeing him—the blue hair, the violent jewelry, the sharp expression—was more of a shock than it usually was. Because now when she looked at him, she could see inside him, too. Deep into the secrets he didn’t want anyone to know.
For the past few hours, Mira had done her best to put the word Romantic out of her mind. But she couldn’t ignore it when he was right in front of her.
“Technically, that’s yours. Jewel dropped it when she was talking about you. It’s kind of our rule.” Blue sat down across from her, flipping her book up so he could see the cover.
Mira tried to play along. “What was she saying about me?”
“None of your business, nosy. Nah, actually, she was counseling Freddie.”
She sighed. “Oh … Freddie drove me to Layla’s, and we … we didn’t get along like he’d hoped we would.”
“Yeah, I was there for that part of the counseling session.”
They fell silent. It was useless to pretend they could make small talk while the weight of Blue’s confession hung between them. A hush fell over the garden. Even the birds had ceased their evening song
. Not a sound reached them from the street; no voices carried from the house. It was as if the whole world was waiting for him to speak.
Blue drew his knees up. He reached back to mess with the spikes on his head. “So … you talked to Layla?”
Mira nodded, heart in her throat. “She told me about Romantics. The reason you think I’m in love with Felix—”
“Is because you wouldn’t have been that weak if you weren’t in love with him. Romantics can only …” Blue kept his eyes on the stone path, tracing one finger through the grooves. “We can only take love that’s freely given. That’s meant for us. That’s why …”
“That’s why you make sure no one gets close to you,” she realized. Why you can be so cold, rude, confusing … “You’re afraid of that.”
“Sometimes, you don’t know,” he said. “You can underestimate the depth of someone’s feelings. Or be caught up in how good it feels to be near them. When it first happens … you’re not sure how much of that feeling is natural—you know, happiness. And how much is the euphoria you get from stealing love. All you know is you never want it to end … and when you’re lost in it, you can take too much, too fast. And that’s dangerous. So I try to avoid it. To never get to that feeling in the first place.”
He was nudging a piece of grit along the grooves between the stones. Focusing on it instead of her. Like maybe it was easier to be honest when you could pretend the other person wasn’t there.
“I killed a girl,” he said. “At my sixteenth birthday party.”
Mira’s breathing stopped. She waited, her chest growing tighter—but she didn’t move. Didn’t dare.
“I was in love with her. Like, the kind of love you fall into when you fall for the first time. I watched her for years, but … I knew what I was—I always knew. So I never tried to win her over. And then it just … happened. She liked me anyway. More than liked me. And I got stupid, I gave in to it, but I—I didn’t expect it to happen so fast. For her to … for it to be over … so fast,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t try hard enough. I didn’t act like I did when I first met you. I thought if I didn’t ask her out, if I was busy when she wanted to do something … that would be enough. But I had a hard time not showing her how I felt. It’s just, it’s natural for us—for Romantics. We fall in love, and we want to make you happy so badly, to give you what you most want, need, desire … it’s like this selflessness that’s the ultimate selfishness. Because we do it all so we can have you. We need that … love. But once we have it, it means we have to lose it. And we don’t like letting go.”
Her heart ached for him. She didn’t want it to be true. Didn’t want to believe that he was doomed—along with anyone who loved him. Blue didn’t deserve that. No one did.
And … if Romantics were doomed, what did that mean for her and Felix?
“Isn’t there some way around it?” she asked.
“It’s our curse,” he said bitterly.
“But … there has to be a way. You can’t live without love.” It sounded trite, but she meant it. A loveless life would destroy a person. She’d been yearning for things she couldn’t have long enough to know. “It’s not healthy to lock up your emotions and push everyone away from you.”
“That’s true,” he said. “I can’t live without love—without stealing it. Without feeding off it. Do you know that it’s compulsive? That it’s like breathing? I’ve been holding my breath for a long time. Over a year since—”
She nodded so he didn’t have to say it. She knew the words hurt him.
“But as far as it not being healthy … it’s not healthy for me to kill someone I love either.”
“But if you’re careful,” she insisted, “if you stop yourself in time, like Felix did with me, couldn’t you … ?”
“Couldn’t I what? Couldn’t I be like Felix? I don’t want to be like Felix. I don’t ever want to be like Felix.” Blue’s eyes were dark, like a river at night. In the harsh light of sunset, the pupil and iris blended together, hardening his gaze.
“Relax,” she murmured.
“I can’t,” he said.
“What will happen if you … if no one ever loves you again? If you don’t breathe like that again?”
From somewhere beyond them, she heard a door slam. The hum of insects stirring. A peal of Jewel’s laughter floated on the warm, rose-scented air.
“I’ll die,” he said. “I’ll finally be punished. And it’ll be long overdue.”
Once upon a time, he believed he could be the exception.
He wasn’t a hero; he knew that. But years ago, he and Freddie had saved a life.
They’d been inching toward thirteen, too impatient to sit quietly in the car while Mr. Knight dealt with some business in the bank—so they were hitting each other with toy swords, using the seat backs as shields.
But then Freddie busted a knob off the dashboard. He was trying to fix it while Blue played lookout, when Blue spotted the girl.
At that age, hardly any of their friends were marked. Renee had yet to become Jewel; Rafe’s best claim to beastliness was an obsession with girls’ bra straps. But they knew enough to recognize a curse when they saw one.
Beau Rivage was in the grip of a cold snap, and that evening, the wind blew bitterly—but the teenage girl he saw wore nothing but shorts and a thin T-shirt. She crouched in the shadows, in an alley between two buildings. every so often, there was a flicker of light before her eyes: a tiny flare that trembled and then faded, making the evening gloom seem darker by comparison.
She was freezing, likely starving—and lighting match after match, entranced by the beauty of the flame.
“Freddie!” he hissed, his heart pounding with excitement. “look. A Match Girl.”
Freddie abandoned the knob to peer through the windshield, just as another match flared. “Ohhhh!” he exclaimed. “let’s help her!”
They scrambled out of the car and stopped at the mouth of the alley. This close, the girl wasn’t an obvious Damsel: she didn’t have the fine features of a Cinderella, whose regal bone structure would be evident even under a layer of soot. The Match Girl was dirty and desperate, her hair a greasy tangle, a sour odor emanating from her clothes.
She was marked to suffer, and then be extinguished without fanfare.
But Blue refused to let that be her destiny.
He crept closer until he was a handsbreadth away from her. He grabbed her box of matches and she gaped at him, bewildered at first—but he knew if he didn’t take it, she’d keep lighting the matches until she died, too absorbed by the dancing flame to do anything else.
They helped her stand; supported her as they brought her to the car. Then Blue darted through traffic to a fast-food restaurant across the street, where he bought her dinner, and a hot chocolate, and they set forth on their quest to rehabilitate her.
The Match Girl became their pet project. They harassed Mr. Knight until he agreed to bring the girl home, where Freddie’s mother ran her a bath and gave her fresh clothes, complaining only once in her overdramatic voice that if the girl had brought lice into the house, she (the sensitive Mrs. Knight) would be “done for, simply done for.”
The Knights kept the Match Girl as a lodger for a few weeks (the family’s heroic legacy made it hard for them to say no) and Blue and Freddie tended to her the only way they knew how: they made pests of themselves. They drew her out of her shell with board games, staged sword fights, bad impromptu rock concerts, until she was healthier, and smiling, and no longer drawn to self-destruction like a moth to a flame.
The day they said good-bye to her was a moment of triumph for all three of them. They’d fought for her, and they’d saved her—a girl who’d been doomed by her curse; and for years afterward, Blue had clung to that memory as proof that destiny could be overcome.
He’d thought he had a chance, too. That if he was vigilant and determined, he could fight his own fate. He’d believed it with the pure heart of an idealist, a child who’d never
been tested.
Now he knew better.
He wasn’t a hero; wasn’t anything close. He was every bit as dangerous as his curse intended him to be.
He couldn’t hope to be good. All he could hope for was the strength to resist temptation—until his life flickered out like one last match.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVENING BLURRED INTO NIGHT. The stars were bright above her as Mira traipsed through the foam at the edge of the beach, leaving footprints in the damp sand. Jewel, Viv, Rafe, and Blue sat farther up the beach, talking. But she couldn’t hear them. All she could hear was the sea.
She’d spent the whole day with Blue and his friends, away from Felix, away from her search for her parents’ graves. Secrets flowed toward her and away, like the tide. She felt like she had learned so much—and yet there was still so much she needed to know.
Where were her parents buried? What was her trigger? Who was Felix—really? And what would become of her, now that she loved him?
Maybe she would never find her parents’ graves. Maybe all she could expect to find—here, or anywhere—was herself. But the one thing she hadn’t expected to find was a kiss that could destroy her. A kiss that—if it hadn’t ended in time—could have been her last.
She shivered all over at the memory. Both terrified and wanting it to happen again.
She hadn’t expected to feel so connected to Blue either. He’d killed a girl who was in the same position she was in—young, and in love for the first time. The parallel didn’t elude her. But she wasn’t afraid of him—she felt bad for him. She knew what it was like to lose someone.
Stepping carefully over driftwood and broken shells, she made her way to where Freddie crouched with his two older brothers at the edge of the sea.
The Knight brothers looked remarkably similar, except for their coloring and their expressions. All three had their pants rolled up to their knees. One brother, whose face was even more guileless than Freddie’s, waded into the water, humming a little under his breath as he went.
Mira sat down on the piece of driftwood they were using as a bench, and Freddie introduced her. His oldest brother, who had dark brown hair and a smug air about him, was Wills; the boy already waist-deep in the ocean, sort of floundering in the waves, was Caspian. His hair was as black as the water at night.