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 again 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.

The sisters sensed her staring and glanced over, their eyes narrowing in unison. Blue waved hello, but instead of acknowledging him, they turned up their noses and hobbled away.

“They’re still so snobby!” Layla exclaimed. “You’d think that amputation would have humbled them a bit.”

“They think they’re special because they avoided getting their eyes pecked out,” Blue said. “But really, it was just their stepsister being nice to them. She let them wear goggles to the wedding. It’s not that the birds didn’t try.”

“Of course not.” Layla sniffed. “Birds are diligent.”

“You know those girls?” Mira asked.

“Not exactly,” Blue said. “We know of them.”

Blue stopped on a corner where the crowd had opened up, outside a Mexican restaurant advertising a happy hour that had long passed. The door was propped open and the buzz of conversation floated out, along with the clink of silverware against dinner plates.

“There are a lot of cursed people we’re not friends with,” Blue continued, still peering ahead, his eyes seeking familiar faces in the crowd. “But we usually recognize an insider when we see one. There are things that make us stand out. Things normal people dismiss, because people believe what they want to believe. The difference with us is that we believe in everything.

“Occasionally we get surprises,” Blue went on. “People who were raised outside and show up unexpectedly—like you. Like Viv’s prince, probably, since there’s no Snow White prince in our generation here.”

“Speak of the devil,” Layla murmured.

Mira stiffened, glancing around apprehensively. What now?

Blue caught her eye and nodded toward a family of four that was ambling through the fair. At first glance, they were beautiful—eyes bright like laughter, summer clothes in sherbet colors. The little boy and girl bounded ahead of their parents—then circled back so as not to lose them. Their handsome father was the picture of contentment. He kept one arm curved lovingly around his wife’s waist. Supporting her, Mira realized. Because the woman was tilting. She could barely stay upright.

The woman shuffled forward like a sleepwalker. Her eyelids drooped; her ruby mouth hung slack. Her skin was the color of ginger, and beaded with sweat. She was still lovely—but it was a cold, sickly loveliness.

“Who is that?” Mira asked. “What’s wrong with her?”

“That’s Gwen,” Blue said. “Another Snow White Somnolent.”

Layla leaned closer to confide the details. “Prince Charming—that’s him—fell in love with her when he saw her in her coffin. But after he woke her and they were married, things weren’t the same. She wasn’t the girl he’d fallen in love with.”

“Yeah, because she was alive,” Blue snorted.

At first, Mira thought he was being flippant. But when his expression stayed hard, she wasn’t so sure. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“Mira, it was an accident that he woke her at all.” Blue stared after Gwen, dark blue brows furrowing. “The prince thought she was beautiful, posed and frozen in her crystal coffin, and he decided to take her home—to keep her, just like she was. But then one of his attendants tripped while they were carrying the coffin, and the jolt dislodged the poison apple that was stuck in her throat—which broke the enchantment. That’s how she woke up.”

“Supposedly,” Layla said, “once Gwen was herself again, the prince found her effervescence unbearable. And Gwen couldn’t deal with losing him; she was already in love with him because he’d saved her. She had a pretty messed-up home life, like most Snow White Somnolents; she didn’t have anyone else. So she let him drug her, to recapture his interest. Because he prefers her barely conscious.”

“Oh god,” Mira said, so stunned she felt sick. “That’s not a life.”

“That’s the point,” Blue said, looking uneasy, too.

Mira watched, helpless to tear herself away, as Gwen and her family disappeared into the crowd. For those few moments that Gwen was still in sight, Mira felt like she was watching a funeral procession: a woman carrying her body to its grave, with the short, shuffling steps of a bride.

“I need to sit down,” Mira said.

Blue cleared a spot for her on the sidewalk and she lowered herself to the concrete, sucking in deep breaths of steamy air. Blue crouched in front of her, a penitent look on his face.

“Should I not have showed you that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe I wasn’t ready to know that things could be that bad. Like, before, I just thought I had to worry about my curse. Pricking my finger, falling asleep.”

“Not how twisted your curse might be.”

Mira nodded. Her lungs felt cottony, full of fear instead of air.

“It won’t be like that for you,” Blue insisted. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find your trigger. You won’t even get that far.”

“And you know Freddie,” Layla said soothingly. “He’s not a bad guy, not even close.”

“But what if I fall asleep somewhere else? Some other prince could wake me. Decades later, even—right?”

Neither Blue nor Layla answered at first. Then they nodded reluctantly and spoke over each other.

“That’s right,” Layla said.

“Right,” Blue said.

“And I’d be asleep. Love at first sight—with an almost dead girl. Delilah mentioned my birthday. That’s so soon. What if something horrible—”

Blue cupped her face in his hands. His skin was hot, snapping her out of her hysteria.

“Hey. Hey,” he said, until she looked at him. Her gaze dragged up from the ground and met his eyes, which were staring into hers like he was trying to reach her—to snatch her back from whatever dark dream she’d fallen into. “That’s not going to happen.”

“You promise?” she whispered, not even sure why she’d said it. Just that she felt vulnerable, and needed someone to reassure her.

Blue laughed good-naturedly, caught off guard. “What good is my promise going to do?” Then he seemed to realize she was serious. “All right,” he said. “I promise.” He glanced at Layla. “Layla—what’s the penalty for breaking a promise? Is there one?”

“Not for promises like this,” Layla said with a smile, like she thought it was sweet.

Mira got to her feet then, embarrassed that she’d come apart. She felt so much younger than everyone here, so naïve. Seeing a sedated princess was nothing new to Blue and Layla. They dealt with this messed-up world every day.

Around them, the mundane world had surged forward to fill in the gaps. A mother struggled to tie a bouquet of helium balloons to her son’s wrist. A girl licked a dot of mustard off her boyfriend’s cheek, and laughed, like she’d surprised herself.

There were nods to the city’s fairy-tale history—a candy apple stand selling apples that had been dipped in glistening red candy on one side, white chocolate on the other, like the half-red, half-white poison apple in the Snow White tale. There was an artist selling bejeweled nightingales in wire cages, and paper-doll ballerinas and tiny tin soldiers. But there were no more scarred beautiful people in view, spreading their pain for everyone to see.

Blue took her hand again—loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted—and she held on like he was her anchor in a world that was swiftly spinning out of her control. She clung to him, damp and heat sealing their palms together, so, so grateful not to be alone.

It was only once they had walked Layla home, and the last light of twilight had faded, that Mira realized how late it was. She and Felix had made plans to search that night—and she’d inadvertently stood him up. She wondered what time he’d given up on her, and whether he’d filled his night with someone else.

There was something about being near Felix that made her feel happier, more alive. So much had changed and become uncertain today; she wanted to talk to him. To feel that good again. She missed him—and while he had every right to be annoyed with her, she hoped he’d understand. This discovery today was bigger than her parents, bigger than romance. It had pushed everything else out of her mind.

She walked nearly shoulder to shoulder with Blue. He was quiet, too—as if he’d had the life-shattering revelation tonight. The lights of the Dream glittered in the distance, and they followed them like two explorers following the North Star.

Muggy, polluted air swirled around them each time a car sped by. On the other side of the four-lane highway, the Palace Casino flashed an incessant neon assault, signs promising entertainment, money to be won, cheap food. Its gaudy pink façade was stacked with turrets and pocked with heart-shaped windows, making it look more like a Japanese love hotel than a casino. Mira recalled Blue’s earlier threat to dump her there. He certainly wasn’t threatening her now.

“You’re not being a jerk,” she said. “You haven’t been for a while.”

Blue’s steps thudded heavily beside hers. His hands were in his pockets, his head bowed. “I guess I lost my enthusiasm for it.”

“It stopped being fun?” She nudged him with her shoulder, not used to his acting so serious.

“Stopped being useful. I don’t know.” He sighed. “I guess I’m confused. I don’t know what to do with you now. How to treat you. You’re not what I thought.”

Mira’s silver flats crunched over a fast-food wrapper. I’m not what I thought either. “What was I before?”

“A normal girl. Someone who was leaving. And I wanted to make sure that you did. That you had a chance to. But now, who knows? You might stay. You want to know things. And I don’t want you to know what I am.”

“You can tell me,” she said. “You can trust me. Or if it’s too hard for you, I can ask Felix.” She meant it as a way to make things easier for him—but he grimaced at the mention of his brother.

“Felix won’t tell you.”

“Yes, he will. Once he knows about me.”

Blue just shook his head. “You don’t know Felix.”

She thought about reminding him that he didn’t know Felix, that the two barely got along—but it seemed pointless. As futile as everything else she tried to tell him about his brother.

When they finally reached the Dream, neither one of them headed toward the doors. Instead, they stood before the Dream’s white marble fountain. Three cupid statues shot arrows of water into the pool below, which was illuminated by pink and red lights. The water splashed down like music, and a subtle melody crept from speakers hidden in the flower beds.

“I used to write songs out here,” Blue said.

“You write songs?” Mira said. “But you can’t even play anything.”

“Of course I can play. I just suck at the drums.”

“You’re …” She shook her head. He just … baffled her.

“What?”

“I was going to say an idiot, but that seemed rude.”

Blue smiled. “I guess. I mean, sometimes I am.”

“Why play an instrument—publicly, in a band—if you’re horrible at it? Don’t you feel like you’re shortchanging people?”

“Not really. I feel like I’m doing them a favor. Freddie has his way of dealing with the groupie situation—being polite and terrified, basically—and I have mine.”

“You’re that worried about groupies? You’re worried too many girls will be obsessed with you? No offense—”

Blue feigned shock. “Did I just hear you say no offense?”

She swatted his arm. “Let me finish. No offense, but isn’t that a little conceited?”

“I’m not worried about girls liking me. I’m worried I’ll like one of them back.”

Two lovers stopped before the fountain—easy to identify because they stood so close to each other and stayed connected with small, affectionate touches while they spoke. Mira watched them, distracted now that she and Blue were no longer alone, and as she did, the lovers wrapped their arms around each other and shared a slow, mesmerizing kiss.

She stared, caught off guard by the display, and the couple, oblivious to anyone but each other, clasped hands and continued down the path to the street.

She realized Blue had gone silent, too. They’d both stopped to watch. And it occurred to her then what his mark might mean.

“Your mark is a heart,” she said, growing surer as she spoke. “A heart means love. You’re some kind of hero—Honor-bound or something. You fall in love.”

“Mira …” Blue stopped and turned toward her, his face tight in an expression she couldn’t place. “Do I seem like a hero?”

“Not really. But—”

“I fall in love,” he said. “But don’t assume anything else. Don’t assume anything good.”

And he walked away from her. Left her standing by the fountain, and pushed through the glass doors to the casino. In an instant, they were separate, apart again, and it was hard to remember what it felt like to be his friend—to feel close like that, to feel like they trusted each other.

Mira sat down on the rim of the fountain. The marble ledge was damp, and mist sprinkled her skin. Coins shimmered under the water like fish scales. She counted them, each one a wish, and wondered how love could be anything but good.