Chapter Ten
3 Years, 51 Weeks, 2 Days
I cry profusely for approximately two decades after Kayla and Wren leave. And then I get over it. People are way too dramatic all the time.
Just look at Hollywood—there’s drama around every corner. And kale. Hollywood really loves kale. And like, babies. God forbid science ever makes a baby out of kale within five hundred miles of Los Angeles, because then it will be war, with Gucci guns and heavily armed limo drivers and I would put all my betting money on Vin Diesel and the Rock, who would obviously team up and become the ultimate kale-baby rescue team, with me as their outfit coordinator–slash–witty sidekick.
“Isis, I feel the need to inform you that you’re being weird out loud again,” Diana says, picking a daisy and putting it in my hair.
“Having friends who love you for who you are must be so cool,” I muse. Diana laughs and picks another daisy, weaving together a chain.
“I’m just glad you’re talking to yourself again. You seemed kind of down the last few weeks. Even Yvette noticed it.”
“No.” I act shocked. “Our very own blockheaded, emotionally stunted Goth grump? Noticing how I feel? Preposterous.”
“You haven’t been eating a lot.”
“Debatable. Some very enlightened yoginis consider air food.”
“You stay up all night.”
“Studying! For midterms!” I protest. “Unlike you, some of us have to prepare to get our asses kicked.”
“And you’ve been hanging around with—” Diana frowns. “Well, with people who don’t really seem your type.”
“Oh pishposh.” I wave. “Heather’s a perfectly nice girl. Except for the part where she started a fight for me.”
She stares at me expectantly. I throw my hands up.
“Fine, and the guys! John, and Tyler, and Kieran, and Erik! They’re all nice guys! And it’s just hanging out!”
Diana frowns. “I just thought…what happened to that guy Yvette told me about? Model McFarter or something. The one we saw you talking with at the concert?”
“Who?” I ask airily, inspecting my fingernails.
“You know who.” She glowers. “Dark blond, really neat blue eyes, tall. Made you laugh.”
“I had a flu in my throat,” I correct. “That was coughing, not laughing. Remind me to never take you to a comedy club.”
Diana sighs and puts the finished daisy crown on my head. “We’re just worried, that’s all. I mean, if you like going to the frat parties every night, be my guest. More power to you, girl. But…”
I smile and slap her back. “It’s nice of you to be worried about me. But look at me! I’m a big girl. I’m huge. I can take care of myself.”
Diana knits her pretty lips together, but before she can say anything Yvette comes up from behind her and pounces, wrapping her arms around Diana’s shoulders.
“Surprise, motherfuckers!” Yvette crows, then looks around to make sure no one is watching before pecking Diana on the cheek. “Hi, sweet thing.”
Diana flushes. “Hey, you.”
I keel over in the grass. Yvette sniffs under her armpits.
“I don’t smell that bad, do I?”
“I’m dead,” I rasp hoarsely. “From the cuteness.”
Yvette goes red. “Shut up! You wouldn’t know cute if it bit you on the ass!”
“It’s true.” I laugh. “I’m not all that cute!”
Diana frowns. “You are plenty cute.”
“Well.” I fluff my hair. “We’ll let the ladies and gentlemen at the Phi Omega house tonight decide that.”
“You’re going to another party?” Yvette sighs. “Shit. Remember to be safe.”
“Remember to eat my ass.” I pause thoughtfully. “I take that back. I’m not into that. I don’t even actually know what I’m into yet! But I’m pretty sure eating poop is not one of the things I will be into in the foreseeable future.” I see Yvette glaring and throw my hands up. “Okay! Okay. I’ll be safe. I promise.”
Hanging with Yvette and Diana is fun, but there always comes a part where they stare into each other’s eyes a little too long or their fingers lace together too tightly, and I instinctively know I should leave. So I make a little excuse about getting ready for the party and wave as I head for my dorm. They are obviously in love. Even Yvette’s paranoia at being found out doesn’t stop them from being publicly and purely in love. Diana seems less paranoid, but is careful just for Yvette’s sake. It’s cute and a little gag-worthy, but most of all, painful. Every second I watch them touch is a second the darkness drills into my head further. No one will ever look at me like that. No one will feel that deeply for me. No one will treat me that tenderly. No one will ever love me like that.
Ugly.
Ugly, ugly, ugly.
Not even Jack.
Not even the boy who got the closest, the furthest through my bitter shell. Not even the boy who stood in the doorway of my heart could bring himself to take that last step.
Something made him turn back. Something in me. Something wrong within me. And I’ll never know what it is, because I can never ask him. I don’t even see him often anymore. I catch glimpses of his face in the hall, but that’s all I permit myself to look at, and only for mere seconds. The rumor about Hem—uh, Mildred—and me “fighting over him” circled through campus like a hungry vulture over a corpse. People I don’t even know whisper about it sometimes! Isis Blake caught fighting over a boy? It’s shameful. I want to crawl inside myself forever. I pray to God Jack didn’t hear about it, but knowing what blabbermouths were at the party, he definitely did. So I can only look at him for seconds. Anything else is dangerous. Anything longer would mean a closet, and quiet, and tears, and more darkness, more holes I tear in myself so the darkness can crawl inside and live there like it always has.
My mirror makes me look a little taller. It also makes me look like I’m about to cry, and I really don’t need that again. It’s only been a few days, but my bruise from the fight has all but faded. I put a smile on instead and rummage through my closet. I pick a black skirt and long black socks. My fingers glance over the pink blouse, and I pull back like it’s lava.
The memories are the worst part and the best part, all at once.
Jack’s smile, his voice saying I was beautiful, the way he wrapped his arms around me in his bed, his breath on my neck. His smell, mint and honey. His rare, sonorous laughter. Our conversations, our fights, the way his hand grabbed mine under the fountain water for the last time—
I swallow nausea and bury the blouse under a hoodie. I pull on a red shirt instead, and brush out my hair.
He came so close.
But in the end, he ran away. Like they all do.
I pucker my lips, applying pink gloss. It’s my fault, really. I was stupid for thinking Jack was different from any other guy in the world. They want things that are easy. They want girls who are cute and fun and experienced. None of this angry, bitter, sarcastic, virginal nonsense. Who I used to be was just too much work for Jack—for anyone! I don’t blame him at all for turning tail. I certainly wouldn’t want to be faced with the daunting task of loving someone that difficult.
I check my eyeliner one last time, ignore the fact that my foundation doesn’t cover my dark eye bags entirely, and make sure no tags are sticking out anywhere. I grab my phone and stuff a twenty down my bra just in case I need to bribe someone.
My phone vibrates, and before I take it out I wish it’s a text message from a certain icy someone.
But it’s Mom. Calling. I brace myself.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Hi, sweetie. How are you?”
“I’m…” I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’m a bruised skeleton with a bit of meat on her. “I’m fine. How are you doing? How’s work?”
“It’s just fine! I mean, it’s been slow, but I’ve been going every day. Dr. Torrand gave me these wonderful pills, and they’re doing just the trick. I’m sleeping like a baby again.”
Relief loosens some knot twisted up deep inside me.
“That’s…that’s really great. I’m so glad.”
“What’s wrong, sweetie? You don’t sound too good yourself.”
“I’m just glad, that’s all. For a while there I thought—” I thought you hated me. “I thought you would get worse. But it’s good. Sleeping is good. Sleeping is the best thing, really.”
“It is. I’m about to do that right now, actually.”
“Did you eat dinner?” I ask.
“Lasagna.” She chuckles. “Although it was nowhere as good as Jack’s. I do miss that boy. Whatever happened between you two?”
I gnaw the inside of my mouth, a little hurt to distract from the big hurt threatening to swallow me whole.
“He’s dating someone else,” I force out.
“Oh, that’s too bad. He was quite the catch, but there are always better fish in the sea, sweetie, and you deserve only the best. Sweet dreams, you. Don’t stay up too late studying.”
“I won’t. I love you,” I say.
“Love you, too.”
I ditch my car to walk instead—the night is too cool and pretty to be stuck in a tin box. Mom is actually wrong—I don’t deserve the best fish. I deserve whichever one will put up with my bullshit the longest. Fish that actually understand and accept and care for me won’t look twice at someone so fucked up. Jack taught me that.
I hope he’s happy with Mildred, at least a little. Wren reminded me that it’s okay. It’s okay if he isn’t with me, as long as he’s happy and alive. That’s all I wanted earlier this year—I burned to know he was okay, at least. And he is.
That’s all I can ask for.
The Phi Omega house is a few blocks from campus. It’s a big blue multilevel house, old as dirt and probably full of history. And corpses. Hopefully both. The music is already booming across the toilet-paper-strewn lawn. I knock, and a familiar boy with dark hair and green eyes grins down at me.
“Isis! There’s my girl!”
“Kieran!” I squeal, and punch him in the gut in our customary greeting. He doubles over in mock-pain, and when he lifts his head I peck him on the cheek. “Where’s the booze?”
“Down the hall and to the left. Dance floor’s boring without you. Get some girls grinding. Preferably without starting a fight this time.”
I wink at him. “No promises.”
Girls and guys are already sloppy-making-out on the couch, and the beer pong game is well into its seventh round. That’s how I know I’m really late.
“Isis!” Heather shouts. “It’s about fuckin’ time! I was gonna text you to get your butt over here but…but I forgot my lock code thingy!”
“It’s 5429, girl, we changed it yesterday,” I remind her. “Where’s Tyler?”
Heather sniffs. “Tyler and I aren’t talking. He’s a douchebag.”
“But you are making out with him tonight,” I say.
“Duh.” She rolls her eyes. “You were right. He’s hells my type.”
After a very drunk Tyler once tried to suck my lips off my face, I knew exactly who to set him up with—the girl on campus with the legendary lips. They’d been going out ever since with the fervor and rough visual resemblance of two crocodiles eating each other’s faces. I like playing matchmaker almost as much as punching jerks. Almost. It warms my heart to see two people happy—even if that happiness is based on torrid and repeated sexual encounters versus, you know, an actual relationship. But who am I to judge? I’ve never had an actual relationship. Or an actual sexual encounter that wasn’t awful.
A song comes on with booming bass, and Heather squeals and grabs my hand, dragging me to the wood dining room that’s been converted into a dance floor. Once I make sure Mildred or Jack isn’t here, I get lost in the music, laughing when Heather tries to twerk drunk in six-inch heels. She leans over and kisses a guy who isn’t Tyler, and it’s then I realize I’m not special. A lot of the people here—heck, maybe most of them—are kissing a guy, or a girl, to forget the kiss of someone else. We’d all rather be kissing that one special person, but for some reason, we can’t or won’t. So we’re here.
I’m not special. It just took me a while to come down to everyone else’s level, is all. It just took me a while to get desperate enough to forget.
That’s all.
I wade off the dance floor and pour myself a rum and Coke, downing it as fast as I can. It burns. But, hell, everything burns nowadays. A headache blindsides me, so I go outside and sit on the steps where the cool air can calm my throbbing head.
“You really did a good job,” a voice says. Nameless, in a sweatshirt and jeans, sits beside me with a grin. “Losing weight, I mean. That was a lot of meat to lose. I’m impressed.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I snarl. When did he get here? The urge to run consumes me, but I stand fast. No, not this time. I came here to have a good night. I won’t let him ruin it, or drive me off, or influence my actions in any way, really.
“Oh, we both know you did, Isis.” He chuckles. “You picked at your food in the cafeteria. We used to take bets on it—if you’d eat the single celery stick you picked out or not. It was pretty gross.”
I’m not as weak as I used to be, and I’ll show him that. He can’t taint me with any more darkness. There’s no light to snuff out in me anymore. I’m all shadow now. He’s just hosing down a campfire that’s underwater.
“Remember when you fainted?” His chuckles get loud. “Oh shit, that was good. It was in the middle of PE dodgeball, and you just—”
He goes stiff as a board and falls to the side, coming up laughing.
“What do you want?” I ask coldly.
Nameless shrugs, putting his hands in his pockets. “Just wanted to say hello. I know Tyler, and I wanted some whiskey, so I came down. The girls here aren’t half bad. You’re a different story.”
He’s lying. He used to be better at it, or maybe I’ve just gotten better at reading liars?
“What do you really want, asshole?”
He looks surprised and starts clapping. “Oh, wow. Asshole. You haven’t had the guts to say my name for three years, let alone insult me. I’m impressed. My compliments to your shrink.”
“I never went to one. I didn’t need one.”
He chuckles.
“You can fool them, but you can’t fool me. Anybody with half a brain could see you wanted to die. No one stopped you.” He leans in and whispers. “Maybe they wanted you to die. Ever think about that?”
A volcanic vent oozes from my heart, spilling hot lava on my lungs, my stomach, my liver, and charring them instantly. This isn’t me he’s talking about. Mom loves me. Aunt Beth loves me. This is his dad talking through him. This is not about me. This is about him working his frustrations out on me. Nameless smiles wider.
“It’s weird—I’ve been hearing rumors about you. Isis Blake is turning into quite the party girl. She was a nobody, and all of a sudden she shows up at parties, blacking out drunk and starting fights.”
I try to breathe, to keep breathing and not let the memories overwhelm me. Nameless pulls a cigarette from his pocket and lights it, and my heart rate skyrockets and all I hear is a high-pitched white noise. My hands start shaking, the scar on my wrist aching with a phantom burn. Nameless smirks, blowing the smoke in my face.
“What’s the matter? Did that stuck-up pretty boy refuse you? Is that why you’re throwing yourself down the bottle?”
I’m frozen, rooted to the steps as echoes of pain sear my skin all over again. The smell of cigarette smoke, the way it curls around my face and lingers in my hair—I want all of it to go away. To stop existing. I don’t want to be here. I want to stop existing, right now. I want to black out. If I hold my breath long enough, I’ll black out and everything will stop.
Nameless chuckles, my silence all the affirmation he needs.
“He’s a smart, talented, handsome guy. You tried to step above your status, and he put you back in your place. What a great guy. My opinion of him has done a total one eighty.”
He leans in, and the bile in my throat moves to my mouth.
“Or maybe…maybe it’s more than that. Maybe you told him what happened between us. And maybe he just doesn’t want to fuck you. Not after—”
“Isis? What’s going on out here?”
The horrid black spell cracks, and I can move again, think again. I turn, Kieran’s huge frame blacking out the door. Nameless smiles at him, turning on the charm full-blast.
“Oh nothin’. Just a little talk between old friends. Do you know where Tyler is?”
Kieran glares at him, then jerks his thumb. “Upstairs.”
Nameless gets up and pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
When he’s gone, Kieran sits on the steps with me. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, the pain fading. “Old friend.”
“You didn’t look very friendly with him.”
“It’s…nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Kieran lets out a breath. “Well, look. Me and Ulfric and a few of the girls are going into town. There’s a club that’s got a rave night. You wanna come?”
Kieran might be big and on the wrestling team and flunking all his English classes, but he’s got cute green eyes, like a puppy, and he’s weirdly sensitive. He asked me to tutor him when he saw my test scores in English, and we’ve been hanging out ever since. He knows exactly what to say and do to help a person feel better, and he’s got a sixth sense–slash–invisible insect antennae for how people feel in general. He’s like Wren in that way. He can tell I don’t want to be here anymore now that Nameless is around. I nod.
“Yeah. Sure. Who’s driving?”
“Me.” Kieran smirks. “I’m the DD, but you may call me Sir Chauffeur. You get shotgun.”
“I wish I had a shotgun,” I grumble as I follow him to his PT Cruiser. Two girls in form-fitting dresses and a massive blond guy who looks slightly like a Viking king are waiting by it.
“Oh yeah?” Kieran laughs. “What would you do with one?”
“Go on a picnic. Start an indie band. Kill a certain someone.”
“We’re killing people?” The girl in the red dress claps her hands. “Let’s start with Professor Summers. We’d be doing the world a favor.”
“He’s not even that bad.” Kieran rolls his eyes and starts the car, backing out.
“He looked up Tessa’s skirt with a mirrored pen yesterday, I totally saw it.” Red-dress girl nudges green-dress girl, who must be Tessa, because she meekly withdraws into the seat. Red-dress flashes a smile at me. “Hi, I’m Livy.”
“Isis,” I say, and look at Tessa. “Did you report him?”
Tessa shakes her head, not meeting my eyes. Livy scoffs.
“You know campus won’t do shit about it. They take reports and then file them away in a huge cabinet that no one ever touches. I’ve seen it. You might as well go scream at a brick wall.”
Tessa finally looks up, voice meek. “Even if I do, they never believe girls. They’ll ask me what I was wearing. It won’t be his fault. It’ll be mine.”
I ball my fists. Kieran sighs in a weary, resigned way.
“Das not fair.” Ulfric, with his rich accent, frowns. “In Denmark, my old university fire all creep.”
He punctuates the word “fire” with a savage karate chop to the air.
“Yeah, well, welcome to America.” Livy shrugs. “Land of the free to harass girls and home of the brave on the outside, cowardly on the inside.”
“Professor Summers, huh,” I whisper. Kieran flashes me a warning look.
“Don’t you dare.”
“What?” I play innocent.
“I know it was you who put the spaghetti in Sarah’s purse last week,” he adds.
“You did that?” Livy leans forward and laughs. “Holy shit, Tess, she’s the one who messed up Sarah’s purse!”
“Sarah?” Tessa looks confused.
“The girl who was cheating on her tests in our calc class! Isis was the one who put the noodles in her bag!”
I gasp. “How dare you accuse me! Slander, slander I say!”
“You smelled like sauce for four days after that,” Kieran offers, irrefutable evidence.
I smile. “When you put it that way, you make me sound so bold. Possibly even…saucy.”
There’s an awkward silence in the car. Ulfric groans.
“You like pranking people who you think deserve it,” Kieran says. “You Silly Stringed the whole inside of Tyler’s car when he tried to make out with you. And now you’re thinking of pranking Summers.”
“What kind of outlaw do you peg me for, Sir Chauffeur? Look at me! There’s no way I could ever think up something brilliant like rolling dung bombs under office doors or coating toupees with Crisco or putting spiders in desk drawers.”
There’s another silence.
“Or eye drops. Replaced with pepper spray.”
Livy makes a thoughtful, approving noise. Kieran sighs and pulls into the parking lot of a flashy club with a neon sign that reads Eternity, and we all pile out. Livy grabs Tessa’s arm and skips ahead. Ulfric looks at me like I’m a hungry tiger.
“You are very scary woman,” he says.
“Coming from you, Leif Can-Decapitate-You-with-My-Forearm-Son, that means a lot.” I pat his shoulder.
He looks appropriately offended. “I have never decapitate any people!”
“You should try it. It’s very relaxing.”
“When you’re done planning murder,” Kieran drawls, “let’s get some drinks.”
“How could we forget our Viking priorities?” I slap Ulfric on the back. “Booze first, blood second, boobs third.”
“Boobs first, booze second, blood never,” Ulfric corrects.
“Ahhh, don’t be such a stickler, Ulfie. The gods demand revelry! Onward to Valhalla!”
Like all people who’ve had the extreme luck to meet me in this lifetime, he looks bewildered, but he follows me anyway into the booming club. We flash the bouncer our IDs, and he looks at Tessa’s a little longer than he needs to, and then he squints at one of my (many) fake IDs, all of which I bought from Yvette.
“Vanessa Gergich?” he asks. “And you’re thirty-one?”
I start to sweat. This is the one downside of twelve fake IDs.
“I’m very healthy?” I offer. “I eat my vitamins. I moisturize. I moisturize constantly.”
“She’s with me,” Kieran cuts in. The bouncer glances between us, then sighs.
“All right, Kir, but if she fucks up I’m telling the cops it was you.”
Kieran flashes him a smile, then pulls me past the bouncer and toward the bar.
“One rum and Coke for the lady,” he yells over the music, then turns to me. “That’s what you like, right? I’ve seen you drink it a bunch.”
“Yessir.” I nod. “But you don’t have to buy me anything. I’m a strong, independent—”
He shoves the chilled glass in my hand and slides a five across the counter to the bartender. I swirl it a bit, checking for dense foam that would indicate a dissolved pill. I mean, I trust the bartender, and Kieran. Sort of. But you can never be too careful. I sip slowly, and we stand like that, watching the writhing masses in short skirts and polo shirts grind on each other. Tessa is dancing with Ulfric, still a little shy but smiling more now. Livy is dancing with some Italian-looking guy four years too old for her. The smell of sweat and cologne practically chokes the air. Strobe lights pierce our eyes and poke holes in our patience for overused EDM music.
“Is this just…” I pause and listen to the speakers. “Is this just someone saying ‘ass’ on repeat?”
Kieran stops, looks up, and starts laughing. “Holy shit, you’re right. What’s happened to music?”
“Money,” I say. “Money happened. But personally, I blame spandex and Auto-Tune.”
He laughs. Livy detaches her ass from Italian guy’s crotch long enough to walk over to us, breathless and smiling.
“Hey, you guys. Come over here.”
We follow, curious, as she leads us to the bathroom hallway, covered in graffiti and bits of toilet paper. Livy pulls something out from her bra. She presses one into Kieran’s hand, then mine. It’s a small white pill shaped like a playboy bunny.
Kieran quirks an eyebrow. “Where’d you get these?”
“Heather, duh.” Livy huffs. “She was practically handing them out like candy at the house.”
“Is this what I think it is?” I ask.
“Molly?” Livy asks.
“Illegal?” I stress.
“Chill.” Livy rolls her eyes. “It’s just one tab. It’s not gonna kill you. And Heather always buys from a reliable guy, so nothing weird’s in it.”
Kieran pushes it back at her. “I can’t. I’m DD tonight.”
“It’s in and out of your system really fast,” she insists. “Like, way less time than booze.”
“Seeing giant red elephant monsters isn’t my idea of a good time.” I glare at it, but Livy smiles and pats me on the shoulder.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s not a hallucinogen. It’s really safe, I promise. I’ve done it a hundred times.”
I stare at the white pill. Nameless’s ugly words rear their head.
Did that stuck-up pretty boy refuse you? Is that why you’re throwing yourself down the bottle?
And maybe he just doesn’t want to fuck you.
No one else is going to want you.
No one else is going to want you.
I put the pill on my tongue and chug the last sip of my rum and Coke, drowning the words in their tracks. Kieran swallows his, too. I head to the dance floor and wait to die. Or have a good time. Whichever comes first. Kieran shadows behind me, dancing with me, and even if he’s a little stiff in the legs and too white-guyish in the sense that all he does is rock on his feet, I still catch myself smiling. Life’s been shitty, but dancing has always been good to me, for me. I can just drift and think about nothing and everything with the music keeping the darkness at bay.
I didn’t know Heather bought drugs. I didn’t know she supplied them to frat parties, either. On the ladder of bad things to do, that’s nearly drug-dealer-level status. Or is it? I don’t know shit about drugs, and even less about the people who deal them. I just know a lot of people take them, and more power to those people, but they’re dangerous. Then again, I’ve been drinking nearly every day since that night at the centaur fountain, so who am I to judge? Who am I to get angry? I’m drinking away the pain, and that hasn’t been working. So I have to try something else. No danger is as bad as the things waiting for me in my own memories.
The bright strobe lights get brighter, more colorful, greens turning into red-blue, two colors at once. I blink, but the colors keep fracturing. They flash off girls’ makeup and jewelry, spots of gemstone color burning pleasantly onto my eyelids. Everyone looks so happy, so nice, so kind. No one will hurt me here. I’m surrounded by good people. The darkness can’t get me here.
Kieran smiles when I smile at him, and that’s a good sign, and he’s much more handsome than I thought before—sort of swarthy, pirate swarthy, Jack Sparrow swarthy (we don’t speak that name), strong and big-shouldered and he could protect me from the darkness, couldn’t he? Someone as strong as him could fight off anything, protect me from anything. I tried to protect myself for all this time, but it was so hard. I’m so tired of doing it all alone. It would be nice to have some help. Kieran could help. Jack didn’t want to help anymore, which is okay, because I’m hard, and not really worth all that effort, even if he was the only one who touched me in the good way where my heart peeked out of its shell, but it was stupid, I was so stupid for thinking—
No one else is going to want you.
I wince and lurch for Kieran, hugging him around the waist. He stops dancing.
“Isis?” he shouts. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…I’m…I’m not okay.” I laugh. “I’m not. I’m just not.”
“Hey, whoa, okay. Let’s get you some air.”
I hang on to Kieran’s arm as he guides me through the crowd and out to the front of the club. I shoot a look at the bouncer as we pass.
“I’m not thirty-one,” I blurt.
“I know.” He rolls his eyes.
Kieran eases me onto the steps. I shiver when my eyes catch on the lit cigarette ends of a circle of smoking people. Kieran sees it and moves us away from the circle, farther down the curb. I gasp for air, choking on nothing and everything at the same time. Kieran waits patiently, staring at the star-studded sky. When the pressure is a little less and the world isn’t so bright, I form words.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You should go…back in and have fun. This is not fun. This is me dying.”
“You’re not dying.” He laughs.
“Yeah I am. A little faster than most people.”
Kieran’s face is blank, but Sophia’s words ring in my head, a welcome relief from Nameless. Where his sound is the bark of a mad dog tearing my throat out, she’s all crystal bells and raindrops.
No wonder Jack loved her.
No wonder Jack broke when he lost her.
No wonder he doesn’t want anyone else ever again. No one else can compare.
I laugh, but the laugh turns into something weird, and I start biting my arm to make it stop. Kieran pulls my arm away from my mouth, and I see the ring of darker red on my shirt sleeve but only faintly.
“You’re really freaking me out, Isis,” he says softly.
“I freak a lot of people out. I’m freaky. Halloweentown loves me. But nobody else does. Except my mom. My mom’s great, but sometimes I feel bad for leaving her behind.”
Kieran is silent. I feel the darkness start ebbing away, the streetlights bright and swollen like giant amber fireflies.
“There’s a guy,” I say, and laugh. “But that’s the story with every girl, isn’t it? There’s always a guy. Some guy. Some guy who hasn’t done something. And I like him.”
“If you like him, just go up and kiss him,” Kieran says.
“You do not know how things work very well, do you?”
Kieran laughs, and I clutch my head and lean on his shoulder. The night is too dark and he is too warm and I need someone, something solid beneath me. Someone to keep me from disappearing into the shadow half of my life. Or maybe it’s too late. Maybe I’ve already disappeared, and the darkness will be here always with only brief flashes of light, instead of the other way around. Guilt works its way into my stomach; Kieran shouldn’t be dabbling with a girl full of shadows. Why does he bother? Why does anyone bother?
It hits me then: there’s only one reason a guy would bother.
“Do you like me?” I ask Kieran. It’s forward, but I’m nothing if not forward and stupid.
Kieran coughs. “Well…uh…”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
No one else is going to want you.
“Do you want me?” I press my chest into his shoulder like I saw Hemorrhoid do to Jack. Kieran clears his throat.
“Yeah. I mean, since I met you, I—”
I lean up and kiss him, and he kisses back with a soft, fierce edge to it. It’s not Jack. It’s never Jack, but it will never be Jack again, and I don’t want to cry so I kiss harder, and longer, and Kieran’s hand slithers up my shirt and I let it—
“You!” A voice shouts at me.
“How do you listen to this crap?” Charlie snarls, turning off my opera music.
“I take it you aren’t a fan of Italian men singing their heart out over a woman?”
Charlie runs a hand through his spiked hair, rearranging it. “If I wanted to listen to assholes complain about bitches, I’d listen to Biggie Smalls. Or Nas.”
“Ah yes, because referring to women as ‘bitches’ will get you very far in life,” I say, and take a left turn at the stoplight.
“I don’t care about bitches, okay? They’re all whiny, and they want your money and they want you to dress nice and pick them up ice cream and huge diamond rings and I’m done with it. Just gonna focus on hustling for my mansion, and then I’ll buy me some bitches.”
“You won’t buy bitches or a mansion. You’ll buy a house for your grandmother.”
Charlie shoots me a sharp look, going red. “What kind of stupid shit is coming out of your mouth right now? I swear you get dumber every day.”
I park in front of a seedy club called Eternity. I can hardly bring myself to lash out at him with my usual ice. He’s so soft on the inside and trying to be so hard on the outside.
He reminds me of someone.
“Well,” I muster. “Hopefully you’re getting smarter, because one of us has to be coherent enough to interrogate the club’s owner.”
Charlie just grumbles, pulling a pair of brass knuckles on under his sleeve.
“You don’t need those,” I say. I set my phone to record at the push of a button, in order to get hard evidence on tape.
“I make it a policy to bring them to every club I go to,” Charlie scoffs. “Especially ones with drug-dealing scumbags.”
“His name is Terrance,” I say. “Not drug-dealing scumbag.”
“I don’t give a shit what his name is; let’s just beat the hell out of him.”
“No one beats anything.” I make my words steel, permafrost. “Brittany told me about him—Terrance is a businessman. He doesn’t like violence. He’s easily persuaded in a number of logical ways I’d be more than happy to enlighten you with.”
Charlie groans. “I don’t care. Let’s just do this. You can chat his ass up all you want, but if we ain’t getting anywhere with that, I’m moving to plan B.”
“The threat of violence is often more effective than violence itself. Someone soft and rich like Terrance will cave without a single punch.” I get out. He follows suit, a thoughtful look coming over his face.
“You might actually be right for once.” Charlie flashes his ID, and I do the same. The bouncer waves us through. “How’re you and Brittany doing, by the way?”
“Fine,” I respond automatically. “She’s very insistent.”
I don’t tell him about the rumors, because he’s heard them, of course. Brittany picked a fight with a girl at a party over me. She’s territorial to the extreme. I don’t tell him she is a thing, a means to an end I feel constantly sick about, the same way I always felt constantly and faintly nauseous working for Blanche and the Rose Club. Brittany’s a puppet stand-in I mentally paste over with forbidden memories of a girl I gave up for good.
“Is that what you call it?” Charlie barks a laugh, and we weave through the edges of the club crowd. “She’s banging down our door 24-7. She can barely hold herself back from jumping on your icicle dick before I’m out of the room.”
I shrug. Charlie studies me carefully.
“What was it you said you did before Gregory found you?” he asks. “Because I’ve seen ladies’ men, and even the best ones don’t got girls salivating over them in broad daylight like you do. What makes you so special?”
“I know how to treat women,” I say. “Step one—don’t call them bitches.”
“Unless they’re into that,” Charlie attempts to correct.
“Select few women are into degradation, and even then they only appreciate it in the bedroom. Never insult them out of it.”
As Charlie’s brain struggles to absorb this, I approach the VIP lounge door. Two bouncers flank it. One of them puts a hand out to stop me.
“Who’re you?” he asks.
“Step aside!” Charlie juts out his chin. “We’re here on business.”
“Give me a name or get out,” the bouncer insists.
“Jack Hunter,” I say. “We’re here to see Terrance. He’s expecting us.”
The bouncer turns away and touches his ear, speaking into an earpiece. After several seconds, he turns back and opens the door with his meaty hand. Charlie salutes him as he walks in, and I slide in after. The music dulls, champagne cooling in an ice bucket on the black glass table. The couches are leather—real and shining sleekly under the lights. Two other bouncers are sitting on them, drinking champagne and tapping away on their cell phones. They are huge and beefy, but it’s nothing Charlie can’t handle with an element of surprise—he’s a furious Tasmanian devil in a fight, and all I ever have to do is mop up the pieces.
They look up when we come in and pat us down quickly. Charlie complains, but I silence him with a look as another man walks in and sits down. His pin-striped suit is impeccable—though he’s overweight, it fits him very well. His hair is thin and gray and balding on the very top, his eyes watery and his skin a nut-brown from obsessive tanning sessions. Dozens of rings are stacked on his fingers—real gemstones, as far as I can tell. Clear, no flaws. This man is very rich and very well connected.
“Gentlemen!” Terrance smiles, sweeping his hands out and then offering one to me. “Welcome to my office. Glad you could make it on such short notice.”
“It’s good to be here,” I say, and shake his hand. We sit, and Terrance starts pouring champagne.
“Need a drink?”
“We’ll pass, thank you,” I insist. “We wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time than is necessary.”
Terrance raises an eyebrow, then laughs a full belly laugh. “Concise and ready to get down and dirty right away. I like that. You rarely see that kind of single-minded dedication in your generation these days.”
Terrance drains his glass, then claps his hands.
“All right, so what’s your offer? I’ve already got guys on campus giving me cuts on my supply. What do you think you have that’s better, huh?”
“Information,” I say.
“Yeah? You know somebody better?”
“First, I’d like you to fulfill your end of the bargain. The names, if you will.”
“Oh, see”—Terrance clicks his tongue—“I can’t just do that without any assurance I’m gonna be getting something good. It’s not right. I like those guys. Giving them up for bad info would go against my business practices.”
“Listen, buddy—” Charlie snaps. The bouncers lean in suddenly, and I put my hand across Charlie’s chest to stop him.
“Terrance.” I stare into his eyes. “Our boss has told us much about you, but this excellent club tells us more. You’re very good at what you do.”
Terrance relaxes, and his bodyguards relax with him.
“I am. Thank you. Always good to get a little recognition where it’s deserved.”
“So I know that a businessman as skilled as yourself is very keen on gaining assets, not losing them.”
Terrance narrows his eyes. “Go on.”
“There are some people who have suddenly become very interested in ‘your guys.’”
His eyes flash, and his fist tightens, but he keeps his voice cool and level. A true professional.
“Yeah? How important are these people we’re talking about here?”
I smile. “I’m so sorry, Terrance. But without names, that’s all I can tell you.”
I watch the gears sync up in his mind—I’ve told him law enforcement is looking into his MDMA suppliers. These Gatekeeper suppliers give him a huge discount, and with a booming college town party scene right here in his club, the profits are no doubt enormous. But without knowing who exactly the authorities are, he’s reluctant to give us the names and therefore lose the discount. If it’s just the local police, he could bribe them. But if it’s the less corruptible DEA—
“Bill,” Terrance finally says. “I think one of them is named Bill, or Will, or something like that. His last name is complicated, C-something. Caraway? Carlsbad?”
“Cavana?” I try, feigning innocence.
“Cavanaugh, that’s it.” Terrance points. “Now, you tell me who’s after them, and I’ll give you the other name.”
“How do we know you won’t just tell them and they’ll split?” Charlie snarls. Terrance smiles at him like he’s a child.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. We cut all ties with the ones who are being investigated, for our own safety, you understand.”
Terrance looks back to me, and I lean in, lowering my voice with the lie that comes out.
“DEA. Cyber-crime ops. Your boys help out a larger group on the internet black market. Hackers, mostly.”
Terrance nods, putting his fingers to his lips. “Hacking isn’t my thing—the internet isn’t my thing in general. I prefer to conduct business old-school.”
“Which is why you’d do well to cut them off,” I say. “This is far bigger than club drugs. We’re talking meth. Human trafficking.”
“You don’t have any proof,” he shoots back. I pull out one of the three USB’s Vanessa supplied with the dossiers, containing any and all material on Will’s misdeeds.
“If you need some time to look at it, I understand,” I say as I hand it to him.
Terrance studies the USB, then looks back up at me and inhales sharply through his teeth before he hands it back to me.
“Dammit. I knew it was too good to be true. They’re always a little more crooked than you’d like, aren’t they? You’ve got your name—Kyle Morris. Easier to remember than the other one. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some phone calls to make.”
We get up, and he shakes my hand before we’re escorted promptly out of the lounge. The music blares again, the smell of sweat and cloying perfume practically assaulting me. Charlie follows me to the door, and he doesn’t ask questions until we’re on the curb.
“Why’d you lie? We ain’t DEA.”
“We aren’t anything,” I say. “We’re third-party contractors hired by someone we don’t know the identity of. We had to bluff.”
Charlie makes a face but doesn’t argue. “I guess Gregory was right to put you on this shit. You know some things.”
It’s as close to a compliment as I’ll get from him, but I only barely hear it. My eyes are riveted to the curb, where two students are kissing fervently. The boy has dark hair and huge arms and is sliding his hand up the girl’s red shirt, a shirt I recognize very well from a certain day in a certain high school after certain photos were posted around, and her makeup’s darker and bolder than I’ve ever seen it, and she looks so skinny, so small against his huge hands and face as their lips meet, her hair wild around her cheeks—the passion in the kiss so bright, so tangible—and my body stops responding, my blood pumping hot and hard through every vein as the beast in me begins to growl.
“You!” Charlie shouts. The boy pulls back, and Isis Blake looks up with surprised eyes.
I yank on my own chain, pulling myself inward so I won’t explode outward. I bring up every lesson of Gregory’s in rapid time, his advice and the steps and methods colliding in a desperate attempt to regain control. She is kissing someone else, but I have no jurisdiction. I have no right. I broke her and I left her, and she is free to kiss whomever she wants. She deserves to be in love with whomever she wants, whenever she wants. I have no right. I have no right. She is not mine and I have no right, I gave up that chance, he is better than me, he is kind to her, he has to be kind to her or I’ll rip out his throat—
Isis smiles, holding a hand up. “Hey, Tiny Balls,” she says to Charlie. “What’s up?”
His hackles go up. “Tiny what? Fuck you, bitch!”
I’m about to lunge for him when the dark-haired boy does it for me. He gets in Charlie’s face, his green eyes furious.
“What did you just say to her?”
Before Charlie can throw a punch, I step between them, staring into the boy’s eyes. He’s the same height as I am, but his shoulders are much broader, and his core radiates muscle and power. A jock. Surprising—I didn’t think she’d go for one of them.
“I apologize,” I say icily, “for my friend’s behavior. He doesn’t know how to rein himself in sometimes.”
I dare to glance at Isis over the boy’s shoulder, and our eyes meet, the thorns digging in until she looks away first. The thought of her kissing him, kissing someone who isn’t me with genuine want, makes me sick. But I swallow it. I have no right to feel this way.
“Kieran,” Isis says. “It’s okay! Really. I know them. He’s just kidding around.”
Kieran’s breathing evens out, his eyes never leaving mine as he steps away.
“Fine. But if he says it again—”
“He won’t,” I add. Charlie opens his mouth to argue, but I shoot him the deadliest look I can, and he falls silent. I turn back to Kieran and Isis. “We’ll be leaving. My apologies for interrupting your evening.”
It’s the first time she and I have been within speaking distance in weeks. Her cheeks are thin, though she tried to cover them up with blush. The dark circles under her eyes are so obvious it’s painful to look at. But through all the pain she is lovely, more lovely than any girl I’ve seen—all red silk and dark-lined, catlike cinnamon eyes. The purposeful deadening of my senses I practiced in order to endure Brittany shatters, crumbling as every muscle begs to hold her, to stroke her wild hair, to kiss away her frown lines.
Charlie breaks the moment first, snarling some swear words as he trudges toward the car. I put a hand on Kieran’s shoulder and soften my voice so only he can hear it.
“Please,” I say. “Be gentle with her. Be good to her. She’s a very special girl.”
“To you?” Kieran murmurs.
Yes. To me.
“In general,” I say instead. “She means a great number of things to many people. We all want to see her happy.”
Kieran is quiet. Isis shuffles nervously behind him, hugging herself. Kieran finally speaks.
“You’re the guy, huh?”
“What?”
“The one she talks about.” Kieran sucks in a breath. “Damn, dude, do you know how fucked up she is? How much you’ve fucked her up?”
I spot it then, through the guilt his words punch into me. I stride over and touch her left wrist.
“What happened to your arm?”
Isis shivers, looking everywhere but at my face. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing? Isis, there’s blood—” I swear under my breath as I gingerly pull back the stained sleeve and reveal the indented teeth marks, welling with dark blood. “Who did this to you?”
“No one!” She whimpers. “I did it…I think? I don’t know—it doesn’t hurt. I didn’t know it was that bad—”
“Look at me,” I say. She twists away, but I use a harder voice. “Isis, look at me.”
She turns her face slowly, eyes meek and so un-Isis-like I barely recognize them. But I recognize the enlarged pupils, the way she’s sweating, and her breathing.
I round on Kieran. “What did you give her?”
“What?” Kieran holds his hands up. “Wait a second—”
“Tell me.” I stride toward him, and Kieran, a good seventy pounds heavier than me, suddenly looks nervous. “Now.”
“Nothing! Shit, nothing! Livy gave us some molly! That’s all, I swear.”
“And you took it, too?” I shout. “You let her take it and took it yourself? What kind of idiot are you? What if she had a worse reaction? How could you help her if you’re doped up, too?”
“She’s fine!” he yells. “We were all okay before you guys came along!”
“Fine?” I roar. “Look at her arm! Look at it!” Kieran flinches. “She bit herself, you moron! She’s far from fine, but you ignored that so you could slip your tongue in her!”
Kieran’s eyes spark, and I see his muscles twitch before his fist flies toward me. Gregory’s training is all but automatic—I sidestep him and hook my ankle under his, pulling back. He eats cement hard, groaning as he rolls over.
“Enough!” Isis’s shout rings out. I turn and look at her, and her glare is a bonfire on the coldest winter’s day. “He didn’t ‘let’ me take anything. I decided to take it. So lay off him.”
I still my heavy breathing. Kieran glowers from the ground, nursing his nose, but it’s a muted, ashamed glower now. I dare him with my eyes to make a move, but he just sits up and swears. I pivot back to Isis.
“You have to get that looked at. Come on, there’s bandages in my car—”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she says evenly. “I’ll get it looked at on my own.”
“Isis—you’re injured. You have to—”
“Don’t pretend to care about me now, Jackoff.” She laughs.
“This isn’t pretending. I do care about you.”
“Well, cut it the hell out, okay? I’m not your girlfriend. I’m not even your friend anymore. You shouldn’t waste your energy on me. I’m nobody important to you—” She shudders, hugging herself and laughing harder. “I’m nobody important.”
You are the sun, I try to say. You are the most important. You are the only light that’s ever truly pierced my armor. You are the happiness and the spark and the one girl who never ran, who never cowered, who saw through my facade. I will never meet another girl like you; I will never want anyone as much as I want you.
But all that comes out is self-censoring silence. Kieran gets up and puts his arm around her shoulders.
“We should go,” he murmurs. They pass me, Isis refusing to meet my eyes as they turn the corner and go back into the club. Her smell lingers around me for a brief second, and I try to hold on to it as long as possible with shaking fingers as the clear, volatile truth wells up in me, past the walls of lies I’ve built around it (you’re not good enough for her, she never really wanted you), past the excuses I use to deny myself happiness (you’ll hurt her, you’ve hurt her, all you do is hurt her), past my own self-loathing (you should’ve died instead of Sophia). The realization shines bright, quietly exploding, blowing them all away and leaving a single truth behind.
“I miss you,” I whisper to the empty curb.