Darkness Becomes Her (6 page)

Twenty-one. Twenty-fucking-one.

I rested my chin on the tepee of my fingers, trying to find some calm and direction amid the chaos that had become my life in one night. I had killed the thing that came for me. Maybe that alone had broken the curse.

Weak theory.

But … I was here now. In New 2. The only logical thing to do was to find out more about my mother, my father, and why the Novem wanted to see me. Or hurt me.

One day. I’d give it one day.

I woke to bruised elbows, an achy forehead, and a stiff back. And, if the red behind my eyelids was any clue, a shaft of sunlight spilling through the window. I squeezed my lids closed as a shadow blocked the light. The floorboards creaked. I opened my eyes.

Every muscle froze. I was looking straight into the blue eyes of a small white alligator.

“Pascal, this is Ari,” a tiny feminine voice whispered.

It was Violet—on her knees, leaning over the sleeping bag, a burgundy, jewel-encrusted mask pushed atop her head—holding a small white alligator directly in front of my face. All it had to do was snap and my nose would be history.

I held my breath, afraid to breathe on its milky skin.

Finally Violet sat back on her heels and turned the alligator to kiss its nose. “Good, Pascal,” she whispered, and set him on the floor, pulling the half-mask down over her face. The corners swept up into points adorned with two small feathers.

Pascal waddled away and out the door.

Releasing my breath, I sat up, unsure of what to say to the peculiar girl, who had returned to her staring. Her tiny white hands were laid flat on her knees, and the black dress she wore looked like it had once been a woman’s cocktail dress. She had on tights underneath, or they might’ve been knee-high socks meant for an adult, but whatever they were, they disappeared under the
hem of the dress. Her shoes were boy’s penny loafers and a size too big.

“Was that your alligator?” I checked the door to make sure Pascal hadn’t decided to come back in.

“He is no one’s.” Violet cocked her head. “He likes your hair. It’s like his skin.”

Without thinking, I reached up and shoved a loose strand behind my ear, forgetting that I’d unwound it before bed. What I wanted to do was gather it up and shove it behind my shoulders, but for some reason I didn’t want Violet to think the hair meant anything, so I left it hanging long and loose, veiling the sides of my face, the ends resting in my lap.

“He likes my teeth. They’re like his teeth,” Violet said, her large eyes blinking through the holes of the mask.

I stayed still, almost frozen. “Why are your teeth like his, Violet?” I braced myself, hoping the question wouldn’t set her off and make her go all fang-girl on me.

“To eat things, of course.” Her head cocked. “You are different.” Then she stood and walked out with silent steps despite the heavy black shoes.

I watched her disappear from view, a little confused and thrown by how much she fascinated me. But it was more than the masks, and her sharp teeth. Violet made me feel softer inside, like some kind of weird big sister/mothering instinct was being
awakened. I guessed it was the same feeling Casey and Bruce had when they first met me—just an unexplainable connection or need to care. I shook my head. Didn’t matter, though. I’d be gone tonight.

I went to drag my gaze away from the door when Sebastian passed by, his head turning. It was clear by the falter in his step that he didn’t expect to see me sitting there.

My stomach flipped. Heat stung my cheeks. His gray eyes drew me in like two fascinating pools of liquid mercury.
Yeah, and mercury is poison, you big dummy
.

But he wasn’t looking at me, I realized; he was looking at my hair. Just like everyone else.

It seemed like forever, but in reality, it was only a second or two before his gaze dropped and his footsteps continued on.

I blinked out of my haze, quickly gathered my hair, and began twisting it as I got to my feet and headed after him. “Sebastian!”

He stopped halfway down the stairs, body language screaming reluctance as I approached, tying my hair into a knot and trying to ignore the fact that the guy made me extremely self-conscious.

Two steps above him, I dropped my arms to my sides. “Look, I know you don’t want me here, but … the Novem, do you really believe they’re not out to hurt me?”

One corner of his mouth almost lifted into what might’ve been a smile. Or a grimace. “Yes, I do,” he answered.

I bit my lip, making a quick decision. “If you help me find the information I’m after, I’ll go with you, willingly, to see the Nov —”

The front door flew open, slamming against the wall, the knob sinking through the drywall.

Violet appeared, stopping just inside the parlor with Pascal tucked under her arm, as three young men entered the house.

They were all similar in age—late teens, early twenties. The guy in the middle tossed a glance at Violet, shaking his head. “Welcome to The House of Misfits.”

His friends laughed as he lifted his eyes to the stairs. “Adding another one to the ranks?” His attention shifted from Sebastian to me. “Darlin’, you’re better off in the swamp than with these losers.”

“What do you want, Ray?” Sebastian’s hand gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white.

I took another step down as Dub shuffled from the dining room with an orange, starting to peel it, when Ray snatched it out of his hand.

“Hey!”

Ray threw it on the ground. “What’s up, Dub? You half-breed little shit.”

“Fuck you, Ray
mond
.”

Ray reached for Dub.

It seemed like the next few seconds happened in slow motion.

Violet put Pascal on the ground, pulled her mask over her face as though preparing for battle, and then launched her small body at Ray. She was on him like an octopus, arms and legs wrapped around his middle. Her sharp teeth sank into his bicep. He shrieked, trying to pull her off. He succeeded in getting space between them, but Violet’s legs and hands clung tight. He cursed in French and yanked again at her, this time flinging her small body across the room. She hit the floor and slid down the smooth hardwood hall.

Something in me snapped.

I flew around Sebastian and down the stairs as Dub and Crank ran to Violet. Violet stood up on her own, swiped the blood from her mouth and chin, and then darted out the back of the house and into the garden. I just caught a glimpse of her diving under the dead leaves before I turned back to Ray.

Adrenaline thrummed through my veins, fueled by fury. Nothing got me going like seeing a kid being hurt—I knew firsthand what that was like. “Why don’t you try that on me?” Better yet, I slugged him in the jaw.

The pain that shot through my knucklebones and up my hand felt good. And when his friends came to his aid, I welcomed the fight.

Bring it on, you assholes.

As the first guy reached out, I spun on my heel and grabbed his arm over my shoulder, flipping him onto the floor. As soon as he was down, the other one’s breath fanned the back of my neck. My gaze met Sebastian’s. His eyes were smiling at me, challenging me, seeing what I could do. I cocked a grin as the second guy grabbed me around the waist. I threw back my head, bracing for the crack as my skull collided with his face. He grunted. It hurt him way more than it did me. I spun and kicked him in the gut. He went down next to his friend.

I took a step back and surveyed my handiwork, heart racing.

Dub whistled from somewhere behind me. But my attention was fixed on Ray. He was the only one
not
on the floor and therefore still a threat.

“You fucking bitch!” he snarled, one hand over his bloody shoulder and the other rubbing his jaw. His face was a shade paler than when he’d first arrived.

I smirked and flipped him the bird. Red blushed through his skin, and his lips drew back slightly as though he was about to bare his teeth.

Sebastian appeared beside me. “She’s mine,” he said in a calm voice. “I found her first.”

“Yeah, and you just got to be the golden boy, don’t you, Lamarliere?” He spit on the floor as his friends finally managed
to stand. “Oh, and you’d better get her there soon. Otherwise
Grandmère
will start wondering.”

After they were gone, Dub wrenched the door handle from the drywall so the door would close, as I whirled on Sebastian. “I’m
yours
? What the hell was that?”

“Ray works for the Novem too. He’s just trying to find you first. Someone must have seen you come in with Jenna.”

“Jenna?”

“Crank.” He paused. Four seconds went by. “I’ll help you find the records.” And then he walked toward the back door.

All righty, then.

Drawing in a deep breath—I was going to need it dealing with Mr. Personality—I followed him through a set of massive French doors to the backyard garden. Dub and Crank were standing on a moss-covered stone patio, staring at a lump in the leaves. Despite the winter season, humidity had settled over the district, making the garden more like a jungle, a damp place that reeked of earth, decaying leaves, and those pungent white flowers that crawled up the house.

“Vi, he’s gone. And you missed Ari’s
awesome
smack-down.” Dub reinforced his words with a few air punches and an imaginary body slam. “C’mon, Vivi. You stood up for me. Come on out so I can say thanks in person.”

Two black eyes blinked beneath the leaves. I slid closer to
Sebastian as Crank talked to Violet. “What’s her deal, anyway? What’s with the baby vampire teeth?”

“She’s not a vamp,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Dub found her out in the swamp last year. She was living alone in a trapper’s houseboat. He fed her for three months before she came back with him. She comes and goes as she pleases, takes to weird things like the masks and fruit. Never eats it, though.”

My eyebrow lifted, and I rocked back on my heels. “So you actually
do
speak more than one sentence at a time.”

He glanced over and frowned. “Come on, we better go. Violet will come out when she’s ready.”

“I
T’S NICE HERE,”
“I
SAID, LOST IN THE SCENERY OF THE
“G
ARDEN
District as I walked with Sebastian to St. Charles Avenue. His only response was a grunt. I hadn’t meant to give voice to my thoughts, to share anything with him. It was pretty obvious he didn’t have any interest in conversation.

Not that I minded; it wasn’t like I was known for my social skills anyway.

So I settled into a nice rhythm next to my guide, keeping my thoughts to myself, minding the cracks in the pavement and the tree limbs that hung low over fences, pulled down by moss or heavy vines.

If someone could’ve crawled inside my soul and then created a town to fit me best, it would’ve looked just like the GD. There
was a sense of belonging here that I’d never felt anywhere else before. It could’ve been because I was born here, and I knew my mother had lived here, but somehow it was more than that. It was in the emotion of the place, the air of abandonment, the slight decay on everything, the wildness of the plants and trees, the haunted appearance that clung to the grand old houses, and the dark parts where light never reached—deep in the lost gardens, behind vacant lots, and beyond boarded-up windows. It was even in the misfits that made this place home. In Violet, Dub, Henri, and Crank. And, I glanced over, in Sebastian with his black hair, brooding eyes, and dark red lips. It was the freedom of being in a place that didn’t give a shit what you were, because it was different too.

It wasn’t entirely neglected, though. We passed a house with a bunch of twentysomething artist types. A guy on the porch played a twelve-string guitar, fingers flying in a romantic Spanish tune as a woman in a turban painted a picture on a canvas. Voices and the sound of hammers on wood flowed from the open windows. Another person lay in an old hammock hung between columns, a joint wedged in the V of his slack fingers.

The guitar guy looked up and dipped his head at Sebastian.

A few more houses and we crossed St. Charles Avenue to wait for the trolley.

“Charity Hospital, right?”

“Yeah. Do you think we’ll have trouble accessing my records?”

Sebastian shrugged, dragging his fingers through his hair and leaving it all wild and rumpled. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Do you know any Selkirks living in New 2?”

The streetcar rolled toward us as Sebastian shook his head and then fished in his pocket for money. “Costs a dollar twenty-five.”

“Oh … crap.” I dropped my backpack on the ground and unzipped the front pocket to pull out two dollars as the trolley came to a stop. Sebastian was already halfway up the steps. I hurried on, paid my fare, and then sat on the wooden bench directly across the aisle from him.

We rode in silence, the only two on the trolley, until Sebastian slid over into my seat, surprising me. I scooted toward the window. “So,” he began in a low voice, keeping his eye on the streetcar operator, “you want to tell me about the guy who tried to kill you?”