Kill Me Softly (7 page)

“You're not my victim, Mira. If you were, you would know it.” Blue sat down on the bed, one leg of his ragged jeans pulled onto the coverlet. “ ‘Cinderella,' ” he murmured. “Do you like the part where the shoe fills up with the stepsister's blood? The prince thinks he's found his mysterious girl from the ball, and then a little bird tells him to check out the trail of blood; he's got an imposter on the back of his horse. It's pretty twisted.”

“Just like you,” she said.

“That's right,” he said, his eyes meeting hers, something severe flickering in their depths. “Just like me. Just like my brother.”

The way he said it made her shiver. She didn't want to be alone with him anymore. “I think you should go.”

“Oh, do you now? Too bad. I need to talk to Felix. And unlike you, I actually live here.” Blue resumed flipping through the book, ignoring her. Then he ate the rest of her cookie.

Irritated, Mira retreated to the living room and put on the TV. She got about two minutes of peace before Blue threw himself down next to her.

“So what kind of lines has he been feeding you? I'm curious.”

“He's not hitting on me,” Mira said through gritted teeth. “He's helping me find my parents. Taking time out of his busy life to help me with something that's important to me. What a crime.”

“Find your parents?” Blue whistled. “So you are a lost little girl.”

She twisted to face him, fists clenched, ready to punch him in his T-shirt's anatomically correct heart. “You're really pissing me off. I know that's your M.O., but I'm warning you: you need to stop, or I will snap and hurt you.”

He smiled. “See, this is why I don't get you. You're so prickly and untouchable when you're with me … why can't you keep that up all the time?”

“Because. This might be fun for you—but
I
don't like being angry all the time.” Her nails were digging into her palms so hard it hurt.

She relaxed her fists and climbed off the couch. She needed to get away from him before she broke something over his head—but he grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her back down.

“Wait,” he said.

“What?”
she snapped, held in place by the fist clenching her shirt.

Blue smiled. He had one of those devastatingly charming smiles that made you hate him even more when you noticed it. It was like he was fighting dirty.

“Don't go. Tell me something.”

“Tell you what?” she said stiffly.

“Tell me what you would do if I was nice to you.”

“Not kill you,” she said. She didn't even have to think about it.

He laughed. “How many people have you killed?”

“Five hundred.” She rolled her eyes. “How many people have
you
killed?”

Blue let go of her shirt, rose, and wandered to the edge of the suite, where the minibar was. He twisted open one of the tiny clear bottles; swallowed before he answered—in a voice that was like choking.

“One.”

He kissed her like a man possessed.

It was the kind of kiss you vanished into. everything disap
peared except the sound of her breathing. The smell of her red hair: passion fruit and raspberries. He lifted his hands to push her hair away from her face so he could look at her.

It was a first kiss. It was a perfect kiss—she'd told him so, and he'd flushed with pleasure. Drunk on it.

He kissed her again. Deeper. Pulled her closer.

He heard his friends performing in the other room: Jewel sing
ing, Freddie picking out the tune on his guitar.

Happy birthday. Happy birthday.

Happy birthday—

And then the strangest gasp. eyes rolling back so the whites showed. Terror in his heart. Silence in hers.

—to you.

Blue left Mira alone after that, mixed himself a drink, and didn't speak to her, not even to harass her. He sprawled on the couch and watched movies from Felix's vast collection; she took a bubble bath with the door locked. She thought she would feel better when he wasn't talking to her, but it was actually more unsettling—she wasn't used to his being quiet.

He was, however, inebriated. Which could be very bad … or it could make him let down his guard and answer some of her questions.

Mira sat in the chair across from him. Blue had slid halfway down the couch, a highball glass in his hand. She didn't even know what he had in there. Lighter fluid, judging by the smell.

“Hey, psycho,” she said.

“Hey.” His eyes were glued to the screen—an old war movie. It looked vaguely familiar.

“So tell me something: why are your friends so weird?”

“Freddie's not weird.”

“Um, little animals flock to him like he's made of candy.”

“That makes the animals weird.”

She pressed her lips together, momentarily stymied.

“Is it because they're cursed?”

“The animals?” Blue took a slurp from his glass; grimaced like he really
was
drinking lighter fluid.

“Your friends.”

“Probably. It creates a lot of drama. Sturm und Drang. Crap like that.”

“I don't speak German,” she said.

“Neither do I. Except for a few choice words. Like
märchen.
”

“What?”

“Märchen,”
Blue drawled. “The flavor of the city, Fräulein.”

Mira resisted the urge to dump his drink on him. Being obnoxious right back wasn't going to get her the answers she wanted.

“What kind of curse is it?” she pressed.

“An old one. Is there any other kind?”

“Well … there's the curse that has me constantly running into you. That's new.”

“Ha.” Blue smiled. His eyes were beginning to droop—either sullenly or sleepily, she couldn't tell. She was about to take another shot at him when she heard the
buzz
of an electronic lock opening. In another moment, the suite's front door clicked open.

“Hey, Mira.” Felix slipped his jacket off as he came in, brows furrowing when he saw Blue. “I forgot to tell you to call security when he shows up.”

“Just a warning: he's trashed,” she said.

Felix went behind the couch, took the highball glass from Blue's hand, and leaned over his brother. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay away from her.”

“I told you to kiss my ass,” Blue said.

“You're not actually dumb enough to say that to me when you're sober. Get up.” Felix gripped the back of the couch and rocked it forward to knock Blue off. Blue tumbled down, unfazed, and rearranged himself so he was facing the TV, on the floor this time.

“Later,” Blue said. “I'm watching
Apocalypse Now
.”

Felix stood there for a moment, his fingers digging into the back of the couch. Then he shook his head. “Whatever. I'm not in the mood to get into this with you right now. Mira—can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure,” she murmured. She followed Felix into his bedroom.

It was weird seeing the two brothers interact—the obvious strain between them. She wondered if they'd ever liked each other. She could hear Marlon Brando's famous “the horror” speech coming from the TV behind her—“I've seen the horrors. … Horrors that you've seen”—and the creak of the leather as Blue climbed back onto the couch … before Felix shut the door.

Felix had brought the smell of the casino with him—the miasma of cigarette smoke from the pit had sunk into his clothes. His eyes were faintly red from it. He brushed a hand across them, looking irritated, looking like he was trying hard not to be.

“I hope he wasn't bothering you too much. He knows he's supposed to stay away from you … but Blue doesn't like following orders. And I don't want to fight with him when he's drunk.”

“I'm fine. Really,” she assured him. “He's annoying but he didn't do anything.”

She sat down on the bed, and after a moment he sat down, too. The book of fairy tales lay open between them.

“You wanted to talk to me,” Mira ventured. “Did you find something?”

Felix shook his head. “Not yet. But I was thinking about you tonight, and I wondered: why didn't your godmothers tell you where your parents were buried? What didn't they want you to find?”

Mira was quiet, unsure how to respond. The possibility that Bliss and Elsa had hidden something from her—some secret about her parents—had never crossed her mind. “I don't know. Maybe they didn't think it mattered.”

“You didn't ask before you left?”

“I didn't want them to know where I was going. They would have stopped me. They were pretty violently opposed to my ever coming here.”

“Why? What's in Beau Rivage that's so dangerous?”

“ ‘Memories' I don't have,” she said with a shrug. “They were afraid it would be traumatic for me.”

“That sounds like an excuse. And not a very good one.” He looked up, meeting her eyes. “I don't believe in coincidence, Mira. I think there's a reason you had to travel here alone. Something you were meant to find.”

Maybe it's you,
she thought, and then had the immediate urge to unthink it. She didn't want to be overeager, immature.

She didn't want to like him more than he liked her.

“We'll figure it out.” He set his hand down on the book of fairy tales, seeming to notice it for the first time. “You were reading this?”

She nodded. “I was kind of surprised to find it on your bookshelf. I didn't really read fairy tales when I was a kid. I thought they were … I don't know, too juvenile? But they're different than I thought. Darker. So far, I think ‘The Little Mermaid' is my favorite.”

“You like sad endings?” he asked.

“Maybe.” Mira swallowed. She hadn't thought of it like that, but maybe it was true. She didn't love the romance in the story; she loved the yearning, the despair, the mermaid's noble sacrifice. It stabbed her heart and made her
feel
in a way that happy endings didn't.

Because if you could love someone, and keep loving them, without being loved back … then that love had to be real. It hurt too much to be anything else.

“Sad endings are what I know,” she said.

He frowned at her. “Nothing's over yet, Mira. We'll find them. We've barely started.” He reached out and touched her face; turned her toward him. His fingertips sent a shivery burn though her, and she found herself staring at him a beat too long. “Not giving up on me, are you?”

She shook her head, not trusting her voice; and when her cheek burned hotter against his hand, she moved away—before she could do something embarrassing like close her eyes and
sigh
, or lean into his touch like a cat.

“What about you?” she asked, to change the subject. “What's your favorite fairy tale?”

Grimacing, Felix stretched out on the bed. “I don't really like fairy tales.”

“But … you have this book.” It didn't fit with the rest of his stuff. Why would he keep it if he didn't like it?

“It's been in the family a while,” he said. “My dad would be annoyed if I threw it away. And I
used
to like them. But I guess the novelty wore off. I got sick of reading about torture and dismemberment and … happy endings that get handed out at random, to people who don't deserve them.”

“Tell me how you really feel,” Mira joked.

Felix cracked a smile. “They're not all bad. Sleeping Beauty's all right. She gets to sleep for a hundred years and not go to work tomorrow. I'd like to do that. And she gets woken up by a kiss. That's a nice change.”

Felix lay on his back, eyes closed, his mouth relaxed—and Mira blushed, hyperaware of his position, of how easy it would be to lean over and kiss him. Had that been a hint? But … no, she couldn't. She'd die of embarrassment if she kissed him and he opened his eyes and said,
What are you doing?

“Some curses are meant to be broken,” Felix said. “And some just keep going until your life runs out.”

“Curses?” Mira's breath faltered. There were no coinci-dences—that was what he'd said. Here was her answer, the truth she'd tried to drag out of Blue.

“Curses & Kisses. That's the name of Blue's band,” Felix said.

“Oh.” Her hopes deflated as quickly as they'd soared. “Was that … were you quoting a lyric?”

“Just talking. Tired, I guess. I should get up and find you a new room.” Felix pushed himself off the bed, and she blurted:

“Or I could stay here.”

Her heart seemed to hammer twenty times before he spoke, beating:
stupid stupid stupid stupid
. …

“You want to stay here?” Felix gave her an odd look, surprised. Pleasantly surprised? Did he want her to stay? Did she want him to want her to stay?