Nobody (9 page)

“You’re not a very good killer,” Claire found herself saying. Why was she baiting him? She wasn’t sure. Except that maybe, she hoped that he would tell her something. Something that might help her find a way out of this alive.

“I’m
the
killer. I am death to all I seek. I am Nobody.”

Nobody
.

He said it like he meant it. Like he believed it. Like it was the reason for the shadows in his eyes and the scar across his neck.

Like this boy—this beautiful, insane, gun-toting boy—could possibly understand what it felt like to be truly invisible. To not matter. To anyone.
Ever
.

The boy in question closed his eyes again and then sank to the floor, moving forward at a crouch. She dodged, and then scuttled backward, into the kitchen.

Away from the door.

“How do you do that?” the boy hissed, following her.

Do what? Run? Considering the amount of time she’d spent staring at him instead of doing so, it was probably a fair question. Taking advantage of his distraction, she lashed out with one leg, trying to kick him off balance. He caught her foot and trapped it in a viselike hold. Then he stepped forward, working his way up the leg toward her, with detached precision.

His face an inch away from hers, he spoke. “You shouldn’t be able to see me.”

This close, there was no escape. There was no room to
maneuver. There was no hope and no chance. She didn’t lean away from him. She didn’t struggle. All she did was give in to the inevitable, with a shudder. “Of course I can see you. I’m not blind.”

Not blind. Not
blind?

How was she doing this? How was this girl, this
perfect-beautiful-cruel
girl looking at him?

Seeing him.

Acting like a person would have to be blind to stare through him.

His left hand held her leg immobile. He moved his right hand to brush the back of her neck. One motion. One movement. One jerk of his wrist, and she was dead.

“You will tell me how you’re doing this,” he ordered. “You will stop it.”

“Stop
what
? Tell you how I’m doing
what
?” The words burst out of her mouth. She seemed … agitated.

You shouldn’t be able to see me, Claire. I shouldn’t be able to agitate you
.

He did not say the words out loud. The gleaming sheen of tears in her eyes stopped him from speaking. This wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t.

Claire filled the void of his silence. “I’m not doing
anything
. I can’t do anything. Every time I try, it’s like … you
stop me. God, you tried to shoot me, and I’m so pathetic that when I looked out the window and you weren’t there anymore, I thought I was going to die because you were gone. And thirty seconds ago, I finally thought I had a chance to make it out of this, but now you’re touching me, and you’re looking at me, and you won’t let go. I know you won’t.”

A single tear broke from the surface of her eye and slid down her cheek. Her face turned red and puffy. She wasn’t a graceful crier, Claire. And she was right: he would never let go of her.
Never
.

“And you want to know why I’m looking at you!” she accused.

Like that was so ridiculous. Like it wasn’t a legitimate question. Like she wasn’t deliberately withholding the answer.

Nix watched as another tear slid down Claire’s face. And then another. She looked down, but then lifted her head back up defiantly and stared him straight in the eye.

Nix was sure that no one had ever been looked at quite the way that Claire was looking at him. No Normal had ever been broken in half by a stare so pure. Ione and the Sensors, the rest of the world—they’d never have what Claire was giving him now.

Kill her
.

Instead of snapping her neck, he tightened his hold on her leg, just slightly. And then, conceding defeat, he
stepped backward, his hand trailing down her thigh, past her knee, and to her ankle before he gave her back that long, perfect limb.

I can’t kill her
.

He’d made her cry. Here, now, far away from the rest of her life or any other outside forces, she’d started crying.

Because of him.

And he didn’t care if she was acting. He didn’t care that it wasn’t real. It didn’t matter if he was just another stupid boy, falling for the charms of another heartless girl.

I made her cry
.

Nobodies couldn’t make people cry.

Nulls couldn’t be made to do so.

She was the best damn actress in the world, and he couldn’t hold it against her. He couldn’t lift a hand against her, couldn’t so much as leave a mark on her perfect skin.

“You won,” he said.

“Won what?”

“You can drop the act,” he told her. He opened one of the kitchen drawers. He took out a dagger, a gun, and a syringe. He laid them on the counter, one by one. And then he turned and looked at her.

Waiting.

She took a step backward.

Claire’s eyes are opened wide. Her lips are turned downward. She’s not breathing. She’s holding her breath
.

He wondered what her angle was. Hadn’t he said that the game was over? Wouldn’t the victor want to revel in her spoils?

“Please don’t kill me,” she whispered.

Nix stared at her, not comprehending her words. Hadn’t he just exposed his weapons? Conceded defeat? Given her
exactly
what she’d wanted?

Years ago, he’d tried to kill himself. He’d failed.

Three times now, he’d tried to kill Claire, and he’d failed. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to harm her in any way. He’d
saved
her. It seemed right, somehow, that she should kill him.

“Go ahead, Claire. I won’t fight you.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

She was going to make him say it. She wouldn’t settle for less than absolute defeat. She wanted to break him.

“I’m not going to kill you, Claire,” he said, savoring the taste and feel of her name on his lips one more time, as he played along with her game. “You’re going to kill me.”

For as long as she’d known him, this dark-haired, blue-eyed boy had wanted her dead. And now he wasn’t going to kill her.

I can’t take this. I really can’t
. Up and down and in and out, seesawing back and forth. First he was going to kill
her, then he saved her, then he tried to kill her again. And now—

“You want me to
what
?”

The kitchen lights grew very bright. Claire’s tongue swelled inside her mouth. Her mouth went dry. Tiny, iridescent spots dotted her peripheral vision. Her body felt very cold.

This must be what it feels like to go into shock
.

The boy didn’t move, not a muscle. She should have taken advantage of the moment. At the very least, she should have grabbed the weapons in case he changed his mind. But even in shock, Claire was stupidly certain that he wouldn’t hurt her.

I’m not going to kill you, Claire. You’re going to kill me
.

Maybe she should want to. After what he’d almost done to her, maybe a normal girl would. But she wasn’t normal. She knew that now, more than ever.

“What’s your name?” she asked, her throat dry, her body anticipating the answer.

“I don’t have a name. I’m Nobody.”

“My name’s Claire.”

He obviously already knew that, but in faerie stories, it mattered, sometimes, if that knowledge was freely given.

“My name is Claire. What’s yours?”

“Nix.” His pupils flared. “Now you have it. You have everything. Kill me.”

His tone was feral. There was no other word.

“Do it!” he screamed. His body twisted, as if he was in pain. “Pick up a weapon.” The boy—
Nix, Nix, Nix
—hurled the words at her, each carrying the weight of a punch and the threat of something much, much worse.

He’s going to kill me. If I don’t kill him, he’s going to kill me
.

She took a step toward the weapons he’d laid out on the counter, trying not to look at them.

“Keep moving, Claire.”

The closer she got, the more she averted her gaze. From him. From the sharp edge of the dagger, the glint of the gun. With each step, her body thawed.

So this is what coming out of shock feels like
.

“Pick up the gun.” Nix’s orders were curt and clear. He hadn’t moved, but she knew he would if she didn’t do exactly what he said.
“Pick it up!”

She picked up the gun.

I won’t kill him. I won’t
.

“Aim it at me.”

“No.”

“You won, Claire. You won. This is what you want. This is what you’ve always wanted.” He spoke the words like they were sacred. Like he was delivering his own eulogy, and somehow, it was all about her. “You’re everything, and I’m nothing, and I. Can’t. Kill. You.”

Everything?

Everything wouldn’t have been the most anonymous
girl in her ninth-grade class. Everything wouldn’t have to nearly die to get her parents’ attention. Everything wouldn’t want a boy who wanted her dead.

“Aim the gun at me, Claire. Do it now.” He stalked toward her, grace incarnate. “Point it at me. Pull the trigger. It’s easy, Claire. So easy.”

He was getting closer.

And closer.

“It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? What, are you too good to kill me? Am I not your type?”

“No.” She threw the gun down in a fit of rebellion. The second she did, he dove at her. Contact. His body. Hers.

Touching.

For a moment, Claire flew. Weightless. Entangled. And then he twisted, cushioning her landing, then moving to cover her body with his own.

He’s afraid the gun is going to go off
, she realized. She struggled against the shield his body was offering for hers. She was the one who’d thrown the gun. She was the one who’d put them in danger. Why was he protecting her?

The gun clattered to the floor, the safety still on. Silence filled the room, and Nix jerked his body away from hers, the ghost of his touch lingering on her skin.

“You threw the gun,” he said, voice rough, eyes wide. “You threw it away.”

“I didn’t think about it going off. I just wanted it gone.” Claire tried very hard to look as determined as she felt.
To choose the words to get her point across. “I won’t hurt you. You shouldn’t try to make me, because I won’t.”

For a moment, Nix resembled a shepherd who’d seen the messiah. Awe colored his every feature. Even his tattoos seemed to glow with some kind of inner joy. And then, as quickly as it had come, the expression disappeared, and Nix blanched.

No words.

Just a choking sound, like the air was suffocating him.

And then he leapt to his feet, and before Claire could stop him, her would-be killer was gone.

Nix’s feet pounded against the ground. Limbs reached out to scratch him. The summer air, heavy and hot, stung his lungs with every breath. He had to get away—from the girl, from what had just happened, from the feelings threatening to suck him into a black hole of
asking
and
wanting
and
doubt
.

She’d thrown down his gun. People who trafficked in death didn’t do that. True killers anticipated death—their own. Others’. They saw it everywhere. An active Null, one who’d given in to the impulse to play God, might have bucked at Nix’s offer. She might have wanted to kill him with her own weapons, on her own time.

But she wouldn’t have thrown the gun.

Claire has never killed anyone
. Of that much, Nix was sure. And yet …

The Sensors had identified Claire as a Null. Ione had designated her Code Omega—too dangerous to approach, even for Nix. The last Omega Nix had killed—number Nine—had the bodies of fourteen women buried in his backyard. In pieces.

Nulls were evil. Those designated Do Not Approach were worse.

Nix stopped running. He backed himself into a tree and forced himself to breathe. To think. Not about Claire
—what if—what if—what if
—but about the fact that The Society had misclassified her.

Claire wasn’t dangerous. At least, not yet. So why had The Society told him she was? Why had Ione ordered him to kill her from afar?