I walked home in the sparkling aftermath of the rain, every grass blade like green glass. It took me a good half hour to get to my housing complex from the riverbank, but somehow I couldn't stand the thought of being cooped up on a bus. I wanted to grin stupidly into the air, where no one could see me.
Because Summer had said she wanted me to bring overnight stuff.
"Overnight stuff?" I'd repeated, puzzled.
"Yeah. You know, dolt. To stay over? I want to watch some movies, and it'll probably get pretty late, so you should just stay. We'll feed you. It'll be fun."
Overnight.
No one that I knew of ever got to go to their house, least of all for the night.
"Check with your parents that you can stay over, right?" she yelled over her shoulder as she left. "Don't be ages. I want hot chocolate."
I turned in to my housing complex, the smell of wet concrete crawling up my nose. Two kids were nudging a ball about, trying to boot it into puddles, squealing with laughter whenever either of them got sprayed.
I'd insisted on Summer letting me go home first to change, and when I finally looked in a mirror, I was glad I had. My hair had separated into scruffy rattails and clung to my skull. My makeup tracked down my cheeks. I did not pull off wet chic.
The house had that special quiet that meant I was alone. My mother was on a crazy shift pattern again at the warehouse where she worked. I sent her a text that just said, "staying overnight with some friends, back in the morning." I wondered if she'd reply this time, but my mood was too good for that kind of thinking, so I pushed on the thought carefully until it scuttled away. I let thoughts of Summer and movies and food and pretending to be a Grace, just for a night, grow and grow in my head until there was no room for anything else.
As I packed my backpack, I pictured Niral's face when she found out.
Overnight in the same house as Fenrin.
I hopped on the public bus that took me toward school, and then I skirted around the back of the sports field and walked onward for a while longer as instructed, until roads turned into potholed lanes, and buildings dwindled out into spartan landscape.
Summer was waiting for me at the top of the rocky track that ran to her house. I was glad to see her familiar shape against the lowering sky—I was beginning to think I'd gone the wrong way and the wilderness would simply swallow me up. The smell of clean, wet plants filled the air as I followed her back down. I breathed it in, and then stopped abruptly as we reached the bottom.
"It's not going to bite you," said Summer, her voice teasing.
I stood, my backpack dangling from my shoulder, looking up at the house.
It was beautiful, a fairy-tale place. It was everything my life was not.
Summer led me up the drive, and I tipped my head farther and farther back as we neared, trying to keep the whole place framed in my gaze. Three stories of pale stone and dark wood. Windows with shutters that were neatly pinned back against the walls. Ivy and a purple climber plant, which Summer called virgin's bower, snaked across the front brick, its leaves wagging in the wind.
I saw winking aquamarine stones in the white stone pots that lined the paved path to the front door. I saw a wooden wind chime hanging from a black iron handle set into one wall. A fat silver horseshoe nailed over the lintel. Gardens stretching around the side of the house, hedges tangled with blooming creepers, white flowers like little lilies. I saw everything; all the little details they'd probably been taking for granted their entire lives.
Inside, the hallway had an airy coolness to it. Summer led me to the bottom of the stairs, but I hesitated.
"Come on," she said. "We'll go to my room, dump your stuff. Are you hungry?"
"I could eat." I could always eat.
The staircase creaked as I put my foot on it. It felt like the house was warning me, like it was alive. We passed a windowsill housing a thin, hammered metal bowl full of strips of bark and shiny chestnuts. Dangling from the top frame was a bunch of dried herbs, hanging upside down from a wrap of thin leather that reminded me of the kind Fenrin always wore on his wrists.
Then we were on the second floor. Summer pushed open her door, and we went inside her room.
My first shocked thought was that it was messy and imperfect. I'd expected lots of black, and heavy textures like velvet and oak. What I got was a jumble of colors and clothes everywhere. Mismatched chairs and posters for art house–looking films next to prints of cartoons I watched when I was a kid. Beaded lamps. A purple-and-pink rug.
"The inner sanctum," said Summer, spreading her arms wide, but underneath the dry tone I thought she looked nervous, like she might fail a test. That was all wrong. I was the one taking tests here. Every minute I spent in their company was loaded with my concentration, my constant study in how to make them like me.
"It's great," I ventured, and her shoulders relaxed. Her desk was underneath the window, scattered with notebooks and pens and hair clips and bottles of nail varnish. It was all so jarringly normal, until I caught sight of what looked like thick parchment fastened to one wall, with two long columns of tiny gems that jutted out from its surface. I moved closer. The gems had holes bored through their centers and were sewn straight onto the parchment. Next to each one was a description in carefully printed handwriting.
"Rose quartz" read the description for a dusky pink-colored stone. "Love, both romantic and platonic. Intimacy and friendship."
"Yeah," said Summer. "It's this handmade gift we all got from our parents when we were, like, ten. It's just this family tradition. Different gems supposedly have specific attributes."
I tried to imagine the gem parchment on Fenrin's wall. I tried to imagine Fenrin's room.
We went down to the kitchen. It was cavernous, tiled in warm colors, every wall taken up by white painted cabinets with pretty glass panels. The thick wooden countertops were covered in boxes, tubs, pie dishes with cloths draped over them, fat vegetables stacked into corners, wooden bowls of nuts and shiny round fruit.
"This is like a food palace," I said. I don't think I managed to hide my envy.
"Well, with the ravenous pack of animals in this house, it never stays that way for long," said a rich voice behind me. I turned.
Standing next to Summer was her mother, Esther Grace, and around her all the light seemed to gather. Up close, she was Thalia but to an almost unbearable degree. Her blond hair hung around her body in untamed rivulets, and every part of her was flow and ripple, and yes, grace.
She smiled. "Summer never brings friends home, so I made sure she told me all about you."
It was said to be flattering, but Summer had an odd look on her face, and I thought maybe there was an undercurrent to the sentence; something I couldn't see.
"Thank you for having me," I said.
"Oh, anytime. We've always got friends or family staying, so we're quite used to it," she said, waving one arm absently. She wore jangling bangles like Thalia, or maybe it was that Thalia wore bangles like her. Just for a moment, I tried to imagine what it would be like to have her as a mother.
Intense, I decided. How could you ever measure up to someone so seemingly flawless?
"Help yourself to anything," said Esther, indicating the countertops. "I've got to make a load more food anyway, for when the Grigorovs arrive—"
"This house is just full of gorgeous women." Fenrin sauntered past us all, dressed in a steel gray T-shirt that hugged his arms. I watched as his long golden fingers selected a peach from a bowl. I tried to look completely unaffected by the fact that he was there.
"Well?" he said. "What are we all hanging around for? Isn't this movie night, in honor of our guest?" He bit into the peach and winked at me while chewing. Juice ran down his chin. It was simultaneously the sexiest and most embarrassing thing I'd ever seen. Did he just have that Grace trait of seeming as if it hadn't occurred to him to care what he looked like?
Was he flirting with me?
"Don't you have an elsewhere to be?" Summer teased.
"Nope."
"Well, you're not invited to movie night."
"Oh, really? Aren't you totally planning to use my room?"
"Of course. It's the biggest, and you're the only one with a TV."
"So never mind being invited, I'm the goddamn host."
"He shouldn't even have a TV in his room," said Esther mildly. She'd crossed to the huge double fridge and was fishing inside it. "And I had no idea you were going to be wasting the evening glued to that idiot box."
I caught a glance between Fenrin and Summer.
"Gwydion okayed the TV," Fenrin protested. "And I barely switch it on." They seemed like they were only mock fighting, but Fenrin's eyes were alarmed.
"Your father has the potential to be wrong about things," came Esther's voice from the fridge.
"That's true," Summer said. Fenrin shot her a deadly look. She gave him the finger.
"Come on," he said, impatiently. "Films to choose. Plans to make."
"Where's Thalia?"
"Already upstairs."
Summer danced off, and I followed. Fenrin was behind us. I had a feeling he was grinning at my back. Was he looking at me? I tried to walk normally. Then I tried to sway a little more than usual. Then I panicked at how that might look and stopped. He caught up with me halfway to the second-floor landing.
"You call your father Gwydion and your mother Esther," I said, for conversation.
"Those are their names."
"Yes, but. You don't call them 'Dad' or 'Mom' or anything?"
"It's reductive and twee," called Summer over her shoulder. "Parents have names. Being a mother or father is not their sole occupation."
Fenrin shrugged. "They never liked it. We're just used to it now."
We went up the next flight of stairs to the top floor. Summer opened a door and disappeared inside. I followed.
Fenrin's room.
The first thing I said was, "Christ, you have your own fridge up here."
"Fen's the darling child, the only son," said Thalia, who was sitting on his bed, leafing through a book. "He gets whatever he wants." Her feet were bare, with tiny silver toe rings and soft plaited bracelets around her ankles.
"Don't listen to her," said Fenrin.
His room had a sloping ceiling lined with dark wooden beams, sitting snug under the eaves of the house. He called it the aerie. In contrast to Summer's room, it was clean and bright. There were discs of polished stone propped carefully up against surfaces, and shells scattered on his windowsill. Thick, sea-blue curtains were held back with rope. The same gem parchment was up on his wall. I went to it and ran my fingers over the little gemstones, reading the descriptions, trying to commit them to memory.
Summer hauled me over to look through their horror movie collection, while Thalia and Fenrin went back downstairs for the food. There was some dark stuff in that collection, and I've never had a stomach for horror, but I wanted to please Summer, so I asked her which were her favorites, and she talked through them animatedly. We chose three, and then Summer put on some music she'd just bought. I tried to like it.
"What about this one?" she bellowed over the noise.
I gave her a weak thumbs up.
"STOP THE RACKET," roared Fenrin as he came back into the room, arms laden with plates and bowls. He put everything down and leapt on Summer, who was defending the stereo with her life. I watched them as Thalia started spreading food out on the floor. I watched Thalia. I watched them all and felt an ache for something I couldn't name.
Thalia opened the fridge, brought out a bottle of wine, and started pouring.
"Oh, thank god," said Fenrin. "Let's get trashed." He swiped the glass from her and perched on his bed, sipping.
"Your parents let you keep alcohol in your room?" I said, surprised.
Thalia looked up from her pouring. "We've been drinking at family parties since we were, like, fourteen. And we have wine with dinner, sometimes. They're not as narrow-minded as some people."
Her voice had a mildly superior air to it. This was a semiregular occurrence with Thalia.
"I think they figured a long time ago that if we were going to drink, we might as well do it openly rather than secretly," Summer said. "Only in the house, though."
"You guys don't go out to bars or clubs or anything?"
There was a short pause.
Fenrin tried to grin. "We have, how do I put it, control-freak parents? They don't enjoy letting us range too far out of their sight."
"Oh, what's the point of bars and clubs, anyway?" Summer interrupted. "They never play the music I like. I want to be comfortable. I want to surround myself with people who actually interest me."
Thalia handed me a glass. I sniffed it cautiously.
"You don't smell it, you drink it," said Summer.
Thalia grinned. "She's being a connoisseur. You know, smell, swirl, taste, spit."
"I don't know anything about wine," I protested. "I've drunk it, like, once before."
"Seriously? What do you usually drink?" said Thalia.
"Vodka."
Fenrin laughed. "The girl takes her alcohol seriously."
"Wine is a better buzz," said Thalia. "Spirits are just … bleurgh."
Common, I think she wanted to say.
Fenrin put on some different music. I turned to him in surprise. "I love this band."
"Oh god, you pop conformists," Summer groaned.
Fenrin snorted. "Whatever. She knows good music when she hears it." He nodded to me.
"Don't blame her for your bad taste."
Thalia interrupted. "Have you chosen the movies then, or what?"
Summer put the first one on. And we drank.
I had settled at the foot of the bed. Fenrin was draped on top of it, farthest away. Every time the mattress rustled, I wanted to look around. They were like yowling cats throughout, lounging and shifting and eating and talking over the movie. I missed half of it, but I didn't care. This was what it was like to be one of them. This was what they must do all the time.
I didn't even realize when the movie ended—Summer had an uncanny knack for voices and had us in stitches re-creating the villain's lines. We were drunk. We were drunk together, and it was the best feeling in the world.
"Food break!" Thalia announced, standing up. "I'm going to get the cookies."
"And I need the … well, you know." I made my way out.
"To the left!" Summer shouted cheerily behind me. "To the left, to the left!"
I waved my hand behind my back. It had gone so dark outside, and there were no hallway lights on. Thalia slipped past me and raced down the stairs like a ghost in the dimness, her feet almost noiseless on the wood. I crept along and found two empty bedrooms. The third was a toilet.
I locked the door firmly and stared at myself in the mirror.
I looked all right.
It was going well.
I repeated this to myself several times until I could almost believe it. I ran my fingers underneath my eyes, cleaning up the makeup that had smeared. I washed my hands twice with this odd, lumpy bar of soap that smelled of the sea. Maybe it was from Esther's shop.
I couldn't face going back into that room, not quite yet, so I crept down the stairs to the second floor. I just wanted to explore a little. It was a big house. How could I ever know it if I didn't look at everything in it?
Summer's bedroom was on the far left. The next door along hid a bathroom dominated by a sunken plunge bath tiled in foggy blue glass. Another bedroom after that—it was grown-up and beautiful, filled with thick woven throws and rough-textured furnishings in natural colors. A spindly desk had open books scattered across it, and herbs in little clay pots perched on every available surface. The same gem parchment was on the wall.
Thalia's room.
Next to hers was an emptier guest bedroom and then a study. I went inside, not daring to turn on a light in case someone saw. The light from the hallway would be enough to see by.
It smelled old, warm, and spicy. The study walls were covered in black lacquered glass-fronted cabinets. I itched to see and touch the objects inside. Reams of cardboard files jostled for space with pieces of crystal, a clock with glass balls that constantly rotated, trunks no bigger than shoe boxes with ornate iron hinges and tantalizing keyholes. What secrets did they have locked inside them?
"What are you doing in here?" said a voice.
I jumped. "I'm sorry," I said into the dark, while my heart climbed up my throat and buzzed in my mouth. "I'm really sorry."
A desk lamp came on. There, sitting in the chair, was Gwydion Grace.
I hadn't even noticed his shape when I'd come in. He was sat on his own in the dark.
Was he going to kick me out? Would he tell everyone? Drag me upstairs and out me?
"I was just looking around," I said. "Your … your house is really beautiful, Mr. Grace."
He blinked at that, and his eyes shifted away. It gave me space to look at him properly. He was pretty. Not handsome—pretty. High cheekbones, long slim nose. Summer looked like him. They had that curve to the mouth, that arrangement of face. His chestnut-brown hair curled past his shoulders and was pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes were big and glassy.
He looked up at me. Sad. His eyes were sad.
"You're Summer's friend," he said.
I waited. It hadn't seemed like a question. He had gone silent, watching me.
"I didn't mean to disturb you," I tried.
"You didn't know I was here."
"Well, you were sitting in the dark."
That had been too much like a challenge. He leaned forward. "I think we both know who's in the wrong here."
I didn't feel like squirming, though. Maybe it was the wine. I was drunk. "What's the matter?" I said.
He looked startled. "What?"
"You're here in the dark, alone. I thought maybe you were upset."
He stood up. I felt like stepping back. I made myself stay still.
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"Summer. Summer invited me."
He seemed to consider this. "I'm surprised Esther allowed it."
I kept silent.
He started toward the door.
"Stick to the top floor, and drink your wine, and watch your movies," he said at the doorway. "It's nice to be young, isn't it?"
I felt my held breath slowly hissing through my lips.
You have no idea what it's like, I thought. How hard it is.
I think he knew that, too. The way he said it hadn't seemed to indicate "nice."
A part of me wanted to tell him that. He looked like he needed to talk to someone. Maybe I'd imagined it, though. No, I would give nothing away.
He left.
I gave it a minute. Then, cautiously, I slipped back upstairs. He had disappeared, and I heard a burst of laughter from behind the bedroom door, signaling safety. His eyes were in my head one final time, before I opened the door and the sight of Fenrin sprawled out on his bed slapped everything else away.
I wanted to run over, launch myself next to him, pretend to be a child, carefully uncaring of who else was there. Accidentally brush his leg with mine.
I didn't.
They had just started the second movie. Thalia was back and arguing with Summer over an actor's name. I realized I was hungry and placed myself on the floor next to Thalia, reaching for the bowl of popcorn. At some point, my glass was full again, and I didn't know where all the wine was coming from, and I forgot to care.
We kept laughing, and I kept noticing how I tilted my head back so far I thought my neck would snap, and how much my stomach hurt. It felt so good. I knew if I were on the outside looking in at this night, I would ache so much to be part of it.
The second movie finished. We'd switched all the lights off. Summer and Fenrin had changed places—she was now sprawled on his bed with sleepy eyes. He was on the floor, Thalia in between us.
I willed Thalia away with everything I had. Please, I thought silently. Please go away. A few minutes later, I got my wish. Thalia clutched her stomach, sitting bolt upright.
"I think I need the bathroom," she announced and didn't even wait for a response. Once she'd bolted out of the door, Fenrin and I looked at each other. He laughed, and I followed suit.
"Some people can't hold their drink," he said, tossing a salted almond into his mouth.
"Will she be okay?"
"Oh yeah. She'll chuck it all up and feel right as rain. Don't worry, she's used to it."
"Really? I didn't think she was a big drinker."
Fenrin paused, as if only just aware of what he'd said. He shrugged.
I leaned closer to him, using the bowl of nuts as my excuse. He stretched his head up to look over the bed.
"Summer is out," he said as he relaxed back down and sighed. "Guess I'll be sleeping in her room tonight. That place looks like a bomb hit it."
"We could carry her," I suggested, flushed with my new role as coconspirator.
"You try moving her. She weighs a ton when she's asleep. And she does not wake up until she's had her ten hours or whatever."
"Wow. I wish I could sleep like that."
"So do I."
I kept my voice light. "Bad dreams?"
"Sometimes," he said absently, staring at the wall. "Or, you know. I suppose I just … think about things too much."
"What kinds of things do you think about?" I asked him.
"You know. Life. The world. The human race." Fenrin propped himself up on one elbow. We were close now.
Close enough to kiss, if he stretched.
"The thing is," he said softly, "we're all going to die."
"Yes."
"But the first time you really realize it … how do you get over that?"
"Get wasted."
We laughed.
"You don't, I think," I said, finally. "You never get over it. The rest of your life is spent knowing it, over your shoulder."
"Are you okay with it?"
"No. But sometimes yes. And then no, again. Sometimes it's okay. Like now. We're drunk. We feel good. But tomorrow … life crowds in again. And then you find another way to block out the truth, just so you can get through the day. If we let ourselves see too much truth, it scares us. You have to block it out, or you'd never get anything done. You'd just wander around being perpetually depressed or amazed." I paused. "That doesn't mean we shouldn't want to see the truth. It's just that maybe we have to see it in stages to be able to understand it."
Fenrin gave me a side glance. "Truth stages. I like that. I like the way you think. The way you talk. You're not afraid of the truth. So many people are afraid of the truth."
His eyes were glistening at me in the light of the television. He leaned back against the side of the bed, and I copied him. As we spoke in low voices, life seemed to expand before us, the endless universe, filled with questions and dark mystery.
At one point, and he did it so smoothly—lots of practice, though I shoved that thought away as soon as it came—he put his arm around my shoulders, pulling my back into his chest, my head resting against his shoulder. His fingers dangled, brushing my skin, my collarbone. He did it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. My lower belly squirmed.
"What about your family?" he said. We'd been talking about his sisters.
I tried not to tense. "What about them?"
"You never talk about them. What are they like?"
"Boring."
"It's just you and your mother, right?"
"Yeah."
"Where's your father?"
I hesitated. "He's … he's not around," I said. I couldn't face talking about that, not with Fenrin Grace.
Block it out. Push it down into nothing.
"Any brothers or sisters?"
"Nope. Only child."
"That's tough."
"Is it?" I said, though I agreed with him. "Some people might say it's easier."
"No. You might get what you want more than others, but it's lonelier."
In my belly, something turned and dug its claws into me, sharp. It was. It was.
"Do you get on with your mother?" he asked.
"God, no. She can't even stand to be in the same room as me." I laughed, trying to lighten my tone. "Not like you guys."
"Oh, sure." His voice was sharp.
"No?"
"What you see is not necessarily what you get with the Graces, my River."
I smiled into the dark. Just two words. My and River. Amazing how just two words could change so much.
Silence. I wanted to ask more, but he came out with it first.
"Ready for a truth stage?" he said in an overly casual tone.
I felt him underneath me, his voice vibrating through my skull. I felt the weight of his arm and the conversation.
"Yes," I said.
"It's about why I never stick with one girl for long."
"Tell me."
"You'll laugh."
"Only if it's funny."
"Oh it is," he agreed, his voice a comfortable purr. "See, my family has this superstition. They say that if a Grace has a relationship with someone 'normal,' then something bad will happen. It's a curse."
"Someone 'normal'?"
He said nothing.
Someone who isn't a witch.
"You've had lots of relationships," I tried.
"You couldn't call anything I've had such a long word. I've had fun. It has to be more serious and long-term than that, or it's not a curse."
His words were gently slurred around the edges.
"They have these stories. These bullshit stories they've fed us ever since we were little. Great Aunt Lydia hanged herself because her 'normal' husband went mad. A Grace back in Victorian times eloped with a farmer's daughter—she ended up shooting him dead. My mother's cousin, her husband killed himself the day after the wedding. A curse. You see?"
The drink fog had lifted slightly. "Those are true stories?" I said.
"Completely. Of course, whether they're because of a curse or not is another matter. And those stories work on you. We believed them without question when we were kids. Then we grew up and derided them as overblown crap. But they left their stain on us. There's always a little part of your mind, right at the back there, the bit you keep locked up, that wonders what if?"
Silence descended. I didn't know what to say. A curse. It sounded impossibly tragic, something that belonged to myth and legend rather than real life.
Fenrin laughed, a noise that cut the quiet. "It's become so bad that my sister breaks up with a guy she's known her whole life because of it, and then he goes psycho anyway, so now of course she believes in the curse implicitly because look, there's the evidence. Never mind that maybe he's just naturally unstable. Never mind he's always had issues. Which she knows."
Marcus. He was talking about Marcus.
Curiouser and curiouser.
"Maybe that's how it works," I said softly. "It makes you attract people who are already dangerous."
"That's a pleasant thought," he replied, and his voice was just a little sharper than before.
I kicked myself, wondering how I could repair the damage. I felt him shift underneath me, and I reluctantly pulled away from his chest, my whole body shrinking crossly when the heat of him left it. I thought it was all over, that I'd ruined it, but then he spoke again.
"Well, maybe you should tell my mother your theory. Then she might stop having affairs."
I raised my eyes to his. His features were unreadable in the dark.
"She's having an affair?" I said, astonished. "With who?"
"Take your pick. At least three that I know of. They never last long. She makes sure they don't." His voice was bitter. "Guess why."
"She's afraid of the curse?"
He gave me a sardonic thumbs up. Had he drawn the parallel between Esther's behavior and his own? Of course he had. He was waiting for someone. Someone special—a witch who could withstand the curse.
"Your dad—you think he knows?"
He shrugged, expansive in his false, drunk bravado. "He knows."
I thought of their father sitting in the dark, alone. His pretty, sad eyes.
"Why don't they just divorce?"
Fenrin snorted. "Because then they'd have to admit that there's something wrong. And we're never wrong, darling." His voice trailed off dreamily. "Never never."
I thought about Esther. Beautiful Esther who drew all eyes to her. She could have anyone she wanted. If I was like that, would I be able to stick to just one person for the rest of my life? Could I ever love anyone that much?
She had power. Of course she used it.
Fenrin's eyes were half-closed as he leaned his head back against the bed.
"River, River," he said, his voice just above a whisper. I felt my skin prickle with slow delight.
"Fenrin, Fenrin," I replied, smiling. Dropping my face just a little closer.
His eyes were closed now. The corners of his mouth curled up.
I let myself imagine how it could go, for just a moment. Maybe later, when we were all in bed. Maybe he'd slip into my room. Say he couldn't sleep. Lean toward me in the dark. He'd try and brush it off afterward, of course, just like Thalia had done with Marcus, afraid I'd go crazy on him. I would have to earn him back by proving myself as one of them.
We'd keep it secret, of course, just in the beginning. Everyone at school would find a reason to hate me where before they'd barely even known me. But it wouldn't matter if I had the Graces as a shield. My best friend's brother. The thought of it made my heart swell until it threatened to pop out of my chest.
The bedroom door flew open.
I turned, startled, guilty. It was Thalia. She stood in the doorway and she said, "Wolf's here."
Amazing how just two words could wreck so much.
