Betwixt (11 page)

Slut.
Morgan felt her stomach surge.

“I should check on my brother.”

Moth moved closer. “Little brother’s doing just fine, princess.” He nuzzled her neck. “Some secrets no one should know, Morgan
dear.”

“What’s that supposed —”

Moth’s teeth were a little crooked and the tiniest bit pointed and they shone when he laughed. “Don’t you worry your perfect
head about it.”

“K.A. knows everything about me —”

His thigh pressed against hers. “Not everything, sweet.”

“Whathe
fuck
are you
talking
about?”

“Nothing, love. Nothing,” Moth said louder. She whipped her head from side to side and he grabbed her shoulders. “My god,
you want it, don’t you? But it’s too soon, Morgan. Too soon.”

His hands felt hot on her skin and her head felt strange. What was he talking about? Too soon? She felt stuffed full of
cotton. Cotton, or something heavier. Dirt. No, not dirt — dust. She’d heard the stories about Moth: that he dealt the stuff,
talked about it as if it were the ticket to Nirvana. He’d been getting her drinks all night. Had he spiked them? Morgan doubted
it. She’d had more than enough to drink to account for her disorientation. Somehow she felt Moth wouldn’t make her do anything
she didn’t want to do.

His hot hands were kneading her shoulders and she realized she’d been quiet for too long. She looked up at him, smiling as
brightly as she could, though her mouth felt rubbery. Moth smiled back.

“There she is,” he said. “There’s my wild child.”

Morgan dropped her eyes. She liked him — liked his heat, wanted it to stay there, close to her, warming her, but her eyes
kept returning to her brother and that little pizza-slinging bitch. She gawked, tripping on Moth’s feet as she turned. The
couple looked so —
disgusting,
Morgan managed to think before she swerved back to him.

“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, though Moth hadn’t been saying anything.

“Wait.” He placed his head close to her ear and whispered. “I have something to tell you.” He tugged at her earlobe with his
teeth and she shivered. “Do you want to know about the Ring of Fire?”

Morgan felt her body soften to the handsome boy.

“Is that … the party? Around the solsshti — I mean solshstish — Sol —”

“Solstice,” Moth instructed. “Your birthday.” Moth’s breath smelled like sugar and … more sugar.

“My —” Morgan was confused. Her birthday wasn’t until September.

“Sshh.” Moth’s hiss was wet against her ear. “It’s a secret. Secret solstice, secret day.” He cupped her chin, turned her
head until their eyes met. “You know how to keep secrets, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Secret solstice,” she whispered.

He smiled and leaned forward and Morgan closed her eyes. Her lips quivered; instead she felt him once more against her ear.
He whispered something, finishing up by nipping her earlobe.

“That’s just ours, then.”

Morgan nodded. “Niney-ssshevn —”

“Shhh.” Moth placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t worry. You’ll know when the time comes.” He pulled back and eyed her. “Now.
How am I going to take advantage of you?”

She smiled. Slippity slide. “You want to take advantage of me?”

“I do,” he said and Morgan felt herself move closer.

The boy disengaged so quickly that she almost toppled over. He straightened up, readjusted a pant leg. “But not now.”

“What?” Morgan felt the dirty red flush of shame across her face and chest. Hadn’t he just said he wanted her?

“Where are you going?”

He was already walking away. “Wait here, princess. I’ve got to find someone.”

What the fuck? She steadied herself. Morgan D’Amici was a virgin. Morgan D’Amici was an ice queen. Morgan D’Amici was a prize.
Morgan D’Amici did not come on to anyone. She had been almost ready to give herself to a stranger — a drug dealer! — and now
he was walking away from her into a party that seemed to have doubled in size in the last ten minutes.

She felt cold spots on each of her shoulders, where his hands had been a moment ago. “Well screw you, too!”

The strangest image filled her mind then. Wings — dark wings. Wings that would rustle and raise her clear above everyone.
Make them look at her. Make them want her.

I’ll rise. I’ll rise.

She was drunk, she knew that. But the slight had sobered her. She wanted to go home. Fuck James Motherwell. Fuck him. She
looked at K.A., cozy on the couch with Neve. Touching his knee. Throwing her head back and laughing. Her brother seemed far
away and she wanted to go to him and rescue him from that backstabbing whore, but at the same time she didn’t want him to
see how drunk she was. She scanned the room for Ondine, spotting her near the kitchen talking with that loser from Jacob’s.
What was his name?

Ondine. This was all her fault. She teetered toward them.

“James Motherwell is a pig,” she blurted when she got within shouting distance. Everything was blurry and had gotten very
loud. She had to steady herself against the wall. She yelled and watched her former friend’s face fall.

“Morgan! What up? What’s wrong?”

“You shouldn’t have let him come.” She advanced uncertainly. “I’m leaving. I need a ride home.”

Ondine looked at her friend. “Who? What are you talking about?”

“
Moth.
Your friend, James Motherfucker.”

“I — you were supposed to stay over. There are all these people here. I’ve got to deal with this mess —” Ondine pointed around
at the party, which was now out of control.

“The
mess
is that you invited that prick in the first place.”

Ondine tried to put her hand on Morgan’s shoulder but she shook it off.

“Invite him? Morgan, I couldn’t do anything. You were at O’Brian’s. You saw what happened.”

She ignored her. “Thanks, Ondine. No I really mean it.
Thanks.
My brother and that little sausage-faced whore, and now you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Blue flashing lights illuminated the packed living room.

“Oh shit!” Ondine cried. “The cops!”

Morgan didn’t seem to notice. “Don’t you worry. I’ll get home on my own.” She turned and nodded to Nix, who stared back at
her, his dark eyes intent. “So you can get back to hitting on this loser. Though loser might be an exaggeration. More like
a nothing. Isn’t that what your ridiculous name means, Nix? Nothing? Zero?”

Nix stayed silent, his eyes fixed. Though the intensity of his stare scared her, Morgan waved him off and turned back to Ondine.
“That’s what you want, right? Someone you can push around? Or maybe that’s Neve’s role. I like how you pimped her out to my
brother. Really classy. But hey” — she smiled and narrowed her eyes — “what’s a little betrayal among friends?”

“No, Morgan … you’ve got it wrong —”

She had already turned to leave. Ondine tried to run after her, but Morgan was swallowed by the crowd. When she got back to
the kitchen, Nix was still waiting for her. He frowned.

“What’s he look like?”

“Who?” Ondine was exasperated. She looked around the room then covered her eyes. “Wait — wait. I have to think.”

“That cat, Moth. What’s he wearing?”

She put a hand to her brow. She was shaking. “He’s tall. Black curly hair. All in black.” She held up her right hand. “He’s
got a big silver ring. And one of those — you know, Fu Manchus or whatever.”

Nix turned. The look in his eye was curious.

“I’ll find him.”

N
IX WASN
’
T SURE HOW LONG
he wandered around Ondine’s house. It seemed like he’d just left her, and it seemed like he’d been walking for hours. At
one point he stopped and asked himself what he was doing, who he was looking for. Then the name came to him:
Moth.
He closed his eyes, shook his head to clear it. It was a good thing he hadn’t taken dust. Something about the night had him
flying already — and, judging from the looks of things, everyone else.

Especially Neve and K.A, he thought, chagrined. Earlier he’d spotted the duo on the couch. They’d stopped teasing each other
and were now looking as though they were attempting to stitch their mouths together. K.A. had pushed Neve’s dress up, his
hand resting on the smooth bare skin of her upper thigh. The curve of Neve’s ass was visible, and the tiniest glimpse of underwear.
At the sight of it Nix had felt a flash of something — lust? jealousy? — but not just for Neve. It had been the three of them
up till then. Now Nix knew he would be excluded from the old grouping.

Moth.
He snorted. And Morgan thought Nix was a stupid name.

He had a few questions for the older boy. Though he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to like the answers, he was still determined
to ask them.

Finding him in the swirling dervish of Ondine’s first — and last, Nix was sure — party wasn’t so easy. First there was the
mass of dancing bodies in the living room to get through, now the damp crowd around one of the unkickable kegs. He was heading
toward a black bobbing head near the front door when a bright light invaded his peripheral vision. He almost dropped his beer.
The haloed figure of Jacob Clowes pressed through the crowd, on the hunt, the light around him burning brighter than Nix had
ever seen it. For a moment he was confused. Who could Jacob be looking for if not him? The fire was so bright he couldn’t
think straight….

Jacob was looking at someone, his heavy brow furrowed. Nix followed his gaze. At the end of it, in a dark corner, was Tim
Bleeker. And on his lap — Nix blinked, not trusting his eyes — sat Neve Clowes.

Her spine curled like a young unstaked vine as she swayed on Tim Bleeker’s knee. It was hard to tell if she was uncomfortable
or just drunk. Probably a bit of both, he thought. Her arms clasped Bleek’s neck, but it looked to Nix as though she were
hanging on so she didn’t fall to the floor, and the drug dealer had his face in her chest. Still, how the hell had she ended
up on his lap in the first place? And where was K.A.? Nix caught a glimpse
of Neve’s confused stare and guessed that she’d already sampled Bleek’s wares.

Another hand worked its way up Neve’s narrow thigh. Asshole! Though that was not enough. Neve was barely sixteen, Bleek in
his twenties. Nix didn’t know what to do. Should he find K.A.? Do something himself? Jacob was now striding in his daughter’s
direction. The crowd seemed to split around him — almost everyone in Portland knew the man — and Nix saw Evelyn and Finn hurrying
to keep up with him, Evelyn directing. She must have spotted Neve at the party and called Jacob. Evie, who used to babysit
for the younger girl, had said more than once that Jacob Clowes was the closest thing she had to a father.

Nix looked again at the slight blonde. She seemed so young and helpless, so oblivious to the storm that was gathering around
her. He thought of the sweetpea girl, of his mother, of all the women he’d failed to protect. His breath tightened. He dug
around in his pocket, calming himself with the fact that the familiar roll was still there.

He started heading toward them, then felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Hold up, son.” The voice was low but clear. “We need to talk.”

Nix kept his eyes on the scene in front of him.

“Yeah? About what?”

“I think you know.”

Nix gritted his teeth and turned to look at the speaker. He hadn’t needed to see Moth’s face to know it was the same man from
the park — the same one he’d gotten his dust from earlier in the day. That the stranger seemed to be following him infuriated
Nix, yet he did not walk away.

“I gotta take care of something.”

He started again toward Neve and Bleek. He had to help, had to make up for —

Across the living room Jacob was untangling his daughter, shoving Bleek away. Neve slumped in her father’s arms, and when
he caught her, Bleek — the coward — melted into the crowd of onlookers. Jacob folded his daughter to his chest, staring over
her pale head. His eyes seemed to drill through the air and find Nix, whose right hand — still in his pocket, still clutching
the roll — squeezed so hard that the bag almost burst.

Again, Moth spoke. The voice was all too familiar.

“That’s not your business, man. Not tonight.”

Nix whirled. “What? What the fuck do you know about what is or isn’t my business?”

“The time to help is coming, Nix. I promise. At the beginning you have to let the world be as it is.”

Across the room, Jacob, fire-eaten, was carrying his trashed daughter out of the party. His eyes caught Nix’s again, hostile
now. He needed someone to blame — anyone but Neve — and Nix supposed he deserved it. Though he wanted to go to Jacob, protest
his innocence and declare his guilt at the same time, Moth’s last words stopped him.

“If you’re fucking me, I’ll … I’ll
burn
you.”

Nix didn’t know what he meant, but Moth seemed to.

The older boy smiled, his soul patch sharp as a tusk beneath his lip.

“You’ll light us all up one day, Nix Saint-Michael. I only hope I’m there to see it.”