Tear You Apart (14 page)

“You’re leaving?”

“I have a job to do. I’ve already been gone too long.”

“What’s your name?” she called, too shaken by his story to keep thinking of him as
the boatman
. “I won’t tell anyone about you. I just want to know.”

“Owen,” he said.

“I’m Viv.”

“I know,” he said.

“I—”

I’ll free you
, she’d started to say.
When I’m the princess—when I’m the queen of this place—I’ll free you
. She was thinking impulsively, her blood burning with the injustice of it, ready to make promises she didn’t know how to keep. When it was her own life at stake, she felt resigned—but this was someone else’s life. Many lives, if what Owen said was true.

Maybe she could help them. Maybe she was the only one who could, and that was why she was here.

The thought was so grandiose it almost made her laugh. She couldn’t even take charge of her own life. How was she supposed to save anyone else’s?

And yet … she couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe she could do something—and she hadn’t wanted to fight for anything in a long time.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RED LIGHTS CAST A FIERY GLOW on the dancers and made the black floor and walls shine like dark blood. The music was loud tonight, throbbing like a giant heart. The air smelled of charcoal and cinnamon, and Viv couldn’t take more than a few steps without dodging a lurching devil, or waving a puff of smoke out of her face. She almost wished she had Henley there to carve a path through the crowd for her. But she could never bring him to the underworld. Henley would lose it if he met Jasper. And she still didn’t know how much Jasper knew about Henley.

She wasn’t sure what to tell him, either.

Viv made her way through the packed club to the middle of the dance floor, where the Twelve Dancing Princesses and their partners danced together in an endless display. The princesses wore ember-colored dresses with jagged hems, layers of chiffon that flicked the air when they twirled. The eleven underworld princes wore black suits shot through
with veins of red, like lava flowing over rock.

It was still early, and the couples moved in perfect unison. The princesses and princes wore adoring smiles, pressed their noses together, kissed and laughed and never missed a step. All except for the princess who danced by herself, swaying like a candle flame, her eyes sad one moment, angry the next.

Viv lingered, caught up in their performance, until she felt hands on her shoulders and turned to find Jasper. He wore a parchment-colored suit covered with black calligraphy. Italian. Viv guessed it was from Dante’s
Inferno
. Jasper looked so genuinely pleased to see her, she felt a surge of hopefulness. Like maybe there was something to this destiny thing.

He hugged her, warmth flooding her as he bent his head to speak into her ear. “I’m so glad you came. Do I have you for an hour or the whole night?”

“I don’t know yet. It depends on how interesting you are.”

He laughed. “Do you feel like dancing? Can I get you anything? A drink? A room?”

“A
room
?”

“A room in the palace,” he said, shouting to be heard over the music. “In case you’ve decided to stay.”

“I haven’t decided anything.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to convince you!”

“You can try!”

He never fully let her go. His hug relaxed into more of a dance posture, and he spun her around the floor until their cheeks glowed and she was dizzy, laughing. More than once she bumped into one of the twelve princesses and the girl and her partner gracefully stepped out of the way, but when she bumped into the solo princess, the girl bared her
teeth and shoved Viv away with a motion that was like a slap.

“What the hell?” Viv said.

“Ignore her,” Jasper said. “She’s bitter about the curse.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“We have the freedom to stop dancing. She doesn’t. You’re about to be rescued—and who knows how long she’ll have to wait? She only thinks about her own pain. As if there aren’t Cursed who have it worse than she does.”

“You don’t like her?”

“No, I don’t!”

All the shout-talking was giving her a headache, so Viv pulled Jasper off the dance floor and out of the club, stopping just long enough to grab a gold drink from a tray on her way out. The liquid sloshed around in her martini glass and spilled over the side, staining her fingers a shimmering gold.

“What is this, nail polish?”

“Yes, Viv, our club serves nail polish to the guests.”

“Well, I don’t know. This place is weird. And I can’t tell what this is.”

“I know you’re afraid of being poisoned, so let me ease your mind.” Jasper raised the glass to his lips, tipped it back long enough to swallow a mouthful, and handed it back to her. “There. Wait ten minutes; we’ll see what happens to me.”

“So you’ll be my taste tester? Check everything I eat for poison?”

“If that’s what you need. Now tell me, why are we out here? Sick of dancing?”

“Sick of yelling. The music’s great to get lost in, but if we want to talk it’s better out here.”

“I don’t mind talking.” He smiled.

“Is there anywhere we can go? Like …” She glanced around innocently, as if she didn’t know that underworld civilization started and stopped with the nightclub and the palace. “A coffee shop?”

“Uh, no, we don’t have anything like that. But we can go to …”

Guests flowed around them: tacky devils and Royals in red lace, a ballerina in a flame-blackened dress, a soldier in a suit that looked like melted tin. While Jasper tried to decide on a destination, Viv studied his face. She wondered when he would start confessing things, and when she would start telling him things he didn’t want to hear. She wondered who would hold out longer.

One of the guests—a woman in a low-cut red evening gown, with an expression that said her dress was more ready for this night than she was—sidled up to Jasper. “Prince—you’re one of the princes, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but you’ll have to excuse me. I’m busy right now.”

“It’ll only take a second,” the woman said. Or was she just a girl? Her face was young, her makeup bold and clumsily applied. Flecks of mascara clung to her cheeks, and though her neckline exuded confidence, her nails were bitten down to the quick. “Is your father around? I thought—I hoped—I heard he came to the club sometimes.”

“He never comes to the club anymore.” Jasper’s voice was tight, distinctly unfriendly. “And you don’t want to meet with him. Trust me. Come, Viv, let’s—”

“Oh, but I do!” The girl lunged and caught his arm before he could leave. “I do. I know you probably think I haven’t thought it through, but I have. I just need his help with one
thing. It’s not going to escalate. See, I brought this bracelet—” She tugged it off her wrist to show him. “It’s jade. It was my mother’s. It’s the most valuable thing I own. Do you think he’ll take it?”

Jasper’s tone was even colder than before. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. You should go home.” His fingers clamped around Viv’s and he pulled her through the crowd of guests, away from the girl.

“Please!” the girl cried after them. “Do you know where I can find him?”

Jasper ignored her and kept going, up the steep path that led toward the palace. The path was empty, as if the guests sensed it was off-limits. Viv turned to see if the girl would follow them, but she was talking with someone else, showing them the bracelet.

“Jasper,” Viv said. “Who’s your father?”

“He’s someone who helps people with things.”

“That’s really vague.”

He sighed. “He’s just my father. What do you want me to say?”

“His name and his curse would be a start.”

“I was really looking forward to getting to know
you
tonight. Not talking about him.”

“It’s a simple question.”

“Well, maybe it’s not a simple answer.”

She stopped walking, and loosed her hand from his. “That’s not good enough.”

Jasper reached out and grasped both her hands. He looked sort of contrite, ready to start over. “You wanted to talk. Let’s talk. We can go to the palace.”

“All right.” Maybe his father would be there and she would find out for herself who he was. In any case, she’d learn more than what Jasper had told her so far.

The palace looked like a cathedral, or a wicked fairy’s lair—not a home for Prince Charming. Gargoyles crouched on ledges and the windows were made of alternating diamonds of red and black glass. The front of the building was covered with glossy black ivy that turned out to be butterflies upon closer inspection. The butterflies weren’t clustered there, resting; they were more like … glued, their wings shiny and stiff like they’d been coated in lacquer.

“Are those—?” Viv started, before she answered her own question. “That’s disgusting.”

“They’re dead; it’s just decoration. Come on. Don’t look if it upsets you.”

Inside, the darkness gave way to white marble floors and glittering gold. Gold trees grew up from cracks in the floor, their branches heavy with gold blossoms, gold birds, and gold beetles. Massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their hundreds of candles dripping hot wax onto the floor and causing everything in the hall to gleam.

“Someone likes gold,” Viv said.

“My father.”

“So he’s … helpful and has a tacky sense of style. That’s two things I know about him.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why? Is he here?”

“I don’t know, but if we run into him he’ll ruin our night.”

“So he’s a killjoy? Or just an asshole?”

“You sound like you like the idea of him bothering us, but I promise that you won’t.”

She stopped provoking Jasper then, and followed her reflection in the dozens of gold-framed mirrors that covered the walls. She watched for another person in the glass, and wondered what an underworld king would look like. In Beau Rivage, kings wore anything from suits to designer loungewear. But Jasper and his brothers wore signet rings and silver sashes; they took their royal blood seriously or, at least, wanted to ensure that their guests did. If Jasper’s father appeared, would he stride into the hall wearing an ermine-trimmed cape and a bejeweled crown? If he liked gold, he probably liked gems, too.

Their steps rang out in the high-ceilinged hall, but no one appeared to greet them. It was eerie not to encounter a single living creature. “You don’t have a dog or anything?” Viv asked.

“No. Animals don’t do very well down here.”

“
Don’t do very well
meaning…?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never had a pet. But I’ve always gotten the impression that it isn’t a good idea.”

“And how do people do down here?”
Might as well start somewhere
.

“They do just fine.”

Lie number one, on either Jasper’s part or Owen’s. She didn’t want to think Jasper would lie. Owen seemed more the type to mess with her. But he’d also seemed upset when he talked about his parents.

“So, can we look around?” Viv said. “I’ve never been in a palace.”

“Never?”

Her eyes wandered. Mirrors, mirrors, everywhere. A hundred reflected Vivs leaping from gold frame to gold frame. “Never one that wasn’t a museum.”

“I could show you around … but I was hoping to introduce you to someone. Someone very special to me. Are you interested?”

“It’d better not be a girl in a glass coffin. If you have a dead girl collection …”

“Viv … don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re disturbed. I don’t have a dead girl collection. I don’t have any kind of girl collection.”

“Good.”

“And I’m not sure why you thought I might.”

“I know people who have them.”

“If you say so.…”

They came to a wide, sweeping staircase. “It’s upstairs,” Jasper said. “The place I’m taking you to.”

“So mysterious. Any other surprises?”

“Considering how little we know about each other, I’m sure there will be endless surprises. But I don’t have any others in mind.”

They climbed until they reached the second floor. The corridor there was carpeted with a red velvety material and covered with impressions of footsteps. Every ten feet there was a door with a gold Roman numeral on it—a I, then a II, then a III …

“All the way up to twelve?” Viv guessed.

“Thirteen, actually.”

“Interesting. What number are you?”

“Seven. But we’re going … here.”

They stopped at the door marked VIII, and Jasper let himself in without knocking.

It was a bedroom, dark and gothic and yet somehow cozy: the furniture upholstered in red velvet, the unmade bed showing sheets of black silk. A black-haired girl in a long white dress sat on the window seat, her head bowed over a book. She was wearing bulky headphones, and saying something in … Italian? It sounded like she was repeating after someone. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall.

She was absorbed in what she was doing and didn’t notice them come in. Jasper crept up to her and flopped down on the window seat. The girl’s body jerked, startled, and she pulled off her headphones so they hung around her neck.

“Jasper! It’s so early! Why are you home? Did something happen?” She leaned back to get a better look at him. “Oh, you’re wearing the suit! I bet I can almost read it!”