Eliza and Her Monsters(51)

I tip my head forward. Wallace meets me halfway. Heat rushes through my face and he must be able to feel it in my lips. He must be able to tell I’ve never kissed anyone before. I pull away, ducking my chin. Wallace’s head follows.

“I thought I was supposed to surprise you,” he says.

“You took too long,” I say. I turn my face to the pillow so my hair makes a curtain. He brushes it back and kisses my eyebrow. Then my cheek, then my nose, then he leans over me and nuzzles my ear. Warm shocks race down my spine.

It makes no earthly sense how another person can do this. Not even with words, just touches. Just looks. He just looks at me and I feel simultaneously like myself and someone else, like I’m here and I’m not, like everything and nothing.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

He rests on his side, still partially draped over me, and says, “You know that part in Monstrous Sea where Dallas asks Amity to kiss him once before she leaves, because he’s afraid he won’t live to see her again?”

“Yes.”

“And what he says after she does it?”

Of course I do. I wrote it.

“‘Like I imagined,’” I say. He nods. I know most people would think it’s silly or stupid to explain things this way, in scenes and quotes, but we’re both fluent in the language of Monstrous Sea. This is the way I understand him best.

“I’m bad at this,” I say.

“No you’re not,” he says.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” I say, face still hot.

“Yes you have,” he says, with the little smile.

I shove him, which does nothing. “Shut up. You write smutty fanfiction all day.”

“Excuse you, I do not write smut. If I choose to include a sex scene, it is both tasteful and classy.” He leans in so there’s nowhere else to go and nowhere else to look. “Besides, it’s not like you have to have actual experience to write smut. Or even kissing.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t have any kissing experience.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

I shove him again. He catches my wrists and holds my hands against his chest.

He’s already so close, all I have to do is stick out my chin. Again, he meets me halfway. This kiss is deeper, longer than the last one. My face burns, but I keep myself where I am. I’ve done enough hiding in my life. I hide from my classmates all day long. I hide from my parents, my brothers, even my friends.

I might be hiding LadyConstellation from Wallace under the guise of Eliza Mirk, but it’s not LadyConstellation he’s kissing right now.

It’s Eliza. It’s me.

I don’t want to hide this part of myself anymore.



The first day Amity met her, Kite stood in the middle of the sparring ring, arms crossed over her chest. Her skin was a darker brown than Amity’s.

“Where are you from?” Amity blurted out the moment Kite finished her terse introduction. The older woman turned up her nose and looked vaguely royal.

“The Isles of Light,” Kite replied, “and that’s all you need to know. Sato tells me you have no formal fighting experience.”

“Yes. But I’m fast, and I learn quickly.”

The longer Kite inspected her, the more Amity felt as if Kite didn’t like her. It didn’t come as a surprise. Most people didn’t like her upon meeting her, put off by her orange eyes and white hair and the knowledge that the Watcher lived inside her—but it didn’t make the idea of spending months training with Kite any easier.

“Are you ready?” Kite asked.

Amity couldn’t tell if Kite meant for the sparring, or for hunting Faust.

Though, then again, she really only had one answer.

“Yes.”





CHAPTER 29


When spring break hits at the beginning of March, my parents decide I’ve had enough of my bedroom and decline my request to be omitted from this year’s family camping trip. Sully and Church find this hilarious. Lazy hermit Eliza trekking through the wilderness with a pack of supplies, reeking of bug repellent.

It’s not that I don’t like the outdoors. It’s that I don’t see the point of the outdoors when there’s so much I could be doing indoors.

My parents also deny me my sketchbook for this venture, an act that would have had me boiling over in a fit of apoplectic rage had I any less self-control. They’ve never taken my sketchbook away before, and I don’t think Dad felt the shock wave of pure surprise and anger that came off me when he told me to turn around and take the thing back to my room.

Mom and Dad don’t say anything about my phone, though. Either they don’t think I’ll get service, or they didn’t realize I had it. I keep it tucked in my pocket.

It burns a hole there the whole way to the Happy Friends Dog Day Care to drop off Davy, then as we drive down a long dirt road between two thick swaths of forest. The camping gear rattles around in the back of the SUV. Sully and Church, on either side of me, sing along with the pop music vibrating from the radio. Mom and Dad politely ignore them. Sully screams all the lyrics correctly but slightly off-key. Church is actually kind of good.

“You should try out for choir,” I say when the song ends.

Church’s entire head-neck region flares red. “No,” he snaps. “Choir is stupid.”