Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(2)

Uh-oh. Last time Star had an idea, we all nearly ended up in jail.

“We’re just hungry for food tonight,” I say. “No adventure.”

Star frowns, and her fake freckles scrunch up under her eyes. I don’t remember Dorothy having freckles, but then her blue dress was also made with a lot more fabric than Star’s is.

“There’s going to be a ton of food there!” She grins wickedly. “And guys. Loads of guys.”

“Chips and beer don’t count as food,” I say.

“And I’m not into dudes,” Ziggy adds, clarifying, even though she doesn’t sound as negative as I am about the adventure. “Plus, Miss Sage here is a nun.”

“I am not,” I say. A nun is holy and pure. That I am definitely not.

“Great!” Star claps. “I’ve already got the Uber heading our way.”

“Are you thick?” Ziggy asks. She takes a casual drag of her cigarette. And coughs.

Star waves at the trailing smoke. “I’m only thinking of you. The other night you said you slept in a laundromat. Tonight, you could have a good meal, sleep in a warm house with carpets and couches . . . possibly go in a hot tub!”

And a shower. Oh my God, a shower. “Okay, we’ll go,” I say.

Ziggy glances sideways at me, then shrugs and throws down her cigarette. “Whatever the nun wants.”

Star’s face opens in a huge smile and I have no idea what’s made her so happy. Oh goody, two homeless girls are gonna crash a Halloween party with me! Doesn’t she have any real friends? She claps again and makes a small squeal in the back of her throat. “We’ll stop by my house and dress you guys up. I have tons more costumes, and—”

“No!” Ziggy and I say in unison.

Star raises her hands in surrender. “Okay, too far. I get it.” She tips her head and her blue bangs fall across her eyes. “So, no Halloween? Is it a religious thing?”

“Do we look like we give a shit about holidays?” Ziggy asks.

Star shrugs. “Just checking. I don’t want to give you the wrong kinds of cookies for Christmas.” She spins in her red stiletto Mary Janes and heads back into the coffeehouse, waving us in after her.



The party is in an old Chatsworth neighborhood. The Uber driver pulls up the street, parking in front of a driveway. Ziggy and I get out of the car and follow Star up to the house. It’s sort of rocking the 1950s American Dream vibe with a sprawling lawn out front, a curved driveway lined with flowers, and a porch with a swing. It’s decorated in the usual Halloween fare: pumpkin lights strung over the garage, huge spider decals in the windows, and a skeleton hanging out in the bushes.

A raven lands on the roof with a sudden flurry of wings as we walk up to the door. It perches on the rain gutter, looking at us sideways. My gut churns. You don’t usually see ravens out at night, and this is the second one I’ve noticed now.

But then I’m distracted by something hanging from the eaves that looks like a blow-up sex doll dressed in a tuxedo.

“That’s Jeeves, the butler,” Star says when she sees the confused look on my face. “I helped decorate,” she adds with pride.

“How do you know these people?” This is probably something I should’ve asked earlier.

“My cousin lives here. It’s his place.”

Shit, I don’t really know this girl at all. This was an unsafe move on my part. But Ziggy’s with me, and no one messes with her. I’ll just get my shower, she can get food, and then we’ll jet.

“We’re early,” Star says as she opens the door without knocking. “The real fun won’t start for another hour or so. But you should be able to duck into a room and make yourselves at home, no problem.”

Ziggy steps inside with Star, and I follow, hesitant. “Will your cousin mind?” I ask. The front room is decorated like a bachelor pad, with beanbag chairs and a pool table. At first glance, I see only half a dozen people, most of them dudes, except one girl. Poor Ziggy.

“Nope, Ben is super chill,” Star says, “as long as you don’t steal his stuff or punch a hole through a wall.”

Not planning on doing either of those things.

“Just lead me to those hamburgers you mentioned in the car,” Ziggy says. “I’m famished.” Then she turns and points to me. “And skinny’ll take two.”

“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, ignoring her. I can’t waste time eating if there’s a usable shower in the vicinity.

“There’s a guest bedroom and bathroom in the back.” Star points to a hall behind her. “Last door on the left. Make yourself at home.”

I nod my thanks and zip past a couple of partygoers. The room is small, with an attached bathroom, and it has everything I need. I shut the bathroom door behind me, checking that it locks before stripping down. Then I slide into the shower and let the stream of warm water start peeling off the layers of street and smog.

I grab the soap and scrub more than I need to, mostly because I don’t want to get out. I haven’t had a hot shower in so long. Too long.

I try not to let myself feel my thin body, my ribs jutting through the skin, my scrawny hips and legs, my knees too sharp and bony, unhealthy, unattractive. It’s been a rough year. But I’d rather be here, scrounging for a random shower and a meal, than stuck in a group transition home. I hear those can be even worse than foster homes. I ran away from the last place the system put me in. I’ve always made sure to get out quick once some bitch or bitch boy gets pissed at my presence, since it inevitably turns into me becoming their personal punching bag. I’ve always made people nervous. According to my last social worker, I was “difficult to place.” I’ve seen the notes in my file: Lacks personal connection with peers. And: Inability to invest in relationships.