Dangerous Creatures(16)

The rest of Ridley’s defense came out in one long—and surprisingly partially true—monologue. “I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to fight about it, and because I knew you’d hate him if you associated him with our breakup.” (Sort of true.) “But that’s where we met and his band needs a drummer and otherwise they seemed pretty good.” (Also sort of true.) “And I told him I knew someone who would be perfect and now here we are.” She took another deep breath. “See? It’s all fine. Now let’s go find a puking clown.”

She tried to sound upbeat, but saying the words puking clown made her give up again.

“I can’t believe you.” Link stared at her, and not in a good way. Not in an I-love-this-Siren way. The bandage dress wasn’t even a factor in this conversation, which proved how badly it was going.

I’m off my game, Ridley thought. I should be able to swing this, but I’m not. What’s wrong with me?

“Which part can’t you believe?” She tried to remember which part was true, but it had gotten so convoluted that she was having trouble sorting it out for herself.

“Any of it. You knew I was comin’ here to break into the music scene. Then you sat in the car the whole way up here and never said one word about me auditionin’ for a band.”

“It’s not an audition. You’ve already got the job.” Which is the whole problem, she thought. Irony sucks.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“They need a drummer. You’re a drummer. It’s math. You plus them equals band. Done. Can we go find the clown now?”

“Rid. Stop. This is a big deal to me. You don’t get to decide my whole future for me. That’s not how this is going to go down.”

“Why not?”

“It’s my dream. You have to stay out of it. I’m supposed to get there myself.”

“You are.”

“Yeah? How many lollipops did you have to suck to swing this one, Rid?” he asked.

The words stung. She looked away.

“Regular girlfriends don’t do things like that, Rid.”

“Then why don’t you go ahead and get yourself one of those?” Don’t snap, Rid. Back it down. “Because I was only trying to help.” Myself, she added, as badly as she felt about it.

He looked skeptical.

“Really, Link. I’m just trying to be honest with you.” Nice touch.

“Whatever.” He looked away, back in the direction of the graffiti-covered Duane Reade.

“Why don’t you ever believe me when I say I’m sorry?” Ridley attempted to appear sorry, but she was having trouble remembering how that particular expression looked. She went with sick instead, because she’d faked that one enough times growing up that it was almost second nature.

“Because you’re never sorry,” Link said, as if the thought had only just now come to him. “Because you never really believe there’s anything to be sorry for. This is all just a game to you. It’s never goin’ to be anythin’ more real than that. Not for Ridley Duchannes.”

Ridley knew what he was talking about. Earlier in the summer, when Link had confessed that he loved her, she had freaked out and bailed on him. Neither one of them had said a word about it since.

Sometimes real was too real, especially for Ridley.

“No. That’s not true,” she said, suddenly feeling sort of awful.

Link stood up. “I need to walk.”

“No, please don’t,” she said. “Link.”

He took off down the street—away from Ridley and the Beater and the Duane Reade and the whole conversation.

She’d been tricking Mortals her entire life. At least, manipulating them. She’d always gotten by before. Why did she feel so bad about it now? And who was Link to make her feel so rotten for doing what she’d always done?

Most Dark Casters didn’t give Mortals a second thought. They were there to be taken advantage of—it was why they existed.

Like for target practice, or Casting lessons.

They’re just, you know, Mortals.

Ridley sat alone on the curb in the circle of a sad yellow streetlight. The night was dark, even in the city, and once again she was alone.

This is who I am. A girl sitting alone on a curb. This is all I know how to be.

She knew she needed to tell Link the truth, but which truth? And what did it matter? In the end, she’d still find herself alone on the curb.

Maybe that’s where I belong.

She shivered, feeling conspicuous, like the world was watching.

Literally watching.

She looked up.

Because someone is watching me, Rid thought. She could feel it, the eyes on her. She glanced up and down the street. The night grew darker in the cracks and crannies beneath cars and stoops, inside doorways and behind bushes. There were so many places to hide.

But as she watched, everything remained still.

Maybe I’m imagining things.

There were no footsteps, no sounds.

I don’t have that great of an imagination.

Ridley was still trying to hammer it out when Link shouted back to her.

“Rid!”

“Go away,” Ridley said. “I don’t want to hear it.” It was what he expected her to say, the Siren alone on the curb. So she said it.