“I am never lonely,” Savi replies airily. She lifts a brow. “I have entirely too many minions for boredom, Maddox.”
Ty and Ariel are talking about combat and sparring styles, digging deep into what sounds like archaic forms and systems that, of course, they both seem to have studied. Extensively.
Winter and I talk about high school.
“Remember junior year?” I ask her. “When there was all that curious so-called flooding that closed the school down that spring, even though it was a dry year?” She nods. “Succubus infestation.”
Winter makes a face. “What about that ridiculous blizzard in May when we were in sixth grade?”
“Dragons,” Savi interjects blandly, clearly not inspired by the combat chat. “Not the inspiring kind. Salamanders with delusions of grandeur. They needed to be frozen out.”
“What about you?” Winter asks Briar. “Where did you grow up?”
It almost seems to me that sheflickers, as if she’s here and then not here, like old TV static—but maybe that’s the wind outside that we can hear buffet the house every now and again. Or the introvert in her dying a little because she was both perceived and addressed.
“When I was small we had to work,” she says, quietly, but sounding less awkward than usual. “But I liked it.”
“Where did you say you grew up?” Savi asks. “The place where I was born no longer has a name in any language you would understand.”
Briar blinks, and then reaches up to tug her usual beanie down more securely over her ears. “We moved around a lot.”
“Military family?” Winter asks. She knows perfectly well Briar isn’t from amilitaryfamily. But it’s probably genius, because it gives Briar a way to talk about things it’s clear she doesn’t want to talk about.
“Yes,” she says, sounding ... more careful than unsure. “Every time we were ... relocated, it was challenging.”
We all gaze at each other.
“What was your favorite place you ever lived?” I’m afraid this is feeling like an interrogation, so I lean in and smile, because the reality is I’m just nosy. “I lived in New York for a while. I loved it.”
“I like it here,” Briar says, simply, and there’s something about the way she says it. It makes my skin feel tight. It makes my throat constrict.
I realize that she makes me want to cry, and I couldn’t even say why.
“In fact,” Briar says, but stops and clears her throat.
She looks down. Once again she reaches up and rubs at that space below her throat, and I realize that she has some kind of talisman there. It must be what’s on that necklace, and I wonder what kind of talisman a funny, private creature who doesn’t smell like anything gravitated toward. A protective rune? A knife?
“In fact,” she starts again, looking up with her gray gaze something likeresolved, “I like it so much that I’m going to throw my own party. You did Christmas,” Briar says, and smiles at Winter. “I—uh—I want to do New Year’s. It will be great. We can wish in the new year together. Like I said, you’re all the closest I have to friends.” She commits to a scowl then. “If you want, I mean. It’s fine if you don’t. So.”
I find that I can breathe easier when she returns to the abruptness I associate with her. That I feel less like I might cry. Like her awkwardness is somehow as endearing as it is off-putting, though I bet she would try to swing on me if I said that to her.
“That soundsamazing,” I say.
“Yes,” Winter murmurs. “So amazing. Love New Year’s. Love counting down to another year while hiding in the house and keeping the zombies away. Can only improve that with friends.”
“Good,” Briar says. She looks down at her mostly untouched plate and seems to crumple a little. “Good.”
Now as I look at her, I don’t see a surly goth girl. I see the bones in her face, suggesting she isn’t eating even when she’s not having an uncomfortable holiday meal with people she barely knows. I see her anxiety and her helplessness, socially anyway.
She still makes my chest hurt. I still can’t fathom why. I just know she makes me want to protect her. Even from herself.
After dinner, we sit around some more. Savi lazily waves a few fingers, and that’s the entire cleanup operation. Briar mutters things, chews on her fingernails, and then disappears—but not without smiling pretty big before she goes. A while after that, Savi, Ty, and Ariel end up in the den, talking in low voices but not as if they care if they’re overheard.
Winter and I sit in the chairs in the dining room, staring at the tree we put up the night before.
“It really is pretty,” I tell her. “I might be a convert.”
“Consider my Christmas tree your Christmas tree,” Winter says, and smiles at me. Then, after a moment, the smile fades from her mouth. “I hope he’s okay tonight.”
