what you’re doing to me
.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her voice was a whisper—tentative, scared—but the expression on her face didn’t match. Her nose was scrunched, her head tilted.
Claire is … Claire is … puzzled
, Nix realized, giving name to the expression, which he hadn’t seen on the canvas of her face before.
Claire finds me puzzling. I am puzzling Claire
.
He rolled the thought over in his mind, letting her question go unanswered until the ugly, sordid truth—
I am nothing—she’s pretending—so stupid to think that
—clawed its way back into his brain, digging in deep and holding on.
His whole life had been a nightmare, and she was playing with his emotions like a cat batting at a piece of string.
“Stop. Talking.”
If she didn’t talk, she couldn’t lie—not with her mouth. Just with her body and her eyes—
“I won’t stop talking.”
There were question marks in her voice, and hesitations, and she didn’t have a right to either of them. He wanted to rip the mask off her lying face.
He wanted to touch it.
“I … I … won’t stop talking until you … until you tell me what’s going on. Who are you?”
“Stop. Talking.”
She matched his emphasis with her own. “Who. Are. You.”
Tell me, tell me, tell me
, her eyes seemed to say.
He cursed. He cursed her, and he cursed himself, and she pretended to flinch at the profanity that streamed from his mouth.
Nulls don’t flinch
.
To flinch, you had to feel fear. To be afraid of someone, your energy had to be marked by theirs. This Null was playing him. Again.
He needed weapons.
He needed her dead.
He’d left his knives and needles and poisons in the kitchen, out of sight. He had to stop her, before she pretended to flinch again.
Hands. Just my hands
.
That was the way to kill this Null. His hands had bathed her temple. His hands had fed her. And in doing so, he’d committed a great evil—risked all the good he’d ever done, just because a Null had deigned to look him in the eye. To ask him for his name. To react to his presence—
puzzled, flinching
—as if he was the kind of person who could have an impact on anyone, ever.
Like he could affect a girl like her.
“I. Am. Nobody.” The words came, not in answer to her question, but in answer to the ones he was asking himself
Who do you think you are, to look at her that way? You’re nothing. She’s everything. Kill her. Now
.
“You’re … you’re … someone,” Claire said. “You’re the one who brought me here. You’re the boy from my dream.” She went very pale, the blue of her veins standing out like a pattern on porcelain. “You’re the one who kills me.”
He took one step toward her and then another. She sucked in a breath and watched him move. And then, without warning, the girl he’d held and helped and saved dove back under the covers.
Like she could hide from him.
Like she could escape him.
Lies
.
I’m hiding under a blanket
. Claire’s heart beat viciously against her rib cage.
I’m who knows where with who knows who, I just reminded the boy who brought me here that he intends to kill me, and now he’s coming toward me, murder in his eyes, and I AM HIDING UNDER A STUPID BLANKET
.
I am a deficient human being in every way that matters
.
Claire wished that she could blame it on the fact thatshe’d been hit by a van, but in reality, she deeply suspected that she had always been deficient. Never said the right thing. Never made friends. Couldn’t even get someone to hand her a towel.
Really, given the sum total of her life as evidence, it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise that she sucked at being kidnapped, too.
He’s looking at me. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die
.
Claire couldn’t move. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t think of anything but the boy stalking toward her. Claire didn’t
want
to think about him. Didn’t want to anticipate the killer’s touch, her own
.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her voice was a whisper—tentative, scared—but the expression on her face didn’t match. Her nose was scrunched, her head tilted.
Claire is … Claire is … puzzled
, Nix realized, giving name to the expression, which he hadn’t seen on the canvas of her face before.
Claire finds me puzzling. I am puzzling Claire
.
He rolled the thought over in his mind, letting her question go unanswered until the ugly, sordid truth—
I am nothing—she’s pretending—so stupid to think that
—clawed its way back into his brain, digging in deep and holding on.
His whole life had been a nightmare, and she was playing with his emotions like a cat batting at a piece of string.
“Stop. Talking.”
If she didn’t talk, she couldn’t lie—not with her mouth. Just with her body and her eyes—
“I won’t stop talking.”
There were question marks in her voice, and hesitations, and she didn’t have a right to either of them. He wanted to rip the mask off her lying face.
He wanted to touch it.
“I … I … won’t stop talking until you … until you tell me what’s going on. Who are you?”
“Stop. Talking.”
She matched his emphasis with her own. “Who. Are. You.”
Tell me, tell me, tell me
, her eyes seemed to say.
He cursed. He cursed her, and he cursed himself, and she pretended to flinch at the profanity that streamed from his mouth.
Nulls don’t flinch
.
To flinch, you had to feel fear. To be afraid of someone, your energy had to be marked by theirs. This Null was playing him. Again.
He needed weapons.
He needed her dead.
He’d left his knives and needles and poisons in the kitchen, out of sight. He had to stop her, before she pretended to flinch again.
Hands. Just my hands
.
That was the way to kill this Null. His hands had bathed her temple. His hands had fed her. And in doing so, he’d committed a great evil—risked all the good he’d ever done, just because a Null had deigned to look him in the eye. To ask him for his name. To react to his presence—
puzzled, flinching
—as if he was the kind of person who could have an impact on anyone, ever.
Like he could affect a girl like her.
“I. Am. Nobody.” The words came, not in answer to her question, but in answer to the ones he was asking himself
Who do you think you are, to look at her that way? You’re nothing. She’s everything. Kill her. Now
.
“You’re … you’re … someone,” Claire said. “You’re the one who brought me here. You’re the boy from my dream.” She went very pale, the blue of her veins standing out like a pattern on porcelain. “You’re the one who kills me.”
He took one step toward her and then another. She sucked in a breath and watched him move. And then, without warning, the girl he’d held and helped and saved dove back under the covers.
Like she could hide from him.
Like she could escape him.
Lies
.
I’m hiding under a blanket
. Claire’s heart beat viciously against her rib cage.
I’m who knows where with who knows who, I just reminded the boy who brought me here that he intends to kill me, and now he’s coming toward me, murder in his eyes, and I AM HIDING UNDER A STUPID BLANKET
.
I am a deficient human being in every way that matters
.
Claire wished that she could blame it on the fact thatshe’d been hit by a van, but in reality, she deeply suspected that she had always been deficient. Never said the right thing. Never made friends. Couldn’t even get someone to hand her a towel.
Really, given the sum total of her life as evidence, it shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise that she sucked at being kidnapped, too.
He’s looking at me. He’s going to kill me. I’m going to die
.
Claire couldn’t move. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t think of anything but the boy stalking toward her. Claire didn’t
want
to think about him. Didn’t want to anticipate the killer’s touch, her own
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