Page 49 of King Among the Dead

Beck hadn’t been worried: “The documents are forged, anyway. How old are you, Rose?”

Eighteen. And her birthday, she’d revealed, when Kay asked, was November 22nd.

She lost track of time, living with Beck and Kay. Without school to attend, without a typical work schedule for any of the three of them, rainy day bled into rainy day; delicious dinners bled into cozy days in the library; conversations about ancient history melted into conversations about the Rift, and the city’s organized crime rings. Rose studied, and gobbled novels; learned to cook, looked to shoot, and honed her body into something sleek, strong, and weaponized.

She paused one morning as she climbed out of the shower, startled by a glimpse of her own reflection in the half-fogged mirror. The changes to her physique had come on gradually, she knew, but it hit her all at once: the subtle curves of muscle in her arms and legs, her tight stomach; the brightness in her eyes, and the color in her cheeks, and the fullness of her hair, even wet. She looked healthy. She looked like a woman, and not the frightened girl Beck had coaxed out of the pie safe all those months ago.

Six months, she realized with a start. She’d been here with them for six months. In some ways it felt like only a blink, and in others like this was the only life she’d ever known, safe, and cared-for, and allowed – encouraged – to be herself. She’d blossomed, in ways she’d never expected.

The 22ndof November dawned as any other day, marked by a silvered light and a drizzling rain. She showered, and dressed, and went down to breakfast gathering her thoughts about the reading she’d done last night about the post-Rift economic collapse. She had a few questions to ask Beck, points she wanted him to clarify; and today was going to be a chore day. Kay had mentioned changing the linen on all the beds yesterday, and she was sure Beck’s study needed a looking-to…

She halted just inside the kitchen doorway, mind going blank.

Beck and Kay stood on the far side of the island, a plate in front of them. A plate stacked high with pancakes – set with a whole mess of lit, blue candles.

As she stared, Kay reached under the counter, and came out with a conical paper hat that she strapped to her head. A little paper noisemaker that unrolled and shrieked when she blew on it.

“Did you forget it was your birthday?” she asked, laughing.

Beck gave her a small, warm smile. “Happy birthday, Rosie.”

Shehadforgotten it was her birthday.

But they hadn’t. And Kay had ahat. And Beck had made pancakes withcandlesin them.

The little flames blurred as she started at them, struck silent and stupid, and she didn’t realize she was crying until Beck appeared beside her, and he put an arm across her shoulders and drew her into a hug.

She pressed her face into his chest – the much-washed softness of his sweater – and breathed and blinked, struggling to get her emotions under control.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, rubbing her back in slow, up-and-down sweeps. “We wanted to surprise you.”

She sniffed. “Mission accomplished.”

He chuckled. “A good surprise, I hope.”

“The best.”

When she could, she drew back, offered him a shaky smile – his own was the warmest and softest she’d ever seen it, affection clear – and wiped her eyes with a few quick swipes of her fingers.

Kay still stood at the counter; the candles still burned, and blue wax had run down and puddled on the topmost pancake. “I’d blow ‘em out myself,” she said with a wink, “but then your wish wouldn’t come true.”

Rose didn’t tell them that she’d never had anything like a birthday cake before; that no one had ever lit candles for her and invited her to make a wish. She sensed they already knew that.

She crossed to the counter and stared down at the wavering flames. What did you wish for when you already had more than you’d ever imagined?

She wracked her brain, and finally formed a wish that seemed too wild, too big, too impossible. She cradled it in her mind as she would cradle a soap bubble with careful hands, took a breath, and extinguished every candle with a single blow.

~*~

There were presents. She protested, told them they shouldn’t have, but once she’d lifted the first flap on the first package, she couldn’t resist ripping the paper, relishing the sharp crackle of it, which made Kay laugh.

All of them were from both of them, they said, no tags, though she knew Beck had paid for them with his matte black credit card. It didn’t matter; them going to the effort was the greatest gift of all. She opened two new sweaters, a pair of silver hoop earrings; a sketch pad of heavy art paper and a set of pencils. And, best of all, a whole box of books.

They’d come from a secondhand shop, she could tell, like most physical books these days. Paperbacks with yellowed edges and foxed corners, smelling of old ink and cracked bindings. They were all romances.

“Not study material,” Beck said with a wink. “Just for fun.”

Her face heated. “Thank you both. So much. I can’t –thank you.”

---