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see that,” Blue said. “Just to see how it’s done. I’d like to do that to Felix’s car.”
    “I don’t think you’re really the shovel-wielding type,” Mira said.
    “Besides, what purpose would that serve?” Freddie reached for his sword, his voice tense now that Blue’s older brother was the subject of conversation. “If you want to stop Felix, you don’t destroy his car. You cut off his head.”
    “Whoa, Freddie,” Viv said. “You have really changed.”
    “I’m just being practical.”
    “Can we talk about something else?” Mira asked.
    They went to Mira’s new house, because Viv hadn’t been there yet. Mira’s godmothers—who were her guardians, and also her fairy godmothers—were in the kitchen, and Mira stopped in to say hello. Freddie, who never missed a chance to make a good impression, went with her. Mira’s godmothers didn’t like Blue, so he slipped down the hall to Mira’s room and Vivfollowed. She usually avoided talking to her friends’ parents. Inevitably, if adults weren’t asking you about school they were asking about your family, and there was no way for that not to be awkward.
How’s your stepmother? Still set on poisoning you? And your father, as useless as always?
    Blue, at least, knew what it was like to have a messed-up family. All the Valentine men had the same murderous hereditary curse. Blue’s dad was a Casanova serial killer, his older brother, Felix, followed in their dad’s footsteps, and Blue had accidentally killed his crush at his sixteenth birthday party. Viv had been there, dancing, batting blue and green balloons into the air, unaware that in the other room a girl lay dead in Blue’s arms. The party had ended abruptly, Blue’s father had ushered everyone out, and gradually, people put the pieces together. If you knew curses, you knew what blue hair signified. That was why Mira’s godmothers didn’t like Blue—no one wanted their daughter dating a villain, no matter how reformed.
    “So.” Blue flopped down on the bed. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Thought maybe you were in your glass coffin already.”
    “Can you not tonight? I’m not in the mood.”
    “Sorry. Habit. You okay?”
    Viv glanced around the room, wishing Mira and Freddie would join them so they could all start talking about anything but her. The closet was open. A bunch of dance costumes were hanging on one side of the rack. Sequins and ruffles and flamenco madness.
    “I’m just hungry,” Viv said. “The food at the party was gross. Pâté and caviar licked by a cat.”
    “That’s what happens when you let a boots-wearing cat join your country club.”
    “He wasn’t even wearing his boots.”
    “Scandalous. What happened to
no shirt, no tiny boots, no service
?”
    Viv laughed. “I don’t know. Standards are really falling at Seven Oaks. I’m going to see if I can find some food. I’ll be right back.”
    She went to the kitchen where Freddie was winning points—or, actually, probably just being nice; he was ridiculously nice—by doing the dishes. Bliss, Mira’s blonde godmother, who dressed like a combination of Glinda the Good Witch and a connoisseur of Lolita fashion, was tapping her glass wand against her fingernails, giving herself a magical manicure.
    Mira was standing in front of the table, arms crossed. Her mouth opened and one hand went up like,
You’ve got to be kidding me
, when Elsa, her brunette, jeans-wearing godmother, said, “And leave the door open.”
    “With Viv here? What do you think is going to happen?”
    “We won’t have an orgy,” Viv said. “Scout’s honor. I don’t like Freddie like that.”
    Freddie dropped the plate he was washing. Soapsuds splattered his shirt. “Viv!”
    “Well, I don’t.”
    “Don’t break my plates, Frederick,” Bliss warned.
    It was so easy to mess with Freddie.
    Mira turned, a half smile breaking through her exasperated expression. “Fine, we’ll leave the door open. But I wish you’d trust