Chapter 7: A Bloodborn Girl's Makeup Magic

Once inside the hotel, Wren told Nathan to wait in the lobby and slipped off to the stairwell.

He cooled his heels in the lobby for a while. Still no Wren coming back—but out of the elevator came a whole crowd, led by none other than Leopold, president of Isolde's cosplay club, a few team members orbiting him—every inch the dashing leading man.

They must have just wrapped a performance and gotten rooms to change out of costume. Isolde wasn't among them. A small pang of disappointment hit Nathan, but he still put on a warm smile and called out a big hello.

Leopold's brow creased slightly. He waved the others ahead and strode quickly over to Nathan, lowering his voice: "Isolde already went home—she's not with us. She probably left early because she knew you'd be waiting here. And honestly? What you're doing is getting a little much. Isolde doesn't like you. Is dragging this on really that fun for you?"

Nathan was caught flat-footed. He genuinely hadn't known the cosplay club came here to change. Now that he understood he'd been misread, he had no idea how to even start explaining.

Seeing Nathan go quiet, Leopold decided to crank the pressure up a notch on the chubby kid. He said gravely, "Do you seriously think you're in Isolde's league? When you two walk around together, you don't think people laugh at her? If you actually care about Isolde, keep your distance—and stop coming to our club's events too. Speaking for the club: you're not welcome."

Those few sentences jammed a lump of misery into Nathan's chest, and the smile dropped off his face. He was an easygoing guy, but easygoing isn't the same as a pushover. Leopold's words were aiming straight for the jugular. Nathan didn't want a confrontation, but there was no swallowing this.

Just as Nathan was sorting out the words for a comeback, Leopold took it as him still not letting go. His face hardened, and he went low and venomous: "Have you seriously never looked in a mirror? With that prize toad face of yours, you think you get to be with Isolde? I guarantee even the ugliest girl in your school wouldn't have you. I'm doing you a courtesy today, but if..." Just as Leopold was getting rolling, winding up an eighteen-hit combo of a finisher to lay on Nathan, a voice like a silver bell, bright and bubbly, cut him off: "Nathan! Nathan! Been waiting long?"

Wren gave a radiant smile and waved at Nathan. She'd changed into a pale-purple dress and restyled her hair a touch—let her ponytail down, a waterfall of dark silk spilling over both shoulders—and instantly her entire aura was different.

The outfit change was still within what Nathan could process—but Wren hadn't just changed clothes. Some sleight of hand she'd pulled, her face had slimmed down yet gotten softer and rounder; her eyes had grown bigger; her brows had lengthened and curved a little; her nose bridge stood a hair taller; the corners of her mouth tilted up; her lips had gone dewy-red... You could still trace the outline of the old Wren in her features, but it was a night-and-day difference from before. Paired with the dress, she had an unmistakable air of fey grace.

Sweet charm in the smile, sultry allure in the eyes, sheer magnetism in the way she carried herself—and under it all, an in-your-face youthful punch.

The old Wren might've turned a head or two. This version stopped traffic.

Nathan was absolutely floored!

Wren giggled, batted her eyes once more, and looped her arm through Nathan's, her voice going soft and honeyed as she said quietly, "Finally I get to show my real face. Keeping up that other look all the time is such a strain! So—do I look pretty like this?"

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Nathan hesitated, then decided honesty was the way: "Gorgeous, honestly! Why don't you dress like this for school?"

Wren snorted a laugh. "Because it draws in way too many drooling admirers! Like the one standing to your left... who's also drooling, by the way."

Leopold was even more stunned than Nathan—Wren's beauty had knocked him flat, his jaw hanging open, forgotten. Only her remark snapped him out of it enough to close his mouth. He wiped the corner of his lips—and sure enough, there hung a glistening, crystal-clear thread of drool, a pretty long one too; he flicked his head a few times and it wouldn't break. His whole face went red-hot with embarrassment.

Wren acted as if Leopold simply did not exist, took Nathan's arm without a flicker of self-consciousness, giggling away as she tugged him off in grand style, trailing a waft of light, sweet fragrance that left Leopold wishing the floor would swallow him whole.

Once they were out the hotel's front doors, Wren blinked and went on: "I didn't want to go to school in a bloodborn neighborhood, so I just alter my looks—make myself a little plainer. Otherwise boys would absolutely be chasing me! Such a pain. And I'm a bloodborn—I can't just casually date boys. Not unless the guy's willing to move in with my family!"

"Marry into your family? What's so hard about that?"

Nathan tossed it off without thinking—but the words caught up with him fast, and he realized he'd stuck his foot in his mouth. Awkward.

Wren didn't mind at all, giggling away in high spirits, and said softly, "Lots of humans are scared of bloodborn. If they found out what I really am, they'd go out of their way to hurt me."

Nathan said anyway, "If anybody tries to hurt you, I'll protect you."

Wren's lips parted slightly, her face flushing pink in a split second, and she said quietly, "But you don't even know what kind of bloodborn I am yet!"

Nathan shot back without a beat of thought: "What kind does it matter? A bloodborn's a bloodborn, right?"

Wren pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Some people are fine with the fox-blooded, the serpent-blooded—even the beast-blooded are no problem for them. Some don't mind the object-born either. But when it comes to the vermin-blooded—centipede-stock, scorpion-stock—plenty of people can't stand them. Once you know what I really am, you might end up disgusted too!"

Nathan thought it over, then declared firmly, "As long as you're not some kind of walking cilantro, I'm not scared!"

Wren immediately doubled over laughing. If she hadn't been clutching Nathan's arm, Nathan would've genuinely worried the bloodborn girl might laugh herself right onto the ground.

It took Wren a good while to get it out of her system before she could say, "I have never once heard of cilantro pulling that off. You can relax—I'm no walking salad!"

Nathan asked, a little curious now, "So what kind of bloodborn are you?"

Wren rolled her eyes at him. "Didn't you just say that as long as I'm not walking cilantro, you don't care? Why do you have to grill a girl on this? It's a super personal question—so embarrassing!"

Nathan's mouth twisted a little; inwardly he wasn't buying it, but he didn't press further. He just felt like Wren's moods were all over the place, and he had a hard time getting a read on the bloodborn girl's mind—so he simply stopped trying.

With that little interruption, he'd clean forgotten that the two of them had been strolling arm in arm the entire time—cozy as a pair of young lovebirds.