Chapter 9

Two Years Later

Thirteen was a special birthday for a lot of reasons.

In the first place, it meant being a teenager. A little woman like Datari – thirteen was when one could drink champagne at dinner, and wear lipstick as dark as bruised plums, and go to bed later than ten o'clock. In preparation for such adult things, for thirteen (!), Chiara had thrown away several stuffed toys and had started eating more vegetables (she hated every moment, but apparently it was very mature to like your greens). Not long now and she too would be a grown up, with an elegant neck and careful eyes that glimmered cat-like behind veils of cigarette smoke.

More than that, thirteen was finally old enough to do jobs. This had been promised to Chiara for years now. Just a little more training. Just a little more growing. Datari had gone on her first mission at nine; Tadashi at seven; Chiara, somehow, just hadn't ever been able to catch up. Mommy always said she was too small, still too much of a child. Mamma said she was too distractible, too gullible, too stupid. No amount of beating or isolation seemed able to change that.

But finally! It was happening!

Chiara would leave for Yorknew City in eight days. There was a politician somebody wanted dead – the details were apparently irrelevant. All that mattered was that Chiara was 'perfect' for the job. Mommy and Mamma had never said that before! That she was perfect for something.

Tadashi and Datari didn't seem happy though. They had fought with Mamma for many weeks about the job, and had ended up with burns on their chests in the shape of stars and paper cuts on their fingertips that burned like acid. This, despite how Chiara asked them not to argue. How she had suffered to watch hot pokers being pressed along Tadashi's collar bones, and how she had squeezed at Datari's bloodless fingers in way of a plea. There was no need for them to fight. She was perfect for the job… Mommy and Mamma had said so!

"You are perfect, Chi-Chi," Tadashi had said one night, after lights-out. "Still. They're making a mistake."

"But why?"

"Because your target is going to want you to do bad things before you're able to kill him. That's the only way you're going to get close enough."

"But I don't understand."

Then came Datari, like she was spitting poison through their bedroom's darkness. "Exactly."

Chiara still didn't understand.

But if Mommy and Mamma had made up their minds, she didn't need to understand. She only needed to trust them. No matter how much of a bad man her target was, her mothers would have a plan. And anyway, Dashi and Tari were probably just being disagreeable because Illumi was coming to visit for the week. The whole week. Yes! That was the third thing about turning thirteen – because it was such a special birthday, Chiara had been allowed to ask for any gifts she could possibly have wanted. Any? Any at all? she had confirmed. Any at all! Mommy had promised.

So she asked for Illumi Zoldyck.

Not a doll version of him, with black button eyes and floppy wool hair, but the real version.

For him to visit her and not Datari (so that she could have him all to herself, just for a little while). Already, the Zoldycks came by so little, and when Chiara did get to see Illumi it was for such a short time that she was left with a grey, incomplete feeling whenever he had to leave again.

Illumi Zoldyck would be her favourite birthday present. He was strange as a ghoul, empty-eyed as the sculptures Mommy and Mamma kept around the house, and Chiara couldn't think of a thing more fascinating. He gave her the same feeling butterflies and clockwork toys did – an insatiable curiosity to rip off wings and to pull open parts, to see the tightly wound inner workings behind his funny, blank stare. To this, Chiara always felt she was getting close, always clambering to the very edge of discovery before spiraling backwards once again. Because Illumi could never stay. Because Illumi wasn't and couldn't be hers like a doll or a small, dead animal could be.

Which was fine. He was going to marry Datari, anyway. Which was fine. Even though it did leave Chiara's tummy in a spasm to think about; even though it did make her pulse stutter and seethe whenever Datari spoke about Illumi to make Tadashi jealous.

She couldn't admit it made her jealous too. To do so would unleash Datari's cruel, unremitting teasing – Chiara and Illumi, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G – and would only put Tadashi into even more of a bitter sulk – Why don't you both just leave and go live with the Zoldycks then?

It wasn't like that.

Chiara liked Illumi, but not like that.

It was just that he was her first ever friend. Her only friend.

Of course, Illumi said assassins didn't need friends. He and Chiara only got along well as associates, as fellow assassins (despite the fact that Chiara wasn't a real assassin just yet). And if he wanted to call it that, that was okay. But she would call it friendship, because he was everything she'd want a friend to be. Or… almost everything. He wasn't completely hers. She couldn't sow her name into his neck like she could with stuffed toys. Eventually, she always had to relinquish him to Datari or to Mommy or to Missus Kikyo.

But this week, he was all hers and hers and hers alone!

He arrived that afternoon in an ugly tracksuit top with a turtleneck underneath. Past the maids and through the front door, Chiara only saw him, lanky and rigid and haloed by harsh light. And perhaps it was a little impolite, a little too bold, but she ran to greet him. She shoved past the maids so that they gasped, and almost knocked Illumi over – she could feel him rebalancing himself, his limbs and back going tauter still as she threw her arms around his shoulders. Up on tip-toe, grinning into the crumpling material of his jacket as his arms dangled in an uncertain hold around her.

He was almost a whole head taller than she was. He smelled faintly of something warm and metallic. He didn't like hugs, but had told Chiara a few visits ago that he didn't mind so much if it was her, that she could hug him if she wanted to, whenever she wanted to.

"Lumi!" she gasped into his shoulder. "Hello! Long time no see! I'm so excited you could come!"

Awkwardly, like he always did, he patted her back. "Yes," he said. "My parents are glad to have come too."

"Huh?"

Another voice, "Hello, Chiara-chan."

Chiara promptly let go, feeling her heart fizzle out in her chest and her cheeks go shame-coloured. Behind Illumi stood Missus Kikyo, thin and cold and frightening – her smile carnivorous and expectant – along with Mister Silva Zoldyck. Watching. Baby Alluka stared dully from the crook of his arm. Killua clutched to Missus Kikyo's dress.

"Thirteen tomorrow," Missus Kikyo cooed, like she was talking to a wounded animal. "Such a big girl, Chiara-chan. Grandfather is sad he couldn't come."

"Oh. Oh, no, that's okay~"

"You look surprised," Illumi said. "Weren't you expecting us?"

Dizzy with surprise, indeed. Chiara mustered a smile. "It's just that I didn't think everybody would be here."

"Milluki isn't here."

"We couldn't miss such a special occasion," Missus Kikyo said. "Come, let the maids show us to our rooms. Alluka is due for a feed and Killua for a nap."

Killua looked up at his mother in horror. "But you said Chiara-chan would play with me!"

"Later, Killua-chan."

They followed the maids inside, Missus Kikyo in a swish of bright material and perfume, Mister Silva without so much as a glance down at Chiara.

Of him, she saw very little. Even Datari had close to nothing to do with Illumi's father. But whenever he was around, Chiara felt herself frozen in a state of half-terror, half-awe. Like with Illumi, there was something tremendously fascinating about him. Unlike with Illumi, Chiara couldn't put her finger on exactly what. A little shamelessly, she stared after his hulking form, heart beating hot and red in her ears like a hammer swinging itself between the walls of her skull.

Even if she hadn't expected Mister Silva himself, she shouldn't have been so shocked that Illumi hadn't come alone. Of course she shouldn't have thought he would! Why on earth would he have come alone!? Maybe it had been a stupid request to make. Stupid to be disappointed. Feeling a shudder through the depths of her chest, Chiara dropped her head, suddenly too embarrassed to look anywhere but at the floor.

Illumi lingered in the doorway. She stared at his sneakers, feeling him stare back.

"I was happy when you asked us to come," he said eventually.

Chiara nodded. "I'm happy too."

"Then why aren't you smiling anymore?"

She shrugged. "Just surprised, I think. I thought – I mean, I only asked you to come – Missus Kikyo and your father and your brothers… I didn't know they'd be here too."

"Alluka's still a baby," Illumi said, apparently confused. "We couldn't leave him with Milluki."

"Mmm."

"And I wanted Killua to come."

"Mmm."

"Ah! I know." Blithely, he patted the top of Chiara's head – and when she looked up at him, she was surprised to find a small, crooked smile. "You're upset because you didn't get to finish your hug. Is that it? Yes. You were interrupted." Then he put his arms around her, not quite a hug, but close enough to one. Through the crumply material of his jacket, Chiara could hear the dim ba-bump! ba-bump! of a heartbeat. "You may try again now, if you like."

They stood like that for a while: Chiara's arms circling their way uncertainly back around his back, Illumi remaining very still and very stiff. He'd never hugged her like this before (or, it would be better to say, he'd never actually hugged her at all – it was always the other way round). Sheepishly, Chiara smiled, and pretended not to notice the way he fiddled with the end of her ponytail, hoped he didn't notice how she pressed her cheek ever so slightly more against his collar bone.

In the morning, Chiara stole a bag of cherries from the kitchen and bolted for the garden.

Nobody else would have been awake – it was still dark outside, the windows frosted blue and glittering. Though it was cold, she went barefoot; though it wasn't very ladylike, she didn't bother to change from her pajamas. Outside, the herby smell of grass rose up as she ran, leaves and dew coating her soles in a thick, icy mess. Her breaths swirled in silvery mists. Before her, the oak tree loomed twisting and leafless, a clawing silhouette against the dim horizon.

Today, she was thirteen!

Illumi was there before she was, fully dressed and leaned against the oak tree. They didn't always spend their time like this, alone at odd and secretive hours – frankly, it felt a little bit like cheating (after all, wasn't he kind of like Datari's boyfriend? Her fiancé, even?). Now, however, when Illumi smiled that funny cat's smile and wished Chiara a happy birthday, it didn't feel that way at all. Should Chiara have felt guilty? She didn't. Only happy. Only warm and full and fluttery like everything inside of her had turned to honey.

Keeping the bag of cherries in his pocket, Illumi let Chiara stand on his shoulders so that she could reach the lowest branch of the oak tree. When she was up, she clambered higher. Higher still, Illumi close behind and making no sound as he climbed. Until they were close to the top with a view over the roof of the estate and out towards the valley, through which a pale sliver of sunlight began its slow rise.

They sat with their legs slung over branches, knees close enough to touch.

They ate the cherries. Illumi chewed slowly and a little mindlessly, as he always did, while Chiara spat out pit after pit in restless succession.

Today, she was thirteen!

Dull and dream-lit, absorbed by some lovely half-world, she was struck by a sleepy urge to drop her head against his shoulder. To say nothing. To forget the daylight as it climbed. Thirteen. This was what it meant to be thirteen – she could put her head against him and nobody would need to know, nobody was there to steal him away. She could have secrets at thirteen, like Datari and Tadashi. Would Illumi stop her? Clandestine, Chiara glanced his way and was thrilled to find him already staring back, cherry between his fingertips, moth-eyed and stolid and setting goosebumps down her arms.

She smiled. "What-cha staring at?"

For a moment, he didn't say anything. Instead, he popped the cherry between his lips, stick sticking out, and pressed his hand into his pocket – from which he revealed a palm-sized black box. He held it out to her. "Here," he said. "A gift."

"A gift from you, or from Missus Kikyo?"

"No. This is from me. Only me."

"Ooh!" She took and opened the box. Inside, rested ornamentally in a bed of purple velvet, there was a golden needle, little longer than a finger and glinting faintly. It swelled and simmered with an ominous aura – Illumi's own. Chiara plucked it from the box and considered it with a hum. "It's scary."

"I thought that maybe you'd like it."

"I love it!"

He made a peculiar sound like a huff or a laugh. "I'm glad." A pause, loaded with unsaid somethings. "I want you to think of me whenever you look at it. Even more so if you use it."

"Am I allowed to use it?"

"Yes, although I would prefer there be no need for that."

Chiara cocked her head at him. "What do you mean?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Nevermind." Touching his hand to hers, he gestured for her to put the needle back. "As long as you like it."

Over the last two years, Illumi had given her a few gifts. Real gifts – quite unlike the dolls or the dresses or the flowers Missus Kikyo usually arranged. The first thing Illumi had given her had been a rabbit heart, jarred and suspended in formaldahyde; the next had been a frog he'd found in the hole in his back garden (a viciously blue, arrow-quick little thing Chiara had named Pixie – she was still alive, feasting on mealworms nightly). Gross, peculiar things that Chiara adored.

She closed the box and held it to her chest. Why she blushed, she couldn't say, though she was glad for the darkness that kept Illumi from seeing.

"Thank you, Lumi," she said. "You give the nicest presents." And then, a little over-excited and very bold, she leaned into him. Wrist to wrist. Shoulder to shoulder. And in a flighty, fond movement, a kiss to his cheek. It was quick, and it was small, but it set a fizzle through Chiara's bones like she had just gotten away with something criminal.

Nothing criminal about it though, Chiara reminded herself. Friends could kiss each other. Datari had told her that.

Illumi blinked at her. Absently, he touched his fingers to where she had pecked her lips, looking dazed and confused. When he continued to say nothing, face hard set in a listless mask, Chiara's heart twinged at the thought that maybe she shouldn't have done that. That she should have said thank you and left the whole thing alone. Stupid! Could something so small have ruined everything? A kiss was just a kiss. It wasn't even a real kiss. But at the same time – Illumi was Illumi. He could have sprung back at any minute and left her dangling in the tree, ashamed and aghast at her own sassiness! To kiss him like that! Even if it was just on the cheek! What had she just done?

Lips twisting, Illumi asked at last, "What – what was that?"

"Umm…" Chiara looked down to the box in her hands. "Just – it was just – I'm sorry! It was nothing. Just a thank you. Please forget–"

"Do it again." Illumi turned his face, and pointed to his other cheek. "On the other side this time."

Chiara gasped. Then, sense of sensibility dissipating, she giggled. And going weak with relief, delightfully numb all through to her fingers and toes, she pressed a longer kiss to Illumi's other cheek. Relishing it. Not acknowledging how it confused her a little bit – was this really what friends did? Mostly, she lingered there a little longer than was maybe necessary, acutely aware of the way Illumi's fingertips grazed hers. His pinky curling around her own, light enough that maybe he thought she wouldn't notice. Staying there even when she pulled away again.

They kept their pinkies knotted for a while longer, saying nothing about it and slipping away quietly when eventually the maids came to find them. Though the thing went unmentioned, it lingered there in the oak tree like a fever, and in Chiara's stomach like champagne bubbles, and in the small space that remained between her and Illumi for the rest of the week.

Horrifyingly, somebody else noticed it - very soon, and very obviously, making Chiara consider that she was not cut out for secrets (even ones as small as a pinky).

A/N: Chiara's POV Part 1! Would love to hear what you guys think of her character so far. :) See you next time!