Chapter Forty-Five
FORTY-FIVE
MY BIKE TIRES SKID AGAINST the loose, wet pebbles at the end of Maureen’s driveway as I grip the brakes with both hands. Flinging my leg over, I toss it to the side, sloshing through the water puddling in front of the shadowed porch steps. At least the rain finally stopped.
Her house is set far back from the road and is hidden by a stretch of dense pine trees. The yard is pitch black, save for a few scattered stars that blink lazily, barely illuminating the sky.
In this moment I am two things. I am me, alone in the middle of the night.
Terrified. Freezing. Buzzing with power that I don’t know how to use.
But I am also nothing. No one. Floating above my body.
Watching as this poor girl gets infinitely deeper into some alternate life where nothing makes sense.
I have a secret that isn’t a secret anymore, the boy I loved is designed to kill me, and my dead grandma’s girlfriend might be my only chance at survival. And to think that over the summer my biggest concern was whether or not I’d get a five on my AP Art portfolio.
The lights are off, but her car is in the driveway. My footsteps echo against the surrounding forest, underscoring the otherwise preternatural sort of quiet.
I picture my magic, no longer coiled at my core but unfurled and eager. I envision it wrapping around my arms as my knuckles barely graze the teal wood of the door. It creaks, slowly yawning open.
No. No. No. No. No.
“Maureen?”
Nothing.
“Maureen?” I call, louder this time.
Still no response.
I press trembling fingertips to the door, pushing it open farther. “Is anyone here?”
My heart is beating too fast. I turn, surveying the property, listening for any sign of another person. Anything to indicate I’m not alone out here. Again I’m met with silence. Pursing my lips, I slow my breathing as I take a tentative step over the threshold.
A disconcerting stillness.
Quietly I close the door behind me, pressing myself flush against it. I can barely breathe as I assess the entryway, squinting my eyes and willing them to adjust to the moonless dark.
Something worse than foreboding sings to me as I hesitantly inch forward, barely lifting my feet from the ground.
My arms extend, my fingers splayed against the unknown.
My whole body shakes as I feel my way through the house.
I’m too afraid to speak, too afraid to call out again into this seemingly empty space.
What if someone answers me? What if that someone isn’t Maureen?
My skin crawls with power. The wind howls outside now, the windows rattling against its force.
I curse, jumping back a step when my hand brushes the long stem of a lamp.
It wobbles, nearly tipping over, and I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut as it settles back into place.
My feet slide onto the area rug as my gaze drifts through the room.
I consider turning on the lights, but if I’m not alone I don’t want to give myself away quite yet.
A sharp screech, like metal scraping against metal. A cascade of crashing items tumbling to the floor. Fear, ice cold, as I startle, slamming my hand against my mouth to stifle my yelp. Still, it slips around my fingers, and I cringe against it.
I can’t do this.
I don’t have a choice.
I turn toward the source of the noise at the back of the house.
“I—I have a weapon!” I force a bravado that rings hollow even to my own ears. “I-I don’t want to have to hurt you!”
I could hurt someone if it came down to it.
I don’t need a weapon.
I am the weapon.
If the ghosts of witches past don’t sabotage me again, that is.
The kitchen opens before me. In here the large window facing the backyard is just big enough to let in the smallest stream of moonlight. Besides a mess on the floor, spilled flour and toppled countertop junk, there’s nothing. Turning around, I reenter the darkness.
Something skitters in front of me. It’s getting easier every time, the way I call my magic to my hands and thrust them out. At the tips of my fingers and surrounding my palms, the static is just barely visible, like the sparks off a live wire, or a fickle plug in an old outlet.
I’m in awe of myself, but the feeling is fleeting as something brushes against my leg.
Shrieking, I jerk away from the touch and slip, my legs flying out from under me.
I land on my back, a rush of air leaving my lungs, stunned by the sudden pain.
Twisting, I push onto my hands and knees, my jaw aching where my teeth slammed together.
My hands are covered in something congealed and sticky.
Scrambling to my feet, I hold back the roiling in my stomach as I flee to the wall, groping until I finally find a light switch.
A whining noise keens from the depths of the darkness, and my heart slams against my ribs as I hold my breath, flinching against the light as it flashes on. For a moment I can see nothing beyond the sudden brightness. Blinking rapidly, I take in the room in snapshots.
First, it’s a mess.
Then, I barely suppress a surprised bark of laughter as I spot two beady, terrified black orbs. Petunia is hunched and shaking in the middle of the rug.
Lastly, the world is awash in red.
Smeared in his fur, over his face, on his paws, pooled at his feet.
I glance down at my stained palms—sticky and wet from my fall—and scream.