Prologue #2
“And you…believe this? That you’ll die someday in a cab accident?” I was gathering the facts, playing catch-up now that I knew he wasn’t joking.
“My grandfather does. This”—he tapped the envelope on the desk—“is his research. Evidence of the Coldwell family curse where we’re all assigned the same fate. Hasn’t been proven wrong yet.” His chest broadened, as though the mere mention of his grandfather made him stand straighter.
I gathered my curls on top of my head, the logical side of my brain finally turning on. “Okay. And you mean there are no anomalies? Every single male relative has been killed in some way by a taxicab?”
“Yup. Well, not relatives by marriage. Basically, any male blood relative set to inherit the family business.”
“Your dad.” I closed my eyes, afraid to meet his gaze. “It was a car accident.”
“A taxi, yeah.”
“Carter—” My voice was pained as I stepped forward, my knuckles grazing his forearm.
“And you’ll…?” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the question.
The thought of my crush and best friend dying—that he knew how he would die—was too much for my infatuated heart to bear.
What if we never made out? What if we never got to live in that very townhouse together?
He stepped toward me, resting his hands on my biceps. “Relax, Lib. Look at my grandfather. He’s almost eighty and running the company like he’s twenty years old. Healthy as ever.”
“Yeah, but—” I stepped out of his grasp. “I don’t understand how you’re so calm about this. We live in New York City.” I looked over the stack of papers that took up the entire seven-foot-long desk. Decades upon decades, generation after generation of the Coldwell male line.
My throat was tight as I swallowed. “Maybe there’s a way around it?” Like becoming a recluse and never leaving the townhouse. Or moving to a rural area where the main mode of transportation is a tractor. Neither was very Carter. “Also, why taxis? Seems random.”
“Grandfather would say it’s ‘a way for our enemies to humble us.’ ” He imitated a deep baritone.
“Basically, before my family got into oil, we ran a small taxi business. Like, way back in the day, when they were still pulled by horses.” He shrugged.
“Grandfather thinks whoever cursed us is trying to remind us where we stand.”
“So, someone’s behind the curse? You have…
enemies?” My head spun, still not quite sure what to believe, but trying to find reason in an unreasonable scenario.
Then, a flicker of hope. “Curses can be broken, though.” At least, that’s how they worked in fairy tales. “Why hasn’t anyone tried breaking it?”
Carter gathered up the papers on the desk and filed them back into the folder. “My grandfather is certainly trying. If anyone can solve it, it’s him. I try to stay out of it.”
“Stay out of it? But how can you ignore this? How can you—” His apathy was so opposite my own reaction.
I had a burning desire to study the stack of papers on the desk, to shut myself away in the library, to double-check his grandfather’s work.
To confirm whether the evidence pointed to truth or fantasy.
But Carter had a gift for brushing off life’s harder moments.
Or maybe the privilege of a life that never asked him to face them.
He stretched out his arms and wrapped them around my body, heat rising up the column of my neck and the gallop in my rib cage slowing. The scent of sunscreen lingered on his chest. Pressed so close to him, I momentarily forgot my fear.
He brushed my hair off my face with his hand.
“Listen, I didn’t tell you any of this to scare you.
Honestly, my family barely thinks anything of it.
It’s all just ‘crazy Grandpa and his theories.’ Forget about it.
” He backed up a step, still holding on to my arms. “C’mon.
We’ll bring the chessboard up to the terrace.
Maybe I’ll let you win this time.” His hazel eyes danced as he winked at me.
I elbowed him in the ribs, and he let out a loud, glorious laugh. That laugh would always be my weakness. How could I press the issue after that? I let Carter lead me back up to the roof and we didn’t speak about it again.
The curse was on my mind frequently that summer.
I became jittery when we were on busy streets, skittish when I heard car horns.
But like anything, with time, my fears lessened and life resumed its normal flow.
Evenings spent at buzzy Broadway musicals—Carter always having an extra ticket even though I knew he was doing me a favor.
I’d never have been able to afford a show.
The moment the lights would dim and our fingers would lace together.
Rowdy hibachi dinners with Carter’s friends egging me on to join them in drinking sake, even though we were all underage.
And when I wasn’t bathing in the glow of his lifestyle, cozy movie nights with my friend Zuri, who would tell me to get over him, threateningly waving a Twizzler in my face to drive her point home.
We carried on like normal teenagers. Carter didn’t talk about the curse much, so it was easy to pretend it didn’t exist. I rarely thought about it.
Until now.