 
### CONTENTS

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Epilogue

Author's Note

Excerpt from Wolves at the Door

Acknowledgements

Also by Robert J. Duperre

Copyright Page
BOY IN THE MIRROR

The Infinity Trials #1

Robert J. Duperre
For Legacy Nicole,

my not-so-little girl, and the reason this book exists.

## PROLOGUE

Thirteen-year-old Cole Mafee sprinted through the dense foliage beneath a blackened sky, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

_Denny, I'm sorry!_

It wasn't his fault, it just _wasn't_. It was supposed to have been an innocent prank. "Let's climb to the top," __ he'd told his friend as they stood in front of the decrepit old sawmill just outside Lake Salem, Vermont. Denny hadn't wanted to go, just like he hadn't wanted to smoke the cigarettes Cole swiped from his father, but as usual, he eventual caved. Together they'd climbed to the top of the loft and stepped to the mill's collapsed wall, gazing with macabre wonder at the rusty old machinery surrounding them, items with scary-looking blades that looked like they'd come straight out of the slasher movies Cole's brother Carl loved so much.

Denny had been fearful, his eyes wide and shimmering, his hands shaking. Cole crept up behind him. "Don't fall," he whispered to his friend.

The joke ended there.

It was a light push, meant only to make Denny flinch, but in his surprise, he'd lurched forward and pinwheeled his arms. Cole's laughter died when Denny lost his balance and fell. One second he was there, the next he was gone. His terrified shriek was followed by a _crunch_ , then silence.

"Denny?" he'd whispered.

His friend was twenty feet below, a rusty metal spike from a derelict scale ramp protruding from his chest. Blood coated Denny's t-shirt, bubbled from his mouth. Cole's heart thrummed out of control, his body frozen in disbelief. He watched from above as his friend gawped up at him, mouth trying to form words, until he finally fell still.

Denny Birchright, his best friend, was dead.

So Cole had run, disappearing into the thick woods. It was a decision made in panic; not exactly the smartest choice he could've made.

The path he now took through the mountainous Vermont wilderness was overgrown, crushing in on him from either side as a billion insects chirped their nighttime songs. Sweat poured down his forehead, made his clothes a dampened mess. Cole stopped, ran his hands through his hair. He didn't know how long he'd been running, or where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away as fast as he could. Denny was dead; his mom wouldn't bake him birthday cakes, his dad wouldn't fish with him, he and his brother wouldn't play catch in the fields across from their trailer. Cole's emotions bubbled over. He didn't know what to do. Finally, he thought of something Carl had said when he'd talked about robbing a bank.

_I'll go to Canada_. _Follow one of the dirt roads in Newport until I'm not in America anymore._

Cole had no clue how to live in the woods by himself. He never even thought of the possibility of running across bears, moose, or coyotes. But none of that mattered, for Cole's goal was simple: _Just get away so no one can find you._

He turned off the narrow hunting trail, heading where he hoped was north. The thick canopy blocked out the moonlight, and the dried leaves crunching beneath his feet was eerily similar to the sound of his friend's body hitting the old scale ramp. Cole saw Denny's face in the corner of his vision as he worked his way through the blackened woods, eyes open, mouth drooping, expression slackened. "Please go away," he pleaded to the darkness, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm sorry."

When the phantom of his dead friend refused to leave, his anger took over. Cole lashed out at a tree trunk, shredding his knuckles. He felt a _snap_ in his hand, and pain rocketed through his arm. Holding the wounded appendage close to his chest and wailing, he scurried upward through the black. There was a glimmer of light ahead, and suddenly all that mattered was reaching that spot, and leaving the darkness—and Denny's haunting visage—behind.

Cole took a rushed step as he neared the light, and suddenly there was no ground beneath his feet. He plummeted face-first to the ground, his brain rattling as he rolled down a steep decline. When he screamed, it seemed it didn't come from the mouth of a thirteen-year-old boy, but from some savage creature a hundred miles away.

Eventually his roll ceased, and Cole blacked out. He awoke from a death-like sleep sometime later with a peculiar buzzing in his ears. His body no longer throbbed; his thoughts were no longer on Denny's blood-soaked corpse. Instead, all he felt was peace. Calmness. Serenity.

He slowly rose to sitting, enthralled with the numbness that had overcome him. His injured hand prickled, and when he grabbed a thatch of his brown hair and pulled, a wave of pleasurable pins and needles washed over his scalp.

"Whoa," he said, as if in a dream.

He took in his surroundings. He was at the bottom of a circular basin, sloping dirt walls surrounding him on all sides. Leaves covered the basin floor. For the first time since he'd fled into the woods he had a clear view of the night sky. Millions of twinkling stars and the glowing full moon shone down on him. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled, but Cole wasn't scared. The weird pulsations undulated through him, made him feel indestructible.

Something shifted beneath his hand, and just off to his right smoke burped up from the carpet of nettles and dead leaves. Cole gawked at the strange, gyrating gas. The moonlight created a rainbow of color across the constantly moving, almost liquid sheen. The effect was hypnotic.

"Pretty."

The smoke spiraled toward him, roiling over his fingers, his hand, his wrist. It didn't feel like smoke, but Vaseline or something. The smoke slowly enveloped him, making him numb wherever it touched. The sensation was pleasurable, and he closed his eyes.

The smoke worked its way to his shoulder, and soon it was as if he had no arm at all. It then surged across his chest and began to whirl around the nape of his neck. Cole leaned back on the hand he could still feel and giggled. All his pain, doubt, and shame was being left behind, and there was nothing he wanted more than that.

Cole's chin became numb, and he opened his mouth. The living smoke rolled over his lips and billowed into his throat, anesthetizing him from the inside out. Then a single bolt of agony struck him in the gut, and Cole's eyes snapped open. The pain worked its way through his bowels, infecting him, devouring him. His euphoria disappeared, and Cole thrashed about, becoming one with anguish as the invader corrupted his circulatory system, his nervous system, every part of him.

A voice spoke in the recesses of his mind, a malevolent __ voice that had no business being there. Cole lost use of his eyes, of his organs, his extremities. His thoughts weren't his own any longer; all that made Cole who he was slowly dripped into the back of his subconscious, entrapped by a prison of distorted, randomly firing neurons. In this new prison, the Cole Mafee of old screamed youthful terror into the vast nothingness, while the body he had once controlled stood up and cracked its neck.

The new occupant opened his eyes and stared at human hands, enraptured. _Alive_ , this new being thought. _Alive again._ He drank in every emotion his new body offered, all the fear, sadness, and desperation that leaked from its every pore. _These_ were the cherished emotions that allowed it to reach through the timeless abyss and draw the shell to itself. It had been centuries since he'd truly lived, and as concepts such as _thought_ and _emotion_ came back to him, so did the remembrance of his name, his purpose _._

"I am the Prophet," he said using Cole Mafee's lips.

But he wasn't _truly_ alive, not yet. The Prophet glanced down at his small, frail body. This was a borrowed vessel, a faulty incubator inside which his true form would grow, until he could be reborn into perfection.

He only had to find his mate, the one whose blood would sanctify his revival.

The Prophet turned to the south, toward his destination, the forest's bountiful hidden life-forms glowing red in his vision. Saliva, black and oily, dribbled down his borrowed chin. Despite the insect-like wailing of the body's former inhabitant, despite the pangs of hunger caused by his gestation, the Prophet could only think of _her_. _The first trial_ , he thought with a grin. __ He spoke her name. It was like blood on his lips.

_"Gorgon."_

## CHAPTER 1

The bible was open in Jacqueline Talbot's lap, but she wasn't reading it. She forced her vision to go all glossy, and the words on the page melted into a series of thin black smears. She wanted no part of sitting there with that book, but she was forced to read scripture in the living room for three hours a day, every day. Papa Gelick told her it was because she was fifteen and nearing womanhood, and getting closer to God would help wash away the sin that had tainted her last five years.

But the only thing Jacqueline had ever learned from scripture was that God could be a great big prick, and He tended to make great big pricks of those who loved Him most.

The doorbell rang, startling her. The bible slipped between her legs, thudded on the floor. She hurriedly picked it up, leaned back against the soft couch cushions, and looked around. The only eyes on her were those of Jesus, who gazed down from His portrait on the far wall. Clinking and clanking sounds came from the kitchen as Papa and Mrs. Gelick prepared for dinner.

The doorbell rang a second time.

"Jackie, can you get that?" Papa Gelick shouted, his tone cheery and sickly sweet as usual. It made Jacqueline's skin crawl. She closed the bible and placed it on the coffee table in front of her just as her foster father appeared from around the corner. He was in his late thirties, but his eyes looked much older—tired, even—as they stared down with faux niceness.

"I said can you get that?" he said again while wringing a dishrag in his hands. She nodded, stood up, and walked out the room as quickly as she could. Papa Gelick hated sluggishness as much as surprise guests, and Jacqueline didn't want to irritate him. If she did, she might be forced to clean the entire house again. Anything was preferable to slaving away beneath Mrs. Gelick's critical eye.

Someone rapidly tapped their foot on the front stoop once she arrived at the door, and Jacqueline managed to pull it open before the bell rang a third time.

A stunning older woman stood in the breezeway, her hair long, black, and wavy. Her hazel eyes sparkled like gemstones. Her features mirrored Jacqueline's own, from the slightly hitched nose, to the high cheekbones, to the light brown East Indian skin tone and upward-arching eyebrows. She carried herself with confidence and pride, which made her entirely out of place in such a backward town as Colebrook, New Hampshire.

"You must be Jacqueline," the woman said, her voice raspy yet sweet.

Jacqueline nodded. "How'd you know my name?"

The woman smiled wide and placed a hand on Jacqueline's cheek. Her palm was warm and silky.

"I came to see you," she said. "Why else?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Oh."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, examining each other. Jacqueline felt lost in the woman's eyes, which reminded her of her father's.

"Oh, silly me," the woman said with a laugh. "I never introduced myself. I'm Mitzy Sarin, but you can call me Aunt Mitzy."

The woman held her out her free hand—she had a plate covered with tin foil in the other—and Jacqueline tentatively shook it. "You're my aunt?" she asked.

"Yes. Your mother's sister, actually. I met you at her funeral. You were really young, though. You don't remember me?"

Jacqueline shook her head.

When Aunt Mitzy withdrew her hand, Jacqueline felt a tingling sensation in her palm. She stared at her fingers. This was unreal. She'd never known her mother had a sister. She'd thought her whole family was dead.

Papa Gelick's singsong voice called out from the other room. "Who's there?"

Jacqueline winced.

"Would that be the man of the house?" Aunt Mitzy asked with a frown.

All Jacqueline could do was nod.

"Very well. Could you let him know I need to speak with him?" She gestured to the tray resting atop her arm. "I brought snacks."

"Okay."

Jacqueline turned away. "Papa Gelick," she said, raising her voice as much as she dared. "There's someone who wants to talk to you."

Her heart began to pound.

•     •     •

Papa and Mrs. Gelick took the couch while Aunt Mitzy sat opposite them on the loveseat. Jacqueline placed the tray the woman had been carrying on the coffee table and removed the aluminum foil. The tray was stacked with cookies—chocolate chip, Jacqueline's favorite.

"Can I?" Jacqueline asked.

"Of course. I brought them for everyone." She nodded at Papa Gelick. "Go ahead."

Jacqueline tenderly lifted a morsel and bit into it. Her mouth watered at the sweetness, and she smiled. "That's good," she said.

"Thank you," Mitzy replied. "They're extremely fattening, however. Tons of buttermilk and lard. It's why they're so moist."

Jacqueline nodded absentmindedly while Mrs. Gelick swiftly withdrew her hand from the tray, cookie-less. "I'm on a diet," she said as way of an apology.

"I'm not," Papa Gelick said, picking up a treat of his own and taking a bite. "You weren't kidding. These are quite good."

"Thank you."

The man raised an eyebrow at her. "I suppose this little visit has little to do with treats, though?"

Mitzy nodded before removing a file folder from her large purse. She flipped through the papers inside and handed one of them over to Papa Gelick.

"I'm actually here to claim my niece," she said. "To bring her home."

"Is that so?" Papa Gelick scanned the page. Jacqueline retreated to the wall behind the couch.

"So you see," said Aunt Mitzy when Papa Gelick finally lifted his eyes, "it's all pretty basic."

Jacqueline stood there in rapt silence, unconsciously munching on her cookie. A nervous knot formed in her stomach. Roger "Papa" Gelick was the pastor of the local Baptist church, a somewhat handsome man with a head of feathered blond hair. The way he looked at Mitzy forced Jacqueline to stifle a shiver.

Papa Gelick placed the paper back down. "I don't think I do. These documents aren't notarized. How do I know you are who you say you are?" His tone was sweet as usual, but a familiar undercurrent of hostility snuck in.

"I agree," Mrs. Gelick added. "Very suspicious."

Aunt Mitzy didn't flinch. "I assure you, Mr. Gelick, this is all quite official." She reached down and pointed to one of the papers. "That there was stamped by the Connecticut DSS. And my license should be all the proof you need that I am who I say I am."

Papa Gelick's eyes narrowed. "It was the New Hampshire DSS that placed the girl in our care." He slid the document across the table, sat back, folded one leg over the other. "And Jacqueline's last name is Talbot, not Sarin."

"I'm her _mother's_ sister," Aunt Mitzy laughed, removing another document from her folder. "It says so right here."

"I'm sure it does," Papa Gelick said. He grabbed another cookie and casually munched it. "However, that begs the question of why it took you so long to try and reach out to the poor girl. She's been in the system for five years now."

Aunt Mitzy inclined her head. "Unfortunately, my sister died long ago, and her husband and daughter disappeared soon after. So you can imagine how surprised I was when I saw his face on the news. After that, I hired an investigative firm to find my niece. It's not as easy as it sounds." She spread her arms out wide and grinned in Jacqueline's direction. "But here I am."

Jacqueline swallowed the last of her cookie. Her nervousness disappeared, replaced by a warm feeling that spread through her abdomen. She stepped toward the coffee table, eyeing her aunt and then the tray.

"Can I have another?" she asked.

"Of course," said Aunt Mitzy. "Cookies are for eating."

"Don't eat too much, Jackie," Papa Gelick said. "Gluttony is a sin."

"And you don't want to get fat," added Mrs. Gelick.

Jacqueline rolled her eyes.

"Don't you _ever_ roll your eyes at your mother," Papa Gelick said, sternly. Jacqueline was taken aback. She'd never heard the man sound angry before. Usually his threats were measured in heightened levels of sweetness.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"You don't need to speak with her like that," Aunt Mitzy said. "She's not your child."

"Don't tell me how to act in my own house!" he shouted, whirling on the woman. Jacqueline's heart raced, and Papa Gelick's neck flushed.

"Roger!" exclaimed Mrs. Gelick.

The pastor shook his head, his eyes flitting from side to side as if in shock. He ran a hand through his hair. "I apologize, Miss Sarin."

"It's quite all right," Mitzy replied, seemingly not bothered by the outburst. Jacqueline felt envy creep up. Mitzy was strong in a way Jacqueline could never be. The woman peered Jacqueline's way, gestured toward the hallway with her chin. "Jackie, I think you might want to go upstairs. We'll get this sorted out, I promise."

"That we will," added her foster father.

Jacqueline defiantly snatched another three cookies off the tray and breezed out of the room. When she rounded the corner, heading for the stairwell, she found Sarah, the Gelick's seven-year-old daughter, sitting on the bottom step, elbows on her knees.

"What's happening?" the girl asked. "You goin' away?"

"Maybe," Jacqueline said, patting Sarah on the head and striding past her. She bit into another cookie, and just like the first two, it was soft and moist, and melted in her mouth. It tasted like heaven.

The voices of the adults drifted up the stairs. "The girl is my blood," Mitzy was saying. "If anyone should care for her, it should be family."

Papa Gelick laughed, and it was the most disheartening sound Jacqueline had ever heard. "Do you know what her father did?" he said. "Trust me, you don't want her. She's a handful. That's why she's here. The child is the offspring of a monster, and only Jesus can save her."

Jacqueline didn't wait around to hear her aunt's reply. She dashed into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her as hard as she could, punishment be damned.

## CHAPTER 2

Jacqueline's bedroom was a barren place consisting of a bed and dresser and nothing else. The walls were adorned with framed scripture verses and a pair of paintings, both of Christ. When she'd first arrived, Jacqueline had asked Papa Gelick if she could hang up the only two pictures of her parents that she had, but she'd been shot down.

It was in this room that Jacqueline had spent most of the three months she'd lived with the Gelicks. And while she did indeed sleep and pray as ordered, she also plotted her eventual escape from this cruel place.

_Cruel place._

Jacqueline's guilt reared its ugly head. She was being judgmental and mean, and she knew it. The Gelicks might've been rigid and a bit odd, but neither the pastor nor his wife had ever done anything outwardly cruel. Even when she was paraded in front of Papa Gelick's congregation every Sunday and made a spectacle of, the pastor had assured her it was to show the good God-fearing folks of Colebrook that even sinners could change if they accepted the grace of God. Even if he and his congregation were way more fundamentalist than any other Protestant churches she'd been to, it was really just an annoyance.

_They're trying to help you_ , her conscience scolded.

"I know," she whispered.

The tears came hard and fast, and she curled up in a ball on her bed. Her mind was a jumble of contradictions. She'd been a girl without a family for so long that she'd started to identify as such. Just the _possibility_ that it might not be true was enough to make her feel hope for the first time in a long while, which in turn made her unravel.

"Please don't cry," said a voice in the room. "I don't like it when you cry."

Jacqueline lifted her head, wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sucked in the last of her sniffles and slid off the bed, making her way across the bedroom.

Her compact was on the dresser, an old thing with rusted hinges. The blush inside had long been used up, but it was her most prized possession, a relic left behind by a mother she never knew.

Jacqueline pried open the case and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Once again she marveled at how alike she and "Aunt Mitzy" looked. The resemblance was so uncanny that she could have been the woman's daughter.

Downstairs, the Gelicks bid good day to Aunt Mitzy, and Jacqueline faintly heard the woman say she'd be back in a week so they could "clear up any confusion." The front door then closed, followed by the crunch of tires rolling down the driveway. The tingling in Jacqueline's stomach disappeared. She glanced back at the mirror.

_He_ was there.

His eyes, gun-metal gray, gazed up at her from behind his reflective prison. His white, slightly tousled hair flopped over one side of his face. He smiled his perfect smile. "Hey there, Jackie," the boy in the mirror said.

"Hi, Mal."

Jacqueline had first discovered the boy who lived in the compact a week after her father's arrest. Child Services had escorted her home to collect her valuables before she was sent to a group shelter in Newport, Vermont. She'd been in a daze, tossing random odds and ends into her travel bag, when she heard someone call out her name. She'd followed the voice to her father's bedroom, but saw nothing but an unmade bed and laundry scattered everywhere. She was only ten at the time, but she knew enough to understand that her daddy wouldn't be sleeping in that bed any more, that those clothes would never again hang off his slender frame. Not after what he'd done.

Jacqueline had started crying again—there had been so much crying in those days after _the incident_ —when the voice called out again. _"Please don't cry."_ She followed the sound of humming to the drawer in her father's dresser where he stored Jacqueline's mother's old keepsakes. She rummaged through knickknacks and costume jewelry until her hand touched a metal disk. The brass surface of the thing was warm. When she'd opened it, he'd appeared, white hair, gray eyes, and all. He'd introduced himself as Mal, her guardian angel. Jacqueline had been young enough at the time to believe him without question. She'd been naïve enough to have faith in things like hope and miracles.

Five years changed so much.

With each subsequent move to a different foster home, she'd retreat further into her relationship with the mysterious boy in the mirror. It was in moments like this, when the last of her optimism seemed ready to crumble away completely and leave a dead husk in its wake, that her simple, childlike belief that the unreal boy actually existed made her sane.

She went back to the bed and sat down, placing the open compact in her lap. She grabbed her brush and ran it through her long, black hair, tugging at the roots, letting the pain come. Doing so let her remember that she was still capable of feeling something. In the mirror, Mal watched her, his ever-present smile faltering.

"What's the matter?" he asked, lips twisting into a thin white line.

Jacqueline sucked snot into her nose. "I'm just sad."

"Is it him? The pastor?"

"No. Not really."

"Then what?"

She sighed. "A woman came. She said her name's Mitzy Sarin. You know her?"

"Nope. Never heard of her. Related to your mom?"

"Yeah. Says she's her sister. I didn't know I had any family left. But we look alike. A _lot_ alike, so it's gotta be true."

"Gotta be, or you hope it is?"

Jacqueline shrugged. She had no answer for that.

"What does she want?" asked Mal.

"To take me away from here."

Tears again rolled down Jacqueline's cheeks. One fell from her chin and landed on the mirror. The bead of salty fluid immediately vanished.

"I don't like it when you cry," Mal said. "This is a good thing, isn't it?"

"Maybe," Jacqueline sniffled.

"Well, where does she want to take you?"

"Connecticut, I think."

Mal's smile widened. "That's good. That's _very_ good."

"Is it?"

"Yup. Have faith, Jackie. These things always work themselves out in the end."

She sat there in silence for a while, the beautiful boy in the mirror gazing up at her. She wanted to believe him, but her life had been one catastrophe piled on top of another, from her mother's death when she was three to her father's horrible acts to the countless love-deprived homes she'd found herself in afterward. It was dangerous to think anything would change. She just couldn't set herself up for disappointment again, no matter what Mal told her.

"You're right," she finally said, placating him. "Just think positive thoughts." A sad smile crossed her lips. "At least I have you."

"That you do," Mal said with a wink.

"Thank you."

"Of course. You're the most beautiful girl in the world, Jackie. I love you."

"I love you too, Mal."

Jacqueline peered out the window. The sun was setting, and she suddenly felt dead tired. She closed the compact, placed it beneath her pillow, then took off her clothes, slipped on her nightgown, and climbed beneath the covers. The residue of Aunt Mitzy's cookies still lingered in her mouth, and when she licked the back of her teeth, she felt a strange, calming sensation come over her. Jacqueline succumbed to the feeling, closing her eyes, wondering about Mal. Was he floating through space, drawn back through the fabric of existence whenever she opened the mirror? Or did he exist purely within the confines of the compact, his soul trapped for eternity like a genie, waiting for her to rub the mirror in the right way to release him?

Or maybe he wasn't there at all.

While she pondered this, Mal's sweet voice, muffled by her pillow, sang her to sleep.

_"Pretty little lady with a heart of gold. Poor pretty lady, without a dream, without a home."_

## CHAPTER 3

She dreamed she stood in front of a large mirror, the images of her parents gazing at her with love. Jacqueline reached for them, piercing the mirror's liquid surface, but they were out of her reach. Their images faded, loving smiles dissolving into blackness. Jacqueline pleaded for them not to leave her.

A heavy pressure shoved against her chest, urging her to wakefulness. She tried to roll over, still groggy, but the pressure held firm. Jacqueline's eyes snapped open. The bedroom was nearly pitch-black, and she heard heavy breathing. An alien hand slowly inched its way across her abdomen, fingers bunching around the fabric of her nightgown, pulling on it.

She recognized Papa Gelick's voice when he groaned.

Jacqueline's heart went _thump-thump-thump_. She knew from experience how to react; her muscles went stiff and she held her breath. This wasn't exactly new territory for her. There had been two past incidents in different foster homes where someone had come on her unwontedly like this. The first time it was Mr. Gleeson, when Jackie was eleven. She'd kicked and screamed, trying to get him off her, but all she'd accomplished was a stiff beating and being subsequently thrown back into the arms of Child Services, Jackie too young and scared to tell them what'd happened. The second time she'd simply lay still as a statue, locking up her body and pretending to be frozen. She hadn't seen the perpetrator that second time, but her ploy worked, since he gave up prying at her body after a short time and left her alone. In the aftermath of that one, Jacqueline ran away.

Neither would work this time.

Papa Gelick breathed slowly, deeply, seeming to growl with each exhale. He stank of liquor, which was unheard of. The pastor hated alcohol. His hand crept over the nightgown's light material, brushed past her bellybutton. The fabric hiked up, exposing her knees, then her lower thighs. _No, no, no_ , she thought, the combination of nausea and fear making her gag. _Please go away, please go away!_

But Papa Gelick remained hovering above, his outline like that of an ogre. His finger wrapped around the top of the nightgown and he yanked, breaking one of the shoulder straps. Fingernails raked across her upper chest, then his arm pulled back and he muttered, as if chastising himself. Jacqueline yelped and kicked out as hard as she could, connected. Papa Gelick let out a _harrumph_ and staggered backward. Jackie scurried across the bed away from him.

"Stop it!" she shrieked.

Papa Gelick froze there in the virtual blackness, his outline heaving.

"God has a plan for all of us," he said, his words slurred and strangely emotionless. "Even the worthless and damned, like you."

He shook his head and slapped himself. "No, that's not true. Stop it."

He turned back to her.

Jackie slid one foot off the bed, then the other, and proceeded to back up against the wall, trying to get as far away from the looming beast of a man as she could. If she reached the window, maybe she could fling it open and crawl onto the roof. It was only a ten-foot drop to the grass below...

"You were given to us for a reason," Papa Gelick said, sounding even drunker than before. He moved strangely, his upper body swaying against his lower as if fighting himself. His words came out staggered. "You were sent to...‌to heal this community...‌to build Jesus' flock. The Lord knew I could fix you, that I...‌could fight the evil hidden inside." He coughed, and it sounded like he almost puked. "Stop it," he whined, then regained himself. "The Devil has many pawns, many faces. This is just a test, another challenge for me to endure."

"You're n-not making sense," Jacqueline said.

The man laughed. It was a conflicted sound. "It makes all the sense in the world. No it doesn't. _Yes_ it _does!_ The woman who came to claim you was a demon, Jackie. A dirty, banished-from-hell demon. Just like your father. Just like you were before you were saved. She wants to take you away from God. Do you want that, Jackie?"

With a lump in her throat, Jacqueline croaked out, "No."

"You say that, but your voice lies," Papa Gelick said. His movements steadied, as did his speaking voice. "I can hear it, and see it. I see it when you eat, when you sleep, when you even _breathe_. You tell us you pray for forgiveness, and yet when I check on you at night I hear no prayers, no whispers or pleas. You've turned your back on God and become a temptress and a seducer. You taunt men with your body, your actions, trying to lure them into sin. To lure _me_ into sin! You have the devil in you, child. You have to get him out."

Papa Gelick lumbered to the side. A moment later, the lamp on the dresser clicked to life, momentarily blinding her. When stars stopped popping in her eyes and her vision came clear, she saw that the man's cheeks were red and swollen, and drool oozed down his chin. He was naked from the waist up, and his chest hair glistened with either spilled liquor or vomit. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he gawked at her, a desperate, angry look in his blue eyes. What had once been a reasonably attractive man had become a monster.

Jacqueline tried to back up further, wishing she could phase her body through the wall. For a moment she felt lightheaded, close to fainting. Papa Gelick took a step toward her on wobbly legs. That frightening, desperate look never left his face. More drool dripped off his chin, plinking on the floorboards.

"I've tried everything," the man said groggily. "Nothing's worked. It's the depravity. The horrible depravity." It looked like he was in pain, half his mouth struggling not to smile. "And sometimes...‌the only way...‌to get rid of depravity...‌is to feed it."

Without another word he lurched forward. Jacqueline tried to slide down the wall and out of his reach, but her body was stiff with fear. Hands wrapped around her throat, lifted her. She choked for air, her eyes rolled into the back of her skull. Papa Gelick spun around, flinging her toward the bed. She landed on the floor with a _thump_ , only to have her tormentor lift her up and drop her onto the mattress.

"You need this," muttered Papa Gelick's trembling voice.

The man climbed atop her, his weight crushing Jacqueline's chest. His left elbow dug into her throat while his eager right hand groped, smacking against the side of her stomach, moving ever downward to her thigh. Jacqueline squeezed her eyes shut and tried to scream, but the force of his forearm on her throat was too great. All that came out was a hoarse whimper.

Jacqueline felt new levels of fear; it seemed her heart would burst, it beat so quickly. She struggled beneath the man, eyes bulging and mind going fuzzy, while Papa Gelick pawed at her. None of the awfulness she'd experienced over the last five years came anywhere close to this. For a split second, she wished she could die.

Papa Gelick released the pressure on her throat, allowing her to take a gasping breath. He leaned in close and pressed his mouth to her ear. "Please...‌fight me," he slurred, sounding desperate.

Upon hearing those words, that invitation, another emotion bubbled in Jacqueline's gut and wiped out her fright. Raging heat burned in her temples, brought fire to her veins. She suddenly wanted to rip the man on top of her limb from limb, to pound Papa Gelick's face into the wall again and again until it became so crushed and misshapen that no one would ever mistake it for human. Electrical charges went off all throughout her body, exploded in her vision. It was as if someone ignited a series of fireworks inside her, and it felt wonderful. It felt _powerful_.

"Get...‌ _OFF ME!_ " Jacqueline screamed.

She swiped Papa Gelick's hand off her thigh with one arm and drove the flat of her opposite hand into his chest. Amazingly, the man let out a gust of putrid breath and lifted into the air, careening off the edge of the bed and smacking against the floor. Jacqueline's brain went into overdrive, her vision went red. Her body moved as if of its own accord, tucking into a crouch and springing off the bed, driving her knees into Papa Gelick with such force that he was compelled to his back.

Jacqueline didn't feel in control of her body, and it was the most intoxicating sensation ever. She lashed out at Papa Gelick, connected squarely with his cheek. His head rocketed to the side, a stream of bloody spittle ejected from his mouth. She grabbed the top of his hair and lifted his head. Papa Gelick's glassy eyes stared back at her, disbelieving.

"I'll rip you apart," she growled into his face.

"Daddy?"

Hearing the little girl's voice snapped Jacqueline back into herself. She stared at the man beneath her, at the side of his face as it began to swell and redden, and let go of his hair. She kicked herself along the floor, staring first at her hands, then at the doorway. Little Sarah was standing there, teddy bear cradled in her arms, eyes wide as saucers.

Jacqueline swallowed hard. It was hard to keep from trembling. "Sarah," she said softly. "Go to your room. It's okay."

The little girl didn't move.

Footsteps pounded down the hall, and Mrs. Gelick appeared, her blond hair sticking out in wild knots on both sides of her head. The woman glanced at her daughter, confused, and then peered into the room. When she saw Jacqueline there on the floor, holding her nightgown up with one hand, Mrs. Gelick's eyes widened. She quickly turned her head as Papa Gelick tried to pick himself up off the floor.

"What have you done," Mrs. Gelick whispered.

At first, Jacqueline assumed the question had been aimed at Papa Gelick, but then she saw the disdainful looks the woman gave the both of them. She ran into the bedroom and dropped down beside her husband. Mrs. Gelick helped the man to his feet and supported him as he stumbled, drunken and dazed, toward the doorway. "You _idiot!_ " she growled, slapping him on the back of the head.

The whole while, Little Sarah quietly sobbed in the doorway.

Finally, without another word for Jacqueline, the Gelicks left the room. Mrs. Gelick slammed the door behind her, leaving Jacqueline alone with her pain, fear, anger, and confusion. She could hear the woman railing into her husband as they went down the hall. Jacqueline stood up, feeling lightheaded, and stared at her hands. She'd just thrown a grown man off of her, and then struck him so hard that it nearly knocked him out. She looked at her knuckles, saw the flesh wasn't marked at all. It didn't even hurt. "What's happening to me?" she whispered, her tears finally flowing now that the immediate danger had passed. She collapsed on the bed.

Mal was calling her from inside his mirror prison, but she didn't reach under the pillow to retrieve him. She simply lay there and cried.

## CHAPTER 4

Jacqueline awoke out of a dream in which she strolled along the shore of some far-away beach, holding hands with Mal. She felt so happy, so at peace, that when the first waft of salty bacon smoke struck her nose, she eagerly sat up.

The pain in her throat, along with the memory of the previous night, ruined what little tranquility remained from her dream. She remembered the seething wantonness in Papa Gelick's eyes, felt the weight of his body as it pressed into her, suffered the derision and guilt, and the horror of potentially being _sullied_.

Then she remembered her violent outburst, spurned on by a rage so deep and enveloping that it set her whole body on fire, as if she'd become the living embodiment of hate. How else to explain how a five-foot-three inch girl who barely weighed a hundred pounds overpowered a man nearly a foot taller and double her weight? And why the hell had Papa Gelick attacked her in the first place? None of it made any sense at all. It made her feel dirty, and perhaps even evil, just as her foster father had said.

The strangeness and unbelievability of what'd happened threatened to drive her mad, and worst of all, Jacqueline just knew that if Sarah hadn't come to the doorway at that moment, she might've killed the man. Somehow, that thought was more frightening than the attempted rape had been.

With the world closing in on her, she reached beneath her pillow, grabbed hold of the compact, and opened it. There was Mal, as beautiful and caring as ever. The boy in the mirror gazed up at her, a look of dire concern on his face. His lips twisted into a frown.

"Why's your neck all swollen?" he asked.

Jacqueline shook her head, on the verge of tears.

"What happened?" he asked.

She chewed on her lip and said nothing.

"C'mon, Jackie. Tell me what happened. All of it."

The floodgates opened and she explained it all, from waking up with Papa Gelick's hands on her to the horrors that followed. When she arrived at the part where she shoved him off the bed, Mal's eyes darkened.

"My God," he said.

"Mal, what's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you," he said in a soothing tone. "Nothing at all."

"But what happened..."

"Could've happened to anyone, Jackie. Adrenaline is a funny thing."

"Mal, am I...‌am I a monster? Like him? Like my dad?"

"Absolutely not. You're beautiful, Jackie. The most precious creature who's ever lived. And that's the damn truth."

Her nose twitched, her stomach rumbled from hunger, but Jacqueline didn't want to leave her room and the only person in the world that made her feel safe, even if that person was trapped inside a mirror the size of her palm. A groan escaped her lips.

"You should go eat," Mal said as if he'd read her mind.

"I don't wanna. I don't wanna see _him_. Or her. Mrs. Gelick."

"You have nothing to worry about, Jackie. There's nothing they can do to you. Maybe last night is just what they needed to let you go off with this Aunt Mitzy of yours without a fight."

Jacqueline couldn't help but smile at that.

•     •     •

Mrs. Gelick seemed edgy as she watched her husband and daughter pick at their bacon, eggs, and biscuits. The left side of Papa Gelick's face was covered with an ugly purple bruise to match the one blooming across Jacqueline's throat.

Jacqueline took her place at the table, her chair squeaking on linoleum as she shuffled closer. Little Sarah glanced up at her and smiled timidly before going back to moving her eggs across her plate with her fork. Mrs. Gelick squinted in her daughter's direction, passed her husband a nasty look. Papa Gelick winced, staring down at his plate as if afraid to look anywhere else.

No one spoke the whole time Jacqueline sat with them. The only sounds were metal scraping against porcelain and the crunch of chewed bacon. Jacqueline's stomach roiled. Even Sarah, who was normally an oblivious, blithe girl in the morning, seemed entirely unnerved. She scrunched up her little face and appeared paler than usual, her hand not holding a fork obsessively fiddling with her blond curls.

Jacqueline could relate. She too was having trouble eating; her stomach was in knots, anxiety caused a headache to spike behind her eyes. It was difficult to swallow given her swollen throat. _I shouldn't be here_ , said a resilient voice in the back of her mind. _I should be upstairs calling the police._ Still another part of her was awash with guilt, replaying the previous night's events. Papa Gelick's drunken accusation was on a constant loop in her thoughts. _You taunt men with your body. You lead them to sin._

"Please excuse me," she finally said, having nary eaten a bite. She fled into the adjacent hallway, somehow conscious that Mrs. Gelick's eyes were on her.

As she hurried away, Jacqueline thought of the first time she'd let someone see her naked. It happened three years ago, with a boy named Billy Carlson. She'd been living with a family in Dover at the time, and the boy had promised he'd do her chores for a whole week if she'd let him have a peek at her naughty bits. In her youthful naiveté Jacqueline had complied. Billy reneged on his offer afterward, and Jacqueline got even by stealing twenty dollars from her foster mother's purse and then giving the money back to the woman, telling her she found it in Billy's dresser. Billy was sent back to juvy after that.

She sat down on the steps leading upstairs and planted her elbows on her knees. _It's all my fault_ , she thought. _All of it._ If it hadn't been for her own actions, she wouldn't have ended up at the Gelick's house at all. Her lower lip quivered with self-hate.

The events that led to her coming to Colebrook happened seven months ago, just after her fifteenth birthday. After years of migrating from temporary home to temporary home, Jacqueline had thought she'd finally found a place she could live for the rest of her life. It was a well-kept group home run by Walter and Simona Korvaks, a husband-and-wife team over in Keene. Everyone there was nice to her; it was like being part of a family. She was really, truly happy. The Korvaks refused to tell anyone about her dad's dirty secrets and the kids in the small school she attended accepted her immediately. She lived each day as if none of the world's badness could touch her.

Then _he_ arrived.

Tyler Burton was a troubled seventeen-year-old boy who'd been arrested numerous times for breaking and entering, as well as assault. His father had died years before and his mother was a drug addict. The Korvaks took him in, apparently believing their particular brand of hippie-dippie love could rehabilitate him.

Jacqueline immediately found herself drawn to Tyler's brooding, bad-boy charms. From the first day he arrived, she would linger outside the door to his bedroom, hoping he'd acknowledge her. Even Mal's warnings to stay away fell on deaf ears.

After a while Tyler gave her what she wanted. He let her join him when he snuck out of the house, and together they'd steal booze and get drunk or stoned in the woods behind the Korvaks' house, Jacqueline sitting in Tyler's lap with his arms around her to fend off the cold, but they always made sure to cover their tracks and be in their assigned beds before anyone woke up. Tyler told Jacqueline that he'd lived in enough undesirable places to know when he had a good thing going. But Jacqueline, and her raging, unchecked hormones, wasn't satisfied.

One day in early spring, her angst reached its breaking point. It was a Sunday, and the Korvaks had taken their other four foster children to church, leaving Jacqueline and Tyler alone in the house. She waited for the sound of the front door closing and snuck out of her room, tiptoeing down the hall and into Tyler's bedroom, where she slipped beneath the covers while he slept. She kissed his neck the way she'd seen people do in dirty internet videos, stirring him awake. Tyler had looked shocked to see her, but he didn't push her away. Instead, he brought his lips to hers. It was Jacqueline's first true kiss, full of tongue, spit, and clanking teeth. She ran her fingers through his snarled, dark hair, and Tyler's body began to shake. Jacqueline asked him if he wanted to touch her _down there_ , but he seemed hesitant. Jacqueline took control, ripping off her shirt and underwear, again using those dirty videos as a guide, and tried to make purring noises that were supposed to be sensual but sounded funny instead.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open, and there stood a horrified Simona Korvaks. The woman brought a hand to her mouth and gasped before calling for her husband. For the next hour, the couple peppered the mischievous teens with pointed questions.

The only steadfast rule in the Korvaks' house was _No Touchy Feely_ , written on a placard in the foyer. Jacqueline, fearful of being tossed out of the one place she'd felt happy, lied and said Tyler had tricked her into doing it. Tyler became furious, screaming how _she'd_ snuck into _his_ room, how _she'd_ kissed _him_. But Jacqueline refused to change her story. The Korvaks watched them blame each other with disappointment in their eyes, until Tyler finally called Jacqueline a whore. Jacqueline had recoiled at first, and then lunged at the boy, scratching his cheek, drawing blood. That was the end for both of them in the Korvaks' group home. For Jacqueline, if felt like the end of happiness altogether.

Jacqueline shook her head, trying to get Tyler out of her mind. _Maybe Papa Gelick's right_ , she thought. _Maybe I_ am _evil._

Jacqueline squeezed her eyes shut and punched the step she sat on, sending sharp pain across her knuckles. She started crying. There was nothing she wanted to do more than slam her head into the wall; at least the pain would distract her from the horrors of her past. She then heard someone breathing and glanced up through a haze of tears. Mrs. Gelick stood across from her, leaning against the wall. She offered Jacqueline a forced smile.

"Jackie," the woman said, "what happened last night...‌it wasn't your fault."

Jacqueline sat shocked, her mouth dropping open.

"There might be a problem," her foster mother continued. "To tell you the truth, I'm concerned for your father. He wasn't acting like himself. I'd like to ask you a favor. Is that okay, if I ask you a favor?"

Jacqueline nodded dumbly, even though she wanted to tell her he wasn't her father.

"What happened...‌that's only between you and us, okay? No need to get anyone else involved."

"Wait...‌what?" said Jacqueline. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. Roger's a good man. A _holy_ man. He had a moment of weakness." She glared over her shoulder at the kitchen. "Trust me, it won't happen again. We can go back to being a family, like we're supposed to."

Jacqueline's eyes narrowed, her guilt turning to anger. "We're _not_ family," she growled. "I could call the police."

"You could," said Mrs. Gelick. "But then again, who'd believe who? You're a delinquent with abandonment issues. Your file's a mile thick, and my husband's a pillar of the community. Other than your neck, you have no mark on you. Especially not, you know..." The woman's face grew soft once more, and her fake smile returned. "That'll do nothing but cause problems. Let's just let sleeping dogs lie, unless you maybe want to find a new home in the psyche ward at New Hampshire State Hospital."

"But—" Jacqueline began.

"No," Mrs. Gelick said, softly yet forcefully. "We're not having this discussion anymore. What's done is done. We only want what's best for you. In fact, we're having adoption papers drawn up come Monday. I know that's what you want."

Jacqueline's jaw dropped open.

"Now go upstairs and pray," the woman told her.

Fear froze Jacqueline's insides. Mrs. Gelick nodded politely and headed back toward the kitchen. __ Jacqueline shrieked, and then leapt to her feet and bolted up the stairs. She ran down the hall and into her room, slamming the door. _They can't do this. THEY CAN'T!_ She stood there panting, staring at the pictures and verses hanging on the walls. She tore them all down, one after the other, slamming religious icons against the floor and screaming while glass shattered. She dared the Gelicks to come up and stop her.

They never did, so she destroyed it all.

It didn't make her feel any better.

## CHAPTER 5

Morning passed into afternoon, and Jacqueline heard nothing but normal household sounds downstairs—dishes clanking in the sink, the vacuum cleaner running, the patter of little Sarah's feet. Jacqueline's room became hotter by the second as the late summer sun streamed in through the windows, but she remained seated on the floor with the compact in her lap, the shattered remnants of Jesus surrounding her, and accepted the discomfort.

The rumble of tires rolling over a dirt road lifted her out of catatonia. Jacqueline quickly got to her feet and rushed to the window. Aunt Mitzy's black sedan pulled into the driveway, and the woman herself stepped out. Mitzy wore a long yellow sundress that clung to her body. Her eyes flicked upward as she strolled confidently toward the house, oversized purse tucked beneath her arm, and she smiled wide before disappearing beneath the front porch's awning.

Jacqueline's heart thrummed. She hadn't expected Aunt Mitzy to come back until next week, and by then the Gelicks might've rushed through the adoption process, which couldn't have been good. But here Mitzy was, looking determined. Jacqueline dared feel a glimmer of hope.

There came knocking on the front door, then heavy footfalls. Mrs. Gelick shouted, follow by more footsteps. For an agonizingly long time after that, there was silence.

Finally, people started talking. Jacqueline pressed her ear to the door, heard Aunt Mitzy's voice, speaking confidently and without pause. Everyone else in the house was quiet. Sarah came running up the stairs; the little girl's bedroom door clicked shut seconds later.

Jacqueline glanced at the compact in her hand and considered opening it to ask Mal what she should do. Aunt Mitzy's rant kept going, however, and she had to hear what she was talking about. Jacqueline tossed the compact onto the bed, nudged open the door, and slipped out of the room. The stern voice grew louder. Jacqueline tiptoed down the stairs until she heard Aunt Mitzy loud and clear.

"You really have no choice in the matter," Mitzy said.

"We'll see what the police say about that," said Mrs. Gelick.

"You called the police?" laughed Jacqueline's aunt. "That won't do you any good."

"Says who, you?"

"Yes, me."

"And why would that be?"

"Because it's amazing how much information you can find if you just look hard enough."

Papa Gelick remained silent. Jacqueline held her breath, pressed her back to the wall, and poked her head around the entrance to the living room.

The particulars were sitting much like they had been the day before, with Aunt Mitzy on the loveseat and Papa and Mrs. Gelick on the couch. The look on her aunt's face was stern and self-assured, her light brown skin almost glowing in the dim light. Opposite her, Papa Gelick looked pale beyond measure, with the exception of the ugly purple bruise marring left side of his face, while his wife's cheeks were beet red.

"What're you talking about?" Papa Gelick finally asked, his voice sounding miles away.

Jacqueline looked on as Aunt Mitzy reached into her oversized purse, took out a manila folder, placed the folder on her lap, and flipped it open. She rummaged through the small stack of papers inside. Jacqueline's foster parents sat quietly on the couch as if afraid to move. Even Mrs. Gelick seemed more worried than angry now.

"Ah, there it is," said Aunt Mitzy, lifting one of the sheets and holding it before her beautifully painted eyes. "You know what's funny about secrets? Most times it takes money to hide them, and money always leaves a trail."

The Gelicks remained eerily silent. It looked like Papa Gelick had forgotten how to breathe.

"The transfer records for New Hope Baptist, your church, were quite interesting. All it took was to find the bill of sale and a quick search of IRS records to find a very strange pattern. Seems that Roger and Mary Gelick have been paying taxes for more than fifty years...‌and on two different coasts for the last nine. Doesn't that seem strange to you, especially considering the both of you aren't nearly old enough for Medicare?"

"How did you get your hands on tax records?" asked Mrs. Gelick, suddenly timid.

"Doesn't matter. Anyway, I traced the money back to Eternal Faith Baptist, a small parish near Galveston, Texas, also owned and operated by Roger and Mary Gelick. A member of the parish there, Gregory Pendleton, was arrested on eight counts of statutory rape. Seems Gregory had a thing for underage girls. This, by the way, is what Mr. Pendleton looked like."

Aunt Mitzy slid her fingers into the stack of papers again, withdrew a glossy sheet, and held it up for the Gelicks to see. Jacqueline nearly gasped; Papa and Mrs. Gelick actually did. It was Papa Gelick's picture on the sheet, only much younger and with a well-trimmed beard. A rock fell in Jacqueline's stomach.

"The accusations were fatal to Eternal Faith," resumed Aunt Mitzy. "Pendleton was a respected member of the church, after all, and trusted. Roger Gelick closed the parish doors and sold off his assets, and he and his wife retired to San Diego. Meanwhile, Gregory Pendleton and his wife disappeared after posting bond, never to be heard from again." She put away the picture and leaned back on the loveseat, hands folded atop her lap. "Roger Gelick, the _real_ Roger Gelick, had a lot of respect for you, didn't he? Why else would he let you use his identity all these years while he and his wife are waiting to die out in California? Or maybe there's something else here? Maybe you had something over him? Which is it, Mr. Pendleton?"

Jacqueline could barely believe what she was hearing.

Papa Gelick gulped. "It's not..." he began, but he shut his mouth before he said anything more.

"It's not what, Pastor?" asked Aunt Mitzy.

"It's not true," Mrs. Gelick replied, a twinge of high-pitched desperation in her tone. "None of it. You're reaching, trying to blackmail us to get what you want. The people in this town love us. They'll have our backs if you try to spread these lies."

"Is that so?" said Aunt Mitzy, shaking her head in disappointment. "Townspeople might be one thing, but the state authorities are quite another. What would happen if I were to hand over these documents to the New Hampshire State Police, or maybe the FBI?"

Mrs. Gelick sat back, grew as pale as her husband. Papa Gelick licked his dry lips and croaked, "What do you want from us?"

"I told you that yesterday," Aunt Mitzy said with a sigh. "I want my niece. I want to take her back to Connecticut with me. I have the transfer of guardianship papers right here," she tapped the side of her large purse, "ready for you to sign. You do that, and _poof_ , all the evidence disappears. You'll never hear from us again."

Papa Gelick's lower jaw trembled. It looked for a moment as if he'd say yes immediately, but Mrs. Gelick spoke up first. "That can't happen," she said, angry again. "We're going to adopt her. She needs to be someplace where she'll be safe."

"I see." Aunt Mitzy cleared her throat and, without looking away from the Gelicks, said, "Jackie, you can come in here now."

Jacqueline's nerves stood on end. Had Mitzy known she was there the whole time? Swallowing hard, she stepped into the room. Aunt Mitzy turned to her, eyebrows raised. Jacqueline stopped at the edge of the loveseat. Her foster parents offered her bemused expressions.

"Lift your head for a moment, sweetie," said Aunt Mitzy, and Jacqueline complied. "Here we have a man who fled rape charges in another state, whose face is recently bruised, and now we have a fifteen-year-old girl whose throat is similarly bruised. That looks like assault to me. You call that _keeping her safe_? How many years you think that would add to your sentence on top of everything else?"

"It's not what you think!" shouted Mrs. Gelick.

Aunt Mitzy groaned. Jacqueline remembered her father making a similar sound when he'd tried to house-train their dog Sonny during the last of their happy years together. Then the low roar of a car engine sounded. Everyone's eyes turned toward the hallway leading to the foyer.

"Well, it looks like your savior's here," said Aunt Mitzy. "How about we ask _him_ what he thinks of all this?"

Rapping came from the front door, followed by a brusque male voice calling out the Gelicks' name. Papa Gelick stood up and disappeared down the hall while Aunt Mitzy adjusted the top of her sundress. When the pastor reappeared, there was a tall young man with a firm jaw and a gray police uniform striding behind him.

"Hello, Mary," the officer said. He then looked at Jacqueline's aunt, mild surprise showing in his eyes. "Hello, Mitzy."

"Constable O'Reilly," Aunt Mitzy said with a nod.

"You know each other?" asked Mrs. Gelick.

Aunt Mitzy playfully fanned herself and squeezed her upper arms ever so slightly, squishing her breasts together and causing them to bulge over the top of her now-visible black bra.

"We...‌um, we met two days ago," the constable said. "At Dunkin' Donuts."

"Yeah, we talked a _lot_ ," Aunt Mitzy said with a smile.

Constable O'Reilly cleared his throat and turned his attention to the Gelicks. "What's the problem here?" he asked, all business now that he wasn't looking at Mitzy. "The dispatcher said you were vague on the phone, but it was urgent."

"It was," said Mrs. Gelick, as if speaking in a dream.

"Well...‌?"

Papa Gelick stepped in front of the officer. "It's nothing," he said. "I fell in the shower, that's all." He gestured to his bruised face for proof. "Hit the tap pretty hard and blacked out for a few minutes. But I'm fine now. Just a headache."

Constable O'Reilly scrutinized Papa Gelick's face while Jacqueline held her breath. "Why didn't you call 9-1-1?"

"Because we thought you'd get here quicker," said Mrs. Gelick, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.

"Um, okay. Are you sure you don't want me to get an ambulance out here? You might've gotten a concussion."

Papa Gelick shook his head. "No, Tim. It's fine. Really, it is. I don't want to be any more trouble than I've already been."

The officer smiled, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Trouble? C'mon now, pastor. You're never trouble."

"Thanks. And sorry for wasting your time."

"Eh, I could've used a break, anyway. Speaking of...‌you wouldn't happen to have some coffee, would you?"

The next half-hour passed in a confusing sort of blur. The adults laughed among themselves as if they were old friends, and Constable O'Reilly broke into a story about vandals spray-painting one of the Maclusky family's barns. Finally, the officer handed his empty cup to Mrs. Gelick and bid everyone farewell. His eyes lingered on Aunt Mitzy for an agonizingly long moment before he kissed her hand and turned away. "Pastor, I'll see you at church tomorrow," was the last thing he said as he walked out the door. His cruiser's engine rumbled to life a moment later, and he left the driveway.

With the officer gone, the house went quiet. Aunt Mitzy confidently strode to the coffee table, picked up her purse, and took out a second folder. She spread five documents out on the table.

"Now sign," she said.

The Gelicks did as they were told.

When all the documents were signed, Aunt Mitzy gathered them up and stowed them away. She then slid the first folder—the one containing the evidence that Papa Gelick wasn't who he said he was—across the table toward them.

"Jacqueline," she said without looking up. "Go get your things."

Jacqueline hastily backed out of the room before turning tail and dashing up the stairs. She entered her bedroom at a full sprint, skidded to a stop, and grabbed her travel bag from beneath her bed. She began tossing her meager belongings into the bag without care for order or even folding her clothes. Her brain teetered on the edge of an explosive, joyful outburst. Happy tears flowed down her cheeks.

A soft voice called her name, and Jacqueline picked up the compact. She opened it, and Mal stared back at her, his eyes wide with concern.

"What's the matter?" Mal asked. "Why are you crying again?"

"We're going home," she said, and no matter how strange those words felt coming out of her mouth, they rang with truth.

•     •     •

Jacqueline sat in Aunt Mitzy's sedan while her newfound aunt slammed the trunk. It was closing in on dusk. When the woman slid into the driver's seat, she gave Jacqueline's hand a comforting squeeze.

"You ready?" she asked.

Jacqueline nodded.

Aunt Mitzy frowned. "Now let me see that."

"See what?" asked Jacqueline. The compact was cupped in her hand, and she moved it closer to her stomach to conceal it.

"Your neck, sweetie."

"Oh."

She leaned her head back, and suddenly Aunt Mitzy's soft fingers were gently tracing the line of swelling. Jacqueline shivered, closed her eyes. There was something oddly soothing about her aunt's touch, the warmth of her fingertips contrasted against the hard coldness of her long nails.

"Did he touch you?" Mitzy asked.

She nodded.

"How close did he get?"

"Close," said Jacqueline, her eyes still closed. "But I fought him off."

"You fought him off?"

"Yup."

"Not surprised. You got our fighting spirit, all right. If I'd been here, I would've killed him." Mitzy sighed, and Jacqueline opened her eyes. "Listen, Jackie, I know you don't know me, and you've been through a lot over the last few years. We can talk about whatever you want. Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you. How's that sound?"

"Okay," said Jacqueline with a smile. It was hard to contain her nervousness.

"It'll be dark soon, and it's a long drive back to Connecticut. We'll stay at this nice little hotel in Lancaster tonight, then start moseying first thing in the morning. That okay by you?"

Jacqueline nodded.

"Good. Now let's get the hell out of here."

Mitzy put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. Papa and Mrs. Gelick—Gregory and Adriana Pendleton, actually—stood in the doorway, somberly watching the car drive away. Behind them, Sarah danced around, waving exuberantly, and Jacqueline's insides clenched. She was on her way to a better life, while Sarah was stuck in a house with a man whose past history suggested he liked doing bad things to little girls. She shivered and grabbed tight to her own shoulders.

Aunt Mitzy peered at her from the corner of her eye. "What's wrong?"

"Why'd you let them go?" Jacqueline asked. "You're pissed about what he did to me, and you had proof Papa Gelick had done bad things before, but you didn't turn him in when the cop showed up. What if he hurts someone else? What if he hurts Sarah?"

Aunt Mitzy patted her knee. She opened her mouth, hesitated a moment, then said: "Don't worry, sweetie. There's no way I'd let a monster like that off the hook, but I couldn't risk the officer bringing you into protective custody. I sent the New Hampshire DOS the same information I gave the pastor. This place will be crawling with State Police in two days, tops. He'll get what he deserves. People like him always do."

Jacqueline nodded, closed her eyes, and listened as the car bounced along the dirt road. She forced aside thoughts of little Sarah, the innocent that she was, growing up in foster care the way Jacqueline had for five years. Instead, she focused on remembering those groping hands on her, the greedy look in her foster father's— _former_ foster father's—eyes.

"Good," she said, and left it at that.

## CHAPTER 6

Daddy and Mommy were yelling at each other downstairs again. Things were being thrown around and broken.

Sarah Gelick sat in her bedroom, the black plastic trash bag Mommy had given her lying on the ground. _"Put clothes in this,"_ Mommy had said. _"Whatever you think you'll need."_

Sarah had asked why, but Mommy just looked sad and told her to get going. She'd asked if she could bring her dollhouse, but Mommy said _"No"_ in the stern way that meant Sarah would get in trouble if she asked again.

After that, Mommy left the room. Then the fighting started. Until yesterday, Sarah had never heard Mommy and Daddy fight. They'd always been nice and kind and sweet. But that ended when Jackie hit Daddy.

The argument downstairs got louder. It was scary to hear Mommy and Daddy being mean to each other. Sarah wiped her runny nose.

"Don't fret," said her new friend in his deep, soothing voice. "There's nothing to be sad about."

Sarah glanced at the corner of the room, where her new friend sat. "Okay," she said.

"You have to pack."

She nodded, throwing her clothes into the plastic bag.

The fight downstairs continued. Mommy was yelling about how Daddy did something called _backsliding_. Daddy screamed that it wasn't his fault, that the pretty lady who'd come and took Jackie away had drugged him. Thoughts of Jackie caused Sarah's heart to break. She'd been so happy to have a sister. Jackie was always nice to her, and even though she was sad a lot, she still played dollies any time Sarah asked. Now she was gone, and after Mommy had promised her that Jackie would be living with them forever.

And Sarah wasn't going to be living here anymore, either. It just wasn't fair.

"Get off your ass and _help_!" mommy screeched. "You know that woman told the authorities, no matter what she said. They'll be here any minute. I'm not going to jail!"

At the sound of the word _jail_ , Sarah's head whipped around. A boy at school had told her once that jail was where bad people went. If Mommy and Daddy went to jail, did that mean they were bad people too? Did that mean _she_ was a bad person? She stared with pleading eyes at her new friend.

"Don't worry," he told her. "The police aren't coming."

Sarah let out her held breath. "You sure, Eddie?" she asked.

"Positive," Eddie said with a smile.

Sarah rushed up to him, fell in his lap. His strong arms wrapped around her. He smelled a little sour, like spoiled milk, but for some reason that was comforting. His hand patted her head, his palm hot against her skin. She liked that feeling.

He'd come to her earlier that evening, just after the sun went down. _"I'm here to save your family,"_ he'd told her. _"Though your parents can't know I'm here."_ He sounded like he was always in the middle of telling a bedtime story. When she cried, he stroked her face and held her. When Mommy came upstairs with the bag, he disappeared.

All of which convinced young Sarah that Eddie was her imaginary friend.

The screaming stopped. Sarah moved to her closet, tossing a pair of jelly shoes into her bag. She looked up at the picture of Jesus that hung over her bed and wondered if she should take that too. She could put him above her new bed when she got to her new house, wherever that might be.

The sound of crashing silverware vibrated the floor, and Sarah jumped. Her new friend Eddie stood up. "It's time," he told her.

"Time for what?" she asked.

"You need to go to the neighbor's. I must talk with your parents."

"I thought you said Mommy and Daddy couldn't know about you?"

"They couldn't then," he told her. "They can now."

"Oh. Okay."

Eddie took the garbage bag from her, tied off the top. He then handed it back and ushered her out the door. Mommy and Daddy were talking softer now. She could hear their voices coming from the kitchen. Her new friend picked her up and carried her down the stairs. He moved fast, and she couldn't hear his footsteps. She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. Her Eddie was the strongest imaginary friend ever!

The front door was propped open, the trunk of the car outside half-filled with stuff. The night was dark, thousands of crickets chirped. Eddie carried her down the porch steps and placed her gently on the driveway. "Now go," he said. "Don't come back until I call on you."

She didn't like the look on his face, the way he bit his bottom lip. "I don't wanna," she said timidly.

Eddie knelt before her. "I said go, Sarah," he said, and for a moment she swore his eyes glowed. "Do it now. There are things I have to do. For your parents. It's important."

She nodded dumbly and backed up a step. Eddie went back up the porch and into the house. Again, his footsteps didn't make a sound. Sarah shivered.

Sarah hesitated halfway down the dirt driveway. She could hear Mommy crying now, and Sarah's own tears rolled down her cheeks. She hated it when Mommy cried. It always made her feel like she'd done something wrong.

_Had_ she done something wrong?

Sarah dropped the garbage bag and walked slowly back toward the house, trying to be as quiet as Eddie was, but she couldn't be _that_ quiet. Her toes knocked into stray rocks, her heels scraped. She concentrated and tried harder, taking it one step at a time, her progress much too slow.

Someone screamed inside the house. It was a sound she'd never heard before, more like the screech of a monkey than anything her parents could've made. Then it happened again, followed by Daddy crying out. Sarah forgot about trying to be quiet and ran into the house as fast as her little feet could carry her.

The screaming stopped when she was five steps into the hallway, and besides her heartbeat and her shoes on carpet, there was a weird slurping sound, like a cat lapping up milk really, really loudly. Sarah headed straight for the kitchen, out of breath. She stopped short in the doorway and gasped.

Mommy was on the floor, covered in blood, her eyes staring up at the ceiling and not blinking. Daddy was covered in blood too, and Eddie was bent over on top of him, like he was giving him mouth-to-mouth. It was Eddie who made the slurping sound. Sarah was confused, looking from Mommy to Daddy, then to Eddie. Fright caused goosebumps to rise up on her whole body.

She took at tentative step into the room. Eddie's slurping continued. Sarah approached Mommy, peering down at her. She still didn't blink.

"Mommy?" she said.

A low growl sounded, causing Sarah to step back. Eddie lifted his face from giving her father mouth-to-mouth.

Sarah screamed.

Eddie didn't look like Eddie. His nose was all squished up, like a bat's, and his ears were pointed. His eyes were red, there were horns on his head. His mouth was filled with sharp teeth; blood dripped off his chin.

_Daddy's blood_.

Eddie lifted his hand, pointed a bent talon at her. _"Run,"_ he said, his voice just about the scariest thing she'd ever heard.

Sarah spun around, ran back out the front door and down the driveway. Dead Mommy and Daddy flashed in her vision, along with Eddie's blood-soaked monster face. She didn't stop screaming; not when she got to the road, not when she went up to the Miller's door, not when Mrs. Miller yanked her inside, not when Mr. Miller called the police.

After that night, she even screamed in her dreams.

## CHAPTER 7

The radio in Aunt Mitzy's car blared some generic pop song. Jacqueline wasn't a huge fan of bubblegum music—her dad had instilled a love of jazz and psychedelic rock in her from a very young age, and she refused to let go of that love out of fear that she'd forget him in the good times—but at the moment, she didn't care.

The previous night at the hotel had gone much better than she ever could've expected. She'd been a bit nervous going into it, given that she'd only been around her newly-discovered aunt for a grand total of an hour over two days. But soon after Aunt Mitzy slung her travel bag and oversized purse onto one of the two beds in the room, Jacqueline's fear swiftly departed. For most of that night, they did nothing but talk. Her aunt said her real name was Meenakshi, and Mitzy was a nickname she'd had since as long as she could remember, which helped her not get picked on as a kid. Their conversation came effortlessly, as if they'd known each other their whole lives. Even the depressing subjects, like Jacqueline talking about the various troubles she'd encountered over her last three years in foster care or Mitzy getting teary when explaining how she couldn't have children, were oddly comforting. Aunt Mitzy told Jacqueline about her job as a systems analyst for an insurance company based out of Hartford. The details might've been bland, but Jacqueline found herself enraptured nonetheless. This was someone new. This was _family_. She wanted to know everything, no matter how boring.

Despite the easiness of last night's conversation, Jacqueline found herself on edge as the car careened down the highway. There was one subject that hadn't been broached, perhaps the most important subject of all.

The pop song ended, and Aunt Mitzy quickly turned the radio off as the deejay started speaking. The road bellowed as it passed beneath the car's tires.

Jacqueline turned to her aunt, cautious as a beekeeper. Mitzy's eyes were intent on the road ahead, but it was obvious from the way the corner of her lip twitched that she knew the attention was on her.

"Mitzy, how well did you know my parents?" Jacqueline asked.

The woman glanced over at her as she drove. "Pretty well. When they were kids at least. Your mom was my sister, after all."

"What was she like? My mom?"

"She was...‌kind," said Mitzy, smiling warmly. "She liked panda bears and loved Duran Duran—that was a pop band back when we were kids."

"Were you close?"

Mitzy squinted, looking like she was struggling to remember. "At one time, yes," she said. "We shared a room until I left for college. And we shared everything else too; clothes, makeup, tampons, you name it. Oh, and we double-dated all the time."

"With my dad?'

She nodded.

"What were they like together?"

Her aunt eyed her sidelong. "You sure you want to hear this?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay." Mitzy took a deep breath. "Your parents met in high school, when they were your age now. They absolutely adored each other. They were inseparable." She laughed, and her tone became playful. "I had tons of boyfriends when I was younger, but for Dhanya, it was only Joe, Joe, Joe."

"Sounds romantic," said Jacqueline.

"It was. Sort of. They were more like Romeo and Juliet, those two." Her eyes narrowed. She looked angry.

"Romeo and Juliet? Isn't that a good thing?"

"No, not like the love they had, but the other stuff. The _family_ stuff. Your mom's parents— _our_ parents—wanted us to marry nice Indian boys. You know, arranged marriage and all that. And Joe's parents were...‌let's just say they weren't necessarily good people. Uppity. Spiteful. More than a little racist. They didn't like Dhanya at all."

"Really?"

"Yup," Mitzy said with a nod. "It's because of both their parents that Dhanya and Joe skipped town as soon as they graduated high school. They never came back."

Jacqueline felt a pang in her chest. She'd always thought it odd that she didn't have any grandparents. Now she knew why. "Where are my grandparents now?" she asked.

Mitzy frowned. "I don't know what happened to Brent and Loretta Talbot. But my parents moved back to India after I shut them out. That was, gosh, ten years ago now."

"They still alive?"

"Nope. They died in a boating accident a few years back. Flipped it in a river and never came back up."

The tone of Mitzy's voice was off-putting; she talked about the loss of her parents like it wasn't a big deal. Jacqueline felt a bit queasy. "Don't you miss them?" she asked.

Mitzy's callous veneer broke, and her lips drooped. "I do, sometimes. But you have to understand that it wasn't easy growing up with them. They were the first generation of their family in this country. Still clung to tradition. Not exactly helpful when raising a couple American girls."

"So you didn't hate them?"

"Of course not. Just...‌had difficulties. They weren't exactly loving."

She paused there, seeming wistful. Jacqueline didn't push her.

"As for your dad," Mitzy said after a few moments, "he was such a sweet kid. Kind. Sensitive. A bit fragile. So different from his parents. He was an only child, and he had all the pressure of that family on his back. I felt bad for him."

Jacqueline cocked her head. "Did you like him?"

Mitzy nodded tentatively. "I did. A lot. But he was my sister's."

"Did you get between them?"

She shook her head vehemently. "Absolutely not. I loved Dhanya. I wouldn't do anything to hurt her."

"Oh."

"Anyway, I was twenty-one when they left. And I never saw my sister again." Her eyes started watering. "Five years later, she was dead. I was the only one from my family to go to her funeral. I should've been more proactive. I should've tried to see her. Maybe...‌no, forget it. Your dad was at the funeral, but he was distant. Acted robotic. I think he was on massive anti-depressants or something." She smiled sadly. "I met you there. You were so little."

Jacqueline swallowed hard, nodding.

"I'm glad I got to meet you again," her aunt said, and this time she cried openly.

Mitzy dried her eyes and kept her attention on the now-cluttered freeway. A comfortable silence spread between them. The sadness Mitzy had displayed when talking about her sister hung on her like a dusty old coat, which was actually kind of heartening. It seemed Jacqueline wasn't the only one to carry her guilt around with her like luggage. She suddenly didn't feel so alone.

Finally, they exited the freeway. A large sign on the main drag announced, "Mercy Hills Welcomes You!" Aunt Mitzy took turn after turn, past strip malls and long stretches of cookie-cutter suburbia, until she finally swerved right onto Chestnut Street. Houses passed them by on either side, some two stories, some one, all old yet well maintained and refreshingly _not_ uniform. To Jacqueline, everything seemed weirdly familiar, especially the large two-story Colonial with yellow siding, red shutters, and attached two-car garage whose driveway Mitzy pulled into.

"Do I know this place?" Jacqueline whispered.

"I don't think so," said Mitzy. "Should you?"

Jacqueline shrugged. "I don't know." She shivered, like there was an unwanted ghost creeping along her spine.

"Maybe you just remember the area. Your parents grew up here, you know."

"Really?"

"Yup. Dhanya and I lived across town, your father a few blocks from here. This whole neighborhood was filled with Talbots. But not anymore."

"Is that why _you_ moved here? Because it's where you grew up?"

The elegant woman fidgeted in her seat, looking uncomfortable, as if she didn't know how to answer. Which seemed silly to Jacqueline.

"Well, yes, I guess," she finally said, her eyes focused on the double garage doors in front of her, "My sister's been gone a long time. And my life hasn't exactly been easy. I guess I just wanted to be close to her again in some way."

Jacqueline tilted her head. "You really loved her."

"I still do," Mitzy replied, the tears once more flowing down her cheeks.

"I loved my dad," said Jacqueline. They turned to each other, and their arms intertwined, hugging until the tears stopped, until Mitzy straightened out her pencil skirt and ripped the keys from the ignition.

"How about we go put you in your new room?" she said, dabbing her wet cheeks.

"Okay."

The front door to the house opened into a tiny foyer and then a spacious living room, its walls painted a pleasant shade of green. Jacqueline stepped inside, bag slung over her shoulder, and took it all in. Abstract paintings hung from the walls, brightening the space. Another strange shiver came over her. She was hit by a phantom memory, one she could only glimpse through vague shadows in the back of her mind. She'd been scared here once, she was sure of it. Frightened almost to death.

Mitzy touched Jacqueline's hand, making her flinch.

"Sorry, honey," the woman said. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing. Just in awe," she lied.

Mitzy grinned. "That's good. Do you want to head upstairs? Get yourself situated?"

Jacqueline nodded.

Up the stairs they went. "Enjoy," her aunt said, showing her into her new room before quickly retreating back downstairs. Yet again Jacqueline had her breath stolen away. The room she would now call her own was covered with a thick blue carpet, and she immediately kicked off her sandals, squeezed the plush fibers with her toes. Bright, flowery wallpaper surrounded her. There were two dressers, a full mirror, a huge bed, and a closet with two sliding doors. The whole room breathed life and joy.

Jacqueline tossed her travel bag on the bed and started tearing through it, and when her fingers found the hard wood of two picture frames, she lifted them out of the bag and held them out before her.

Joe and Dhanya Talbot smiled from behind their glass prisons. Her mother's hair, black like Jacqueline's and Mitzy's, draped over her deeply tanned shoulder, her dark cheeks glistening as she grinned. Her father, with his slightly hooked nose and thick cheekbones, seemed to wink. Papa Gelick would never let her hang the pictures in her room. Jacqueline winced, and in that moment decided she'd try to never think of the Gelicks again.

Aunt Mitzy reentered the room, a towel in her hands. She leaned over Jacqueline's shoulder. "They really were beautiful," she said.

"They were."

"I never saw your father and mother as adults. Only what they showed on the news." She glanced sidelong at Jacqueline. "Do you remember your mother at all?"

"Barely...‌but I don't know if they're really memories or just made up."

"Well, at least now you have something to remember her by, right?"

"Uh-huh." She furrowed her brow and looked over at her aunt. "I didn't see any of _your_ pictures downstairs. None on the walls or anything. Do you have them some other place?"

"I've never been a fan of photographs. They just seem to bring bad memories."

"Do you not want me to hang these up?"

Mitzy covered her heart with her hands and pursed her lips. "Oh, that's not what I meant, Jackie. Of _course_ you can. You can do anything you want. This is _your_ room, _your_ home."

Jacqueline sniffled. "Thanks."

"Let me go get a couple nails."

Aunt Mitzy spun on her heels and exited once more. Jacqueline set the pictures on one of the dressers and went back to her travel bag, rummaging through it until she found her compact. When she opened it, Mal was there, his gray eyes squinting.

"Is everything all right?" he asked cautiously.

She carried him to the window and held him close to her cheek as she gazed at the bright and sunny world around her, one that was all of a sudden filled with possibility.

"Yeah," she said. "We're home."

## CHAPTER 8

Jacqueline's first night in Aunt Mitzy's house was filled with terror. She tossed and turned in bed, sweating as she dreamed. This wasn't exactly a new experience for her: ever since she'd started on her endless parade of foster homes, nightmares had been common, like the dream she'd had of her parents the night Papa Gelick attacked her, where they were trapped in the mirror while she begged them not to go away.

The horrors that visited her that first night at Mitzy's were far, far worse. She saw monsters around every corner, beasts hiding in plain sight, barely concealing their sharp claws and sharper teeth. They changed shape, as if each of her haunts were actually hundreds of separate beings trying to live in one body. They lurked in shadows, _became_ shadows, forming a sticky haze that wrapped around her like a wet cloak.

She saw men that weren't men and animals that weren't animals, hovering in the corners of her vision, hands dangling piano wire and holding daggers made from bone. They chased her through the winding dreamscape, forced her to hide in the creepy alleyways of her imagination. In the dream she dared not close her eyes, because then the demons would get her, tearing flesh from bone, slurping entrails, plucking out her eyeballs and eating them like grapes.

A dark, ominous specter rose above the dreamscape like a giant black obelisk, the same tall, rectangular mirror she'd seen before in her dreams, only altered and sagging, dripping with black slime. Her parents were within it again, pleading soundlessly for release, clawing at its surface, while monsters surged toward them. In the dream, Jacqueline shrieked, reached for them, but they were beyond her reach. Her fingers brushed the mirror's rippling liquid sheen, and she was sucked into the void, where she tumbled in the darkness, alone.

All that kept her sane was Mal's sweet voice, calling out to her from somewhere at the edge of eternity.

Something brushed her forearm, pulling her from the nightmare. In her mind, she saw Papa Gelick above her as he'd been on that final night, his greedy hands grabbing at her, squeezing and invasive. She kicked, shoved herself backward, almost fell off the bed. She violently yanked the covers over her head and screeched.

"Whoa!" she heard Aunt Mitzy say. "Jackie, it's me! It's only a dream."

Jacqueline cautiously lowered the covers, and when she saw Mitzy gazing at her, she broke down. Her tears drenched the blankets. Mitzy enclosed her in a consoling hug.

"Shush, honey," her aunt said, her voice like sugary sweets in a land of bland granola. "You're here, you're safe. They can't hurt you anymore."

Jacqueline hoped that was true.

•     •     •

Breakfast consisted of a banana and Cocoa Krispies, her favorite cereal, soaked in almond milk. Aunt Mitzy held up the box of cereal as if presenting it at auction. "I got these for you," she said. "You like?"

Jacqueline nodded, slurped another spoonful into her mouth. "Uh-huh. How'd you know?"

"Just a guess. Whatever else you like for food, just ask. I'll get it."

"Thanks. Papa Gelick wouldn't let us have sweet stuff in the morning." Just saying his name brought a queasy feeling to Jacqueline's gut.

Mitzy twitched her nose. "Let's not mention him again, okay? By now he's probably in custody, never to be heard from again. So from now on, let's just call him 'that asshole.' I think that's good enough for him." A wide, roguish smile stretched across her full lips.

"Okay," Jacqueline said, grinning.

After breakfast, Jacqueline joined Mitzy on her daily errands, which included a trip to the pharmacy, a retail outlet for some new clothes, and the grocery store. When they talked, Jacqueline opened up some more. They discussed her favorite foods, the kind of music she liked, that sort of thing. But when Mitzy asked about boys, Jacqueline kept mum. She had to remember that she'd only known her aunt for a couple days. She didn't want Mitzy to know about Billy or Tyler. She didn't want her aunt to judge her.

When they arrived back at the house, Jacqueline hurried upstairs with two heavy bags. She went into her bedroom, shut the door, dumped the bags' contents on the bed, and stripped. It'd been so long since she'd bought anything new for herself that it felt like Christmas morning.

One of the new outfits immediately drew her attention—a black, v-necked, short-sleeved shirt, a red and black knee-length skirt that looked like a bunch of neckties stitched together, and a pair of silver tights. When she finished dressing herself, she grabbed her new ankle-high boots and tucked her feet inside. She stood in front of the large mirror atop her dresser and stared.

The girl who gazed back at her was beautiful, with long and satiny dark hair, russet skin, and hazel eyes. Jacqueline almost didn't recognize herself. She'd spent so long wearing beaten-up hand-me-downs— _The Salvation Army Special_ , as one of her former foster sisters used to say—that to see herself done up, bathed, and smiling caused her to do a double-take. The black blouse was tight and ribbed, hugging her sides and the curve of her hips. She turned to the side, eyes wide and unbelieving. She looked so much older it was actually kind of scary.

Her compact was sitting on the dresser. Shaking a bit, she opened it and Mal appeared. She positioned the mirror so he could look at her.

"What do you think?" she asked shyly.

Mal grinned. "I like."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I like...‌a lot."

Her tension released with a sigh. "Good."

"Man," Mal said. "I wish I could be there with you now."

Jacqueline faltered. "Well...‌you _are_."

The boy in the mirror shook his head. "You know what I mean, Jackie. I wish I could be there _for real_ , instead of like...‌like _this._ " He blew a strand of hair from in front of his face and frowned.

Jacqueline sat on the corner of the bed and picked at her fingernails. "I know," she said sadly. "I do too."

They were silent for a moment, both staring at each other, until Mal's lips curled up. "Hey, at least you're happy, right?"

"Yeah, I think I am."

"So that's good. All the rest will come later. Right?"

"Right."

"So for now, let's just focus on how special you are. The most beautiful girl in the world."

"Thanks."

Jacqueline exhaled and cocked her head. She glanced around the room, from the smiling face of the boy in the mirror to those of her parents, looking down on her from their places on the wall. _You're all here, aren't you?_ She reclined on the bed, spread her arms out wide. The sunlight shining in through the windows warmed her soul.

## CHAPTER 9

After two weeks, Aunt Mitzy's house actually started to feel like Jacqueline's own. The nightmares still came occasionally, but they weren't so terrifying anymore. She didn't tell Aunt Mitzy about them; in no way did she want her aunt to ship her off to some psychiatrist because she had an overactive imagination. _I have to learn to trust myself_ , she thought. After all, if Aunt Mitzy trusted her, why couldn't she do the same?

On weekends, she and Mitzy would traipse about town, doing girly things like getting their nails done, trying on makeup, or just shopping. Aunt Mitzy _loved_ to shop, but apparently hated cooking—every dinner was either at a restaurant or from the takeout menu. The only time the stove was used was when Mitzy wanted to bake cookies, which wasn't often.

During weekdays, Mitzy left the house every morning at eight to go to her job in Hartford, and didn't get home until six. Jacqueline spent those mornings lazing around the house, watching television and spending time with Mal. Come lunchtime she'd eat the sandwiches Mitzy left in the fridge for her—cucumber with tartar sauce, again her favorite. It seemed like whatever Jacqueline wanted, Mitzy gave her, and mostly she didn't even have to ask.

Her afternoons were spent reclining on the hammock in the backyard, sipping iced tea while reading Mal some of the trashy romance novels Aunt Mitzy kept in the empty upstairs bedroom next to hers. She never left the yard, didn't even walk down to the end of the driveway when the mailman came, and the only neighbor she'd talked to was an older man named Fran Mancuso, who lived in the nice white Cape next door. It was enough for her just to get used to living free from pain or stress. She'd locked herself inside her own private bubble, and she didn't want to leave it.

On her third Tuesday in Mercy Hills, Mitzy surprised her by coming home from work just past noon. She breezed through the front door, whistling. Jacqueline rushed into the kitchen, fearing the worst.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Mitzy snatched a bottle of water from the fridge and turned to her, smiling. "We have a date today, remember? We talked about it last weekend."

Jacqueline's shoulders dropped, a frown tugged on her lips.

"You _do_ remember," laughed Mitzy. "Don't worry, sweetie. It won't be so bad. High school's a necessary evil for everyone."

Forty minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of J. Robert Oppenheimer High School. It was a strange name for a school, since she'd never heard of J. Robert Oppenheimer before. It was also a strange _looking_ place, a bunch of rectangles haphazardly stacked next to and on top of each other. Jacqueline found it fascinating and frightening at the same time.

The inside was dreary, with squares of dark linoleum beneath her feet and bland brick walls. The lockers lining those walls were painted a putrid shade of greenish yellow. Dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Aunt Mitzy's high heels _clicked_ on the tiles while Jacqueline's boots _clomped_ dully.

They entered the administrative office. The secretary was a young woman with dark rings around her eyes. Her hair was slicked back and she was much too skinny. She greeted Jacqueline and Mitzy like she was terrified of them. They were made to wait a few uncomfortable moments in silence before the secretary timidly gestured for them to go through the principal's door.

The office they walked into was small and meticulously clean. Every stack of papers was tidy; books were placed on a bookshelf to the left, organized from biggest to smallest. Jacqueline couldn't see a spot of dust anywhere, not even on the plaques hung on the walls. The principal was fat, with thinning hair and sagging jowls. He sat behind a desk toward the rear of the office, sunlight streaming through the curtained windows behind him.

He glanced up from whatever he'd been working on. "Ah, hello," he said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. He gestured to the seats in front of the desk. "Please, sit down."

The chairs were hard-backed and uncomfortable, with metal piping beneath that poked into Jacqueline's rear. _This must be how he keeps the students uneasy_ , she thought.

The principal cleared his throat. His smile was as phony as any Jacqueline had ever seen—and if anyone would know a fake smile, it was a child who'd spent the better part of five years in the foster care system.

"I'm glad you made it in, Miss Sarin," the principal said. He reached a pudgy, powdered hand across the desk, which Aunt Mitzy shook without hesitation. "My name's Ray Butler, and welcome to J. Robert Oppenheimer High." His sad, shapeless eyes glanced in Jacqueline's directions. "I take it this is Miss Talbot?"

The way he gawked at her gave Jacqueline the creeps.

"It is," Aunt Mitzy replied.

"Good. Let's take a look at what we have here." Principal Butler rifled through a stack of file folders, pulled one out. He opened it and flipped through the papers inside. "Miss Sarin, I went through these last Friday, when you registered Jacqueline for school and set this appointment." He looked up at them both. "Let's just say I was a bit...‌concerned."

"What's the problem?" Mitzy asked. The fat man clucked his lips and stared at Jacqueline.

"Miss Talbot here has quite a sordid history." His gaze drifted back down to the papers in the folder, and Jacqueline was glad. He had unsettling small eyes. "Emotional outbursts, multiple suspensions, a history of erratic behavior. Two fights on record. She's attended..." he flipped to another page, "...‌nine schools in the past five years. And none of this takes into account her lackluster grades. Seems to me like we have a very troubled child on our hands."

Jacqueline felt tightness in her chest and tears well up in her eyes.

"I wouldn't say that," Mitzy said. "She's just a teenage girl who's gone through great trauma in her young life. When you're shipped around as much as she's been, you're bound to act up." She reached over, squeezed Jacqueline's hand. "But Jackie's adjusting. She's finally someplace stable, someplace loving. And she's a smart girl. She'll do well here. She deserves to learn along with everyone else."

"Well..." Principal Butler hesitated, as if unsure what to say. "That's not really the point. You're right that she deserves her education, but you can't deny she has a certain...‌history. And that history could endanger both her and the other students."

"What history?"

He guffawed. "Seriously?"

"Yes."

"She has...‌well...‌sometimes there's a...‌oh, screw it. Look who her father is."

Jacqueline whimpered.

Aunt Mitzy squeezed her hand again. "True, her father did some rather unfortunate things. However, are we to punish the child for her parent's shortcomings? I mean, my sister was married to the man, yet you don't treat _me_ like I might be a threat. I think for you to do so to Jacqueline is entirely unfair. Don't you?"

The man shifted in his chair. "Uh, well, I suppose."

"Then why mention it at all? What we have here is a bright girl who's lived the last few years in situations you couldn't even imagine. Yet look at her. She's exemplary in every way. She deserves a chance. In fact, the law in the state of Connecticut _demands_ she have that chance."

Again that phony smile stretched across Principal Butler's face. "Of course, Miss Sarin. I would never even _hint_ at turning away a potential student in Jacqueline's situation. The only reason I bring it up is because it might prove...‌problematic down the line. Children can be cruel, high schoolers more than most. Should one of our more unsavory students take a dislike to Jacqueline and do some digging, they could use it against her. Life could get quite difficult should that happen."

Jacqueline dropped her head and stared at her boots. There it was again, her past coming back to haunt her. It'd been the same with other principals in other schools she'd attended. She was sure Aunt Mitzy would turn her away like all the others, thinking her too much trouble.

Her aunt said, ""So why don't we make sure no one finds out?" and gently tickled the inside of her niece's palm.

For the next twenty minutes she sat there and listened while Aunt Mitzy and Principal Butler discussed curriculum and class schedules. When asked a question about her schooling, such as how confident she felt moving on to Algebra 2 even though she'd gotten a D in Algebra 1, she gave short and to-the-point answers. Otherwise, she kept her mouth shut. Given the barely-veiled threat regarding her father, she didn't want to say something Principal Butler might hold over her head. Besides, Aunt Mitzy seemed to know exactly what she was doing, using coy expressions and playful gestures to get her way. From what Jacqueline had seen, Mitzy _always_ got her way.

The meeting wrapped up, and Jacqueline and her aunt headed for the exit. "Jacqueline, one more thing," Principal Butler said.

She paused. "Yeah?"

His counterfeit grin grew wider. "When school starts, you're going to be on your best behavior, correct? I'll have my eye on you."

Jacqueline shivered and walked out the door.

•     •     •

There was a road block on the way home. A man wearing a fluorescent yellow vest ushered traffic down a side street while a road crew worked on the power lines. Aunt Mitzy rolled down the window.

"What's the problem?" she asked.

The man ogled her a moment before stammering, "Transformer blew, ma'am. Knocked down three of the lines. Got some live wires in the road."

Mitzy sighed, muttered, "Thanks," and rolled up her window. She then jacked the wheel and skidded around, heading down the detour. Jacqueline gripped the handle above her head. Her aunt looked downright pissed.

"What's wrong?" Jacqueline asked.

"Nothing, sweetie," Mitzy said through clenched teeth. "I just hate detours."

Something in the tone of her voice said she wasn't telling the whole truth, but Jacqueline left it alone.

It was a gorgeous day that just got even more beautiful as they drove down a suburban road. Hydrangeas and rhododendrons were in full bloom, painting the front yards of the quaint houses with washes of vivid greens, purples, and reds. Children played beneath the bright afternoon sun, making Jacqueline think that maybe she should venture around the neighborhood for once, see if she couldn't drum up some kids her own age to hang out with.

Mitzy circled a bend, and the houses became farther apart, the yards less well maintained. An uneasy feeling formed in Jacqueline's stomach. Aunt Mitzy drew in a sharp breath.

They soon entered a straightaway where there were no homes at all. The woods were immensely thick on either side of the street, ominous and dark. They passed a dirt driveway overgrown with weeds to the right. Beyond the driveway, mostly hidden by skeletal, warped trees, was a house.

Even though she could only see a portion of it, it was still the creepiest house Jacqueline had ever seen, like something out of an old horror movie. The place was huge and sagging, everything about it darker than it should've been. The top floor poked above the leafless tree limbs like a predator, its window-eyes hungrily staring at the car as it passed. For a moment, Jacqueline thought she saw something flash across one of those windows, and she jumped in her seat. The seatbelt dug into her collar, a loud buzzing filled her head. Jacqueline closed her eyes, covered her ears, and hummed.

After a few seconds, the sensation drifted away. Jacqueline opened her eyes and stared out the window. They were now on a familiar suburban road, and everything seemed normal again. She glanced at her aunt, saw the frown on her painted lips.

"What was that house?" Jacqueline asked.

"A bad place," Aunt Mitzy answered gravely.

Those were the last words spoken between them until they got home.

## CHAPTER 10

The next day, after Mitzy got home from work, Jacqueline and her aunt sat down for another take-out dinner. The boxes from the previous night's meal were heaped in at the other end of the table. Mitzy pointed at them as she chewed her tofu.

"I thought I asked you to take care of those," she said, though not in a mean way.

"I forgot," said Jacqueline. "Sorry."

"It's all right. But when we're done, I want them thrown out. And the dishes washed. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mitzy cringed. "Ouch."

"What?" Jacqueline asked, half a noodle sticking out of her mouth.

"I just sounded like a nun at a boarding school, didn't I?"

"Sorta."

Mitzy crossed herself with her right hand. "Swear to God it won't happen again. So long as you don't call me _ma'am_ anymore."

"Deal...‌ma'am."

"Okay, now you're just being mean." The smile on Aunt Mitzy's face could've melted ice.

Jacqueline danced her fork around her plate, repositioning her food. She didn't feel very hungry. Her stomach rumbled, her thoughts reeled. School was only a week away. She wished she never had to go to school again at all. _I just need to think of something else_ , she decided.

"Mitzy, what was that house?" she asked.

"What house?"

"The one we passed yesterday. The, er, scary one."

"Oh. That. It's just an old house."

"You said it was a bad place."

"I did?"

Jacqueline nodded.

Mitzy put down her fork and placed both hands on the table. Her brow furrowed in concentration, as if she had a mental lockbox somewhere inside her skull and was having a hard time getting it open.

"It _is_ just a house," Aunt Mitzy finally said. "Every town has one like it. An abandoned place with...‌well, history."

"What kind of history?"

Mitzy's eyelids fluttered. "You really want to hear it?"

Again, Jacqueline nodded.

Her aunt sat back in her chair and played with the top buttons of her blouse as she spoke. "I told you that your mom, dad, and I grew up in this town, right?" she asked.

"Yup."

"Well, the street your father lived on is actually the one with the manor house on it. At the time, the old widow Gabriella Coppington still lived there, with her cats. The estate had been in her husband's family since the 1700s, when they first started growing tobacco. They'd owned a few farms in Mercy Hills, and twelve generations of Coppingtons grew up in that house. That is, until Bertrand Coppington, Garbiella's husband, passed away. Their lands fell into the possession of his widow, but she was too old to take care of it all. None of their children wanted any part of the family legacy, and so Gabriella sold off the land, bit by bit. One of the farms was sold to a guy named Bruce Mancuso." She pointed next door. "His son, Francis, is our neighbor. You met him, right?"

Jacqueline bobbed her head.

"Anyway," Mitzy continued, "the woods behind that house are thick, and when your mother and I were young, we'd hear stories of the neighborhood kids ignoring the 'No Trespassing' signs and sneaking through the fences to go drink and party and all that. We never did—we were only in grade school at the time. Widow Coppington was always calling the cops on them, and it became a running joke that the Mercy Hills police department was run from that house, they were there so much.

"Then, one day, the phone calls stopped, and kids started getting even more brazen than before. They'd organize huge parties, and half the kids in town would show up. Joe would say he could hear them at night, whooping it up and revving their engines. The lawn in front of the manor went without upkeep for weeks, and there were empty beer and liquor bottles all over the place. Kids started making huge bonfires that would light up the night sky in summertime."

"That must've been scary."

"It was. Even more so when one of those bonfires got out of control during an extended drought. I think I was ten or so. Fire departments from three towns away had to be called in to put it out. Six teenagers died, probably too drunk to run away. Which is why it's not a good idea to drink and play with fire."

"Yeah. Not smart," Jacqueline said. She thought of the times she and Tyler would sneak out of the Korvaks' house and do pretty much the same thing and cringed.

Mitzy gave her a thumb's-up. "Exactly. Back to the story. So there's the fire, and the six kids died, and the police finally went up to the estate to tell Mrs. Coppington about what'd happened. No one answered, and when the cops broke down the door, they found Gabriella Coppington dead. The house was already falling apart at that point, what with no one but an old lady and her cats to keep up with it, and the dining room floor just...‌crumbled. Supposedly, she fell fifteen feet and broke her back, then lay on that floor, slowly dying, for days. Another rumor went around that her body finally gave out on her the very night of the fire, and that her ghost killed those kids. At least those were the stories that were passed around when I got into high school. It's been considered a haunted house ever since."

Jacqueline poked at a dumpling with her fork. "You believe in ghosts?" she asked.

"No. Not really."

"But you actually looked scared of it."

Aunt Mitzy laughed, and her abrupt smile was infectious. "That's because it's a creepy place, Jackie." Her tone became serious. "It might not be evil, but it's _dangerous._ It's falling apart, the floor has cracks in it, and the roof's caving in. You know how kids your age get when they're told there's someplace they're not supposed to be? Well, two kids have died and many others seriously hurt while trying to stay in the house overnight on a dare. It might not be haunted, but Coppington Manor is certainly unsafe." She leveled Jacqueline with a serious gaze. "You're never to go there."

"I won't," said Jacqueline.

"Promise me."

"Don't you trust me?"

Mitzy's lips became a thin white line. "I trust you, Jackie. I do. You've behaved yourself wonderfully since you got here. But we're still getting to know each other, and you're still a teenager. I was a teenager once too, you know. There's too much temptation in the world to think that you'll always do the right thing, no matter your intention."

Jacqueline folded her hands below her chin and bowed to her aunt. "I promise, then, that I won't ever go to that house," she said with mock reverence.

"Good. And if you do, I'll kill you," Mitzy said playfully.

"You'd have to catch me first. I run pretty fast."

"Good trait to have this day and age," her aunt said with a wink.

When dinner was finished, Jacqueline cleared the empty boxes off the table and washed the dishes, then headed for the stairs. She'd intended on locking herself away in her room for the night with Mal, as had become their tradition, but when she breezed into the living room, her aunt stopped her. Mitzy had changed into a pair of bland gray sweats, looking absolutely stunning even in something so drab. Jacqueline wondered if she'd be just as gorgeous when she grew up.

"Want to watch a movie?" Mitzy asked.

Jacqueline shrugged. "Um, I guess so. What movie?"

" _The Princess Bride_ is on Netflix. I haven't seen this movie in forever. Or maybe, if you'd like to see something less silly, we—"

"Okay," Jacqueline abruptly said.

Mitzy smiled wide. "Then get over here. I'll make popcorn."

They reclined on the couch together, munching from a gigantic bowl of popcorn while scenes of roiling English hills appeared on Aunt Mitzy's television. Jacqueline remained transfixed as the movie began. _The Princess Bride_ had been her father's favorite. Every year since she was old enough to remember, they'd sit on the couch together whenever it came on television and watch it. It had been a bonding ritual for them, and now it could be the same for her and her newfound aunt. Jacqueline could almost smell the musty-sweet odor of her dad's sweat, feel the coarseness of his stubble when he kissed her forehead. Her eyes began to itch, and instinctively she leaned into Mitzy. Suddenly she was eight years old again, in a place of warmth and safety where there was no hurt, no sorrow, no fear. Her head dropped lower until it rested across her aunt's slender thighs. A velvety hand caressed her cheek as Wesley and Buttercup appeared on the screen, so innocent and in love. Jacqueline squeezed her aunt's knees tightly, never wanting to let go.

"Hard to think there's places out there where this movie doesn't exist," Mitzy said offhandedly.

"I'd never want to live there," whispered Jacqueline, and she realized that she really was, for the first time in forever, _home_.

## CHAPTER 11

Before Jacqueline could blink, it was the morning of her first day as a sophomore in her new school. She got up that morning completely frazzled, and contemplated rolling over and throwing her covers over her head in hopes Aunt Mitzy would forget what day it was.

Downstairs, Mitzy's alarm blared. A moment later, Jacqueline heard her aunt's shuffling footsteps. Resigned to her fate, Jacqueline climbed out of bed, went to the window, and peeled back the curtains. The rising sun painted the trees and surrounding houses in muted, pinkish shades. She backed up a step, glanced over at the pictures of her mother and father, and swallowed hard.

_I'm strong_ , she thought. _I can do this._

From there, Jacqueline was on autopilot. She showered and brushed her teeth, then walked purposefully back into her bedroom and shut the door. She unwrapped the towel from her body, tossed it on the bed, and opened her closet. The morning was warm, promising another scorcher of a late-summer day, and Jacqueline's still-moist flesh prickled. She searched through all her new clothes, trying to decide what combination would work best. For a moment she considered retrieving her compact to ask Mal what _he_ thought, but then remembered she was naked. She hurried over to her dresser and threw on a bra and panties, then looked at herself in the mirror.

"I don't need Mal for this," she whispered.

She stepped back to the closet, hand cupping her chin. The last five years of school had been all about toughness and survival, and she decided to dress the part this time.

Jacqueline chose a pair of black leggings, a black _Misfits_ tee, and a checkered navy blue flannel. The flannel was too heavy given the weather, but she didn't want to have her butt out there for everyone to see. She slipped on her black leather boots, the ones Mitzy had bought for her on their first shopping excursion. A studded bracelet went on one of her wrists, and around her neck she wore the only gift Tyler had ever given her—a pentagram pendant strung on a black cord. She then applied thick eyeliner, making sure to draw straight lines out from the corners of her eyes, making them look slanted, catlike.

When she was finished, she stepped back and admired herself. _Not too shabby._ She then grabbed her compact, flipped it open. It took a moment for Mal to appear this time, his hair frizzed as if he'd just awoken. It struck her as funny to think that the boy in the mirror slept at all. _There's not much room in there to lie down._

"How do I look?" she asked.

Mal whistled through the mirror. "Splendid."

"Good."

"Be careful today, Jackie. I'll miss you."

"Miss me? Why? You're coming with."

Mal grinned.

Jacqueline snapped the compact shut, tucked it into the pocket of her flannel, and glanced at the clock. It was 6:58; the bus would be there in ten minutes. She rushed down the stairs to find Mitzy in the living room, brushing her hair with the television tuned to the morning news. "Breakfast's on the table!" she shouted.

"Thanks!"

Jacqueline went into the kitchen, snatched her empty backpack off a chair, gobbled down a steaming English muffin topped with jelly from the table, chugged down a glass of orange juice, and ran for the door.

The bus stop was five houses down, and she could see only one kid standing there, a boy with spiky brown hair, kicking at stones on the sidewalk. Jacqueline froze, filled with sudden panic. She didn't know who that boy was. She didn't know who _anyone_ was. The moment she stepped off the porch, she'd be all alone.

The bus pulled around the corner, the doors folding open so the boy could step on. It lingered there for a few moments until the doors closed and the bus began moving once more. It passed right by Jacqueline's house, and she could see it was packed with teenagers. They looked like prisoners being hauled away.

Jacqueline lingered there until the bus turned down the next connecting street. She glanced at the spiked bracelet on her wrist. The spikes were plastic, their danger an illusion. She hung her head, turned around, and gloomily walked back into the house.

Mitzy was in the kitchen reading something on her tablet, already dressed to the nines, her full lips red and sparkling as she sipped her coffee. Her hair was glossed and wavy, cascading over her shoulders. She lifted her eyes from her tablet when Jacqueline entered.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Missed the bus," Jacqueline lied.

"Oh. No problem, I'll drive you. And don't look so glum. Now you know you have to be out there earlier tomorrow."

Mitzy winked, as if to say she knew exactly what'd happened and she wasn't about to judge her for it.

On the way to school, the radio was tuned to the local hip-hop station. While Jacqueline sat quietly, Mitzy danced behind the wheel, shoulders moving this way and that, lips puckered, head bobbing, as if _she_ were the teenager and Jacqueline the world-weary adult. It might've been annoying had Jacqueline not been queasy with anticipation.

Buses still lined the parking lot of J. Robert Oppenheimer when they arrived. The front walk was crushed with students. Mitzy pulled the car up to the curb. "Delivered safely," she said. Jacqueline closed her eyes and took a deep breath before pulling on the door handle and stepping out of the car. The air was filled with chattering voices and the scraping of soles on concrete. Despite the number of people about, no one seemed to notice her. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Sweetie, you forgot your bag."

Jacqueline turned to see Mitzy stepping around the front of the car, the backpack hanging in her hand like a deflated balloon. Her aunt walked with hurried, shortened steps, her long, hip-hugging skirt too tight to allow her to take any longer strides. She stood almost on her tiptoes atop six-inch heels. Jacqueline was horrified. Mitzy handed her the bag, and Jacqueline took it mindlessly. Her aunt then leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, revealing the ample cleavage that bloomed from her low-slung blouse. A series of whistles sounded from behind her, and Jacqueline groaned. So much for no one paying any attention to her.

"Have fun today, okay sweetie?" Mitzy said, rustling her hair. She then turned tail and quick-stepped back to the car.

Jacqueline slowly turned around to see a number of students gawking in her direction. The engine of Mitzy's sedan roared as she took off across the parking lot. Jacqueline slung her backpack over her shoulders and put one foot in front of the other, heading for the packed school entrance.

"Your mom's hot," an older boy with freckles and a head of sandy-blond hair told her as she strolled by.

"Gee, thanks," she replied without looking.

The halls were crowded, allowing Jacqueline to blend in with her surroundings. She followed her printed-out course sheet, finding her locker and throwing her backpack inside. Homeroom was three doors down from her locker, and she sat in the back, eyes downcast, only raising her hand when the teacher called out her name. Still no one seemed to notice her. Either this school had a strange habit of ignoring new people, or she'd successfully wished herself invisible.

For the most part, her first day was like any normal school day she'd ever had. She went to math class, then history, then biology, then English, mimicking her behavior in homeroom—remaining at the rear of the classroom, lips sealed shut. Yet while she'd originally hoped to go through the day unnoticed, as period after period passed by, she found herself feeling lonely. This school was more interesting than the others she'd been to. The teachers—with the exception of her English teacher, an old man who dozed off in his chair after telling them to read the first chapter of _A Separate Peace_ —seemed to enjoy their jobs. They smiled and made jokes, actually trying to connect with their students. And this place was way more diverse than any other school she'd been to. The various ethnicities wandering the halls intrigued her. There were blacks, Asians, Hispanics, and even a few of Middle Eastern descent. For the longest time, while living in northern New Hampshire, she'd been the only somewhat brown-skinned person, which made her stick out. Here, she blended in. Here, she was just part of the crowd.

At lunch, she sat at the end of one of the cafeteria's long benches. The vast space was filled with laughter and merriment as teeming students caught up with each other after the summer break. Instead of sitting with her head down as she'd been doing, Jacqueline remained attentive while she ate her salad. The table she sat at was filled with underclassmen, eating in silence, terror in their eyes. Three tables in front of her, a group of older boys playfully punched each other in the arm while a collection of pretty girls looked on with fawning eyes. At another table, a throng of kids of varying ages, all wearing black, bobbed their heads, earbuds stuffed into their ears. At still another table, nine teenagers sat ignoring each other, noses pressed into their smartphones. And further down the cafeteria, she saw a gathering of smarty-pants types, chatting quietly as they shoved food into their mouths. When folks from one group passed another, there were respectful greetings and head-bobs, as if everyone could migrate from one clique to another if they wanted to.

A bristling sensation worked its way down Jacqueline's spine. She swiveled her head and saw someone staring at her from the other side of the cafeteria. It was a small, slender girl, with hair so blond it was almost white, like Mal's, and cold eyes the color of sea glass. She was sitting with a small cluster of friends, seemingly existing in their own bubble of reality in the congested room. Jacqueline quickly looked away, staring down at her salad, only to furtively peer out the corner of her eye to see the girl still staring. She shuddered, suddenly not hungry. _You're pathetic._ The boisterous, aggressive types she'd always been able to deal with, to laugh off, but the quiet, brooding ones, the ones that gave off an aura of secret intelligence, scared the hell out of her. Without another glance in the girl's direction, she stood up from her seat, said _excuse me_ to the gangly boy with glasses beside her, and hurried up the stairs and out of the cafeteria. She had to find another spot to eat lunch tomorrow. In no way did she want that girl's cold eyes on her again.

Unfortunately that wish went unfulfilled, for the girl appeared in her art class the very next period.

The teacher's name was Mr. Lawson, and he was attractive in a big brother-ish way. He lined all the students up against the wall and called out names alphabetically, directing them where to sit. "Annette Shepherd," Mr. Lawson said, and the white-haired girl stepped forward. Up close, Jacqueline could see just how small she really was. Even at five-foot-three, Jacqueline towered over her. The girl took her seat, sliding an oversized purse, similar to the one Mitzy carried, under her desk.

"Jacqueline Talbot," said Mr. Lawson.

Taking a deep breath, Jacqueline kicked herself off the wall and slid into her assigned seat. The girl, Annette, gave her a sidelong look. Jacqueline let out a sigh of relief when the girl turned away.

Art class was actually fun. Mr. Lawson cracked jokes and peppered the class with questions about the history of art, a subject Jacqueline knew next to nothing about. Students eagerly answered, Annette more than most, and Jacqueline found herself transfixed by the girl's voice. Her tone was throaty rather than high-pitched, and direct. When Annette Shepherd spoke, she spoke with confidence, which made her even more intimidating.

Halfway through class, Mr. Lawson passed out stiff sheets of watercolor paper. He pointed toward the stool at the front of the class, atop which had been placed a pitcher of water, an apple, and an old red bicycle pump. "Draw it as well as you can," he said. "If you stink, you stink. Not everyone's an artist. I won't be grading you on how _well_ you draw, but how much effort you put into it. You have fifteen minutes. Now go."

All chatter ceased, and the only sounds in the classroom were frustrated grunts and the gentle scratching of pencils on paper. Jacqueline clutched her own pencil tightly, chewed on her lip, and went to work. She hadn't drawn anything since her dad was still alive. She worked without thinking, sketching lines and loops, swirls and hash marks. The fifteen minutes passed in a heartbeat.

Mr. Lawson told everyone to stop and paced around the room, looking down at each student's work and offering short, kind critiques. He applauded Annette on her sense of spatial relation, and then moved on to Jacqueline.

"Good," he told her. "You have the form of the objects down, but you need to work on scale. The way it is, the apple's the same size as the pump." He smiled warmly. "That's one huge apple. Or a really tiny pump. Anyhow, good job. You'll do better." He then moved on to the next student.

"I think it looks awesome."

Jacqueline jerked in her seat and spun toward the voice. Annette was leaning over in her desk, lips pressed tight in concentration.

"Thanks," Jacqueline said.

"You got talent." Annette nodded to no one in particular, then sat back in her seat and faced the front. Jacqueline raised her eyebrows, puffed out her cheeks, and let out a long, perturbed breath.

Five agonizing minutes later, the digital buzzer that signaled the end of class sounded. Jacqueline quickly gathered up her things and swept out of the classroom. She only had study hall and then finally Spanish before she could call an end to the day. She felt the pocket of her flannel, where the compact, and Mal, still hid, and breathed a sigh of relief. All in all, it hadn't gone too badly. She hoped it would remain that way.

"Hey," called out that throaty, confident voice. "Hey there, stop. Jacqueline."

Jacqueline turned while students passed her on either side. Annette was rushing after her, now looking comical as she lugged her heavy purse in one hand and a flopping sheet of paper in the other. She stopped in front of Jacqueline, panting.

"You forgot your picture," Annette said.

"Oh, thanks," she replied, voice trembling.

For the first time, Jacqueline saw the girl smile. "Did I weird you out or something?" Annette asked.

Jacqueline thought about telling her no, but found herself saying, "A little," instead. "Well, a lot, actually."

"Hey, the truth!" exclaimed Annette, clapping her tiny hands. "Rare trait."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and I'm sorry, too. I just saw you across the room, and I got a little...‌I don't know, captivated. People tell me I stare a lot. I really gotta stop that."

"Yeah, that'd probably be best."

Annette's grin grew wider. "Hey Jacqueline—"

"Call me Jackie. That's what my friends call me, anyway." _If I had friends._

"Okay...‌Jackie. Do you like anime?"

"Anime? As in cartoons?"

" _Hiss_. Not cartoons. _Never_ cartoons. It's Japanese _animation_ , you know?"

She chuckled. "I guess. Haven't had a chance to watch any in a long time. I've been...‌living in the boonies. But I really liked _Sailor Moon_."

"Ah, the classics," Annette said with a wistful smile. "Listen, we have our own little club. Just a few of us, sitting around watching _Cowboy Be-Bop_ , _Attack on Titan_ , _Soul Eater_ , stuff like that. We call ourselves the _Otaku Clan_."

"Otaku? What's that even mean?"

"It's just a nickname. We were actually gonna call ourselves 'Future Masters of the World,' but this one was shorter. Neil came up with it. Said it means 'nerd' in Japanese."

"Who's Neil?"

"A part of the group. You wanna meet him?"

"Uh, I guess so," said Jacqueline. She started feeling queasy, her stomach churning in excitement.

"Then let's go!" said Annette. She laced her fingers into Jacqueline's and began leading her down the crowded hallway. Jacqueline followed readily. When people turned to look at the strange pair of girls hustling along, hand in hand, she paid them no mind. She wasn't invisible any longer. The armor she'd put up had been unnecessary.

Right then, Jacqueline thought she might learn to like high school, after all.

## CHAPTER 12

It was her first day of senior year, and Hannah Phillips felt like a princess returning to her court. Her classmates pretty much bowed before her as she made her way through the halls. Anyone who was anyone wanted to know her, to speak with her, to _be_ her. Girls showered her with desperate niceties; boys stammered and stared. The student body was her subordinates.

She walked proudly through the crowded hall, hand-in-hand with her man. If Hannah was the princess of J. Robert Oppenheimer High, then Drew Cottard was her prince. They both came from wealthy families: Hannah's father had made a small fortune working for J.P. Morgan Chase, while Drew's dad owned a food distribution company that had warehouses all over the U.S., and was embedded in town politics. They'd been dating since freshman year. Drew was fond of gift-giving, he was a voracious lover, his family had money, and though there were no promises they'd stay together after graduation—Hannah intended to go to Vassar while Drew was slated to follow in his father's footsteps at Yale—their mastery of social politics could do nothing but help once they got to college.

People nodded to them as they walked, even teachers. Hannah put on her best smile and returned the kindness. She beamed, until she found a frowning face in the crowd. That frown belonged to a frumpy girl, probably a freshman, with messy hair, glasses, and a face covered in acne. Hannah's exuberance faltered. She slowed her walk and tugged on Drew's hand.

"What's up?" Drew asked. His blue eyes squinted when he stared over at her. He was over six feet tall, which Hannah appreciated; at five-ten, she was used to boys looking up at her, a huge turn-off.

"One sec."

Hannah released his hand and went to the nearest classroom. She pushed the door flat against the wall, until she could see her reflection in the center window. Her raven hair was silky and perfectly styled, straight but for a pair of ringlets that framed her face. Her makeup was flawless, the light sprinkle of golden eye shadow complimenting her dark green eyes. The cross around her neck hung just low enough to draw eyes to her assets. She stood back from the glass, flipped her hair back with her hand, and then went to glower at the girl who'd made her feel so self-conscious, but the girl wasn't looking.

"Bitch," she muttered.

"You look fine," said Drew.

"Of course I do."

Drew laughed.

They continued down the hall. A pair of freshman girls looked their way and ogled before whispering excitedly between themselves. Three junior boys wearing letterman jackets slapped Drew high five and nodded at Hannah in respect and awe. It was closing in on seventh period, the end of the first day of school. Strangely, Hannah almost felt sad.

"Guys, over here," called out a girl's voice. Hannah looked away from her doting subjects and spotted a small group hanging out in front of the auditorium along the school's central hub. Hannah and Drew cut through the throng. Some stoner kid with long, greasy hair stumbled in front of them. Drew gently nudged him, knocking him aside. The kid spun around. "Hey!" he shouted, teeth grinding together.

"Look out, Max," Drew said with a smile.

The kid's expression softened. "Sorry, Drew," he said, and loped in the other direction.

Drew chuckled, and he and Hannah continued toward their friends. In the past, Drew would've snapped at the kid, but she'd taught him well. _Can't be popular if you're always making enemies._ Even so, she sort of missed Drew the Alpha Male. Not for the first time, she wondered if there was a drawback to having him leashed.

Todd Sowinger, Drew's best friend and a wideout on the school football team, came up to greet them. Hannah released Drew's hand and let the ritual of male bonding take place. Drew and Todd embraced, slapping each other's backs so loudly the sound echoed down the hall. Drew grabbed Todd's head of close-cropped blond hair and tousled it. In turn, Todd playfully punched him in the shoulder.

"You pussy!" exclaimed Todd. His wide, slightly off-kilter eyes flitted first at his friend, then in the direction the punk kid had departed to. "I woulda knocked the sucker _out._ "

"Sure you would've," Drew said with a smirk. "Then you'd get suspended. Lotta good _that_ 'd do."

"Too true, brotherman. Too true."

"You want someone knocked out, you do it where no one can _see_ you do it."

Hannah smirked and approached a petite redhead with a dimpled smile. She bent over and they kissed on one cheek, then the other.

"Been too long, Phoebe," Hannah said.

"You too, your highness. Where you been all day?"

"You know...‌around."

Hannah had known Phoebe Wolfe since grade school. They were opposite in almost every way physically; Hannah was tall and lean, inheriting her mother's former model body, while Phoebe was short and shapely. Phoebe was a cheerleader while Hannah was entrenched in less visible school clubs. And whereas Hannah radiated confident sexuality that seemed to frighten away most boys, Phoebe carried herself in a refined, almost prudish manner, making her more approachable. _If only they could see what she's like in private._ Even their areas of study were opposed, with Hannah taking a few college courses with an aim toward being a lawyer and Phoebe entrenched in her AP science classes. But they did have their similarities: both were extremely bright and driven, and they had climbed the social ladder by each other's side.

"You look _smashing_ ," Phoebe said in a faux British accent.

"You do too, love," Hannah laughed back. She peered over her besty's shoulder as the last two of their small tribe, Jordan Thompson and Andrea Newsome, made their way over. She didn't much care for them. Jordan and Andrea were popular enough, with Jordan being another member of the football team and Andrea being the star of the field hockey and basketball teams, but Hannah thought them too cliché to hold any real social value outside school walls. Both were black, and from struggling middle-class families on the other side of town. Jordan was only in their group because he was friends with Drew; Andrea because she and Jordan had known each other since they were kids. They were separated from the rest by not one, but two levels of class.

It was like Hannah's father always said: _'Latching onto those of higher station is the only way mongrels succeed.'_

Jordan squinted in her direction, and then continued on with whatever conversation he'd been having with Andrea. Hannah turned her attention back to Phoebe to see that her friend's eyes were locked on Jordan. Hannah had to laugh. Jordan was one of the few boys who'd thwarted the petite redhead's advances, which only made Phoebe try harder. Hannah couldn't understand it. Jordan was an attractive boy, tall and lean with wiry muscles, but there wasn't anything special about him otherwise. She shrugged it off as one of Phoebe's many little quirks.

"So how was the first day?" she asked, trying to draw Phoebe's attention back to her.

Phoebe shrugged. "Okay, I guess. But the _teachers_! Shit, I thought Mr. Pendrake was bad last year. But Mrs. Stoughton's ten times worse. She mumbles when she talks, she's got a freaking spare tire around her middle, and I _swear_ I know more about biology than she does. I thought we were supposed to get some actual _college professors_ to teach our AP courses this year?"

"Not 'til next semester. They're sending us to the community college."

"Ugh," said Phoebe, groaning. "That's even worse."

"Tell me about it."

The bell rang, telling the students they had three minutes to get to their last class. The chaos around them intensified. Hannah offered hugs to everyone, including Jordan and Andrea, and her hand once more found Drew's. They pecked each other on the lips, Drew poking his tongue into her mouth for the briefest of moments. Hannah pulled away; the spearmint gum he was chewing made the remnants of the chewing tobacco he'd sucked on during lunchtime taste all the worse. She turned her head aside and gagged.

Drew looked like he was about to say something, but both their attentions were drawn away by the sound of Todd laughing and shouting. Hannah swiveled around to see Todd doubled over, pointing at the floor. "And the faggot!" he shouted. There was a group of underclassmen standing across from him. One of them, a tiny girl with whitish hair, knelt on the ground above an array of books that Todd had obviously knocked out of her hands. Papers scattered everywhere, a few kicked astray by hurrying feet. The girl scowled up at the still-laughing Todd, even as her friends, a motley bunch of kids of differing ethnicities, bent to help her.

Hannah tugged on Drew's hand. "C'mon."

"That was really shitty," said a girl who looked vaguely Middle Eastern.

"Whatcha gonna do about it?" Todd said with a cackle.

"I'd beat your ass if it wasn't a waste of time," said the girl.

Hannah gasped in astonishment, and beside her Drew chuckled. Just as the underclassmen were beginning to walk away, Todd reached out and grabbed the flannel that was wrapped around the Middle Eastern girl's waist. He gave it a tug, and it came loose. Something metal _clanked_ from somewhere in the fabric when it fell. Todd laughed again, only to be silenced when the girl whirled on him, planting the heel of one of her black boots on his foot. Todd hopped back, yelping. The girl's friends laughed. Hannah squeezed Drew's hand, just in case he had an inkling to interfere.

"Bitch!" Todd shouted.

"Says you," said the girl. She was short and quite attractive, though her eye makeup was way too heavy. With her flannel now on the ground, her tight black leggings showed off curves a girl her age had no right having. In a lot of ways, she was like an exotic version of Phoebe. Hannah became all the more interested.

The girl picked up her flannel, patted the front pockets, and then slid her arms into the sleeves. She stuck her tongue out at Todd and mischievously threw back her hair before turning to strut away with her friends. This time Hannah really did laugh.

"You think you're hot shit, don't you?" Todd growled. "But you ain't no Kim Kardashian!"

The girl stopped, spun around. It seemed the other students passing through the hall knew not to get involved, because even though a good ten feet separated them, no one passed through the area between.

"I'd hope not," the girl said. "Kim Kardashian's part Armenian. I'm half East Indian. Maybe you should learn world history. Or maybe you're just a dumbass and it wouldn't matter anyway, since you'd have to learn how to read first."

With that, the girl departed, slapping her friends high fives. Todd stood aghast, jaw hanging open. Hannah couldn't stop laughing, and when she glanced around, she saw most other students hiding their grins behind collars and shirtsleeves. Even Jordan and Andrea smirked, shaking their heads. A teacher approached them, flagged Todd down. Todd slunk back, his neck bright pink. He slammed his fist into the wall as he stormed down the hall in the opposite direction.

"I should talk to him," said Drew.

Hannah kissed his cheek. "He'll get over it. Was only a matter of time before someone decided not to take his shit."

"Huh. I guess you're right." He peered the way the girl and her friends had gone. "Who was that girl, anyway? Never seen her before."

Hannah shrugged. She hadn't a clue, though she had a feeling if she did, she would've liked her very, very much.

## CHAPTER 13

Jacqueline's heart thumped so hard that the last class of the day, Spanish, just flew by. She gnawed on the tip of her pen, the teacher's words as incomprehensible as notes from a tuba. Her thoughts lingered on what happened last period.

It turned out that Annette and another two Otakus were in her sixth-period study hall. The teacher had told the class that her only rule was _no technology_ , so cell phones and such remained stowed away in backpacks, for the most part. Other than that, with it being the first day of school, the students were allowed to fraternize as they pleased.

Annette had introduced her friends as Olivia Sabuco, an excitable and adorable Puerto Rican girl, and Ronni Bridgewater, a quiet, slightly overweight girl with a cute face. For forty-five minutes they chatted about anything and everything, from what they'd done over the summer to how excited they were for the new _Diablo_ game to come out. Jacqueline had trouble adding to the conversation, but she was never excluded. Thankfully, her new friends never asked where she came from or what brought her to Mercy Hills, since that was something she didn't want to answer.

Then study hall ended, and Jacqueline met the fourth member of the Otaku Clan—Neil Phung, a Vietnamese kid who had a habit of flipping his long hair. Neil was a bit loud, maybe even obnoxious, but he treated Jacqueline like they were old friends. They'd decided to walk to their next class together, since they were all heading in the same direction, and the whole while they'd laughed and hooted while Neil cracked inappropriate jokes.

Then came _the confrontation._ Jacqueline couldn't believe what she'd done, how _ballsy_ it'd been to both verbally and physically assault some upperclassman boy she'd never met. But then again, she'd had friends to protect, something she'd never really experienced before.

Jacqueline scurried out of class when the bell rang, lugging her now-heavy backpack over her shoulder. She thought about _the confrontation_ again. One minute they'd all been happily strolling along, the next some cute brute of a boy knocked Annette's books from her hands. Jacqueline had spoken up, feeling strong and brazen, her friends cheering her on. The heat that'd risen up her neck was eerily similar to what she'd felt during her confrontation with Papa Gelick, but luckily she hadn't seen red this time. This boy wasn't drunk, and he was probably in better shape than her former foster father had been. Had she pressed the issue, and the boy not held back, she'd probably be in a hospital right now.

She skulked down the hall, eyes downcast, suddenly leery of seeing the boy again as she shuffled between departing students. Instinctively, she touched the bulge in the breast pocket of her flannel, gaining comfort from the warmth of the compact hidden there. She could hear the faint murmur of Mal in his prison, begging to be seen. He probably felt her rapid heartbeat. She had to make sure to let him know everything was okay once she got home.

When she finally stepped out into the sunny afternoon, her fear vanished. Annette, Olivia, Ronni, and Neil were already outside, greeting her with wide smiles. Even though they'd whooped it up in the aftermath of _the confrontation_ , Jacqueline had still feared she'd somehow frightened them away.

The buses were lined up on the edge of the curb, and students joked and jeered as they stepped onto them. Jacqueline spotted the one she was supposed to take—bus thirty-eight—and approached the group.

"There you are, Jackie," said Annette with a grin. "Too slow."

She chortled. "I would've been out here first if _my_ classroom was ten feet from the door."

"Ooh, this one's lippy," said Olivia, herself grinning.

"You don't know the half of it," Jacqueline said.

Neil flipped his long hair to one side and grabbed her hand, making Jacqueline flinch. "They're not saying it," Neil said, "so I will. You were awesome in there. Like a freaking short-ass _Wonder Woman_."

"Yeah, you were," agreed Annette. "Thanks."

She shrugged. "Anyone would've done the same."

"I don't think so," said Ronni in her mousy voice. She pushed her glasses up her nose. "No one talks to those kids that way."

Pride built up in Jacqueline—and a small amount of fear, as well. "Who _was_ that, anyway?" she asked.

"Todd Sowinger," said Annette. "A big douchebag, and dumb as shit. But he's pretty popular."

"Oh yeah?"

Neil nodded. "Drew Cottard's his best friend. They're inseparable."

"Who's Drew?"

"Oh, only the most conceited _pendejo_ around," Olivia said. "Grew up on the other side of town, the side with money. His dad's, like, really rich."

"And he's been dating Hannah Phillips since forever," added Ronni.

Jacqueline gave the girl a cockeyed glance.

"Senior class president," said Annette. "Tall girl. Really pretty."

Jacqueline shook her head. "Didn't see her."

"You will," Neil assured.

The desertion of the school was almost complete, and Jacqueline turned nervously toward her waiting bus. The last few students were climbing aboard. "I really gotta go," she told her new friends. "Sorry."

"Yeah, we all gotta," Annette said. "Don't think my mom wants to drive all the way over here to get me again."

"Mine neither," said Olivia.

Neil and Ronni nodded in concurrence.

Annette pulled a fancy-looking phone out of her bag. "Before you go, how 'bout some digits? I'll text you."

Jacqueline frowned. "No cell phone."

All four of her new friends stared at her as if she'd spoken Swahili.

"Home phone number, then," said Annette.

"That I can do."

Jacqueline told the girl Mitzy's number, then booked it for the bus just as the doors started to close. There was no hesitation this time even though it was crowded, and a boy with kind brown eyes slid over, offering her a seat. He didn't talk, instead staring out the window the whole time, but at least he didn't make her feel uncomfortable. After all, she had Mal against her breast to keep her company, his soft voice echoing in her mind.

"Soon," she whispered.

It took nearly a half-hour for the bus to reach the Chestnut Street bus stop, and she and the spiky-haired kid stepped off. He ignored her, speed-walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. Jacqueline looked after him for a moment, shrugged, and turned for home. She'd have time to make nice with the boy come morning.

As she approached Mitzy's house, a State Police cruiser pulled out of the driveway and zoomed off. Mitzy's car was still in the driveway even though her aunt wasn't supposed to be home until six. _What if something happened to her?_ Panic swelled in her heart, and she sprinted across the lawn toward the house.

She burst through the front door to see her aunt in the living room, sipping an iced tea and reading a book. Jacqueline stopped short, huffing for breath, her shoulders sore from hauling around her backpack. Mitzy's eyes narrowed in confusion. She appeared strangely flustered.

"What's wrong?" Mitzy asked.

"The cops..." panted Jacqueline. "Why were they here...‌why are you home...‌?"

Mitzy placed her book on the coffee table and took a deep breath. "It's an important day today. I took time off. Wanted to be here if you needed me." It seemed her hands shook slightly before she steadied them.

"And the cop?"

"Just an old friend," she said with a wary smile.

Jacqueline thought of Constable O'Reilly up in Colebrook, the way he and Mitzy had seemed more than friendly. "You friends with a lot of cops?" she asked.

Mitzy winked. "What can I say? They like me."

"Oh." Jacqueline breathed a sigh of relief, remembering the time one of her foster sisters, Leslie, had brought her boyfriend home while their foster parents were away. Leslie had misjudged time, and she had to sneak her boyfriend out the window before they were found together. She'd been flushed and shaking afterward, just like Mitzy, and when Jacqueline asked Leslie why, the girl said, "Because I had sex, stupid."

_Mitzy had sex with the cop?_ Jacqueline's mouth dropped open, and she snapped it shut quickly.

"How was school?" asked her aunt.

"Good," Jacqueline answered shyly.

"Just good? No stories?"

She considered telling her about _the confrontation_ , but decided against it. No use making Mitzy worry. "Nope," she said.

"An uneventful day is a good day, right?"

"Right."

"Okay then. Want to go out? Get some Thai?"

Jacqueline slid her backpack off her shoulders and set it on the floor. The compact in her pocket grew warmer, as it often did when Mal was impatient to speak with her. "Maybe later," she told her aunt. "You mind if I go upstairs and change first? These leggings are digging into me."

"No. Of course," Mitzy said, frowning.

Jacqueline hurried through the dining room, where a stack of receipts was piled up on the table. She paused for a moment. The top receipt was for their night at the hotel in Lancaster. Her aunt must've been going over their expenses. She shrugged, and up the stairs she went, sliding into her room. She kicked off her boots and flopped onto the bed. She opened her compact and Mal was there, looking anxious.

"What happened today?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Your heart. It's been beating a mile a minute."

"Oh, nothing," she said. "I just had a little run-in earlier. And my aunt scared me." She felt the smile stretch across her face. "You would've been proud of me. Not for my aunt scaring me, but the other thing."

"I would've?"

Jacqueline nodded emphatically.

"You have to tell me about it," Mal said. "The whole thing, all day."

She recounted every detail she could remember, and Mal listened intently, nodding when appropriate and wincing when she reached an embarrassing part of the story. When she told the tale of Todd Sowinger, his pale cheeks flushed before he laughed.

"You have to be careful with those types," he told her. "They're unpredictable."

"I know. Trust me, I think I'll be avoiding his crew as much as possible."

"Good. And your new friends? How are they?"

"They're nice. They're weird, like me."

"Good."

"You know what, Mal?" she said.

"What?"

"I think I'm happy. Really, truly happy."

For the slightest moment, the boy in the mirror's face shimmered, but it passed quickly. "I'm glad, Jackie. I told you so."

"Maybe I really have a future."

"Of course you do."

The phone downstairs rang twice, and Jacqueline cocked her head, listening. Her aunt's voice called out, "Jackie, it's for you! Someone named Annette!"

It was amazing how excited Jacqueline felt. And to think she'd been wary when first she saw the tiny, platinum-haired girl staring at her from across the cafeteria.

"Looks like she really wants to be friends," Mal said. "Good luck, beautiful."

"Thanks. I'll be right back!"

Jacqueline rushed out of her room and down the stairs, heading toward a smiling Mitzy, who stood there with phone in hand. _This is it_ , she thought. _This is home now, this is happiness. Nothing bad can touch me here._

## CHAPTER 14

The Prophet's throat was dry. His hands ached, his shoulders slumped, his stomach cramped. He moaned, like the purr of the countless wheeled demons rolling along in the near distance.

_Automobiles._ _They are automobiles. The Shell calls them cars._

"The Shell," __ the Prophet murmured. He'd spent weeks wandering through the wilderness, trying to learn the world again while his true body grew inside him. He came to understand that the Shell had once been called Cole Mafee, and that boy had shed blood. Beautiful, vibrant blood.

Over those weeks, the Prophet tore through Cole's mental warehouse. He learned about this world's language, culture, and nuance. He relearned pain and hunger, emotion, the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of digging his teeth into the flesh of whatever wild thing he slew—things __ he hadn't experienced in far too long. He felt the exhilaration that came from making that which was once alive, alive no longer. He could see the glow of an animal's life essence as it slowly ebbed, the glow lessening until all that was left was a blackened husk of skin, bone, and sinew.

But more than anything, he learned the inner workings of his own borrowed body, its strengths and weaknesses. He dove inside himself and watched his future self grow, black matter wrapping around muscle and bone, becoming stronger each time he fed, waiting for the moment he was bathed in the essence of his mate, the one who would allow him to complete his final destiny—to help pave the way for The Light That Lives.

He had threaded south through the primitive wilderness, following the Gorgon's trail, a shimmering purple light on the horizon that only he could see. All of which had led him here, to a truck stop just off the highway in a place called Union.

His insides cramped. The Prophet was hungry, and that hunger could no longer be ignored.

He had avoided humanity almost completely since his awakening. This glorious thing called life was fickle, a theory given sentience, much like he'd been at one time. When he drew close to the woodland creatures, they immediately retreated, even the larger predators. They seemed to know, on some basic level, that he was a threat, and they would defend themselves with all they had. The Prophet's shell had ample scars from various claws and hooves to prove it.

The traffic from the highway continued to speed by, only there was now a greater lapse of time between the dull _vroom_ of engines. The Prophet could smell the occupants of the trucks he hid behind, people sealed inside metal shells, their bodies giving off wonderfully pungent odors that drifted on the air like microscopic seeds. The incubating form within him howled for blood. He tried one door handle after another, but all were locked. For a brief moment, he considered smashing his borrowed hand through one of the windows, to forcibly rip one of the truck's tenants from inside, but decided otherwise. Both his hands were still aching from a conflict with a wolf three nights before, the last time he'd eaten, and if there was one sensation the Prophet hadn't missed during his time in the abyss, it was pain.

Hinges squealed, and the Prophet crouched down behind a big rig's tires. The door of a truck across the lot swung open and a figure dropped to the ground. Another form leaned from inside the truck, handed a wad of fluttering paper to the one who'd stepped out. The truck door slammed shut.

The Prophet watched as a woman strolled across the parking lot. He altered his eyes to allow in more light than a human would have been able to, yet another of his newly discovered talents. He saw that the woman was slender, with long dark hair and tanned flesh. She wore a tight top that ended just above her stomach, a short skirt that was shimmering and black, and thigh-high boots. The Prophet knew what she was; in his past life he'd devoured many women who sold their bodies for coin. If now was like then, she was likely a woman without a home, one with few connections to the civilized world. The Prophet grinned, a second set of teeth growing inside his mouth, forcing their way through the gums, sharp as razors.

The woman's high heels _clicked_ on the pavement, her hips swayed as if she was trying to seduce those sleeping inside the truck cabs. She approached a waiting automobile parked next to a squat building that had a plaque stating "Information" above its front door. The Prophet scooted from shadow to shadow, silent as a thought, growing nearer with each passing second. His borrowed heart thrummed in anticipation. His foot struck a stone, sending it clanking across the blacktop. The Prophet froze.

The woman turned around, hands on hips, and stared into the darkness. "Who's there?" she asked. "That you, sugar? You want some more?"

For a moment, the Prophet considered dashing into the woods behind the information booth. Headlights continued to flash by on the highway, illuminating the rest stop for long seconds at a time. All it took was one human to notice something was wrong and then others would come. He'd learned long ago that humans swarmed like deatheater moths when frightened. The Prophet was strong, and deadly, but until he gave birth to his true self, he could do nothing against sheer numbers.

"C'mon, man," the woman called out. "Don't scare me."

Her aura pulsed light purple, tendrils of red seeping in. She was still calm, but beginning to grow uneasy. The time to act was now, before the woman tried to run off or call for help. The Prophet shrugged his shoulders and calmly walked out into the open. He ran a hand through his hair and smiled with his lips only, so as to not give away his second set of teeth. The sneakers on his feet _crunched_ on gravel. The tendrils of red dropped away as the woman calmed.

"Kid, what're you doing out here so late?" the woman said. "Where's your parents?"

Before she could say anything more, the Prophet charged, preternaturally quick. His hand latched over the woman's mouth just as she was about to scream. His jaw yawned wide, revealing sixty long and slender, piercing pincers, and then he descended on her. Teeth jabbed into flesh, releasing the sweet nectar of _life_. He slurped the salty liquid down, intoxicated by the invigorating energy that coursed through his veins.

Someone rustled behind the Prophet, and he was so engrossed in his meal that he almost didn't realize something might be amiss. He released his death-grip on the woman—bloody bubbles popped as she struggled to breathe through her mutilated neck—and turned around. One of the truck doors opened, the driver stepped out.

The Prophet grabbed the dying woman by the collar of her meager top and yanked her along the blacktop and over the curb with such speed that the rough surface ripped the flesh on her back apart, leaving a trail of crimson that ran onto the grass beyond. The Prophet didn't care. Humans had horrible eyesight. They wouldn't see the marks until the sun rose in the morning, and by then he'd be long gone.

The Prophet placed the woman down behind a thick copse of trees. Her aura was gone. He peered around a trunk, watching as the fat truck driver yanked down his pants and pissed on the grass. The man then wagged himself three times, zipped back up, and turned back toward his vehicle. The Prophet breathed deeply, astonished at how oblivious people now were. When last he walked the land, they'd been an infantile race, frightened to the point of bashing in the head of anything that seemed threatening. Funny what difference a few thousand years made.

He bent over the woman he'd killed, clicking his teeth together, digging in with vigor.

## CHAPTER 15

The overhead fluorescents were brighter than Jacqueline remembered, the bricks didn't seem so drab, and the putrescent green of the lockers actually looked vibrant and beautiful for once. With each passing day, Jacqueline's life became more _livable_ than ever before.

It was Monday, the start of her second week of school, and she raced to greet the morning, new toy in hand. Over the weekend, Mitzy had brought her out to pick up a cell phone. "I can't have you going out with your friends if I have no way to get in touch with you," Mitzy had said.

_Friends._

The phone was of the old flip variety, a horse and buggy compared to Neil's 4G Porsche, but it more than served its purpose. Almost as soon as she'd gotten it, she'd called Annette to tell her the good news. The phone was constantly buzzing since, as her new friends texted her.

As if on cue, the hunk of plastic vibrated. Jacqueline flipped the phone open to see a text from Ronni. _Oliv want 2 no if u up 4 games aft skool._ Jacqueline stepped out of the flow of traffic and chuckled. Text-speak baffled her; so did making plans for after school at seven-thirty in the morning. _We'll talk_ , she wrote before snapping the phone shut and slipping it into her bulging jeans pocket. Her finger touched the compact hidden in there, and she felt Mal's warmth from within. She closed her eyes and imagined he was next to her, actually felt his hand in hers. Jacqueline shivered. She looked around sheepishly, hoping no one had seen.

As she strolled through the corridor, hiking her backpack into a more comfortable position, she wore her best, friendliest smile. Instead of being ignored, she was greeted by nods and even the occasional wave. One boy, a fellow sophomore named Ben, shyly turned his eyes away from her when she said hi. He was blushing. Jacqueline's flesh prickled with warmth, her eyes felt like they were bathed in joyous fire.

_This is what happiness feels like_ , she thought. _I wish Mal could share it with me._

The crowd parted slightly, and she heard a familiar male voice ring out. Jacqueline scampered toward the lockers, turned her back, let her hair fall in front of her face. A small group of upperclassmen walked by, engrossed in their own conversation. She glanced up when they were past and stared at Todd Sowinger's back as he playfully punched one of his friends.

_He's cute._

Jacqueline yanked on her hair, trying to get the thought out of her head. It was wrong. This was a boy who'd been a jerk to Annette and said horrible things to Neil, who'd looked like he wanted to bash her head in when she challenged him. And now she found herself _thinking_ about him all the time! He was handsome in a rugged, dangerous way, and she liked the sound of his voice. During lunch with the Otaku Clan, she'd watch him from the corner of her eye while her friends chatted about video games, anime, and comic books. He reminded her of a jock version of Tyler. Sometimes, in the classes after lunch, when she closed her eyes she imagined sitting on Todd's lap as they reclined beneath a full moon, a fire raging before them, his arms wrapped around her waist.

_Maybe I just have a thing for bad boys_ , she thought, and then groaned at the idea that she might be a living cliché. _It's only because I can't be with Mal_ , she reasoned.

She got to her locker five minutes before the homeroom bell. After unlocking her padlock, her fingers found the locker's metal latch and gave it a pull, but it wouldn't budge. She tried it again, but still nothing. A dark thought struck her and she bent down, looking to see if someone had wedged something into the hole, but she couldn't see anything. Once more she pulled up on the latch, but it was like the thing was frozen. She felt suddenly nervous. It was silly, really; there was nothing in the locker she really _needed_ at the moment, but in her mind it was still something 'going wrong.' And if there was something Jacqueline had known all her life, once one thing went wrong, _everything_ did.

"Need help with that?"

Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder and did a double-take. A handsome, older black kid was smiling down at her. _He's tall._ She recognized him as one of Todd's friends, and a lump formed in her throat.

The senior boy's smile twitched. "They can be tricky sometimes," he said. "Sometimes finesse works."

Jacqueline nodded dumbly.

"Step aside and I'll show you," he said.

Jacqueline shuffled out of the way. The young man stepped forward, made a fist with his right hand while his left grabbed the latch. He snapped his wrist, striking the locker and yanking up on the latch at the same time. The latch lifted, the door swung open.

"Tada," he said, grinning. Jacqueline remained off to the side, hands in front of her mouth. She knew she should've been giddy at the attention; instead, she was only embarrassed.

"Um..." the senior boy said. His smile vanished. "Did you see what I did?" he asked softly.

Jacqueline nodded.

"It takes practice, but if you know just where to hit these old things, and how hard, they usually open like that." He snapped his fingers, and Jacqueline flinched. He grimaced, and his speaking voice became even softer. "Anyhow, that's the general idea."

"Thanks," Jacqueline finally said.

His grin returned. "No problem. I'm Jordan, by the way. You?"

"I, um, well...‌Jacqueline."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, I um well Jacqueline. Truly."

He lingered there for a long moment until some girl shouted, "Jordan, come _on_!"

"That's my cue," Jordan said. "See you around."

"Uh, sure."

The handsome young man backed away, shaking his head and grimacing. He swiveled around at the last minute, skillfully avoiding running into a small group of students before walking side-by-side with a tall, athletic-looking black girl.

"What was _that_ about?" asked Annette's voice.

Jacqueline turned, and there was her tiny white-haired friend. Annette Shepherd always seemed to appear when you least expected her, as if she'd been trained as an assassin in a past life or something.

"Nothing," said Jacqueline. "He helped me get my locker open is all."

Annette's crystal blue eyes widened, one corner of her lip rising ever so slightly. "That's not all," she said. "Not by a long shot."

"Seriously, Annie. He just came over to help."

"Did you ask?"

"No."

"Then it's more than that. Methinks Jordan Thompson's sweet on you."

"Yeah, right," said Jacqueline, though she felt herself blush. "He's obviously got a girlfriend."

"Does not. Jordan Thompson has _never_ had a girlfriend. That one's all about sports and homework."

"Then who's the girl he's always with?"

"Oh, her? Andrea something-or-other. Their parents are good friends. Known each other since they were in diapers."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Wait, how do _you_ know all this?"

Annette shrugged. "Jordan's nice, and popular. When you're popular, people know your business." She chuckled. "Which is why I in _no way_ want to be popular. I like my privacy."

Jacqueline found that comment silly, given the girl's penchant for prattling on about every detail of her life on the phone. "I bet," she said.

The homeroom buzzer went off. As had become their short-lived tradition, Jacqueline and Annette remained in front of Jacqueline's locker, waiting for the rush to die down. When it finally did, Jacqueline went to say goodbye to her friend, only to be shushed. Annette's already large eyes widened even more as she covertly pointed down the hall. Jacqueline turned to look.

Principal Butler was walking toward them, his jowls bouncing with every step he took. In front of him marched a girl with pale flesh, sad red-rimmed eyes, and sandy blond corn rows. The weathered green trench coat she wore was filthy. Every time the principal touched her shoulder, she shuddered. She might've been the saddest-looking person Jacqueline had ever seen.

"She finally screwed up," Annette said after the pair rounded the hall. Her expression was dour, eyebrows slanting downward, lips drooping. "Butler's probably gonna suspend her, and since she's on probation, that'll mean juvy."

"Who? What?"

Annette jutted her chin at the duo. "That's Trish Yardley," she said.

"Never seen her before."

"And you wouldn't. Trish and a bunch of other kids from across town don't, y'know, get to school much. Drugs, I've heard. A big problem in the old Mill District."

"Where's that?"

"Right around where Olivia lives." Annette's air brightened, and strangely enough it seemed thoughts of the poor girl walking the green mile to the end of her schooling had completely vanished from her mind. "Speaking of, did Ronni text you? You gonna hang after school?"

Jacqueline shrugged. "Don't know. Aren't they supposed to start giving out homework today?"

"Homework? P'shaw! We're sophomores, Jackie. They don't give us any tough stuff 'til next year. Whatever you get'll be cake."

"Oh." She didn't want to tell her friend that she wasn't confident that she'd find it so simple, given the state of her past schooling, so she nodded and said, "Okay then, sure."

The buzzer rang out for everyone to be in homeroom. Annette hastily backed toward where she was supposed to be, waving at Jacqueline as she did so.

"Just make sure you get in touch with your aunt!" she shouted. "You can't take Olivia's bus if she doesn't call to give you permission!"

_That explains making plans so early._

With that, the tiny girl was gone. Jacqueline spun around and dashed into her own homeroom, feeling the accusatory _you're late_ gaze the teacher gave her. She slid into her seat, her cheeks flushed.

She was going to hang out with friends. Away from home. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

•     •     •

"Are you having fun?" Mal asked.

Jacqueline nodded, smiled. "I am."

The boy in the mirror's eyes sparkled. "I like it when you're happy, Jackie."

"So do I." She whispered. "Only one thing'd make me happier."

"In time," Mal said. He tilted his head forward knowingly. "But I'm here for you either way."

"I know."

Someone yelped, and Jacqueline looked up. Olivia's mom's apartment was small, and so was the bathroom. She hoped her whispers hadn't carried.

"Okay, gotta get back to my friends now," she said.

"I'm right here," Mal replied.

Jacqueline kissed the mirror, snapped the compact shut, and tucked it back into her pocket. She then flushed and left the bathroom.

A smile stretched across Jacqueline's face when she returned to the living room. Annette and Neil were playing a video game while Olivia and Ronni sat on the couch, cheering. Jacqueline stared at them for some time, feeling for a moment like a ghost watching her loved ones from the shadows. She shivered and wandered to the window.

It was early evening, the sun low on the horizon but still bright. All day had been like this. School had gone by quickly, and Aunt Mitzy agreed to let her take the bus to her friend's house and pick her up at seven. _Everything's perfect_ , she thought. It didn't matter that this section of Mercy Hills was rougher than Mitzy's neighborhood. She was here, and the four wonderful people who laughed behind her were her friends.

She watched a group of boys play basketball in the street. To the left, a mother pushed her baby along the road in a stroller. To the right, six men sat on the stoop of the house next door, drinking beers and laughing. She then glanced across the street, at the church directly across from Olivia's apartment complex, and that's when she knew, just _knew_ , that her life had turned around.

After the Gelicks, Jacqueline had been convinced she'd never look at a church the same way again. Not after being forced to pray, not after being paraded in front of an entire congregation like some poor charity case, and _certainly_ not after Papa Gelick attempted to do very bad things to her. Yet here she was, staring at the tall steeple of the church across the way, the ornate stained glass that beautifully reflected the setting sun, the colorful flower gardens that lined the path leading to the front door, and all she could do was admire how _pretty_ it all was.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and Jacqueline pivoted to see Olivia's wistful face staring outside along with her. "What you looking at?" she asked.

"Nothing," Jacqueline replied.

"Don't seem like nothing."

"It's just so pretty out there," she said with a sigh.

"It is," Olivia said, nodding.

Jacqueline looked back at the steeple across the street. "Olivia?" she said.

"Yeah?"

"You ever gone to that church?"

Olivia peered back through the window. "St. Joseph's? Yeah. Sometimes."

"So you're Christian?"

"Oh, hells to the no," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "My _madre_ ain't religious, and I've been studying Wicca."

Jacqueline's brow furrowed. "Then why go to church?"

"Just because. There's something comforting about that place. The priest there's really nice. Being inside is, well, welcoming. Spiritual even. I know that sounds obvious—I mean hell, we're talking about _church_ —but still. I've gone to five of the eight churches in Mercy Hills, and St. Joe's is the only one that didn't make me feel dirty. The Presbyterian church, Vulgate, is the worst like that. The richy-rich go there. Their pastor's slimy. And kinda dumb."

"Oh."

"What about you?" Olivia asked. "You Christian?"

"Um...‌," she began, but then froze.

"Not that hard of a question, _chica._ "

"Yeah, c'mon and tell us!" Neil shouted. The rest of the group had paused their game. They all sat facing her, elbows on knees, expectant looks on their faces.

"What, you Buddhist or something?" asked Ronni.

Olivia nudged her. "And why you live with your aunt, anyway? What happened to your parents?"

Jacqueline swallowed hard and shivered.

"You know about us," Neil added. "We don't know about _you_. It's only fair."

The fear of emotional nakedness crawled up Jacqueline's throat. She began to shut down, tears welling in her eyes. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and swayed on her feet. She couldn't tell her friends the truth. They'd reject her.

"I'm sorry," she said, so softly she could barely hear herself. "I should go."

"Nope. Not gonna happen."

Annette, all four-foot-ten of her, bounced up from her sitting position, slung her ponytail off her shoulder, and stepped right up to Jacqueline. "You don't need to say anything you don't wanna," she said. Jacqueline stared at Annette's eyes, which were so light blue that at times they seemed icy cold. At the moment, they radiated warmth. "We all got stories," she continued, seeming to focus on Neil. "We all had secrets. Some still do. We're friends because we _connect_ , because we enjoy each other. Forcing someone to say something they don't wanna isn't connecting. That's pushing someone away. Heck, it's pretty much torture."

Neil blushed and averted his eyes. Ronni nodded solemnly. Olivia chewed on her lip and nervously wrung her hands together. Annette turned back to Jacqueline.

"You're one of us now," she said. "You're Otaku. That's it."

Jacqueline wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. "Thanks."

"Of course," Annette said, beaming.

Neil stood up. "C'mon, let's show her the love. Sorry, Jackie."

The four teens slowly encircled Jacqueline like the world's most loving and cuddly sharks. Jacqueline herself recoiled slightly when Olivia leaned into her, but when Annette, Neil, and the Ronni followed suit, she submitted to their unifying embrace. She felt her eyes go all puffy again, only it wasn't fear or uncertainty this time, but relief. After a few moments of mutual, calming squeezes, the group separated.

"Listen," said Annette, "now that that's out of the way, why don't we get back to playing? Our parents'll be here in a half-hour, and I got some serious ass to kick." She smacked Jacqueline on the backside.

Jacqueline yelped. "You're on," she said.

She walked hand-in-hand with Annette, sat cross-legged in front of the television, and picked up the controller.

"One last thing," Annette said. "Make sure you let your aunt know that we're going to the movies this Saturday. The five of us. Okay?"

"Um, sure."

Annette threw an arm around her shoulder, squeezed her tight. "You have nothing to worry about, Jacqueline Talbot," she said. "We've got time to crack you yet. But how about we try to have fun first?"

Behind them, the others hooted their approval.

"Sounds good to me." Jacqueline said. And it did.

## CHAPTER 16

Mercy Hills had a large shopping district called _Evergreen Gardens_ in the center of town, nestled between the two major roads, Main Street and Grove Street. On Saturdays, as Jacqueline soon found out, both streets were so packed with traffic that walking on the shoulder was quicker than driving.

The Otaku Clan had met at Olivia's apartment, which was only a half-hour walk from Mall Central. Aunt Mitzy had given her twenty bucks and agreed to pick them all up at the McDonald's at eleven, but not before giving Jacqueline stern instructions for the evening—stay in a group, no drinking, no drugs, no sneaking into other movies after the flick they came to watch was over.

The five friends threaded their way through the mall parking lot, making a game out of slipping between cars that were parked too close to each other. Annette nimbly sidestepped through a tiny gap between an Acura and a Jeep. "Beat that, suckers!" she shouted. Jacqueline went to follow, but noticed Ronni's face darkening beneath the setting sun, eyes lowered to the ground. Jacqueline joined her side.

"Walk with me?" she asked.

Ronni's lips curled upward. "Yes, please."

Jacqueline held her hand, and together they traversed the crosswalk until they reached the concrete footpath in front of the mall. Neil circled around them, narrowly avoiding a collision with a group of older kids, until he reached the mall's tall glass doors. He proceeded to hold them open for all to pass through.

"Ladies," he said with a bow.

Evergreen Gardens was the same as any shopping center Jacqueline had ever been to. The place was bright, its ceiling high and lined with windows. But there was a certain emptiness about it. The mall was packed with people, but a third of the storefronts were empty, swept clean and barricaded. Most of the shoppers were kids around Jacqueline's age, and almost none of them carried shopping bags. There were a lot __ of familiar faces, though tons more she didn't recognize, which meant Evergreen Gardens was likely the main hangout spot for not only the kids of Mercy Hills, but neighboring towns as well. She wondered if they might run into Todd Sowinger, and felt a twinge of shame. She pulled Ronni in closer. _Focus on your friends._

The theater at the center of the mall was crammed with rowdy kids, loud as a gigantic flock of geese. Jacqueline waited nervously, fidgeting. It was one thing to be in school and surrounded by so many strangers. That was a controlled environment for the most part. Here in the mall, with their near-nonexistent security, all that stood between her and a possible violent encounter was the assumed goodness of her fellow humans.

They paid for their tickets and entered the packed theater. Jacqueline sat at the end of the row next to Annette. She covertly slid her compact out of her pocket, opened it, and positioned it on her chair's armrest. She peered over to see if Mal was there. He was, his eyes wide as he stared up at the screen. Jacqueline felt his awe. She hadn't been to the movies since she was nine.

The movie was called _Black Space_ , a horror flick based on a shoot-'em-up video game Neil and Olivia loved. The creatures in the movie were scary in close-up, skeletal with slime-dripping teeth, but in the action scenes they were obviously fake. The acting was spotty. Neil said it was obviously a movie made just to squeeze cash out of kids who loved the game.

Jacqueline didn't care. It was cheesy and not really scary, and actually kind of funny. Plus, her friends were with her, and so was Mal. That's all she needed.

The theater began to empty out just moments before the final credits rolled, a mob of grumpy teens mumbling as they made their way to the exits. Jacqueline quietly stowed Mal away and remained sitting there, watching the scrolling names in front of her, mesmerized by the song that played in the background. _"With an angel swimming 'round my head,"_ screamed a distorted female voice. It was a weird, industrial tune, and for some reason she recognized it, though she couldn't remember from where.

"Well, that sucked," Neil said.

"No kidding," muttered Olivia.

Jacqueline shrugged. "I kinda liked it."

There were moans all around. "Tasteless," said Annette.

The friends followed the crowd into the mall's main lobby. It was going on ten o'clock, and the place was nearly deserted. A lot of the niche stores and clothing boutiques had already dropped their gates; only the big department stores, one at each end of the mall's three branches, had people in them.

"This place blows," Neil said. "Let's go."

The night was still relatively warm as the five friends marched through the parking lot toward the plaza on the other side of Main Street. Ronni made funny buzzing noises with her lips, making Annette and Neil laugh. Jacqueline's stomach rumbled. She still had eight dollars left, enough for a value meal if she wanted one. There was only so far one could go on a belly filled with Sprite and Reece's Pieces.

Toward the center of the mall's massive parking lot, Jacqueline spotted a pair of cars parked equidistant between two light poles, far enough from either one that the space between was bathed in darkness. There was something going on over there. Jacqueline stopped walking. She heard sounds of struggle, along with a barely audible whimper.

"What's up?" asked Ronni. She tugged on her brunette pony tail, keeping her eyes fixed on the street they'd soon have to cross.

"You hear that?" Jacqueline whispered.

Annette cocked her head, then abruptly shook it. Her eyes widened briefly. "No," she said. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

"Wait," said Olivia. "I hear it too." She took a few steps toward the cars, her fists clenching and unclenching. Someone cried out in pain, and without warning Olivia took off sprinting.

"Olive, _no!_ " Neil shouted.

For an agonizing moment, everyone froze as Olivia ran. Something then clicked inside Jacqueline, and she took off after her friend. Her heart _thumped_ in her ears.

She'd once told Aunt Mitzy she was fast, and it wasn't a lie. She caught up with the taller girl in seconds. Jacqueline wrapped her arms around Olivia, wrestled her to the ground. Jacqueline fell on top of her friend, catching an elbow in the gut, knocking the wind out of her.

_"Get off me!"_ Olivia shouted, pushing her, making Jacqueline tumble off her back. Jacqueline gasped and rolled onto her side, and her heart nearly stopped.

She faced the fronts of the two cars. They were parked with an empty space between them, and in the darkness stood a large human outline. Another outline was sprawled out on the ground. There was a strange smell in the air, a tinge of copper. The standing figure turned, the sound of gravel crunching underfoot echoing across the lot.

"Oh shit," Olivia said, and then hands were on Jacqueline's shoulders, pulling her backward. The shadowy figure took one step, then a second. Its hand lifted, and the faint light from the distant lamps glinted off a knife's sharp edge.

"Pretty little things," grumbled a man's voice.

Neither Jacqueline nor Olivia said a word as the man strode ever closer. He lifted the knife higher. Behind him, his victim moaned.

Olivia tripped, falling on her rump with a yelp. Jacqueline continued to kick out her feet, trying to scurry away from the lurching monstrosity as fast as she could. She tried to get her anger to rise up again, to feel the strength of her rage as she had when Papa Gelick attacked her, but it remained hidden, locked away, out of reach. This wasn't confronting some boisterous kid in a high school hallway. This was _real_. This was _dangerous._

And Jacqueline was afraid.

"Get away!" Annette's voice shouted. "Don't come any closer!"

Jacqueline's friends rushed forward. Ronni helped Jacqueline to her feet while Annette did the same for Olivia. Neil stepped toward the man with the knife with his phone held up, the flashlight on the back shining. The man held up his hand to shield his eyes. Jacqueline shrugged away from Ronni and joined Neil's side, trying not to be completely terrified.

The man dropped his hand and leered at them. Neil kept his arm raised, the wavering light revealing a haggard, forty-something adult with a patchy beard, messed-up teeth, and beady eyes. The guy wore a beaten-up leather duster and grimy jeans. He took another step toward them, which prompted Neil to hastily retreat and stumble over his own feet.

"Little gook, little gook, let me in," the man growled as Neil fell. His beady eyes shifted in Jacqueline's direction. "Not by the hair of my—"

His mouth abruptly snapped shut, his jaw twitched, his cheeks sagged. Jacqueline froze, not sure what to do. Finally, the brute turned tail and dashed across the parking lot, looking like he was headed for the thin line of woods on the mall's west end.

Jacqueline wasn't sure if the danger was over. She heard Olivia sobbing behind her. "I'm so sorry...‌I'm so sorry...‌my cousin was mugged last week...‌what's _wrong_ with this town?" Jacqueline stepped toward the darkened area between the two cars, where the second shadow still lay. _The victim._ Jacqueline knelt on wet pavement. She touched the body, and it flinched.

"Please..." whispered a weak, female voice.

"Guys!" Jacqueline called out over her shoulder. "Neil, call 9-1-1!"

It took the police a few minutes to arrive, their bright spotlights lighting up the parking lot. The ambulance arrived shortly after. The victim's name was Debbie, a townie in her mid-twenties, who the cops said worked at the Sears in the mall. She'd been stabbed multiple times but was still alive, and she moaned and cried as the paramedics wheeled her into the ambulance. The cops then took their statements, nodding and asking for the attempted killer's description as they jotted down notes.

Halfway through the process, Jacqueline realized it was past eleven. She quickly called Aunt Mitzy, who showed up half a minute later, peeling out once her sedan entered the mall parking lot. The cops had looked peeved, but when Mitzy stepped out of the car, made up as usual, their stern expressions disappeared. One of the younger officers stumbled all over his words. Despite all that'd happened, Jacqueline couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. Cops really did have a thing for her aunt.

The whole ordeal took over an hour, and when the police finally left it was past midnight. Mitzy drove her friends to their respective houses in silence. Annette was the last to be dropped off, and Mitzy lingered in the doorway for a long while, talking in hushed tones with Annette's mom while Jacqueline waited in the running car. Annette paused at the base of her front stoop and turned around. She mouthed _sorry_ to Jacqueline and disappeared into the house.

"It's okay," Jacqueline whispered.

She heard a muffled sound coming from her pocket. Jacqueline checked to make sure her aunt was still talking with Mrs. Shepherd, and then pulled the compact out. She flipped it open to find Mal staring at her, his gray eyes wide, his lips puckered as if angry.

"What happened?" he asked. "Dammit, Jackie, what's going on?"

"Someone got attacked in the parking lot," she said quietly.

"Did you get hurt?"

She shook her head. "No. It was weird. He looked at me and then...‌ran away."

"Odd," said Mal.

Jacqueline bobbed her head.

Mitzy wrapped up her conversation with Mrs. Shepherd and began walking back toward the car. "Gotta put you away," she told Mal. "Sorry."

"Get me later. We need to talk."

"Okay. I will. I promise."

Mal nodded to her as she snapped the compact shut.

Aunt Mitzy slid into the driver's seat and threw her sedan into drive. "This damn town," she said with a grunt. "I thought it'd be safe here, at least for a while."

"It's okay," said Jacqueline. "We weren't hurt."

"But you _could_ have been, Jackie. That's what matters. I think from now on we have to reconsider your curfew. Sorry, but safety trumps fun."

Jacqueline groaned and sat back in her seat. She sank into silence, not even bothering to answer her aunt when she asked if she was all right. All she wanted to do was go home, hide in her room, and talk to Mal until the memory of what she'd just seen faded away enough for her to get some sleep.

Only when she got home, Mal was nowhere to be found. She stared at the mirror for hours, until the birds began to chirp and the sky brightened, but he never showed his face.

That morning, once she finally passed out from exhaustion, her nightmares returned. Only this time, Mal wasn't there to protect her. He was just...‌gone.

## CHAPTER 17

Mal didn't return, and Jacqueline spent the next thirteen days spiraling into a pit of despair. It was similar to what she'd felt in Lake Salem, when her father had become sullen and withdrawn and prone to violent outbursts. That sadness had only escalated after he lost his mind. It'd been Mal who comforted her.

But now Mal, her lifeline, was inexplicably gone, and she didn't know what to do. Her friends tried to snap her out of it, but they didn't know what was wrong and Jacqueline couldn't tell them. She felt trapped, which only caused her sadness to deepen.

It's not like she liked feeling this way. She tried to stop, _wanted_ to stop, but couldn't. Once the cycle began, it was a sled careening downhill, building momentum until it eventually hurtled over a cliff. It was as if part of her actually _enjoyed_ the misery.

Surprisingly, none of her friends pushed her away. The more she tried to distance herself, the more they paid attention to her. Random teens she didn't know offered her sympathetic nods. Her sadness made her a magnet, when all she wanted was to shove everyone as far away as possible.

Aunt Mitzy, of course, was also drawn into the magnet's powerful embrace. She constantly asked if Jacqueline wanted to watch a movie, if she wanted to invite her friends over for dinner, if she'd like to go shopping...‌anything that included being by her niece's side at all times. Jacqueline's guilt doubled every time Mitzy's beautiful face twisted into a mask of concern, but she still refused to say more than two words to the woman. _Any day now, she'll put you back in foster care_ , the self-destructive part of her declared.

But she never did.

After another day at school feeling depressed, Jacqueline sat by herself in the back of the bus. Just fifteen minutes earlier, Annette had pleaded with her to come over and watch _Spirited Away_ , Annette's favorite movie, but Jacqueline had declined. Then Annette told her that Debbie, the girl who'd been attacked in the mall parking lot, had called her mom to let the kids know she was all right. "She thanked us!" Annette shouted.

Jacqueline had said she didn't care, and as the bus rocked and bucked, she realized a part of her really didn't.

Her guilt grew.

The bus eased to a halt at the Chestnut Street bus stop, and the doors folded open. Jacqueline mindlessly wandered down the center aisle behind the spiky-haired boy. "Bye, Jackie," the boy said as they stepped onto the street. "Hope you feel better." She stared as he smiled shyly and then walked away. The kid hadn't spoken a single word to her since school started. Why now? It made no sense.

_What the hell's wrong with me?_

Aunt Mitzy's sedan was in the driveway, the fourth day in the last two weeks she'd left work early. Jacqueline ambled up the porch steps and into the house. She tossed her stuffed backpack onto the couch and glared at it. _I'm not doing homework anymore_ , she decided. If she flunked out of school, then maybe Aunt Mitzy really _would_ send her away. Her lips rose in a self-deprecating grin. _You'd like that, wouldn't you?_ she asked her depressed inner self. _You'd finally win._

Mitzy wasn't downstairs, which was odd considering how her aunt had taken to continually greeting her the moment either of them got home. _It happened_ , she thought. _She stopped caring._ A mixture of dread and excitement filled her belly as she climbed the stairs.

She found Mitzy in her room, sitting on the bed. Her aunt looked deep in thought, her back straight, her brow furrowed. In the woman's hand, much to Jacqueline's horror, was the compact. Her aunt stared at it, flipped it over, examined the backside, and then held it upright and considered the small round mirror again.

"Where did you get this?" Mitzy asked without looking at her.

Jacqueline walked over to her aunt and snatched the compact from her hand. She opened the dresser's top drawer, tossed the compact inside, and slammed the drawer shut. When she turned around, she saw Mitzy frowning.

"Don't touch my things," Jacqueline said coldly, feeling a rush of excitement as the words left her mouth.

"Sweetie," said Mitzy, "I'm just trying to help you. Please talk to me."

"You can't help."

"Sure I can. I love you. I'm _responsible_ for you. I can—"

"You're not my mother."

Mitzy glanced away and rubbed that slender nose of hers that was so similar to Jacqueline's. For a moment it looked like she might lose her temper, but she took a deep breath, flattened her blouse with her palms, and considered Jacqueline once more.

"I know I'm not," she said, and just as when she'd confronted the Gelicks, she displayed strength that Jacqueline found awe-inspiring. "However, I _am_ family, the last you have left. And I also happen to know that compact was your mom's. She got it on her sixteenth birthday."

"Oh," said Jacqueline, casting her eyes downward.

"I'm also a lot more like you than you realize. I know _exactly_ what you're doing, and it won't work. You can't push me away, sweetie. You can't make me give up on you. I'll be here no matter _what_ you do."

"Even if I killed someone?"

Without hesitating, Mitzy said, "Yes, even then."

Surprised, Jacqueline hung her head and shuffled across the carpet. She sat down on the other side of the bed, facing the window. Her parents' faces smiled down from their places on the wall. She turned away. Stupid as it sounded, she didn't want to disappoint them, whether they'd been dead for years or not.

A silky, comforting hand caressed her shoulder. "You can talk to me, sweetie. You can tell me what's wrong. I'm not angry. You'll find no judgment here. Maybe I could help."

"You can't," whispered Jacqueline.

"This is about a boy, isn't it?"

Jacqueline froze. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to turn to her aunt and tell her everything. She wanted to tell her about Mal and how much she loved him, _relied_ on him. She wanted to say that now that he was gone, there was an empty hole in her heart. She wanted Mitzy to tell her she wasn't crazy, that her greatest fear, turning out like her father, was unfounded.

Instead she sat silently, fingers twined together, and stared at her hands.

"Listen," Mitzy said, reclining on the bed. "Boys aren't worth it. Boys don't define you. Most of them are a dime a dozen, and even those who _are_ special...‌even those can be replaced if things don't work out. All it takes is effort. Searching. _Feeling._ Just because one boy broke your heart doesn't mean it's time to give up." Jacqueline suppressed a shudder. "Did you sleep with him? Is that why he's so hard for you to get over?"

Jacqueline said nothing.

Mitzy exhaled softly. "Of course you didn't. How could you? Right now, he's not even real."

Jacqueline spun around in a panic. "Huh?"

"He's not real. Whatever image you have of him in your head isn't the real him. Whoever this boy is, you've built him up into something he could never be. Not a real person, but a _fantasy_ of a real person."

"How would sex change that?" she asked softly.

Mitzy's eyes narrowed. "Because you'd still be sad, but in a different way. It's hard to explain. Intimacy can make a connection stronger, but it also strips away the mask. You'll never see a boy be his true self as much as when he's about to get your pants off. That's when they'll show their real face. That's when you'll know, once and for all, what really goes on in that head of his." Mitzy pursed her lips and blew out a thin breath. "And it's also why teenagers shouldn't have sex. Kids your age aren't ready for that sort of truth. Which is why I know you're still a virgin, thank God."

"You know this because...‌?"

"Because it's in your eyes. Because I _know things_ , Jackie. I know _you_." She reached out and fiddled with a strand of Jacqueline's hair, making her pull away a bit. "No matter what you show on the outside, no matter how tough or world-weary you claim to be, you're still innocent. Trust me on this. I know these things."

"Because you've screwed so many boys?"

Mitzy laughed. "If only you knew how untrue that is, sweetie. You have to trust me when I say that if you _do_ feel the urge to have sex, you need to talk to me about it first. The last thing we need is a little you running around this place."

Her aunt slapped the bed and shoved herself to standing. She stood there for a long moment, staring down at Jacqueline, a fragile sort of love shimmering in her eyes. Jacqueline felt undeserving.

Mitzy smiled. "You know what'll make this night better? Cookies. I'll go whip us up a batch. I'll order Chinese while they bake. Sound good?"

Jacqueline stared at the floor.

"Okay then. Cookies and Chinese it is."

Mitzy twirled around on her heels and eased the bedroom door shut behind her as she left. The sound of clanking metal mixing bowls drifted up through the floorboards a few minutes later. Jacqueline stood from the bed and retrieved the compact from her dresser. For a long while she sat with it in her lap, staring at her own reflection, trying to wish Mal back into existence.

Of course, he never came.

She violently shoved the compact into the drawer once more, cursing under her breath. Downstairs, the electronic _whir_ of the egg beater came to life. She thought of the cookies Mitzy had brought to the Gelicks', and hoped this batch wouldn't be a letdown like all the other batches Mitzy had made since.

As she discovered later that night, when she and her aunt sat down for a silent dinner, her wish had come true. These were almost as good as the first, melting on her tongue. The sadness inside her seemed to diminish as she took bite after bite, washing the warm morsels down with a glass of root beer. Finally, Jacqueline forced herself to smile.

## CHAPTER 18

Andrea Newsome rolled her eyes. "There they go again. No shame. I swear."

"They've been like that as long as we've known them, Drea," Jordan Thompson replied.

"Yeah, but they're older now. You'd think they'd know better."

"Look who you're talking about."

Andrea frowned. "It doesn't make sense. They're smart, especially _her_. You'd think she wouldn't want to look like a whore."

"That's a bit harsh," Jordan said.

"Well, it's true."

Jordan sighed. Andrea was talking about Drew and Hannah, who were leaning against the wall, slobbering all over each other. Drew's hands groped Hannah's rear, squeezing roughly as their lips locked. They were in J. Robert Oppenheimer's central hub, the place their small group of friends hung out every day before lunch. Todd and Phoebe stood off to the side, casually chatting with random passers-by, seemingly oblivious. But others that walked the hall noticed. Drew and Hannah drew looks of longing, disgust, and every emotion in between. Jordan shook his head. It was like those two _wanted_ to make themselves the center of attention.

_Of course they do. It's who they are._

He cringed. _Who they are_ were three words Jordan loathed. His father was an electrician, his mother a home-health aid. All his life, people assumed that he'd follow in his parents' footsteps, making just enough to pay the bills and maybe take a vacation every ten years. That's why he dedicated himself so steadfastly to his schooling. His grandparents had escaped Detroit's inner city and his parents had carved out a decent life through grit and hard work. If he didn't further the legacy, he'd be a failure.

But he didn't have the same opportunities as his friends, and that was frustrating. When both he and Drew applied for the same summer internship at Merryl Lynch after their junior year, it was Drew who received it, even though Jordan was more qualified. Drew, whose grades and test scores were average, had already been accepted at Yale thanks to his father's legacy, while Jordan had yet to hear back from his school of choice. It wasn't only a personal problem, but a societal one: even though Mercy Hills was relatively diverse for suburban Connecticut, those whose skin wasn't brown still had far greater privilege. Most of the part-time jobs, other than places like Taco Bell and KFC, were given to white kids, and the town's large police department focused on patrolling the municipality's "darker" sections, like the Mill District, while leaving the more affluent areas alone. It was racism at its most devious, pretending in public to be accepting while quietly stifling minority progress. If he wanted proof of that, he only needed to look at Highland, where Drew and Hannah lived. As many drugs moved through that section of town as the Mill District, and yet whenever he visited the Cottard's huge estate, there were never any cops to be seen. The only time he felt truly _equal_ to his friends was on the football field, which was another maddening cliché.

He tried to shove away his anger as he and Andrea approached. Drew and Hannah remained locked together, with Hannah's hand now fully entrenched in Drew's back pocket, but both Todd and Phoebe greeted them with smiles. He could feel Andrea tense beside him. He felt for her. Andrea was a part of this little clique because she was his childhood friend; these were people she'd _never_ strike up friendships with on her own. Jordan understood, but his relationship with Drew was important. Drew's father had promised to write his letter of recommendation to Harvard, based solely on Jordan's long-standing relationship with his son.

"What up, my negro?" Todd said, slapping him on the shoulder. Jordan winced. "Still smarting, eh? Pussy," he said, laughing.

"Something like that,' Jordan replied. "I thought I told you not to call me that anymore."

"What? Pussy? You are what you eat, right?"

Todd nudged Andrea, who scowled.

Jordan frowned. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Oh, come _on_. I say it outta love."

"It's not a loving word."

"It's not," added Andrea. "It's offensive."

"Dude, you and Marcus call each other worse all the time. Negro ain't so bad."

It was the same excuse Todd brought up every time he objected to him using that word, and Jordan knew Todd used it to put Jordan in his place. He should've kicked his ass long ago.

"You two done yet?"

Jordan turned. Drew and Hannah had finally disconnected. Drew wore a dumb grin while Hannah slid herself out from being pinned against the wall and straightened her blouse. The tall girl held her head high and looked out over the crowd of passing students. _Probably checking to see how many are worshipping her_ , Jordan thought.

"So, you gonna be at practice today?" Drew asked. "Or you icing your shoulder again?"

"I'll be there," Jordan said.

"You'd better," said Todd, grinning. "Or I might call you _pussy_ again."

"Asshole," Andrea blurted out.

"Oh, ho!" Todd sang. "Lookit who's gettin' all protective! You gonna let the bitch talk for you, my negro?"

Andrea wrung her hands together. "I'm going to lunch," she told no one in particular, and walked away. Drew cuffed Todd on the back of the head and dragged him away a few feet, proceeding to lay into him in a hushed tone. Jordan felt guilty and completely helpless. He should've defended Andrea's honor. He should've broken Todd's nose. But he hadn't.

"Don't listen to him," said Phoebe.

Jordan glanced down at the much shorter girl. Phoebe touched his arm with two fingers, batted her eyelashes. Her red hair was tied in two pigtails that fell over each shoulder. The top three buttons of her blouse were undone, revealing the top of her frilly pink bra. Those buttons had been fastened when he and Andrea had approached. Phoebe edged closer to him, close enough that one of her breasts pressed against his elbow.

"Hey Phoebe," he said, pulling his arm away.

Phoebe frowned. "What, no hug?"

"Not today. I can't. My shoulder still hurts," he lied.

"Oh. Well, I'll give you one anyway."

Phoebe wrapped her arms around his waist before he could react. Her hands gently kneaded his back, her face pressed against his chest. She moaned slightly, lips pursed. Jordan looked up to see if anyone was watching them and shook his head.

"Okay, hug accepted," he said finally, wiggling free of her grasp. He tried to stop his blood from flowing to places he didn't want it to go.

Phoebe sucked on her lower lip. "Fine," she said in a whiny voice. She refastened the buttons on her blouse before starting up a conversation with Hannah.

Jordan sighed. Phoebe had been chasing him for two years now, ever since a party at the Cottard house during their sophomore year. That'd been the first and last time he'd ever been drunk, and late that night he and Phoebe had engaged in an epic makeout session. It'd been all sweat and groping and sloppy mouths, enjoyable to a point, but Jordan had hesitated when Phoebe tried taking off his pants. His older brother Dave had gotten a girl pregnant when he was seventeen, which screwed his future up big time. Jordan wanted no part of that, and so he'd apologized to the half-naked girl and left the room.

But the truth went deeper than that. Phoebe was definitely hot, but she was a devious flirt and no stranger to sex. Jordan needed all the fingers on his right hand to count the number of relationships she'd ended around school. To Phoebe Wolfe, the best available option for her was the option currently unavailable. Which was why, he assumed, she tried to seduce him as much as she did—because he wasn't interested. His perfect girl was someone smart, empathetic, and a bit mysterious.

Someone like...‌ _her_.

There she was, heading toward the cafeteria with her odd assortment of friends. Jacqueline, the new girl, who could be shy and nervous one minute, then act brash and defensive the next. Her smile was infectious, the way she carried herself, vulnerable. He'd approached her once, that day when he helped open her locker. She'd been uncomfortable, obviously not trusting him, and he hadn't talked to her since. But at least she'd seemed happy then. Not anymore. The girl skulking the hall was a shell of the one who'd stomped on Todd's foot. What had caused her sullen transformation? Why was she so sad? Jordan wanted to know. He wanted to heal whatever had broken inside her. He wanted to protect her from it ever happening again.

_Jesus, you're pathetic. You don't even know her._

Drew finished his tongue-lashing of Todd, and the two of them rejoined the group. Drew slipped his arm around Hannah. Todd walked up to Jordan and threw an arm around his shoulder.

"Sorry, brotherman," he said, his voice much too loud, as usual. "No offense meant."

"It's okay," said Jordan.

"Good." Todd slapped him hard on the back, then strutted a few steps away, drumming a beat on his legs while he observed the crush of students. His eyes settled on Jacqueline. Todd glanced back in Jordan's direction.

"That girl, I tell ya," he said.

"What about her?"

"Grabbed my ass the other day."

"Really?"

"Yup. And y'know, I feel like I've seen her someplace before. She look familiar to you?"

Jordan shook his head.

"Eh, don't matter. Probs all in my head. But she's all kinds of cute."

"She's kinda young," Jordan said. Inwardly he cringed.

"So? You even _seen_ her when she got those leggings on? That body's _rockin'._ Shit man, put a tight dress on her, and I betcha she'd be freaking _hot_."

"Maybe."

"Ha! No maybe about it, ne—...‌brotherman." Todd's grin grew wider. "Dude, she got porn star written all over her. Lookit those lips, too. Bet she'd give great head." He leaned in and cupped his hand over his mouth, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder in the process. "Well, better head than Pheebs gives, anyway."

Jordan rolled his eyes. "Man, don't talk about her like that. She can't be older than fifteen."

"Hey dudarino, fifteen's old enough."

From behind them came Drew's voice. "Maybe you should go for it,"

Jordan groaned. Drew and Hannah came over, both staring at Jacqueline. Jordan's blood started boiling.

"Ya think?" Todd said.

"Why not?" said Hannah. Her eyes followed the girl until she disappeared behind the swinging cafeteria doors.

Phoebe giggled. "She's always staring at you when she thinks you're not looking."

"She does?" For no good reason, Jordan felt heartbroken.

"Maybe I will," Todd said. "I never dipped the straw in chocolate milk before, even the watered-down kind."

Phoebe smacked him on the shoulder. "Be nice."

"Yeah, be nice," Hannah said. "That's why we keep you around, Todd. You keep life interesting. Phoebe, let's go."

The short, shapely girl locked arms with the tall, statuesque one, and together they followed Jacqueline into the cafeteria. The boys remained in the hub. Drew sidled up to Todd, elbowed him. Jordan wanted to punch Todd in the back of his bleached-blond head, but held himself back. He couldn't risk it.

"Whaddaya think?" asked Drew.

Todd nodded sharply. "Yes. Definitely yes."

"When?"

"I don't know. Right now?"

Drew shook his head. "No, man. Uh-uh. Girl like that, she needs buttering up. No way to do that in school. Gotta find a way to get it done _outside_ of school. Y'know?"

Jordan looked from one to the other, not believing what he was hearing.

"I guess," Todd said.

"Good. We'll put the girls on it. Once we pull her in, there won't be nothin' she won't do for you, bro. Guarantee."

"That's awesome, brotherman." The look on Todd's face was one of desperate excitement. "Y'know, she's got movie star all over her."

Drew laughed. "We'll see, bro. We'll see."

With that, the two of them walked away, leaving Jordan standing alone. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked toward the cafeteria. If Todd wanted to get with that Jacqueline girl, he'd have no choice but to let him. To step on Todd's toes was to step on Drew's, and if he did that, he could say goodbye to Mr. Cottard's letter of recommendation.

_But if he hurts her_...

He didn't finish that thought. He silently shoved through the cafeteria doors instead.

## CHAPTER 19

There were at least fifty movie posters plastered all over the cabinets in Jacqueline's history class, along with a huge, colorful map of the world that took up nearly an entire wall. The counter at the back of the room was topped with a diorama of Washington crossing the Delaware River. There were also three bookshelves crammed with books, both historical and fiction, that the teacher, Mrs. Ansel, would loan to whichever student wanted one.

It was a cozy, comforting place, but at the moment, Jacqueline felt anything _but_ cozy.

It was going on three o'clock, and she was the only student in the room. Jacqueline had gotten a twenty-three on her last test, and Mrs. Ansel strongly __ suggested she stay after to retake it. Jacqueline had been grateful, and promised she'd do better this time, but it was hard to keep her head in order, to concentrate on anything at all.

She scribbled what she hoped was the right answer to the last question and cleared her throat. Mrs. Ansel looked up from grading papers, considered her with kind, sympathetic eyes.

"Done?"

Jacqueline nodded.

"Good."

Mrs. Ansel circled out from behind her desk. She was a smallish lady, only a hair taller than Jacqueline, and probably around Mitzy's age. She had kind eyes. The woman could say _everything's going to be all right_ with nothing but a wink.

The teacher sat down at the desk in front of Jacqueline, slid the test over, pulled her red pen from behind her ear, and began going over the answers. The sounds of kids laughing outside, and the shrill whistles blown by coaches on the nearby athletic fields, drifted in through the classroom's closed windows.

"Better," Mrs. Ansel finally said, scribbling a number at the top of the front sheet. "Seventy-two."

Jacqueline folded her hands atop the desk and cast her eyes downward. "Thanks."

Mrs. Ansel grabbed her hand. "Jacqueline, what's going on with you?" she asked.

Jacqueline kept mum.

"You can tell me. I worry about you. You came in here like a ball of lightening. Your first month here, you were the most active student in class. You smiled and laughed and answered questions. You passed your tests with flying colors. But lately...‌Jacqueline, is there a problem at home we should know about?"

Jacqueline shook her head.

"Drugs?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Jacqueline shrugged.

Mrs. Ansel blew out a frustrated breath. She let go of Jacqueline's hand and leaned back. It felt like the room grew colder by at least twenty degrees. Jacqueline wrapped her arms around her chest, squeezed her shoulders.

"Jacqueline, look at me."

She met the teacher's gaze. The beginnings of crow's feet marked the corners of her eyes.

"I've read your file," Mrs. Ansel said. "All your teachers have, on Principal Butler's suggestion. I know you've had problems. But the girl in that file wasn't the one I met at the beginning of school. What happened to her?"

Again, Jacqueline shrugged.

Mrs. Ansel went on, undaunted. "You've been moping for three weeks now. I thought it might just be the social stresses of acclimating yourself to a new environment, and at the start of this week it seemed like you'd rounded a corner, but then you collapsed again. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't concerning."

"I know," Jacqueline moaned.

"Then what is it? Let me help you."

"There's nothing you can do," she said quietly.

"Are you _sure_."

She nodded.

Mrs. Ansel abruptly stood, carrying the graded test back to her desk and stashing it among the others. She then sat down on the corner and stared at her.

"Butler has his eyes on you," the teacher said cautiously. "He's convinced you're on drugs, and you'll eventually mess up. I don't want to believe him, but this school has seen its share of addicts, and you exhibit the signs. Withdrawn. Temperamental. Prone to outbursts." Jacqueline raised her eyebrows. "That's right," said Mrs. Ansel with a nod. "Mr. Langolin saw your confrontation in the hall with the Morton boy yesterday. He reported it."

Jacqueline groaned. Yesterday, a kid had stepped on her heel in the hall, on purpose, and she turned around and yelled at him. She hadn't even known his name was Morton.

"You _have_ to be careful," the teacher said. "Once Principal Butler sets his eyes on you, he follows through. He's quite strict."

"Thanks for the warning. Can I go now?"

"Or course. You're not a prisoner."

Jacqueline stood and gathered her things, finding it hard to look at her teacher on her way out the door, backpack slung over her shoulder. Mrs. Ansel was just trying to help, but Jacqueline couldn't get a hold on her depression. She felt like she was drowning.

When she reached her locker, she pulled out her cell phone and saw it was just past three o'clock. Still another hour before Mitzy would come to pick her up. Jacqueline groaned. If her aunt's house wasn't halfway across town, she would've walked.

She leaned against her locker, slammed the back of her head against cold steel. There was something comforting about the sensation, something _real_ that made her want to do it harder and harder. And so she did, over and over again, until finally she struck the metal door with enough force to dent it. Her vision warbled, her ears buzzed. A hollow _twang_ echoed down the hallway. Jacqueline slowly lowered herself to the floor.

The sound of approaching footsteps made her lift her head. A young girl shuffled down the hall alone, moving sluggishly like it hurt to walk. Jacqueline saw the dirty-blond corn rows atop the girl's head. She knew this girl. Trish something-or-other, the druggie she'd seen with Principal Butler. There were black raccoon rings around her eyes, like she'd been crying.

Druggie Trish disappeared around the corner, and Jacqueline had a dark thought. She reached into her backpack, opened her compact (quietly hoping Mal would be there, which he wasn't), and stared at her reflection. She had black rings around her eyes as well, and her skin, normally a light cocoa, now seemed sickly pale.

She and Trish looked the same—ugly, weak, diseased.

Jacqueline shoved the compact back into her bag. Mrs. Ansel was right. She _was_ an addict, only her drug was a boy named Mal, who lived inside a mirror and might or might not be real.

Jacqueline pulled at her hair to keep from crying. _I'm pathetic._ She'd refused to face her own problems until she'd connected it with someone she felt superior to.

She pushed herself off the floor and stumbled down the hall, not caring about the looks the few remaining students gave her, and exited into the brisk chill of early October. She breathed in deep and slow to settle her nerves before wandering down the front walk.

A secluded area with a huge concrete planter sat between two of the high school's boxy subdivisions. Jacqueline sat down on the edge of the planter, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. She heard cars pull through the parking lot as parents picked up students at the curb. _Solutions_ , she thought. _You know the problem, now fix it._

But how? She didn't have a clue _._

Another car rumbled around the parking lot's central island. It stopped, brakes squealing. A door opened and closed. Jacqueline glanced up, expecting to see Mitzy, but instead a very pretty redheaded girl strolled across the walk, hands in her pockets, heading straight for her.

Jacqueline recognized the girl immediately. Phoebe Wolfe, one of Todd Sowinger's friends, the one Olivia called Sister Mary of Sluttyhood.

Phoebe stopped in front of Jacqueline and smiled, a dimple appearing on both her chipmunk cheeks. Her nose twitched in an adorable way, as if it was laughing all on its own. She might not have been as drop-dead gorgeous as her friend Hannah, but Jacqueline understood right then and there why many of the boys in school considered Phoebe the ideal girlfriend.

"Hiya," Phoebe said.

"Um, hi," Jacqueline stammered.

"You need a ride?"

"Um...‌what?"

"I said, _you need a ride_?"

Jacqueline just gawked. Why was one of the most popular kids in school talking to _her_? "No," she said finally. "My mo...‌my aunt's coming to get me."

"Oh, okay. Thought I'd ask."

"Thanks." Jacqueline said, more like a question than a statement.

Phoebe laughed. "You're a funny chick."

Jacqueline nodded, suddenly afraid to speak.

"Anyway," the redheaded girl said, "I didn't only come over here to see if you needed a ride."

"You didn't?"

"Nope. Actually have another question for ya. Did you know there's a dance tomorrow night? Here at school?"

Jacqueline shook her head.

"Well, there is. And I came to tell you, you'd better go." Phoebe looked both ways, like a covert operative trying to spot a nearby spy, and then shuffled up to Jacqueline and knelt down. She leaned in so close that her lips brushed Jacqueline's ear. "I know someone who likes you quite a bit," she whispered, her breath smelling of cinnamon. "A certain someone who'd like to get to know _you_ better."

Jacqueline drew back, eyes wide. Phoebe nodded slowly, as if she'd just spoken the gravest words in human history. "Don't blow it," Phoebe said, shoving a piece of paper into Jacqueline's hands. "Seniors don't usually go to these things. I'm not sure you'll get another chance."

The redhead stood up and walked back toward the running car. She waved cheerily as the little Volkswagen zoomed through the parking lot. Jacqueline glanced down at the paper in her hands. _IT'S HOMECOMING!_ the flyer read. _$10 at the door._

Jacqueline folded the paper in two and sat there, breathless, staring at another car as it circled around the island, heading for a small group of teen girls holding field hockey sticks. Her heart hammered in her chest, excitement and dread flowed in her veins. _This might be a trick_ , she reminded herself. She'd seen enough teen movies to know the formula—popular kids pretending to be friends just to torment the awkward new kid. But this wasn't the movies. This was real life. And even though Phoebe hadn't said who that someone was, Jacqueline had a good idea she already __ knew, since Todd Sowinger had actually _looked_ at her today.

And he'd waved.

Suddenly, she didn't feel so sad anymore.

_But still..._

Jacqueline pulled out her phone and called Annette. The phone only rang once before her friend answered. Annette sounded absolutely overjoyed that she'd called.

"I got a question," Jacqueline said, and she smiled at the lilt in her own voice. "How do you feel about dancing?"

## CHAPTER 20

"Oh wow. Oh man. Just...‌wow."

Jacqueline stood before her aunt. "Turn around again," Mitzy said, eyes wide as saucers. Jacqueline spun, Mitzy whistled.

"I look good?" Jacqueline asked.

"You look beyond good, sweetie."

When Jacqueline had asked Mitzy for permission to go to the dance, her aunt reacted as if she'd just been asked if it was okay if her niece inherited a million dollars. Mitzy even gave her a dress to wear: a sleek, one-shouldered black number with triangular panels on the front—one red, one purple, one reflective silver. The dress was tight everywhere but the bust, but Mitzy did some mending. Her aunt had also given her a pair of shoes with thick, three-inch heels. Jacqueline originally tried Mitzy's six-inchers, but she'd never worn heels before, and she kept twisting her ankle.

Jacqueline caught sight of her reflection in the large television. She had actual makeup on and subtle ringlets in her thick, black hair. She looked like an entirely different person, a woman instead of a fifteen-year-old girl.

"So beautiful," Mitzy said, shaking her head. There were tears in her eyes. "So damn _gorgeous._ "

"You think?"

"Of course." The woman sighed. "Makes me nervous, though."

"Why?"

Mitzy's expression became stern. "Remember what I said a few days ago about sex. And pregnancy." She wagged her finger.

"Come _on_ ," Jacqueline said. "I'm not an idiot, you know."

"You're a teenager. They're pretty much one in the same."

They both laughed.

Fifteen minutes later, a car horn honked. Jacqueline kissed her aunt on the cheek and said goodbye.

"I'll be there to get you at ten," Mitzy said.

"Okay."

Mitzy hugged her. Tears smeared her thick mascara. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will. I promise."

"Good. And sweetie...‌it's good to see you smile."

"Feels good too."

Jacqueline gave her aunt one last kiss and trundled out the door. Mrs. Shepherd waved at Mitzy from her shiny blue minivan. Four other faces gaped at her from the van windows.

The door slid open, and Jacqueline took a seat in the middle row, next to Annette. She couldn't stop grinning. Annette looked her up and down, speechless.

"What the hell?" she asked.

The van pulled off down the road. "Language," Mrs. Shepherd said.

"Sorry, mom." Annette looked back at Jacqueline. "What's with the getup? This isn't a dance club, you know. It's the school gym. They don't have a stripper pole."

"Annette!" said Mrs. Shepherd sternly. In the passenger seat, Ronni giggled.

Annette rolled her eyes.

"I think she looks great," said Neil from behind them.

"And _happy_ ," added Olivia, leaning forward and playing with Jacqueline's hair. "Ooh, curly."

Jacqueline's shoulders hitched as she giggled. "This is Mitzy all the way," she said. "I kinda put her in charge of dressing me, and this is what she came up with."

"That makes sense," said Annette with a shrug.

"Is it too much?"

Ronni swiveled around in her seat. "I don't think so. If _I_ looked like you, I'd want to dress like that all the time."

Jacqueline could hear Mrs. Shepherd groan as she drove.

"I don't like it," Annette said. "But I like _you_ , so I guess it's okay."

Neil laughed. "I think she's just afraid you'll outshine her."

"Yeah," added Olivia. "All of us, actually. You make us look plain."

Jacqueline took a moment to look at what her friends were wearing. Neil had on a pair of jeans and a frilly white shirt beneath his coat, Olivia slacks with a t-shirt and a leather jacket, and Ronni wore a blue cotton dress with vertical stripes. Annette wore a red sweater and a long skirt made from some thick material, though Jacqueline could barely see what it actually looked like beneath her old Army trench coat.

"Maybe I should go back and change," Jacqueline said.

"Hells no!" said Olivia, and Mrs. Shepherd groaned again. "The Otaku Clan don't exactly go to school dances often, you know. As in never. So it's like an experiment! Toss as much against the wall as we can and see what sticks. Practice for next time."

"Next time?" asked Annette.

"Hey, it might me fun."

Annette rolled her eyes again. "We'll see. I'm not getting my hopes up. If I can get through this without someone sticking gum in my hair like they did in middle school, it'll be a victory."

Jacqueline stared at her. "If you don't like dances, why'd you say you'd come?"

Annette patted her panty hose-covered knee.

There was no other explanation necessary.

The school parking lot was crowded. Packs of kids lingered about outside the front entrance. Some were dressed like they would be any normal day, others a bit more fancy, and still a few others were decked out like they were attending a wedding. Jacqueline breathed a sigh of relief. There was even a small group of goth kids, looking gothed out of control. There was enough dark eyeliner and lipstick out there to black out half the windows in Mercy Hills.

The deep thrum of a bass beat rattled the windows as Mrs. Shepherd brought the van to a halt curbside. The five friends stepped out. Annette waved goodbye to her mom, and the small group waded through the throng of carousing students, Jacqueline at the center of the pack.

Boys' heads turned as Jacqueline walked by. A couple even whistled, making her blush. The only thing that kept her head from growing too big was the constant fear that she'd turn her ankle on her new heels and make a fool out of herself.

The school's central hub was a bustle of activity. Loud music filled the hall. The Otaku Clan paid their ten dollars, got their hands stamped. The woman that took Jacqueline's money, an older lady with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick golden cross hanging around her neck, looked her up and down with disapproval. Jacqueline shyly looked away and followed her friends into the gym.

The gym was organized chaos. The lights tracked along the ceiling pulsed on and off and it was loud as hell. Some kids danced, the majority just stood around. Most of those dancing were girls, and it seemed like every boy who joined in grinded openly with whomever they partnered with. The areas around the dance floor were crammed with mingling students. There were groups of miserable kids who looked like their dogs just died, while a few packs of boys ogled the prettier girls. Jacqueline suddenly felt nervous enough to quake out of her borrowed shoes. She'd never been to a dance before. She didn't even know this many kids attended J. Robert Oppenheimer High.

She and her friends found a somewhat open spot on the outskirts of the dance floor and planted roots there. Annette eyed the goings-on with obvious unease, while Ronni stared longingly at a tall boy with glasses who flopped around the dance floor as if having a seizure. Neil and Olivia stood off to the side, engaged in a shouted conversation that Jacqueline couldn't hear over the music. Jacqueline herself scanned the crowd, seeking out the one who'd supposedly wanted her to come. She didn't see any sign of him.

An hour went by. Neil and Olivia clapped with glee when a particular song came on. They hustled onto the dance floor, hand in hand. Annette watched them, her cheeks growing pink. Ronni slunk into the background. A young boy with a deeply pockmarked face approached Jacqueline and asked her to dance. She politely turned him down, and the boy wandered away, dejected.

Then, the boys _really_ started coming. Those who'd been standing on the other side of the gym worked their way around the edge of the dance floor until they shimmied in place next to where Jacqueline, Annette, and Ronni stood. Jacqueline reddened as they leered and whispered. A stout boy with a faux-hawk and an expectant look in his eye approached. He said something, but Jacqueline couldn't hear him.

"What?" she shouted.

"You're hot," he shouted back, then laughed. "Wanna hook up?"

Jacqueline shook her head.

"You sure? C'mon, dressed like that?"

"Positive."

The boy looked down at Annette. "How 'bout you? You're about the right height," he said loudly.

"Piss off," Annette said loudly.

The boy held up his hands and backed away to rejoin his circle of friends. They just stood there, intermittently staring at Jacqueline as she danced in place. When she bent over to fix a strap on her shoe, she heard one of them bark.

Still no sign of her supposed knight in shining armor.

Annette leaned into her. "This is a blast," she said sarcastically.

"Sorry," Jacqueline replied.

"You're not even dancing. Why'd you want to come anyway?"

"Don't know. I guess I thought it'd be fun. I guess..."

The dancing students in front of her seemed to part as her voice trailed off, and there was Todd Sowinger. He wore slacks and a sports jacket, the shirt underneath half unbuttoned, revealing a chiseled chest. His eyes sparkled in the strobing lights, making him look like one of the hunks on the covers of Aunt Mitzy's Harlequin romances. He looked right at her, lips spread in a wide grin. He stepped through the growing throng of dancers with three other boys, Drew Cottard and two more members of the football team, walking behind him.

Annette said something, but Jacqueline wasn't listening. Even when the current song ended, leaving behind a moment of garbled silence, Jacqueline only heard murmurs. Her heart thudded in her chest. She mindlessly took a step away from her friend.

A hand grabbed her arm, but Jacqueline shrugged it off. She and Todd approached each other, time seemingly slowing down. When they were separated by mere feet, they both stopped. It felt like they were the only two people in the whole gymnasium.

Todd smiled, showing his pearly whites, and there was something deliciously dangerous about it. Once more Jacqueline thought of Tyler, of his roguish charm and bad-boy attitude. Somewhere in deep reaches of her mind, a voice told her to walk away.

She didn't listen.

"You look pretty," Todd said, and his friends agreed. Jacqueline blushed. _He called me pretty._ Not hot. Not sexy. _Pretty._ Her jittery nerves ratcheted up.

"Thanks," she said.

The boy took a stride toward her, twining a loose ringlet of hair with two fingers. "I like your hair."

"Thanks. I curled it."

"I can see that."

The music came back on, a syrupy slow number. Half the kids left the dance floor while groups of couples entered.

"You wanna dance?" asked Todd.

Jacqueline nodded a bit too eagerly, slipping her arms around Todd's waist while his draped over her shoulders. Their lower bodies pressed lightly together as they moved in rhythm with the song. Butterflies fluttered in Jacqueline's stomach, making her shudder. Though they danced close, there was nothing vulgar about it, nothing dirty. Todd acted the complete gentleman, looking in her eyes the whole while, the smile never leaving his face. Gone was the boy who'd made fun of Annette on that first day of school, and Jacqueline began to doubt that it'd ever happened at all. She finally leaned forward and rested her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating beneath his ribcage—not rapid like her own, but steady, confident. She closed her eyes and swooned.

When the slow song ended, replaced by another upbeat, bass-pounding one, Todd led her off the dance floor. For the moment, the Otaku Clan was all but forgotten. Jacqueline and Todd stood just outside the bustle of rapid dancing, looking at each other. It was so simple, so innocent, and yet dirty thoughts entered Jacqueline's mind. She clenched her fists to calm herself, until Todd asked if she'd like to take a walk. She readily agreed.

The rest of the dance went like that, with Jacqueline and Todd strolling quietly through the school's halls, even taking a few moments to step outside. They didn't talk much, but when they did, it was sweet. Todd asked her if she wanted water, told her about the last football game. She didn't care about football, but that didn't matter. His voice was soothing. Any time a slow song came on, they'd walk back in and resume positions, feet gently padding from side to side. Jacqueline felt like she was in a dream, and it was only toward the end, when the deejay announced the last song of the night and another ballad began to play, that she realized she hadn't thought about Mal all night.

When the dance was over, and the students began filing out of the gym, they both stood with hands clamped in front of them and stared at each other. Todd bent over, his lips brushed her cheek, and Jacqueline shuddered, nearly gasped.

"I had fun tonight," the senior boy said.

Jacqueline nodded.

"Yo, douchebag, let's go!" shouted a voice from across the gym.

Todd glanced over his shoulder, then back at Jacqueline. His eyes sparkled. "Listen, I gotta go. I'll see you on Monday."

"Um...‌okay," Jacqueline replied.

He squeezed her hands one last time before releasing them. His gaze lingered on her as he walked back toward his friends. Jacqueline laughed nervously to herself and stood there, alone among a sea of people, waiting for the butterflies to fly home so she could walk without stumbling.

Outside, the massive horde of students drifted toward the long line of cars waiting at the curb. Jacqueline found her friends standing there, all strangely silent. She approached them. Ronni turned around and grinned, but Annette gave a sharp look, and Ronni's gaze dropped to the pavement.

"Guys?" Jacqueline said.

Annette glared, Olivia smirked, and Neil shook his head. None answered.

Finally, Annette's eyes narrowed. "A whole lotta fun _that_ was," she said coldly.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Him? _Him?_ What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing? Why're you so mad? It was just a dance."

"It was more than that," her friend grunted. "That's why you asked us here, isn't it? Just in case?"

"Um..."

Three sets of eyes glowered at her. Ronni continued to stare at the ground.

"There's your aunt's car," said Neil. "Let's get the hell out of here."

Mitzy greeted them cheerily, but her expression soured when she looked over the clan she was responsible for ushering home. Everyone got into the car without a word. Jacqueline's friends crammed into the back seat.

The ride home was torturous. No one spoke and Mitzy's eyes kept flitting to Jacqueline, sitting in the passenger seat, as if to ask her what was wrong. Jacqueline kept quiet, not wanting to make her friends even more angry. She could already hear them snort in disgust.

Her friends were dropped off, Annette last. She slammed the car door before storming up the walkway to her house. After she disappeared inside, Mitzy backed out of the driveway and headed for home.

"Anything you want to tell me?" she asked.

"Not really," Jacqueline muttered.

"You sure?"

"Uh huh."

"Well okay then."

Jacqueline closed her eyes and imagined dancing in Todd's arms.

Before she knew it, they were home. Aunt and niece walked quietly into the house. Jacqueline slipped out of her uncomfortable shoes, poured herself a glass of orange juice from the fridge, and made for the stairs. Mitzy lingered behind her, grasping the rail of the stairwell when Jacqueline was halfway up.

"Was he worth it?" Mitzy asked.

Jacqueline turned and smiled at her aunt. "He was," she said.

Mitzy offered her a sad little grin. "That's all you can ask for, I guess."

"Yup."

"And by the way, you really do look ravishing in that dress."

Jacqueline smiled, then rushed up the rest of the stairs and swept into her room. She flopped down on the bed, humming one of the tunes she and Todd had slow-danced to, her hands clasped over her heart.

It was only when she paused in her humming that she heard another, lower sound coming from her dresser drawer. Jacqueline shot up with a start, flung open the drawer, and pulled out her compact. The metal casing was warm to the touch. Fumbling with nervous fingers, she placed the compact on the dresser and opened it.

There was Mal, his silver hair ratty, his face pale. A sad smile came over his lips.

"I'm so sorry, Jackie," the boy in the mirror said in a hoarse voice. "I don't know what happened. But I'm back now."

A lump formed in Jacqueline's throat. She broke down and cried.

## CHAPTER 21

The night was black and haunting. The weather was cold, the rain falling from the sky stung with icy teeth. The mere sight of those raindrops dappling the pavement caused the Prophet to shiver.

He knew the Gorgon was close, but her trail had dried up, forcing him to join the wandering, mortal denizens of this world. During the day he hid in backyard sheds or abandoned barns, awaiting darkness. At night he walked the streets, hands in his pockets, head down to hide his unnatural, perceptive eyes.

So far the search had been fruitless. None of the humans whose path he crossed showed any signs of having any purpose beyond to breathe, breed, and die. He didn't know where to go, and his true self, still growing inside him, was in constant need of sustenance. His borrowed body was breaking down, but he refused to rest. Sleep meant there were fewer hours in the day to find his mate. Sleep meant he had to dream, and in those dreams his body's prior owner ruled.

A figure strolled down the street, covering its head against the incessant rain. The Prophet pulled aside the curtain he hid behind, squinted, and forced his eyes to filter in as much light as possible. It was just another normal human, heading home after a day of doing whatever people did in this strange time.

Frustrated, the Prophet slunk back from the window. When he tapped his foot on the floor, his toes splashed lightly in a half-coagulated puddle of blood.

He'd taken this house the day before. The elderly couple who'd owned it had been easy prey, but they made for a paltry meal. He needed more, and he needed it _now_.

The Prophet walked to the bedroom, where the two eviscerated bodies were splayed on the floor. He opened the closet and found a change of clothes that were far too big. He sighed, cursing his body. He needed to blend; walking around in tatters that stank from months in the wilderness made him stand out. He put the clothes on anyway.

After he dressed, he splashed warm water on his face and willed his second set of teeth to withdraw into his gums. The Prophet exited the house and strolled with his hands in his pockets. A group of laughing youngsters passed to his right. They were all normal. He ushered his borrowed body onward.

He wandered for hours, through neighborhoods where electric candles glowed behind the windows of nearly every house. Cars continued to barrel down the street, including one with a bank of blue and red lights on its hood. He knew the knights of this time would be in that car, and he turned down the next side street to avoid them. The road ascended then flattened out, the rain ceased. A few minutes later, a sudden buzzing filled the Prophet's ears, and his heart began pumping blood faster through his borrowed veins.

The area up ahead was filled with humans and awash with light. Chattering voices filled the air, along with laughter and rapid footfalls. A group of people exited the gathering and walked in the Prophet's direction. He ducked behind a nearby hedgerow.

The humans drew ever closer, and the Prophet edged aside a thatch of vegetation to see more clearly. His eyes widened, his breath quickened. The sixty needle-sharp teeth reflexively extended from his gums.

_Her!_

She strolled at the center of a group of five, like a lone star in the murky heavens blazing with blue light. The Gorgon was a beacon that drew the Prophet out of hiding. Mesmerized and overcome with hunger, it took a great effort to keep from revealing himself. Only when the group passed did he emerge and follow. The buzzing in his ears doubled.

Deep in his borrowed body, woven around his musculature, his true form begged for life.

Despite the hunger, he kept his distance. The group talked amongst themselves, ignorant of the danger that lurked behind them, while the heavenly creature's light washed through every fiber of the Prophet's being, as if sprung from the Lightbringer himself.

His prey turned down a street where the houses were packed closely together. One by one they left the Gorgon's side, disappearing into the houses on either side of the road. A chill ran through the Prophet's bones. This was it. His rebirth was close at hand, as had been promised.

Finally, but a single companion remained, a boy. The Prophet drew closer. At the next block the boy shouted, "See ya tomorrow, Penny!" and darted up a driveway. The Gorgon was all alone. She held her arms out to her sides and walked with her head thrown back, a look of ecstasy on her face. Tendrils of smoky, bluish light exited her mouth, her nose, her eyes, drifting ever upward toward the heavens.

When the girl rounded the next corner, the Prophet quickened his pace. He struck without a sound, teeth piercing his mate's neck, claws gouging her cheeks, before she could do as much as whimper. He dragged her down a narrow path between houses while he suckled, and the brilliant light radiating off the girl intensified. The Prophet could _feel_ the energy pulse through him, warming his core. He drank down the girl's essence greedily, tasting the tanginess, the saltiness, the _sweetness_ of pure life.

The girl's heart stopped beating, her arms grew limp. The Prophet let her fall to the ground, watching as the azure glow faded to nothing. He tilted his head and stared down at her body, waiting. Nothing happened, not to his current body or the one growing inside him. He gazed up at the billowing black clouds undulating against the even deeper black in the night sky. Something wasn't right. He looked down at the girl's corpse once more.

He sobbed caustic tears.

She wasn't the one. She was just some unfortunate soul who, through an accident of biology, happened to share a common blueprint with the one he pursued. The Prophet shook his head. The universe— _every_ universe—was filled with entities separated by the tiniest of organic threads. And those of similar origin were compelled to gather around each other, much like the Prophet had in his prior life, beasts of the void uniting to free the Lightbringer from His prison.

_Among the many you shall find the One._

He kicked the girl's corpse and crept away, leaving it there to be discovered come morning. His search wasn't over. His only solace was the fact his stomach no longer rumbled. At least the false Gorgon had given him that.

## CHAPTER 22

Jacqueline spent the first two days of Mal's reappearance listening to him tell her how much he'd missed her, and she told him the same. She read to him from Mitzy's books and slept with the compact open on her pillow so he could watch over her. He looked wounded and distraught, so she didn't dare ask about why he'd disappeared in the first place.

Then the weekend ended, and that Monday her friends started ignoring her. When she arrived at the table for lunch, all but Ronni turned their backs on her until she went away. In the halls, they'd turn around and walk in the other direction whenever they saw her, again with the exception of Ronni, who simply kept her head down and whimpered. Annette even asked to have her seat moved in art class, taking a new spot in the back of the room.

To make matters worse, it wasn't like she could go to Todd for company. "I had a great time," he said when she tentatively approached him in the hub after third period. "I like you a lot. You're a special girl. One of a kind. But I'm a traditional guy. I wanna take it slow. Okay?"

From then on, even though he made a point to say hi in the hall, it was like the dance never happened. Add that on top of the fact she'd woken up that morning with her period, and it had all the makings of a _Very Bad Day._ It was a good thing Mal had come back, because if he hadn't been there to talk her down when she slipped into the bathroom to cry, she definitely would've spiraled into depression again.

She thought long and hard about that on the bus ride home. Was Mal even real, or was he something her mind created to help deal with stress? It was a question she'd asked herself constantly for the last six years. He was the only one who was always nice to her, the only person that loved her unconditionally. _Except for Mitzy._ And Mal had only disappeared after she'd gotten comfortable in her new surroundings, when she felt safe enough to not _need_ him anymore.

_Am I crazy?_ She wished the bus would hurry up and get her home.

When they arrived at Chestnut Street, Jacqueline bounded from her seat, elbowing past the spiky-haired kid and leaping out the door. She rushed down the sidewalk as fast as she could, backpack dangling in her hand.

Their neighbor Mr. Mancuso was standing on a ladder cleaning out his gutters when she passed his house. He saw her and called her name, but she ignored him and ran up her driveway. She fumbled with her keys, the door lock sticking when she tried to turn it. Someone then stepped up behind her, and she whirled around.

Mr. Mancuso was in his mid-fifties, with a head of salt-and-pepper hair, a strong jaw, and a friendly smile. He pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled in a concerned way.

"I was calling. Didn't you hear?" he said.

"Oh...‌um...‌no, sorry. A little distracted," she replied.

Mr. Mancuso laughed. "School can certainly do that to you. It might've been a long time ago for me, but it feels like yesterday."

Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder and fiddled with the key. The lock clicked, the knob turned. She breathed a sigh of relief and looked up at her neighbor. He was still staring down at her, his head tilted like he was trying to remember something.

"Did you need me?" she asked.

Mr. Mancuso blinked, the smile returned to his face. "Oh, yes, yes. Your aunt came over this morning and asked me to watch the house. Just wanted to let you know."

"Oh. Okay. Why?"

"Don't know. Just said that she'd be late getting home. She left you a note on the kitchen counter."

Jacqueline nodded. "Okay. That all?"

"Yes, it is."

"Cool." She shoved the door open and stepped backward onto the jamb.

"If you need anything, just call the house. I'll be there."

"Will do."

Mr. Mancuso shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugged, and then glided down the driveway. Jacqueline waited until he was back in his own yard before she closed the door. She liked Mr. Mancuso, since he was always nice to her, but he was a little weird.

She threw her backpack on the couch and found the note on the dining room table. _Sweetie_ , it read, _have a meeting in Bridgeport tonight. Won't be home until late. There's leftovers in the fridge—Daal Saag!—and a new batch of cookies in the Tupperware container next to the oven. Hope you have a good night, and please don't go anywhere. If you call my cell, leave a message. I don't get good reception at the offices we're inspecting, but I'll get back to you as soon as I can. If it's an emergency, contact Fran. I asked him to keep an eye on you. Love, Mitzy._

Jacqueline went into the kitchen and opened the container filled with chocolate chip cookies. She grabbed a few, and a cramp hit. She rubbed her belly as she made her way to the stairs, trying to ignore the pain.

She was going to be alone for the night. She could talk to Mal without having to hush her voice. Things couldn't have worked out better.

Up the stairs she went, holding a stack of five cookies in one hand and her stomach with the other. The compact vibrated in her pocket. She shoved a cookie into her mouth and chewed, and her painful cramp lessened. She glanced at the half-eaten cookie. _Better than Midol_ , she thought with a smile.

As soon as she got into her room, she pulled the compact from her pocket, opened it, and placed it atop the dresser facing her. She sat down on the bed, putting down the cookies while she took off her boots. Mal gazed lovingly at her. "I missed you," he said.

"I just talked to you sixth period. It's only been an hour," she answered.

"An hour's too long, Jackie."

"Really? You should try three weeks."

The boy in the mirror frowned at her.

Jacqueline leaned forward, hands fidgeting, and whispered, "Mal, are you even real?"

"Of course I'm real," he said. "And so is my love for you. What kind of question is that?"

She shrugged. "You won't let me show you to anyone else. Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy, like my dad. Maybe if I showed someone, maybe if they saw you too..."

"I understand," said Mal. "But it's just not safe for anyone else to know. People fear what they don't understand. They have since the beginning of time. You might be accused of witchcraft."

"This isn't the seventeen-hundreds," Jacqueline said, puffing out her lips.

"You'd be surprised."

"Whatever." She chewed on her lip, gathered her courage. "So if you're real, why'd you leave me for three weeks?"

Mal rubbed his forehead—the second time she'd seen his hands that day—and let out a deep breath. "Do you really want to know?"

Jacqueline nodded.

His expression became serious. "I didn't leave you, Jackie. I was just...‌gone."

"Gone?"

The boy in the mirror looked around like a nervous spy. "There are things out there that want you gone, Jackie. Things that have been searching for you since before you were even born. I think they found me."

"What's that even mean?"

Mal blew a strand of silver hair from his bruised face. "I knew your mother."

Jacqueline gasped. "You did?"

"Yes," Mal said, nodding gravely. "I met Dhanya when she first got pregnant. She was an amazing girl, Jackie. Like you."

Jacqueline ground her teeth together, hoping Mal would just keep talking, because she didn't know what to say.

Continue he did: "I've been trapped in this mirror for a long, long time." His shoulders hunched. "I watched your birth, saw you grow up, witnessed your first steps when you were nine months old. I felt your mother's last heartbeat after her car crash. I saw your father change from the sensitive and loving man he was into the monster he became.

"But that's all I've done, just _watched_. I can't affect anything in your world, Jackie. I'm trapped." He sighed. "I was sent to protect you, but all I can do is look."

"Sent?" she was able to whisper. "By who?"

"I don't know. I forgot when I started loving you."

Jacqueline smiled.

"I've fallen in love with you a million times over, Jacqueline Talbot. If anything were to happen to you..."

He fell silent for a moment, and Jacqueline held her breath.

"I didn't abandon you," Mal said softly. "One minute I was here in this prison, the second I was flying through the cosmos. It was terrifying. I saw things, Jackie, horrible things. Stars being born and dying. The onset of light, the coming of darkness. The end of time itself. I cried out for you always, but I couldn't find my way back."

Jacqueline took a deep breath, gathered her wits. This sounded like a story she'd write in her old notebook to pass the time when she was younger. What if it was just as made up?

"How _did_ you get back?" she asked.

"I saw the truth. My conscience awakened. Knowledge opened up to me, and the path home to you was clear. And so I came running—or floating, I guess—as fast as I could."

"What kinda truth did you learn?"

"That there's so much I don't know," he said.

"That's helpful."

"I'm sorry, Jackie, but it's the best I can do. Like I said, I was sent here to protect you...‌but I can't do that unless I know the truth. I need to go back. I need to prepare for what's ahead...‌whatever that might be."

Jacqueline felt something squishy in her hand and looked down. She still held one of Mitzy's cookies, the chocolate chips melting against her fingers. She put the uneaten portion back on the paper towel with the rest and licked her fingers clean. The sweetness vibrated on her tongue.

"This sounds so weird," she said between licks. "You know that, right?"

"I do," said Mal. "But do you believe me?"

Jacqueline sighed. "If I don't believe you, then I'll hate you for leaving. I was so sad when you were gone."

"I don't want that." Mal frowned. "I love you."

"I do too."

"I wish I could hold you right this second."

Jacqueline thought of Todd and the dance once more, and she swooned. "Me too," she said.

"Jackie?" Mal said, suddenly looking drained.

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to answer more questions. Could you just read to me?"

"Sure. What?"

"Surprise me," he said with a tired smile.

Jacqueline rummaged through the other bedroom on the second floor, which acted as her aunt's library. She picked a book called _Lolita_ , written by some guy with a Russian name. She then sat down in front of Mal and read. The writing was clunky, the story disturbing—some older teacher falling in love with a girl even younger than herself—but Mal seemed to be enjoying himself. She read until his eyes closed. The sound of his snores vibrated the compact. Jacqueline had never seen Mal sleep before, didn't even know he had to. For as long as she'd known him, he'd simply been the boy in the mirror, as constant as the rising sun.

But seeing him doze made him seem more real.

Jacqueline closed the book and watched Mal's lips flutter. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten anything other than a cookie-and-a-half since getting home. She set the book aside, took a sloppy bite of the half-melted cookie, and went downstairs.

The Indian food waited for her in the fridge, but when she opened the white box, the smell of day-old curry upset her stomach. She quickly resealed the container and put it back. Then she perused the cupboards, seeing Spaghetti-O's, macaroni and cheese, cans of fruit, bread, peanut butter and jelly, and of course breakfast cereal, but none of it seemed appealing. What she _really_ wanted was pizza. She grabbed the phone and called DaVinci's, a little mom-and-pop place right off the main drag, ordering a small white pizza with spinach and tomatoes. The guy on the phone said it'd take forty minutes.

"Oh, man," Jacqueline moaned. She didn't have any money. She briefly considered running next door to Mr. Mancuso's and asking him to borrow the fifteen bucks she'd need, but decided against it. Mitzy _had_ to have money laying around the house someplace.

She searched her aunt's downstairs bedroom, then the bathroom, the living room, the laundry room in the basement, and the closet next to the front door, but there wasn't any money to be found. She glanced at the clock. The delivery guy would be there in twelve minutes. She almost went to Mr. Mancuso's, but decided to try one last place first.

She dashed upstairs to the spare bedroom and rummaged through the bookcase and storage bins. Her last chance was the closet, and she sifted through the old, dusty clothes hanging there before grabbing a stool from the corner and looking at the shelf above the hanging bar, which was stacked with shoe boxes.

That's where she found exactly what she was searching for: a steel lockbox, like the one Papa Gelick used to keep his church funds in, hidden behind one of the shoeboxes. Jacqueline recoiled slightly at the memory of the pastor. Had it really been only two-and-a-half months since Mitzy rescued her?

She brought the heavy box down and set it on the floor, breathing a sigh of relief when the latch popped open without a key. She opened the lid, and her breath was stolen away. Inside the box were three massive stacks of money resting in a black tray. She touched the bills lightly. There had to be thousands of dollars in there. _Where did Mitzy get all this?_ She lifted out the black tray, revealing, much to her surprise, a black pistol and a plastic bag stuffed with dried green leaves. Her eyes widened at the sight of the gun. _What the hell?_ She slid it aside gently, the steel cold against her fingertips, and picked up the bag. The substance inside was twisted into clumps, lined with purple and red veins and shimmering crystals. _Pot_ , she thought, turning the bag over in her hand. She'd only smoked weed twice, both times with Tyler. Maybe Mitzy was a drug dealer or something? At least that would explain the wads of cash resting in the tray beside her.

And then there was the gun.

_No_ , she told herself. _It's for protection. Mitzy wouldn't do something like that._

Jacqueline opened the bag and twisted off a single small bud. The texture was quite sticky, and it stunk with a sort of gross sweetness. Jacqueline placed the bud on top of a piece of paper, put the bag back beside its lethal partner in crime, replaced the black tray, removed a single twenty dollar bill, and finally closed and latched the box. After putting it back where it belonged, she crumpled the paper around her small nugget of weed and stuffed it in her pocket before taking off downstairs. The doorbell rang when she was halfway down the steps.

She was flustered and panting as she paid the young delivery guy. Jacqueline gave him the whole twenty, and he thanked her profusely. She then stood at the picture window, munching on a slice of pizza, letting the cheesy goodness fill her belly, and watched him drive off into the newly-dark night. _Mental note_ , she told herself. _Get rid of the box before Mitzy comes home._ If her aunt asked Jacqueline where she got the money to pay for it, what would she say?

The last piece was devoured not ten minutes later. Jacqueline licked her fingers and walked out the back door, heading for Mr. Mancuso's trash can instead of their own. She checked to make sure the man wasn't around and tossed the box into the barrel.

On her way back to the house, a low sound reached her ears, like growling. Jacqueline stopped and glanced behind her. The trees abutting the rear of Mitzy's property shifted. She began to tiptoe toward the house until another growl sounded. She thought of the gun hidden in the lockbox and wished she'd brought it with her.

Jacqueline took off at a dead sprint. In a matter of seconds she was back in the house, hurriedly locking the door. Shivering, she grabbed her backpack and went upstairs, locked herself in her room. She couldn't concentrate on homework, so she turned on the radio. The host came on during a break between songs to talk about a girl named Penny Riddell, who'd been reportedly mauled by coyotes in Enfield, a couple towns over, the night before. Jacqueline quickly snapped off the radio. She grabbed the compact, gave Mal's dozing face a kiss, and slid into bed with her clothes on. With Mal next to her she had nothing to fear, and her nerves settled. Before Aunt Mitzy came home, she drifted off to sleep.

That night, she didn't dream at all.

## CHAPTER 23

The cafeteria buzzed more so than usual. Jacqueline stood in a line of students, tray in hand, working her way toward the serving counters. She stared at the sad-looking carrots, watery mashed potatoes, and roast beef that seemed a little too gray, and frowned. The only other options were hamburgers, cheeseburgers, and chicken patty sandwiches. Not exactly healthy.

Jacqueline's stomach rumbled. Mitzy usually had her lunch waiting on the counter in the morning, but her aunt had been away late for work again and overslept. It didn't help that with her working all the time, there hadn't been anything to make for lunch anyway.

She got a small helping of the sad-looking vegetables and a bottle of spring water. She had to give her student ID card to the woman manning the cash register, since she had no money on her. Then she left the line and headed toward the back of the cafeteria.

On her way past the seniors' tables, she looked for Todd. He was there as usual, joking with his friend Drew. He glanced up, his eyes met hers, and he smiled and waved. Jacqueline blushed, gnawed on her lip. _Ask me over, ask me over, ask me over._ But he didn't. She then noticed Jordan Thompson and Andrea Newsome were looking at her as well, as was Hannah Phillips. In fact, it seemed most of the senior table gawked at her. Embarrassed, Jacqueline flipped her hair so it fell in front of her eyes and hurried toward her isolated corner.

When she reached an open seat, she glared at the ugly yellow molded plastic chair as if it had just insulted her dead mother. A couple of the stoner kids sitting at that table stared blankly at her. Jacqueline looked back at Todd, who'd resumed talking to his friends. That group of seniors seemed so tight-knit that nothing could _ever_ break them apart. That was something _she_ wanted, and right then she realized that she hadn't been fighting hard enough to get it.

She took a deep breath, threw her head back, and strode across the cafeteria to where the Otaku Clan sat. Marching right up to them, she deliberately put her tray down on the table. Four heads turned. Jacqueline pulled out her old chair, a book bag sitting where her butt should be.

"Seat's taken," Annette said with a glare, seizing the leg of the chair, holding it in place. The rest of the Clan remained silent.

"No, it's not," Jacqueline said.

She pulled at the chair, wrenching it from Annette's grasp. Jacqueline set the book bag on the ground before slipping into the seat and inching closer to the table. All eyes were on her. Ronni seemed uncomfortable, Neil bemused, Olivia fascinated, and Annette cold.

"Why're you here?" Annette asked. "This table's for friends only."

Jacqueline speared a sad carrot with her plastic fork, plunked it into her mouth, and chewed. "I _am_ your friend," she said after she'd swallowed.

"Not after what you did," Neil said.

"Exactly," said Annette.

Her friend's stare seemed hostile. Jacqueline put down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. She looked at each of the Otakus in turn. "What, exactly, did I do?"

Annette rolled her eyes. "You moped around for weeks like your dog just died, then you suddenly seem better. I thought you wanted to _bond._ But you used us. You brought us someplace we didn't want to be and abandoned us to be with a jerk none of us like. You know what those other boys said to me after you left?" She shook her head in disgust. "They _scared_ me...‌and I _hate_ being scared."

Jacqueline nodded, waiting for someone else to chime in. When none did, she took a deep breath and channeled her inner Mitzy.

"I'm sorry," she told Annette. "You're right, I was selfish. But aren't we all sometimes? And besides, you should be honored. I found out a boy liked me, and it scared me, so I turned to _you_ to protect me."

"Nice of you to tell me about it first. I _love_ going into things blind."

"No one's perfect. I was scared too, you know."

"But _Todd_?" said Ronni.

Jacqueline shrugged. "Why not? I took a chance. You'd do it too."

"Ha!" said Neil. "Todd Sowinger's a dick."

"Maybe," Jacqueline replied kindly. "Or maybe he's not. He was really nice to me."

"He's been a jerk for years," Annette said. "He's _never_ been nice to us."

"I know. But maybe he's just acting. Y'know, playing the part he's supposed to play. He didn't seem that way in private." She raised her hands, palms up. "Maybe he's just as scared as all of us. Maybe I can bring out the real him."

"Hard to do that when he won't talk to you," Olivia said. It was the first time she'd spoken, and unlike the others, she seemed more concerned than upset. "I haven't seen you guys together in school at all."

Jacqueline frowned. "Yeah. It's a little confusing. He said he wants to take things slow. Who knows? Maybe we'll get together, maybe he won't ever do anything with me again. But after the last few weeks, I needed to feel _needed_. Y'know?"

"And what _was_ that?" Annette asked. "Why the drama party? I know I defended you before about not wanting to open up, but if you _really_ wanna be friends, you're gonna have show some trust here."

For a split second, Jacqueline almost spilled the whole truth, but she held her tongue. She didn't want them to think she was crazy. So she told an altered version instead.

"I was in foster care for five years," she said. "Me and this boy...‌Mikey...‌hopped around from home to home. He was my closest friend, my _only_ friend, for a long time. Then my aunt found me, and she became my legal guardian and brought me here. Mikey couldn't come, but we stayed in touch. Then, a few weeks ago, he stopped calling. Like he just didn't care anymore. I felt alone all over again."

"Oh," said Ronni. "I'm sorry."

Jacqueline bit back tears. "It's okay. Just please, don't ask why I was in foster care. I don't think I can talk about that yet."

Olivia nodded. "Okay. We won't."

Annette finally smiled, reached over and squeezed Jacqueline's arm. "Thank you," she said. "That's all we wanted."

"Really?"

"Well, maybe not _all_ , but it's a start."

"Okay."

"Bygones and all that?" asked Neil.

Jacqueline nodded. "Bygones."

Olivia grinned. "Good to have you back, _chica_."

"Yeah," said Ronni, a relieved smile on her plump, pretty face. "I didn't like having to be mad at you."

Everyone laughed at that.

"Listen guys," Jacqueline said when the laughter died down. "I need to let you know I appreciate you. You're the best friends I have. I don't wanna lose you again."

"Aw, that's sweet," Ronni said.

After that, conversation went back to normal. They talked about anime and video games, and Neil pestered a moaning Annette about starting up a Dungeons and Dragons club. Jacqueline laughed with them, engaged in the conversation and asking questions like she always did. It was like the last few weeks had never happened at all, and she was more than thankful for that.

Then, suddenly, all chatter ceased. Jacqueline's mouth dropped open when she saw Hannah Phillips walking toward their table. Annette started, Olivia narrowed her eyes, Neil turned away, and Ronni seemed to shrink into herself.

The statuesque senior girl stopped in front of the table and looked down at Jacqueline. Hannah swept her hair off her shoulder and smiled. Jacqueline sat there, in awe of the girl. Hannah was model-gorgeous; she could mesmerize anyone without saying a word.

"Um, hi," Jacqueline said, breaking the awkward silence.

"Jacqueline," Hannah said, "I don't think we've ever really met."

"Nope," she answered. Hannah's voice was captivating, low and confident, kind of like Annette's.

Hannah nodded. "I have a proposition for you. Halloween's two weeks from today, and that Saturday my boyfriend's having his annual party. You interested in coming?"

Jacqueline shrugged.

"Well, are you?" Hannah asked again.

"I...‌I don't know."

"Think about it. Just know that I think there's someone who'd _really_ like it if you showed up." Hannah lifted her eyes, frowning as she looked at Jacqueline's friends. "And sorry, but this invite's for Jacqueline only. No offense."

The other Otakus stared at her blankly.

"Okay then. Anyway, see you 'round, Jacqueline."

"Okay."

Hannah gracefully spun around and went back to her table. Jacqueline watched her go, a mixture of disbelief and excitement churning in her gut.

"What the hell was _that_ all about?" asked Olivia.

Jacqueline shook her head.

Annette's lips twisted into a skeptical half-grin. "So you gonna go? Sounds dangerous if you ask me."

"I don't know," Jacqueline answered. And the truth was, she really didn't.

## CHAPTER 24

Jacqueline walked down the hall with her head down, only looking up when someone spoke to her. Annette Shepherd watched her from afar. Jacqueline was the most maddening person she'd met in her fifteen years of life. She was smart but struggled in most her classes; compact and athletic even though she carried herself in a plodding, careless way; exotically beautiful yet possessed of low self esteem.

The whole Todd Sowinger mess just made it worse.

Todd had tormented Annette since she was in grade school. He'd said unspeakable things to Neil, even beat him up a few years back. How could someone who called her a friend not know that was wrong? How could a friend not realize people like that don't change?

Annette closed her eyes and leaned against her locker. At times she wondered why she was friends with Jacqueline at all. At times she thought that maybe, just maybe, the stunt at the dance should've been the last straw. Yet there was just something so _alluring_ about her. Again, it was all about contradictions. Jacqueline could be both oblivious and worldly. She didn't seem to realize how pretty she was. Jacqueline was pretty even when she wasn't trying. Not that Annette thought herself ugly, but she'd look like a little girl for the rest of her life, just like her mom, whose dating history after her dad was a parade of older men who admired her mainly because she looked so young. _Creeps._

_Bah! Who needs boys, anyway?_

When she opened her eyes, Jacqueline was only a few paces away, smiling warmly, those sad eyes of hers pleading for acceptance. She looked so vulnerable, like a stiff breeze would blow her over. Annette let out a breath and stepped away from her locker. _That_ contradiction was the main reason why she couldn't stop being friends with her—because the same girl that could fearlessly stomp on Todd Sowinger's foot and stand face-to-face with a murdering psychopath without flinching was also the most fragile person she'd ever met.

"Hey Annette," Jacqueline said as she stuffed her backpack into her locker. "What's up today?"

Annette shrugged. "Y'know, school. Got a test in French, a quiz in Physics. Same old same old."

"No, I mean _after_."

"After what? School?"

Jacqueline nodded.

"Don't know. Probably homework. Why?"

"Wondered if you...‌y'know...‌might want to hang out?"

"Maybe. Why?"

Jacqueline looked at the floor, a shy, Ronni-like gesture. "I haven't hung out with you guys in a while. Not since Olivia's."

"And whose fault is that?" said Annette, staring up at the girl in faux disappointment. Jacqueline frowned, obviously not taking it as a joke.

"Sorry," Jacqueline said. "I just...‌forget it."

She turned to walk away, almost getting trampled by a pack of whooping junior boys in the process. Annette grabbed her arm and dragged her back to the locker.

"I was _kidding_ , Jackie!" she said.

Her friend still looked hurt. "Oh. Okay."

Annette wanted to scream at the girl to snap out of it, but she didn't. She knew doing so would hurt Jacqueline, and for some reason she was afraid to do that. But still...‌it'd been a full week since Jacqueline had apologized to the four of them, and no one had spoken a bad word to her about the subject since. _You'd think she'd just get over it already. We have._

"Listen," Annette said, "Neil's in first period with me. I'll talk to him." An idea spawned in her brain. "Hey, maybe we can meet at _your_ house this time. How's that?"

Jacqueline's eyes widened. "Um...‌I uh...‌not a good...‌I don't have any game systems."

"That's okay. We don't _need_ to play video games. We can watch a movie. Your aunt _does_ have Netflix, right?"

Jacqueline nodded, but it was obvious the thought of having her friends over scared the hell out of her. Annette couldn't guess _why_ it'd scare her, but that was another reason Jacqueline was so intriguing. While Annette was an open book, Jacqueline was full of secrets. And if there was one thing that Annette loved more than anything, it was unlocking mysteries. That's why she wanted to be a physicist.

"Okay, don't worry," she said. "We'll do my place. Just let me call my mom and make sure it's okay."

Jacqueline visibly relaxed, color came back to her cheeks. She leaned forward and hugged Annette. Jacqueline smelled like jasmine and spice, and her embrace was soft. Annette hugged her back. Annette _never_ hugged anyone that wasn't her parents.

_Yup, I'm a sucker_.

"All right, that's enough," she said, and Jacqueline released her. "Listen, I'll talk to you after first period, okay? Mrs. Jacobson'll be pissed if I'm late to homeroom again."

"Okay. See you soon!" Jacqueline said cheerily.

Before either girl could walk away, someone large stepped out of a passing column of students. Todd Sowinger leaned his elbow against the lockers, blocking their way to homeroom and examining the two girls with his wild eyes.

"Hey Jackie, hey Annette," he said, his tone strangely civil. Annette froze, confused and a bit frightened.

Todd turned to Jacqueline, whose knees visibly shook. "I heard you were going to Drew's Halloween party on Saturday," he said. "That true?"

Jacqueline just stared.

"Well?"

Annette opened her mouth to say no, she wasn't, but didn't get the chance.

"I'm not sure," Jacqueline blurted.

Todd frowned. "Well, _be_ sure, milady!" he said. "You should go. You _need_ to go. It's gonna be extra-duper-special amazing this year. Project X don't got nothin' on the Cottards."

"You're...‌you're asking me?"

"Of course!"

_Say no, say no, say no_ , Annette thought. She'd been there when Hannah Phillips had told Jacqueline about the party, and the whole idea just felt wrong.

"Well...‌yes," said Jacqueline. "I guess I will."

Annette sighed, her head drooped.

Todd clapped his hands so loudly the sound reverberated down the hall. "Awesome! You mind if I pick you up?"

"Um, sure."

"Coolness. I'll get you at seven. Remember, Saturday."

"Okay."

Annette stared at the two of them. _This can't be happening._ She then looked on as Todd leaned over and whispered something into Jacqueline's ear. Todd winked at Annette over Jacqueline's shoulder. Jacqueline then shuddered, her cheeks turned red. Annette suddenly felt very, very cold.

"Alrighty, see you later pretty lady," Todd said before bounding away, whooping and slapping palms with other senior boys. The buzzer sounded for homeroom a second later.

"I gotta go," Jacqueline said softly. She walked toward her classroom like a zombie, eyes glazed over, a dumb smile on her face. She disappeared through the doorway, and Annette hastily went to her own homeroom across the hall.

During attendance, she couldn't stop thinking of what she'd just witnessed. Sure, Todd hadn't acted like a dick, but there was something _off_ about him, something completely untrustworthy. Annette shuddered. Jacqueline was about to go to a party with him, where there would probably be alcohol. Jacqueline was a vulnerable new girl walking into a den of sharks. To Annette, the dubious wink Todd had given her as he whispered in Jacqueline's ear had been a warning.

_She'll never listen to me_ , she thought. _She'll think I'm attacking her..._

Finally, the buzzer rang out again, only Annette didn't head to her English class. Instead, she rushed toward the hub, heading for the economics wing, tardiness be damned. There was a person she had to find, the only person in the whole school that she hoped she could trust to make sure things didn't get out of hand.

She saw her target—a handsome African-American senior boy who wore his letterman jacket like it was skin he couldn't wait to molt out of. She rushed up to him from behind, grabbed hold of his jacket, and tugged with all she could.

Jordan Thompson spun around and looked down at her in surprise. "What?" he said. "Did I drop something?"

"No," Annette huffed out. "Please, just listen to me. You know Jacqueline Talbot, right?"

"Um, not really. A bit. Why? What's this all about?"

Annette took a deep breath. "Do you care about her?"

"I barely know her," he said with a shrug.

She could feel her expression change, losing its desperation and becoming the façade of Stern Annette. "Okay, how about this. Do you trust Todd Sowinger?"

The senior boy's mouth formed a hard edge. "No. Why?"

"Good. I'm probably just panicking, but I think something's about to go down. I think Jacqueline's about to get hurt. I don't want her to get hurt..."

## CHAPTER 25

The clock on her dresser said it was ten minutes to seven, and Jacqueline was a nervous wreck as she fussily applied her eyeliner. _He'll be here soon_ , she thought, then shuddered in fear. What if he didn't come? What if this was all a cruel joke? It wouldn't be the first time someone played her for a spiteful laugh.

"You look pretty," said Mal. "You always look pretty."

She looked down at the boy in the mirror. "Thanks," she said. "Kinda frumpy though."

"You'll be with other people, right?"

"Uh-huh."

Mal winked. "Then I'd say frumpy's the way to go. Don't want to draw too much attention. Though I'm a bit confused by your costume. What look are you going for exactly?"

"A witch, silly."

"Then why'd you make your face up like that?"

She stared at the whiskers she'd etched next to her nose and the lines extending from her eyes. "Because I like it?" she lied.

"Well, there's that."

Jacqueline took a step back and examined herself in the large mirror hanging behind her dresser. She had on a pair of slacks and button-up shirt, both black and baggy. On her head was the witch's hat. She wore thick, chunky bracelets around her wrists, and a six-inch-wide red tie with a spider-web pattern on it. A shoddy vest was draped over her shoulders. Mitzy had bought her the whole ensemble, sans her high-heeled boots, the day before at Goodwill. Her aunt had laughed heartily at the getup when Jacqueline showed it to her, but she wouldn't have laughed if she'd known it was meant to hide Jacqueline's _true_ costume, secretly borrowed from Mitzy's own bedroom.

_Dress sexy_ , Todd had whispered to her. Jacqueline reached into the pocket of her slacks, touched the two folded-up bundles of wire and fabric inside, and clenched her teeth.

"What's wrong?" asked Mal.

"Nothing," she whispered. "Just nervous. Never been to a party before."

"Do you want me to come? I don't like being left alone."

"No," she said, a little too quickly. "I'll be fine. Seriously. I can always talk to Annette if I get too uncomfortable."

"Oh," said the boy in the mirror, frowning.

"These damn things won't stay fastened," she said. She turned away, fiddled with the buttons on her shirt. Guilt churned in her stomach. She hated not being truthful with Mal. He'd been there with her, loved her, when no one else would. But she knew Mal wouldn't approve with what she was about to do. He'd tell her to stay away from Todd, just as he'd told her to stay away from Tyler. It was because he loved her and wanted her to only love him in return, but that was something Jacqueline had come to realize she couldn't do. If the dance, and Mal's disappearance, had proven anything, it was that she wanted something visceral, something _real_ , in her life. And Mal, trapped in his mirror, just didn't cut it.

Her phone buzzed; a new text message from Annette. Jacqueline promptly tucked the phone into her purse without reading the message.

"Who was that?" Mal asked.

"Annette," she replied. "She's on her way."

A quick glance at the clock told her it wasn't far from the truth. Only five more minutes until seven.

"Okay Mal, gotta go."

The boy looked panicked. "I love you, Jackie. Always remember that."

"Love you too. Be thinking of you."

She clicked the compact shut and gently placed it in her dresser drawer before he could reply.

On her way down the stairs, she thought of Annette. Ever since Jacqueline first met her, the girl hadn't ever had a nice thing to say about Todd—though given the history between them, it made sense. So when Annette suddenly sounded interested, Jacqueline took it as an ominous sign. Her guilt ratcheted up even more.

_If she knew I used her as cover, she'd kill me._

Aunt Mitzy had her laptop open on the dining room table when Jacqueline entered. It was Saturday, and she was still working. She looked exhausted, her eyes bloodshot. _That could be from smoking pot_ , Jacqueline mused before shoving the thought aside.

"Is it time?" Mitzy asked.

Jacqueline nodded, leaned in to give her aunt a kiss.

Mitzy kissed her back, lips soft and warm. "Want me to walk you out to the car? Need me to pick you up in the morning?"

"Nope," Jacqueline said. She struggled to keep her composure. "I'll be staying at Annette's tonight. Mrs. Shepherd'll bring me home."

Not a total lie, since Annette actually _had_ told Jacqueline she could stay the night. Mrs. Shepherd spent Saturdays at her boyfriend's, and so Todd could drop her off after the party, which was the plan.

Outside the house, a car horn blared.

Jacqueline steeled herself. "Okay, I'm out. Love you, Mitzy."

"Love you too, sweetie. Did you remember your phone?"

"Yup." She patted her small purse.

"Good. I want to hear all about it tomorrow."

Jacqueline kissed her aunt once more and then turned on her heels, hurrying to the door. The mostly-empty bowl of Halloween candy, still there even though the holiday was three days ago, mocked her when she passed it by. She was outside in a flash, treading cautiously down the steps, heading toward the huge blue van waiting at the curb. The windows were thankfully tinted, and she'd told Todd not to get out of the car in case Mitzy had gone to the window to watch. Jacqueline's heels jabbed into the cold, hard ground as she pulled on the door handle and climbed in.

Todd greeted her wearing a fake tuxedo, his naturally blond hair slicked back and dyed black. Twin streams of red paint dribbled down the corners of his mouth. A pair of fake fangs poked over his bottom lip. His eyes narrowed and he seemed to frown. "Hi," he said.

"Hey. Can we go?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

The van pulled away, and Jacqueline looked through the two square portholes embedded in the rear doors. Mitzy wasn't watching. Jacqueline let out a relieved sigh.

"You nervous?" Todd asked.

"Yeah."

"Well don't be. Our crew's good people. You'll fit right in."

"You sure?"

"'Course. You're my date, remember?"

Jacqueline beamed for a moment, only to have it fade once they reached the traffic light on Main Street. Todd was looking at her again, disappointed.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head when the light turned green. "Oh, nothing," he said. "I like your makeup."

"Thanks."

Jacqueline thought of his words— _my date_ —and her confidence rose. She felt mischievous. "What, you don't like my costume?" she asked.

"Well, no, it's not...‌I'm just...‌oh hell, it's okay."

Jacqueline gave him a wink. "I'll be right back," she said.

"Hey!" Todd exclaimed as she unfastened her seatbelt and crept toward the rear of the van. It was spacious back there, with only a single bench seat, leaving a good six feet of open floor. She tossed aside her witch's hat along with her chunky bracelets, undid her shirt and slacks and stripped out of both. She then fished into the pocket of the discarded slacks and removed the two items hidden inside—a scrunchy headband with black cat ears and a tail with a clip on the end. She'd made both of them the day before, while Mitzy was still at work. She slipped on the headband and held the tail in her hand. She'd have to wait until they reached the party to put it on.

"What're you doing back there?" asked Todd from the front seat.

"Oh, nothing," she answered in the most seductive way she knew how.

They hit another red light, and Todd craned around in his seat. "C'mon, Jacqueline, I just want—"

His eyes widened comically. Jacqueline posed with her legs slightly bent and hips cocked, one hand pressed to the roof of the van while the other fiddled with the lacing that ran up her side. She couldn't believe how powerful she felt. It was funny what some of her aunt's lingerie combined with glossy black tights could do to a boy.

_"Meow,"_ she said, and playfully pawed at him.

Someone honked, and Todd jumped. A stupid grin came over his face, but he still didn't move. Cars continued to honk as they swerved around the van.

"You like?" Jacqueline asked.

"Oh yeah," said Todd.

Jacqueline retook her seat and slid the seatbelt over her chest. Her outfit's ribbing bit into her side and the underwire was more than a little uncomfortable, but the look on Todd's face made it all worth it.

Another car zoomed past them, honking. Jacqueline tilted her head, smiled, and batted her eyelashes. "Mr. Sowinger," she said, "don't we have a party to go to?"

"That we do," the older boy answered.

When he punched the gas just before the light turned red once more, he pumped his fist out the window as if in triumph.

## CHAPTER 26

Jacqueline's confidence vanished when Todd steered his van up the hill leading to Highland Park. They passed the street where Neil lived, the houses on either side of her growing more grandiose. Expensive cars sat in nearly every driveway, sparkling in the early-evening moonlight. They then drove by Vulgate Presbyterian, the massive building fronted by trimmed hedgerows and a huge statue of Christ.

Jacqueline had never seen this part of Mercy Hills before. _These people must have a ton of money_ , she thought. Even the church was garish.

The McMansions were nothing compared to what waited at the top of the hill. The crossing street was home to estates whose thick, Greek-style columns served as intimidating reminders of who were the haves and who were the have-nots.

Todd took a left onto the appropriately named _Kings Court_ , a grin on his face.

Numerous cars were parked along the street and there were people everywhere. Todd inched his van along, braking whenever someone staggered into the road. They were close now, approaching the largest estate on the block, set far back from the road. A giant flatland of manicured grass as smooth as a golf course spread out before her, and Jacqueline sat there, amazed. She'd heard all about how well-off the Cottard family was; seeing the proof of it caused her chest to tighten.

"Why're you pulling so close?" she asked, gazing at the cram of automobiles. "There's no spaces."

Todd's grin widened. "We ain't parking on the street," he said. "We get VIP treatment."

Todd pulled onto the sprawling driveway. Those gathered on the blacktop quickly dispersed, and the van glided toward the mansion until Todd hit the brakes right behind a black Lexus. Jacqueline had seen that car before, speeding through the parking lot after school. It was Drew's.

"We're here," said Todd.

Jacqueline stared out the window. She heard a vibrating bass beat, deep and loud. Kids streamed from the street in ever-growing numbers. Other large groups hung out on the gigantic lawn beneath bright floodlights, wearing thick coats to stave off the burgeoning cold. A group of kids had even started up a football game, a neon-green Nerf spiraling through the darkness. Nearly everyone had red plastic cups in their hands, and almost no one wore a costume. Self-conscious, Jacqueline slid her arms around her midsection.

"This is huge," she whispered.

"I know!" said Todd. "Impressive, right?"

She stared blankly as a boy no older than Jacqueline doubled over and barfed onto the grass. His friends quickly ushered him away.

"Where's Drew's parents?" Jacqueline asked.

"Colorado. His mom and dad spend the end of October and the beginning of November in Aspen."

"Must be nice. How many people're coming? They all from town?"

Todd shrugged. "No clue. Why?"

_Because I don't want kids from three towns over seeing me dressed like a whore_ , she thought. "Just curious," she said.

"It don't matter, Jackie." He reached over and gently cupped her chin in his hand. He lowered his head in a serious manner. "I know what you're worried about."

"You do?"

"I do. You don't see any costumes."

She nodded.

"Well, there's a reason for that. House rules. No costume, no admittance." He waved toward the throng of mingling youths. "Let the morons hang out in the cold. _We'll_ be heading in where it's warm."

Todd offered her one last plastic-fanged smile before shoving open his door. He nearly sprinted around the front of the van to open Jacqueline's door for her. The cold assaulted her immediately, raising goosebumps all over her flesh. She stepped out of the vehicle, hiding herself as best she could behind the van's door as she straightened out her skimpy clothing. She reached behind herself with a shivering hand and fastened the clip of her handmade tail to the hidden waistband of her tights. The metal clasp was shockingly cold against her lower back.

Todd threw an arm around her and shut the door. His warmth infused her, made her stop shivering. Hundreds of eyes turned in their direction. A few catcalls rose up above the din of music and laughter.

"You ready, kitty cat?" Todd asked.

Jacqueline nodded.

They made their way up the driveway, and the crowd parted for them. The drunken leers of countless boys and the disapproving scowls of almost as many girls assaulted her from every angle. _They still stepped aside for you_ , Jacqueline thought, forcing herself to smile.

The front porch was a fifty-foot-wide plank of concrete fronted by eight thick pillars. The double doors to the mansion swung open when they were mere feet away. A boy dressed like Freddy Krueger and a girl in a sexy nurse outfit held open the doors, nodding to Todd and Jacqueline as they entered.

The cavernous inside of the mansion was so loud that Jacqueline could barely hear her own thoughts. Everywhere she looked there were people in costume—werewolves, doctors, nurses, witches, ghosts; you name it. Thankfully, many of the girls' outfits were nearly as revealing as hers.

The room they'd entered was as big as three of Mitzy's house put together. The ceiling went all the way up to the roof, at least three stories, and a crystal chandelier the size of a small car dangled and glimmered. Halfway up the far wall was a balcony, and she counted the doors as Todd led her through the crush of partygoers.

Todd said something that she couldn't hear, and she looked at him quizzically. He shouted again. When she still couldn't make out the words she simply nodded. Todd pressed a red plastic cup into her hand and gave her a thumbs-up. He then grabbed his own cup and took a huge gulp.

Jacqueline took a sip. She'd expected something foamy and bitter, but the drink was sweet and didn't taste like liquor at all. Warmth spread through her and her jitteriness stopped. She grinned and took another sip.

Todd again led her through the crowd, stopping every so often to pound fists with one of his friends. Someone slapped Jacqueline on the back, an unseen hand pulled at her tail, another squeezed her butt. she winced and stole a pleading look at Todd, hoping he'd noticed, but his attention was elsewhere. Everything was just overwhelming. Her heart raced and she wanted to scream. She took another large sip from her cup instead.

They crossed through another set of double doors into an adjacent hallway, and the sound of the party dulled. The crowd was thinner in here, which helped ease Jacqueline's frazzled nerves. She still felt every inch of the lacy, barely-there lingerie, suffered the prods of the piping, but at least she could hear herself think.

"And here we are," Todd said. He approached a door and poked his fingers into the handle. The door rolled to the side on a track. "Welcome to...‌Valhalla!"

Todd took his arm off Jacqueline's shoulder and entered the room. She followed, feeling timid. The door slid shut behind her, the party's blaring music now just a rumor behind thick walls.

There was a large fireplace with a pair of recliners in front of it, a long couch, a poker table and chairs, and the biggest flat-screen television Jacqueline had ever seen, taking up nearly an entire wall. Five people were gathered around a fully-stocked bar: an intimate gathering in the midst of a carnival. Jacqueline saw Drew standing apart from the others, drink in hand. He nodded to Todd, who returned the gesture.

Todd introduced her to his friends. There was Kurt Briggs and Yoel Martinez, fellow seniors and members of the football team, Kurt's girlfriend Stacy, and a shorter, chubbier boy with thick mutton chops everyone called Flub. Yoel was in full zombie getup while the others were dressed as hobos, their clothing vintage and torn, their hats painted to deliberately look moldy.

"Woo-hoo!" shouted Todd as he tossed his empty cup into the crackling fireplace and scrambled behind the bar. "Enough of that shit. Let's do the real stuff!"

He laid small glasses out on bar, filling them to the brim with vodka. Everyone but Jacqueline and Drew grabbed a drink, tossed it back, and then chanted for more. Todd obliged them. Jacqueline nervously chomped her lip.

"What you doing?" Drew said from behind her.

She turned around. The senior boy's gaze worked her over from toes on up. He didn't smile and his eyes were cloudy.

"Um...‌I talked to Hannah the other day," Jacqueline said, trying not to seem uncomfortable.

"Good for you."

"Where is she?"

"Other plans tonight."

"What's bigger than this?"

Drew saluted her with his glass. "My thoughts exactly." He nodded and licked his lips, his neck craning forward ever so slightly. He looked predatory, and Jacqueline backed away.

"Yo, kitty cat!" Todd called out. "What you doin' over there?"

"Nothing."

"Well, get on over here! We got some _drinkin'_ to do, sexy!"

Everyone slammed their fists against the bar. Jacqueline walked demurely up to them, and Todd slid a glass across the bar to her, the clear liquid sloshing over the side.

"Shoot it!" shouted Yoel.

Stacy sidled up to her, the girl's light brown hair a mess of curls beneath her floppy hat. "Yeah, shoot it!" she said, playfully nudging with her hip.

Jacqueline sniffed the glass, grimaced, and then, when everyone began chanting, "Shoot it!" she brought it to her mouth, pinched her nose, and tipped her head back. The liquor made her gag. She slapped the glass back down on the bar and coughed. Todd slid something else toward her. She grabbed it and drank it down quickly. The liquid inside was smooth and tasted like mint.

She wiped her lips, black lipstick smearing the back of her hand. Her head swam a bit, and when she saw everyone staring at her, big stupid grins on their faces, she giggled.

"Hey, you," Todd said.

Jacqueline twisted her head, and he was right there in front of her, leaning over the bar. His lips met hers, softly at first, then more aggressive, though not in a bad way. His tongue probed her mouth. Jacqueline felt tingly all over, numb except for her lips. The tiny hairs on her arms stood on end. All sound melted away but her heartbeat. And still Todd kept kissing her, gently kneading her hair. _This_ was what a kiss should be, not those clumsy ones she'd shared with Tyler. She felt like she might faint.

Todd pulled away and Jacqueline stood there, wobbling on her feet. She placed a hand on the bar to steady herself. Everyone whooped it up and clapped. Jacqueline's neck flushed.

Yoel and Kurt slapped Todd on the back. Stacy threw her arm around Jacqueline. "You're lucky," she whispered. "Maybe your costume has something to do with it. Where'd you get it, anyway?"

Jacqueline muttered incoherently, and then laughed at herself. Stacy joined in. They both grabbed new drinks off the table and scarfed them down.

For the next hour, Jacqueline sat and listened as the boys spouted tales of gridiron glory while sucking down drink after drink, interspersing the minty beverages with the occasional shot of vodka. She kept getting drunker and drunker, and eventually all she heard was garbled nonsense.

Three times during that hour, the phone in her purse buzzed: two were text messages from Annette, one a call from Mitzy. She ignored them.

Todd sat as close to Jacqueline as humanly possible, and his palm found her thigh. Every so often, between sips, he would kiss her again, full and deep. His hands roamed, touching her all over. Jacqueline felt too gloriously lightheaded to care.

Eventually Drew joined them at the bar. He seemed distracted somehow, his laughter not as loud or boisterous as the others, but again, Jacqueline didn't care. This boy meant nothing to her. All that mattered was Todd Sowinger and his sweet, moist lips, and the world that wouldn't stop spinning.

"Hey," said Yoel at one point, "Tommy Boddicker said something about going to Coppington on Halloween. Anyone know if he did it?"

"Nope," Stacy replied. "He chickened out."

That garnered a laugh from everyone.

"You talking about the haunted house?" asked Jacqueline, her voice slurring in her own ears.

"That's the one," said Drew.

"People actually _go_ there?"

Todd laughed, squeezing her tighter. "Nah. They talk about it all the time. But everyone's a pussy." He re-filled his cup. "But I think _we_ should go. Before senior year's over. Whaddaya all say?"

Again there was laughter, but no one answered.

Jacqueline kept on drinking. She emptied another cup and put it on the bar, but for some reason the flat surface wasn't where it was supposed to be and the cup spilled all over the floor. Jacqueline swayed in her seat, her arm crashing against two of the short glasses, knocking them over. The room spun even faster.

"Looks like someone's had too much," she heard Stacy say.

"That true, kitty cat?" asked Todd.

Jacqueline sloppily kissed him. Todd nibbled her lip, then glanced over her shoulder and nodded. Soon there was another drink in her hand. She hiccupped and slurped it, getting as much on Mitzy's lingerie as she did in her mouth. Todd laughed, though it seemed he was the only one who did.

She glanced behind the bar to ask Flub for another, but he was gone. She swung her head to the side, the room revolving, her vision doubling. Something wet slobbered her neck. Jacqueline shoved herself away, stumbling, unable to keep her balance. Strong hands grabbed her, kept her from falling.

Concerned faces stared at her. Drew told everyone to get out, that there was nothing to see. To Jacqueline his voice sounded murky, the syllables not matching up. "Not in here," she heard him say after everyone other than Todd had left.

"I know," Todd replied. "Flubby's setting things up in the guest room."

"Good."

Drew nodded and left.

Todd spun Jacqueline around and handed her another drink. He guided her hand to her face, tilting the cup back. "There you go," he said. "Just a little more." When the liquid dribbled over her chin, he pulled it away. "Okay, looks like that's enough."

Everything became a blur after that. Todd picked her up, and she bobbed like she was on a stranded ferry in the middle of the sea, only this sea was made up of noisy, thrashing people. The music came back tenfold, thudding in her ears, pulsing in her stomach. She gagged. A hand stroked her forehead.

There came a vague sensation of moving upward, of leaving the chaos behind. She heard Todd whispering in her ear, but couldn't understand his words. He carried her along a flat surface and into a brightly-lit room.

"There we go," he said. He laid her down on a bed and kissed her forcibly. Jacqueline felt sick.

He backed away from her, and she tried to sit up. She couldn't see straight, but knew she was in a bedroom. There were placards on the wall, a couple dressers, a vanity. Her head warbled. On the other side of the room was a black box of some kind sitting on top of three gray legs. A red light blinked at her.

She collapsed on the bed, and suddenly Jacqueline was back in her bedroom in the Gelick house, with Papa Gelick on top of her. Her lips moved, trying to form the word _NO_ , but she couldn't speak. Sickness churned in her gut.

"Yeah, this is awesome," Todd said. His vampire costume became real; the painted red lines at the corner of his mouth dripped blood onto Jacqueline's cheek.

She screamed, though no sound came out.

Vile liquid bubbled up the back of her throat as vampire Todd smirked. The vision of the Gelick house went on. She tried to latch onto the rage she'd felt then, but all she felt was terror. The world spun out of control. _Help me!_ her mind screamed, but it was no use. Everything grew hazy, and she pitched over on her side, her world ebbing into black. By the time the sound of screaming voices reached her ears, it barely registered. She passed out.

## CHAPTER 27

Jordan's cell phone rang. He kept his hands on the steering wheel and groaned. "Can you get that?"

Sitting beside him, Andrea picked up the phone. "Hello?" she said. "Yeah, we're going to check. Don't worry. Listen, we'll call you if anything's wrong."

Andrea hung up.

"Was it _her_ again?" Jordan asked. "Annette?"

"Yup."

He sighed. _Should've never given her my number._

It was the eighth time she'd called that night, and she'd texted him at least twelve others. She'd been persistent he go check on Jacqueline as soon as he could, and he'd promised her he'd get on it when his shift at the Hartford food bank was over _._ The panic in her voice caused his concern to rise. His grip on the steering wheel tightened and he glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about all this, no matter how much he tried to tell himself that it was a huge overreaction.

Andrea nudged him. "Your knuckles are white," she said.

He relaxed his hands and breathed deeply.

"You think something bad might be going down?"

"I don't know," he said. "Try Drew again."

She did, the phone sitting in her lap on speaker, the sound of ringing rising above the grind of tires on pavement. A slurring voice answered, but Jordan could barely make out what it was saying over the raucous, static-like beats blaring in the background. "Drew!" he shouted, trying to make himself heard over the noise. "Drew, I need to talk to you."

The voice uttered a few nonsensical phrases, and the conversation ended.

"Dude, he's _wasted_ ," said Andrea.

"That's a Cottard house party for you. It's why I don't go anymore."

"I thought Phoebe had something to do with that?"

"Something. Not everything."

He stopped at a red light, adjusted his sitting position, and took off again when it turned green. The Saturday evening traffic was relatively light as they pulled through the center of Mercy Hills, though the mall parking lot was packed. At the light for Highland, he took a left. A line of cars blocked the road halfway up the hill.

"What the heck?" said Andrea.

"Welcome to Party Central," Jordan said.

"There's so many people down here. We're a half-mile from his house. Is there another party going on?"

"Nope. This is all for Drew."

"Really?"

He nodded. "These parties get huge. Drew invites people from all around. Somers, Stafford, Windsor Locks, Suffield, you name it. They all show up. It's crazy. And it makes parking, well, hard."

Andrea chuckled in apparent disgust while Jordan tried to get the cars up ahead to move. A Jeep pulled up onto the lawn of a McMansion and spun its tires, shredding grass. Andrea frowned. "This is _so_ unfair," she said. "I mean, look at it! Why don't the neighbors complain? When my brother threw a party a couple years back, the cops were there in a heartbeat. And he only had like fifteen people show up. He got arrested." She swept out her hand, palm bladed. "Y'know?"

"That's the Mills," said Jordan. "There's different rules in Highland."

"No kidding."

They moved at a crawl for ten minutes until Jordan couldn't take it anymore. He got out of the car, telling Andrea to get behind the wheel. He then marched along the line of stopped vehicles until he reached the front, where the driver of the first car was busy shouting with someone on foot. The path ahead was clear. Jordan threw back his shoulders and screamed at the arguers, trying to be as threatening as he possibly could. The driver of the car, a punk with a shaved head and a Patriots jersey, gave him a sneer and muttered a racial slur before taking off. Traffic began moving again. Jordan clenched his fists.

Andrea slid over for him when she pulled up. "That was quick," she said.

"Douchebags are cowards."

They arrived at the Cottard estate two minutes later. Jordan pulled into the driveway, being careful not to ram any drunken stragglers. When he parked behind Todd's van, he took a moment to absorb the scene while Andrea gawked silently. There were kids _everywhere_ , more than he'd ever seen at a party before. The steam of their combined breath misted in the mansion's spotlights. A few partygoers were passed out on the spacious lawn, summarily ignored by their friends. It couldn't have been more than thirty degrees outside. Jordan worried they'd get hypothermia.

"Damn," Andrea muttered.

Jordan looked at her, and in that moment felt immensely thankful for Andrea Newsome. She was smart, and he related to her in ways he couldn't with his other friends. If she hadn't been like a sister to him, they might've made a perfect couple.

"Stay here," he said. "I'll check on the girl and come right back. If Annette calls again, tell her we got here."

"Okay."

He kept the engine running so Andrea didn't freeze and stepped out of the car. He had to shove his way through the mass of people in front of the house. He finally climbed onto the porch, which was mostly clear, and approached the huge front doors. Jordan grabbed the handle, turned it, and pulled. It only opened halfway before he met resistance. Raucous music and shouting could be heard from inside.

A kid in a Freddy Krueger costume looked at him through the gap. His eyes twitched beneath his mask. "No costume, no admittance," he said.

Jordan recognized the voice. "Let go of the door, Mike."

"Sorry Jordan. Drew's orders. You know the rules."

"I'm not staying. Just came to check on someone. Drew's precious rules won't be broken for long."

"I...‌I can't."

Jordan narrowed his eyes and spoke in a low growl. "Let go of the goddamn door."

The costumed kid faltered for a minute, then turned to speak with someone else. Jordan tightened his grip on the handle and yanked as hard as he could. Costumed Mike tumbled out onto the porch and fell to his knees.

"Ouch! Hey!" he yelped.

Jordan stepped past him, up and into the house. "Sorry," he muttered. Those who'd been lingering by the entrance gave him a wide berth as he stalked in.

The mansion was packed. It was hot and reeked of body odor, stale liquor, and puke. Music blared and exuberant shrieks filled the air. People stumbled all over each other, hammered out of their minds. Somewhere in the house, glass shattered. Jordan thought of how much money it would cost to clean this mess up, and felt disgusted. Why were people with money allowed to mindlessly piss it away when people like his parents had to fight every day just to make ends meet? He thought of Andrea's comments during the drive up Highland. It _was_ completely unfair.

Someone bounced into him, and Jordan shoved the kid away and looked around. The east wing of the mansion was closed as usual, but the west wing was wide open, people streaming in and out of it. Jacqueline was probably with Todd in Mr. Cottard's "quiet room," where Drew sometimes entertained his closest friends during these things.

"Jordan?" shouted a girl's voice from behind him. "Jordan!"

He wheeled around, hoping it was Jacqueline, but of course it wasn't. Instead, he saw Phoebe Wolfe bouncing toward him, dressed as Wonder Woman, the costume super-tight. She had a red plastic cup in her hand, its contents spilling all over the already-filthy hardwood floors.

"Jordan!" she said again, just before she collided with him. Her arms wrapped around his back, spilling beer or whatever else was in the cup all over his shirt. He worked his hands into the space between their bodies and shoved her away.

"Hey, not nice," she shouted over the music. She wagged her finger at him, wobbly on her feet.

"Chill out, Phoebes," he said loudly. It sucked to have to raise his voice like that. "I'm looking for Todd. You seen him?"

She waved her hand. "Somewhere."

"Why aren't you with him? And Drew?"

"I don't want a part...‌of all that."

"Of all _what_?"

She stumbled into him again. "Who cares..." she hiccupped, "about any of it? What about _me_?"

"Go away," Jordan muttered. He held her back with one arm and stood on his tiptoes, staring at the entrance to the mansion's west wing. Phoebe struggled against him. _The sooner I get out of this madhouse, the bett—_

He saw movement from above and turned quickly. Phoebe lost her balance and fell, cackling and crying at the same time. Jordan wandered away from her, eyes drawn upward, watching as a muscular kid in a black tuxedo climbed the staircase in the northwest corner of the massive common area. The tuxedo-wearer reached the top step and headed along the balcony toward the bedrooms.

It was Todd, dressed like a dime-store vampire.

And in his arms was a floppy-headed Jacqueline Talbot.

Todd passed by Steve "Flub" Linscomb, and the two grinned at each other like thieves. Todd then entered one of the bedrooms, the fourth along the balcony, gazing out over the crowd triumphantly before shutting the door.

Jordan's heart started beating quicker. He stormed across the congested room, shoving people out of his way. When he reached the staircase he took two at a time, almost slamming into the wall when he reached the top. He sprinted along the balcony. The balustrade looked much too short; it'd be so easy to shove someone over the side.

He skidded to a stop in front of the bedroom Todd had entered and grabbed the knob, but it was locked. Jordan didn't knock, instead stepping back to the balustrade, taking a deep breath, and ramming his shoulder into the door as hard as he could.

The weak jamb splintered on impact, the door swung wildly inward. Jordan stumbled into the room and braced himself, and then saw Todd gaping at him, a comical expression of shock on his face. He'd taken off his faux tuxedo coat and was leaning over the bed. Passed out on the mattress, dressed in barely-there lingerie and a pair of shiny black tights, was Jacqueline. Jordan glanced to the left, where a video camera sitting atop a tripod lurked in the corner.

Jordan's gaze flicked between the unconscious girl and the camera a few times before settling on Todd. The kid gawked at him, eyes cloudy, obviously drunk. Jordan's anger bubbled up his throat, driven by the bass beat thrumming through the floor.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" he screamed.

Todd grinned, but it quickly disappeared. He stepped away from the bed. "Hey man, what're you doing up here? Thought you didn't come to these things anymore?"

Jordan took a step toward him, hands balled. "You're a bastard," he seethed. He gestured to Jacqueline. "Seriously?"

Todd folded his arms, grinned. "Hey, my negro, she _came_ like that. What you think she expected to happen?"

"No one wants this."

Jordan shoved Todd out of the way, snatched up the video camera by the tripod, and slammed it into the wall over, and over, and over again. Plastic shards went flying. The plaster wall dented and cracked. He screamed like a raging demon had been awoken inside him.

"Hey, cut the shit!" yelled Todd. "That's my camera!"

Todd grabbed his shoulder from behind and tried to stop him. Jordan, hopped up with adrenaline and anger, spun around with his fist leading. He connected with Todd's nose with a _crunch_. A spike of pain streaked all the way to Jordan's elbow, but he didn't care. He looked on as the blond douche staggered backward, swearing and clutching at his face.

Jordan didn't let him retreat. He was on him a moment later, shoving him against the wall. He landed another punch to the left side of his face, snapping Todd's head to the side, followed by one to the solar plexus. Specks of blood and a gasp of rotten breath left Todd's mouth, which only made Jordan angrier. He reared back and buried his fist into his supposed friend's gut as hard as he could. Todd doubled over and vomited all over the bedroom rug. He then collapsed to his hands and knees and vomited again.

Jordan shook all over as he watched Todd fall and land in his own puke. The kid's face was a mess, all pulped on the left side, his nose crooked and leaking blood. Tears streamed down his face as he whimpered. Jordan looked at his own hand. His knuckles had split, and his brown skin started developing a purple tinge between his thumb and forefinger.

Jordan's anger faded and fear reared its ugly head. He'd just messed up Drew's best friend, which probably meant his letter of recommendation was caput. Why?

He glanced behind him at the beautiful young girl who lay vulnerable on the bed, eyes closed as she fitfully snored.

_That's why_ , he thought.

Jordan wrapped Jacqueline in a blanket and lifted her. She was surprisingly heavy, and his aching hand barked at him along with his shoulders. Jacqueline moaned in his arms. He walked past the smashed bedroom door and back into the party's strobing lights.

If anyone noticed what was going on, none showed it. He lugged Jacqueline down the stairs, slipping and sliding through the careless partygoers on his way to the front doors. On three separate occasions, he almost dropped his delicate package.

Eventually he made it outside. Andrea leapt from the car, opened the back door, and helped him load Jacqueline inside. Andrea then sat in the backseat with the unconscious girl's head in her lap. Jordan handed her the towel he used to wipe down the windows to place beneath Jacqueline's head, in case she puked.

He pulled out of the Cottard driveway as fast as he could, drunken idiots be damned. Someone _thunked_ off the rear of his car. Jordan glanced in the rearview mirror, watching as Andrea stroked Jacqueline's hair, pleading with her not to get sick. His phone was on the seat beside him, and he picked it up. He flipped screens as he drove and tapped on Annette's name in the _recent calls_ list. The phone barely rang once before the girl answered.

"Annette, it's Jordan," he said. "We have her. We're coming over now."

## CHAPTER 28

A burning sensation churned in Jacqueline's stomach, forcing her awake. She sat up with a start, dizziness overtaking her. Her gag reflexes kicked in, and she hitched.

Steady hands guided her into a lean, and she emptied the contents of her roiling stomach. It stunk so _badly_.

When she was done puking, those same hands helped her lean back. A soft cloth was pressed to her lips. Jacqueline groaned. Her body felt hollow, like someone had scooped out her insides with a spoon. A massive headache pounded just behind her closed eyes.

"Jackie, you okay?" asked a familiar, female voice. She slowly opened her eyes and saw a vague face surrounded by a mane of white before another attack of queasiness came over her. Again she leaned forward and puked.

"Take it easy, it's okay," said another voice, this one soothing and male.

She took the speaker's advice, sitting with her head between her knees, panting. Someone rubbed her back. After a few minutes she felt a little better and sat up, surprised to find herself sitting on the porch steps in Annette's front yard, two heavy blankets thrown over her shoulders. It was nighttime, the half-moon shining above her. Annette sat beside her, as close as could be. Jordan Thompson, who'd helped her with her locker once, was to her left. It was his hand that rubbed her back. And directly in front of her, hovering in the walkway a few feet from the steps, was Jordan's friend Andrea, who gazed at her with one eyebrow raised. Jacqueline looked down to avoid the girl's stare, but seeing a puddle of her own puke was worse.

"Feel better?" asked Jordan.

Jacqueline grunted, brought her hands up and rubbed her temples. She tried to think of how she'd gotten here, but the last she remembered, she'd been walking through the party at the Cottard estate with Todd. She'd entered some sort of study. After that, everything was blank.

She took a deep breath and moaned out, "What happened?"

"You were an idiot," said Annette.

Jacqueline whimpered, arm crossing over her stomach. She saw Jordan glare at Annette, who raised her hands in surrender.

Jordan slid from sitting and kneeled in front of her, carefully avoiding the smear of puke. He placed his hands on her knees and looked directly into her eyes. The sincerity of his gaze was unnerving.

"You almost had something...‌pretty terrible happen,' he said.

"What?"

Jordan sighed. "You got really drunk. You passed out. Todd carried you up into one of the bedrooms. There was a video camera in there. He was gonna...‌you know..." He paused. "If I hadn't gotten there in time, things might've gotten...‌bad."

Jacqueline gaped at him. Little bits and pieces started coming back. Knocking back shots of vodka. Downing drink after drink. Todd kissing her, his groping hands. She vaguely recalled feeling excited about all of it, and she glanced underneath the blankets to examine herself. Her outfit was still on her, but it reeked of liquor, which made her gag. She closed the blankets and shivered when the biting, early-November air prickled her skin.

"Shit," she said.

There it was again, another mistake. How many times was she going to make the worst choice possible? Annette had warned her about Todd, had told her not to trust him, but she'd followed her gut instead of her head. And it had almost gotten her an embarrassing experience at best, a horrifying one at worst. Just like with Billy and Tyler. Papa Gelick's words echoed in her head. She slumped and started crying.

It was Annette who leaned into her first, the tiny girl holding her close and gently stroking her slick hair. Soon Jordan joined in, his strong arms wrapping around the both of them at once. Andrea let out an empathic cooing sound.

"It's not your fault," Annette whispered. "He had no right."

After a time, her heart stopped thudding and she wiped her nose. Annette and Jordan allowed her space to reposition on the step. Jacqueline's face felt bloated.

"I'm sorry," she told Annette, and started bawling all over again.

"It's okay," Annette replied, wiping the tears from Jacqueline's cheeks as they appeared. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, I did."

She vehemently shook her head. "Uh-uh. None of that. You made a mistake. We all do."

"Me more than most."

"I wouldn't say that."

Jacqueline wrapped her arms tighter around herself. Though Annette was small in stature, she had a way of looking so strong and confident and _forgiving_ that made her seem much bigger. Jacqueline felt insignificant by comparison.

"Why do you even care?" she grumbled. "Why're you even my friend?"

"Because you're Otaku," Annette said matter-of-factly. "The Clan takes care of their own."

Jacqueline chuckled. "That include telling the future to keep your stupid friend out of trouble?"

Annette pointed to her own temple. "Nope. That just takes a working brain. Anyone could see a mile away that Todd was no good. He's like Annie Leonhart from _Attack on Titan_. So I brought in reinforcements. Know what I mean?"

Jacqueline nodded and turned to Jordan, acknowledging Andrea from the corner of her eye. "That where you come in?"

He nodded. "Annette told me her worries. I acted. Simple as that."

"But why?"

"Because I don't like innocent people getting hurt," he said with a shrug, though the way his eyes shimmered, there seemed to be more to it than that.

A buzzing sound vibrated through the cold night air. Annette groaned and lifted Jacqueline's flip phone. She looked at the display screen, grimaced, and then passed it over to Jacqueline. The plastic felt cold and impersonal in her shaking hands.

"Your aunt," Annette said. "She's called like six times."

"Oh."

Jacqueline stared at the phone. The time in the display window said it was past three in the morning. She looked up at her friend and the young man who'd saved her, pleading with her eyes.

"Sorry," said Annette. "She called earlier asking for you. I...‌well, I told her where you were."

Jacqueline swallowed her tongue.

"She's worried," Annette continued, a grin stretching across her nymph-like face. "I mean, obviously. Oh, and Jackie...‌not a good idea to use me as a cover story."

Jacqueline expected her friend to do a one-eighty right there and turn her away for good, but Annette did no such thing. Instead, she offered Jacqueline one last gentle caress and stood up.

"You really need to get going," she said, gesturing to the stinking mess on the front walk. "And I need to clean this up before my mom gets home in a few hours."

"Oh. Okay."

"C'mon," said Jordan. "I'll take you."

They rode in silence. Jacqueline sat in the passenger seat with Andrea behind her. Jordan's eyes were intent on the road, the radio of his old Buick turned so low that the music coming from the speakers sounded ghostly. Jacqueline peeked over at him every so often. He was much too mature for an eighteen-year-old boy. Even when he smiled, there seemed to be a slight clenching of his teeth like he was uncomfortable. There was also a sadness about him. She hadn't noticed that before during their brief interactions at school, and seeing it now made her feel sad too.

The car pulled up in front of Mitzy's house. The bay window was full of light, the shades rustled. Jacqueline trembled and looked down at herself. "I should've changed," she said.

"A little late now," Jordan said.

"I know."

The front door of the house opened. Mitzy stood in the doorway, foot tapping, arms crossed over her chest. She had the same sort of impatient look about her that she'd had when she first appeared on the Gelicks' doorstep, only this time she wasn't smiling.

"You should probably get going," Andrea said from behind her.

"Yeah," Jacqueline mumbled. "Thanks you guys." She reached for the door handle and paused.

"What's wrong?" asked Jordan.

She turned to the boy, gnawed on her lip. She didn't want to face this alone. "Could you come with me?" she asked. "It's just...‌I don't..."

"Of course," Jordan said without hesitation. "Andrea, I'll be back in a few. Sorry. Oh, and can you drive us home? I'm a little tired."

"No problem," the other girl said. Why were these people so understanding?

Walking to the house was like walking the green mile. Jordan kept pace with her step-for-step, maintaining a respectful distance.

Mitzy pushed open the screen door without a word, holding it so the two youths could enter. Jacqueline refused to look up. She didn't want to see the disapproval that was sure to be on her aunt's face.

She and Jordan stopped in the living room. For a long time Jacqueline could only hear her own heart pound in her ears. Oddly, having Jordan there to protect her only made her feel worse.

"Jacqueline," Mitzy finally said. "Look at me."

She lifted her head, and the sight of her aunt was shocking. Mitzy had thick bags under her eyes, her hair was a tangled mess, and she wore no makeup. Her hands shook. It was the first time Jacqueline had seen Mitzy look anything less than completely put together. Shame made Jacqueline's head throb. As if she didn't feel sick enough already.

"Let me see," Mitzy said.

"Huh?"

"Show me what's under the blanket."

Jacqueline moaned, let the blankets fall to the floor. Jordan turned away while Mitzy looked her up and down, visibly deflating. "Seriously?" the woman said. "I just...‌there's no words. Cover yourself."

She picked up the blankets, disgusted with herself. Not for the first time since she'd woken up, she wondered how in the hell she'd ever thought this had been a good idea.

Mitzy gazed over at Jordan, who'd turned back around now that Jacqueline was decent. "Thank you for bringing her home," her aunt said.

"No problem, ma'am," said Jordan.

Her aunt winced. "I'm in your debt." She considered the both of them. "What happened, exactly?"

Jacqueline opened her mouth to speak, but it was Jordan who did the telling. Mitzy's eyes widened at the first mention of the Cottard mansion, and as the story progressed her complexion grew redder and redder. By the time it was finished, Mitzy looked ready to explode. Her hands clenched into fists and she breathed deeply. "And that's what happened?" she asked Jacqueline.

Jacqueline nodded.

"I'm calling the police in the morning," Mitzy said.

Jacqueline thought of what might happen at school, the rumors that were sure to go around, and her heart thrummed out of control. "You can't," she said. "Please, Mitzy, no."

Aunt Mitzy's eyes widened. "No? And why not?"

"Nothing happened. He didn't touch me. It's all my fault. Please don't make things worse."

Mitzy shook her head. "That's stupid. Dressing like a hooker was your fault. Almost getting raped wasn't. But what happens to the next girl? One that doesn't have a close friend to look out for them, or a concerned boy to come save her? How many poor girls has this happened to in the past?"

Jacqueline opened her mouth to argue, but didn't. Mitzy was right. She wished she could fold into herself until she was small enough to drift away with the dust.

Mitzy took another deep breath. "Go get cleaned up," she said. "Toss that damn outfit in the trash. Then go to bed. We'll talk about how irresponsible you were in the morning. Now go."

For a split-second, Jacqueline felt heat pulse through her neck. She wanted to scream, to ask what a woman who kept weed and a gun in a lockbox upstairs knew __ about responsibility. All that thought accomplished was to fill her with more guilt. She tucked her head between her shoulders and headed for the stairs.

Behind her, Mitzy was again thanking Jordan for his help. Jacqueline heard the concern in his voice when he said, "She's young. She'll learn."

"She'd better, and soon," Mitzy replied. "She doesn't know the first thing about the dangers she'll face out there. She needs to learn how to protect herself. There won't always be people there to help."

Jacqueline closed the door to her bedroom and slumped down on her bed. She heard Jordan's car pull away, then listened to her aunt busying herself downstairs. Soon after that, the house stilled. Jacqueline waited a few moments and then stood in front of her dresser, letting the blankets she'd held around her fall. She gawked at her reflection. Her face was smeared with the remnants of black makeup, streaking across her cheeks, forming thick lines down her chin. The lingerie she wore was rumpled, the tubing running at the wrong angle across her midsection. Now it was obvious how pathetic her "costume" really was. She wasn't sexy, wasn't alluring; the thing in the mirror was a young girl pretending to be an adult, a child who didn't know a thing.

She rushed out of her room and into the bathroom, crying as she stripped out of her clothes, as she wiped the black from her face. She put on her pajamas and wandered back into her room, sniveling. She pulled back the covers to lie down, but a soft murmur reached her ears. She stared across the room at her dresser. Wiping away her tears once more, she opened the top drawer and pulled out the compact.

Jacqueline took a deep breath, dreading what came next. She didn't want to tell Mal what'd happened. She didn't want him to look at her in the same way Mitzy had. But she had no choice. Mal loved her, and always would. If Mitzy threw her out of the house tomorrow, Mal would still be there. He was constant. He was stable. He was forever.

She opened the compact.

Mal's gray eyes stared up at her, his gaze full of wonder. He didn't ask her what happened at the party. He didn't rail into her about the dangers of her reckless behavior.

"I know what to do now," he said. "It was right in front of me the whole time, but I didn't see it. I just need to find out where shadows breed. We're close, Jackie, so close. I can feel it!"

"Close to what?" she whispered.

"Close to getting me out of here. Close to the end of _all_ of this!" His grin widened. "We can finally be together, Jackie. Do you want that?"

_Yes_ , she thought. _I want that very much._

## CHAPTER 29

Drew Cottard slammed the door of his Lexus and hurried up the driveway. The air was bitingly cold, even for the first week of November. Two other cars were parked in the driveway, a Bentley and a BMW. The Bentley was his father's, who wasn't expected back from Aspen for another week. The BMW belonged to Beau Sowinger, Todd's dad.

A brisk wind blew and Drew quickened his pace, hopping up onto the patio and dashing to the front entrance. He tugged open the door and entered blissful warmth.

Once inside, Drew leaned against the door and fluttered his lips. He peeled off his gloves, flexed his fingers, and looked around. The mansion was absolutely spotless; the hardwood floors sparkled, the expensive area rugs were clean, none of the various tables and countertops had a speck of dirt or dust on them. Every divot in the yard had been filled in, every discarded piece of trash swept away. There was no sign at all that there'd been a party here three days ago. The cleaning company Phoebe had suggested sure lived up to their reputation. A part of him wished they hadn't, since now there was nothing to keep him from thinking about how everything had gone so damn wrong.

What'd happened at the party was totally his fault. He'd told Todd he could use the spare bedroom to make his movie. It should've been easy. It should've gone off without a hitch.

But of course it didn't.

Now his best friend was in a hospital bed with a broken nose, shattered orbit, and bruised kidneys, all because goddamn _Jordan Thompson_ had a thing for some freshman slut. Or was she a sophomore? _Don't matter._ Anger coursed through Drew's veins. Jordan, that spineless prick, had quit the football team on Monday (much to coach Tidwell's chagrin) and was avoiding his usual crew at school. He wouldn't look at Drew and started talking with the Talbot girl's friends. If Drew hadn't been so intent on not screwing up his future, he would've pummeled the dude as soon as he saw his face. _Maybe I should've just called the cops on him._ That was something Todd had asked of him not a half-hour ago, while he was visiting him at Johnson Memorial Hospital.

_Screw it_ , he thought. _I need a shower._

He started toward the staircase on the other side of the room, but a ghostly voice coming from the mansion's intercom stopped him.

_"Drew. Son, come in here."_

"Shit."

Drew ambled through the portal to the mansion's west wing. Hardwood floors gave way to plush Persian rugs. He passed by his father's study, where he and his friends had partied three nights ago.

The door to his father's office was cracked open, and the hinges didn't so much as creak when he pushed it inward. The office was the second-largest room in the house, at least thirty feet wide with a high ceiling and stained mahogany flooring. Bookcases lined the walls. It was always colder here than anywhere else in the house. Other than his father's desk, situated in the far corner surrounded by file cabinets, the only other furniture was a black leather couch facing a trio of uncomfortable leather chairs, sitting in the middle of the room. Voices carried, even when they were whispering. Drew hated it in here.

Alexander Cottard sat in one of the chairs, a large white envelope resting in his lap. He was tall and athletic, dignified in his navy-blue suit, and his hair was dyed pitch-black. His chair was slightly turned, so he could face his guest. Beau Sowinger's pale cheeks were flushed red, his graying blond hair greased back. Mr. Sowinger was acting vice president of D&D Wholesale, the Cottard family business. He'd also been Drew's father's friend since childhood. Both men swiveled to look at Drew when he entered.

"Son, sit down," Alexander said. "This will only take a few more moments."

"Yes, sir," Drew replied. Alexander Cottard was one of the twelve richest men in all of America, according to Forbes. If the man told you to jump, you didn't ask how high, since you already knew the answer was _as high as you can._

Drew sat on the couch and crossed his legs. The leather creaked beneath his rump. Alexander considered him with a nod; Beau Sowinger glared. He turned back to Alexander looking disgusted.

"This situation," Mr. Sowinger said, "needs to be solved _now_."

"It will be. Be patient."

"Patient? _Patient?_ My son's in the hospital, Alex. Do you know how much his facial reconstruction will cost me?"

"I pay you enough. You can afford it," said Alexander. He shook the large envelope he was holding. "We have other problems."

Drew sunk further into the sofa when Todd's dad glared at him again.

"Look at me, Beau. Not my son. He is not responsible for Todd's bad decisions. And his decisions were _extremely_ bad."

The angry man blinked, without a word of protest. Again, when Drew's dad spoke, people listened.

"Dad," said Drew nervously, "what's this about?"

Alexander considered him with his cold eyes. "Not now, son," he said, then addressed Mr. Sowinger. "Why is she here, and how? Why are we just finding out about this?"

Beau's eyebrows lifted. "I don't know."

"You best find out before this week is done. I placed Butler in his position due to _your_ recommendation. That means _you_ are responsible for the pervert's failures. Tell him so, and then accept your penalty."

"But I thought—" started Beau.

Alexander raised a hand, cut him off. "This is the last Covenant, my friend. Remember that. It should have been us who began the first Trial, and yet it has already started."

Beau Sowinger swallowed hard. "Yes, Alex. I understand."

"Also," said Drew's dad, "I'm transferring you to Scarborough."

"Wait...‌what?"

"Scarborough, Beau."

"But—"

"No buts. No arguments. I might have been able to quash the child endangerment charges, since Ed Lowell owes me quite a bit, but I can't risk your son being around the girl any longer. She might contact that reporter I spoke of earlier, which as you know is the least of our problems. The situation has grown...‌complicated."

Beau's head lolled. "Yes, Alex."

Drew's eyes ping-ponged between the two of them. Child endangerment? His dad was sending Todd's family away? What was this about a reporter? And was he talking about the Talbot girl? He had no clue what was going on.

"One more question," said Beau as he readied himself to stand.

"What is it?" said Drew's dad.

"Where did the aunt come from? I thought the girl had no family."

Alexander shrugged, unconcerned. "From the mother's side. The side that wasn't important."

"Oh. Do you want me to look into her?"

"No, Beau. You have other things to do. And preparations to make."

Beau Sowinger nodded. Both men stood up.

"Good day to you, my friend," Alexander said. "I hope to see you at church one last time this Sunday before you leave. Also, I think a taste of shade might be in order for your son. If you cannot control him, it will."

Beau's face drooped like it was melting.

The men shook hands and Mr. Sowinger left the office, briefcase hanging loosely in his hand. Drew rose from his seat and stared after him, confused.

"Dad, what's going on?" he asked.

"Just some housecleaning," his dad replied. He straightened his suit, tucked the large envelope under his arm. "Speaking of housecleaning, very nice job picking up after yourself. You are unlike your brother in that way. I am proud...‌of that part."

"Um, thanks," Drew said, cringing. He hadn't seen his older brother Derek since his father had kicked him out three years ago. Drew swallowed hard and asked, "Dad, why'd you just transfer Mr. Sowinger?"

"That, son, is the part I'm _not_ so proud of."

"What part?"

"You were here. You aren't an idiot. So you tell me."

"You talking about Todd and the girl?"

"Of course."

_Shit._

Drew shook his head. "Listen, it's all a big mistake. I mean, she's been making eyes at Todd for weeks now. And then she shows up at the party all slutty and whored-up. I mean, Todd and her were _all over_ each other! She _wanted_ —"

"Enough," his father said, raising his hand.

"But dad..."

"No, son. The girl is underage. You and Todd should have known better. You opened yourselves—and your families—to potential exposure and litigation. We seem to have avoided that this time, but trust me, there won't be a next. No more company at the house when we are away. Not even your girlfriend."

First Todd was being sent away, and now he'd lost his privileges like he was some ten-year-old. Drew squeezed his hands into fists. "It's _his_ fault. Freaking Jordan. If he hadn't stuck his nose in..." he leaned over and punched the couch as hard as he could. "I'll _kill_ him for this. Her too."

His father squeezed his shoulder. "You will do no such thing. The fault lies with you and you alone. And you will not lay a _hand_ on Mr. Thompson or Miss Talbot. Neither can be blamed for their actions. They aren't to be touched."

Drew scowled. "Whatever. At least do something to Jordan. He broke Todd's face. Your friend's son! What're you gonna do about _that_?"

"Nothing."

Drew froze in place. "Nothing? You'll still write his damn letter for him?"

"Listen to my words, son. If Mr. Thompson still yearns for me to compose him a recommendation, I will do so. He has his role to play in all this."

"In all what?"

His father raised one eyebrow. "That is not important," he said. "We are through here. Your mother will be landing in two hours. I need to go pick her up."

"But—"

"We're through."

Alexander Cottard went over to his desk, slipped the envelope out from under his arm, and set it in one of his filing trays. "Make sure the office is closed when you leave," he said before heading out the door.

Drew slumped down on the couch, head in his hands. He couldn't believe his father was being such a dick. The Cottards were one of the most influential families in the country, and the great Alexander was going to just let all this slide? _No_ , he thought, shaking his head. _No effin' way._ Drew's anger grew. _I should've been there with Todd._ _We should've done her together. Let's see Jordan stop_ that _._

From the office window, he saw his father's Bentley glide down the long driveway. Drew slapped his thighs, stood up, and looked toward his father's desk. Curiosity got the better of him. He approached the desk and lifted the white envelope his father had been holding out of the tray.

Drew sat down in his father's chair, flipped the thick envelope over, and undid the metal clasps. There was a hefty wad of pages inside. He studied the top sheet, brow furrowed in confusion.

The face of a very young Jacqueline Talbot stared back at him. He flipped to the next sheet, this one a copy of a newspaper article, and there was the girl again, sitting on the lap of a man with a slightly crooked nose, shoulder-length hair, and glossy eyes. Drew read the headline, and his jaw dropped open.

"No way."

He scoured sheet after sheet, and when he was finished he sat back, fingers thrumming on the desk. An idea came to him, and he felt the beginnings of a smile.

"So you like secrets, huh?" Drew told the empty office. He turned on his father's computer and lifted the top of the scanner beside it. "Let's see what happens when you got no secrets left."

## CHAPTER 30

Jacqueline was sprawled out on her bed, Algebra 2 textbook open before her. _I hate math_ , she thought, sucking on her pencil's eraser and trying to figure out the answer to the next equation.

"It's three," Mal said.

"Three? Really?"

"Yup. Three. I'm sure of it."

"How'd you get that?"

Mal explained, and she put it down on paper. He was great at this sort of thing, but Jacqueline had a hard time with it. She tapped her pencil against the textbook, picked up the compact, and kissed the mirror. "You know," she said, "I should probably learn how to do this stuff on my own."

The boy in the mirror smiled. "Why? Once I get out of here, you won't need to think of algebra ever again. We'll go far away, where nothing can hurt us."

_So you keep saying_ , Jacqueline thought. Mal was certain he'd found a way to escape the mirror, and yet there he still was, trapped. _"It's complex,"_ he'd said. _"I'm not positive how it works yet. But I will be."_ For long lengths of time he disappeared into the ether to do his "research." She was growing frustrated by it.

Jacqueline hadn't been to school since the party at the Cottard estate, and with Mitzy at work, she was left home alone for ten long hours every day. Mal was absent from the mirror during that time, so she wiled the hours away doing the homework her teachers sent home and watching daytime television.

The boy in the mirror gazed up at her, and Jacqueline sighed. The hopefulness of her potential life with Mal was always tempered by fear. Was running away with him even something she wanted? Was fifteen old enough to start an adult life? Was Mal even real, or was her psychosis starting to manifest itself?

Jacqueline jutted out her bottom lip, ignoring her doubts and trying to solve the next equation herself. Moments later, a loudly rumbling engine shook the house.

"What's that?" asked Mal.

"Don't know."

Jacqueline went to the window and saw an old black Toyota driving away while four people bundled up against the cold approached the house. Jacqueline's heart hammered in her chest.

"Oh no," she whispered.

"Who is it?" asked Mal.

"No one. I'll be right back."

She hastily kissed the mirror and raced down the stairs, leaving Mal behind. The doorbell rang when she was halfway down, and she heard someone giggle outside. She reached the door and opened it just wide enough to see through. There stood her friends.

"SURPRISE!" they said in unison.

"What're you doing here?" Jacqueline asked.

"Just dropping by," said Annette. "Teacher in-service day. No school."

"Oh."

"You gonna invite us in or not, _chica_?" asked Olivia.

"Well, I'm kinda grounded."

Neil pressed his face to the screen door. "She here?"

"Who?"

"Your aunt."

"No."

"Then what're you waiting for?" laughed Olivia.

"Please?" Ronni said quietly.

Jacqueline was dumbstruck, and Olivia made the decision for her, inviting herself in. Neil was on her heels, Annette and Ronni followed. Annette hung behind as the other three wandered into the hallway.

Olivia shouted over her shoulder: "Jackie, I'm thirsty. Gonna check the fridge. _Si_?"

"Uh, okay," she said, though Olivia would've done it even if she'd said no.

"Sorry," Annette said. "We thought you might be lonely."

"I told you Mitzy said _no friends._ "

She gestured to the hallway. "They insisted."

"How'd you get here?"

"Olive's sister drove."

"Oh."

"Don't worry. She'll be back at five to get us." Annette nudged her. "C'mon, Jackie, brighten up. We came to see _you_."

"Doesn't seem like it," Jacqueline said as Olivia, Neil, and Ronni rifled through the kitchen.

"Well, they're a little stoned," sighed Annette.

"Stoned? Great."

"Oh, they'll be fine," Annette said. "Get some food in them and they'll chill."

"Okay."

"You wanna stay here in the breezeway, or go have some fun?"

Jacqueline cracked a smile. "Fun sounds good."

In the kitchen, she made her friends Bagel Bites and served them lemonade. Neil had brought his X-Box, and he set it up in the living room. For the next hour they sat and laughed and played _Assassin's Creed_ , passing around the controllers. Jacqueline turned down the chance to play; she was more interested in watching her three stoned friends. They giggled constantly, and Neil and Ronni wore permanent grins. Olivia would rant in Spanish and then hold her hand over her mouth when she realized no one understood her.

When the clock ticked past noon, Jacqueline and Annette made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the crew. Then Olivia asked if there was a place they could light up without being seen.

"Light up?" Jacqueline said.

Olivia pulled out a joint. "Duh."

"Oh. Back porch. Stay close to the house so my neighbor can't see."

"You up for a go?"

"Uh, maybe?"

Jacqueline was nervous, but she joined her friends outside anyway. Olivia flicked her lighter and lit the joint, taking a deep inhale, holding her breath, and then coughing. She passed the joint to Ronni.

"Got it...‌from _mi hermana_ ," Olivia said between hacks.

Neil went to pass the joint to Jacqueline, but she declined. Annette said no too. Neil shrugged, handed the half-smoked joint back to Olivia.

"So," said Neil after his own coughing fit died down, "what's the story?"

"The story?"

Smoke curled from Olivia's nose. "You know, the party," she said, jutting her chin at Annette. "Rumors been goin' around, and this one __ ain't talkin'."

Jacqueline cringed.

Annette squeezed her hand in support. "Don't be pests," she said.

"No, it's okay," Jacqueline said. Annette mouthed, _you sure?_ Jacqueline nodded, then closed her eyes and told the tale from the beginning.

"No shit," muttered Neil when she finished.

Olivia wrapped an arm around her. "Lotta balls going over there dressed like that. Kinda wish I could'a seen you."

"It really wasn't that impressive," Jacqueline said.

Annette smiled at her knowingly.

"We heard you slept with the whole football team," added Ronni.

Jacqueline groaned.

"We didn't believe 'em," laughed Olivia. "Half maybe, but not the _whole_ team."

Everyone but Annette chuckled.

Neil cleared his throat, his eyes developing a faraway look. "But seriously, what about Jordan? Did he really punch Todd?"

"I guess. Didn't see it. I was out."

"Oh man," said Neil. "They're saying he beat Todd so bad he had to have facial reconstruction. I didn't really believe it, but he hasn't been at school since either. Oh, and there's _another_ rumor too."

"What's that?" Jacqueline asked.

Olivia grinned. "The Sowingers are moving. Like, soon."

"Oh," said Jacqueline. Surprisingly, she felt a pang of disappointment, followed by a moment of self-hatred.

"So, you talked to Jordan since that night?" Neil asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

Jacqueline shrugged. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate what the handsome boy had done for her, but she heard just about enough about him from Mitzy every day. _"That's the kind of boy you should shoot for,"_ and all that.

"Um," said Annette, "I think Neil's trying to say we're glad you're okay."

"Oh yeah, um, that's it," said Neil. "When you didn't show up for school, we got pretty worried."

"Yup, thought the worst," Olivia said. "Your aunt press charges?"

"She tried. The cop who came to the house said there wasn't much we could do, though. He said since I never actually got touched there wasn't any evidence, and it'd be a waste of time. So Mitzy dropped it."

"Was she pissed?" asked Ronni.

She nodded. "Oh yeah."

"You must've gotten _reamed_ ," Neil said.

"Not really," Jacqueline said. "She was mad that night, but the next morning she was all nice and stuff. Had lots of talks. It was weird. I think she thought it was traumatizing for me or something."

For the first time in a while, Annette perked up. "It wasn't?" she asked, a squinty-eyed look of disbelief on her face.

"Not really. I don't remember a lot of it. And besides, I've had worse happen."

The words came out before she could stop them, and Jacqueline froze. For a moment she felt the urge to retreat inward again, to seal out the world, but she fought it. She'd had enough of running.

"You don't have to..." said Annette.

Jacqueline hugged her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I know. But you know what? Enough secrets."

"Ooh, Jackie's gonna talk," said Neil.

"I will. I promise. But not out here. It's freaking _cold_."

Into the house they went. The frigid air must have done something to Olivia, Neil, and Ronni's buzz, because they didn't seem spacey in the slightest. They sat on the couch across from Jacqueline, hands in laps, attentions rapt. Annette kept a hand on her knee. Jacqueline took a deep breath.

"Like I told you, I'm an orphan," she began.

Jacqueline told them as much as she dared to: her five years wandering between various group homes; her fights in other schools; her foster parents, both the good and bad. She revealed the two prior attempted sexual assaults, about Billy and Tyler, about the Korvaks and what she'd thought of as her last chance at happiness. She talked about her battles with depression, the times she'd wanted to run away or kill herself.

Each of her friends listened intently. When she told the story of the Gelicks, Mitzy's arrival, and how she'd fought off the pastor that very night, everyone stared at her, wide-eyed. When she told them the Gelick's history, they gasped.

"Whoa,' said Neil.

Ronni wiped tears from her cheek. "He get arrested?"

"Dunno," said Jacqueline.

Annette looked at her sidelong. "You never checked?"

"Nope. In case you can't tell, I don't deal too good with...‌y'know...‌past stuff. Better I don't know."

"I'm fascinated," said Neil, pulling out his smartphone. "I'll Google them. What's the name again?"

"Please don't," said Jacqueline. She didn't want to know what kind of pain little Sarah was now going through.

"But—"

"She said no," snapped Annette. Neil sheepishly slid his phone back into his pocket. Jacqueline mouthed, _thank you_.

"Anyway, that's a hell of a life," said Olivia. "I get it."

"Get what?"

"Why it took you so long to talk about it."

Annette squeezed her hand. "It must've been hard. We're here for you. You're Otaku. You're part of the family."

"I know," Jacqueline said, grinning.

"Is there anything else?" asked Ronni.

Of course there was. She hadn't told them about her father and what he'd done, nor that she still thought about Todd occasionally, and those thoughts weren't always bad. But she thought she could feel pride anyway. She'd faced her fears and _opened up._ She'd let people in...

Her train of thought screeched to a halt and she bit her lip. __ An idea wormed into her mind.

"There might be one more thing," she said.

"What?" asked an excited Neil.

"I'll be right back."

Jacqueline shot to her feet and dashed up the stairs, where Mal was waiting for her on the bed amidst her homework.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Listen," she said, "I know what you've said about showing you to people, but I gotta do this."

"Do what?"

"Next time I open the mirror, act like you're frozen. If I open it again, do the same thing. But if you don't feel my hands on you, don't show up at all. Got it?"

"Jackie, I don't know what—"

She snapped the compact shut and rushed back down the stairs.

"C'mon now, you got us," said Olivia. "Spill it, _amiga_."

"Okay, here goes." Jacqueline held the compact out before her like a game-show model. "Anyone know what this is?"

"A broach!" shouted Neil.

Annette elbowed him. "Doofus. It's an old makeup case."

"That's right!" said Jacqueline. "To a regular person that's all it is, but in the hands of a master magician it's a prison. I've trapped one of my old boyfriends inside."

Ronni giggled into her fist, Neil and Olivia guffawed, and Annette looked on with interest.

"Here, let me show you," Jacqueline said. She thrust the compact out toward her friends with one hand and flipped it open with the other. She closed her eyes and held her breath.

No one else said a word.

Jacqueline turned the compact toward herself, and Mal winked at her. She then shut it and looked back at her friends, who were all staring at her like she had six heads.

"So what did you see?" she asked, heart racing.

"A picture of a boy with white hair," said Annette. "Why?"

"A picture?"

"Yeah, a picture. He was making a funny face."

Jacqueline opened the compact again, and sure enough, Mal had his face all screwed up, his fingers thumbing his nose so it looked like a pig's, one eyebrow held higher than the other. "This boy?" she said, showing it to them again. They all nodded. Relief flowed through Jacqueline's body. She handed the compact to Neil, but Mal never moved a muscle. His control was amazing.

"Whoa, that's lifelike," Neil said.

"Shut it," Jacqueline told him. "Then open it again."

Ronni and Olivia leaning into him to get a closer look when he did as instructed. Neil opened the compact, then flipped it shut and opened it again, shaking his head. "Where'd the picture go?"

Jacqueline took the compact back from him, shut it, and then opened it. There was Mal again.

"Wow," Ronni whistled.

"I told you," Jacqueline said. "He only shows up for the magician."

"So can you make him do more than make a funny face?" asked Annette.

Jacqueline snapped the compact closed and tucked it into her pocket. "Unfortunately, no," she said. "Maybe I'm not a master magician after all. One trick can get pretty boring."

Everyone laughed.

For the rest of the day, they played video games and laughed, until it was time to clean up. Olivia's sister showed up at five to bring her friends home. Mitzy walked in the door soon after, none the wiser that anyone had been over. She seemed tired and hadn't brought home dinner. Jacqueline decided to leave her be, eating leftover takeout from the fridge.

Jacqueline went upstairs to her room afterward and stared out at the burgeoning night. Her world suddenly seemed much brighter. She'd told her friends about her life and they hadn't flinched. For the first time ever she had proof Mal was real. His promises of happiness were really possible. She opened the compact and the boy stared back at her, smiling.

"I love you," he told her.

She held the warm compact up to her face and whispered, "I love you too."

## CHAPTER 31

Hannah Phillips watched the football team exit the locker room with one foot propped on the wall. The players each looked at her on their way by, most smiling with tired eyes. Hannah waved, and one of the boys blushed and hurried on his way. A couple bowed to her. Normally, Hannah would've soaked in the royal treatment, but she was in no mood.

The last player exited, and it wasn't Drew. Hannah pursed her lips, straightened her blouse. _He won't avoid me today._ _I won't let him._

She stormed across the hub and through the locker room door. Bleach and sweaty socks assaulted her nostrils, which pissed her off. Voices chatted from down the hall and she went toward them, her stylish flats sliding on the wet tiles.

She passed the group shower and three rows of blue lockers before she found Drew, showered and dressed, kneeling over the bench in front of his locker. His friends Kurt and Yoel were with him. All three stared at a stack of papers spread out on the bench.

"Whoa," Yoel said. "That's freakin' crazy."

"No kidding," said Drew.

Kurt shook his head. "Dude, I _remember_ this."

"Me too," said Drew. "Todd even said she looked familiar." He grinned.

"You sure you want to do this?" asked Yoel.

"I'm sure," Drew answered.

Kurt furrowed his brow. "When'll she be back?"

"Next Monday," said Drew. "That'll be the day."

"We're gonna have to be careful," Yoel said. "We only got a few minutes before the bell rings. No one can see it was us."

"Ah hell, I kinda _want_ them to know."

"Yeah, sure, but if a teacher catches us..."

Hannah cleared her throat, and Kurt and Yoel started, their knees nearly sliding out from under them. Drew hastily grabbed the stack of papers, his face scrunching up as he looked at his girlfriend.

"Hannah?" he said. "What the hell?"

"Have you seen my boyfriend?" Hannah asked sarcastically.

"I'm right here."

"There you are." She planted her hands on her hips and stared at him. The two others nervously shuffled.

Drew snorted. "Guys, give me a little bit, 'kay?"

Kurt and Yoel quickly left the locker room, avoiding her gaze. It made her feel powerful, like something to be feared. Like a Valkyrie.

Drew straightened the stack of papers and stuffed them back into the folder. "What's your problem?" he asked. "It's not like we didn't sit together at lunch."

"That was five hours ago," Hannah said. "Haven't seen you since. You ignoring me? Tired of me? What is it?"

"It's nothing," Drew said defensively. "I got things on my mind."

She saw the hurt look on his face and softened her tone. "Look, I know you're upset about Todd leaving. I just wish you'd talk to me about it. It came out of nowhere."

"It's a long story," he said.

"We have time, Drew. Come _on_ , just let me in already. What's this all about? What really happened at that party?"

Drew's mouth twitched.

She sat down on the bench beside him. He edged away slightly, holding the folder filled with papers to his chest.

Hannah batted her eyelashes. "C'mon, babe. There's so many rumors going around, it'd be nice to know the truth. Not knowing what happened at my own boyfriend's party makes me feel like an idiot, and I don't like feeling like an idiot."

"Listen, it's...‌it's nothing. Todd got himself in a little trouble is all."

"So I heard. Jordan flattened Todd, blah blah blah, Jordan quit the football team...‌ugh! Tell me something I _don't_ know."

Drew stayed quiet. Hannah leaned against the locker, and a dark thought entered her mind. Her eyes flicked in Drew's direction.

"Is the other rumor true?"

Drew tugged at his collar. "Which one is that?"

"The one that says Todd was about to take advantage of the new girl?"

He averted his eyes. "Yeah."

She sat up with a start and slapped both her palms against the wooden bench. " _Dammit!_ " she shouted. "Drew, I got myself involved in this. I _talked to her!_ She probably already called the cops! What if I'm implicated? What will Vassar think if I have an accessory to sexual assault charge on my record?"

Drew held his hands out, palms toward her. "Calm down, Hannah!" he said. "There's no charges. Jordan got there before anything happened."

She narrowed her eyes. "Then why hasn't the girl been in school?"

"I don't know. Taking some mental health time? Sheesh! How am I supposed to know these things?"

"Were you involved, Drew?" She grabbed his hand and squeezed.

"A little."

Hannah glowered.

"Hannah, it was nothing," Drew whispered. "Todd said he wanted to make a movie, so I let him set up his camera. And you should've _seen_ the two of them. All over each other. How was I supposed to know things'd turn out bad?"

"She's only fifteen."

He stared sidelong at her, squinting. "And? If I remember right, _you_ suggested Todd go for her."

Hannah opened her mouth, shut it. She might've said something like that to Todd, but she thought for sure he actually _liked_ her. Not that he just wanted some conquest.

"Boys," she said with a sigh.

"We make mistakes," said Drew.

"No kidding." She slumped lower on the bench.

Drew reached out and caressed her hair. She rolled her head into his hand and gazed into those hungry blue eyes. She then pointed at the folder he still clutched tight to his breast.

"Drew, what's that?"

"It's private."

She batted her eyelids. "Private? From _me_? I thought we shared everything?"

"You don't wanna get involved." Drew said.

"Show me the damn folder."

"Fine." Slowly, he placed the folder in his lap and folded his hands atop it. "Ready to have your mind blown?"

"Try me."

Drew handed it to her, and she flipped it open and rifled through the papers. They were photocopies of newspaper articles, website printouts, and police reports. Her eyes grew wider and wider, a stone dropped in her stomach.

"Holy shit," she said in disbelief. "I remember this. That was _her_?"

"Yup," Drew said.

"That poor girl." She closed the folder and looked Drew dead in the eye. "What the hell's going on?"

He took the folder from her hands. "I'm getting even."

"Wait a second. You're not going to..."

Drew nodded.

She shot up from the bench. "You can't! That's just...‌that's just...‌it's _evil_ , Drew! You can't torment the poor girl..."

"Since when have you cared that much about someone else's feelings?" he asked. "Sure didn't bother you when you wrote _PIG_ in lipstick all over Natalie Lowen's locker."

"That was a long time ago."

"It was last year, babe."

"But—"

"But nothing. Trust me, this needs to happen. Jordan beat the shit outta my friend, which means he obviously cares about that girl." A wicked grin came over his face.

"Is it worth it? I mean, really?"

"Yup."

She got up and paced the slender space between the two benches. "I can't believe this. It's gonna blow up in our faces."

Drew put the folder down and stood. He took both her hands and held them, gazing deeply into her eyes. "It won't. And you don't have to be a part of it. I'll do it with Yoel and Kurt."

"I don't like this. I'm your girlfriend. What you do _reflects_ on me."

"Well, sure," he said. "This is just your big strong boyfriend getting even with the people who had a hand in his best friend's family getting shipped outta town."

"Really?"

"Yup. Dad didn't want any bad press."

"Oh," said Hannah. She squeezed his hands. They might not have been super close emotionally, but they'd been together long enough that Hannah actually _cared_ how he felt, and he seemed pissed enough to blow.

"Promise it'll only be once," she said.

"I promise. And don't worry about Jacqueline. She's just some random girl. A blip on the radar. Even if everyone in school knows it's me, no one'll care. Trust me."

Hannah looked at him, knowing she shouldn't. Drew leaned forward, his lips meeting hers. They kissed deeply. Hannah moved with him, her hips gliding back and forth, endorphins flooding her brain. _This_ was what Drew was good at more than anything. He helped her forget the hard stuff. _He's right_ , she thought. _What do I care about any of this?_ She reached down and undid his jeans.

"Be gentle," she whispered, tenderly biting his earlobe. "I have a runway show this weekend."

"Of course," he told her. "Always."

A moment later, Jacqueline Talbot and her unfortunate past were all but forgotten.

## CHAPTER 32

It was like the first day of school all over again.

After two weeks at home, butterflies fluttered in Jacqueline's stomach during the morning bus ride. She was so nervous that she actually talked with the spiky-haired boy who shared her bus stop. His name was Brian, and he was really nice.

Only a couple kids asked where she'd been; most simply went about their morning rituals, talking, laughing, or just sitting quietly with tired looks on their faces. It was just like any other normal day.

Maybe the party wasn't on everyone's mind, after all.

Jacqueline swallowed her fear as the bus pulled up to the school. She joined the line of students as they exited.

Her confidence rose as she walked toward the front entrance. Small groups gathered in their usual spots—just like on the bus, no one paid special attention to her. Jacqueline's steps quickened. She couldn't wait to see Annette, Olivia, Neil, and Ronni.

She touched the compact in her pocket, felt Mal's warmth infuse the old metal, and smiled. _Everything's gonna be okay._

The crush of bodies was thicker in the hub. Jacqueline kept her head down and followed the flow. Someone pressed up against her, and she veered to the side. Again she was shoved against, and this time a soft chuckle followed while breath tickled her ear.

"For Todd," a malicious voice whispered.

Jacqueline swiveled her head as she walked. Drew Cottard was matching her stride-for-stride. Her heart raced as she picked up her pace, trying to merge with the people in front of her. She counted to ten and looked over her shoulder. Drew was standing like a statue in the middle of the hall while the flood of teenagers surged around him.

Facing forward again, she hastened around the corner, dread rising with every step. There was commotion ahead of her, hundreds of voices talking at once. When she reached where her locker was, a wall of people blocked her way. Annette's voice shouted from somewhere in the middle of the throng.

Jacqueline elbowed her way into the human barrier and emerged in front of the lockers to find her tiny waif of a friend standing there with her hands held out as if trying to ward off evil spirits. Annette's eyes darted in her direction and widened.

"Jackie, no..." she began.

That's when Jacqueline noticed that the lockers were covered with taped-up sheets of paper. A black-and-white image of Jacqueline's own ten-year-old face smiled back at her from one of them. Just to the left of that was another face, a man with wavy hair, a slightly crooked nose, and sad eyes.

_Daddy?_

Jacqueline's mind went blank as she looked at each sheet of paper. Annette was saying something, but Jacqueline couldn't hear her. Hands grasped at her coat, but Jacqueline shoved them away.

There had to be at least thirty pages taped to the lockers. There was a picture of her when she was six; a family portrait from when she was a baby, when her mom was still alive; others showed a burned-down church.

The most common images were of her father. One picture was a mug shot, her dad's hair unkempt, his gaze glassy, a twisted smile on his lips. Each picture had an accusatory headline printed above it, revealing the horror of her childhood for everyone to see: _"337 DEAD IN CHURCH FIRE," "THE SCOURGE OF LAKE SALEM," "LOCAL MAN CONFIRMED TO BE THE LAKE SALEM ARSONIST."_

More hands grabbed at Jacqueline, and she fought them. The world fell away, her body went numb. She snatched a page off the locker, one showing her dad standing with an older gentleman. There was an article printed beneath the picture, and even though she knew exactly what it would say, she read it anyway.

_Lake Salem resident Joseph Talbot turned himself in to police today in connection with the fire at Good Faith Pentecostal that killed three hundred thirty-seven people eighteen days ago in what has been called the largest case of mass murder in Vermont history. Talbot, a widower, is described as a quiet man. Neighbors have expressed shock upon learning his involvement. According to his admission, Talbot disconnected the gas line feeding the church's kitchen and rigged a series of nine pressure cooker bombs before barring the doors. Among the dead was Nathan Silver, pictured above, the CFO of D &D Wholesale, along with twelve members of Talbot's own extended family..._

Jacqueline let the page flutter to the ground. She looked up and saw a final picture, taken the day before Joe Talbot was executed. She leaned forward, her fingers tracing his every imperfect feature. Tears ran down her cheeks.

Jacqueline screamed, and the world came roaring back.

Numerous voices, including her own, assaulted her ears. Her grief released in an undulating wave, vibrating her very soul, until her knees turned to jelly and she collapsed. Her vision went hazy. "Mal, help me," she muttered, clawing at her pocket. Someone shouted for the nurse, a teacher, anybody. Jacqueline blubbered, snot pouring from her nose, arms and legs quivering.

"Please, help!" she heard Annette shriek.

"Get out of the goddamn way!" shouted an angry male voice.

Strong hands lifted her to standing. Jacqueline's neck felt like rubber as she flopped to the side and stared at Jordan Thompson. Jordan's eyes brimmed with fury, and he held her with one arm while tearing the pages from the locker with the other. "Get these down _now!_ " he bellowed.

Students came forward, yanking down the pages. Annette collected those horrible reminders of a past best forgotten, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Jordan pulled Jacqueline closer, and looked down at her with concern. He squeezed her tightly and faced the crowd. "Someone find Principal Butler," he demanded. "Enough of this shit. I'm bringing her home."

Annette handed the collected pages to Jordan, who folded them roughly and shoved them in his back pocket before helping Jacqueline to the exit. Her knees were rubbery, her heart raced. She noticed the students around her and the horrified, sympathetic expressions they wore. Jacqueline started crying all over again.

A soft hand caressed her cheek. "I'm coming with you," Annette said.

"No. I need you to talk to the principal for me."

He didn't wait for a reply before hauling Jacqueline down the hall. Jacqueline put one shaky foot in front of the other, wavering between steps.

"I'm sorry," Jordan whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

_So am I_ , she thought, but couldn't say.

## CHAPTER 33

Aunt Mitzy had rushed home from work, and now she sat at the dining room table across from Jacqueline and Jordan, lips locked in a scowl as she picked up one sheet of paper, stared at, and then moved on to the next. Her eyes narrowed. Jacqueline felt at a loss for breath.

"Jesus," Mitzy said, staring overlong at one particular sheet. She pushed herself away from the table suddenly and disappeared into the kitchen, banging around pots and pans. Jordan raised an eyebrow at Jacqueline, who shrugged. She was glad she didn't have to talk.

When Mitzy finally came back into the dining room, she folded the page she'd been staring at and stuffed it in her purse. She was still in her work clothes, and there was a handprint smudge of flour on her slacks. Mitzy cleared her throat. "I'm pissed," she said. "Any idea who did this?"

"I'm not sure," Jordan replied.

Jacqueline raised her hand. "It was Drew."

"Drew, as in Drew Cottard?"

Jacqueline nodded.

"You sure?" Jordan asked.

"Pretty sure."

Mitzy's painted eyes narrowed. "Why would he do it?"

"He said, 'For Todd,' when I walked into school."

Mitzy sat back in her chair, folded her arms over her chest.

"I'll snap his neck," Jordan muttered.

Jacqueline could sense his anger, and it was like guilt on top of guilt. Jordan had no reason to feel so protective of her. She felt entirely unworthy of it. Tears dribbled down her cheeks. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop them.

Jordan hesitated before putting a consoling arm around her. Now that he wasn't in the heat of the moment, he seemed awkward, unsure. Jacqueline squirmed away from him, not wanting to feel more indebted than she already was.

Mitzy reached across the table. Her fingers brushed the back of Jordan's hand, and he flinched. Mitzy smiled at him kindly.

"Thank you for what you've done, Jordan," Mitzy said. "That's twice now you've protected my girl. It's very much appreciated."

_My girl._ Jacqueline cried even harder.

"Just trying to help, ma'am," Jordan said quietly. He again reached for Jacqueline, and this time she let him touch her.

Mitzy cringed as she always did when someone called her that. "Well, you have. More than we could've ever asked for. But Jackie's home now, and she's safe. I want you to get back to school. I think Jackie and I need some alone time."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mitzy moaned. "Please don't call me that."

"Um, okay...‌what should I call you?"

"Mitzy's fine. Or Miss Sarin if you want to be more formal."

He smiled uncomfortably. "Okay, Miss Sarin."

"Better."

Jordan glanced at Jacqueline, and it looked like he wanted to hug her, but instead he simply patted her shoulder and stood up. Mitzy walked him to the door.

And then he was gone. Mitzy came back into the dining room, picked up the stack of damning leaflets, and walked toward the rear of the house, grabbing lighter fluid and a pack of matches from the cabinet beside the back door. She gestured for Jacqueline to follow.

A charcoal grill sat beside the porch, and Mitzy placed the pages atop the grate, sprayed them with lighter fluid, and then struck a match. Aunt and niece stood back, watching the papers go up in flames. Images of Jacqueline's past blackened and _poof_ , they were gone.

"Ancient history," Mitzy said.

Jacqueline sniffled.

"He was a good man, Jackie," her aunt said. "No matter what he did."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I know."

Jacqueline shook her head. "He was...‌he was...‌a monster."

"No, sweetie, he wasn't. Not all the time, anyway."

They went back inside and sat together on the couch. Jacqueline sniffled, feeling numb inside, hollow, used up. Mitzy held her, stroked her hair, comforted her.

Gradually, Jacqueline composed herself. She sat up and wiped her cheeks. Salty liquid dripped over her lips and into her mouth. "I can't go back," she said glumly.

"Go back?"

"To school."

Mitzy frowned. "I know you feel that way, but you have to."

"Why?"

"Because they can't win."

Jacqueline hung her head. "Why not? They _always_ win."

"Not if you don't let them. I don't think kids are as mean as you think. And I know this hurts now, I know it seems impossible, but you're as powerful as anyone I know, sweetie. You're a bull in lamb's skin." One corner of Mitzy's thick lips lifted in a half-smile. "Remember how you fended off a certain former foster father. You're stronger than you think. _Much_ stronger."

Jacqueline sniffled. "I'm not. That happened once. At the party I was helpless. Today I couldn't even stand on my own. I'm pathetic."

"You're not pathetic. You were drunk at the party. You were taken by surprise today. It would happen to _anyone_. You just have to find the strength you have inside you and harness it."

"How do I do that?"

A series of _beeps_ sounded from the kitchen, and Mitzy grinned. "I think I know the perfect way to start." She patted Jacqueline on the knee and hustled out of the room. Again pots clanged in the kitchen.

Jacqueline wandered into the dining room. Mitzy had laid out a slatted tray covered with cooling chocolate chip cookies. The woman picked one up and bit into it, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. "Perfect," she said. "Go ahead, try one."

Jacqueline grabbed a cookie, its heat soothing to her fingertips, and took a bite. Warmth spread through her mouth and down her throat when she swallowed. It was the most delicious cookie she'd ever tasted. Mitzy had outdone herself this time.

"Good?" her aunt asked.

" _So_ good."

"Nice."

Late morning turned into afternoon as Jacqueline and Mitzy ate cookies and drank almond milk. Jacqueline's sorrow waned; when her father entered her thoughts, she felt an odd sort of acceptance. Joe Talbot had done horrible things, but he'd also loved her very much. No one could ever take that away from her, no way, no how.

_Where was this clarity earlier?_ she wondered.

Mitzy's cell phone rang, and the woman quickly stood up from the table and walked back into the kitchen. "Hello?" Jacqueline heard her say, followed by a few seconds of silence. "You certain?" she continued. "No. You stay put." Mitzy then walked back into the dining room, her expression dead serious. "I need to go. I'll be back later."

"Can I come?"

"No. Sorry. Work stuff."

Her aunt rushed up the stairs, and rummaged around the makeshift library for a few minutes, and when she came back down, she was all put together again. She was out the door a moment later, her sedan peeling out of the driveway.

Jacqueline shrugged and downed her glass of almond milk. It was amazing how much better she felt. The warmth spreading through her midsection spiraled outward, making her toes and fingers tingle. Excitedly she thought of Mal, who'd been in her pocket far too long. The compact was cold when she fished it from her pocket; the mirror showed nothing but her own reflection. She slumped in her seat and sighed.

Jacqueline piled more cookies on a paper towel, went into the living room, and plopped down on the couch. She clicked on the television and flipped through the channels, keeping the sound muted. The end of some trashy talk show came on, and she watched it while munching away on her treats. When the show ended, Jacqueline hit _mute_ and went to change the channel, but froze. A male anchor appeared on the screen, the images of three girls around Jacqueline's age in a box over his right shoulder. Jacqueline slipped off the couch and inched closer to the screen, examining the girls' faces. They all kind of looked like her. She un-muted the television.

"—three days now. Authorities are asking for your help," the news anchor was saying. "If you have any information about the girls' whereabouts, please call the number on the screen. We'll have more on this story at five."

The picture then shifted, and a woman came on screen to tell everyone how _simply awesome!_ the new Swifferduster was. Jacqueline turned off the television, her heart sinking in her chest. She thought of her own past, of the multiple molestation attempts, her encounter with Papa Gelick, what happened with Todd. It all seemed so common she was almost numb to it. Anger began to course through her.

There was so much awfulness in the world, for girls in particular. Danger lurked around every corner. What had any of them done to deserve this? Why was the world such a terrifying place?

Heart pounding, Jacqueline shot to her feet and hurried out the back door. She leaned against the porch railing, breathing deeply to try and calm herself down, but it wasn't working. She couldn't stop thinking about those girls, or of the tragedies in her own life. She wished she could step back in time, stop her dad from blowing up that church. She'd drop to her knees and beg him please, please, please daddy don't do it.

And if he still insisted, she'd bury her fist in his face and _make_ him stop.

The sudden, violent thought was shocking, and she stepped away from the railing. "Jacqueline?" Mr. Mancuso shouted from next door. She ran back into the house.

Jacqueline stood in the living room, huffing. She picked up the compact and squeezed its metal case, staring into the mirror and wishing the boy who lived there to appear. "Please, Mal, help me" she pleaded. "I need you, I _love you_!"

But Mal still didn't appear. She was all alone with these terrible new feelings.

Frustrated, Jacqueline swiped at the empty glass still sitting on the end table, sending it rocketing across the room with such force that it splintered into a thousand tiny pieces when it struck the wall. The sound seemed to disarm her, and Jacqueline dropped her hands to her sides, panting, trying to come up with a way to stop her body from shaking.

_A bath_ , she thought, glancing one last time at the shattered glass, its remnants sparkling on the rug, and deciding she'd clean it up when she was done. Up the stairs she went, compact clutched firmly in hand, ready for when Mal came back.

Never, not when she was running her bath, nor when she reclined in the tub, letting the warm water cascade over her, did she wonder how it was possible she'd struck that glass so hard. And if she'd stopped to think about it, she would've realized something amazing: her hand never actually made contact with the glass at all.

## CHAPTER 34

The highway was jammed with bumper-to-bumper traffic. Mitzy groaned. _Holiday season._

She took the airport exit, and at a turnoff merged onto a street where traffic was blessedly thinner. A Motel 6 appeared on her right after two miles, and she pulled into the parking lot slowly, inspecting every license plate of every parked car.

Around the rear of the motel there was an old Dodge Durango, its tan exterior spotted with rust, its windows clouded with dirt. The Georgia license plate stuck out like a shining neon beacon. She parked her sedan next to it and checked her text messages. _Room 313_ , her informant had written.

_Does he suspect me?_ she typed.

_No_ , came the reply a moment later.

Mitzy tucked her phone away and stepped out of the car. She circled around the building, waltzed through the automatic sliding glass doors as if she owned the place, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. The young man working the reception desk did a double-take when she strolled by.

It was midday on a Monday and the place was nearly empty. Mitzy breezed up three flights of stairs and found room 313. She stood in front of the door, straightened her skirt, and then knocked.

"One second!" a male voice shouted.

Someone shuffled inside the room. Mitzy heard a heavy _creak_ as pressure was put on the door. "Shit," the male voice said. The door opened a crack and a young man with unkempt, light brown hair and beard peered out. His heavy-lidded eyes darted this way and that.

"Hey, Meenakshi," he said anxiously.

"Jeffrey," she replied.

"What can I do you for?"

"You can let me in."

"I, er, can't right now," he said with a grimace. "Busy. Come back tomorrow."

He went to close the door, but Mitzy stuck her foot in the gap. " _Now_ , Jeffrey," she said, pulling a gun from her purse. She shoved the barrel right between his eyes, and he took a rushed step away.

"Shit, okay!" he squealed. "Put that thing away!"

"Open the door and I will."

"Fine!"

The man unfastened the chain and quickly yanked open the door. Mitzy strode past him and into the room, pistol held by her side. The place was a mess, heaped with dirty clothes and empty pizza boxes. There was an open laptop on the room's small desk, and an ashtray overfilled with cigarette butts beside that. It looked like the guy had been living in this room for quite some time. It stunk.

Mitzy grabbed a chair from the desk, positioning it at the corner of the bed. She sat down, crossed her legs, and gestured for the young man to sit as well. He propped his butt on the edge of the bed, keeping his eyes downcast.

"You were a bad boy, Jeffrey," she said.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. You're not a good liar. Never have been."

"I'm a plenty good liar."

"No, you're not."

Jeffrey Bryan was a journalist working for HiddenNews.com, an online conspiracy site. She'd met him when she'd first arrived here and begun her search for Jacqueline in the aftermath of the Lake Salem tragedy. The guy was convinced the whole thing had been a staged False Flag event, and was intent on writing a book about the Talbot family and how they were set up by the US government. Mitzy had fed that belief at first, letting the man be her bloodhound. It had been Jeffrey who'd found Jacqueline, bless his heart. He'd also gone ahead and procured all the correct documents for her, even forging a couple. The guy was good at his job.

Sometimes a little _too_ good.

"Tell me the truth, Jeffrey," she said.

He shook his head.

Mitzy rolled her eyes and removed a printed-out flyer from her purse. This one was an article ripped from CNN's website, detailing Joe Talbot's long history of substance abuse. The article itself wasn't important; the scribblings beneath the article were.

She handed the sheet to the frightened young man. Jeffrey took it, and his shoulders slumped.

"Shit."

"Jeffrey, these flyers were used to torment my Jacqueline at school. However did someone come across articles with your own notes scribbled across the bottom?"

His tired eyes lifted to her. "I didn't give him anything he couldn't find on his own," he said. "And that's the truth, Meenakshi." A hint of southern twang entered his tone, which tended to happen when he was nervous.

"I've told you a hundred times, Jeffrey, call me Mitzy."

He shot her a cold look. "And I told you only my mother calls me Jeffrey."

Mitzy smiled and lifted the gun off her lap, making him cringe. She stuffed the sidearm back into her purse. "Well, Jeff," Mitzy said, "if we're to be friends, a certain amount of respect is required. It isn't respectful for friends to point guns at friends."

"Thank you," Jeff breathed out.

"It also isn't respectful to lie to a friend, or go behind a friend's back. So if you truly wish to be friends, and don't want a bullet swimming around in your brain, you best come clean."

The young man picked at his fingertips. "You're making things hard, Mitzy. You promised me I'd have a chance to talk with the girl. That's the reason I helped. That's the reason I hacked the DSS website and bribed that IRS accountant to look into Roger Gelick's tax records. I could've gone to jail."

"I know. I compensated you."

Jeff stared at the ceiling in frustration. "Don't you get it, Mitzy? I'm not in this for _money_! I want _truth_. That's the only thing that matters."

"And you think the only way to get that truth is to open Jacqueline to ridicule?"

He shook his head. "I didn't think that would happen. Like I said, he only got stuff he could find on his own, if he bothered to look."

"Having him blind until he _needed_ to look would've been preferable."

"Then you should've told me that." He squinted in her direction. "I'm an investigative journalist, Mitzy. I'm not your property."

"You still take yourself that seriously?" Mitzy said, chuckling. "You wrote about the president being an alien lizard. You see bogeymen everywhere. Am I supposed to bow before your journalistic integrity?"

Jeff mumbled something she couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

"I said that was before. It's different now."

"How so?"

"Because you showed me a _real_ bogeyman."

Mitzy sat back. "So I did."

"Where is he, anyway?"

"Around. As always."

Jeff shuddered. "He's watching me, isn't he?"

"For now."

The young man ran his fingers through his hair. "I sent a letter to Alexander Cottard four months ago. I'd thought on what you'd told me about his connection to what happened both in Lake Salem and in Mercy Hills nine years ago. You gotta understand...‌it was a little hard to believe. I figured that if I just had a chance to talk to him, if I asked the right questions, maybe he'd give me some clues. Point me in the right direction. That's all I wanted."

"So you offered him information on Jacqueline as collateral?"

He waved her off in annoyance. "You really think I'd do that?"

She pointed to the printed page as proof.

"Well I didn't. The dude's lawyer called me two weeks ago. I met with him. He kept going on and on about a police investigation and an attempted rape. Your niece was the subject of that investigation."

Mitzy cringed. So much for no loose ends. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"That was my fault," she said.

"Kinda figured," Jeff replied. "Anyway, he asked for any information I had on the girl. Promised he'd talk about Nathan Silver if I did. So I made copies of some info and handed it over."

"And that was it? Just public records?"

He nodded. "Nothing about you. Nothing about nine years ago. Nothing about what's...‌come after."

"Good," she said.

Jeff leaned forward. "Mitzy, you need to give me more. What's your end game?"

"It's just what I told you—stopping Alexander Cottard from ending the world as we know it."

"And your niece is part of that?"

"Yes."

"Then why bring her here at all? Why not send her off someplace she'll be safe?"

She opened her mouth, snapped it shut. Jeff was useful, but she couldn't put too much trust in him. That'd happened in the past, and all it'd gotten her was a boatload of pain and suffering.

"Because this is where she needs to be," she said gravely. "That's all you need to know."

Jeff leaned back, shook his head at the ceiling. "That's not giving me much. You really think I'm gonna stop looking?"

"No," she said. "But let me warn you...‌stay away from Alexander Cottard. Stay away from his business and church. You'll get your chance to tell that story, but not until I'm done."

"And what'll I do in the meantime? My bosses won't let me stay up north twiddling my thumbs forever."

"I can keep you busy." Mitzy reached into her purse and withdrew a letter-sized envelope.

"What's that?" he asked.

She handed it to him. "You want to be helpful? You want to uncover the truth? In that envelope is the address of the curator of the Maine Maritime Museum, along with pictures of two items I need. Find those items and bring them to me, and then I'll tell you _everything_."

"Everything?" Jeff said with a laugh. "Alexander Cottard promised me the same. And I got nothing."

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm not this time."

"How do I know that for sure?"

"You don't," said Mitzy, winking as she patted her purse.

Jeff fiddled with the envelope. "I guess I don't have a choice then, do I?"

"Sure you do. It's either do as I say, I shoot you, or you deal with my friend."

Jeff shuddered. "Fine. I'll do it."

"Good. Then we're done here." Mitzy stood, brushed herself off. "Until next time, Mr. Bryan. I hope your search is fruitful."

"Yeah, yeah," he said.

She walked past him. Halfway into the hallway she paused and faced him again. "Oh, and Jeff, when you find the item I need, don't play with it, don't research it. Just bring it to me. It's dangerous."

"Whatever," the young man said.

Mitzy closed the door and ambled down the hall. The deed done, all she could think of was getting back home to Jackie. The girl needed her, now more than ever.

## CHAPTER 35

Jordan took a deep breath and turned off his car. Cold wind struck him the second he stepped out into the twilight air. This late-autumn cold snap didn't seem likely to end soon.

He ambled up the walk toward Jacqueline's house and knocked on the door. After a few moments, the door opened. Jacqueline's aunt smiled warmly at him, hands on hips. "Jordan, you made it."

"Hi, Miss Sarin."

"Come in."

Jordan did his best not to look at the older woman's swinging posterior as she led him across the family room. Mitzy Sarin had the body of a woman ten years her junior, and she dressed provocatively enough to make Jordan uncomfortable.

_Jacqueline will look like that when she's older_ , he thought, and felt instantly guilty.

"So...‌how was Thanksgiving?" Mitzy asked.

"Okay," Jordan said.

"Just okay?"

"Yeah."

They entered the dining room, where the table was set with three places. "Why's that?" Miss Sarin asked.

"My brother got called into work and mom spent dinner in a funk."

"Ah, I know what that's like. Tonight will make up for it." She crossed her fingers. "I know Jackie will be happy to see you."

Jordan wasn't so sure of that, but he kept mum about the fact that Jacqueline had been acting funny around him. When he'd approach her in the hall, she'd fiddle with her hands like she'd rather be somewhere else. She seemed overly serious, even morose.

And Jordan hated it. He was falling for the girl, no matter how much he told himself it was a bad idea.

Fingers snapped in his face. "Jordan? Earth to Jordan?"

He blinked. "Oh. Yes?"

"Take your coat off and stay awhile. I need to check on dinner."

Miss Sarin wheeled around and scurried into the kitchen. Jordan went back into the living room, hung his jacket on a peg by the door, and returned to the dining room.

Mitzy's head poked around the corner. "Jordan, can you go tell Jackie that dinner's almost ready?"

"Uh, okay. Where is she?"

"Upstairs. Second door on the right."

"Sure thing."

Jordan made his way to the stairs, meandering, counting steps. At the second door on the right he paused, took a breath, and knocked.

"Coming!" Jacqueline shouted.

The door opened, and there was Jacqueline, wearing pink leggings and an oversized tee shirt, her hair mussed. She gawked, blinking like she didn't recognize him. "What're you doing here?" she asked.

Jordan's heart sank. "Your aunt invited me."

"Oh."

"She didn't tell you."

"Nope."

He took a deep breath. "I'll go if you want me to."

Jacqueline shook her head. "No, no. It's fine. Really. I just...‌wasn't expecting you." She leaned out the door and glanced down the hall. "What the heck is that _smell_?"

"Don't know. Something in the oven."

"Mitzy's _cooking_?"

"I guess so. Why?"

"Because Mitzy doesn't cook. Well, except cookies. But I guess that's technically baking."

"Oh."

"Listen," Jacqueline said, "I gotta do something for a sec. I'll meet you downstairs. 'Kay?"

"Okay."

With that, Jacqueline shut the door. Jordan stuffed his hands in his pockets and made for the stairs. _Just like a good puppy_ , he thought, frowning.

Dinner was veggie lasagna. It had the requisite pasta smell, and it tasted okay as long as he heaped fake parmesan cheese on top.

Mitzy cringed as she watched him shake the cheese over his plate. "Sorry if it's not perfect. I'm not a great cook."

Jacqueline mouthed, _She can't cook at all._

Jordan chuckled.

They ate in relative silence, Mitzy staring at him while Jacqueline stared at her food. Jordan was just starting to think this hadn't been such a great idea when a warming sensation spread through his abdomen and his nerves settled. Jacqueline even offered him a shy smile from across the table. The slope of her jaw was tender, her round cheeks adorable, the twinkle in her hazel eyes mysterious.

It was Mitzy who broke the silence. "So Jordan, how'd the game go on Thursday?"

"I don't know. I quit the football team."

"Really? Jackie didn't tell me. Why?"

"Didn't want to deal with my, er, friend." He fidgeted with his fork. "You know who."

Mitzy glowered. "Oh, him."

"Anyway, I've always liked baseball more anyway," Jordan said with an offhanded wave.

"You play? What position?"

"Outfield."

Jacqueline finally spoke up. "I didn't know that. Are you good?"

"I am. Coach thinks I could get drafted. Late rounds, but it'd still be cool."

"I hope the Monarchs draft you," Mitzy said.

"The who?" asked Jordan

"The New York Monarchs?" Miss Sarin said, perplexed.

"You mean the Yankees?" said Jacqueline. "Or the Mets?"

"Oh yeah, the Yankees. I don't know sports."

Jordan chuckled. "There's more important things in the world."

"Very true, Jordan." Miss Sarin winked. "Such as how things have gone for my niece at school. Jackie's told me she's fine, but sometimes I wonder about her...‌earnestness with me."

"Mitzy!" Jacqueline exclaimed.

Jordan cleared his throat. "It's actually been good, Miss Sarin."

"Really? No teasing? No threats?"

Jacqueline moaned and sunk in her chair.

"Well, some," Jordan said, looking at Jacqueline. Her cheeks flushed. "But better than you would've thought. Most kids've been really supportive."

"Excellent," Miss Sarin said. "Kids get a bad rap. Everyone talks about how cruel they are, but there _has_ to be some niceness there too. Right?"

"I guess. 'Course, it's always possible being nice is just a trend." Jordan grinned in Jacqueline's direction. She seemed to force a smile in return.

"You're a smart kid, Jordan," Mitzy said, picking up her glass of water. "Let's toast to helpful __ trends."

"Here, here."

They clinked glasses together, even Jacqueline. Mitzy got up and brought in dessert, which was a store-bought carrot cake. Jordan felt more and more relaxed as he told Mitzy his college plans, told them both about his family.

It was almost ten o'clock by the time Jordan stood up from the table and announced he had to leave.

"So soon?" said Jacqueline's aunt.

"Yeah, sorry. Got a chem paper to finish."

"We'll do this again, right?"

He glanced at Jacqueline, who passed him an odd look. "Uh, sure," he said.

Mitzy hugged him, squeezing him a little too tightly, before heading into the kitchen to clean up. Jacqueline walked him to the door. Jordan retrieved his coat and paused. Jacqueline stood in front of him, biting her lip.

"Dinner was nice," Jordan told her.

"Yeah," she replied.

"Though your aunt really _can't_ cook."

"Told you."

"Maybe takeout next time?"

"Sure."

They lingered there for an uncomfortable moment, until Jordan took a deep breath and said, "Guess that's my cue to leave."

"Okay."

"Can I get a hug at least?"

She nodded slowly.

He leaned over and put his hands around her back. She didn't hug him back, but she seemed to relax a little. It was something at least.

"I had fun tonight," he told her.

"So did I."

Jordan glanced toward the entry into the dining room, making sure her aunt wasn't watching. He swallowed hard, hands shaking. He wasn't sure why he was so nervous. He was eighteen years old, an adult in the eyes of the law, and he was panicking about asking out a girl who wasn't even old enough to drive. It didn't make sense. _Just say it already_ , he told himself.

"Listen, Jackie, I like you. A lot."

She shuffled from foot to foot. "Okay."

"Can we go out sometime? A movie or something?"

A conflicted half-smile appeared on Jacqueline's face. "I guess I'd like that," she said.

He whispered into her ear, "I'd like that, too."

When his breath struck her, Jacqueline shivered.

Jordan kissed her on the forehead before leaving. He walked out into the cold night, happy despite it all.

There was a message from Andrea on his phone: _How'd it go?_

_I think I'm falling_ , he typed.

_Of course you are._

"There's worse things to fall into," he thought, and with his hands shaking, he drove on down the road.

## CHAPTER 36

To Jacqueline, the first day of Christmas break almost seemed like shorts and tee shirt weather. The cold snap had finally broken, the temperature outside a balmy forty degrees.

Mitzy was out of town for business, and Jacqueline had secretly invited her friends over for a Tuesday night of fun and relaxation. She currently stood with Annette in front of the picture window, watching the road, wishing the rest of the Otakus would hurry up and get there already.

"You sure they said three o'clock?" Jacqueline asked.

"Yup," Annette replied.

Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder, at the clock above the television. "It's past three."

"Patience, Jackie-san. Neil's father's driving them. The Phungs are _never_ on time."

"Oh."

Annette grinned. "What, my company not enough?"

"It's not that," Jacqueline said. "It's just...‌y'know..."

The shorter girl nodded in understanding. They'd spent all last night talking about the mutual tragedies in their lives. Annette went on at length about her parents' divorce, while Jacqueline began to open up about how it'd felt when she'd first lost her father. Jacqueline found it a relief, although it was a hard subject to broach, and so she'd been more than relieved when Annette started talking about dreams, particularly a recurring one she'd had as a little kid, in which she was in the hospital and an older version of herself came to visit. They both had a laugh at that, even though Jacqueline ended up having a few pretty terrifying nightmares that night because of the discussion. Now, she wanted nothing more than to hang out with a large group, toss casual insults back and forth, and laugh.

The fact Annette understood spoke volumes about how close they'd become.

"Hey Jackie," Annette said, head tilting sideways. "There's something I forgot to ask you last night."

"Um, okay. Shoot."

"What's up with Jordan Thompson?"

Jacqueline winced, not wanting to talk about it. "Nothing. Why?" _Please don't ask..._

"Well, your aunt told me he came here for dinner a couple weeks ago."

_Damn._ "Uh-huh."

"And he's always trying to talk to you in the hall."

She nodded but kept quiet.

"Just wondering why?"

"Why he'd want to talk to me? I dunno. You'd have to ask him."

Annette grinned. "No, silly. Why you're _avoiding_ him. Don't think I didn't notice that you spun me around and started walking in the other direction last Friday when you saw him coming toward us. It's weird."

"Just because," Jacqueline said with a shrug.

Annette narrowed her eyes. "C'mon, Jackie. You told me all about your dad last night. We cried together. Be straight with me."

"Fine," Jacqueline said, sighing. "I just feel uncomfortable around him. He treats me like I'm delicate or something. Like I'm broken." She grunted. "I don't need someone to save me. I was on my own for five years. I can handle myself."

Annette tilted her head. "Well, he _did_ kinda help you out of a couple bad sitches. Y'know, times when you really _did_ need to be saved."

"I know, I know," Jacqueline said. She let out a frustrated breath. "And I know it's selfish, but that only makes things worse. I mean, I know he likes me, and wants to get to know me and stuff, but he's...‌well, stiff. I want midnight walks and sneaky kisses and talking about dreams. I don't think he'd be into any of that. He's more like a big brother than someone I could actually _love_ , y'know?" She frowned. "Does that make me sound bad?"

Annette chuckled. "Nope. Not in the slightest. But why'd I have to prod you? Why not just tell me first thing and get it out of the way?"

"Truth?"

"Of course."

"Because boys are boring. You talk about them _all_ the _time_."

"Har-de-har-har," Annette said, rolling of her eyes.

A car approached outside; Neil's dad pulled up in front of the house.

"They're here," Annette said. "Only fifteen minutes late. That might be a record for Mr. Phung."

Olivia, Neil, and Ronni piled into the house, and there were hugs all around. Ronni complimented Jacqueline on the quaint little Christmas tree Mitzy had set up in the corner of the room. Jacqueline showed off the new PlayStation Mitzy had gotten her. Then they played video games until Olivia complained about a blister on her thumb.

The pizza they ordered arrived at just past six o'clock. Jacqueline scarfed down her three slices, hungrily licking the grease from her fingers afterward. Everyone helped themselves to cans of soda from the fridge. Then came the vat of ice cream Neil had brought, and chips and dip.

When the binge was finished, Annette was the only one who hadn't eaten herself into a coma. The tiny girl sat patiently on the chair in the corner, hands on her crossed knees, a smile on her face as she watched her friends moan and laze about.

Finally, Jacqueline sat up with a groan. "What now?"

Neil rummaged through his backpack. "I have _Call of Duty_ in here somewhere."

"Please, no," said Ronni timidly.

"We could watch a movie," Annette suggested. "Anything good on Netflix?"

Olivia sighed and rolled around on her back. "I wish I had some pot," she said. "I'd _love_ to get stoned and take a walk."

"I thought you were bringing some?" Neil asked.

Olivia shook her head. "Sis didn't have anything. _Nada._ High and dry."

"Oh," said Ronni.

"I still say we should watch a movie," said Annette.

Jacqueline's gaze bounced between her friends, the germ of an idea entering her mind. She still had that nugget of Mitzy's weed hidden in her dresser drawer. Her heart fluttered with excitement as she slid her legs beneath her and stood up. Only Annette noticed her sneaking away, and passed her a questioning look. Jacqueline put a finger to her lips and tiptoed out the room.

In a flash, she was upstairs, rummaging through her drawer and pulling out the wad of balled-up paper. She opened her compact, kissed Mal in the mirror, and then put him back away before he could reply. A second later she was rushing back to her friends.

Jacqueline put her hands behind her back and cleared her throat, strutting until she stood in front of the television. She then held out her hand, showing off the small wad she held.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Olivia.

Jacqueline nodded, beaming.

Olivia scurried over and snatched the balled-up newspaper. When she unfolded it, her eyes widened and she grinned. "Holy _shit_. I never seen this much purple before." She glanced Jacqueline's way, brow furrowed. "Where'd you get this, _chica_?"

"Around," said Jacqueline.

Olivia waved her off, downed what was left in her soda can, and stood up with a start. "Jackie, get me something sharp. The rest of you, outside!"

Everyone followed her out to the back porch. The night was clear, full moon hanging in the sky. It was a little chilly, and Jacqueline bundled up in her coat after handing Olivia a steak knife. Olivia knelt down, used the knife to transform the can into a makeshift pipe. "Sis taught me this," she said, winking. "Works when you don't have papers." Olivia turned to Ronni. "Nurse, scalpel!"

Ronni handed her the nugget, and Olivia stuck it in the indent she'd made in the can. She fished a lighter from her pocket and held the flame to the clump of dried plant matter while pressing her lips to the popped top. The nugget hissed __ and fizzled __ and glowed. Olivia inhaled deeply, her eyes growing all the wider. She then quickly pulled the can away from her face and coughed out a thick plume of gray smoke.

"Oh man," she said between hacks. "That's harsh."

The can was passed down the line. Jacqueline was nervous when it was her turn—she hadn't done something like this since Tyler—but she followed the example set by her friends, holding her thumb over the hole on the bottom of the can as hot smoke entered her lungs. She coughed almost immediately, smoke traveling up her sinuses and out her nose, making her gag. Neil went to take the can from her, but she shot him a dirty look and he backed off. She tried it again, this time not sucking in so hard, and she was able to hold the smoke in for a good five seconds before coughing again.

Annette held out her hand, and Jacqueline eyed her in disbelief. "Can't let you guys have _all_ the fun," she said before taking a hit. Unlike everyone else, she barely coughed.

Annette passed the can to Olivia, then stood on her tiptoes and whispered in Jacqueline's ear. "Anxiety relief. Mom swears by it." She dropped back to the flat of her feet, giggling.

The nugget fizzled to nothing after the second pass. Olivia moaned and stared at the small clump of ash left behind. "Cashed," she said.

"What now?" Jacqueline asked. She felt lightheaded, her body numb. It wasn't an entirely pleasant experience.

"Now we walk," Olivia said.

"Where to?" Ronni asked.

"Wherever our feet take us!"

The five friends exited the back porch, rounded the house, and began their stroll along Chestnut Street. The sound of their footsteps was strange to Jacqueline's ears. Muted, distant, and echoing.

She took a deep breath and concentrated on her friends, all of whom were acting strangely. Ronni was rubbing up against Neil, who kept shoving her away, once so hard that Ronni almost fell over. Neil then strutted around by his lonesome as if he were in a parade, whooping at the moon like a wolf.

Olivia was shivering, Annette holding her clasped hands. A deathly serious look came over the white-haired girl's face. Jacqueline fought off a wave of dizziness, saw that Olivia's eyes were wide, her teeth chattering. She looked absolutely terrified.

"It's okay," Annette whispered. "You're fine."

Olivia whimpered. "I'm not. We need to go back. I can't let them _see me_."

"See you what, Olive?" Jacqueline asked.

Olivia turtled in on herself and quivered.

"This is the best pot _ever_!" shouted Ronni from up ahead. She'd caught up with Neil, and the two of them were spinning in the middle of the street. A car veered around them, headlights flashing, horn blaring.

"Stop it, guys!" Annette snapped. "You want to get hit?"

"I don't want them to see me," muttered Olivia.

Jacqueline's teeth rattled together. This whole situation was unsettling. _Why'd I have to grab Mitzy's weed?_

Neil cackled, breaking Jacqueline from her stupor. "I know!" he shouted. "The manor's just a couple streets from here, right?"

"It is!" said Ronni.

Jacqueline cringed when she glanced to the house on her right and saw someone peek through the curtains. "Uh, guys...‌what manor?"

"The old Coppington place," Neil said, spinning, prancing as he circled his friends. The crazy grin on his face was almost predatory. "What, you guys scared or somethin'?"

"Yeah," shouted Ronni, "you _scared_?"

Olivia sobbed in Annette's arms.

Annette snagged Neil by his collar as he flounced by and pulled him in close. "Fine, we'll go," she said, her voice a growl. "But you need to shut...‌the hell...‌ _up_."

Neil danced backward out of her grasp. His puffy coat made him look like a frolicking red marshmallow. "Okay little miss, 'nuff said."

He turned and sprinted down the road; Ronni ran after him, struggling to keep up.

Jacqueline turned to her friend. "You sure this is a good idea?"

Olivia moaned and wrapped her arms around Annette all the tighter.

"It's not," Annette said. "But hopefully they'll forget before we get there." Up ahead, Ronni tripped over her own feet and took a tumble, rolling on the pavement and cackling. "They don't exactly have the best memory when they're stoned."

"Wait, you smoked too. How do you feel?"

Annette raised an eyebrow. "I feel no change. Nothing at all has been altered." She regarded Olivia. "And this one is typically energetic and joyous. Your supplier must have given you some defective marijuana."

Jacqueline squinted at her friend's robotic tone and giggled. Her own thoughts were jumbled, which made it hard to tell if Annette was messing with her.

A commotion sounded up ahead, and Annette literally dragged a mumbling Olivia along while Jacqueline took up the rear. When they rounded onto the next street, they found Neil and Ronni pestering two younger teen boys who'd been walking the opposite direction. Both newcomers looked agitated.

The two boys were trying like mad to get away from her clearly insane friends. Neil tried to grab one of them, leaned in to give him a kiss, and the kid shoved him away.

Ronni was latched to the other one, rubbing up against his arm. "C'mon," she said pleadingly. "It's not that cold! Maybe that house's empty. We could sneak in and—"

"Dude, get _off_ me!" The kid elbowed Ronni in the stomach and she fell back, gasping for air.

"Please..." she panted as he briskly walked away.

Jacqueline stopped in place, confused. Olivia was full-on crying now, and Annette turned the girl around and held her tightly.

Neil made one last grab for the other kid, reaching down for his crotch, and the kid responded by punching him in the face.

"Faggot!" the kid shouted. He turned on his heels and sprinted after his friend, disappearing into the night.

"He called you faggot!" Ronni said, laughing. "'Cause that's what you are!"

"Shut the hell up, cow," Neil growled. He snatched her by the lapel of her coat, but she couldn't stop laughing. Neil let her go, took a step back. He exited the glow of the streetlights and disappeared. Jacqueline's heart skipped a beat.

His rapid footsteps echoed through the night. Ronni ran after him.

"Damn," said Annette.

Jacqueline took a deep breath, gathered her thoughts. She helped Annette guide Olivia down the street in pursuit of Neil and Ronni. All she wanted to do was get back home. This wasn't the kind of exciting night she'd wanted.

There was a large public common area called Arbor Park just before the turnoff onto Brenslow, the street on which the old Coppington estate resided. It was there that they found Neil and Ronni, stopped just feet from the entrance to the parking lot, facing a young girl. Jacqueline could see the new girl was crying. Neil and Ronni both appeared to have sobered up, concern plainly showing on their faces.

Jacqueline knelt before the crying girl. "What's wrong?"

The girl looked up, eyes bloodshot, tears glimmering on her cheeks. The left side of her face was scraped badly, dribbling blood. Jacqueline touched the wound, and the girl winced.

"What happened?" she asked.

The girl shook her head.

Jacqueline touched her knee. "Who did this to you?"

The girl recoiled. Just then, a growl sounded from somewhere deep in the park. The hurt girl jumped from the curb, almost running into Olivia and Annette, shrieking as she sprinted down the road and out of sight. Jacqueline felt dazed, not sure what the hell was going on.

The growl came again, closer than before. Jacqueline had heard it before, in her backyard when she'd dumped the pizza box in Mr. Mancuso's trash.

"We should go," whispered a suddenly meek Ronni.

"Yeah, let's do that," said Neil.

They all backed up a step, finding one another's hands in the process. Just as Jacqueline was about to lead the dash back home, a tall shadow stepped into the moonlight.

"Pretty little things," a familiar, grumbling voice said.

The figure drew closer, and though her instinct said to run, Jacqueline stood her ground. Another step closer, and steel glinted. Jacqueline thought of Debbie, the woman who'd been stabbed in the mall parking lot, and anger bubbled up inside her. This was the same guy.

A car took the turn onto Brenslow, fully illuminating the approaching man. Jacqueline saw the same filthy jeans, the same tattered leather duster, but that's where the similarities ended.

The thing wasn't a man. Its face was decayed, its eyes hollow voids dripping pus, its nose a pair of narrow slits. Its jaws were much bigger than they should've been, and a gelatinous tongue dangled over rows of small, spiny teeth. The thing's skin had a greenish tint, glistening as if covered in slime. The creature turned the knife over in its clawed, deformed hand.

"Jackie," Olivia said from behind her, sounding terrified.

The approaching monstrosity stepped onto the street, sniffed the air. Its lipless mouth clacked open and shut. "Pretty little things," it said again.

Jacqueline knew she should've been frightened enough to pass out, but she wasn't. Her heart beat faster than ever before, the fury inside her roaring through her veins. It felt like an electric charge had risen up around her. In her mind she saw the three girls who'd gone missing; Todd's leering face; Papa Gelick's hungry eyes and groping hands...

Jacqueline took a menacing step forward, and amazingly, the monster recoiled.

"Gorgon," the thing said.

Without thinking, Jacqueline charged, the sound of her friends shouting for her to stop barely registering in her brain. The monster lashed out with its knife, and Jacqueline ducked underneath the blow. The creature stumbled, and given that sliver of an opportunity, Jacqueline jumped and swung her fist as hard as she could, connecting with its distorted face, snapping its neck around. The knife _clanked_ off the pavement.

Jacqueline fell into a crouch, scooped up the beast's knife, and readied herself to leap, to drive the blade into its brain. But when she lunged, the monster was ready, the back of its clawed hand colliding with the underside of her jaw. Her teeth snapped together, she toppled backward.

"NO!" Olivia screamed.

Starbursts exploded in Jacqueline's eyes as she hit the ground. Hands grabbed at her, and she fought against them until she heard Olivia say, "It's just us." Jacqueline took a deep breath. Her friends helped lift her to her feet.

"Where'd it go?" she asked, rubbing at her aching chin.

"He took off," said Neil. "Again."

"He?" said Jacqueline.

"Yeah, the same guy from the mall. The one who stabbed that chick." Neil scratched his chin. "What the hell's he doing all the way across town?"

"Maybe we should talk about this when we get someplace safe?" Olivia said. "Not really liking being out here alone after _la chica loca_ decided to go all Rocky on some serial killer's ass."

"Yeah," said Ronni.

They hurried away from the scene. Jacqueline cast one last look behind her, wondering why her friends hadn't seen what she had. Then she realized her hand didn't hurt after striking the creature, and examined it. Just like when she'd hit Papa Gelick, there wasn't even a bruise.

"Hey, Jackie," said Olivia.

"Yeah?"

"You really need to get a refund from your dealer. That shit was _horrible_."

_No kidding_ , Jacqueline thought.

•     •     •

Annette called the cops as soon as they got back to the house, and the five Otakus hurriedly sprayed themselves with Febreeze to mask whatever weed smell remained before they arrived. When the cops did show up, Annette took to the lead. She told them about the two boys, the crying girl, the knife-wielding madman. The officers eyed them warily, until one of them said something about it being foolish to be out at night alone when kids had gone missing. Jacqueline handed over the knife the monster had dropped, still hopped up from the confrontation.

After the cops left, the friends settled into the living room for the night. Neil was strangely silent, and when Jacqueline asked why, Annette leaned in and whispered that his secret was out. Jacqueline guessed that meant he was gay, which didn't seem like a big secret, since it'd been obvious from the start that Neil liked boys.

Everyone was too jacked to sleep, so Olivia searched the bathroom and returned with Mitzy's prescription of Ambien. They were all out cold fifteen minutes later.

All but Jacqueline, that is. The pills didn't have any affect on her, and she lay awake while her friends snored. Every time she felt close to sleep, her legs would twitch. She couldn't get the monster's face out of her mind _._

_I have to talk to Mal._

She ticked away the seconds and then slid out from under her covers and stepped over her snoring friends. She climbed the stairs two at a time.

When she took the compact from her dresser drawer, it was cold. Mal wasn't there. She stared at the mirror, willing him to appear. "Please, Mal," she said. "Please just come."

The image of the boy with silver hair appeared in the mirror. He looked deeply concerned.

"Jackie, what's wrong?"

"I saw something," she said.

"What kind of something?"

"A monster. But I was the only one who saw it. Everyone else thought it was just some guy."

Mal's lips pressed together. "Anything else?"

"I got angry again. I..."

"You what?"

"I attacked the monster."

"Jackie, no!" Mal exclaimed. "You could've gotten hurt."

She clenched her teeth. "There's something else."

He raised his eyebrows.

"The thing called me _Gorgon_. That mean anything to you?"

"It does," he said, and fell silent.

Jacqueline leaned toward him, lowered her voice. "Mal, if you love me, you need to tell me what you know. Please say I'm not going crazy like my dad."

The boy in the mirror considered her for a long moment, let out a sigh. "You're not. I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this so soon."

"Do what?"

"Tell you the truth."

She folded her arms over her chest, crossed her legs.

Mal gulped and said, "The stuff I see when my spirit's out there floating through the void is confusing, but what I know for sure is there's other worlds out there, some like this one, some not. There's _millions_ of them, Jackie, all squished against one another."

She tilted her head, confused.

"The worlds are always multiplying," he continued. "And as they expand, the membrane that separates them grows thinner. There are bad things out there, Jackie, things from dark dimensions filled with nothing but pain and torment. Given the right circumstances, these monsters can _pass through_ one reality and into another, and stay hidden in plain sight."

"Stay hidden?"

Mal nodded.

"But this monster...‌I saw it."

"Because you're special, Jackie." He swallowed, hard. "You have an ability only one other person has. You can see the truth in any disguise."

"I can?"

"Yes. That's what a Gorgon is."

"And who's the other one?"

At that, Mal gave her a faint smile. "Me. It's us, Jackie. We're conduits, the most important beings in the history of creation. We're _singular._ We exist where we exist and nowhere else..." he shook his head, "which means both our lives are in danger."

Jacqueline drew her knees to her chest. "Why?"

"Because to some things out there, we're a threat. We've lived thousands of lives, you and I, and there are always those who try to keep us apart. I think that's who trapped me in this damn mirror. But we're _close_ , so close. Once I figure out exactly how to __ get out of here..."

Jacqueline waited for him to say more, but he simply shook his head. "So you're Gorgon too?" she asked.

He nodded.

She sat back, sighed. Millions of worlds? Monsters and demons? Thousands of lives? It was too much to believe. She laughed softly to herself.

"What's so funny?" asked Mal.

"If we're Gorgons, why don't we have snakes in our hair?"

"What's that mean?"

"Forget it," she said.

Mal frowned. "Jackie, this is serious. We need to be careful. I'm close to figuring this out, and I need you to be safe until I do."

"Okay," Jacqueline said. She propped her chin in her hand and stared at Mal's reflection. "I wish you were here right now."

"So do I," Mal said. "In time, sweet girl. In time."

"Time..."

"Jackie?"

"Yeah?"

"You look exhausted."

Funny enough, she was. It'd come on all of a sudden. Jacqueline stretched her arms above her head and reclined on the bed, setting the compact on the pillow beside her. She stared into Mal's gray eyes until she finally drifted off.

Her sleep was filled with nightmares. And one gigantic mirror.

## CHAPTER 37

The pastor's sermon was some nonsense about Powerade and Gatorade. Somehow, Powerade was supposed to represent Christianity, while Gatorade was the unbelieving masses. Drew didn't get it. The whole sermon was totally random, and what the hell did any of it have to do with Christmas?

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. It was just past ten o'clock on Christmas Eve. "I hate this," he whispered.

"Shush," said Hannah, sitting in the chair next to him. She stared straight ahead, her green eyes half-mast. She hated church as much as Drew did, and snuck her mom's anti-anxiety medicine to drift through the service. Drew knew how she felt, but he couldn't stand the glassy-eyed, vacant expression the pills gave her. He shook his head. At least she still looked gorgeous, her makeup just right, her hair pinned back and curled to perfection, her frilly top slung low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage.

He drooled at the thought of ripping that top off of her.

The pastor finished his sermon, and the band started up an alt-rock version of _O Come All Ye Faithful_. The congregation sang along, including Hannah. Drew cringed, noticing his father staring at him from farther down the row. So was his mother, her blond hair done up in a bun, her eyes painted with a severe shade of blue. Drew faced forward, mouthing the words as they appeared on the pull-down screen beside the pulpit.

When church ended, Drew stood up and dutifully shook the hands of those around him. Hannah gave out hugs to both men and women alike, some of the men lingering in the embraces longer than they should. Pride welled in Drew's chest. _I'm the one who gets to take those clothes off her later_ , he thought with a smile.

"Glad to see you in such good spirits today, Drew," came a male voice. Drew faced Mr. Phillips, Hannah's dad. The man held out his hand and he shook it. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, sir," Drew replied.

"Always respectful. I like to see that in a boy your age."

"Thank you."

Mr. Phillips nodded and returned to his model wife's side. Mrs. Phillips was tall and gorgeous like her daughter, and given the blank look in her eyes, she enjoyed doping her way through service too. Drew had to laugh at that.

Hannah's arm snaked over his shoulder, soft lips kissed his cheek. "What're you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"We should get outta here." She nibbled his ear. "I'm needy."

"Okay. Let me say bye to my parents."

He turned around to look for his father, but instead caught sight of the Thompson family on the other side of the room. Mr. Thompson walked with a limp, his wife with her shoulders held back as if a broom had been shoved up her ass. Jordan and his older brother were just behind them, seeming uncomfortable. People greeted them with kind hellos, but when their backs were turned, those smiles became frowns. The Thompsons were one of only three black families who frequented Vulgate Presbyterian, and certainly the least well-off and most liberal, which didn't make them many friends.

Jordan glanced in Drew's direction. Drew flipped him the finger. Jordan seemed to deflate as he stared at the back of his father's head and kept walking out of the church.

A hand fell on Drew's shoulder. "I know, Hannah, I know," he said, pivoting. "Hold on, let me get my—"

Alexander Cottard stood before him, eyes narrowed, brow stern. "Son, we need to talk."

"Um, okay dad," Drew said nervously. "But first—"

"Now."

"Fine! Sheesh."

Drew found Hannah chatting with Phoebe Wolfe and a couple other girls that'd been raised in Vulgate's youth ministry program. "Babe," he said, "I need a rain check."

She frowned. "Why?"

Drew gestured toward his father. "Dad wants a chat."

"Will I still see you tonight?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I'll call you when I'm done."

"Drew, now," Alexander shouted over the din of conversation.

"Jesus effin' Christ," Drew muttered, and did as he was told.

His father led him to the chapel's side entrance, where Pastor Lubble was busy schmoozing with the girl who fronted the church band. The girl was in her mid-twenties and pretty, nervously twirling her hair as she spoke. Drew had to laugh. The pastor was probably misreading her nervous tics for interest.

Alexander strolled up to the pastor, and Lubble immediately snapped to attention. The girl hurried on her way. Pastor Lubble stared at her ass as she left.

Alexander snapped his finger's in the pastor's face, making him flinch. "Yes?" he stammered.

"I'm taking my boy to the shrine."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Of course not, Alexander. Of course not." He shoved his hand in his pocket and fished around for something. "Hold on, I'll get the key."

"There is no need for that," he told the pastor. "I have my own." He opened the door and ushered Drew through.

Behind the door was a long hallway that seemed to stretch out forever. Vulgate Presbyterian was the largest church in all of Mercy Hills, but Drew didn't think it was _this_ big.

"Dad, what's this about?" he asked.

Alexander strode with purpose, the click of his shoes on tile echoing off the walls. "I saw the gesture you gave the Thompson boy," he said. "I will not have my son act in such an inappropriate way in a place of worship."

Drew exhaled in frustration. "Sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough. Especially after what you've done."

"What did I do now?" he asked, though he dreaded the answer.

"I know what happened with the Talbot girl. I know that you took the articles I had been given and posted them around your school. I know how you have been treating her and young Mr. Thompson. I had hoped you would see the error of your ways, but you have not. It stops. Now."

"Okay." He swallowed to gain his courage, then said, "I'm not sorry for that, though. What Jordan did to Todd was messed up. They were supposed to be _friends_."

His father stopped in his tracks and held up his hand. He glowered, shook his head. "What Todd did was ugly. Disgusting. If Mr. Thompson hadn't intervened, it would have brought shame down on our family...‌or even worse, altered the course of our future. I daresay Mr. Thompson should be _commended_ for his actions, not vilified."

Alexander started walking again, his every stride perfectly measured. Drew hurried after him. Up ahead was a stairwell, and father and son descended.

"I don't get it," Drew huffed. "Who the hell cares about that girl, or Jordan? Come next year, I'll be outta here. What's it matter how I treat them? You control everything in this town. They can't touch me. They can't touch _us_."

"You speak out of ignorance."

"Fine. Enlighten me."

His father sighed. The both of them stopped their descent, now standing before the basement entrance. Alexander shoved open the door and stepped into the dim hallway beyond. Drew followed. He'd never been in this part of the church before.

"You misunderstand my words," his father said. "You always have. What I do, what I have done throughout my entire life, has never been about control, but salvation."

His father paused before a thick gray door. He took a silver key from his pocket, stuck it into the lock, and turned. The door opened with a rush of chilly air. Alexander Cottard considered his son with eyes that looked haunted in the dim light.

"A perfect world," he said. "A world without pain, without sin. Our family has been working toward that world for centuries. And it is coming soon."

He stepped into the room beyond. Drew hesitated before going through as well.

The place they entered was at least twenty feet in either direction. Soft light glowed from lamps set up in each of the room's four corners. Six marble parapets topped with books encased in glass formed a circle in the center of the room. Three of the walls were painted with a wraparound mural depicting a being of light surrounded by kneeling subjects. Drew examined the painting; the farther away from the glowing figure, tracking back along the wall, the more unsettling the scenes depicted: men with swords hacking off heads, men strapping other men to racks; men forcibly taking screaming women; women drowning their own children in a shallow stream. There were unearthly monstrosities too, things with devil horns, goat legs, and long black claws. Drew turned away, shuddering.

Alexander stared at the portrait of the alighted figure. Drew approached his father slowly. The man looked awed, even reverential. Drew had never seen him act that way, not even in church.

"The bible was wrong," Alexander said coldly. "God had not one Son, but two."

"Two? Huh?"

"Jesus was not the first. Jesus was God's way of correcting a wrong, for He had damned His first Son to an existence in darkness." He gestured to the large, glowing form on the wall. "He had thought that man could be saved by a manifestation of the Holy Light, by the personification of God Himself. And so God sent Khayrat down from Heaven to treat with the people of Israel. But mankind was primitive, uneducated in the ways of their Creator. Khayrat had no earthly form, so they thought Him a demon, and they used the magics of old to banish God's Son to a hell where there was no light save His own."

Drew looked at his father, baffled. This was a man who'd been a model of cold, hard reality his whole life. Now he was spouting nonsense.

Alexander went on: "And so God learned, and when He sent His Second Son down from heaven, He presented Him in a form mankind could understand. Jesus was born, and taught His subjects the way of the righteous, opening the gates of Heaven to all of mankind. Yet mankind was still not saved, for while Jesus now sits at the right hand of the Father, the Father is not yet complete. His left hand still languishes in darkness, and humans will suffer forever until He is freed. Only then will mankind know _true_ salvation, for Khayrat is the Light of God, and He will bring about Heaven on Earth."

"Dad, what the hell're you talking about?"

Alexander pointed to the glass-sheathed book on the parapet to his right. "Those words are inside that tome, written by the prophet Yusef Darshmal, the founder of the first Covenant of Khayrat, a hundred years after the birth of Christ. Our ancestors were Darshmal's disciples, and the history of our order has been passed down through our family for two thousand years. We are the last bastion of mankind, son. We are the saviors of humanity."

"Why're you telling me this?"

"Because you need to know your legacy."

"Yeah, okay, sure. But why tell me _now_? You believe this so strongly, why is this the first I'm hearing it?"

His father turned to him slowly, gravely. "Because one cannot be indoctrinated; one must be given the choice, for with the Covenant, it is the last choice you will make."

Drew rolled his eyes. __ "Okay, I'll play along. So there's this first Son of God guy, and he's all made of light and everything. What's that got to do with Jacqueline Talbot?"

"The Talbot girl is to be the Mother of God. She cannot be soiled until the prophet Yusef returns." His father's smile grew all the wider. "It is prophesy, son, written and strived toward by our ancestors for thousands of years. On the anniversary of the day Emperor Decius began the persecution of Christians in Rome, the first trial will be complete. It is our _destiny._ "

Drew shook his head. "Nice one, dad. Really nice. You almost had me there."

"I am serious, son."

"Sure you are."

Alexander fell to his knees, hands clasped, eyes pleading. Drew stumbled backward, shocked. His father had been a lifelong pillar of strength; to see him weak...

"Please, son, you must believe me," said Alexander. "You must choose to enter the Covenant. Now that you know, you must let Khayrat into your heart. It is the only way to salvation."

Drew pulled away. "This is crazy. Shit, dad, I don't even know you." He turned and headed for the exit.

"Is that your answer?"

"Pretty much."

"Very well. But before you go, I have something else to show you."

Drew swiveled around. His father rose to his feet, brushed the creases from his suit. He reached beneath one of the marble rostrums and popped open a hidden drawer, removing a small vial from within. Alexander looked distraught as he extended it toward his son. "This is for you."

Drew approached, took the vial from his father. It looked like it was made of stone but was smooth as glass and topped with a clay stopper.

"What's this?" he asked.

"A scent from the old country. A gift, from father to son."

"Um, okay."

"Open it."

Drew shrugged, popped the stopper, brought the vial to his nose, and sniffed. A burning sensation assaulted his nostrils, the pain so intense it was like being stabbed behind the eyes. Drew dropped the vial and fell to his knees, clawing at his face. Sparks raged in his vision, blinding him. It felt like his brain was being squeezed in a vice. "Make it stop!" he shrieked. " _MAKE IT STOP!_ "

"Both my sons have disappointed me," his father said. "Neither of you could see the blessed truth. You cannot turn away from the Covenant. If you do not choose Paradise, then Paradise will be forced upon you."

Drew writhed on the floor, every inch of him on fire. When he opened his eyes, he saw his father above him, cold and uncaring. "Do not fight it, Drew. Do not be like Derek. Let it in. You may no longer be free, but you will serve a higher purpose. In the end, that is all any human can ask: to be party to the rebirth of our Lord. Glory be to God!"

_Glory be to God!_ The words echoed in his head as Drew screamed, and screamed, and screamed, until finally he gave in. He fell still.

"Your service has begun," Alexander Cottard said. "How do you feel?"

"Well," Drew's mouth spoke, though the voice wasn't totally his.

"Excellent. You have much work to do. We have a flock to shepherd, and new believers shall be forged..."

## CHAPTER 38

Jacqueline sat with her aunt in the living room, surrounded by shredded wrapping paper. Mitzy had gone overboard for Christmas, giving her a laptop, curling iron, three new pairs of jeans, a gossamer black top, tons of bottles of sparkly nail polish, eight different shades of lipstick, a set of paranormal romance novels, and the last four seasons of _Doctor Who_ on DVD. Jacqueline stared at the bounty, feeling ashamed. All she'd given Mitzy was a beaded necklace she'd made with Ronni two days ago. _I didn't even get her a card._

"There's one more," Mitzy said, and handed Jacqueline a small, surprisingly heavy box.

"You didn't have to," Jacqueline said with a frown.

Mitzy winked. "I like getting things for people I love. And, well, you're just about the only person I love in this world, so there you go."

Jacqueline nodded.

"Would you just open it already?" Mitzy said.

"Okay."

She ripped into the paper, uncovering a beige box. Inside the box was a silver compact, all shiny and new. Jacqueline stared at it, unsure how to react.

"Flip it over," her aunt said.

Jacqueline did. The words _To the most beautiful girl in the world_ were engraved on the bottom. Jacqueline felt her eyes fill with tears.

"I've seen the way you treat your mom's old compact," Mitzy said, sounding wistful. "You carry it with you everywhere. I know you love her. I guess I just wanted you to feel the same way about me." She inclined her head. "Maybe one day, when I'm gone, you'll be able to use that old thing to talk to me in the same way."

Jacqueline flinched, her lips falling open ever so slightly. "What?"

"Kidding," Mitzy said, playfully slapping her knee. "That compact's not old. It's a vintage copy, but it's brand new. It still has blush in it, so it's actually useful. Guess you can say that's my way of bribing you to actually use it."

"Oh."

Her aunt touched the handmade necklace dangling from her neck. "And this is great, Jackie. I love it. You've brought me so much joy, sweetie. This is the least I can do to pay it back. Now let's eat!"

Brunch consisted of blueberry pancakes, tofu scram, and cucumber sandwiches. Mitzy ate her food with a grin on her face. Jacqueline kept the compact open on the kitchen table, and her own face stared back at her. She smiled, and watched her lips curl upward. Then she frowned and saw creases form at the corners of her mouth. There was indeed an untouched pad of blush inside, along with the applicator, and she picked up the felted pad, dabbing a bit of reddish-tan color to her cheeks. Her dark skin tone lightened ever so slightly, which made her look even more like Mitzy. Jacqueline closed the compact and wiped the blush from her cheeks with her napkin.

Mitzy stared at her from across the table. "You don't like it?"

Jacqueline winced. "No, it's not that," she said. "I just never wear blush. It'll take some practice."

Thankfully, that wasn't a lie.

"I can teach you," said Mitzy.

"Okay. You've already done so much, though."

Mitzy winked when she said, "Get used to it. Your birthday's in less than a month. Sixteen! I'll even throw you and your friends a party if you want."

Jacqueline was taken aback. __ She hadn't celebrated a birthday since her father was put away. It was both exciting and terrifying to think of having a party.

When the dishes were cleaned and put away, Mitzy went to take a shower. Jacqueline snatched the new compact off the table, grabbed her new laptop, and rushed up the stairs. She quietly closed her bedroom door, grabbed her mother's antique compact, and flopped down on the bed. She turned on the laptop, which was pre-loaded with software and ready to go. It even had _World of Warcraft_ installed, just as she'd asked for. She could finally play online with Annette. Grinning, Jacqueline placed both compacts down on either side of the laptop and opened the silver cases. Mal appeared instantly.

"Merry Christmas," he said. His grey eyes then narrowed. "What's that?"

"My new computer," she said. "Finally. Want to watch me slay some orcs?"

"No, Jackie. The mirror."

"Oh, that. Mitzy got me a new compact."

His lips twisted. "She did?"

"Yeah," she replied. "For a second I got scared. I thought she might know about you."

"And now you think she doesn't?"

"Nope. I think my head's just playing tricks on me again." She stared at her own reflection, tousled her hair.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Jackie."

"What?" she said, head whipping around. "Why'd you say that?"

"Your aunt might be up to something. She might not have your best interests in mind."

"Why would you say that?" Jacqueline whispered.

"I've discovered things. Stuff you might not like."

She hated it when Mal talked all vague. "You're not making sense."

"Jackie, I've found answers in the stars. I've seen the past, and it can't be a coincidence. There _are_ no coincidences!"

Jacqueline's mouth corkscrewed. "Then _tell_ _me._ "

"It's been right there in front of us, Jackie," Mal said, his eyes flitting toward the glowing laptop screen. "Can you search for information using that?"

She nodded.

"Enter your father's name, along with the name of the town where you now reside."

Jacqueline fired up the search engine, typed _Joseph Talbot_ and _Mercy Hills, CT._ She scanned the results. The first page linked to articles about the events in Lake Salem, but halfway down the second page, she struck an odd note.

_"Mercy Hills Man Rescues Kidnapped Girls_ , _"_ the headline read, her father's name highlighted in the snippets of text below. Jacqueline's fingers shook as she clicked the link.

The article that came up was dated ten years ago. Apparently some guy named Ken had thwarted an attempted murder and followed the killer into the mountains of Vermont, where he'd disappeared for nearly a week. When he reappeared, he had with him four girls who'd been kidnapped. The article referenced a string of child disappearances and gruesome murders, and one line in particular caught her eye.

_"Joseph Talbot of 32 Chestnut Street, and his young daughter, were saved from the hands of the unknown murderer. Joseph could not be reached for comment."_

Jacqueline sat up, her blood pumping. _Was that really me?_ Did that explain the nightmares she'd suffered from for years? She knew it was possible for children to block out childhood trauma. She looked back at Mal.

"I lived here before," she said.

"You did," Mal replied. "Do you see any other similarities?"

"A few girls have gone missing," she said, insides clenched in horror.

"Exactly. History is repeating itself, Jackie, and you're at the center of it all."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You are important, Jackie. You are Gorgon, you are a conduit between realities. Time is a loop. There are...‌no...‌coincidences."

"And you think Mitzy knows? You think she..." Jacqueline swallowed, feeling close to hyperventilating. "You think she _wants_ me hurt?"

"I doubt it," Mal said. "But I have no way of knowing for certain. It's best to be cautious. Have you seen anything about her that is...‌odd?"

She thought of the pot and the gun hidden in the room down the hall. "She might be a drug dealer. You know, like Nancy in _Weeds._ "

"Who?"

"Forget it."

"Whatever she is, whatever her purpose, you can't trust her." He smiled warmly. "But take solace in the fact that in the end, it won't matter."

"Why not?"

"Because I finally figured out how to get out of here."

Jacqueline sat back, glanced around nervously, listened to the patter of footsteps downstairs. Mitzy was done with her shower. Jacqueline erased her search history, shut down the browser, and closed the laptop. She leaned forward, looked Mal in the eyes, and whispered, "How?"

"It all has to do with the shadows," he said. "Is there a place nearby that the locals feel is haunted? An old house, a _large_ house, where bad things have happened?"

"You mean the old Coppington place?"

"That's it. The stars told me that name. This Coppington house, does it seem as if light is sucked into it? Like it's darker than it should be?"

She squinted, trying to remember exactly what the place looked like. "Maybe?"

"You need to find out."

"Why?"

"Because we're looking for a place where shadows breed, and that might be it."

"I still don't get it," she whispered.

"There are thin spots in reality," Mal told her, "like tears in a sheet of paper. Places where a door between one place and another is possible. These hubs give off a sort of vibration that might make you feel like you're getting seasick. The bad things that have _crossed through_ are drawn to these sorts of places, as if they know they're close to home but can't quite figure out how to get there. That's what _shadows breed_ means. That makes the hubs dangerous...‌though they're also the key to our finally being together."

"How?" she asked.

"If there really is a hub in this Coppington place, then you're going to open it."

"Open it?"

"Uh huh."

"How?"

"That, I'm not so sure of. Jackie, do you trust me?"

She didn't hesitate a second before nodding.

"Then listen to me. You need to go to this house and search the basement. If it's the place, somewhere down there will be an old free-standing floor mirror. There might be some strange devices surrounding that mirror. If you find something like that, then we know for certain it's the place."

_A large, old, free-standing floor mirror._ Jacqueline thought of her past nightmares, in which her parents were trapped inside that huge mirror with the watery surface, and dread built up in her chest.

"This is serious, Jackie," Mal said.

"I know."

He inclined his head. "So you'll check it out?"

"Of course."

"Good. Remember to be careful. Just being close to the hub can make things feel strange. You might see things, visions and the like. Just ignore them, they're there to trick you. Plus, and this is most important, _don't touch anything._ If that house has been abandoned for years, the gateway has gone unchecked. Things from the dark places, _malevolent_ things, have been known to seep out. The last thing you want is to touch an item that's been infested with the aura of darkness."

"Okay."

"Just okay? I need to know that you understand, Jackie. That you truly _get it_."

"I do," she said. "I do."

"Then it's settled. But you need to go quick. Our time's running short. From what I've learned, the door out of here will only be open for a short time, during a specific day, and if we miss that window, it might be a whole year before we can try again. A year is a long time. We don't know what might happen between now and then."

"How soon until it happens?"

"Where I came from, we called it the day of _Erster Vollmond_. The first full moon of the new year."

"First full moon." Jacqueline opened her laptop, bringing up the dashboard event calendar Mitzy had set up. She saw the icon for "Full Moon," resting in the top right corner of the box for January 20th.

Her eyes widened. "Wow."

"What's up?" asked Mal.

"It's on my birthday."

The boy in the mirror smiled. "Then it's perfect. I can't think of a better birthday present for the most beautiful girl in the world."

Jacqueline shuddered, her head shot up. Someone was coming up the stairs. "Gotta go," she whispered to Mal before shutting the compact and tucking it under her comforter. She clicked on the _World of Warcraft_ icon, watched impatiently as the game slowly loaded.

There was a knock at the door, and Mitzy poked her head inside. "What's up, sweetie?" she said. "Should I set up a movie?"

"Maybe later," Jacqueline replied. Her voice wavered, and she hoped her aunt didn't notice.

"Really?" Mitzy said, frowning. "Having fun with your new game?"

"Uh-huh. Thanks for getting it for me."

"Not a problem. You kids and your technology worry me, though." She placed a hand on her forehead. "Your generation spends so much time talking to people trapped in black boxes. I wonder sometimes how you relate to the outside world at all."

She slowly closed the door. _You don't know the half of it_ , Jacqueline thought.

With her aunt gone, she sat up on the bed, pondering what to do. So much unreal stuff had happened to her over the last few months. A large part of her felt expectant, recalling her past dreams. She glanced at the photos of her parents, smiling down on her from their places on the wall. There was no decision to make. She'd go to the Coppington estate, and she'd search for this mirror, but she didn't want to do it alone.

She grabbed her phone and dialed Annette's number. The girl answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Annette," Jacqueline said, excitement coursing through her. "Merry Christmas to you too. Hey, I think I'm gonna head out to the old Coppington place in a couple days. Just wondering if you guys might wanna join me..."

## CHAPTER 39

On Tuesday, two days before New Years, the five Otakus stood on Jacqueline's front porch watching the snow fall. Jacqueline's thoughts were a jumbled mess of excitement and dread. She felt close to vomiting.

"You guys ready?" asked Neil.

Everyone bobbed their heads, looking as nervous as Jacqueline felt.

"Okay then," Olivia said. "Let's get it on."

They walked down the driveway and into the street. Mr. Mancuso, bag of salt in his arms, waved at them on their way past his house. Jacqueline waved back, gave him a smile. She hoped he didn't get suspicious, since Mitzy was away and he was supposed to be looking out for her. But why would he? Friends usually took walks on snowy afternoons, didn't they?

It'd been so long since she'd had true friends that she really wasn't sure.

Jacqueline grabbed Annette's hand and closed her eyes, letting her lead the way. She didn't know how long she went on like that, but by the time the buzzing in her head started and she opened her eyes, she was standing right in front of the driveway leading to the old Coppington house. Numerous _No Trespassing_ signs were plastered all around the estate. Jacqueline's every muscle went tense.

"There it is," Ronni said.

"Yup," echoed Neil.

Olivia gulped. "Here goes nothing. We've been talkin' about doing this for years."

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Annette said, frowning.

Ronni wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm scared."

"We all are," said Neil.

Olivia looked up at the empty second- and third-story windows. "There's nothing to worry about. It's only a house."

"Famous last words," Jacqueline whispered.

The rest groaned at that.

A car rumbled down the road behind them, and the friends ducked into the woods. The last thing they needed was for someone to see them and call the cops. When the coast seemed clear, they hurried toward the house.

The driveway hadn't been plowed, of course, which meant they had to trundle through knee-high snow. Ronni turned her ankle, and when she yelped Olivia covered her mouth with her hand.

"Sorry," Ronni murmured.

"Watch where you're walking," scolded Annette.

The driveway winded around a small thatch of dying trees. The buzzing in Jacqueline's ears heightened, until finally the Coppington house came into view. Everyone stopped in their tracks.

The place was massive, at least a hundred feet wide and four stories tall. Every window had been smashed long ago, leaving behind only a few jagged remnants. One corner of the house was a rounded turret; frayed curtains billowed out a window.

The house had wood siding that shimmered black, like it was covered with oozing mold. The falling snow didn't seem to stick to the house at all. Each time Jacqueline breathed, the building seemed to expand. _This place is alive._

They stood there for some time, no one moving. Only Annette didn't seem completely terrified. Her ice-blue eyes were narrowed and she breathed easily.

Seeing Annette's bravery gave Jacqueline courage. "All right, let's do this," she said, and up the rickety old steps she went, boards creaking beneath her feet. The large front door was stuck open, groaning as the wind shoved against it.

"Be extra careful," said Annette. "Animals might've gotten inside."

"Will do, captain," Neil replied.

Olivia shrugged off her backpack and handed out the flashlights she'd brought. Jacqueline shined hers into the house. As soon as the beam passed through the portal, it seemed to dim, swallowed by the darkness.

The buzzing in her head intensified.

Their nervous footsteps echoed through the spacious interior when they entered. The place reminded Jacqueline of the Cottard estate, with its huge anteroom, winding staircases, and upper balconies. She looked around in awe, and whenever she turned her head, she caught movement out the corner of her eye. Normal objects, like old coat racks, sofas, candelabras, and tables, became lurking monsters when not lit up by her flashlight.

"Should we go up there?" Neil asked, pointing up toward the balconies.

"No," Jacqueline answered. "Too dangerous."

"It's dangerous _everywhere_ ," Neil said.

Jacqueline sighed.

"This was Jackie's idea," Annette said. "She decides where to go."

Neil rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Jacqueline flexed her jaw, trying to get the buzzing out of her ears. "I wanna go to the basement," she said, holding the flashlight beneath her chin. "In spooooky stories, that's where the ghoooosts are."

"Very funny," Neil grumbled.

A low hum sounded, like air being blown over an empty bottle.

"Um, guys?" asked Ronni's frightened voice. "Can we just get this over with? I don't like it here."

They wandered the first floor, checking each room they came across, looking for the basement entrance. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the floorboards warped and rotted. At one point they had to inch around a large hole in the floor. Jacqueline wondered if that was where Gabriella Coppington had fallen to her death.

The buzzing in Jacqueline's ears was starting to give her a headache. Every time she blinked, she saw odd shapes, some looking like people, some like things much scarier than that. It was like there were ghosts hanging about that only she could see. She started sweating, and took off one of her gloves to brush hair from her eyes. As she did so, she stepped into a dip in the floor and tumbled to the side. Her hand pressed against the wall for balance. The wall felt wet and spongy.

Like moist, pulsating flesh.

"Gross, gross, gross," she said, shaking her hand.

"What's wrong?" asked Annette.

Jacqueline slipped her glove back on. "Nothing."

Around the next corner was a kitchen bigger than every room in Mitzy's house combined. A freezing wind blew in through the windows. The gloomy day's faint light seemed far away, like a totally different universe. Jacqueline heard mice skittering. Ronni whimpered, as did Olivia.

The kitchen held numerous stoves, an old icebox, a pantry that stunk like a compost bin, and an industrial-sized sink. The tile floor was broken; chunked bits bounced away when Jacqueline accidentally kicked them. Other than that, the room was empty.

The five friends exited the kitchen, found their way back to the huge anteroom, and then took the corridor to the right. This hallway was lined with doors, one of them propped open. Jacqueline stopped before that one, grasped the dusty handle. The door opened with a _creak_. Jacqueline shone her flashlight inside, revealing a set of stairs leading down into a black void.

"Found it," she said, voice barely a whisper.

It was twenty-three steps to the bottom of the staircase. The basement spanned the whole length and width of the house above, lined with thick support columns. Jacqueline took a step into the darkness, hand-in-hand with Annette, the beam of her flashlight seeming insignificant, the droning in her head constant. At least down here she didn't have to worry about falling through the floor.

The basement was filled with stacks of old furniture and crumbling cardboard boxes. There was a wrecked poker table, placards for long-defunct beer companies, stacks of books whose covers were flaking away, and even a half-filled wine rack whose bottles were slathered with decades of dust. It was a rotten snapshot in time, the past slowly warping like bad memories sometimes do.

After fifteen minutes of veering around random piles of debris, light flashed in Jacqueline's eyes. For a moment she thought there was someone else down there searching with them, but when she brought up her flashlight, her movements were mimicked in the distance. Her eyes widened, her breath came in short bursts.

"It's here," she said, awed.

"What's here?" asked Neil.

Jacqueline ignored him and quick-stepped toward her reflection.

She came to a stop in front of the mirror Mal had told her about, the one from her dreams. Its mahogany frame was carved with images of different types of fish, weaved in and around a web of seaweed, and at the top there was an odd symbol that looked like a diamond being stabbed from either side by a pair of arrows.

"It's a mirror," said Annette.

Jacqueline hadn't realized her friends were standing behind her.

"Look at that," Olivia said, pointing at the symbol.

"What is it?" asked Jacqueline.

"That's a Unicursal Hexagram. A symbol from Thelema. Man, this is some Crowley shit."

"Thelema?"

"It's a sort of religion."

"Oh." Jacqueline furrowed her brow. "How'd you know that?"

"I know occult stuff," she said with a shrug. "My _mama_ calls me a novice witch. I like 'Cyberwicca' better, though."

"Cyberwicca?" said Ronni.

"Yeah, you know, incorporating modern science into blessings, using Google Earth to transfer positive energy to..." she paused as Neil and Annette giggled at her. "You know what, screw you guys."

"Hey, it's funny."

Jacqueline went back to examining the mirror. Just to the right of it was waist-high steel shelving topped with a pair of weird-looking devices. One was a gray metal box, devoid of markings, but with a pair of circular grooves cut into the top, the top one larger than the bottom one. To the right of the box was a sturdy plastic molding of some kind. Different colored lights glowed under her flashlight's beam. In the center of the mold was an impression that looked like a hand wearing a mitten.

"Ooh, what's that?" asked Olivia, poking her head over Jacqueline's shoulder. "Let's take a look."

"Wait, Olive, don't..."

Olivia bent over the shelf and traced the mold's mitten-like impression. Thankfully, nothing happened. "Whoa, that's smooth," she said. She went to lift the device, but it didn't budge. Must've been bolted to the shelf. Olivia hunkered down further.

"Olive," Annette said, "don't mess around."

"Hold on, there's a cabinet or something down here. Let me...‌just..."

Jacqueline cringed when she heard a snapping sound and a soft _creak_.

"Hey, there's a book down here!" Olivia exclaimed.

"What kind?" Neil asked.

Olivia stood up, a thick tome in her hands. She brushed dust off its cover. "Huh."

Jacqueline leaned in for a closer look. There were weird gold letters stamped on the cover spelling out words she didn't recognize.

Ronni shuffled around to look. "What's that?"

"There's two words. The first is _pactum_ , which is pact in Latin. The second...‌no clue."

"Oh, cool," said Neil. "What's inside?"

Olivia opened the cover, carefully flipping through the fragile pages.

"Can you translate it?"

"Sure. My Latin's a little rusty, but I got a program back home..."

The droning in Jacqueline's head returned, drowning out all else, growing stronger the closer her hand drew to the strange mold with the mitten imprint. She reached out and the buzz became melodic, like someone playing a harp. Jacqueline smiled and touched the mold, tracing the impression as Olivia had. A soft vibration snaked through her body, warmed her insides, made her vision clearer.

The lights on the mold suddenly flared to life, and Jacqueline retracted her hand, clutching it to her chest and gaping as the mold flashed and hummed. Her friends were still looking over the book behind her; they didn't seem to notice what was happening.

The mirror itself then lit up, and Jacqueline's image slowly faded away like smoke. A pair of shadows emerged, growing more defined by the second. Jacqueline's jaw dropped open and she gaped at Joseph and Dhanya Talbot, hands pressed against the inside of the mirror, faces masks of sorrow.

"Dad?" Jacqueline whispered. "Mom?"

The image of her parents flickered, and suddenly the both of them were screaming without sound. Her mother slid down the inside of the mirror, pounding on it. _Please help us!_ she mouthed. __ Her father too began to batter away with his fists. The mirror shuddered each time he connected.

"Dad! Mom!" Jacqueline shrieked, bursting forward until she collided with the cold, reflective surface. She splayed her hand against the glass. Her father suddenly fell backward, writhing on the ground on the other side of the mirror, blood spewing from his mouth. Jacqueline's mother glanced at him, then back at her daughter. Tears poured down her face in torrents. _Help him!_ she shrieked soundlessly.

"Dad, hold on!" Jacqueline screamed, her own tears gushing as she slammed her fists into the mirror. "I don't know how, Mom! I don't know what to do!"

"Jacqueline, what's wrong?" shouted a frightened voice.

Hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her away. Jacqueline fought against them. "Stop it!" she screamed. "Let me go! I need to get to them!"

"There's no one there!" said Annette urgently

"They are," Jacqueline said, still struggling. "Look, they're right—"

But her parents were gone, disappeared back into the mirror's void, leaving it dark and silent as the moment she'd laid eyes on it.

Jacqueline heard Mal's words of warning in her head. _You might see things. Ignore them, they're there to trick you._

She broke down crying.

Her friends helped her up the stairs and out of the basement. By the time they excited the Coppington mansion, breathing in the cold crisp air, it had snowed another six inches. __ Jacqueline thanked Annette and Neil for their help, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and stood on her own. Even though it was cold, she was thankful for breathing clean air again after inhaling all that must and grime.

"Jackie, what happened?" asked Annette.

She shook her head, sniffled. "Nothing. I think I just had a hallucination."

"What was it?"

"My parents."

"Oh damn, that's rough," Neil said.

Olivia slapped her on the shoulder. "Well, it's over now, and it ain't all bad, since we got a souvenir!" She brimmed with excitement as she held up the old book.

Jacqueline winced. "I don't think it's a good idea to take that..."

"Shit, Jackie, no one's lived here in forever. Who's gonna miss it?"

She didn't have an answer for that.

"This book might be important," Olivia said, eyes sparkling. "Maybe that mirror was an experiment or something, like a mystical attempt at the freaking internet. If so, I bet this'll tell us. That'd be _awesome!_ "

Neil shoved his hands in his pockets. "If you say so, Olive."

The spunky girl strutted around in a circle.

"Look at it all you want later," Annette said, turning her gaze to Jacqueline. "I just wanna get back to the house before Jackie's aunt gets home."

Jacqueline nodded her agreement.

A few minutes later they were back on the road. The buzzing that'd been a constant in Jacqueline's head returned for a waning moment, as if giving her a warning. She didn't think that was a good sign.

## CHAPTER 40

The Prophet hunkered inside his shelter as the sun disappeared over the pure white horizon. His stomach grumbled, and he turned toward the girl on the couch behind him. The girl stopped blathering, eyes wide and brimming with tears. The corpses of her life-bringers sprawled on either side of her.

The Prophet ran a hand through his rapidly diminishing hair, despair overwhelming him. Sustenance simply wasn't enough any longer; his true form was languishing inside him, eating away at his borrowed skin. If his true self wasn't born from the flesh soon, he would wither away, banished to the ether.

The bound girl whimpered again. The Prophet slithered up to her, his second teeth slowly descending from his gums. He examined the needle-like marks on her forearm, and his true form, writhing beneath layers of muscle and sinew, begged for more. So much for bleeding this one slowly.

The girl thrashed against the couch as he sniffed her neck. Her shoulder smacked his cheek, sloughing off skin. The Profit growled in pain. Why was this incubator of a body so damn _fragile_?

_You were alive once_ , he told himself. _You will be so again._

But first, food.

He squeezed the girl's neck until her eyes rolled into the back of her head and then leaned into her. His pincer-like teeth broke flesh, far enough away from the main artery that she wouldn't bleed out. Blood pumped into his mouth, feeding the form within the form. He grew delirious, sucking harder and harder until he almost gagged. Beneath him, the girl's struggles diminished.

At the last moment he disengaged, not wasting a drop of that precious liquid. His victim lost consciousness, her breathing shallow. The bite marks on her neck closed up as if they'd never been there.

Still, his hunger raged.

The Prophet considered the girl's dead parents. The father's body was nothing but a hollowed-out husk, so he chose the mother, ripping open the woman's chest and tearing, instead of sucking at, the meat inside. This blood was thickened, its nourishment scant, but it was better than nothing.

As scraps of dead flesh slid down his throat, the Prophet sunk into a pit of despair. His search for the Gorgon was fruitless. He would never be whole again. He spat out a hunk of meat and gawked at the bound girl. She was still unconscious, her neck exposed to him, so pure, pulsing with blood.

_Take it. Take it all._

He lunged, ready to greedily consume all the essence she had left. His maw opened wide, his borrowed heart raced. He bent down to devour.

An intense, invisible force sent him careening to the floor, where he thrashed about, screaming. A shrill whistle exploded through the center of his head, so loud, so intense, that even the ghost of Cole Mafee, the youngster who once owned this body, shrieked from the depths of his blackened prison.

Then the fit was over, and the Prophet was filled with a warm, familiar sensation. Deep inside, his true form purred. He lurched to his feet and rushed to the window, gazing at the dark white world outside.

His every cell sang a refrain of hope.

It was like a doorway to a different plane of reality had been opened, leading south. Tiny particles of light formed a pathway that begged for him to follow. He felt the beckoning call of the Gorgon, the unearthly energy that wafted off her. _She is changing._ _She is reconnecting with who she truly is._

Soon, so would he.

Blood racing, the Prophet rushed out the door and into the cold night. He didn't think about the girl tied up on the couch, or worry that she might be discovered. None of that mattered now. The Gorgon was calling him, her essence like a song filling his eternal heart with joy.

_Sing, my beauty. Sing._

## CHAPTER 41

The buzzer sounded, and Mr. Lawson hastily stood. "All right guys," he said. "Like I told you earlier, put your work on the back counter. I'll see your smiling faces tomorrow." He hurried out of the classroom.

The art students dutifully stowed their charcoal self-portraits as they were told. Only Jacqueline remained sitting, her drawing, a collection of random, dashing lines that kind of looked like the outline of a face, still on her desk. She swallowed, nervous as hell about what came next, resigned to the fact she had no other choice.

"Hey, Picasso, you gonna pack it up or what?" Annette asked as she lifted her oversized purse.

Jacqueline eyed her fellow students warily. "Actually..."

"Actually what?"

She held up her index finger, waiting until the classroom cleared out and only she and Annette remained.

"C'mon, Jackie," said Annette. "We're gonna be late."

"We only got study hall. We can miss it," Jacqueline replied. She slipped from her seat, hustled across the empty classroom, shut the door, and locked it.

"You haven't gone all serial killer on me, have you?" said Annette. "That'd be bad." She raised an eyebrow as Jacqueline sat back down and took a deep breath.

"I need to talk to you," Jacqueline said.

"About what?"

"Weird things."

"Yeah?"

Jacqueline paused. She couldn't just tell Annette what'd been happening, or she'd be called crazy. But ever since going to that house thirteen days ago, strange things had been happening. Which meant a demonstration was in order. Her charcoal pencil was still on her desk, and she moved her hand toward it, rolling it across the surface of her barely-started self-portrait. "See?"

Annette furrowed her brow. "See what?"

"What I just did."

"You pushed a pencil across your desk. So?"

Jacqueline groaned. "No. Shoot, get closer. Watch my fingers."

Annette shrugged and leaned over. Jacqueline took another deep breath, reached out with her opposite hand. This time she kept her fingers splayed, shoving the pencil back across the desk. Annette's eyes widened.

"You just moved that without touching it," she said, awed.

Jacqueline nodded.

"How?"

"Don't know. It's been happening a lot since we went to the Coppington house. First time I noticed was two days later. I was having a hard time with my Spanish homework, and I accidentally launched my pen across the room even though I never got close to it."

"Did you get scared?"

"At first. But I can control it if I don't freak out."

"What causes it? Static?"

"I don't think so."

"Why?"

"Well, you got your phone on you?"

"Yeah."

She tapped her finger on the desk. "Put it here."

Annette reached into her oversized purse and placed her large smartphone next to the pencil. Jacqueline flicked her index finger at it from four inches away. The phone careened across the desk, and Annette caught it before it dropped to the floor.

"Wow," Annette said, gawking first at her phone, then at Jacqueline. "What are you, like Carrie or something?"

Jacqueline fluttered her lips. "No. Well, I don't _think_ so. I mean, it's not like I can move stuff with my mind or anything. It's just physical stuff, like...‌this is hard to explain...‌like my body extends beyond my skin. Or something."

Annette looked bewildered.

"I don't get it either, Annie."

"This is _so weird._ "

"You're telling me? You're not the one it's happening to."

"Can't argue with that."

Annette slowly lowered herself into her chair, staring at Jacqueline with those wide, sky-blue eyes. Jacqueline turned away, uncomfortable.

"Jackie, was this another magic trick?" Annette asked. "Like the compact?"

Jacqueline grimaced. "Um, about that..."

"What?"

The way Annette studied her made her uncomfortable, but she swallowed down the feeling. "Listen, Annie, you're my best friend. You know that, right?"

"Of course."

"Good. Then don't laugh. The thing with the compact wasn't a trick either. It was real. A boy really lives in that mirror. I can talk to him and everything. He's been with me ever since my dad went crazy."

Annette chewed her lip. "Really?"

"Yeah."

The tiny girl sat back and drummed her fingers on the desk. "That's some story."

"It's true. You gotta believe me."

"I gotta?" She peered at Jacqueline from the corner of her eye. "Can I meet him? You got the compact on you?"

The compact was in her pocket, cold to the touch. "I do, but he's not here right now."

"Where is he? Picking up a pizza or something?"

The look Annette gave her made her feel as crazy as her dad had been. Jacqueline slumped in her chair, heat chasing up her neck.

"Oh jeez, I'm sorry," Annette said. "That wasn't fair."

"Thank you," Jacqueline murmured.

"This mystery boy have a name?"

"Mal."

"Mal what?"

"I don't know. Just Mal."

"Oh. It's kinda a cool name."

"I know, right? Sounds rugged but sensitive."

"Like the captain in _Firefly_."

"What's that?"

"An old show my mom used to love. Doesn't matter anymore."

"Ah."

Annette squinted at her. "Jackie, why you telling me this?"

Jacqueline clenched and unclenched her fists, stared at the unfinished drawing on her desk. "I'm scared, Annie. I'm seeing things. Remember the killer guy in the park? Well, to you he looked like a bum. To me, he looked like a monster, all rotten and clawed."

"Really?"

She nodded gravely. "And three days ago at the mall, I saw two other guys that didn't look normal. It's like their skin's all bubbly, fangs, claws, that sorta thing. But if I blink a few times I don't see it anymore. I thought I was going crazy, but Mal said I'm 'seeing through the veneer' or something. That these people aren't people, but some weird sorts of demons. I don't really get it. I'm not making sense." She shook her head. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just nuts."

"I never said that."

"But you look like you think it."

"Fair enough. Have you talked to your aunt about this stuff?"

"I don't know if I can trust her," Jacqueline whispered.

"Really? Why not?"

"Mal's convinced she's working against me somehow."

"And you believe him?"

She gnawed on her lip. "I don't know _what_ to think. I mean, there's little things that're suspicious. Like I didn't even know she existed until she showed up on my foster parents' doorstep. She totally doesn't act like a grownup. When I was depressed, she took me shopping and tried to bond with me and all that instead of sending me to a shrink. And she didn't push the issue with the cops after the party."

Annette sat back. "So...‌you're complaining she _didn't_ have you prodded by doctors?"

"Ugh!" Jacqueline exclaimed a little too loudly, making Annette recoil. "It's not that. Well, not _all_ that. There's other stuff too."

"Like...‌?"

"She had a lockbox full of money and pot upstairs. A gun too. But when I went up there two days ago, the lockbox was empty. Well, the money was still there, but the pot and gun were gone."

"She might've just got rid of it," Annette said. "Adults smoke weed too. My mom does. Does that make _her_ bad?"

"No, it's just—"

"And lots of people keep guns in the house. Especially beautiful single women. For _protection_."

"I _know_ ," Jacqueline moaned, yanking on her own hair. "But there's more. I was watching a special on that girl they found tied up in Mass—"

"The one whose parents were killed? Isn't she the one that talked crazy? Said some kid vampire killed her folks?"

"That's her. Anyway, I saw that report, and thought of all the other girls that've gone missing lately. Did you know there were seven of them, all within thirty miles of here?"

"I did. Mom's kinda freaked about it."

"Exactly! And you know what's weirder? My dad and I lived in this town before. _In Mitzy's house._ Girls were going missing then too. Someone even tried to kill me."

"Really? How do you know?"

"Found articles on it online."

"Oh." Annette shivered. "Damn, Jackie."

"I know, right!"

"So what're you gonna do?"

"I'm thinking of running away. With Mal." She winced as she said it.

Annette scrunched her face. "The boy in the compact?"

"No. Mal won't be in the mirror anymore."

Annette gave her a cockeyed glance.

"I'm supposed to set him free," said Jacqueline. "On my birthday. In nine days. Remember that big mirror in the basement of the Coppington house? Supposedly I can use it to free him. He told me how to do it."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding."

Annette leaned against the desk, ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, let's say I believe all this. Let's say you somehow magically make this Mal a real boy. Then you're gonna just...‌go where?"

"I don't know."

"Doesn't sound like the most thought-out plan."

"I know." She rubbed her chest. "That's why I'm talking to you."

"Really? Why?"

Jacqueline took Annette's hands. "Because I don't know what's going on. I don't know if _any_ of this is real. I need your help, your support. I don't wanna be alone. I don't know if I wanna run away. I don't know _anything._ I feel like the world's stringing me along, and I'm tired of it."

"Well, have you tried to figure it out?"

She held out her hands, palms up. "How?"

Annette tapped her index finger against her chin. After a moment her eyes widened and she looked at Jacqueline in excitement. "I got it."

"What?"

"You said that big mirror in the basement is important, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, Olive took a book from the cabinet next to that mirror. She can translate it. She's crazy like that."

"I don't know," Jacqueline said. "It's one thing telling you...‌I don't want anyone else to know."

"Then we won't tell her anything. We'll just say we wanna go back to the house and try some spells out or something. Maybe say you're trying to see if you can talk to your parents. That might work. And we'll tell her that maybe there's some info in the book that'll help us pull it off. Tell her to get her butt moving on a translation. She'll be pumped." Annette laughed and paced in front of the desk. "That book might be an instruction manual. And whenever your little boyfriend gets back, you better introduce us for real this time."

"Okay," said Jacqueline, managing a smile. "I can get down with that."

Annette hugged her. She was strong for such a tiny girl. "You're crazy, Jackie, but I love ya."

"I love you too."

"No more judgment from me," she said. "If it turns out you're imagining things, _I'll_ talk to your aunt for you. Okay?"

"Okay."

Jacqueline's pants pocket suddenly flamed with warmth, and she smiled. She stuffed her hand inside and grabbed the compact, giddy with excitement. This was the time. She just knew it. She opened the compact, and the boy in the mirror stared up at her with his gray eyes.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"Just trust me," Jacqueline replied.

"Um, Jackie?" said Annette.

Jacqueline lifted her head, smiled at her friend, and held out the opened compact. "Annette, meet Mal. Mal, Annette" she said.

"Well hello there," said Mal's voice.

Annette gasped.

## CHAPTER 42

Jordan watched Jacqueline from across the crowded hall as students rushed to reach their buses. Her hair was pinned up and she wore a pair of black stretch pants topped with a billowy long-sleeved blouse. She looked absolutely beautiful, but carried herself as if uncomfortable in her own skin.

That was the wonderful contradiction Jordan loved about Jacqueline Talbot.

He raised his hand to her, but she never looked up. She seemed frightened. Jordan walked faster, only to stop when he saw Drew Cottard, Kurt Briggs, and Yoel Martinez approach her.

Drew bent down, whispered something to Jacqueline. She remained frozen, unresponsive. The senior boy squeezed her shoulder and turned toward Jordan, smiling as he weaved his way through the throng.

"Hello, Jordan," Drew said, holding out his hand. Kurt and Yoel kept watch on his back like guard dogs.

Jordan ignored the hand. "Hey."

"I need to apologize again," Drew said, nodding. "The way I've been acting was unbecoming for a Cottard. I realize that now, and I hope you can someday forgive me."

Jordan gnawed his cheek and kept silent.

Even though Drew's smile seemed warm enough, there was something lurking behind his eyes that Jordan didn't like; a sort of emptiness, like he was looking _through_ Jordan instead of _at_ him. That, combined with his old friend's change in attitude, made Jordan wary. His father had long told him that people _never_ changed dramatically, at least not all at once.

"Listen," Drew said, "I miss the way we used to be. We need to spend some time together again. Would that be pleasurable to you? Perhaps this weekend?"

He shuddered at the cold exactness in Drew's tone. "Excuse me if I don't exactly trust you," Jordan said.

"I understand. I deserve that. But please, I need you to know that I want us to be friends again. I hope you'll come to accept that in time." He reached into his pocket. "Actually, I was wondering if you could help me out."

"With what?"

Drew held up a small vial. "I bought some perfume for Hannah, but I cannot tell how pleasant the odor is."

"Well, I don't—"

Drew unstopped the vial and shoved it beneath Jordan's nose before he could finish speaking. Jordan got a whiff of something pungent, liked burnt grease, before knocking his hand away. A headache spiked behind his eyes and he squinted. The sensation only lasted a second, and he shook his head to clear it while his heart thrummed rapidly.

"That wasn't perfume," Jordan said, fists clenched.

"How do you feel?" asked Drew.

"What? How do I _feel_? This a joke?"

Drew's frown deepened as he shoved the vial back into his pocket. "Never mind about this weekend, Jordan. We can reconnect some other time."

Just like that, Drew and his cronies marched away. Jordan rubbed the back of his neck. "Assholes," he muttered, and turned to find Jacqueline.

She was still in front of her locker, speaking with Annette. Their conversation died when he strolled up to them.

"Hi, ladies," he muttered, feeling beyond uneasy.

"Hey!" Annette replied, tossing her large bag over her shoulder and slowly backing away. "Sorry I can't stay. Gotta, y'know, catch the bus and all. Have fun you two." The tiny girl pivoted on her heels and disappeared into the congested hall.

"She's an odd girl," Jordan said. "How about you?"

"I guess I'm odd too," Jacqueline said with a shrug.

"That's not what I mean. How're you doing?"

"Fine. Great. I guess."

She kept fidgeting, as if she was itchy all over. Jordan's spirits plummeted. Jacqueline had been friendlier since Thanksgiving, but she still seemed edgy around him. Jordan had tried different approaches to get her to open up, but nothing worked. She just wasn't that into him, which was embarrassing. _Another five months and you'll be out of high school and going to college_ , he told himself. _There'll be plenty of other girls there. Don't get hung up on this one._

_But none of them will be her._

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get Jacqueline Talbot out of his mind.

Jordan stared down at her, flexing his hands, trying to think of something to say. "It's really cold outside," he said, cringing as soon as the words left his mouth.

Jacqueline chuckled. "It's January."

"Yeah, well, I hate the cold."

"Cold sucks."

"It does. I can't wait for spring."

"Me neither."

"When the crocuses—"

"Jordan?"

"Yeah?"

"I really gotta go. Can't miss the bus."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry."

"Yeah. See ya."

She turned and quick-stepped away, coat slung over her shoulder along with her backpack. Jordan leaned against the lockers, tried to see if anyone noticed his humiliating failure. Thankfully, it seemed no one had.

_Drew must've said something to scare her_ , Jordan reasoned. He pushed himself off the wall, hoping to catch up with the jerk before he left school for the day.

As he rounded the corner into the hub, he saw Hannah Phillips, walking all by herself, a frown on her lips as she stared at the floor. Jordan reached out and grabbed her arm before she passed him by.

"Hey!" she said loudly, spinning around. "Don't touch me like that again." She brushed the wrinkles from her elbow-length, form-fitting sport jacket.

"Where's Drew?" Jordan said forcibly.

"Haven't seen him," she shot back.

"No?"

Hannah gave him a disdainful look. "My boyfriend doesn't have time for me anymore. Now excuse me. I have an FBLA meeting to run," she said before storming away.

Outside, Jordan found Andrea waiting for him, bundled against the cold and leaning against the wall, nose buried in a book. She smiled at him as he approached. At least _someone_ seemed happy to see him.

"Ready, big guy?" she said.

"Not yet. You see Drew leave?"

"Haven't really been watching."

Jordan told her to stay put and jogged to the hill overlooking the lower the parking lot. Drew's Lexus was still there, covered with a sheet of ice. He turned back around and ran to Andrea.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I need to find that jerk."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Jacqueline, would it?"

"Of course."

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, puppy dog. Let's find him."

They scoured the school for a half-hour, and finally struck gold once they reached the boys' locker room. Jordan heard faint voices speaking inside, though no one should've been in there since the basketball and wrestling teams were both competing at other schools.

"What're you going to do?" Andrea asked.

"Not sure."

"Huh?"

He shrugged. "I think I just need to talk to him. Not really positive _why_."

"I think you're going crazy on me, Jordan Thompson. Please be careful."

Jordan nodded, grabbed the door handle. He opened it and stepped inside.

The sound of Drew's voice grew louder. Jordan slowed down, trying to be as quiet as possible. Maybe he'd hear something Drew didn't want him to know. Maybe he could find out exactly what was going on.

"He's to be left alone, unless he gives us no other choice. Father deems it so," he heard Drew say, and Jordan froze in his tracks.

"But he didn't bond," said Yoel. "Which means he is of _her_ covenant, not ours."

"It matters not. He is not to be harmed in any way. He may be important."

Jordan leaned against the wall, completely flabbergasted. Were they messing with him?

"And the aunt?" said Kurt's detached voice. "What of her?"

"Father thinks she wishes to stop the awakening from taking place. We will bring her to him. He will speak with her. _Examine_ her. In the name of Khayrat."

_What the hell?_

"We have four days," Yoel said. "We cannot delay. The awakening must come. Otherwise, we are all doomed."

"It _will_ come," said Drew. "Come Monday night, any who step in the way, any who threaten the vessel, will perish. Talbot is key. Glory be to God."

"Glory be to God," the other two said in unison.

The three of them began chanting in some strange language, and Jordan took that as his cue to sneak back out of the locker room. He opened the door softly and inched into the hub. Andrea stared at him like he had three heads.

"Jordan, what's going on?" she asked.

He put a finger to his lips, pressed his ear to the door. They were still chanting. He threw his arm around Andrea and hurried her toward the exit.

It was only when they'd stepped back into the biting cold of January in Connecticut that Jordan breathed a sigh of relief.

"Seriously," said Andrea as they headed across the parking lot, "you _have_ to tell me what's going on."

"I don't know. It's just...‌freaking _weirdness_."

"Like what?"

"Like Drew talking like a fundy."

"You talked to him?"

"No. Listened."

"Oh."

They slipped inside his old Buick. Jordan started the car, waiting for the heat to kick on and defrost the windshield.

"Jordan, you're scaring me," Andrea said.

"Sorry," he replied, dropping his head in his hands, trying to think this through. There was a dreadful, sinking feeling in his gut. He couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it, but he just _knew_ that Jacqueline was in trouble.

He turned to his oldest friend. "Andrea, what're you doing on Monday after school?"

"Monday? Homework, I guess. Why?"

"Because we're going to spy on Drew. This is craziness, but I think he's going to do something horrible to Jacqueline."

"And if he does?"

Jordan threw the old Buick into reverse and backed out of his spot.

"Then I'll bash his head in myself," he said. "Just like Todd."

## CHAPTER 43

Jacqueline reclined in bed on the Saturday before her birthday, holding the compact close to her cheek. She smiled at Mal's warmth. Mitzy had been working so many hours lately that she'd taken to spending half the weekend sleeping, which meant Jacqueline did too.

But on this morning, her aunt stormed into her room at ten o'clock and shook her awake. Jacqueline sat up with a start, shoved the compact beneath her pillow.

Mitzy didn't seem to notice. She seemed exhausted, eyes ringed with purple, as she stared at her niece. She held a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. "What the hell is this?" she asked.

"What's what?"

Her aunt huffed, waved the paper in front of her. "This. Your report card. One B, three C's, a D and an F? Are you even trying?"

_Really?_ After everything that'd happened to her, Aunt Mitzy was freaking out over her _report card_? Jacqueline shook her head, rolled her eyes, and threw her hands up.

"Don't get that way with me," Mitzy scolded. "Your future's important, Jackie."

"Whatever." She tossed aside the covers, slid off the bed and past her aunt without a second glance, yawning as she hurried toward the stairs. Her stomach grumbled. Her head throbbed.

"Get back here," Mitzy said.

Jacqueline ignored her, tramping down the steps and into the kitchen, where she snatched the vitamin B smoothie from the fridge and slurped it from the bottle. Mitzy stormed in just as she was wiping the remnants from her lips.

"You're going to talk to me," Mitzy declared.

"Am not," Jacqueline replied, slamming the smoothie container on the counter and facing away from her aunt.

"What are you, five?"

"No. Are you?"

"This is stupid, Jackie. Stop it."

Jacqueline ground her teeth together. Her back was to Mitzy, and not looking at the woman allowed her to hold onto her anger. All the doubts she'd been having bubbled to the surface. Mal's voice echoed in her head: _She doesn't have your best interest in mind. You can't trust her._ She rolled her shoulders, puffed out her chest.

"You can't tell me what to do," she said defiantly. "You don't control me."

"I might not control you, but I'm responsible for you, and your future. You don't know how hard I work to protect you. I can't let these grades slide. You need to—"

Jacqueline spun around, flesh prickling. "Don't tell me what I need to do! I don't need _anything._ I don't need school, and I don't need _you_! What I _do_ need is sleep. Maybe I should just run away and go to the city. Make money selling drugs. Then I can sleep all I want." She grinned despite, or perhaps because of, her hurtful words.

Mitzy's lips drooped downward. "You shouldn't joke about stuff like that. It's not funny."

"Who's being funny?" Jacqueline said, throwing her arms out wide. "I should do it! It works for you. Look at all the nice stuff you have."

"What?" Mitzy said, falling back a step.

_Don't do it_ , Jacqueline's conscience told her, but her anger had control now. "I found your box upstairs," she grumbled, "the one with pot and gun and money."

Her aunt's eyes bulged, her lips quivered. "Jackie. Sweetie..."

"Admit it," seethed Jacqueline. "You're a drug dealer who has sex with cops so you won't get caught."

That was a step too far, and she knew it. Mitzy's entire body seemed to deflate. Her eyes glistened with tears that began to slowly roll down her cheeks. She backed up one step, then two.

Jacqueline froze, suddenly terrified now that she saw the hurt in those eyes. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She could only look on as Mitzy lost her footing and collapsed against the kitchen counter, sobbing. Mitzy's body shuddered. A few moments later, her aunt abruptly snatched up her purse and scampered out of the room before Jacqueline could gather the courage to say she was sorry. The sound of the front door slamming came next, followed by Mitzy's sedan roaring to life and screaming out the driveway.

"Come back. I'm sorry," Jacqueline whispered.

_Too late._

Jacqueline dropped her head. Finally she could move, and she moped back up the stairs and into her bedroom. She grabbed the compact from beneath her pillow, shaking so much that it was hard to pry it open. Mal stared up at her in concern. He brushed aside a strand of white hair and squinted. "What's wrong?"

"I think I screwed up," she told him.

"What did you do?"

"I yelled at my aunt." She sniffled. "I said some horrible things. I made her run away."

Mal shrugged. "Maybe it's for the best."

"What if she doesn't come back?"

"If she loves you she'll come back, Jackie. I promise." The boy in the mirror tilted his head to the side. "But if she doesn't...‌it won't matter. I'll be out of here soon, and we'll be together. It'll be the way it was always supposed to be, Jackie. You and me. Forever."

That night, as she lay in bed with Mal beside her head in an empty house, Jacqueline couldn't help but hear those words in her head over and over again. They should've been a comfort for her.

But with Mitzy still gone, they weren't.

## CHAPTER 44

"It'll be okay," Mr. Mancuso said as he steered his car through Sunday afternoon traffic.

"I hope so," Jacqueline replied, chomping on her fingernails and intermittently checking her phone. Mitzy still hadn't called. She hadn't heard from her aunt since the previous morning, and now she was really worried.

"It's not your fault. Everyone makes mistakes."

Jacqueline frowned.

Mr. Mancuso nudged her. "Kids get into fights with their parents all the time. Your aunt's a good woman. She'll come to her senses."

"What if she doesn't come back?" Jacqueline sniveled.

Mr. Mancuso patted her on the knee. It was a fatherly, comforting touch, not creepy at all. "Give her another day or two to calm down. I've known Meenakshi a long time. She _always_ comes back."

Jacqueline squinted up at him, wondering just how well he and Mitzy knew each other. They'd always just seemed like amiable neighbors, but there seemed to be something more there...

They finally arrived at Olivia's apartment complex. Mr. Mancuso pulled up to the curb, eyeing those walking the streets warily. "You sure you'll be okay?" he asked.

"It's fine. I'll catch the bus with Olive tomorrow."

"You brought your toothbrush, right? Night clothes?"

She patted the heavy bag in her lap. "Everything's right here."

"Good. I'll keep your house phone at my place, in case she calls. I'll tell her where you are."

"Thanks, Mr. Mancuso."

"Not a problem, Jacqueline. Take care."

"I will."

Jacqueline's foot sank into the snow bank when she stepped out of the car. Mr. Mancuso lingered on the side of the road as she made her way to the building's front entrance. Jacqueline then saw another man exit the church across the street and head for Mr. Mancuso's car. He wore a heavy overcoat, a priest's collar sticking up over the lapel, and he had frizzy gray hair. The priest waved at her, then stepped up to Mr. Mancuso's window and started chatting. _Mr. Mancuso must go to church here_ , she figured, staring at St. Joseph's Episcopal.

The door to the apartment building buzzed open before she had a chance to ring the bell. Jacqueline made her way to the stairs. Her overnight bag and backpack weighed her down, so she slipped her fingers beneath the straps and concentrated. The pressure all but disappeared as the straps lifted off her shoulders, suspended an inch above her fingertips by some invisible force. For the first time that day, she allowed herself to smile. Maybe these weird new abilities had some uses after all.

Olivia was waiting for her outside her apartment when she reached the third floor, grinning and gritting her teeth. "Finally! What took you so long?"

"Sorry, got hung up," she replied. Annette was the only one who knew about Mitzy running off, and Jacqueline wasn't sure if she wanted anyone else to know. Annette was the only one who knew about a lot of things, actually.

"Dude, everyone's here already. This is your gig. _Andale_. Let's go!"

Jacqueline said a quick hello to Miss Sabuco and Olivia's older sister Maria, who were sitting at the kitchen table, before Olivia dragged her down the hallway and into the living room. " _Mama_ , when're you going to the store?" Olivia called out.

"A couple minutes," Miss Sabuco shouted back.

"Get us some chips, 'kay?"

"All right."

The Otakus were all in the living room waiting for her _._ Annette gave Jacqueline a conspirator's stare. She mouthed, _You okay?_ Jacqueline nodded.

Olivia grabbed the bags off Jacqueline's shoulders, tossed them aside. "Stay awhile," she said. "And look excited, _chica_!"

"Um, okay."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "That's the spirit."

Keys jangled out in the hallway, the front door opened and closed as Miss Sabuco and Maria left. "It's time." Olivia ran out of the room, and when she returned, breathless, she carried the thick book she'd taken from the Coppington estate.

Jacqueline sat on the couch next to Annette. Neil and Ronni shoved over to give her room. Olivia paced in front of them, the book clutched to her chest.

"This is _so exciting_ ," she said. Olivia stopped her pacing and looked in Jacqueline and Annette's direction. "It's gonna happen. Tomorrow's the day! You excited yet?"

Jacqueline shrugged. "Sure."

"You're such a thrill, Jackie," Olivia sighed. "What's _wrong_ with you?"

"It's better to keep calm about this stuff, Olive," Annette said, saving her. "This is mysticism. Not even sure if it'll work."

Olivia looked exacerbated. "Then why'd you wanna try?"

"To see if we can," said Annette.

Neil reached over and slapped the tiny girl five.

"Okay, well _you_ guys can be stoic all you want. _I'll_ stay pumped. I mean, come _on_! __ Ya can't tell me the possibility people used to use that old mirror to open a line of communication with the afterlife _isn't_ exciting."

Jacqueline thought of the vision of her parents, trapped and screaming inside the mirror, and shuddered.

"It'll be exciting if it works," said Annette. "Until then, it's just a theory. An _insane_ theory."

"I think it's kinda neat," whispered Ronni. "Getting to talk to your folks after they're long dead..."

"Thank you," Olivia said. "At least _someone's_ with me."

Annette chuckled. "Olive, we all know you're a spaz. How about doing what we came here to do?"

"Yes!" Olivia exclaimed, kneeling on the carpet on the other side of the coffee table. Jacqueline leaned forward, jittery. Concern for Mitzy's whereabouts was pushed to the back of her mind, at least for the moment. She almost wished Mal, hidden in her overnight bag, could be there to listen.

Olivia presented the book to her friends, its cover wiped clean of dust. The old leather binding shimmered. "I told you that this word is _pact_ in Latin, but I finally figured out what the second world on the cover means. Turns out it's a Hebrew name. _Khayrat_. Means 'benevolence' or something like that. There's always tons of different definitions for these old names, though. Anyhow, that means this book's title is actually _The Pact of Khayrat_ , or something similar. Interesting, huh?'

Annette nodded. "Okay, cool. But what's inside?"

"Most of it's in Latin, but I translated a few larger passages." She glanced toward Jacqueline. "Turns out it isn't about the mirror at all."

"No?" Jacqueline asked.

"Nope. And it's not as old as I thought either. Most of the book dates to the 1920s, transcribed and updated from a five-hundred year old text written by someone named Yusef Darshmal. Other parts are obviously even newer, but there's no dates. It's kinda an all-in-one type thing—part scripture, part history, part pseudo-science I wouldn't understand if I was smart enough to go to freakin' MIT."

Annette raised her eyebrows. "Examples?"

There were sticky notes attached to some of the pages. "Take this," Olivia said, flipping open the book to an illustration of a mechanical disc of some sort, all its parts spread out. The illustration was titled _Cragton_. "It's a blueprint. I got no clue what the hell it's supposed to be, but the words are strange. That word there means _containment_. The one over there means _connection_ , and that one over there, next to the pointy-looking thing, actually means _antennae_."

"What's it do?" asked Ronni.

"Like I said, I don't got a clue."

Neil cackled. "Okay then, how 'bouts you show us something you _do_ have a clue about?"

"Fine." Olivia skimmed deeper into the book. "This here's a long bit. Kind of an origin story, I guess. It talks all about this Khayrat dude, which I think is another name for God. Here, listen to this; 'Khayrat came down from the heavens, and His light bathed the people in warmth. He promised to take from them their wills, their passions, and in return they would have everlasting peace, a place in the Garden by the Father's side, none would know hunger, strife, anger, war, famine.' Then I guess the people turned their back on ol' Khayrat, God left their hearts, blah, blah, so on and so on. It goes on like that for a while."

"Is this, like, old timey fiction or something?" asked Neil.

"I doubt it," Olivia said. "You ask me, this is some weirdo cult's bible."

"Makes sense," said Ronni softly.

Neil nodded. "Legends say old Gabriella Coppington worshipped the devil."

"Well, if this was _her_ book, she didn't worship the devil. It's more like...‌shoot, I don't know...‌like Scientology, if Scientology actually had anything to do with science. Well, _weird_ science, anyway."

"Weird science?" Annette asked.

Olivia rifled through the pages. "I didn't really get into a ton of translations of the sciency bits, mostly 'cause I didn't understand it and Annette said I needed to be quick. There's stuff on astronomy _and_ astrology, chemical compounds, that sort of thing. This part talks about spiritual positioning—you know, organizing your house to get the proper flow of energy, like feng shui. And check this out! I only looked at the first paragraph, but it looks a little like string theory; a bunch of stuff about disappearing particles and overlapping realities and all that."

That perked Neil up. "Really? From five hundred years ago? Damn."

"Maybe," Olivia said with a shrug. "Could've been part of one of the updates. Then there's this." She swiveled the book back around, tapping her finger on the page. Jacqueline joined her friends in staring at a diagram of a female figure in the center of a circle, her arms and legs splayed. It looked kind of like a DaVinci piece— _Venetian Man_ or something.

"What's that?" asked Ronni.

Olivia smiled. "This whole section's about creating a flawless human through centuries of genetic manipulation. It's all spelled out here." She pinched at least a hundred pages between her fingers. "I didn't translate it. Way __ too much info. But the parts I skimmed through had ethnic interbreeding, mutations, the attributes of different tribes in different parts of the world, stuff like that. I wish I had time to look at it more. It's pretty fascinating."

Jacqueline pointed to the markings above the illustration. "What's that say?"

" _Gorgon_ ," Olivia said, and Jacqueline's throat clenched. "I think that's the name they gave this 'perfect human.' Though given what they say about it, I don't know why they'd call it 'perfect.'"

"Why?" asked Jacqueline.

"Just something it says down here. Something about these things called _The Infinity Trials_ , which I know, sounds like a bad _Hunger Games_ rip-off. I guess the Gorgon's supposed to complete these trials, then cause the end of days. Which _completely_ contradicts that stuff about paradise earlier."

"Oh," Jacqueline said, leaning back on the couch.

Annette squeezed her hand. "So there's nothing in there about the mirror we found in the basement?"

"Not that I've seen," answered Olivia. "But this damn book's six hundred pages long. You gave me nine days. I got homework and stuff to do too, you know."

"I know," Annette said. "Just wondering. Looking for a connection"

Olivia perked up, a sly grin on her face. "Well, there _is_ a connection, but not to any mirror," she said.

"What?" asked Neil and Ronni at the same time.

"This is the best part," Olivia said, flipping to the back of the book. "A list of names, like an appendix. There's freaking _tons_ of them."

Annette screwed up her face. "What's so special about that?"

Olivia slid the book across the coffee table. "See for yourself."

Jacqueline pressed her nose to the book. There were indeed names written there, each of them followed by a series of letters and numbers. She glanced down the list, and her eyes widened.

There were two last names that appeared at least fifteen times on that page's list—the first one being Cottard, the second, Talbot.

"Huh," said Neil.

"That's your last name," Ronni whispered.

"Yup," Olivia blurted out, grinning at Jacqueline. "Looks like your family was in a cult, _chica_. And tight with the Cottards too!"

Jacqueline wrapped her arms around herself. She didn't know what to say.

"Talbot's not exactly an uncommon name," Annette said, her tone fierce. "Could be anybody. Leave her alone."

"Whoa, it's a joke," said Olivia.

"It's okay," Jacqueline was able to say. "I get it."

"Phew. Friends, right?" She dipped her chin and gave Jacqueline puppy dog eyes.

"Friends."

"Coolness."

Neil leaned forward. "What else does the book say? I wanna see more of the physics stuff."

"I don't," Annette said. "I think we're done with this for now." Olivia went to protest, but Annette cut her off. "We got other things to talk about."

"Such as?" asked Ronni.

"Like how we're all gonna get out of our houses tomorrow night, what books on witchcraft Olive's gonna bring, what materials we need...‌you know, that sorta thing."

Olivia smiled even wider, if that was possible. Jacqueline breathed a sigh of relief when she carried the book out of the room.

For the next fifteen minutes they sat there and listened to Olivia lecture about the spices and oils they'd need to try a spell, none of which mattered in the slightest. Mal had already told her what she needed, which was her and her alone, plus another particular item. Olivia was going through all this work for nothing, and it made Jacqueline feel guilty.

_Or is she?_

She then thought of her fight with Mitzy. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she stared at the tiny viewing screen. No messages. Her heart sank.

Olivia's mom and sister got back home, and everyone hurried into the kitchen to get snacks. Jacqueline snuck the compact out of her overnight bag and excused herself to the bathroom. She sat with the compact unopened on her lap for a long time.

She'd been hoping for answers, and she'd gotten some. But they weren't the answers she wanted.

"Shoot, Mal," she groaned to the empty bathroom. "What the hell have we gotten into?"

## CHAPTER 45

Jacqueline lay restless on Olivia's bedroom floor. Her friend was sleeping peacefully, and Jacqueline wished she __ could be more like her, just close her eyes and drift away.

But she couldn't.

_Gorgon_ , the book had said. __ Mal had called her, and himself, that name. Were they destined to end the world together? A grand thought to be sure, but then again it made sense. Everything she touched turned to dust. It was her fault everyone eventually left her. She _deserved_ to be alone. According to the book, it was her fate. _Daddy's daughter after all._

_You're an idiot,_ she told herself. _Stop letting the world drag you around. Do what_ you _wanna do for once. Make your own damn choices._

But what if part of her _wanted_ to be that powerful? What if part of her heard the bit about ending the world and was actually intrigued? Did that make her a bad person?

Jacqueline crawled out of her sleeping bag and went to the bedroom window. It was snowing again, tiny flecks passing beneath the streetlights like a million translucent fairies. The church across the street beckoned her with its stained-glass windows and warm yellow lights. She thought of her dad, toward the end, just before he lost his mind. He'd sometimes disappear when she was sleeping, and one night she'd caught him sneaking back into the house and asked him, in her naïve, ten-year-old way, where he'd gone.

"To church, sweetie," he'd said. "St. Mary's. The good one."

"Why?"

"Because sometimes answers only come when you're alone with God."

This church looked similar to how she remembered St. Mary's, and she grasped onto what Olivia had said about St. Joseph's—that it was the only church in town where she'd felt comfortable.

That's where she needed to go.

Jacqueline dressed in silence, quietly lifted Olivia's apartment key off the dresser, and then crept down the hall. She slipped out the door, and when it clicked shut, the sound was loud as a firecracker. She cringed. Down three flights of stairs and out into the cold she went, holding her compact tight to her breast.

Snowflakes melted on her cheeks as she headed for the church. It was past one in the morning, and even the highway a mile behind her seemed quiet. A cold wind billowed her hood. She cursed and pulled it taut as she stormed up the church's front walk.

The electric candles on either side of the large double doors gave off soft, warming light. Jacqueline tugged on one of the handles, and the door opened easily. Warm air kissed her cheeks, she smelled incense. The door closed behind her with an audible _sigh_.

The church's ceiling was high and arched, pews extending outward to the walls from the central aisle. The only light came from twelve wall-mounted lamps illuminating wooden bas-reliefs depicting Jesus' final march to Calvary.

Jacqueline went to the first row of pews, flipped down the kneeler, and kneeled with hands clasped before her, the compact between them. She stared at the altar. A black marble chair sat just beneath a giant statue of Jesus that'd been fastened to the wall. There was a welcoming smile on the statue's face as He held His arms out in greeting, and Jacqueline found herself smiling as well. She was used to seeing images of a painfully dying Christ; it was actually surprising to see Him depicted any other way.

She bowed until her forehead touched her clasped fingers. "Please, tell me what to do."

"Hello?" asked a man's voice.

Jacqueline jerked upright, slipped off the kneeler and jarred her tailbone. She let out a yelp, rubbed the sore spot, and glanced to the right of the altar.

The same gray-haired priest she'd seen talking to Mr. Mancuso was standing there, a look of great concern on his face. "I'm so sorry," the priest said. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay." Jacqueline righted herself, slipped the compact into her coat pocket.

The priest approached, gesturing to the empty bench of polished mahogany beside her. "May I?"

Jacqueline nodded and slid over. The priest sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

"I'm Father Gallagher," he said. "Sorry to frighten you. It's unusual to get worshippers at this time of night."

"Why're you still awake?"

Father Gallagher smiled warmly. The deep creases around his mouth made him look kindly and wise. "The Celtics are playing on the west coast, and I never miss a game. My wife says it's a disease, caring that much about a bunch of men tossing an inflated rubber ball into a hoop. I don't believe her." He winked.

"Oh," Jacqueline said.

"So I told you who _I_ am. Who might _you_ be?"

"Jacqueline," she replied.

"Have we met before, Jacqueline? You look familiar."

"No."

Father Gallagher snapped his fingers. "Ah, I remember. You know Fran."

"Fran?"

"Fran Mancuso. He's been a member of this parish for years. He dropped you off today."

"Yeah, that was me."

"Well, Jacqueline, it's an honor to make your acquaintance."

"Yours too." She shook his hand. His grip was strong but not overly so.

Father Gallagher leaned back in the pew, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at the statue of Jesus. "So, Miss Jacqueline," he said, "is there anything you'd like to talk about? Anything you'd like to get off your chest?"

She hesitated before saying, "Not really."

"No?"

She shook her head.

"Very well. Some things are between you and God. I'll be in the sacristy if you wish to talk. It's that door just around the corner of the altar there."

Father Gallagher stood up, his tender brown eyes twinkling when he smiled. Then he turned to leave.

"Wait," Jacqueline said.

The man paused. "Yes?"

"Is God real?"

Father Gallagher tilted his head. "What?"

Tears dribbled down Jacqueline's cheeks as her words spilled out. "My mom died when I was three. My dad was a nice man who blew up three hundred people before he was executed. People die horribly all the time. Whole countries starve while rich people buy more food than they can eat. Little girls get hurt all over the world, get tortured and abused, and everyone acts like it's normal." She wiped snot from her upper lip. "Why would God let that happen?"

The priest took off his collar and sat back down beside her. "Trust me, Jacqueline, that's something I've asked myself a lot over the years."

"You have?"

"Of course. I'm human. _All_ religious people are human. We speak what we believe to be the word of God, but that doesn't mean we don't doubt. We do. All the time." He chuckled. "It's the nature of the beast."

"Why?"

The man ran a hand through his gray hair. "Just because, Jacqueline. We put our heads down and fight our way through life, often with little guidance that truly means anything. We fight the cruelty of the world, ignoring the fact that each of us is cruel in his or her own way. We search for answers, for _purpose_ , but rarely do we find either. So we take solace in what we can; a holy book, a meaningful gesture, the kindness of strangers, a basketball game." He smiled sadly. "Mostly, that's all we need to go on."

This man didn't speak like any priest Jacqueline had ever met before. "So do you?" she asked.

"Do I what?"

"Do you believe?"

Father Gallagher nodded. "I do."

"In all of it?"

"All of it? No."

She stared at him sidelong, pursed her lips.

"Confused, I see," Father Gallagher said. "Let me put it to you this way: I believe that there's something larger than us out there, something vast and unknowable. And I also believe that there's power in the words within the Bible. The gospels are filled with life lessons everyone should learn, whether they came from the mouth of God or not. The hard part is separating what's good from what isn't."

Jacqueline wiped the tears away from her eyes. "You're strange, Father Gallagher."

"I'd rather think I'm truthful, both to myself and the world at large. I know the Bible was written by men, and I know that men twist the lessons to fit their own needs. I know there are many drawbacks to the Church, no matter its incarnation. But I believe that magic exists in the world, and I believe love is the greatest magic of all, the strength of people binding together in a common goal, in mutual kindness. _That_ is what will eventually defeat those terrible things you spoke of earlier. _Love_. I know it's not quite as simple as that, but it's still something we need to strive for."

"You think so?"

"I do."

Jacqueline folded her hands, bringing her gaze up to the statue of Jesus once more. She decided right then and there that she liked this Father Gallagher. She could trust him.

"You mind if I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Are people born bad?"

The priest cupped his chin in his hand. "People are born with equal penchant for good and evil, I think. Most go through their whole lives straddling a line between the two."

"So we're not bound by destiny?"

The priest unlatched his hands and laughed. "No, Jacqueline. __ Fate is the great lie of every religion. There is life, and how you choose to live it. That's what I believe, anyway."

Jacqueline smiled. "Thank you," she whispered.

"It's my pleasure, Jacqueline. Truly."

She checked the time, saw it was going on two o'clock. "I better get going," she said, wrapping Father Gallagher in a sudden hug. He patted her back, and Jacqueline smiled against his shoulder, feeling a semblance of peace. "Thank you."

"I'm always here," Father Gallagher said. "Anytime you need to talk, I'll listen."

She kissed his cheek and left the church. The air that greeted her when she walked outside didn't seem as cold as before. She reached into her coat pocket, felt the compact's warm surface.

_I'm not evil_ , she thought. _I'm anything I choose to be._

And she chose to be with Mal, forever and ever, Amen.

## CHAPTER 46

Jordan stared out the windshield, the world an eerie blue beneath the night's full moon. In the driver's seat beside him, Andrea shivered. They'd decided to take her Mazda on their little spying mission instead of Jordan's Buick.

Jordan took a sip of his lukewarm coffee, fidgeted in his seat, and then turned his attention back to the road. It was past nine o'clock and they were in the parking lot of the small strip mall opposite the entrance to Highland Park. There were only two other cars in the lot.

"How long are we gonna sit here?" Andrea asked.

"Don't know. Give it 'til midnight."

"We've been here for two hours already."

He sighed. "I know."

"Fine." Andrea took a sip of her own cup and grimaced. "Ick. I hate cold coffee."

"Me too."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You owe me. You can't expect to put me through this kind of boredom for free."

"It's not so bad," Jordan said. "I like the quiet."

"I don't."

"Just a little longer, promise," he told her, patting her knee.

He hoped that was true. They'd started following Drew's black Lexus all around town when school ended, but all Drew had done was pay a short visit to Phoebe Wolfe, then pick up Yoel and Kurt and drive to the hardware store in the center of town. After that they'd stopped at Allegro's, an upscale Italian restaurant, and sat at a corner table for three hours, barely touching the food they ordered.

After the restaurant, Andrea and Jordan trailed them back to Highland. That's where they'd been ever since. Jordan had to swallow his doubts and ignore Andrea's complaints. It was entirely possible he was being paranoid, but that paranoia made him vigilant.

Finally, a pair of headlights appeared on Highland's hill. Jordan and Andrea dipped lower in their seats as the car took a sharp left, heading southeast on Grove Street. It was definitely Drew's Lexus.

"Let's go," Jordan said.

Andrea waited until she could barely see taillights before firing up her Mazda. There was little traffic, what with it being Monday night, and there weren't any cops around. Jordan worried that Drew would notice them even though Andrea kept a good distance away, but the Lexus just kept lazily driving along all the way to the southern edge of town. It was then that the Lexus veered off to the right and headed south, toward the Mercy Hills farming district. Vast white fields replaced the wooded cluster of suburbia.

"Keep going?" asked Andrea.

"Yeah," Jordan replied uncertainly. This was weird. Drew _never_ went to this part of town. Not even for one of the summer bonfires.

Andrea pulled onto the farm road, and slowed down. The landscape was so flat and monochrome that it'd be the easiest thing in the world to spot a tailing car, no matter how much distance was between them.

The Lexus's taillights disappeared as it passed a set of ramshackle tobacco drying barns. The taillights never reappeared. Jordan squinted, sat forward, his heart pounding, a headache spiking behind his eyes. _There's nothing he could do to Jackie way out here_ , he told himself.

"You know, I got a term paper due on Wednesday," Andrea complained. "There's nothing out here but freaking snow and more snow. I think we lost them. Can we turn around now?"

Jordan sighed. "Not yet," he said. "Just give it—"

Faint headlights reappeared to their left. Andrea slowed the car to a stop, and they both watched as the headlights zipped into the distance, vanishing behind yet another barn.

"Is he driving through the snow?" Andrea asked.

"Can't be. There's a good foot on the ground. Gotta be a horse road or something."

Andrea nodded and hit the gas without complaint, seemingly interested now. Sure enough, a quarter mile up the road they came across a slender, freshly-plowed path. Andrea turned onto it, her Mazda's suspension bucking. "Turn off the headlights," Jordan said. "If they stopped up ahead, we don't want them to see us coming." She did, and with the snow radiating the light of the full moon, it was almost easier to see than it'd been with headlights.

A barn loomed a hundred feet ahead, a pair of automobiles parked in front. One was Drew's Lexus; the second car was domed with a foot of snow.

Andrea brought the car to a halt fifty feet away. "Okay, you know where he is now. Can we turn around and go home?"

He thought it over a moment. "Not yet. I wanna check it out."

"You're killing me here. Not to mention my gas tank."

"I know. Sorry."

He slipped out of the car before Andrea could protest further and sneaked along the frozen dirt road, slipping every other step on the ice. His breath misted in front of his face.

Jordan stepped between the two cars, noticed that the snow-covered one was a Nissan sedan, and felt a jolt of déjà vu. He shuddered and tiptoed up to the barn doors, which were propped open slightly. He peered through the narrow opening, and his breath caught in his throat.

The space inside the barn was illuminated by four standing lights, the power supplied by a small generator. In the corner, one of the sideline heaters the football team used vomited hot air. Drew, Yoel, and Kurt stood around in nothing but jeans and tee shirts, Drew with a metal pipe in his hand. In front of them were two people tied to chairs, their mouths gagged. One was some hooligan with a patchy beard and an old leather duster hanging off his shoulders.

The other, her eyes seething as they stared out over her gag, was Jacqueline's aunt.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Drew said. Jordan's fingers shook as he pressed closer to the narrow opening. _What the hell?_

Kurt yanked off the bound man's gag, and he hacked and spat a wad of blood, struggling against the ropes binding him. The guy looked absolutely terrified. "I didn't do nothing!" he shouted.

Drew shook his head. "Stolas, father allowed you here of his own charity, as repayment for prior deeds. You overstepped your bounds."

"I didn't do nothing!" the bound man repeated.

"You threatened the life of the vessel. Twice."

The man's eyes widened.

"Did you think father wouldn't find out?" said Drew, wagging his finger. "He has eyes and ears everywhere. There is nothing that happens without his knowledge. We see now that it was a mistake to allow you to roam free."

"But I didn't hurt her!" the man said. "I ran away!"

Kurt knelt down, forcibly grabbing the guy's grubby face and yanking it around. "You touched the vessel," he said, spit flying. "The vessel is to be pure, not tainted by a vile thing such as you."

"More will come!" exclaimed the bound man. "There's use for me!"

Jordan's mind blanked. He had no clue what was going on, and it was terrifying.

"You have broken the Covenant, Stolas," said Drew, raising the steel pipe to his shoulder. "That cannot go unpunished."

"No, you don't underst—"

Drew swung the pipe sideways, connecting with a loud _clink_ before the man could finish. His head snapped to the side, his jaw crunching into an unnatural shape. A flap of skin opened up, exposing his upper gums. Jordan gagged, but shock stopped him from throwing up. He watched Yoel knock the chair over, sending its occupant crashing to the ground. Drew then continued his assault, the pipe _clanging_ off the man's skull, his back, his shoulders, his legs. Yoel and Kurt joined in, mercilessly kicking at the prone man. His struggles died down, until the only time his body moved was when it was hammered by his assailants. A dark pool expanded across the barn's dirt floor.

Jordan flitted his eyes to the side, numb. Miss Sarin was struggling against the ropes, her chair bouncing. She screamed through her gag.

Drew wheeled on her. "Silence," he said, his tone low and threatening. "Your time to suffer will come, once we discern your role."

Yoel put a finger to his lips and leered. "She is a lying whore."

"Yes," Drew replied. "And there are ways to hasten the tongue of a liar. I want her singing when father comes to question her."

When Yoel and Kurt smiled, their upturned lips dripped with menace.

Jordan staggered away from the doors, his mind a flurry of thoughts he couldn't control. He'd just watched people he once called friends kill a man in cold blood; there was no telling what they'd do to Jacqueline's aunt. He whirled, spotted the outline of Andrea's car in the distance, a black square against a palate of cobalt and white. He almost made a run for it.

He squatted down, rubbed his temples. _No. Calm down. Think._

His heartbeat gradually slowed, and he stood back up. There was a stack of discarded two-by-fours propped against the side of the barn, and he carefully lifted the top one. It was damp and warped, but solid.

As if guided by a voice from afar, Jordan dashed toward Drew's Lexus, placed both hands on the hood, and shoved. The car rocked. He shoved again, harder this time, and finally a blaring alarm sounded. He rushed back to the barn doors and braced himself behind them.

"What is that?" he heard Yoel say.

"Car alarm," Kurt answered. "Something must have tripped it."

"So silence it," said Drew.

"You have the keys."

Drew sighed. Footsteps approached the doors.

Jordan breathed in and out through his nose deliberately. The barn door creaked outward. He held the two-by-four out wide. Drew's head appeared, hair blown back by a cold breeze. Jordan's former friend paused, staring first at his own car, then toward Andrea's.

Jordan swung without warning, the two-by-four connecting with the Drew's head, snapping it to the side. Drew Cottard fell like a sack of rocks, an ugly gash yawning on his temple.

For Jordan, it was like being possessed. He saw nothing but a haze of red as he wheeled into the barn like a Viking berserker. Kurt and Yoel gaped, barely a chance to react before he was on them, swinging away, connecting with flesh left and right. He was a being of righteous anger, attacking his former teammates with all the strength he could.

First Kurt fell when Jordan slammed him upside his chin with the two-by-four. Then came Yoel, Jordan first elbowing him in the gut and then bringing his blunt weapon down on the back of his head. Yoel collapsed flat on his face with a sickening _crunch._ Jordan hovered over him, ready to bring his bludgeon down again and again, just as Drew had done to that poor man.

Then Jordan caught sight of the dead man's ever-expanding pool of blood, and he ceased mid-swing. He tossed the two-by-four aside and swiveled around to see Miss Sarin gawking at him.

He rushed up to her, hastily untying the ropes around her wrists and ankles. When her hands were free, Miss Sarin spat out her gag, lurched up from her chair, and held him by the shoulders. An ugly purple splotch marred the left side of her face, her lips were swollen.

"Jordan!" she said. "What day is it?"

"Monday."

"Oh, God. Where's Jackie?"

"I don't know," Jordan replied, his body suddenly jittery all over.

Miss Sarin ran for the corner, where her large purse had been discarded. She pulled out her cell phone, pressed a few buttons, and held the phone to her ear, pacing. Yoel moaned, splayed out on the dirt floor, and Miss Sarin gave him a swift kick to the side of the head with her winter boots, stilling him.

The woman removed the phone from her ear. "Forty-three messages. Shoot."

"What's happening?"

"Hold on."

The woman punched more numbers and held the phone to her ear again. "Come _on._ " Her expression soured. "It's not ringing. Shit."

Miss Sarin made a beeline for the barn doors, Jordan following behind. He watched as she knelt beside Drew's unconscious body and rifled through his pockets. When she yanked her hand back out, she held a ring full of keys.

"Don't just stand there," she said to Jordan. "Find something sharp. Before they wake up would be nice."

He searched the wrecked farm equipment without question while Mitzy swept the snow off her car. He found a thick length of jagged metal and presented it to a panting Miss Sarin, who used it to poke holes in Drew's tires. The automobile slowly sank lower as the tires deflated, its alarm still bleating.

"Miss Sarin, what's going on?"

Mitzy brushed hair from her face. "It's starting."

"What's starting?"

"No time to explain." She jumped inside her cleaned-off sedan. Jordan hurried to the side of the door, panting and baffled, looking to her for answers.

Mitzy took a deep breath, seemed to gather herself. "Jordan, I need you to find Jacqueline. _Protect_ her. It's important. I'll meet you there when I can."

"Protect her? From what?"

"Someone's coming for her. Someone that could ruin _everything_."

"Should I call the police?"

"No!" she said, vehemently shaking her head. "No cops, not in this town. We just need to _go_."

"But where?"

She paused a moment. "My house. Try there first. Hurry."

Miss Sarin ripped the door closed. Her tires kicked up snow and muck as she careened backward, then spun around and shot down the dirt road, riding up on a snow bank to avoid smashing Andrea's Mazda.

Jordan sprinted to the car and jumped inside as quickly as he could. Andrea's dark skin was pale, her eyes wide with fright, her mouth hung open.

"What the _hell_?" she whispered, lips quivering.

"Just drive. Get to Chestnut Street, as fast as you can. And don't ask me to explain, 'cause I know as much as you do right now."

## CHAPTER 47

There was ice on the walls of the Coppington mansion basement, but as Jacqueline stood facing the mirror, a wave of warmth circulated through her veins. Her friends, gathered in a semicircle behind her, shivered.

"Happy birthday to me," she whispered.

All of Olivia's ingredients—sandalwood, campher, orange, and patchouli for the blessing oil, along with a muslin bag filled with shilajit and lavender—were aligned on the floor in front of them. The framed pictures of Joe and Dhanya Talbot from Jacqueline's wall were propped up on either side of the mirror, a blue candle flickering between their images. The spell wasn't truly the reason she was here, but Jacqueline felt expectant anyway. What if it worked? What if her parents actually showed? What if the image she'd seen the first time was real?

Annette whispered in her ear, "We should tell them."

Jacqueline's insides clenched.

"No talking," Olivia ordered. Her head was down, eyes closed. All five friends held hands.

The candle burned down to nothing, casting the basement into sinister darkness. Neil clicked on an electric camping lantern. Jacqueline glanced at Annette, mouthed, _I can't_. Annette nodded in understanding.

Olivia raised her head, and all hands unclasped. She looked at Ronni. "Go get the candle."

Ronni picked up the plate and Olivia held open the muslin bag so she could pour the cooling wax inside. Neil scraped hardened remnants off the plate. Then Jacqueline tipped the cup filled with blessing oil, dribbling three drops. Olivia sealed the bag and placed it on the ground between the two framed pictures.

"Listen, I kinda changed the wording," Olivia said, pulling a folded sheet of paper from her back pocket. "Usually this spell's used so you can be given answers in your sleep, but I wanted to try something." She smiled nervously. "Hope I didn't screw it up."

"I don't think you did," said Ronni softly.

Olivia nodded. "Jackie, you got the question?"

"She does," said Annette, handing over a note card with the words _Are you together in the afterlife?_ written on it.

Olivia held a lighter to the card, and it slowly went up in flames, glowing bits floating around their heads like fairies. Olivia then lifted her unfolded paper. "Can everybody see this? Yeah? Okay, let's say it together. On three."

The Hispanic girl cleared her throat and counted down. Five voices spoke in unity: "No longer with us but wisdom is forever. We ask for information in this matter. Answer us through the portal of forever as we stand here dreaming. As we will it so mote it be."

"Now what?" whispered Neil.

Olivia glared. "Now we hold hands again and wait. So shut up."

Jacqueline held her breath, staring at their reflections in the mirror. They all looked so young, kids playing with things they'd never understand. The mirror seemed to darken for a moment, making Olivia gasp, but nothing appeared other than their reflections.

"Anyone see anything?" Ronni said out the side of her mouth.

"No," pouted Olivia.

Annette squeezed Jacqueline's hand. Jacqueline took a deep breath.

"I got an idea," she said, voice cracking.

"Yeah?" said Neil.

Jacqueline swallowed. "Yup. I was looking up some stuff. Sound frequencies can help summoning spirits. The right frequency can open doors between realities. Or something like that."

She hadn't looked anything up; those had been Mal's instructions.

"What, we supposed to hum or something?" asked Olivia.

"Nope." Jacqueline reached into her coat pockets, removed the two tools she needed—the compact, and an electronic tuner she'd borrowed from Brian, the spiky-haired boy from down the street. "I got what we need right here."

She approached the shelving to the right of the mirror, refusing to look behind her and see her friends' expressions. With care, she nestled the compact into the larger top hole of the strange metal contraption. It fit perfectly. She then put the tuner down, setting it to f-sharp as she'd been told to do, and turned it on. A whining drone filled the air, and she suddenly realized the buzzing she'd heard the first time she came here was absent.

"What's she doing?" Olivia asked.

"Shush," Annette scolded.

Jacqueline took a deep breath, stopped her hands from shaking, and opened the compact. Mal was there, staring up at her, smiling. She stood directly in front of him so that he couldn't see her friends.

"Beautiful girl," he said.

"Don't be mad," she whispered, and Mal's expression dropped

"Who's she talking to?" Neil said from behind her.

"Who was that?" asked Mal.

"Friends. Don't worry."

"Annette?"

"All of them."

"Jackie..."

"Just trust me."

The boy in the mirror looked up at her doubtfully. Jacqueline sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. With the note whining away, she placed her palm down on the mitten-shaped impression in the second device. The plastic felt cold and slick under her bare flesh.

"What's she doing? I don't like this. _En absoluto._ Not one bit."

Jacqueline felt a low vibration work its way outward from her core, making her whole body quake. Her eyes grew droopy and her muscles weakened, as if the strange device was slowly sapping her of life. Lights surrounding her hand sparked to life, flashing a series of reds, greens, yellows, and purples. A beeping sound easily rose above the drone of the tuner.

Behind her, the rest of the Otakus _Oooh'ed_.

Jacqueline peered at Mal's image as it flickered in and out of existence. Jacqueline's heart seemed to stop beating whenever he disappeared. A shriek pierced the night, bouncing off the basement walls. Her friends shouted behind her. Jacqueline screamed

The six-foot-tall mirror started shaking. Multicolored lights, just like those coming from the plastic device, pulsed along the seaweed and fishes carved into its mahogany frame. The weird symbol adorning the placard at the top then blazed to life, lighting up the massive expanse of the basement. The air grew hot, ice melted on the walls.

Jacqueline backed up, almost lifted her hand out of the mitten-shaped impression. "Don't!" Mal shouted, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Jacqueline swallowed her fear and pressed down harder, even as she grew weaker. Her knees buckled.

_"What the hell's going on!"_ screamed a terrified Ronni.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Neil.

Jacqueline looked on in horror as Mal vanished from the compact. The small round mirror went dark, then shattered. The surface of the much larger mirror started to ripple with black oil, just like in her dreams. Circles plinked on the liquid sheen, expanding ever outward.

And then Mal appeared.

He stood in the mirror, surrounded by inky blackness. For the first time, Jacqueline saw the whole of him, and he was beautiful, tall and lean, his white hair hanging just above his shoulders.

"Jackie," Mal said. "I'm coming."

Her friends yelled behind her.

Mal rested his palms against the inside of the mirror and pushed, but met resistance. His smile curled downward. He shoved harder, but the rippling sheen didn't budge. The mirror began to shake; the pictures of Jacqueline's parents fell over, glass shattering. Mal's eyes widened, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His face was awash with panic.

"Jackie, help me!" he cried.

"How?" she yelled back.

_"HELP ME!"_

Jacqueline fell to her knees, her hand still on the plastic device. The lights surrounding the mirror flared. Mal's mouth twisted in pain, and he collapsed. Blood sprayed from his lips, speckled the inside of the mirror.

"Mal, no!" Jacqueline shrieked.

Mal cradled his arm to his chest, rolled into a sitting position, and gazed at Jacqueline with heavy eyes. He looked dismayed, a boy who'd lost hope.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"NO!"

The mirror went dark; a single crack snaked down its center. The machines wound down with a whine. The only sounds Jacqueline could hear was her own heavy breathing and the hum of the tuner.

"Mal?" she whispered.

Her hand slipped off the now-cold plastic device, and she crawled toward the broken mirror. She stared at her own reflection in the two halves. Her eyes were sunken, cheeks pale, hair slathered with sweat. She was all alone. Mal was nowhere to be found.

"What the heck just happened?" someone asked.

Jacqueline turned around. Annette stood ten feet away, arms crossed over her chest and shaking. Olivia, Neil, and Ronni huddled together, looking terrified. Annette took a step toward her friend, but Jacqueline held up a hand, stilling her. She stared at the broken compact.

"He's gone."

"Jackie?" said Annette.

"He's gone. Mal's gone."

_If this doesn't work, I'll cease to exist_ , Mal had told her. _Should that happen, destroy the mirror. You have activated the portal; we cannot let darkness pass through._

Jacqueline's muscles tensed. Whatever strength the weird machine had sucked from her came back tenfold, and she rumbled toward a pile of broken furniture. The iron post of an old bed frame jutted out of the wreckage, and she grasped it tightly. With a single, mighty yank the post came free, causing the pile of debris to collapse. She turned and ran at the mirror, shrieking, iron post held above her head like a club.

"Jackie!" Annette shouted.

She didn't listen. The mirror showed her the faces of all those who'd wronged her. The Korvaks, Tyler, Papa Gelick, Todd. Even her father was there, judging her, with Mitzy standing right behind him. Jacqueline reared back and brought down the post as hard as she could. The blunted end connected with the top of the mirror. Chunks of reflective glass flew through the air as it exploded.

She swung her weapon relentlessly, smashing the mahogany frame and the wires within, crunching the legs. The mirror fell over, but Jacqueline didn't let up. Only when it was in splinters did she turn to the two strange devices, demolishing those as well, the steel crumbling under her anger as if it were balsawood.

When it was done she stood above the wreckage, shoulders heaving. Her throat was sore from screaming. The post fell from her hand, thudded on the dirt floor. Her anger was replaced by a heart-wrenching emptiness.

"They're all gone," she said, facing her friends. She would've broken down right there, but she didn't seem to have tears left to shed.

Annette approached her. "We're still here," she said.

Jacqueline curled in on herself. "I want to go home now. Can we go home?"

"Of course."

## CHAPTER 48

Hannah drove down some dirt path in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by snowy fields and graffiti-covered barns, in the middle of the night. A long string of curses streamed from her lips. She was _pissed_.

Drew had called and asked her to come get him in tobacco country, and he'd sounded desperate, which was unlike him. _There's a lot unusual about Drew lately._ He was talking much more eloquently, which had turned her on something fierce at first, but he wouldn't touch her anymore. He spent all his time with Yoel and Kurt. When Hannah talked to him, he acted bored, even rolling his eyes. It seemed like he wanted out of the relationship, which was why she'd jumped into action when his number came up on the caller ID.

_It's all Mr. Cottard's fault_ , she thought, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she turned down a snow-packed side road. Drew hadn't been the same since his father had pulled him away from her after Christmas mass, after all.

A thought came to her, and Hannah smiled mischievously. Maybe this little rendezvous was his way of making her happy while keeping away from his father's prying eyes. She leaned forward and focused on the slippery road with renewed vigor, gazing at the snow on either side of her. _I hope he brought blankets._

The road ended at another dilapidated barn, Drew's Lexus sitting in front of it, the rear windshield covered in frost. Hannah pulled up alongside and threw her own car into park. When she shut off the engine, she wrapped her scarf around her neck and braced against the wind. It was so cold outside that it felt like her core was turning to ice.

As she approached the barn, she noticed that all of Drew's tires were flat. She frowned, holding out dwindling hope that her boyfriend's call had been about more than asking for free cab service.

Then she walked through the barn doors, and her hope vanished.

Drew stood in the center of the space, bathed in electric light. A generator chugged along in the background, hot air blew out of a forced-air heater to the left. Yoel and Kurt moped off to the side. A knot of rage formed in the back of Hannah's throat.

"What the _hell_ —"

The ugly gash running down the left side of Drew's forehead stilled her tongue. That side of his face was purple and swollen, his hair and neck was caked with dried blood. Yoel and Kurt were beat up too, Kurt's eye swollen shut, Yoel's nose flattened and hideous.

Hannah ran up to her boyfriend and threw her arms him "My God, what happened?"

"We ran into trouble," he said, wincing.

"What kinda trouble? Who did this to you? Did you call the cops?

Drew shook his head.

Hannah kissed his cheek, and he didn't kiss her back. He was stiff, his pupils dilated. She wondered if he had a concussion. "Drew, what's going on?"

"Nothing. We simply need a ride," he told her, wiggling out of her clutches and gesturing to the other two. "Yoel, Kurt, get in the car. We are leaving."

He certainly didn't sound like he had a concussion.

Heat rose on Hannah's cheeks, and she shoved both hands into Drew's chest, knocking him backward. He glared at her, and she glared right back. Hannah Phillips wasn't about to be ignored.

She went to jab her finger into his chest, but she caught sight of something in her periphery and paused. Against the far wall of the barn, in the darkness behind one of those raised lights, she saw a rolled and bulging tarp. Murky handprints covered its blue surface. Hannah forgot about Drew for the time being. There was something sticking out from one of the tarp's rolled ends, fluttering in the circulating air from the heater. _Is that hair?_

She walked up to the spooled tarp and knelt down, touching the tacky threads. _Yup, hair._ The dirt floor was dark with wetness. She reached down, her fingers pressing into the damp earth.

"What the—"

Hands violently grabbed her shoulders, lifted her to standing. She was spun around and shoved backward until she collided with the wall, breath knocked from her lungs. Drew barred his arm across her chest, his expression frighteningly passive. Kurt and Yoel lingered in the background.

Hannah tried to get free from his arm-bar, but he was too strong. Fear made her heart thump. "What...‌are you...‌doing?"

"We are to be part of something wonderful, Hannah," he said.

Drew lifted a small tube, flicked off the rubber stopper with his thumb. He held the tube underneath her nose. Hannah scrunched up her face and tried to turn away. She gagged, the back of her throat itching, as a reek like a compost heap drenched in gasoline assaulted her. Pain spiked in her head, like knights clashing swords behind her eyes. Bile climbed up her throat, she turned to the side and gagged.

"Is it not wonderful?" Drew said.

The rancid odor and her queasiness did nothing but piss her off more. She snapped her head around, bile flinging from her lips, and growled. Drew's passive expression became concerned.

"Let go of me," she seethed.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"None of your business. _Let me go_."

He dropped his arm and backed up a step. Hannah took a deep breath and brought a hand to her sore breastbone. Drew stared at her, dismayed. She wished she could bash his face in.

"This...‌is unfortunate," Drew said.

"Damn right it is," she shot back. "I don't know what you're playing at here, but it's not funny." She eyed the rolled-up tarp, reached into her coat, and pulled out her cell phone. Luckily, she still had bars.

"What are you doing?" asked Drew.

"Calling the cops," she said.

"Do not."

"Stop me."

Her fingers tapped out the first two digits, but she never got to the third. In a single violent motion, Drew swung his fist, connecting with the underside of her jaw. Her teeth slammed together through her tongue. Stars burst in her vision, blood filled her mouth. Her face went numb, followed by the rest of her. Her knees buckled and gave out.

She hit the ground, hard. Hannah's brain was on fire, as was her face. Her world began to spin, and she was able to loll her head enough to see Yoel and Kurt approaching. The two boys helped lift her, carried her out of the barn and into the bright, moonlit night.

Hannah was dumped unceremoniously in the back of her own car. She closed her eyes, her vision gone wobbly. She sensed someone sliding into the backseat beside her. Doors closed. The engine started up and then they were moving, the sway and bounce of the car making her feel ill all over again.

"Should we dispose of her?" Yoel asked.

"That is for father to decide when he returns."

Those were the last words Hannah heard before she passed out.

## CHAPTER 49

The Otaku Clan walked down Brenslow in silence. Headlights appeared behind them for a moment and then disappeared. No one said a word. Jacqueline was glad for that. She didn't want to try and explain what'd gone on in the basement. She just wanted to go home to Mitzy's empty house, curl up in bed, and fall asleep forever. She clutched the broken frames containing her parents' pictures tight to her chest and put one foot in front of the other, head down.

Her life was over. Mal was gone. Mitzy was gone. All she had now were her friends, and she just knew that once they returned to their homes, they'd disappear from her life completely. She'd finally be the pariah she should've been after Drew pasted those articles about her dad all over school. And scary as it was to admit, part of her actually _wanted_ that.

But not all of her, far from it.

The group passed the park and approached Chestnut Street. Jacqueline heard another car approaching, a moment later twin bright lights sped past the walking teenagers. Her insides buzzed. _What's wrong with me?_ She felt anxious, like she had the night Todd took her to the Halloween party. She shouldn't feel that way. Her life was over. She should be despondent instead, should want to crawl in a hole and never come back out.

When they were a couple hundred feet from the house, Olivia flipped down her furry hood and turned around to walk backward. "So...‌is anyone gonna talk about what went on in there? I mean, c'mon. That was _loco_!"

"Not now, Olive," said Annette.

"Why?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer." Olivia leveled her gaze at Jacqueline. "I think we _deserve_ an answer."

"You wouldn't believe it," Jacqueline said softly.

Neil hurried to the front, matched Olivia's backward walk stride-for-stride. "We wouldn't? After what we just saw? Jackie, that was some freakin' exorcist shit back there! You could tell us you're Carl Jung reincarnated and we'd believe you."

"You don't have to say anything," Annette quietly told her.

"I know," Jacqueline said, then resigned herself to her fate, pathetic as it was. "I'll tell you guys once we get inside."

Neil clapped his hands. "Deal!"

Everyone picked up the pace after that, Olivia seeming to have extra pep in her step. Annette frowned in concern, squeezed Jacqueline's hand. "I'm sorry about Mal," she whispered. "I'm here for you."

Jacqueline's heart broke all over again.

There was a boy waiting on the porch when they got back to Mitzy's house, his head hanging between his knees. Everyone stopped and stared. The boy glanced up, rose to standing, and waved. Jacqueline's eyes widened, she fell back a step.

"His face," she gasped.

"Jackie, what's wrong?" Annette asked. "Who's that?"

The boy hopped off the porch and sauntered gleefully toward them, smiling. He wore nothing but a long sleeve tee shirt and jeans despite the sub-freezing temperatures, and his face was badly bruised and scraped, but it was the shadows slithering over his skin, hovering above his head like tentacles, and the pair of blazing red eyes staring at her, that made Jacqueline whimper. Neil looked at her like she was nuts.

_They can't see... ‌they can't see..._

"Who're you?" Olivia asked the boy.

"Just a weary traveler looking for his mother," he said, his voice as horrifying to Jacqueline as his appearance. It was two-toned, a thick layer of deep gurgling on top, a hidden stream of frightened innocence just underneath.

"That's a weird thing to say," said Neil. "What happened to your face?"

The monster reached for Jacqueline. "I've come for you," it said, eyes boring into her. "Your blood will be my rebirth. Will you give it freely?"

"You're creepy," whispered Ronni.

Neil scrunched up his face. "Dude, is this a joke? Who the hell _is_ this kid?"

An engine rumbled, and Jacqueline heard a car pull up and stop. "Jordan?" Annette said, confusion in her voice.

"Jackie, your aunt sent me!" the senior boy shouted. Jacqueline was too enraptured by the horror in front of her to reply.

Heedless of the danger, Jacqueline's friends turned to greet Jordan just as the boy-slash-monster opened his mouth. Countless needle-like pincers tore free from his gums. Jacqueline dropped the photos of her parents, the frames skittering on cold pavement. The boy leapt at her before she could move to defend herself, striking her square in the chest and knocking her backward. The kid bit down on her neck and she screamed, fiery needles of pain surging through her insides.

Behind Jacqueline, voices rose in panic.

Jacqueline shoved the kid off her, and his eyes turned skyward, blood dripping down his chin. The shadows wreathing him retreated like smoke sucked into a vent. Jordan Thompson was there in a flash, ramming his shoulder into the kid, sending him careening onto the snow-packed front lawn. Jacqueline gasped and held her sore neck.

Jordan crouched in a fighting stance, fists out before him, while the kid in the snow began crying. He sat up on his knees and stared at his hands, eyes wide with shock. " _Where am I?_ " he shrieked. "I want my mo—"

The kid vomited blood, silencing his screams. The Otakus shouted and huddled together behind Jacqueline. Jordan dropped his fists. "What the hell?" he said.

The kid pitched forward, body bulging, skin stretching until it was nearly see-through. Veins burst beneath his flesh, blooming reddish-purple welts. His howl was like the pleading cries of a million orphans being lowered into a flaming pit at once.

With a sickening _rip_ , the kid's body split open down the spine. Bones snapped, blood gushed from the gaps in the flesh. Claws then tore through those gaps, ripping and tearing. The kid's jaw disintegrated, and in its place appeared a pair of glowing eyes set into a black face slicked with red. Jacqueline's heart pounded, her fingertips twitched, and she breathed in short bursts as a monstrosity birthed itself right in front of her.

The last of a once-human shell slid to the snow with a _splat_ , revealing a hunkering gnome of a beast. Its arms were curled around its head, and it slowly pulled them away. The shoulders were thick with muscle, its arms ending in clawed hands. Its reverse-jointed legs quivering like a newborn calf's. The face that stared out at her was skeletal, with a hollow for a nose and two long tusks pointing straight upward, rising above those glowing red eyes. The entirety of it was covered in glistening viscera. The thing opened its mouth inhumanly wide and roared.

The Otakus freaked out, blubbering and screaming, and the demonic thing let out another roar and stepped out of the bloody puddle that'd birthed it. Jordan braced himself, obviously terrified but not freezing up. Jacqueline admired him greatly for it, and in a strange moment of clarity realized that she too still had her wits about her.

The creature stepped onto the driveway, hooves clomping on icy blacktop. Its eyes were focused on Jacqueline and Jacqueline alone, as if no one else existed. The thing reached out its claws and went to charge her, only to be grabbed from behind by Jordan. The strong young man tossed the thing over his shoulder with a grunt, then straddled the beast and rained punches down on its face, knuckles coming back bloodied.

A flailing, clawed hand sliced open Jordan's coat, gashing the flesh beneath. He wailed in pain, but continued to punch the thing. Jacqueline edged closer. Beneath Jordan's assault, the creature stared at her, grinning through its tusks.

A hoofed foot struck the back of Jordan's head, snapping it forward. Jordan brought up his arm in self defense as the beast swiped at him. Sharp claws tore easily through his sleeve, blood gushed from his forearm. He cried out and fell backward. The monster hovered over him as he clutched his ruined arm, its maw opening wide, ready to tear the flesh from his face.

Seeing Jordan in danger broke something within Jacqueline; the red rage she'd felt when Papa Gelick tried to molest her returned with a vengeance. She balled her fists and took a step forward.

"Get down!" an adult's voice shouted.

Jacqueline was run into from behind just as the night lit up with bright flashes and deafening explosions. She lifted her head, saw the beast stagger, bits of its body torn away. One of its tusks splintered, a gaping hole opened in its shoulder. The thing wheeled around, barreling onto the snow. It leapt at the house, crashing through the bay window and disappearing inside.

Jacqueline looked behind her, saw Annette panting as she lay on her legs. The other three Otaku were on the ground as well, and behind them, holding a smoking shotgun, was Mr. Mancuso. The man rushed up to Jordan and knelt down, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to sop up the blood.

Jacqueline heard the creature smashing through the living room. She glanced over at Jordan, who rolled and moaned as Mr. Mancuso worked on him. Nothing made sense, but she knew she didn't have time to think about it too much. She scrambled to her feet and rushed toward the house despite the protests of her friends.

She barreled into the living room and there the creature stood, at the end of a trail of blood and slime. It turned to face her. Jacqueline felt power she never knew she had before build up inside her. This wasn't the same as Papa Gelick; it wasn't the same as with the killer in the park. This was more _real_ , more _dangerous._ She lifted her hands; electricity sparked at her fingertips.

The creature opened its mouth and a long gray tongue snaked out. Jacqueline charged without care for her own life. She threw a fist, and when she connected, the beast's head snapped to the side as if struck by a hammer. It crashed into the entertainment center.

Jacqueline grabbed a lamp from the corner and hurled it with all her might. The lamp smashed into the thing's face and exploded. Oozing cuts opened up all over leathery flesh. The thing snarled, snapped its jaws.

Girl and beast circled each other. Jacqueline had never felt more powerful in all her life. Somehow she knew, just _knew_ , that she'd kill the hellish thing. She'd rip it limb from limb and eat its heart, and then she'd march around Indentia with its head slung around her neck for the whole world to see.

_Indentia?_

She paused, confused by the strange thoughts. Then the front door opened and her friends came rushing in, holding snow shovels, further distracting her. Jacqueline's burning rage faded ever so slightly.

The creature barreled into her, claws slashing, tusks clacking. Jacqueline held on for dear life as they tumbled to the ground, avoiding the thing's talons, her heavy parka getting torn to shreds.

They rolled from side to side, locked too close to do much damage. Jacqueline spotted a jagged shard of glass on the floor a few feet away. She chanced to release one arm from around the monster and reached for the shard, but it was out of arm's reach. _Please_ , she thought, and the glass slid a short distance and hopped up into her palm. She made a fist around it, the sharp edge slicing her fingers, and drove the shard as hard as she could into the monster's side.

It arched its back and howled at the ceiling, then fell off her. Jacqueline rolled away, panting. Her back was wet from being gouged, but she felt no pain, just like she couldn't feel the puncture marks in her neck any longer. She got onto her hands and knees and looked on as the creature yanked the shard from its flesh and glowered at her. It took a menacing step forward, one of its hooves slicing through the collapsed leg of the coffee table. Jacqueline drew back her arm, ready to pummel it, somehow confident that she could.

Just then, another form came streaking through the already-smashed bay window. The dark blur careened into the monster and sent it tumbling. Whatever this new thing was, it moved _quickly_ , almost too fast for Jacqueline to see clearly.

The two combatants were locked in a struggle atop the destroyed remnants of Mitzy's entertainment center. The air filled with animalistic bawls and growls. Jacqueline inched forward, getting closer to the clash. She could see the newcomer now—a man wearing jeans and a denim jacket, his long black hair flying around him as he pummeled the creature. The man leaned forward like he was going to give the beast a kiss, then snapped his head back, tearing the flesh from the thing's neck. Blood, black and diseased, spurted onto the carpet. The light in the monster's eyes dimmed and went out. It fell still.

The man turned to face her, strips of flesh dangling from his chin, and Jacqueline gasped. It wasn't a man she saw, but another monster, this one with bumps all over its forehead and a mouth full of sharp teeth. Its ears were pointed, its nose like a bat's. Yellow eyes with reptilian slits stared out from beneath a distended brow. Jacqueline hurriedly backed away, readying herself for the attack sure to come.

The new monster rose to its feet, shoulders slumped. It shook its head and the bumps disappeared, as did the fangs and the pushed-up nose, revealing the slender, mournful, blood-drenched face of a young man. There was no mirage around him, no hidden evil, as if the monster in him had up and disappeared. He turned his back to her and stood, feet shoulder width apart, staring down at his kill.

"What a freaking mess," a familiar voice said.

Jacqueline spun around. Her friends were all lingering in the foyer, looking on with whitened and gaping faces. Aunt Mitzy was among them, arms braced against the doorway. She worked her way into the house, looking this way and that, shaking her head as she took in the wreck of her living room.

Mr. Mancuso and Andrea stepped into the house after her, Jordan leaning on them. They guided the injured boy toward the chair in the corner. Neil, Olivia, and Ronni moved aside for them, a comical lack of understanding showing on each of their faces.

Mitzy wandered across the living room. Up close, Jacqueline could now see that her aunt's face was bruised, her lips swollen. Mitzy didn't look at her as she approached the denim-wearing, long-haired man who had, only moments before, looked like a monster. Mitzy placed her hand on the man's shoulder and stared down at the dead beast.

"Which one is this?" she asked.

"Tripura," the man said.

Mitzy sighed. "Not the right prophet. That's good, right?'

The man's shoulders rose and fell once.

"Edwin, do me a favor and clean up the mess out front, okay? We need to be quick about this. The cleaning supplies are in the trunk."

She handed him a set of keys, which he took. He nodded and headed for the smashed bay window, his eyes flicking in Jacqueline's direction just before he leapt back outside.

Mitzy shook her head, kicked the dead thing in the head, and then walked to another free chair, swept debris off it, and slumped down, head in her hands. Jacqueline stared at her, then at Annette, who'd sidled up beside her friend. The white-haired girl shrugged. So did Jacqueline.

Mitzy stared at her niece for the first time since she'd entered the house. "Is it too late to wish you happy birthday?" she asked.

Jacqueline just stared at her.

"I thought not. Oh well."

"Mitzy, what's going on?" Jacqueline asked, her voice hoarse.

Her aunt frowned as she glanced down at the dead beast. "There's something you need to know, sweetie. Monsters...‌they're real."

"No shit," Jacqueline said, and somehow, she laughed.

## EPILOGUE

All was quiet in the basement of Coppington mansion. The constant creaking of the huge house's shifting boards, borne from decades of neglect, was silent. Even the rats stayed away.

A brisk wind blew through the basement, originating from nowhere and everywhere at once. The wreckage of the standing mirror shuddered and shook. Tiny bits of wood, glass, and steel bounced along the dirt floor, disturbed from their slumber by a ghostly vibration.

Five feet above the wreckage, a pinprick of light formed. That pinprick grew to the size of fist, then a dinner plate, then as big as a person. It became a spinning blue disk, wisps of cloud and shadow spiraling inside its shimmering surface. The revolutions grew frenzied, whipping up a current so intense that the debris beneath it scattered. The pile of junk furniture sitting twenty feet away was caught in its gale, old boards shoved back against the stone wall, crunching and shattering. The brass frames of antique lamps bent. The floorboards above clacked, raining down dust and grime.

A high-pitched whine charged the air, and the naked body of a man fell through the spinning blue disk. He struck the ground hard and bounced, crying out in pain. The portal that had been sealed by the mirror that had guarded it for over a century festered and weakened, wisps of cloud and bits of stardust spurting from the remaining tendrils of light, until the gateway collapsed in on itself and the basement was cast into darkness once more.

The fallen man groaned, aching all over. For a moment he feared his every bone was broken, but when he tried to move, his body still worked. He gritted his teeth and rose to sitting, wrapping his arms around his slick, naked body as he shivered. It was cold here. So cold.

"I feared you wouldn't make it," spoke a voice in the darkness.

"Well, I have," the fallen man said. "It's freezing. Do you have a blanket?"

"Of course, my Prophet."

A match was struck and a candle lit, bathing the basement in dim light. The shadowy figure of another man approached, this one tall, with a head of slicked-back black hair. The man's eyes were opened wide in reverence. He reached out with a heavy down comforter. The fallen man wrapped it around himself, bathing in its blessed warmth.

"Is everything in order?" the fallen man asked.

The second man nodded. "It is. You are here. The first trial is complete. The second is in motion."

"And our Covenant?"

"Weak," the second man said, inclining his head as if in shame. "Our numbers are few. I have called out to the others, requesting support."

"And will they come to us?"

At that, the second man grinned. "They will have no choice, my Prophet. None can deny the glory of Khayrat."

"Good." The fallen man winced at the pain in his spine. "Do you have what I need?"

"Yes, my Prophet. The box is waiting for you."

"Good. Now if you would, please help me up. I'm weak from my journey. Passing between worlds is...‌tiring."

"Yes, my Prophet."

"Alexander, please stop calling me that," the fallen man said. "I have a name. You know it. Use it."

"My apologies, Yusef. It will not happen again."

"Good."

Alexander Cottard helped him rise to his feet. The fallen man felt so _weak_. It hurt just to breathe. Hopefully, his recovery wouldn't take long. There was much he had to do.

He stumbled along, his arm wrapped around the High Prince of Khayrat's neck. The light from Alexander's candle reflected in another mirror buried in a pile of discarded junk. He glanced at his reflection, at his head of silver hair, his gray eyes, his slender nose. He almost didn't recognize himself.

Mal couldn't help but smile. "It's good to be back."

The story continues in _Wolves at the Door_ , available now,

<https://bit.ly/wolvesdoor>

## Author's Note

The story of Jacqueline Talbot has been stewing around in my brain for a _very_ long time. The first inklings of a plot came about almost twenty years ago, when I met a man named Joe and his adorable little daughter. Joe was the nicest person you could meet, but there with a sadness to him, and a sense of mystery. Every person who knew him was told a different tale about his past, kind of like a mellow, likeable version of Heath Ledger's Joker from _The Dark Knight_. That mystery got my wheels spinning.

Soon after he disappeared from my life, never to be heard from again, my imagination took over. First came his tragic backstory, which was partially laid out in my novel _Silas_. Then came the idea that his daughter, whom I renamed Jacqueline, would be at the epicenter of the world I would soon create.

Sure, it took nearly two decades to get there, but better late than never, right?

The true inspiration for this book, however, is my daughter, Legacy. It's been quite a few years since I've been in high school, after all, and the world is a much different place now than it was back then. It was Lily who guided me through the intricacies of teenage interactions and friendships, youthful interests, high school social hierarchies, and modern speech patterns and slang. As writers, we use whatever tools we can to make our stories believable. The fact that she was the same age as these main characters when I first started writing wasn't an accident.

In the end, this series is my love letter to her. My way of taking all my fears for her safety in a dangerous world and placing those fears onto characters who wouldn't just persevere, but overcome. It is a story of female empowerment, of love and loss and strength in the face of great odds. As with shows such as _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ (in my opinion the greatest television series ever created), it is the trials and tribulations of youth presented as the fantastic. It's about mistakes and determination and the way that the world seems to revolve around you when you're a teenager. Only in Jacqueline's case, that just might be the truth.

So thank you, readers, for taking this journey with me. I hope I gave you an enjoyable ride. I ask that you leave a review at whatever outlet you purchased this book from, as reviews are part of the lifeblood that fuel an author's success. And if you feel the need to contact me, do so at rjduperreauthor@gmail.com. I look forward to hearing your words, as I truly appreciate any and all feedback.

With that, I bid you adieu, my readers. Be sure to check out the next book in this series, _Wolves at the Door_ , which is now available at all major retailers.

**_WOLVES AT THE DOOR_**

Link: <https://bit.ly/wolvesdoor>

Turn the page to read a sneak peek of that very book.

## WOLVES AT THE DOOR

### The Infinity Trials Book 2  
Preview:

## Chapter 1

Jacqueline Talbot laughed even though her shredded winter coat hung off her in strips; even though the entirety of her was awash in pain; even though the blood trickling from the cuts in her palm formed a series of small pools on the floor. Her laughter gradually died down, the buzzing energy that had given her strength while she battled the beast slowly ebbing away. Suddenly, she felt tired.

Aunt Mitzy sat in her recliner, gently massaging the bruises on her face. The beautiful woman, the last family Jacqueline had, winced as she rose to her feet. She whistled, and Mr. Mancuso, their neighbor, stood up from across the room. He considered her with curious eyes.

"Fran, please take that thing outside," Mitzy said, pointing at the dead demon splayed atop the ruins of her entertainment center. "And make sure Edwin burns it properly. If not, it might come back."

"Of course," the older man replied.

"Oh, and try to get everyone else on the same page."

"I will."

Mr. Mancuso went over to the dead monster, lifted its legs, and dragged it out the door.

Mitzy beckoned Jacqueline closer, grabbed her hand. "Now let's see that," she said, turning the hand over, examining the cuts Jacqueline had gotten from the shard of glass she'd jammed into the demon's side. "Not too bad. Not too deep. Sorry your birthday ended this way." She gave a forced smile. "At least you can learn to drive now."

Jacqueline stared at her aunt. "Mitzy, what's going on?"

"Where to start?"

"How about with the vampire guy," Jacqueline said.

"Vampire guy?"

"Edwin."

Mitzy used her scarf to wrap Jacqueline's bleeding hand. "Oh, Edwin. Not really a vampire, but that definition works as well as any. He's my...bodyguard, I guess you could say."

"He's not very good at his job." She pointed at her aunt's bruised face.

"Well, he can't be everywhere at once."

"He's a monster."

"Not all monsters are bad, sweetie."

Jacqueline scanned the trail of blackened blood leading out the door. "What about that thing? The other monster? Obviously bad, right?"

"Tripura? Oh yeah he was."

"You called him a prophet."

"Yup," Mitzy said. "An ancient thing that follows a long-dead god. Not entirely surprising he turned up, since he did the last time things started going wonky too. But that was fifteen-hundred years ago, so I was kind of expecting someone else."

Jacqueline backed up a step and tugged on her hair. "What're you talking about? How do you know this stuff? Who _are you_?"

"I'm your aunt, sweetie. That hasn't changed." Mitzy leaned in close and whispered, "But this isn't the time or place. Look over there. Someone needs help. I'll call an ambulance."

Jacqueline turned. She'd forgotten about her friends. The Otaku Clan remained by the foyer, Neil, Olivia, and Ronni lingered in the foyer with shovels in their hands and jaws slackened, while Annette seemed to be taking in the scene with the sort of cold calculation Jacqueline had come to expect from her. Jordan slumped in an easy chair, his normally deep brown complexion gone waxen and pale as Andrea shook him.

Jacqueline rushed across the room. Andrea stepped aside so she could kneel in front of the injured young man. The entire right side of Jordan's body was covered in blood. His eyes were half-mast, his head flopped, and he let out a groan.

Just seeing him in such a helpless state broke something in Jacqueline. "C'mon Jordan, wake up," she whispered. She touched his forehead. He was burning up. She rose up on her knees and kissed his cheek. When her lips touched his flesh, his eyes rolled toward her and he gave the hint of a smile.

"So now you care..." he murmured.

"Of course I do," Jacqueline said, and she really did. In the past, Jordan had made her feel otherworldly and fragile, as if she was something to be worshipped and coddled instead of an actual human girl with real feelings. But he didn't look at her like that now. He was hurt, he'd lost a ton of blood, and in his exhausted eyes she saw all the thoughtfulness and adoration she hadn't seen before. She wondered if something had changed for him, or if he'd been this way all along and she just hadn't been awake enough to notice.

_Awake..._

Jacqueline sat back on her haunches and allowed Andrea to once more tend to Jordan's wounds. Her other friends came up behind her. Comforting hands touched her shoulders, caressed her back, fingers were run through her hair. They all knelt down around her, four wonderful teens who'd become not only Jacqueline's friends, but her fellow witnesses to the fantastic. They shared an embrace. None talked, but they didn't need to. The warmth of their touch meant everything.

Oh, how Jacqueline loved them.

The authorities arrived a short time later. Paramedics lifted Jordan onto a stretcher and brought him to a waiting ambulance. Jacqueline went outside to watch them go, amazed to find that not only was half the neighborhood, most of whom Jacqueline had never met before, gathered around Mitzy's driveway, but no evidence remained of the nightmarish demon that'd birthed itself right in the front yard. The disturbed snow was smoothed over as if nothing had happened. Edwin and Mr. Mancuso had disappeared into the night with the monster's corpse.

Mitzy told the police it was an attempted home invasion. She gave vague descriptions of the perpetrators, showed off Mr. Mancuso's shotgun and told them she'd been the one who fired on the crooks, and shielded Jacqueline and her friends from answering any questions. Investigators went inside and took pictures. Neighbors stood out there in the cold and corroborated Mitzy's story. None of them seemed like they trusted the cops at all.

Eventually, come three in the morning, the cruisers left and the neighbors filed back to their homes. Andrea offered to drive the rest of the Otakus home, and one by one they climbed into her car. Annette was the last, fiddling with the frayed ends of her white hair. _Call me_ , she mouthed, and Jacqueline nodded. Her friends were really handling all this stuff well, considering they'd just seen a real live monster. Annette then slipped into the back seat and shut the door. The car zoomed off into the night, leaving Jacqueline alone with her aunt.

The two of them stood in silence. An arctic wind blew, and Jacqueline wrapped her ruined coat tighter around herself to try and stave off the cold. Mitzy looked at her house.

"Gonna need to fix that," she said. "It'll be drafty with no window."

"Mitzy, can I ask you something?"

"Not yet. First, you need to tell me what happened tonight. After that, I'll answer any questions you have. Come on, let's go where it's warm."

They climbed into Mitzy's sedan, which still sat jackknifed in the road. When her aunt turned the key, blessed warmth blew from the vents. Jacqueline looked straight ahead, wringing her fingers together while she thought over the night's events. How had everything come to this? She glanced at her aunt, who sat patiently in the driver's seat and stared at the road. The purple welts on her cheeks and forehead looked glossy in the light of the full moon. The cut on her swollen lip had scabbed over. A rock fell in Jacqueline's gut. She wanted to apologize so badly. After all was said and done, Mitzy was still here and Mal wasn't.

The thought of Mal made her tear ducts activate.

Mitzy looked at her and smiled softly. "It's okay, sweetie. And I'm sorry. I didn't run away, you have to know that, but what happened to me doesn't matter. What I need is to know what happened with _you_. What went on tonight?"

It took no further prodding than that. Jacqueline spilled her guts, telling her aunt all about Mal, the boy who used to live in her compact and had been her only friend for nearly six years, about the immense strength she'd started feeling, about the strangeness of her dreams and visions. Mitzy listened intently, never once interrupting. Jacqueline got to the part about what happened at the old haunted house down the street. Once she finished, she shook all over. She saw Mal's face in her mind, his awkward smile, his silvery hair, his words of love.

"So you went to the Coppington place," Mitzy said.

Jacqueline nodded.

"What did you do? You didn't touch the mirror in the basement, did you?"

Jacqueline's eyes widened. "You know about the mirror?"

"Just answer me," said Mitzy, her tone suddenly stern.

"I did. It's...it's gone."

"Gone?"

"I kinda broke it."

"Shit."

Mitzy threw the sedan into drive and peeled off down the street. Jacqueline tensed as the car zipped through the darkness, until Mitzy finally realized she hadn't turned the headlights on. Jacqueline watched her aunt mutter to herself. She turned sharply onto the next connecting street.

They arrived at the Coppington estate, and Mitzy skidded to a stop on the side of the road. She grabbed a flashlight from the glove box and trundled onto the snow-covered driveway, stepping in the footprints Jacqueline and her friends had created earlier that night. "Come on, Jackie!" she yelled, and Jacqueline followed, laboring with each step.

Mitzy stormed into the manor house, the light of her small LED flashlight leading the way. Jacqueline entered behind her, the second time she'd stepped foot in this house in less than four hours. Yet she felt a strange sort of normalcy this time, like she belonged here. The walls didn't sag, she didn't see things out the corner of her eye.

And there was no buzzing.

It was only once they reached the basement that Mitzy paused to take a breath. She stood in front of the wreckage of the mirror, one hand firmly planted on her hip, and shined her flashlight first on broken bits of wood and mirror, then over to the two strange, now-ruined devices that'd been attached to it. Both piles of debris looked different than Jacqueline remembered after she'd destroyed them, too perfectly aligned almost, but then again how could Jacqueline know for sure what they'd looked like? She hadn't been thinking straight at the time.

In a way, she still wasn't.

For a long time Mitzy said nothing, until finally she ran a hand over her face. "You said a boy named Mal told you to do this," she whispered.

"Yeah," Jacqueline replied softly.

"Who was he?"

"The love of my life."

Mitzy glanced at her, frowned. "You're fifteen, Jackie—"

"Sixteen."

"You don't know what love is."

"I know Mal loved me."

"You don't really know Mal, or how he knew the things he did. He didn't have your best interests in mind."

"He said the same about you."

At that, Mitzy puckered her lips. "So that's why you went off on me that night."

Jacqueline cringed. "Pretty much."

"You know I'm not a drug dealer, right?" Mitzy's expression softened in sadness. "That wasn't pot you found."

"Then what was it?"

"It was just...something else."

"Oh. That's helpful."

Mitzy kicked a stray board, and the broken bits of mirror beneath it clinked away. "There's a lot of stuff you don't know, Jackie. So much. I should've come to you sooner, then none of _this_ would've happened."

"Shouldn't you be happy?" asked Jacqueline. "I got rid of the mirror. No one can use it now."

"Just what do you think this mirror did?"

"It opened portals to different worlds."

"Mal told you that?"

"Yeah."

"Figures." Mitzy turned to her niece, grabbed both her hands. "Whoever Mal was, Jackie, whatever he meant to you...it was all a lie. And this is your proof. The mirror didn't open portals, at least not in the way you think." She held her hand, palm down, over the destroyed mirror. "Where this house is right now is what you'd call a 'narrows,' an area where the walls that keep this reality separate from the others are thin. A soft spot between universes. It's all science stuff I don't really understand, but it's real. This mirror _was_ a door when needed to be, but mostly it was a plug." She stepped back and looked around. "Now that plug's gone. Now the door's stuck open, and I'm going to have to get Edwin to close it. It's quiet at the moment, but that won't last. Anything that wants to come through, will."

"Come through? From where?"

"From just about anywhere. Another Earth, or maybe someplace even darker."

"Then why would Mal want it destroyed?"

"Who knows?" Mitzy said gravely. "All I _do_ know is he's put you in danger."

Jacqueline knelt on the packed dirt floor and hung her head. Had Mal really lied to her? Was his love a sham? _He just made a mistake_ , she tried to tell herself. _He was confused._

But she wasn't sure what she believed. She started to cry.

Mitzy sat down beside her and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I really am. I know this is hard. I know you're confused, and I promise you'll have answers, but you need to be strong. You need to be the woman you were meant to be."

"And who's that?" Jacqueline sniveled.

"Someone strong enough to save mankind."

Jacqueline's head cocked to the side.

Mitzy reached out and stroked her hair. "You've felt it. The changes inside, the fits of anger, the sudden strength, the feeling that there's something in you larger than you can hold, begging to bust free. You're an important girl, Jackie, the most important girl in the history of the world. I know it, and so did your dad."

"He did?"

She nodded. "He knew you were special, and he knew there'd be people out there who'd want to destroy or enslave you. That's why he burned down that church—not because he'd gone insane, but because those people had planned bad things for you. Your dad sacrificed himself so you could go on, otherwise you wouldn't be right here, right now, talking to me, with an actual shot at a future."

Jacqueline sat back, shocked. It all sounded so unbelievable. Her heart raced, but at least for the moment she wasn't thinking about Mal.

"They've been around since the dawn of man," Mitzy continued. "Waiting, watching, and preparing for your birth. They're bad people, Jackie, and they won't rest until they've gotten what they want."

"Who are they?"

"The same people who did this," her aunt said, pointing at the bruises on her face. "People like Alex Cottard and his friends and family, which includes pretty much a quarter of this town."

Jacqueline thought of the book Olivia had taken out of this very basement. There'd been a list of names in the back of that dusty old tome, Talbot and Cottard among them. "My dad's parents, my grandparents," she said in a moment of revelation. "They wanted the same thing. That's why dad ran away from them."

Mitzy nodded.

"Oh wow."

Her aunt inched closer, draped an arm over her shoulder. "I know this is a lot, sweetie. I know it seems overwhelming. But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'll tell you everything in time, teach you what you need to know. It'll be dangerous, yes, but you'll handle it. You'll succeed. You have to."

Jacqueline hugged her knees to her chest. The basement seemed to close in around her. "Do I really?"

"You do."

"And I won't have to do it alone?"

"Of course not, sweetie. They have their Covenant, we have ours. And I think you'll find you have allies where you'd least expect."

Purchase _Wolves at the Door_ by following the link:

<https://bit.ly/wolvesdoor>

## ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Writing a book is a team effort, and I'd be nothing without that team. Thank you to Ray Nicholson for all the work he did editing. Much appreciation to my betas: Sarah Parker, JL Bryan, Michael Carr, Sam Dalglish, and Corey Monroe. My daughter Lily, for her vast well of knowledge and her voracious appetite for fiction. For David Dalglish and Daniel Pyle, who've been my constant literary allies. And lastly, thank you to my wife Jessica, whose support and belief in me has never wavered, even in the toughest of times.

Please feel free to join my mailing list at <http://eepurl.com/Mo8G5>. This list will only be used to announce new releases.

## ALSO BY ROBERT J. DUPERRE

**The Rift Series**

_The Fall_

_Dead of Winter_

_Death Springs Eternal_

_The Summer Son_

**The Breaking World**

**(with David Dalglish)**

_Dawn of Swords_

_Wrath of Lions_

_Blood of Gods_

**Standalone Novel**

_Silas: A Supernatural Thriller_

**Short Story Collections**

_The Gate: 13 Dark and Odd Tales_

_The Gate 2: 13 Tales of Isolation and Despair_

**The Infinity Trials**

_Boy in the Mirror_

_Wolves at the Door_

_Lost in the Shadows_

_Queen of the Dead_
This novel is a work of fiction. The characters and events are make-pretend. Any similarities to real people, living, dead, or undead, are purely coincidental.

Text copyright © 2016 by Robert J. Duperre

Cover Image © 2016 by Jesse David Young

ISBN-13: 978-1540309792

ISBN-10: 1540309797
