by Zoe Aarsen
“The eye was the least of my problems,” Trey joked, but I could tell that he didn’t think any of this was funny. I appreciated that he was trying to make light of it for my benefit, but I wasn’t in the mood to dismiss either of our plights as humorous. “None of it was serious enough for me to have been sent to an outside hospital, which I’m sure was intentional. And then, on Monday, that big envelope of contracts was delivered with my mail, and I had a note from the office saying I could expect a visitor on Thursday. Then I kind of pieced it together; the beatdown was a warning. But this time I’d be expected to either agree to everything or be ready to negotiate. Saying no thanks was not an option.”
This was a different kind of terrifying from the visits from ghosts and predictions for deaths we’d been dealing with since the fall. Everything I knew about Mr. Simmons suggested that he was ruthlessly greedy and selfish. He was a man who had cheated on his wife while she was enduring devastating fertility challenges, a man who’d made empty promises to a young woman who believed his lies. He’d relied on a team of attorneys to handle his personal business when he was too much a coward to own up to his responsibilities. Mr. Simmons and the power that his vast wealth afforded him, as well as his apparent lack of a conscience, scared me. It was one thing to be afraid that spirits on the opposite side of reality might threaten our safety, and quite another to know that a very alive, very capable man just a few miles away could inflict whatever kind of pain he wanted on us with little likelihood of repercussions.
It hadn’t escaped my attention, or Trey’s, back in November, when we were first sentenced by Judge Roberts to separate boarding schools, that Trey’s operated much more like a minimum-security prison than mine. Now it seemed obvious that Mr. Simmons had had a say in that.
“But he can’t just make you donate an organ. That’s extortion!” I exclaimed. “Besides, you’re not even old enough to sign contracts.”
Trey picked at his chewed-down fingernails. “My mom knows all about it. They sent her copies of the contracts too. She wants me to agree to whatever they want—the testing part, at least.” He fell silent for a moment, obviously hurt by the position his mother had taken. It was hard for me not to butt in with my opinion that Mrs. Emory’s encouraging Trey to cooperate with the Simmons family was a deep betrayal. “I get it, you know? It’s not fair to my brother that they’re selling the house. There won’t be any money for college, for me or for Eddie. I could change all that. But it’s not even the kidney, you know? I wouldn’t think twice about the surgery if it were for someone else, like you, or my brother. I just don’t want to take orders from him.”
My lower lip started trembling uncontrollably, and I swallowed hard to keep myself from crying. Trey was facing the biggest crisis of his life, just as big as what I’d been up against back in September, and there was nothing I could do to help him. He’d helped me research ghosts and curses, and he’d done everything I’d asked for and more when we first realized what Violet had done to my friends. But now I couldn’t think of a single way in which I might be able to help him.
“What should we do?” I asked in a tiny voice.
Trey leaned toward me and cupped my face in his hands as a new energy filled his eyes. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Violet, and Olivia, and Candace—but mostly you and me.” He smoothed the hair back from my forehead and tucked it behind my ear. “We’re in over our heads, and this isn’t our battle to fight, McKenna. I know you have this—this—thing inside of you that won’t let you abandon someone in trouble. Maybe because you lost Jennie so young and were too little to save her. But it’s not selfish to want to have a normal life, okay? We tried. We did our best, but now all I want is to go somewhere with you—somewhere else. Somewhere safe. I don’t care if we’re penniless, and Mischa ends up killing every single person in this goddamn town. All I want is to be with you and leave all this behind.”
His face was bright with hope, and I could tell that he expected me to agree. God, how I wished I could. Nothing sounded better than just getting on a bus or a train with Trey and never thinking about the Simmons family, tarot cards, or Willow games ever again. But I couldn’t nod. Couldn’t speak.
“I know I’m asking a lot of you, and I’ll understand if you say no, or need more time to think about it. But if we leave together now, we can go anywhere. I could get a job on a fishing boat in Alaska, and you could get your degree. Or if we go to California, you could go to community college for free! I just think if we stay here, and keep falling deeper into this thing with—with—the Simmons family, and ghosts, and town history? One of us is going to end up dead.”
A fat tear escaped from my eye and rolled down my cheek.
“What is it?” he asked tenderly. “Is it your parents?”
I shook my head and managed to choke out, “It’s not that. I’m—I’m next.”
It took a second for the impact of my admission to register on his face, and he blinked, speechless.
“We had to do something to save Mischa’s sister, and I thought Jennie could protect me, but something bad happened yesterday. And I’m next.”
Trey’s face went pale and he dug his fingers into my upper arms. “No. Oh, God.”
“The next new moon is on the twenty-second.”
“Why? Why would you do that?” he asked hoarsely, sounding like he might also start crying. He leapt up from the couch and started pacing the rug in between the two bright red couches.
I clapped my hands over my face and released a few sobs before catching my breath enough to tell him, “I can’t leave. You should go. I mean, the longer you stay in Willow, the likelier it is that someone’s going to spot you.”
“How can I leave now if there’s a chance that you’re going to…”
A torrent of tears poured down my cheeks. And since without either one of us saying as much but both of us knowing that morning in the library may be the last time we’d ever see each other, Trey kissed me.
I’d assumed since the first time we’d ever kissed that eventually Trey and I would have sex when the time was right. I thought when the moment finally arrived, it would be romantic—like the physical version of a promise. But instead, it felt more like a desperate, reluctant farewell. I never would have thought that the first time we’d have sex would be quite possibly the only time we’d ever have the chance.
CHAPTER 10
WE AGREED THAT TREY WOULD stay in Willow at least until Sunday night—until after Mr. and Mrs. Portnoy’s memorial service, at which I would attempt to lure the spirits driving the curse out of Mischa’s soul. It suddenly seemed like a fortunate twist of fate that tornados had torn through town a few days earlier, because a perfect solution had occurred to me. “I think you could probably stay at my mom’s boyfriend’s house without anyone noticing. A tree fell on it and damaged the roof, but it looks pretty stable. It’ll be cold, but unless it rains, you’ll probably be fine there. And I’m sure there’s food in the kitchen.”
I gave Glenn’s address to Trey and told him to take my mom’s bike to get there before too many drivers were out on the streets of Willow. Since my mom hadn’t ridden her bike in ages, I figured she wasn’t likely to notice it missing that weekend. But saying good-bye to him before we went our separate ways was grueling. I studied his face, trying to memorize the details of it—the exact curve of his nose, the exact shade of blue of his eyes—wanting that moment to be fresh in my mind. If there was a chance my life was going to flash before my eyes within the next two weeks, I would have been happy for the memory of that morning with Trey to have been preserved.
Trey hugged me so hard it felt like I was about to board the Titanic, and we both knew that I was going to end up in the cold waves. He remained behind in the library so that he could rearm the security system and slip out after it officially opened for business so as to not arouse suspicion. After the door closed behind me, I didn’t allow myself to look over my shoulder at him through the library’s front doors. If I didn’t k
eep my feet moving in the direction of home, I might very well have agreed to run off to the train station in Ortonville with him, despite already having a pretty good idea of how that adventure would end.
As I began my long walk home across town, the residents of Willow began waking up and emerging from their homes. Despite the chilly temperature the day before, the earthy scent of spring hung heavily in the air, and I suspected the temperature was going to be pleasantly warm later on. The normal routine of a Saturday morning had commenced, and this was the first time in my whole life that I was experiencing it as an observer, taking notice of every chirping bird and lazily rolling cloud, because I might not ever witness all of this again. It was upsetting to think that I was already several hours into what might have been the last Saturday of my life.
The honk of a car horn behind me tore me out of my reverie, and I turned to see a green Mini Cooper slowing down along the shoulder of the road. I cursed under my breath as my stomach soured; the last thing I wanted to do that morning was be around Violet, even just in passing. But there was nowhere to hide; she already had an advantage over me in that there wasn’t any plausible reason for me to be walking along the side of the road so far from home at that hour. It would have been pretty easy for her to have guessed the reason why I was up so early, and on the other side of town.
Violet lowered her passenger-side window and called out to me, “Hey. Do you need a ride?” A Top 40 song trickled out the window after her voice. Inwardly, I recoiled at the sound of it; I didn’t feel like hearing an upbeat melody.
My first instinct was to decline, but it was almost nine in the morning, and Mom and Glenn were definitely awake by then, probably wondering where I was. If I could endure Violet for just five minutes, I’d be home, and wouldn’t have to conjure up lies in an hour about where I’d been all morning. So I opened the passenger-side door and climbed in.
“You’re up early,” Violet said. To her credit, she sounded like she was making lighthearted conversation instead of accusing me of something.
I fastened my seat belt and replied stoically, “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Understandable,” she said, with what sounded like genuine sympathy. “Were you able to find out if you’re…”
“Next in line? Yeah, I’m pretty sure I am.”
My answer dangled in the space between us for a few uncomfortable seconds before Violet attempted to rekindle our conversation. “I was just on my way home from yoga in Ortonville. I keep hoping a studio will open here in town, but…”
I clocked her bright blue yoga top and pants, and the rolled-up mat in the back seat. To deflect her obvious attempt to get me to share my reason for being out, I replied, “The park district has yoga classes every single morning—for senior citizens, new moms, and advanced students.” Certainly, smug Violet thought of herself as too sophisticated to get her flow on at the park district.
But she reacted in mild surprise. “Oh, really? I didn’t know that. I’ll have to check it out.”
I stared out my window, doing my best to banish my thoughts of Trey, and the rush of heat that accompanied even just a brief flash of him across my mind. But what he’d told me about her loomed heavily on my mind; she didn’t look like she was ailing so much that she needed a kidney transplant. Not that I had any idea what someone in need of an organ would look like.
Sensing that I was holding out on her, at a stoplight, she said, “I don’t know if you’ve been in touch with Trey, or what, but if you know how to reach him, he should know that half of my inheritance is technically his.”
With my eyes fixed straight ahead on the road, I tried to keep any kind of reaction from showing on my face.
She continued, “I mean it. No strings.”
Thinking about Trey’s black eye, I couldn’t resist snapping back at her, “How in the world would you share half of your inheritance with Trey without your mom finding out?” Back in January, Violet told me that her father had clued her in about her secret half brother, but Violet’s mom had no idea that Trey Emory, Willow’s most infamous juvenile delinquent, was her husband’s illegitimate son.
Violet slowly eased on the gas when the light changed. “My dad could find a way,” she stated.
“But no strings, right?” I challenged. “Because I’d say a kidney definitely qualifies as a string.”
We’d reached the corner of Martha Road, and Violet pulled over to the curb to let the engine idle. She turned toward me, and I dared to glance at her face. She looked truly flabbergasted. Offended, almost. “What are you talking about? Did Trey tell you that? That he’ll get half of my inheritance if he agrees to give me a kidney?”
I shrugged, trying to keep a level head. Now that I’d made the mistake of revealing that I knew about that proposition, I had to make sure it didn’t seem like I’d just heard about it two hours ago, from Trey’s own lips, here in Willow. “We talk on the phone, you know. Every Tuesday.”
Violet blinked twice as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “What the hell… my dad, I swear.” After a pause, she continued, “Half of the inheritance is his, if he wants it. All he has to do is agree to a blood test to confirm paternity. There was a clause in my grandmother’s will about Trey, and it turns out for the last two years, that’s been why my dad and my uncle have been fighting. I guess my uncle didn’t take too kindly to the idea that my grandmother cut his kids out of her will, but provided for my father’s secret son.”
I thought back to what Violet had said in January about how she’d come into her inheritance. The money her grandmother had left in her name, as well as the Simmons family mansion, were a bribe of sorts—because along with those material things, Violet’s grandmother had bequeathed to her the awful burden of having to condemn someone to death with each cycle of the moon. It didn’t make sense to me that Grandmother Simmons would have included Trey in the will and shafted her other son’s children unless, like Violet, Trey had inherited some kind of obligation related to the curse.
“That’s not what your father told Trey,” I informed her.
“Well, I’ve seen the will. I’ve overheard my father speaking with his attorney, and what I’m telling you is true.” Probably aware that I didn’t trust her at all, she added in a softer tone, “I do need a kidney. Or rather, I will need one, eventually. I have this hereditary thing called Alport syndrome, which I guess I got from my mom, but she’s never had any problems other than high blood pressure. My doctors are shocked that my symptoms came on so suddenly two months ago, because usually patients have hearing or vision problems—or some kind of kidney issues—that show up much earlier before the disease advances. But…”
She looked dreamily through the windshield, her voice sounding flat and defeated. “I think while I had the curse on me, the spirits were preventing the disease from progressing. It’s only started to manifest since January, and it’s moving fast. They tell me it’s rare for a female to experience kidney problems so quickly. Lucky me, I guess.”
It was my instinct to doubt everything Violet told me, but this all rang true.
“I heard you missed a ton of school recently,” I said.
“Yeah, well, dialysis,” she said. “Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t exactly want to be known around school as the sick girl. I’m doing everything they’re telling me to avoid having to do it again soon.”
We both fell silent, and I looked down the street toward my house. So, all this time, the curse that Violet’s grandmother had cast had not only guaranteed Violet’s healthy birth, but it had warded off the advancement of this disease, as well. I thought of those five other Simmons daughters who’d been stillborn or died as infants, and suddenly it made a lot more sense why Violet was the only one to have survived. Although I didn’t want to trust her, the tiniest bit of sympathy for her crept into my heart. She didn’t ask for her grandmother to start her down this horrific road of murder and guilt. “I don’t know what to say,” I admitted. “That sucks.”
My natural impulse was to reassure Violet that of course I’d be open to showing her kindness, so I stubbornly pressed my lips together. She’d apologized for what she’d done to Olivia and Candace, and I knew enough now to know that she really hadn’t had much control over what had happened. But I still couldn’t forgive her—especially now that I could expect to die at any second.
When we pulled up in front of my house, she asked, “So, is there a plan yet? For breaking the curse? Because I’ve gotta admit, I’m afraid of Mischa. She knows how to get into my house, and my parents aren’t the best when it comes to remembering to set our security system. And if we lose you? This will never end.”
The front door of my house opened, and Glenn stepped outside with Maude and his two dogs on leashes and waved at me. He wore a heavy winter coat over his robe and pajamas, which was so disarmingly dorky that I kind of understood what Mom saw in him. I unfastened my belt, climbed out of the car, and replied, “Working on it.”
Just as I was about to slam the passenger-side door, Violet blurted, “Can I help?”
It would have been my strong preference to tell her that she couldn’t help, not in any way. But since Trey wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near Gundarsson’s Funeral Home without everyone in town losing their minds, I figured it might be good to keep Violet around in case I needed an extra pair of hands. “Just be at the memorial for Mischa’s parents tomorrow,” I told her, knowing that showing up to support Mischa was probably the last way in which she wanted to make herself useful.