Annalise wiped the panicked sweat from her brow and smiled nervously at the white cat. Immediately, the black heart on her big hand flared in pain and fought for freedom from under her cloak. It jerked this way and that, trying to seize the cat. The other cats in the shelter howled, growled, and spat.
Please, Annalise begged her big hand. Please leave us alone.
Her big hand shook and burned and then stilled.
Embarrassed, worried, yet enchantedly hopeful, Annalise exhaled a sigh of relief and read the tag on the cat’s cage:
New arrival: Hypoallergenic Siberian male. Two to three years old. Tolerates other cats. Detests dogs. Nervous around people.
The long-haired white Siberian sat up in his blanketed box and gazed intensely at Annalise. The more he blinked his hypnotic plum eyes, the quieter the other cats became, until their cries eventually ceased, and the room grew silent as a stone.
Curious.
Annalise cleared her throat. “Hi,” she said softly. “I see your sign says you’re a nervous type.” She contemplated sticking the fingers of her good-natured hand through the bars to let the cat sniff her but didn’t want to frighten him—getting bitten wasn’t part of her plan. Annalise told him the truth instead. “If I had a sign, it would say I was nervous around people as well.” Shoulders slumped, she stroked her hair and sighed. “Actually, I’m nervous around a lot of things. Even myself.”
The cat narrowed his eyes, appraising her as if trying to decide something. His puffy white tail flicked, yet he remained inside his box.
Annalise observed him closer. Something was wrong with him. The skin beneath his fur was covered in wounds. He had several gashes on his upper body in various stages of healing, and some missing fur. Annalise glared and gritted her teeth.
He’d been abused. Not much angered Annalise, but people who hurt animals were at the top of her list.
“Did someone hurt you?” she asked, not expecting an answer, though she swore she saw him nod. “How terrible.” Annalise dropped her eyes and squeezed her cursed hand tight. “Sometimes people hurt me, too.” The cat craned his head closer toward the bars, ears flicking, shifting on his paws. This time, she was sure he nodded back.
Next, to Annalise’s delight, he began to purr.
He purred—because of her! Even though the tag said he was nervous around people and she was a people, he didn’t seem anxious around Annalise at all.
The cat stepped out of his oversize shoebox. Annalise glanced down and gasped: his left front paw was bigger than his right, like her big hand.
“Mercy,” Annalise exclaimed. “You have a big hand, too?” A “double paw” her mom had called others like it before. A surge of gratefulness flowed through her. Annalise loved the unusual white cat even more with the peculiarities they shared.
Maybe my dream of having a friend will work out after all.
“Ah, I see you’ve found Mister No Name.” Her mom grinned down at her. Annalise had been so engrossed, she hadn’t heard her parents approach. “Look at him, Harry. He didn’t seem to like anyone else, but he looks absolutely in love with Annalise.”
Annalise, sitting cross-legged on the floor, spun around hopefully, heart fluttering. “May I let him out?”
“Of course,” her mom replied. “Just be careful. He must have suffered terribly—it seems he was chained up for some time.” Her mom narrowed her face like a dagger. “I hope whoever did this to him pays in a most satisfactory way.”
Annalise nodded hard in agreement but hesitated before opening the cage.
Her dad’s reddened eyes tipped into smiles over his mask. “Go on. Open it.” He waved Annalise on. “He likes you. It’ll be okay.”
Annalise had a moment of panic as she reached for the latch. Animals had responded unfavorably around her marked hand in the past—scratching, lunging, biting—a raccoon once chased her for fourteen blocks!
“Annalise,” her dad mumbled through his mask. “No matter what happens, we’re here for you.”
Big hand tucked in the shadows under her cloak, Annalise took four quick breaths and unlocked the cage.
The door creaked open. Annalise made no sudden moves. “Try not to be scared,” she told the cat. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”
The large white Siberian didn’t hesitate. He climbed out of his enclosure, plopped into Annalise’s lap, and rubbed his head against her hidden hand.
An electric shock zinged through her dark mark. Annalise flinched. But the cat only snuggled closer. And, when he did, she cuddled it back.
Could I finally have found a real friend?
“Well, well!” her dad cheered, with no small amount of emotion. “He’s smitten. I think we’ve found our cat.”
This close to one of her dreams, Annalise finally allowed herself to relax. “You’re perfect.” She stroked his fur with her nice hand. “I can’t wait to tell you all my secrets.” The cat nuzzled close to her ear. “Mostly,” Annalise told him, “I can’t wait to take you home.”
“Likewise,” she swore she heard the cat say.
Annalise froze, eyes huge. “Excuse me?” she whispered. “Did you just say what I think you—”
The bell to the entrance dinged. Two volunteers swooped in from outside, one holding the door for the next, looking at each other and laughing. A chill wind gusted inward. Autumn leaves skittered across the floor. Papers whooshed off the front counter, scattering free. The world wound down to slow motion.
And stopped.
When Annalise’s cursed mark shot with one of the worst pains of her life, she doubled over and nearly screamed. Black smoke bled through her cloak. And in one fast jerk, her big hand fought its way free from hiding.
No!
The cat’s muscles tensed. His gaze flicked to her smoking big hand and then to the open doors. The other employees were at work in the next room. The volunteers still hadn’t noticed her. Annalise’s parents regarded their daughter with dawning fear.
“Harry,” her mom said gently, crouching to reach for the cat.
“Mattie,” her dad replied, stooping alongside her.
The cat glanced briefly at Annalise, an apology in his eyes, before bolting for the open doors. He ran so fast, he blurred. Mattie and Harry raced into the parking lot to catch him, but it was too late. Annalise’s new friend was gone.
Instantly, her big hand relaxed, erased of hurt, smoke, and flame. As if her cursed hand had done it on purpose. Like it had scared her new friend away to hurt her. And now that the cat was gone, her big hand was happy.
Annalise clenched her fists at her ears, chin trembling, heart pounding with loss, the inescapable pain of being so close to a dream and having it snatched away.
The Fate Spinner had stolen her happiness once more.
Annalise turned away from the cage and hugged her knees to her chest, cursing her big hand and her fate for stealing what felt like her last chance at having a friend. Annalise wasn’t an angry girl. She loathed feeling full of fire and darkness, ready to explode. Annalise was a girl of love and care and dreams, not of hatred.
But oh, how Annalise hated her big hand and the Fate Spinner both!
She was tired of someone else controlling what happened or didn’t happen in her life. All she’d wanted was a friend to share secrets and laugh with. Someone who knew her thoughts and likes, her oddities and the dark depths of her anxieties. Someone who liked her anyway, and knew, without a doubt, the evil things she did were not who she really was, not in her true heart. Someone who saw that underneath her curse she was kind and gentle, a friend who knew how to be good. How was she supposed to keep dreaming when every dream she’d ever had died before it was born?
Seconds before her parents rushed into the shelter, a new determinedness sprouted through the tired foundation in Annalise’s spirit. A resolve to never let anything like losing the white cat happen to her again. Perhaps it was time to say goodbye to her many smaller dreams, like having friends and even a cat. Time t
o dream bigger than she’d ever allowed herself to dream before.
Just then, a strange wind blew in through the doors. And as Annalise stroked her witchy purple hair, a zap of not-entirely-unpleasant energy coursed through her marked palm, as a new dream sprang up within her.
Annalise raised her chin, focused her gaze on the door, and whispered her new dream, “I wish to rule my own destiny and rid myself of this curse.”
Once and for all.
Chapter 4
Ghosts of Curses Past
Once upon a time, Annalise had lived with her parents and grandparents—both sets—all of whom treasured her despite her curse. She’d been a happy baby. Annalise had cooed and burped and farted while laughing, as all good babies should. She’d sucked her toes and drooled and sighed with contentment when her family tucked her into her crib and sang her to sleep. Annalise grew fat and happy, fed on love and joy, sheltered from the madness of a town gripped by fear. Not realizing the townspeople loathed her. Or that they’d tried to burn down her home—twice. If it wasn’t for the white crows attacking the townsfolk and driving them away, her family might not have survived.
Until Annalise got older, she hadn’t known she was cursed.
Once, when Annalise was twelve months old, she and her mom were walking defiantly through town. Unforgiving townsfolk huffed and scowled and crossed the street to avoid them, white crows trailing their steps. Occasionally, a few crows would caw and dive-bomb someone—Richard Inglehart, reporter for Channel 7 News, for example. Despite the townsfolk’s cruelty, baby Annalise had giggled in her mother’s arms.
At least she had until she and her mom were almost to the car—and a rare black crow landed on Annalise’s head. Her happiness soured to fear. And for the first time, a plume of fire erupted from baby Annalise’s mark.
Mattie jumped. Townsfolk scattered. White crows attacked—caw-caw-caw-caw. Annalise screamed—her small body contorted in pain. The news crew arrived in seconds, ready to spew propaganda and hate across televisions far and wide. “Breaking news: the Meriwether child is a demon!” Richard Inglehart shouted into the camera as Mattie and Annalise rushed to their car. “Here’s your proof for you—she’s set the whole town to burn!”
Mattie batted at her hair, which had caught fire. She tried to extinguish her child’s left hand, but the damage was done. The awning beside them caught next. Flames spread, and they escaped just in time.
When she was three years old, her grandfather, Jovie Meriwether, who bore a wart on his nose and a twinkle in his eye, drove her a few towns over to the bookstore. Annalise had wandered to the back, which, she discovered, was the most magical part of the shop. She’d found a quiet spot in a red velvet chair, a book alive with art, and a window filled with sunlight. Lost in the beauty of it, she’d met a friend.
“Wanna play?” the black-haired girl asked, extending her hand. Annalise beamed like a firework. Grandpa Jovie’s wrinkled face lit with delight. When Annalise unknowingly clasped the girl’s hand inside her cursed palm, the girl screamed and fell. “It burns, Mommy—she burnted me!” A red welt in the shape of a shattered heart imprinted on the girl’s palm. The girl cried and ran into her mother’s arms.
“You should keep that . . . monster locked up!” the girl’s mother told Annalise’s grandfather before storming off in a huff.
From then on, when Annalise’s family brought her to town, they covered their tender-eyed girl’s ears from harsh words and threats and reassured her that she was loved. “You are our darling girl,” they’d say. “And we shall always love you.” And despite everything, for a long while, Annalise regarded the townsfolk with kindness when they passed her by.
But all good things must come to an end.
Not long after Annalise turned four, her grandparents got on a train and never returned. Newspapers said the train crashed in a freak derailment and burned. Even then, Annalise knew the truth: the fault was hers. Soon, the townsfolk’s whispers grew too loud to ignore.
“It’s the girl that killed them.”
“Annalise Meriwether is a demon.”
“Fate’s number one enemy.”
“That girl’s wicked heart will kill us all!”
Haunted day and night by those who would do them harm, Annalise’s father used the last of their savings and built the giant cage around their home to lock strangers out and safety in. As the years passed, Annalise’s smiles weren’t so easy, and she feared the unknown waiting beyond her front door.
Annalise had questioned her parents about her curse once, when she was seven, after lighting a mean boy’s hair on fire. “What’s wrong with me, Daddy?” Annalise had asked, curled in his lap. “How did I curse Carriwitchet on my birthday?”
He tapped Annalise’s nose. “Do you know what I remember about that day?”
“Uh-uh,” Annalise replied, stroking her hair.
“The joy on your mom’s face when she looked at you. How flocks of white crows and a snow of black hearts arrived with you. How the air crackled like static, and everything felt more alive.” His soft voice hitched. “I remember staring into your bright eyes and thinking how magical you must be to transform a town from ordinary to extraordinary just by being born.” Annalise burrowed closer to her dad and the lub-dub of his heart. “And you know what I thought? How amazing. If the girl can do that without even trying, when she grows up, imagine all the magical things she’ll do.”
Her dad was being kind, as always. Still, Annalise frowned. “But what if the magicalness inside me is bad? What if I’m bad, like the townspeople say?”
Her mom walked up and swept strands of hair from Annalise’s forehead. “You? Bad? Never. The only people behaving badly are the ones attacking you for being different. Your magicalness is a gift. One I hope you might learn to love.” Annalise clenched her big hand tighter.
How could she love something that caused so much pain?
Annalise asked one more question, her gaze fixed to the floor. “Why did the Fate Spinner curse me?”
Annalise’s parents were quiet a long time. Finally, Mattie took Annalise’s face in her hands, peered deeply into her eyes, and said, “I think you were so powerful, the Fate Spinner knew she could never tame you. I think that scared her then. And I think it frightens her still.”
They never spoke of the Fate Spinner again. But every day since, Annalise’s anxiety and panic had worsened. Her fear of the outside had ballooned into a beast too big to control. A slithering monster that whispered through the petrified, black-hearted trees:
“One day, the Fate Spinner will take your parents. And then, you accursed little thing, she will come after you.”
Chapter 5
A Curiously Hidden Book
With the sweet white Siberian cat of Annalise’s dreams gone, and her parents outside chasing after him, Annalise found herself alone. She pressed her forehead to the cat’s empty cage and recited her new dream four times:
I wish to rule my own destiny and rid myself of this curse.
As her parents pushed through the shelter’s doors, Annalise spied something curious in the Siberian’s shoebox at the back of his cage.
A small, book-shaped object, nestled in a nest of the cat’s shed white fur, peeked at her like a secret. Something meant only for her.
Annalise wiped her snotty nose and damp eyes and glanced at her parents behind the front desk. Her mom gestured to Annalise as if to say, “Be right there,” and spoke quietly to the other employees (“I’m sorry.” “I’ll work extra hours. Please don’t tell anyone what you saw.” “Yes. She’ll be all right.”). Her dad approached Annalise, scratching his allergy-reddened ears like a dog. As discreetly as possible, Annalise slid her nice hand inside the cage and reached for the tattered old book.
A jumping spider leaped onto the cover.
“Mercy!” Annalise withdrew her hand at once. Spiders were the one creature she’d had a hard time warming up to, especially the jumpers. “Please move,” she asked politely. The sp
ider hissed and scuttled away.
Pulse throbbing, Annalise took four calming breaths and reached again for the worn binding, longing to bring it to her nose. Books were like rare paper flowers one should always stop to inhale. Her dad, almost to her place on the floor, suddenly turned to ask her mom a question. Annalise made a quick grab for the book. The instant her fingers wrapped around the binding, a charge of electricity surged through her, toes to scalp, freezing Annalise in place.
Then, in the depths of her mind, a vision appeared . . .
Annalise saw herself at four years old, right before her grandparents were stolen away, sitting at the top of her home’s spiral staircase. The house was dark and moon-drenched. Annalise wore pajamas, ready for bed, a book of unicorns and dragons in her lap. Annalise’s grandparents circled the table in the kitchen, talking quietly over night-cabbage soup and tea, when an unwelcome knock banged at the door. This was before her dad had built the iron cage. Before they felt all-the-way safe. Annalise craned her neck to peer through the slats of the railing as her dad swung open the door.
A brisk wind rushed inside. Crisp black-hearted leaves tumbled past her parents’ feet. Tiny flashes of lightning zapped and zinged in the space between her parents and the someone outside. A severe-looking young woman, with skin as white as the moon and hair the same, stood on the threshold. She wore a long fitted black dress with a stiff collar rising at the back of her head. Buttons, small and hard as her black eyes, ran from her throat to her knees. Ruffles of lace twisted at her throat. Her lips as well as her eyes were painted in thick black kohl. The woman seemed familiar, as if Annalise had seen her before, but she couldn’t place where or when.
White crows cawed in a mad scramble around the woman, diving in to attack. But when the woman swung her walking stick at them, the crows screamed and flew away.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the woman said, bowing, in a voice as soothing as chamomile tea. The shiny veneer of her staff resembled a dark mirror of many closed eyes. The longer Annalise stared at the staff through the banister, the hotter the black mark on her big hand became. When the woman flicked her gaze up at Annalise, her dark eyes widened, and Annalise’s cursed hand stabbed with pain.
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