I bristled. She was a slightly less attractive version of Georgina. I noted with pleasure that lipstick was smeared across her front teeth.
“Classy,” Helen murmured.
Daniel gingerly extricated himself and said, “Sadie, this is Helen. And my girlfriend, Janie.”
I’m not sure which of us was more shocked by the word “girlfriend.” Sadie’s eyes widened, and I felt a surge of glee. Trying to act casual about it, I said, “Lovely to meet you, Sadie,” in a frosty voice that would’ve done Marion proud.
“Uh, yeah,” she said, weaving slightly. “You, too. Enjoy the party. There’s a fortune-teller upstairs, she’s totally kick-ass.”
And with that, she was gone.
“A fortune-teller?” Helen asked dubiously. “At a high school party?”
“Sadie’s mom is really into that sort of thing,” Daniel explained. “Crystals, Tarot, the works.”
My glee dissipated. “So she’s another ex-girlfriend?”
Daniel’s expression said it all. I muttered, “Maybe we should get going.”
“Hey.” Daniel slid his hand down my bare arm until he caught my fingers. He said in a low voice, “Different time, different guy. Remember?”
“Wow,” Helen commented into the rim of her red cup. “I’m not uncomfortable at all. So happy I signed on to be the third wheel.”
“Right. Sorry.” Daniel gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, then released it and put some space between us. “So, fortune-teller?”
“Sure.” Helen sighed. “It’s not like I have an entire season of Battlestar Galactica waiting for me at home, after all.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows at me.
I shrugged. “I started the night with creepy. Might as well end it that way, too.”
I followed them upstairs, feeling sullen. I was having a hard time adjusting to the emotional rollercoaster of our relationship: total highs (he called me his girlfriend!) to devastating lows (apparently he’d called a lot of other girls that, too, including my new sort-of sister).
On the landing, we were pushed aside by a giggling girl running away from a tall kid. The boy caught up and pushed her against the wall, holding her there as he kissed her.
“Lovely,” Helen said, easing past them with an expression of distaste. “And to think I’ve been missing out on all this.”
I shot her a look, but she was right; this wasn’t my kind of scene, either. Parties in Hawaii were more like the bonfire Daniel had brought me to: a bunch of kids hanging out on the beach, someone playing a guitar, everyone chilling and laughing. When people hooked up, they slunk away to do it in private.
This party had a weird edge to it, like there was something hungry at its core waiting for the right moment to open wide and swallow us whole. At least there didn’t appear to be anyone else up here; aside from the lovebirds, we had the hall to ourselves.
At the end of the corridor, there was an open door. Candlelight seeped across the threshold. A handwritten sign liberally speckled with glitter proclaimed: Madame Garland, Seer of the ages!
It stood in stark contrast to the opulent surroundings, like a girl wearing a ball gown and sneakers.
“O-kay,” Helen said. “Who’s first?”
“I’ll go,” Daniel offered.
“Thank God.” Helen sounded relieved. “I really didn’t want to be the sacrificial lamb.”
He smiled at her, then leaned in and brushed his lips across my forehead. Looking into my eyes, he said softly, “You good?”
“Couldn’t be better,” I said, even though I was still getting flashes of Sadie draped over him.
He ran a hand through my hair, then cupped my cheek. In spite of everything, I leaned into it. “So you’re not going to run away on me?”
“Of course not,” I protested, even though I’d been considering doing just that.
“Still here,” Helen muttered. “Still uncomfortable.”
“Don’t let her sneak out,” Daniel said, wagging a finger at her. “I’m holding you personally responsible.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Helen waved a hand dismissively at him. “Now get in there. If we hurry, I’ll still have time to watch an episode when I get home.”
With a final grin, Daniel slipped inside the room and closed the door. I slid down the wall until my butt rested on my heels. Helen joined me, crossing her legs.
“So,” she said. “There’s a catch with Mr. Perfect?”
“I don’t know.” I worried at a cuticle with my thumbnail. “I mean, he says that’s all in the past. But I guess the past was pretty crazy.”
“Crazy how?” Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Drugs?”
I shifted uncomfortably, not sure how much to share. It was his secret, after all. “Yeah.”
“But he’s clean now?”
“One year,” I said. “But I guess it was bad. Like, really bad.”
Helen blew out a puff of air and said, “You realize I have, like, zero experience with this sort of thing?”
“I know,” I said. “Trust me, I don’t, either.”
“I was waiting for the bathroom downstairs,” Helen continued. “For-ev-er. And finally, three girls came out. I don’t think they were all checking their makeup in there.”
I nodded. “I know. This isn’t what I’m used to at all.”
“And you don’t want any part of it?” She was examining me closely, a hint of skepticism in her eyes.
I shook my head vigorously. “No. Definitely not.”
“So why are we here?” Helen asked, throwing her hands up. “Why did Daniel want to come, if he’s trying to stay clean?”
I opened my mouth to respond, and then shut it again. She had a point. He’d brought us to just the sort of crazy party he claimed to be done with. At one of his ex’s houses, no less.
Why would he do that?
Helen laid a hand on my arm and said, “Listen. He seems pretty great, all in all. Just be careful.”
The door flew open. Filling the frame, Daniel threw his arms wide and announced, “I’m going to be President!” Taking in our expressions, he frowned. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing.” Helen scrambled to her feet. “Might as well get this over with.”
She closed the door, casting us in shadows.
Daniel hunkered down. “So? Everything cool?”
I shrugged. “Not really. Why are we here?”
His forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why did you take me to this party? I thought you weren’t into this sort of thing anymore.”
“I’m not,” he protested, looking around as if noticing our surroundings for the first time. “I just figured . . . I don’t know. Bobby told me about it today, and I thought it could be fun.”
“Not so much,” I said dryly.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said ruefully. “Look, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. I guess I just kind of slipped into autopilot.” He shifted closer, until his shoulder touched mine. “Forgive me?”
I didn’t answer. He smelled like aftershave and mint and cinnamon, which I’d recently decided was the best combination of aromas in the world. Those gorgeous brown eyes were so wide and beseeching . . . I sighed. It was incredibly difficult to stay annoyed with him.
“Fine,” I said, lightly punching his arm. “But if you take me to another ex’s party, no guarantees. This is your one get-out-of-jail-free card.”
He held up a hand. “I swear, never again. Not even if they’re serving pigs in a blanket.”
“Well, I actually might be able make an exception for those. And mini quiches are pretty awesome, too—”
He cut me off, bending down and covering my mouth with his. I was still drowning in the kiss when light flooded over us.
Helen groaned. “Seriously?”
“I like you, Helen, but you have terrible timing,” Daniel murmured good-naturedly.
“Your turn,” Helen said, pointing at me. “And hurry up. It’s nearly my curfew.”
“What’d the fortune-teller say?” I asked as I got to my feet.
“I’m going to be president, too,” Helen said drily. “Now go!” She gave me a little shove, propelling me through the door.
It was tiny, more of a closet than a bedroom. The only light came from a candle set on top of a card table covered with a black cloth. And behind it loomed an enormous woman who pretty much epitomized my mental image of a fortune-teller, down to the minutest degree. Large purple turban. Flowing emerald green robes. Lots of makeup, especially around her pouched, dark eyes. Blood red fingernails. And a scruff of . . . wait a minute. As I slowly settled into the seat, I peered closely at her. The fortune-teller was either a trans woman or a man in drag. But since she was going as “Madame,” female pronouns seemed the safest bet.
“So,” she said in a slow drawl, peering at me through the gloom. I tried to place the accent—Louisiana with a touch of Brooklyn? “What do you want to know?”
I blurted out the question thoughtlessly. “Am I being haunted?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “My, my. The night finally gets interesting.”
“It’s just . . .” I struggled to explain. “Weird things keep happening, and I think there has to be a rational explanation for it, but—”
“But some things defy reason,” she said, her voice dropping an octave. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. I suddenly felt silly. This was all just a party trick, after all. She’d told both Daniel and Helen that they were destined for the Oval Office. So what kind of reassurance could she possibly offer me?
“Sorry,” I said, getting up. “I should just—”
“Sit,” she thundered.
Taken aback, I dropped into the chair. She reached beneath the table and took out a deck of cards: Tarot, identical to the set I gave Kaila for her thirteenth birthday.
I sighed again. This was a waste of time. I should politely excuse myself, and get home.
“Don’t worry, hon,” the fortune-teller said without looking up from the cards she was shuffling. “I’ve got something special for you.”
“That sounds ominous,” I muttered.
She chuckled. “Oh, I believe you’ve seen your fair share of ominous.” She set the cards down with a loud slap and ordered, “Cut.”
I cut the deck. She did some sort of elaborate shuffling, her hands moving so fast it was hard to follow. Then she started flipping the cards over, one at a time.
When she’d laid out five, she leaned in, lips pursed as she examined them. “Well, well,” she mused. “You are a special case.”
“Special how?” I asked, not liking how that sounded.
“Lots of loss here,” she said, jabbing at the top card. “People close to you. And not long ago.”
I bit my lip, wondering if either Daniel or Helen had let that slip. She met my eyes. “And no, your friends didn’t tell me. It’s written right here. And this one . . .” She motioned to another card. “There’s someone after you, all right. Someone close.” She looked up sharply. “In your house, I think.”
I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. None of this was a stretch, I told myself. After all, I was the idiot who had walked in blathering about a ghost. Of course that implied a recent loss, and trouble at home.
“There’s more, though,” she said pensively. “Much more.”
Without warning, she reached across the table and grabbed my hand. I tried to wrench free, but her grip was iron, nearly crushing my knuckles. Madame Garland’s breathing deepened, and her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Hey!” I protested. “You’re hurting me!”
She didn’t seem to hear. The voice that came out of her was chilling, the bizarre accent gone.
“You will die,” she hissed. “You’re already dead, you just don’t know it yet.”
A well of panic surged inside me. I yanked as hard as I could, tearing my hand free. The fortune-teller splayed across the table. She blinked up at me, an expression of confusion on her face. Her eyes cleared, and in a deep bass she said, “What the hell—”
I was already scrambling for the door, struggling to open it with shaky hands.
“Wait!” she cried after me. “Please, I have more to tell you. I saw something!”
I couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak. I dashed past Helen and Daniel, who stared after me, agape. I could hear them scrambling to follow, calling my name.
But I was deaf to their pleas. The only thing that penetrated was the voice screaming at me to run, as far and fast as I could . . . because when she’d clenched my hand, I’d seen something, too.
Standing right behind her chair, I’d glimpsed a small, pale child dressed all in white. My ruined doll dangled from her right hand, and her left was a ball of fire. As I stared at the girl, horrified, her mouth yawed open, wider than humanly possible. Inside was a deep, dark chasm filled with terror and screams and the things nightmares are made of.
And without a shadow of a doubt I knew what she wanted. Me, dead. And nothing would stop her.
Chapter X
In an instant, I was within the chamber. Tongues of flame darted round the bed: the curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze and vapour, Mr. Rochester lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep.
I fled downstairs, nearly tripping over two kids sharing a joint on the landing. Their protests barely registered. Helen and Daniel finally caught up to me by the front door.
“Jesus, Janie,” Daniel gasped, extending an arm to steady me. “Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
“I’m guessing she didn’t say you’d be president someday?” Helen said, but her tone belied the words.
I struggled to breathe; it felt like my lungs had solidified into stone. “It’s . . . I’m . . .”
“Just catch your breath,” Daniel said gently.
“I need some air.” I struggled for the doorknob.
Before I could turn it, the door was thrown open from the other side. I found myself staring at Georgina, who gaped back with an equally shocked expression. Her eyes flitted to Daniel, still clutching my elbow, and her gaze darkened.
“So,” she said coldly. “Guess I’m late to the party.”
“Not now, Georgina,” I muttered, pushing past her. I stopped a few feet away from the stoop, rubbing my arms to try and warm them. The night was cold; a thick mist coated everything. On top of my terror, I was struck by an overwhelming pang of homesickness. I yearned for the familiar smell of close-cut grass, hints of jasmine, and salt on a warm breeze. Blinking back tears, I stared up at the moon. It glowed orange through a veil of fog.
“Here.” Helen draped her jacket around my shoulders.
I gratefully drew it close, the wool scratchy against my skin. “Thanks,” I croaked.
“So are you going to tell us what happened in there?” Daniel asked.
I shook my head, still too unnerved to talk about it. Besides, I must have imagined the girl, right? Just like the lights in the elevator and hallway: all by-products of a hyperactive imagination fueled by lack of sleep.
I was having a hard time convincing myself, though. The girl I’d seen had looked eerily like Nicholas. And how could my brain have come up with that on its own? Plus, the way the fortune-teller had gone all The Exorcist on me . . .
No, I told myself. None of this is real. You just need to forget about it.
The cold was grounding, the sound of a siren in the distance oddly consoling. This was tangible: the city encircling me, my anxious friends hovering by my side. And judging by the expression on Georgina’s face, I had much bigger problems to contend with.
“I’m fine,” I said, fighting the quaver in my voice. �
��Really. I just want to go home.”
Sleep eluded me that night for longer than usual. Every time I closed my eyes, the ghostly image of the girl snapped into focus. I’d taken care to lock my door from the inside. Tomorrow, I’d see if Daniel could install a better deadbolt to barricade it against whoever kept messing with my stuff.
Unless it’s someone who doesn’t need a door.
The thought popped unbidden into my mind. Angrily, I forced it away. Any rational person knew that seeing ghosts equaled crazy, and I had no intention of skipping down the path toward a padded room.
Sixteen months, I reminded myself. In just under five hundred days, I’d turn eighteen and could go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I could move back to Hawaii and finish my senior year there. And then I’d never have to think about the Rochesters again. I glared up at the ceiling, as if daring sounds to emanate from it. If the humming started, I’d storm up there and confront whomever—or whatever—was responsible.
Or I’d run out of the house screaming. Really, it could go either way.
Well past midnight, I finally drifted off. In my dreams, I wandered through dark hallways. It was the Rochesters’ house, and at the same time, it wasn’t. A small, cold hand gripped mine. Looking down, I discovered Nicholas gazing up at me.
“You won’t let her hurt me anymore, will you, Janie?”
Before I could answer, a light appeared in front of us. It was much larger than the others, the size of a basketball. It bounced off the walls, spewing sparks. Nicholas screamed as flames erupted; explosions shattered the glass in the picture frames, and the gloomy faces inside melted as if they were made of wax.
I ran, keeping a firm grip on his hand, but at every turn we encountered another endless hallway, another taunting ball of throbbing white light. And when I looked again, the child I was dragging along wasn’t Nicholas. It was the girl. She leered up at me, dark fluid oozing from her mouth.
I shot upright in bed, coughing and choking. For a minute, I thought I was still dreaming.
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