by Shawn Sarles
And sure enough, Steph’s tall figure launched into the air, her arm pulled back, moving forward and around in a smooth motion. She struck the ball cleanly and it zoomed across the net, flying into the back corner of the court.
Whistles blew again, and the crowd started cheering. But it was nothing compared to the screams of Elena’s teammates, to the players rushing from the bench, dogpiling on top of her as they celebrated their win. Their championship.
In all the whipping ponytails and long limbs clapping her on the back, Elena managed to get to her feet. She glanced across the court and saw that Steph had gotten the same treatment, the other half of the team celebrating with her. She watched her, the girl’s face lit up with joy, the cuts and bruises healing nicely already. Elena couldn’t understand how she had ever hated her. She couldn’t think of why she’d thought she could have done it all on her own.
And then their eyes met. Held.
“You did it,” Elena mouthed, smiling big, afraid that the girl might not believe her.
“We did it,” Steph replied, and Elena knew that things were going to be okay between them. That Steph might forgive her one day.
Elena watched as Steph broke away from the pack of girls and jogged across the court, her arms uplifted as she neared the bleachers where Mary was waiting for her.
Steph launched herself into the girl’s embrace and the two did a little victory dance. Other than the brace Mary had on her wrist, Elena wouldn’t have known that they’d barely survived a run-in with a demon only a week before.
The two pulled apart as Steph’s mom and brother walked up behind them. At first, Elena worried what they might say, but Steph’s mom only reached around and hugged both the girls, her younger brother racing around them, jumping up and down in celebration. Elena couldn’t help but notice as Steph slipped her hand into Mary’s, nuzzling her curly head onto the girl’s shoulder, her smile brighter and happier than Elena had ever seen it.
Freer.
Blinking, Elena looked away, not wanting to interrupt the moment or make it awkward for Steph. Her gaze traveled over the stands, and she spotted a different pair. Grace and Calvin. Sitting close together, Grace chatting away as Calvin worked over his notebook.
For a second, Elena’s heart pounded, afraid of what Calvin might have seen, a prophecy coming to life on the paper. But then he picked up his head, a laugh brightening his face as Grace finished her story. He still looked a little beat up from his run-in with the mirror, but he’d outlived his fate. And Elena had to remind herself that his visions were gone. The demon couldn’t get to them. The curse had been broken.
A motion caught Elena’s attention. She cringed, but then saw it was only Grace waving. She must have noticed something in Elena’s look, because she tapped Calvin on the shoulder and took the notebook out of his hands. She held it up, and Elena could just barely make out the picture, what she realized was the night’s winning shot, a girl lifted herself off the ground to spike the ball over the net and then another girl crouched low on the ground, watching her set soar into the right place.
Elena returned the gesture with her own thumbs-up. With the hope that she and Grace could be friends again. Best friends, like they’d been years ago. Grace had saved them. She’d figured out the spell. And for that, Elena would always owe her. Would always be appreciative.
“Congratulations.”
Elena turned, surprised to see Henry there beside her, the cast still covering his whole right arm. She hadn’t even realized he’d been there in the stands to watch.
“You were great out there,” Henry went on.
“Thanks,” she replied, not quite knowing what to say to him.
“You reminded me of the old Elena.”
And to this, Elena could only blush. Could only nod as Henry kept walking, glancing back over his shoulder at her once, and then twice. Could only wonder if maybe they still had that shot at soulmate-dom after all.
Her hand moved up to her chest and pressed down, feeling the locket under her jersey, the metal warm beneath her fingertips, pulsing steadily, giving off its own heartbeat. She shut her eyes and listened. She could just make out the whisper of a voice. Something trying to worm its way into her ear. Trying to trick her. But she knew better now. Knew how to recognize and ignore it.
She shook her head and the whispers disappeared.
Her hand stayed at her chest, though, gripping the locket tight. It was her burden to carry now. Her turn to take up her family’s legacy. She wouldn’t let her grandmother down. And if the demon ever did get too much for her to handle, she knew where she could find backup. Knew who she could rely on.
She wasn’t alone in this fight. Not anymore.
Creating a book takes more than just the author. There are a number of people working behind the scenes who turn the words in my head into the thing sitting there on your shelf. I am grateful to every single one of them.
First off, I’d like to thank everyone at Scholastic for giving me the opportunity to bring Bloody Mary to life. Samantha Palazzi, my incredible editor. David Levithan who’s been a friend and inspiration. Also a big thank you to all of the people who have worked on this book behind-the-scenes. To the cover artist, Mirekis (Mirosław Iskra), and the designer, Yaffa Jaskoll. To the production editor, Janell Harris, the copy editor, Jessica White, and the proofreaders, Peter Kranitz, Susan Hom, and Cindy Durand. To the Fairs and Clubs managers Jana Haussman and Kristin Standley. To the publicist, Alex Kelleher-Nagorski. And a particular shout-out to the sales team. I appreciate all of the hard work you’ve done to get my book out into the world and onto bookshelves everywhere.
I’d also like to thank my family—my mom and dad and brother. I wouldn’t be a writer without them. And thanks to my critique partner, Robby Weber, for his insight, notes, and friendship. He was the first to read each chapter, and his enthusiasm helped propel me through to the end. Also, a big thank you to my agent, Brent Taylor, and to everyone at Triada US.
I started drafting this book at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, and it was the escape I needed from everything happening around the world. I’m thankful for my partner, Kyle, and my three best furry/feathered friends—Orisa, Mochi, and Rio—who kept me entertained and sane throughout, while also giving me the space I needed to write.
And to my readers, thank you for all of your support.
SHAWN SARLES was born and raised in a small town in western Kentucky. After graduating from Wake Forest University, he moved to New York City. He has lived there and worked in the publishing industry for almost a decade. His debut novel, Campfire, was an Indie bestseller.
Copyright © 2021 by Shawn Sarles
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available
First edition, September 2021
Jacket art © 2021 by Mirekis (Mirosław Iskra)
Jacket design by Yaffa Jaskoll
e-ISBN 978-1-338-67931-1
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