by Zoe Aarsen
Trey was tall, with long limbs, elegant features, and a pale complexion, like Violet. He had an enormous appetite for knowledge on topics of interest to him. Everything about him suggested that he would have thrived in the Simmonses’ world if he’d been told growing up that he had the same potential as Violet—one of opportunities for higher education, world travel, and a chance to have a remarkable career outside of our tiny town. And if he knew that was where he rightfully belonged, then even though I didn’t know all of the details, somehow getting himself on good terms with his biological sister and father seemed like ample reason for him to be assisting them instead of me.
From where I lay in bed, through the horizontal slits in between the blinds on my window, I could see the light on in Trey’s room. I wondered if he was thinking about me, and drifted off to sleep annoyed with myself for still hoping that he loved me and wasn’t lying to me despite the abundant reasons I’d been given that day to believe that I should be highly suspicious of him.
CHAPTER 7
I SLEPT TERRIBLY THAT NIGHT, TOSSING and turning, cold no matter how tightly I pulled my blankets around me. My dreams weren’t about anything in particular, but rather clouded with a powerful sense of loss. I wanted to find Jennie again. Reconnecting with her once had made me desperate to communicate with her at least once more. I doubted driving up and down Route 32 the next time it snowed would produce her a second time, and the distress of not knowing where she’d gone woke me up throughout the night.
I was surprised, since Stephani was missing, that Olivia’s ghost hadn’t been making a racket in my bedroom. In the past, she’d done a thorough job of making sure I knew whenever I’d failed to prevent Violet from killing again. Maybe Stephani hadn’t actually played any games with Violet, and she really had just run away from home. But still, my ears listened for stirrings from within my closet, where my music boxes were packed away, and it made me uneasy to instead hear the sound of snowflakes drifting against my windowpane, with sirens (real or imagined) in the distance.
When the sound of the doorbell woke me up shortly after dawn, I was shivering beneath my blankets. I wandered into the living room to see who had stopped by and found Mom standing in the open front doorway with her robe wrapped tightly around her. It was Christmas morning, and although we were expecting Glenn over for dinner later, she hadn’t mentioned expecting any guests so early in the day. “Who’s here?” I asked. She stepped aside, and I saw Trey standing there in his winter coat, shoulders slumped, head hung.
Now that I’d had the epiphany that he was a blood relative of Violet’s, reminders of her face hung on every minute detail of his. The same blue eyes fringed with jet-black lashes. The same full lower lip, slightly upturned nose.
“Hey,” he said, looking past my mom. “I can’t stay long because we’re about to drive up to my grandparents’ house. But we were just at church and Father Fahey dedicated the service to Stephani deMilo.”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“Her body was found early this morning in the pond behind her house. She fell through the ice and it froze over her.”
The ice, the ice.
Surprisingly, Mom didn’t intervene when I invited Trey inside and led him down to my bedroom so that we could talk privately. Although I intended to ask him for details about Stephani, it occurred to me that I might not have another moment of privacy with him while we were both home for the holidays to find out how much he knew about his connection to Mr. Simmons. Whether or not he was aware of his biological father’s identity and his feelings about being related to Violet might make it clearer to me whose side he was on. Asking simply couldn’t wait.
Once I closed the door, the first words that popped out of my mouth were, “Why didn’t you tell me about your father?”
Trey looked confused. “What about him?”
“Not Walter,” I said. “Your real father.”
He knew instantly what I was talking about, and didn’t even try to deny it. He slowly shook his head at me, and his shoulders slumped as if he were apologizing to me for having done something wrong. In fact, he seemed afraid that I was angry at him. But he didn’t turn away; he looked me right in the eye. “I would have told you, but honestly, I don’t really have anything to do with the guy. My relationship to him feels more like paperwork than DNA.”
And now, seeing that he seemed ashamed about the topic, I asked more tenderly, “How long have you known?”
“A long time. I mean, I knew about him, but I didn’t think about it much until they moved to Willow. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it mattered,” he said. He looked up at the ceiling and inhaled so deeply that his shoulders heaved. “I mean, I don’t think of him as my father. I don’t really think about him at all. He’s never been a part of my life. But now, I guess, all of that does matter.”
“I wish you’d told me sooner,” I said. They don’t have a story for him, Violet had said when we’d suggested playing the game again. It was all I could do not to scream at him because Violet must have known all along. Even the afternoon of Olivia’s birthday party, when his name had been suggested as a possible date to the Fall Fling for her, she’d pretended not to know who we were talking about. And she’d completely duped me with her little act. I’d even been jealous that my friends had suggested he’d be a better match for her than for me, which was obviously nonsense now that I knew the truth:
Violet was Trey’s half sister. In the way that I thought about siblings because I was a twin, this made her bond with him much stronger than mine.
“Does he know about you? Mr. Simmons?” I asked. My parents had known the Emorys since moving to Martha Road. It was entirely possible that Trey’s mom hadn’t told Walter Emory whose baby she was carrying; I was pretty sure his parents had gotten married before Trey was born.
Trey replied, “He knows.” He paused. “There’s more, a lot more, but I don’t have time to tell you all of it now.” Seeing that I was upset, he reached for me and kissed me. “Honestly, I would have told you. But I’ve never even had a conversation with the guy. You saw him. He sat in the courtroom back in November and just, like, frowned at me the whole time. My mom thinks he may have even paid off that judge in Shawano County to send me as far away from Willow as possible to keep me out of his life.”
This rang true; Trey’s punishment had been more severe than mine. The school to which he’d been sent was a medium-security military-style academy. A lot of girls at my school had committed crimes, but from what I’d seen on the website, Trey’s school was surrounded by a high fence topped with razor wire like an actual prison. It was a three-hour drive from Willow—far enough that Trey’s mom had only driven out once to see him for weekend visitation.
In light of the letter that I’d stolen from the Emorys’ mailbox, it didn’t seem outrageous to think that Mr. Simmons had paid off a judge to get Trey out of town at all. I wanted to believe Trey that he really hadn’t thought that the secret he’d been keeping from me about his paternity was a big deal. But I had to ask, “Did you know about Violet? What she does?”
He shook his head and looked directly into my eyes. “No. I didn’t even know she existed until the week before school started, when my mom sat me down for an important talk and told me I should stay away from the new girl at school.”
I asked, “Why would she want you to stay away from your own half sister? It’s only fair that you’d be curious.”
A car honked outside. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll try to come by tonight to explain more, but tomorrow’s a better possibility,” he said. He kissed me again and promised, “I swear I didn’t know what Violet could do.”
Expressing enthusiasm for my Christmas gifts was a challenge that morning, given that every thought running through my head was laced with doom. Stephani was dead. Somehow, I’d known all along that her death would involve ice. I’d failed to ask Jennie where the voices that only I could hear were coming from, and if I could trust them.
I wanted to believe that Trey hadn’t told me about his relationship to the Simmons family because he thought it wasn’t important, but it still struck me as deceitful that he’d withheld that personal information from me. It was all I could do to muster up a little bit of holiday cheer for my mom’s benefit despite my heavy heart.
“Oh, Mom. You shouldn’t have. It’s so nice.”
I held a brand-new black tote bag in my hands, and I examined every zippered pocket and pouch inside of it.
“Glenn helped pick it out. He knows more about the cool styles than I do,” she said, blushing a little. It was a generous gift, especially after a year when I had been a hell of a lot naughtier than nice. “He said this was the brand all his nieces wanted for Christmas. I told him you had never seemed very interested in brands, but he said…”
Her voice faded out as I drowned in my thoughts. Stephani deMilo and I hadn’t ever been friends. But the news about her accidental death was like the sun passing in front of the moon during an eclipse; it was blocking out all of the light. Under different circumstances, my mother probably would have been more sensitive toward me about the death of another classmate. That morning, however, she was completely focused on trying to maintain her holiday cheer.
Although Mischa had texted me after we’d dropped her off at home the night before, I was eager to slink off to my room to text her again and make sure she was still okay. I’d left my phone recharging down the hall, knowing how much Mom hated when I texted and scrolled through Instagram if we were spending time together. I was now desperate to know exactly what Violet had been up to since I’d left for Sheridan. I couldn’t shake Trey’s suggestion from the night before that even with Stephani’s death, Violet was still a month behind in her sacrifices. And according to Jennie, in addition to Mischa and Stephani, there was still one more person in line to die.
“You may have to leave it here while you’re back at school, but you can use it next year,” Mom said hopefully, nodding at the tote bag.
Judge Roberts had said my case could be up for review after school let out for summer if I stayed out of trouble at Sheridan. I had little hope that I’d be allowed to return to my old school for my senior year; presumably Violet would still be in attendance there and I’d never be able walk the same halls as her again. But instead of reminding Mom about that, I nodded enthusiastically and thought about how this beautiful bag would sit in my closet for a long time before I’d be able to carry it. Once upon a time, before Violet Simmons had entered my life, I’d considered studying veterinary science in college, but that fantasy now seemed pretty impossible. Admission was going to be pretty challenging because of my record, and the tuition at the Sheridan School for Girls was no doubt draining the meager college fund my parents had set up.
“Sorry, Mom. I know it’s kind of weird,” I apologized as she opened the gift I’d bought from Hennessey’s and examined the leg pillows as if uncertain about their purpose. “But I know how you like to put your feet up at night when you watch TV, and these are supposed to improve circulation.”
“These are great. I’ll use them,” she told me. I wished I were in a position to give her diamond earrings or a sophisticated wool coat to replace the unfashionable stuffed winter puffer she’d been wearing since I was in elementary school.
I opened the rest of my gifts in a rushed daze. Dad and Rhonda had shipped me a new bathing suit, probably because they’d assumed just like my mom that I’d be relocating to Florida that summer. The gift that Henry had given me contained a bottle of Olivia’s favorite perfume. Simply lifting the cap and catching a whiff of it made my throat tighten as if I was about to cry.
An hour later, when I was helping Mom make pancakes, Mischa dropped by unannounced. My mom wasn’t thrilled to see her, as she associated Mischa with my expulsion from Willow High.
I informed my mom that we were taking Maude outside, and we stepped out onto our deck. We brushed snow off of our deck furniture and sat down as Maude played in the snow.
What I’d discovered about Trey’s paternity was on the tip of my tongue, but telling Mischa about his connection to Violet was out of the question because of her tendency to overreact. Luckily, she’d come over specifically to tell me everything she’d heard about Stephani.
“They’re calling it a suicide,” Mischa told me, her words laced with disgust. “At least they’re using that kind of delicate language, you know? Like how it’s so tragic that Stephani just went through a breakup and hadn’t told her parents that she’s bi, and she didn’t have anyone to confide in. It’s ridiculous. Who kills themselves by wandering out onto thin ice in the dead of winter?”
“The police just found her body this morning. How have you already heard gossip about how she died?” I asked.
“Matt’s mom had to keep the donut shop open overnight because the cops were searching the pond on the deMilos’ farm.” Matt’s mom, Mrs. Galanis, managed the strip-mall donut shop next door to our town’s one and only Laundromat. “Matt and his brothers had to get up early this morning and go help her. He told me they think she fell through the ice on Monday when she took her dog out for a walk and didn’t come home. Her body was almost frozen solid. They’re trying to figure out if her cause of death was drowning or hypothermia, although I guess it doesn’t matter. If they’re right about her falling in on Monday, then she was in the water almost forty-eight hours. If you ask me, I think her dog probably ran out onto the ice and she was trying to save him. Even if that was part of Violet’s story, most people would try to save their dog, right?”
Her theory about Stephani venturing out onto the ice after her dog gave me a chill. Maude had scratched a heart shape into the dirt in my yard earlier that fall, leading me incorrectly to believe that the object that gave Violet her powers was a locket she wore. I was reminded of the book Kirsten had given me, and vowed to read it that afternoon. My own experience definitely suggested that ghosts or spirits were able to manipulate animals with ease. I shuddered again, imagining what that moment must have been like for Stephani, having to decide within seconds whether to risk her life despite what Violet may have told her, or watch her dog die.
“What happened to the dog?” I dared to ask, not sure if I wanted to know the answer.
“He turned up back at the house on Monday. Stephani had his leash wrapped around her arm when they found her, so they think maybe she took him for a walk, saw the ice, decided to jump in, and let him run home.” Mischa shook her head.
I asked, “What made them decide to search the pond if they originally thought she ran away from home?”
“I guess her car was in her parents’ driveway the whole time, and yesterday her dad noticed there was a patch of ice out on the pond that looked different from the rest, like there was a hole in it that had frozen over again.”
“Is your candle burning at home?” I asked her.
“God. Yes—in my closet with the door cracked just a bit so it doesn’t run out of oxygen. Although if my mom finds an open flame in my bedroom while I’m out of the house, she’ll strangle me before I have a chance to choke the way Violet said I would,” Mischa said.
I explained Trey’s theory to her that Violet was still one sacrifice behind, and that it matched up with what Jennie had told me about there being three in line to die. As of that morning, there were two remaining: Mischa and someone whose identity we didn’t know.
Mischa mulled this over for a long time before replying. She looked out over the backyard and watched my dog toss a stick around in the air. Finally, when she spoke, she said solemnly, “You know, when you describe it all that way, it’s kind of like I killed Stephani by not dying when it was my turn.”
“No,” I insisted. “Don’t even say that. None of this is anyone’s fault except Violet’s.”
Her lower lip quivered, and I hoped she wouldn’t start crying. I knew my mom was probably keeping an eye on us from the kitchen, and emotional outbursts were going to make it very clear for her what we we
re discussing.
“My whole life, all I really cared about was being the best at gymnastics. I’m supposed to compete in the state championships in Wisconsin Rapids this spring, and then the Pan Am Games in June. Did you know that? My coach thinks I might really have a shot at making the Olympic team.”
I hadn’t known that. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Mischa spent every morning and almost every night at the gym. It was part of why Olivia and Candace had been closer friends with each other than with her; Mischa had always had a completely separate life outside of school.
“Now? It’s like none of that matters at all. Even this morning at practice, I barely had any energy for it. All I want to do is walk around outside and smell the air. Lie in my bed and enjoy how warm it is. I’ve missed out on so much of what everybody else gets to do with their lives, all so that one day I might get to win an Olympic medal. And now the only way I get to keep living long enough to try is if other people die in my place.”
“Not if we break the curse,” I told her. “We know what we have to do now, and if we can figure out who, other than you, is still in line, then maybe we can save them, too.”
“And you think that third person might be Tracy,” Mischa said doubtfully after listening to my hypothesis.
“It’s all I’ve got,” I admitted. “Unless Violet drives to other towns and reads tarot cards to strangers.”
“No way. Tracy follows Violet around like an obedient puppy dog. Dracula wouldn’t kill Igor, if you know what I mean,” Mischa said, and I snickered, because her analogy of how Tracy had sucked up to Violet after Olivia’s death was so accurate.