Mom waves us in. Laurie gives my hand an encouraging squeeze before following her. My shoes feel like cinder blocks as I force one foot to follow the other through the door. Stephen wraps his arms around my waist, taking each step with me. I wonder if he’s afraid I’ll collapse or if he’s just as unsettled by this new twist in our misadventures as I am.
I grit my teeth when I see the table. Boxes of takeout Chinese are already open, waiting, steam rising from within. Two places have been set. Mom hurries to add a plate for me, her unexpected daughter.
Robotically, I settle into the chair in front of the hastily arranged place setting. Stephen remains beside me. It’s a good thing Laurie has acting chops. He keeps Mom occupied, regaling her with stories about school and teen hijinks across Manhattan. I try to throw on the actor’s mantle too. Supplying nods, forcing laughs, and adding short embellishments to Laurie’s tales, I keep up with the ruse. I focus on Laurie and not Mom.
Until Mom beams at me and says, “I’m sorry to break character, but I have to tell you how lovely this is. I always wondered what it would be like to have a daughter.”
I become a statue, feeling blood drain from my face and my fingers go icy. Even Laurie flinches, strangling on words he can’t get out. Stephen kneels beside me, folding my hand in both of his. He can’t speak, not without Mom hearing, but he kneads my fingers, coaxing life back into my frozen limbs.
Finally, Laurie blurts, “As if I’m not enough!”
Mom, whose brow had begun to furrow in concern as she watched me, quickly turns to Laurie with a laugh. “Oh, sweetie, you know that’s not what I meant.”
Laurie faux pouts and Mom clucks affection at him.
“May I use the restroom?” My smile is so brittle I think my face will crack.
“Of course,” Mom answers. “Down the hall to the left.”
I nod, as if I need directions, and duck out of the room. My intention was to make a break for the bathroom so I could splash water on my face and clear my head. I get past Laurie’s room, but when I reach my bedroom door, I pause. I don’t know what I expect to see when I peek in, but it’s not what’s there. Everything is as I left it: kind of messy, evidence of my artwork scattered on the bed and my desk, laundry waiting to be folded.
Footsteps approach from behind and I know it’s Stephen.
“What do you think she sees?” I ask him. “A storage space? Her home office? A guest room?”
Because I know the curse affects everything my mom sees. There are still pictures of me, Laurie, and Mom hanging on the hallway walls and sitting in frames on the living room end tables. Mom can’t see any of them.
I’ve become invisible to my mother. My entire life has disappeared for her.
Stephen takes my elbow, turning me from the room. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I respond as a reflex.
He shakes his head, not voicing an argument. But I see the weight of guilt settling on his features.
My lip is threatening to quiver again, so I bite it. “What are we going to do?”
Stephen reaches out. He cups my chin in his fingers; his thumb draws my lip from my teeth. He leans down, kissing me gently, offering an apology I don’t want but also the warmth of his touch that I need.
The kiss ends, but he keeps his forehead pressed to mine. “I’m going to fix this.”
I shake my head without breaking contact. “We. We’re going to fix this.”
Stephen doesn’t answer and I go very still.
“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he murmurs. “My grandfather is punishing you now. Because you love me.”
I don’t know what to say. Anger and grief have clogged my throat.
“Ah! Hallway party.” Laurie appears beside us. “Good times. You should get back to the table. Mom is worried you have food poisoning. She’s starting to eye the takeout boxes like they’re murder suspects.”
His gaze slides past us to my room. “Huh. It’s the same as always.”
“The curse only affects your mother.” Stephen steps away from me.
There’s a sudden distance in his voice, a resolve that frightens me.
Stephen looks from me to Laurie. “You two should stay here. Finish dinner. Then Elizabeth can draw the curse from your mother.”
“Have you looked at the curse?” Laurie asks me, frowning.
“Yes,” I answer. “And if I do anything about it, I’ll be benched for the rest of the game. Or worse.”
“That’s probably what Arbus wants.” Laurie sighs. “He’s a smart evil dude, isn’t he? Dammit.”
“I’ll go to Millie’s,” Stephen continues. “But you have to take care of this first.”
Laurie begins to nod.
“I already told you I can’t draw the curse,” I tell them, cutting a sidelong glance at Stephen. He’s trying to keep me and Laurie away from what promises to be a final confrontation with his grandfather. While a part of it I’m sure is about keeping us out of harm’s way, there’s something more behind the steel edge that’s crept into his blue yes. It frightens me.
“I’ll excuse myself so Stephen and I can go to Millie’s,” I say before Stephen says anything else. “Laurie, help Mom clean up and then tell her you have plans with friends tonight. Meet us at the hexatorium.”
Laurie’s shoulders sag. He doesn’t want to be left behind.
“I just want to be sure that Mom hasn’t been affected in any other way,” I tell him with a thin smile. “And you should talk about how great I am.”
“What?” Laurie frowns.
“If all else fails,” I say drily, “you’re going to have to convince her to adopt me.”
Laurie snorts, but his eyes are shining a little too brightly. “Yeah, right. Like I’d want a pain like you around when I can have this place all to myself.”
He darts forward and wraps me in a hug so tight I can’t breathe. That’s good because if I could draw breath, I’d probably start sobbing.
We return to the kitchen, and this time Stephen isn’t holding my hand or touching my shoulder. He’s lost in his own thoughts, withdrawing in a way I can’t stand but don’t know how to stop.
“Are you okay, dear?” Mom asks me.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Thanks for the awesome dinner.”
“You won’t stay?” She gestures towards the living room. “We usually do popcorn and movie night after family dinner.”
I want to say, I know, but I shake my head. “Thank you. Another time, maybe.”
The corners of my eyes begin to sting, so I shout, “Bye, Laurie!” and rush for the door.
I don’t stop until I’m at the elevator, punching the down button over and over. Stephen’s hand closes on my wrist, pulling it away. I’m glad he’s touching me again, but I can still sense the rigidity that’s taken hold of him.
The elevator arrives and we step inside.
When the doors close, I say, “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Stephen.” I turn to face him. “We said together. We promised. Remember?”
If time wasn’t working against us, I’d stop the elevator, holding us hostage until Stephen confesses to whatever secret plan he’s settled on since encountering my mom’s curse. But we have so little time as it is. I can’t risk a delay.
We don’t talk as we make our way through the Upper West Side to Millie’s shop, but this time it isn’t to avoid strange looks from other pedestrians who think I’m talking to myself. This silence is new, unfamiliar, guarded. I don’t like it.
When we reach the brownstone, a sign hanging on the shop door reads Closed. I turn the doorknob and find it unlocked. The shop floor is dark.
“Saul?” I peer into the shadows, waiting for an answer. There is none.
The odors of must and ink are familiar, but my skin feels tight and itchy as if reacting to something strange and unpleasant in the shop.
“Elizabeth.” I hear the warning note in Stephen’s
voice, but I turn to shush him. What choice do we have other than to continue to the hexatorium?
“Oof!” I’m still half facing Stephen when I stumble over something.
“What happened?” Stephen asks. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I look down to see what’s been left in the aisle.
It’s not a what. It’s a who.
Saul lies prone on the floor. In the dark I can’t see if he’s wounded. I don’t know if he’s dead or unconscious. I don’t wait to find out.
With a cry of alarm, I bolt for the door to the hexatorium.
“Elizabeth, wait!”
I ignore Stephen, barreling down the stairs.
“Millie!”
Millie is seated at the table with a teacup and saucer before her. Her face is chalk white with fear, but her mouth is a razor slash of fury. Beside her a tall, lanky man pours tea into her cup. I’ve seen him once before.
Without looking at me, Maxwell Arbus says to Millie, “Why, if it isn’t your protégé, Mildred. How lovely of her to join us.”
Maxwell tilts his head slightly, as if listening to something. “And you’ve brought my grandson. Stephen, I’m disappointed with your impatience. Our meeting isn’t scheduled until tomorrow. As you can see, I have other business to attend to. No sense wasting precious hours in this sleepless city.”
I didn’t hear Stephen come down the stairs, but now he is standing beside me. I reach for his hand. When I close my fingers over his, he remains still.
“Together.” I breathe the word so quietly I don’t know if he hears me.
“Go back to your home and wait for me,” Arbus tells Stephen without turning around. “I’ll come to you at the appointed hour as we agreed.”
“No.” Stephen’s reply is quiet but unwavering.
I’m clasping his fingers so tight my knuckles are bloodless. Nevertheless, Stephen takes a step forward and pulls free of my grasp. I grab for his hand, wanting to draw him back and hold him beside me. But he’s determined to move without me because when my fingers reach Stephen, they pass right through his skin.
Chapter 29
SAUL IS DEAD, and I have no doubt that Millie will be next if we leave this room.
I cannot see my grandfather, but I can trace Millie’s stare.
She knows.
I lunge forward. Arbus is not expecting this. But he senses me, dodges slightly so I end up barreling into his side. I knock him over, but he’s eluded my grasp.
“Damn you!” he shouts, kicking out at me.
I cannot see what he does next, but from the reactions in the room, it’s clear enough. He gets to his feet and pushes towards Millie. In a split second, Millie snaps out of her grief—as Arbus gets within range, she picks up her cup and throws the hot tea in his face. He cries out and stumbles back. I follow the voice, and tackle him down. Millie rushes around to help me, but Arbus releases himself in a surge of strength—it is hard for me to manifest my body into solidity and hold him at the same time.
Arbus reaches into his pocket and takes out a bloody knife—the same knife, I have no doubt, that stabbed Saul in the back.
Elizabeth and Millie step away from him. I try to quiet my breathing, make myself as invisible as possible.
“So it has come to this,” he says, trying to find me even though he can’t see me.
I know better than to say a word.
“Stubborn like your mother and stupid like your father. You were born to suffer like them both, and so you shall.”
Everything that has gone wrong in my life can be traced to this man. This one man.
He is starting to back his way to the door. Then there’s a sound from the stairs.
“Elizabeth!” Laurie calls out. “Stephen!”
“No, Laurie!” I yell. “Run!”
I think Arbus will come for me now, but instead he turns towards the stairway and starts to murmur a curse.
“Don’t you dare!” Elizabeth shouts. I can feel Arbus harnessing the energy of my curse, drawing me closer. At the same time, Elizabeth is making a motion with her hands, and as Arbus releases what he has—I can feel him do it—she draws it to her, takes enough of it in for it to fail.
Furious, Arbus tries to turn his curse on Elizabeth, but it won’t work.
The knife, however, will. When it’s clear that he cannot rely on magic, he brandishes the weapon. I watch it rise in the air, safe in his invisible hand. He doesn’t care how he draws blood, how he causes harm. Magic and violence are the same to him.
As he moves forward, Millie tips over the desk to stop him. I reach forward to block him.
All I can see is the knife, so I go for the knife.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell that Elizabeth is faltering—absorbing the curse has cost her. But I can’t focus on that. I focus on where Arbus’s arm must be. I throw my body into that space and hit bone. Arbus cries out, turns the knife towards me. But in that moment, I pass right through. He spins, off-kilter, then recovers.
I expect him to go straight for me. But he takes advantage of this and jumps for the door. I stop to block him, but I’m too late.
I can feel him leave the room. I can feel my curse bend after him, his body desperate to keep the curse’s energy.
“Laurie!” Elizabeth cries, her face all panic.
I want to rush after Arbus, but I need someone who can see him to take the lead. For all I know, he’s at the top of the stairway, waiting with his knife ready.
Millie charges ahead. I warn her to be careful, but she doesn’t care.
I follow, with a shaky Elizabeth behind me.
Arbus is not waiting for us at the top of the stairs. But there is Saul, right where I left him, turned over so his wound is visible. Millie falls to her knees beside him, cradles him in her arms. I know she will not leave him, so all I can say is, “I’m so sorry.” Because haven’t I brought this upon her? My curse is the beacon that brought him to this city.
As I find myself lost in this moment of guilt, Elizabeth takes charge. “Lock the door,” she says. “Just in case he comes back.” Millie doesn’t even seem to be listening. She starts to howl—a raw, guttural release of grief, the most painful sound that doesn’t exist in any language. I want to comfort her, but what comfort can I give her? The only comfort will come when Arbus is dead.
I can’t kill him, though. Not before he undoes all the curses, including mine.
Elizabeth is already out the door. Laurie, I remember. He probably has a two-minute lead on Arbus. Not enough.
We have to assume he’s headed home. Elizabeth is trying to call his phone, but he’s not picking up. Hopefully because he’s too busy running.
Arbus’s malevolence cannot contain itself. The adrenaline of our confrontation must be manifesting itself in spite. Because he’s left us a trail. A horrible trail.
These poor people thought that they were taking a walk on a nice summer evening. They may have been coming home from dinner or a late night at work.
Now they are victims.
A man in a suit lies on the sidewalk, screaming, “Where are my legs? What have you done with my legs?” An eleven-year-old girl is tearing off her clothes as if they’re covered with scorpions. The boy beside her is tearing out his hair in clumps, not recognizing the blood on his fingers.
A block later, two lovers who went for a stroll are now beating each other to a pulp. A man who’s taken his dog out for a walk is now trying to hang it by its leash. Not hesitating for a moment, Elizabeth runs over and punches the man in the chest; startled, he drops the leash, and the dog runs safely away into the park.
It’s an awful choice—do we stay and help these people, or do we rush past them and try to stop Arbus?
“Come on,” Elizabeth says, running ahead. She’s got her phone out again and is calling the police.
Let them handle this. We have to cut right to the cause.
“He’s using up so much energy,” Elizabeth says to me once she’s off the phone.
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“He wants us to find him,” I say. “This is it. Checkmate.”
We get to our building and find that the doorman is throwing himself back and forth through the plate glass window, knocking shard after shard with his body. I don’t want to touch him, because there is glass all through his skin, but how else can I stop him? Elizabeth moves to block him and I move to catch him, but he dodges us, kneels to the ground, and starts to pick up the glass, moving it to his lips. Elizabeth kicks it out of his grasp; he howls.
Another tenant approaches the building—Alex, the preppy jerk from 7A.
“What’s going on?” he says, shocked.
“Hold him and don’t let go until the police come,” Elizabeth orders.
Alex goes into a wrestler pose, grabs the doorman, and nods.
“I’ve got him,” he says, unyielding and unquestioning.
We sprint for the elevators.
“My apartment or your apartment?” Elizabeth asks.
I shake my head and point to where the elevators have gone. Both of them sit on the top floor.
“The roof,” I tell her. “It has to be the roof.”
Chapter 30
I’M RUNNING FOR THE STAIRS. I take them two at a time, flinging myself from landing to landing. I don’t look at the floor numbers. I can’t think about the climb or the precious minutes stolen by each flight or the way my lungs are burning. All I know is that I will not stop running until I am on the roof.
Stephen is behind me, but he doesn’t speak. There is no pausing to collect our thoughts. There is no strategy. No plan.
And then I am facing the door to the roof. It is a gateway of thick, imposing gray metal. I shove through.
Our squat, nine-story apartment building isn’t one of those with an on-trend, sexy rooftop garden. The space I stumble into, squinting in the sudden, harsh daylight, is a bleak, open square of cement ringed by a low brick edge.
I see my brother first.
“Laurie!”
I start towards him, but a chillingly calm voice brings me up a few yards short of him.
“I wouldn’t get any closer if I were you.” Maxwell Arbus stands with his hands clasped at his back. His gaze is speculative and practiced, like he’s assessing the worth of some antiquity.
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