From Bad to Cursed

by Katie Alender

  There was a pull—a craving, almost like a constant low-grade headache behind my ears. But Kasey was right. I was strong enough to see through all of it.

  As I headed for the kitchen to get some breakfast, my sister waved me into her room. I closed the door.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Good.”

  “No, I mean…how are you?”

  I made my mouth an O. “Gooooood.”

  She tossed a pillow at me, but I could tell she was relieved. “So about getting started. I’ve officially reached the end of the Internet,” she said. “I was thinking about going to the library later. Can you come?”

  “There’s no use,” I said. “All of the paranormal books at the city library are locked up.”

  Her face fell.

  “And so are the ones at school,” I said. “Although…”

  Miss Nagesh seemed surprised when I asked her to keep the library open late for us. But she agreed right away. “I’m just revising my novel,” she said. “I can work at the school as well as I can at home.”

  At lunch, Carter came up behind me and touched the curve of my back. “Can we eat by ourselves today?”

  I turned to him in surprise. “Sorry,” I said. “You know I can’t.”

  “Come on,” he urged. He stared at me, unblinking. I felt his fingers move lightly across my shirt. From around the table, eye beams bored into us like lasers.

  Sit here. I miss you. “Sit here,” I recited, too tired to resist. “I miss you.”

  “Ah…it’s okay.” He let his hand fall from my back. “I’ll sit with the guys.”

  “Oh,” I said. “All right.”

  All through lunch, I stole glances in his direction. But he wasn’t looking at me.

  Ever. Not once.

  Miss Nagesh fumbled with a giant ring of keys, looking for the one that would unlock the metal cabinet in her office. “I never even thought about opening this thing. What kind of librarian keeps books in a locked closet?”

  I shrugged. The kind who gets fired, apparently.

  “It’s ridiculous. Your first job this week is to put these back into circulation,” she said. “If we ever get them out.”

  “What’s your book about?” Kasey asked.

  Miss Nagesh glanced up, her eyes shining. “The next big thing in teen fiction,” she said proudly. “Harpies.”

  “Wow,” Kasey said.

  “Obviously not with feathered bodies or anything,” she said. “I’m taking some liberties.”

  “Can’t wait to read it,” Kasey said.

  “I have to finish it first,” Miss Nagesh said. “Wait…wait…got it!”

  The cabinet door swung open, revealing shelves piled high with books.

  “Go for it,” she said, backing away. “I’ll be at the main desk if you need me.”

  We spent the next few hours poring over the books, looking for anything that might help.

  “Listen to this,” Kasey said. “‘One aspect constant to every libris exanimus is its attendant creatura. The creatura functions as bodyguard and servant to its libris. It will always be found nearby; if you come across a libris exanimus, you can be sure a creatura is close at hand, and vice versa. Be wary, for a creatura will take any means necessary to protect and serve its master.’”

  And that would be Tashi. “But is it a human or a spirit or something else?”

  “I don’t know,” she sighed. “That’s all it says. This is a book of cheat codes for a video game called Spirit Killaz 2.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Kasey heard the doubt in my voice. “But it talks about power centers, too. I think the people who made the game actually did their homework.”

  My phone buzzed. I glanced at it, expecting to see Carter’s name on the caller ID. But it was Megan’s. “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  I hesitated. Luckily, the question had been rhetorical.

  “Because I can tell you where I am,” she said. “Sitting on my bed studying my French vocab.”

  Studying?

  “There was a pop quiz today!” she said. “And I totally bombed it.”

  “Wow, that sucks,” I said.

  She made a disgusted noise. “I know, I’m so mad.”

  My ears pricked up. Mad at Aralt?

  “I keep thinking, what did I do that Aralt would want to teach me a lesson? Am I taking him for granted? Was I ugly today?” She sniffed. “I’m never wearing that skirt again…Did you notice anything?”

  “No,” I said. “I thought the skirt was cute.”

  She sighed. “All right, well, I thought I’d ask.…I’ll talk to you later. Or tomorrow, maybe. Je dois étudier.”

  “Bonjour,” I replied.

  She laughed. “All right, Lex. Stay sunny.”

  “Stay sunny,” I said. And hung up.

  Kasey was watching me.

  “Megan said—”

  “I heard.”

  “Something’s going on,” I said.

  Kasey let the book rest in her lap. “I hate to say it, Lexi, but…”

  I knew what she was going to say before she said it. We needed to go talk to Tashi.

  THE GARAGE DOOR GAPED OPEN.

  A bright pink envelope was wedged between the front door and the frame.

  As Kasey and I stood in the driveway and stared, a car pulled up in the road behind us.

  “Excuse me, girls,” the driver said through the passenger window. “Is this your house?”

  We shook our heads.

  He leaned across the seat and held something out. Another bright pink envelope. The words HOMEOWNERS’ ASSOCIATION CITATION were printed across it in bold red letters. “Would you mind slipping this next to the other one?”

  Kasey took it, nodding.

  The guy glanced at the open door and shook his head, his eyes narrow with contempt. “Some people have no respect, you know?”

  “It’s a shame,” I said automatically.

  “Absolutely,” he said, raising his hand in an affable way. “See you later.”

  I wondered if he would have been so nice to me with my pink hair.

  “So she’s not home,” Kasey said.

  “I guess not.” I knew the door leading from the garage to the hall was locked from inside. “Come on.”

  Kasey came tripping behind me through the side yard and stopped short when she saw me unlatch the window. “This is illegal!”

  Amazing how low on my priority list legality had sunk. I hoisted myself inside and extended a hand to my sister, who gazed around the empty house with a look of dread on her face.

  First, I hit the button on the wall to close the garage door. Then I got the pink notices from the doorway and set them on the piano bench.

  It was obvious that no one was home. We started looking around, checking every room, every closet.

  I was in the master bedroom when my sister yelled out for me. I raced through the house to find her standing by the kitchen counter.

  “What is that?” she asked, angling her head to look at something. “Is it blood?”

  I leaned down to look at puddles of congealed dark liquid.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It is.”

  I turned to get a paper towel and noticed that there was a small pile of trash on the floor—Tashi’s crumpled football game ticket, a used-up matchbook, and the wrapper from a package of ground beef.

  “Why would there be blood on the counter?” Kasey asked, on the verge of freaking out. “Did someone hurt Tashi?”

  And why would there be trash on the floor?

  Someone had dumped it out and taken the bag. But what would they need the bag for?

  “Excuse me,” I said, weaving around her.

  I opened the fridge.

  One of the shelves was completely bare, except for a few puddles of dried blood. Whoever it was—Tashi?—must have stacked packages of meat on the counter and then put them in the plastic bag and taken them away.

&n
bsp; At least it wasn’t Tashi’s blood.

  But she’d been scared. Scared enough to run? To take herself, the book, Aralt, and enough meat to last a few days? But where would she go?

  My heart began to thump against my chest as I made my way back down the hall and into the master bedroom, where my suspicions were confirmed.

  The closet was noticeably emptier. Half the shoes and most of the clothes on hangers were gone, although the dirty laundry was still piled up in the corner.

  The book was gone, too.

  Then I went into the bathroom, where my eye was drawn to the cup on the counter.

  What I saw there stopped me short.

  Because if Tashi had really gone away…

  Why hadn’t she taken her toothbrush?

  WEDNESDAY MORNING, you could tell something was different. Even though the Club converged in the courtyard as always, it didn’t feel like a normal day.

  We were scattered where we’d been a unit, distracted where we’d been focused, jumpy where we’d been as tranquil as a herd of cows. There was a spark in the air, as if lightning had struck too close.

  It lasted through lunch. Paige spilled yogurt all over herself, and our usual conversation was replaced by a miniature study group. It turns out Megan wasn’t the only one bombing quizzes.

  After the bell rang, a group of us went to the bathroom together to touch up our lipstick. Emily and Mimi were next to me.

  “What’s wrong with your hair, Em?” Mimi asked. “The back’s all…flattish.”

  Emily reached up to touch her hair and then twisted to look at it. “Really?”

  “Yeah, it’s…weird.” Mimi gave it a futile fluff and then shrugged. “You should fix it.”

  Gradually, everyone else trickled out, and it was just me and Emily. She was still swinging from side to side, trying to see what Mimi saw.

  “Stop worrying. You look great,” I said.

  She inspected herself from a few more angles, looking like she might burst into tears at any moment. “You’re so nice, Alexis. But I can’t go to class like this,” she said. “Can you help me? Do you have a curling iron?”

  Um. “A curling iron…? At school? No, sorry.”

  Emily glanced around frantically, like one was going to poof into midair.

  “Maybe in the drama club supply room?” I suggested. “Or with the cheerleading stuff?”

  Her eyes popped open wide. “The cheerleaders! Of course!”

  “But the bell’s going to ring in, like, two minutes. We have to get to Math.”

  She came up to me and pressed her hands together, like she was praying. “Can you just make up an excuse for me?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know, Em…”

  “Please! It’s an emergency. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just stall him.”

  I finally agreed. But only because it was Emily.

  All I had to say to Mr. Demarco was that Emily was dealing with “feminine issues,” and he shooed me away.

  The rule at Surrey High was that phones had to be on silent or vibrate during class, and they could only be used between class periods. So when my phone lit up against the lining of my purse, I almost ignored it. But then I flipped it on its side and read the screen. It was a text from Emily.

  NEED U GIRLS BTHROM

  I rolled my eyes. Calling me out of class to help fix her flat hair? But when I thought about ignoring it, I felt the tiniest pressure in my temple. It didn’t let up until I got up and went to Mr. Demarco’s desk.

  “Emily needs me,” I said.

  “Go, just go,” he said. “No details.”

  When I got into the bathroom, the first thing I did was instinctively check the mirror.

  Still good.

  Then I saw Emily.

  She was crouching in the corner, her legs tucked under her, a curling iron in her hand.

  Half her hair was burned off. There was a bright pink, shiny, painful-looking patch of skin just above her forehead. Onyx-colored tears streamed down her face, spreading onto her shirt in dark clouds.

  She raised the curling iron again.

  “Why isn’t it working, Alexis?” she snuffled, reaching up and wrapping a thin strand of hair around it, then bringing the whole thing down against her scalp. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh my God, stop!” I cried, rushing over to her.

  “It’s not working!” she said. “It’s flat! You have to help me. I’m not good enough!”

  I tried to get the curling iron out of her hands, but she yanked it away, ripping a whole section of hair out of her head. I pulled the cord from the outlet.

  “Hey!” she protested.

  Up close, her head was a mess of dark red welts. She gave off the sick, rancid smell of burning hair. My stomach shifted dangerously.

  Her face crumpled. “I’m ugly,” she sobbed, holding the curling iron up against her cheek.

  “Quit it!” I shrieked, snatching it from her hand and throwing it across the room. “Come on, you need to get to the hospital.”

  “No!” she said, swinging her arms at me. “No, I can’t go out like this. I look terrible. Everyone will see.”

  I couldn’t drag her. And I couldn’t leave her alone.

  I thought about calling for help, but what would I say? How could I explain?

  I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Megan’s number. “Please pick up,” I mumbled. “Please.”

  She did. “Lex, you know I’m in class, right?”

  “I need you. In the four-hundred wing bathroom.”

  She hesitated.

  “Just get here,” I said. “No questions.”

  While I was on the phone, Emily had started crawling across the floor, going after the curling iron again. I raced her to it and grabbed the metal end with my left hand just as she was grabbing the handle.

  It took my brain a moment to feel the heat, and by then, my fingers had instinctively released it, splaying out like a spider having a seizure.

  “Why did you do that?” Emily asked, cradling the curling iron and turning away from me. “I need this. I need to be beautiful. I’m not good enough.”

  For a few long seconds, we stared at each other. She wouldn’t give it up without a fight. And I didn’t particularly feel like wrenching it out of her hands and getting burned again.

  “Alexis? What are you doing?” Megan appeared in the doorway. She looked past me and saw Emily on the floor.

  Megan switched into student-coach mode without missing a beat. She turned on one of the faucets. “Help me get her over here.”

  As long as we didn’t try to take her precious curling iron, Emily didn’t mind being moved. She let us herd her to the sink, where we started scooping handfuls of cool water over the iron and her scalp.

  “We need to get her out to my car,” Megan said. “I can drop her off at home.”

  “At home?” I asked. “She needs to go to the hospital!”

  “That’s not realistic, and we both know it,” Megan said. “Besides, Aralt will help her.”

  As I was scooping, I rammed my injured hand into the faucet and gasped in pain.

  Emily looked up at me. “Oh, no, Alexis…you burned your hand,” she said, her voice sorrowful. “That’s really going to hurt.”

  Then she slowly lifted her eyes from the curling iron to her own reflection in the mirror.

  And reached a hand up to her raw, burned scalp.

  And screamed—

  And screamed, and screamed.

  This wasn’t the full-throated screeching of horror-movie victims; it was an endless wail of agony, thin and panicked, broken into shrieking yips like the cries of a wounded animal. It made your chest hurt all the way through to your spine just to listen to it.

  Emily let the curling iron drop to the floor and went into a fit, running away from us, trying to climb up the walls, her hands clawing the smooth tiles.

  I went closer, to calm her down, but she lashed out at me.

  “Emily,” Megan
ordered, “sit still! And don’t touch my clothes—you’re filthy!”

  Finally Emily’s wailing tapered off into a long whimper. Megan made a few phone calls, and within two minutes, Lydia, Kendra, and Paige had joined us.

  “We need to get her out to Megan’s car,” Lydia said. “How can we do that without attracting attention?”

  Emily, clearly in shock, sat perfectly still on the floor, like she was a polite stranger we’d brought in from the street, watching all of this happen to somebody else.

  “Pull up as close to the exit as you can,” Paige said. “I’ll put my sweater on her head.”

  I winced at the thought of anything touching that raw scalp. But everyone else was all for it. So a minute later, we were walking through the hallway, guiding Emily, who had a sweater wrapped around her in a vague imitation of a head scarf.

  When Megan pulled up, we stuck Emily in the front seat. I reached across her and fastened her seat belt. “Are you sure you won’t take her to the hospital, Megan?” I asked.

  Megan gave me a disapproving look. “Chill, Lex. We know she’ll heal.”

  I backed away and closed the door, wishing I’d just yelled for help and let the teachers deal with it. But then the Sunshine Club girls would have known something was wrong—maybe even suspected that I wasn’t fully committed anymore.

  Because we took care of our own business. That was just the way it worked.

  After Megan had pulled away, Paige came up next to me. “You should go back to class. I brought your stuff.” She held out my purse but grabbed it back before I could take it. “Oh, you’re hurt!”

  As soon as she pointed it out, the skin on my palm began to ache in a painful, torn-up way, like when you accidentally scratch a sunburn.

  “I guess so,” I said. It hardly seemed like anything compared to Emily’s burns.

  “Oh, well,” Paige said, hooking the bag over the upturned palm, “it’ll heal.”

  As I walked back to my classroom, the security guard stopped me. “Did you hear any strange noises around here a few minutes ago?” he asked. “Would you duck into the ladies’ room and tell me if everything’s okay?”

  I popped my head in and then forced my brightest smile. “It’s fine. Everything is perfectly fine.”

  It was a short and relatively subdued Sunshine Club meeting that day; nobody stood up for Betterment.