From Bad to Cursed

“What are you going to do?” I sneered. When I spoke, I could taste the sourness of the black coating in my mouth. “Poke me?”

“I’ll hit you, Lexi.” Her face was stony. “As hard I have to.”

Whatever. I was really not in the mood.

“Can’t we talk about this in the morning?” I asked. After I kill you?

“No.” Her eyes hardened. “Get your toothbrush.”

“What?”

“Pick up your toothbrush,” she said, careful not to let the poker dip a second time, “and stick it down your throat.”

“Kasey—” I said, and suddenly the sharp tip of the poker was touching the soft part of my stomach.

“Do it,” she said.

“Ugh, fine,” I said, picking up the toothbrush. “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Get in the tub,” she said.

Cocking one eyebrow, I lifted one foot and then the other and stood in the tub. “Happy?”

She waited.

I stuck the toothbrush into my throat. Instantly, I gagged and doubled over.

“Do it again,” she said.

“God, Kasey,” I cried. What was the point of this? Stabbing people was one thing. But making them barf—that was just disturbing.

But I did it again, and suddenly I was overcome by a tsunami of nausea, dropping to my knees in the bathtub, vomiting up mouthful after mouthful of bitter black liquid.

It got in my nose and stuck in my throat and made me feel like I was choking.

But the less of it that was inside me, the more I wanted to keep throwing up—forever, if necessary. I was crying and gasping and retching, my arms covered in the remnants of the black goo, and then it hit me—how close I’d come to killing my family.

That and the memory of being trapped inside the black cocoon crashed through my body and left me a shaking, sobbing wreck.

After watching me for a minute, Kasey set her poker on the counter and came to the edge of the tub.

“Lexi?” she whispered.

I retched again, overcome by another wave of nausea, and rested my head on the filthy surface of the bathtub.

I couldn’t speak. I could hardly breathe. My nose stung, and my throat felt like it was wallpapered in fire.

“Shh,” she said, gently rubbing my back. “It’s okay.”

“Did I…” I paused to gag and spit out another mouthful of black fluid. “Did I hurt anyone?”

“No,” she said. “We’re fine.”

When the nausea subsided, I started shaking.

“Come on, Lexi,” she said. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I couldn’t believe how calm she was. She raised me to my feet and helped me undress. She ran a hot shower and sat on the lid of the toilet seat while I rinsed off. When I got out, she was waiting with a towel and a fresh pair of pajamas.

I brushed my teeth for what felt like ten minutes. When I was done, the toothbrush was black. Kasey dropped it in the trash can.

Then we stood looking at each other.

“I guess we’re even,” I said.

She frowned. “I haven’t been keeping score.”

So this was it. This was the train off the rails. I shuddered to think of what might be happening in the houses of Sunshine Club girls across Surrey. I consoled myself with the idea that the goo and I went way back; that our relationship was somehow a step ahead of everyone else’s.

But Farrin was right. We had no choice. This had to end.

I reached a shaky hand down and opened the drawer, pulling out a tinted lip gloss and rolling it over my raisin-dry lips.

Kasey passed a comb through my hair, dabbing the ends with a towel to keep the water from soaking through my pajama top.

“You need some rest,” she said, separating my hair into three sections and weaving them into a simple braid.

“You have to lock me up,” I said. “In a closet or something. Someplace I can’t get to anyone. Someplace safe.”

“You’ll be safe,” she said, but in the mirror I saw her chest shudder with an intake of breath.

“Where?” I whispered. The world was huge and dangerous, full of people I could hurt without a second thought.

She wiped the wet comb on a towel and stuck it back in the drawer, then put her hands on my shoulders and met my eyes in the mirror. “With me.”

I looked at the dimples in her cheeks from the determined clench of her jaw.

If I could get the fireplace poker, I thought, I could make those dimples a lot deeper.

Oh, God. I ran past her to my bedroom, where I pulled on a pair of jeans and zipped my jacket over my pajama top.

Kasey knocked lightly and pushed the door open a few inches. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I have to go.”

Her mournful eyes looked up at me, and she hugged herself tightly. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll try to send you a message.”

“What do I tell Mom and Dad?”

“Make something up,” I said. I was afraid to stay an instant longer than I had to.

Kasey followed me to the foyer and locked the dead-bolt behind me, as I’d told her to.

I crossed the street and climbed to the top of the jungle gym, where I took out my phone and called Megan.

Her tires crunched on the cheap asphalt as she parked. This road would be dust in five years. She pushed open the passenger door for me and watched me fasten my seat belt.

“So what happened?” she asked.

I didn’t want to say it out loud.

“That bad, huh?” She headed back to the main road.

“Please help me,” I said. “I need to go somewhere safe.”

Suddenly everything caught up with me and I started to cry. It was a full-on ugly cry—dark, stinging tears pouring down my cheeks, my mouth open in a wide, hiccupping wail, snot welling up in my nose.

Megan dug through her purse, pulled out a packet of tissues, and drove.

Through all of it—all of the meetings, the glamour, the stuff with Carter, Tashi’s death—what I’d really needed was someone to talk to. A best friend. My best friend.

“Megan,” I said, “everything is falling apart.”

“Shh,” she said, patting me on the shoulder.

“No, you don’t understand,” I said. And then I told her everything—thinking I’d had Aralt fooled, finding myself caught anyway. Tashi’s weird disappearance. Farrin’s threats. Tuga