Drea shook her head. “Not until we finish the ritual.” Over the past few weeks Em had seen Drea look fierce, angry, resolute. Sad. Sarcastic and disdainful, of course. But never like this. Never so singularly obsessed, never so fixated. Em got the feeling that even if Drea herself was on fire, she would still be crouching there, staring at Em with those wide, icy eyes.
Em struggled to a half-sitting position and spoke. Her voice came out ragged from the exertion and the smoke.
“The gym is on fire, Drea!” Em coughed. Several people brushed past her, nearly knocking her over again.
“No, Em. It’s working, don’t you see?” Drea gestured around them. “The other ones—they’ve disappeared; the fire scared them off. Now it’s just you.”
“The other ones?” Em choked out. “You mean, the other students? Our friends?”
Drea was making a circle around Em now, and she had something in her hand. Between the smoke and the shadows, it was difficult to identify, but Em could tell it was a jar, and something was spilling out of it. “Pretty soon you’ll be yourself again,” Drea said. “You’ll see. This is going to work.”
Em took another gasping breath—the smoke was making her feel like her throat was closing up, like duct tape was being wrapped around her rib cage.
And then she smelled it. The sweet, oily smell of gasoline.
Drea was pouring gasoline around her.
The realization lit up in her brain like emergency flares. “Drea, stop! Stop!” She found herself screaming as she scuttled away from Drea, who continued to advance. She managed to get up on one knee, still shouting. “No! Drea, no! Stay away!”
She could see that Drea’s mouth was moving. Saying something. But she couldn’t hear—it was as though Drea was on mute. In fact, the whole world seemed to have gone silent. Em was inhaling smoke, she knew that, but it felt like there was smoke inside her too.
She was going to be burned alive.
And then, in one motion, with what felt like her last scrap of strength, she lunged at Drea, almost slipping on her knees on the wet floor. She’d have to force her to get out of here if either of them was going to live.
Other people were screaming, racing out of the building, knocking things over as they ran. It was total chaos.
“Get away from me,” Drea growled as Em’s hands made contact with her shoulders. As soon as she touched Drea, she could feel a huge power surge between them. Drea clawed at her arms, trying to push Em away. “Em! Don’t fight me!” she shouted, turning her focus back on the gasoline she was pouring onto the gym floor.
But Em lunged again, determined to get in Drea’s way and grab her. They needed to flee! As she and Drea struggled Drea tried to elbow Em—Em blocked her arm and shoved her to the side. The shove was far more powerful than Em had expected—it lifted Drea straight off the ground. Em fell forward, coughing, as Drea slammed to the ground and cracked her head against the side of one of the dance floor mirrors.
And then Drea stopped moving, except to blink, once. A trickle of blood emerged from her hairline and traced a shivering path along her angular cheekbone.
“Drea!” Em cried. “No!”
She crawled across broken glass, coughing as smoke got in her lungs and throat and eyes. She could barely see, but she made her way toward Drea, who opened her mouth slowly and began to speak with concentration, as if she was trying to translate commands between her brain and her body. “Em. You’re . . . turning . . .” Her muttering trailed off.
Em looked down at herself—her stained dress, her ghostly skin, her quaking hands and legs. The dizziness and smoke overwhelmed her. What had happened? What had she become? The gym was emptying now—people must have found a way out, because the screams and shouting had become more distant.
The smoke kept swirling—around her, in her. There was nothing to do but dance with it, sway with it, succumb to it dizzily. She felt herself falling. Then all went black.
? ? ?
Em was riding a horse.
No. That wasn’t right. It felt like she was riding a horse. Up and down, up and down, up and down. She turned her head groggily and was met by the peppermint smell of a clean white shirt.
She looked up. A scruffy chin, a pointy Adam’s apple, sprouts of mussed hair. JD. She was in JD’s arms. He was carrying her out of the gym while above them sparks rained down from the ceiling. She felt intense heat all around her.
The students must have gotten the gym doors open, or else they’d been busted down, because that’s how JD got her out—through the double doors and out into the cold parking lot.
Her lungs felt as though they were coated in ash. She heard sirens wailing in the background and the sound of shattering glass. She took gulping breaths of air, trying to refocus.
Then it all rushed back to her—the power outage, the fire. Drea.
“No! Drea!” Em struggled in JD’s arms. “We have to get her!” JD kept moving. He held her tighter.
“The whole building is on fire!” JD yelled. “They’ve evacuated the gym.”
“But she’s still inside!” Em was too weak to struggle.