The squirming stopped, and Em let out a tiny sob. She’d never killed a living thing before, other than an insect. She felt her whole body shuddering, but it was too late to stop now—she had to keep going with her plan.
She wiped her wet eyes with the back of her hand and talked aloud to herself. “You can do this, Em.” She’d memorized what the book said to do next, and pounded on the icy dirt with her fist.
“Furies, return to where you came from,” she intoned. She began digging a hole, doing the best she could in the frozen ground. When the hole was big enough for the snake, which she coiled into a neat circle, it was time for the next step.
“You spring from blood, then blood will bring you back,” she said into the night air. She looked up, letting her hair whip around her face as she implored to the sky, “Please. Let this work.”
Then she put the tip of the knife against her own palm. It felt smooth against her winter-chapped hand. The ritual called for drops of blood—five of them, to be precise. Just like she had swallowed five bloodred seeds. Once again she doubted she would be able to go through with it.
You have to. There’s no choice.
She was about to press down and break the skin. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the first spurt of blood. Scared of the pain. And then—
“Em! Stop!” The words came from behind her; she screamed and dropped the knife in front of her, leaping to her feet and ready to run.
There, standing behind a cluster of larger headstones, was JD. His brown hair was blowing in the slight breeze, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his bomber jacket.
Em couldn’t believe her eyes. She fought to catch her breath.
“JD? What . . .” She barely knew what to ask him. How long had he been there? How much had he seen? Why was he there in the first place? But he didn’t let her speak.
“What the hell are you doing, Em? Are you out of your mind?” He came closer. Even in the dark she could see the shocked look on his face. Gone was the normally goofy grin. He was speaking loudly, in a tone that Em barely recognized. “Thank god I followed you here. What were you—what were you doing?” He stormed up next to her, bent down, and picked up the knife.
She realized her hands were caked with frozen dirt—and they were still shaking.
“JD, I . . . don’t know what to say,” she said. Her mind was swirling; darkness clouded her vision, and she was suddenly worried she might faint. He’d followed her here? How long had he been watching? Had he seen her kill a snake? Call up to the heavens? Talk to Sasha Bowlder’s ghost? It was too much. “I’m so . . . ,” she sputtered. “Just please. Don’t . . . don’t tell anyone. This never happened. I was just—”
Anything she said would be too much. And so, in the same direction she’d come, she ran. Away from the graveyard, away from the dead snake and Sasha Bowlder’s grave. Away from JD. “Em!” he called. But she ran faster, and lost him.
? ? ?
Wrapped in a thick robe after a long, hot shower, Em sat at the kitchen table and rubbed her temples, staring at her journal. The page in front of her was blank. She’d spent the last hour trying to warm her shaking body and calm down—while scrubbing the mud from under her fingernails. The scene at the graveyard kept replaying through her head, but she couldn’t even get it down on paper. That poor snake. The blood. The dirt. JD suddenly appearing out of nowhere. She couldn’t believe he’d followed her.
He still cares.
No. She wouldn’t allow herself to entertain the idea. Still, she wondered if he would call, check up on her. Or—god, no—tell her parents? It was bad enough that her grades were running parallel to her social status, sinking as quickly as she was distancing herself from her old life. She had nothing to show for her distraction and disconnection, other than a handful of tests and papers bearing the dreaded inscription See me. If JD told anyone what he’d seen, she would pretty much be written off as totally insane.
The doorbell rang. A shot of anxiety ran through Em’s whole body. She was home alone—her parents were both working their night shifts at the hospital—and while she had been happy for the solitude at first, she cursed it now.
Was it JD at the door, coming to harass her? Or (and she didn’t know if this would be better or worse), was it someone else? Ever since the Ali incident, when the blond Fury had shown up on her doorstep like a bloodthirsty stalker, unexpected visitors left her with a thumping heart and clammy palms.
“Hello?” she called out from the kitchen. She started to move toward the front door. At the last moment she took a knife out of a drawer and curled her fingers around its wooden handle. Better safe than sorry. And if it was JD, well . . . he already thought she was out of her mind.
“Hello?” She said it again as she got closer to the door.
“Emily? Winters? It’s Eileen Singer. Chase’s mom.” Em lost her grip on the knife, and it clattered to the floor.