“Honestly? I have no idea,” Crow said, shaking his head.
That makes two of us, she thought. The condensation from her glass made her hands cold and wet.
“Something happened today,” she said finally. “In gym class. It was like . . . it was like I had turned into someone else.”
He didn’t say anything. She couldn’t even tell if he was really listening to her, the way he was looking off into the distance. He took another deep draw from his drink.
“I . . . hurt someone,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
She bent her head, embarrassed. “I became, like, Superwoman for a few minutes. I threw a ball and it—it hit someone . . . ” Then, at the exact same time, they finished the sentence: ?“Right in the face.”
She whipped toward him. “How did you know?”
He laughed humorlessly. “Listen, angel, you’re not the only one stuck in this shit show. I have a feeling I’m tangled up in it too.” ?The words “upinit” smashed together like a traffic jam.
“You mean, because Drea told you about the Furies?” She still wasn’t sure how much Crow knew.
Fortified by another sip of beer, Crow leaned forward and spoke to the floor. “Worse than that,” he said. “See, I knew you were going to do that, what you did today in gym. I saw the whole thing—I saw you running like a track star on speed. I saw you break that girl’s cheekbone. I’d already seen it all.”
It was like a valve had opened within Crow; the words were spilling out of him.
“Where?” she asked. “What do you mean, you saw it?”
“What do I mean . . . ? Just what I said. I’ve been having these . . . visions, I guess you’d call them,” he said. His knee was jangling up and down to its own rhythm. “I’ve been seeing things—like movies in my mind. Not memories, exactly. But things that have happened. Or will happen. Or . . . I don’t know.” When he looked at her again, his eyes were reddish. Tired.
She nodded, but couldn’t speak. Was this Crow’s drunken idea of a practical joke? Or was he just drunker than she’d even realized?
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said defiantly, “but I’m not just wasted. I mean, not that wasted. I saw you, Em . . . in my mind. There was so much blackness around you. Spilling out from inside of you. I knew you were going to hurt someone. And I don’t think it’s over. I think you’re going to keep hurting people. The damage isn’t done.” The last words came out in a slurred rush. He drained what was left in the beer can.
No. I don’t want to hurt anyone. His words tapped into her worst fears. “I didn’t mean to hurt Casey,” she said weakly. “I’m not . . . like them.” Not yet, at least.
He barely heard her. “But here’s the really bad thing,” Crow continued. “That darkness that I saw in you, in my vision? It follows me around. I’ll have another vision. Guarantee it,” he said, holding up his empty glass. “Refill?”
She glanced at the key chain dangling from his belt loop. “I’m worried about you driving home.”
“Don’t you worry about me, babe,” he said, leaning in close. “I can take care of myself. It’s you we should be worried about.” And with that he made his way back to the bar.
As she waited for him to return, her eyes were drawn to the church balcony. To the high stained-glass window that depicted a scraggly tree being split in two by a bolt of lightning. She stared at the oddly shaped cuts of glass, pieced together to form a whole image. An image of destruction. The window swam, a kaleidoscope of colors. Then there was a flash of white-blond hair.
She did a double take. There was someone up there.
Ali.
Ali was here. Spying.
She was being watched. Her stomach seized up and she considered running. Leaving this place, leaving Crow.
But when she narrowed her eyes and kept them trained to the spot where she’d seen movement, there was nothing. Nothing but dark corners and fleeting shadows.
“So here’s what I know,” Crow said, breaking her concentration. He’d come back with another glass of whiskey in his hand. “You and Drea were playing ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer,’ except not vampires but Furies. The goddesses of revenge. Evil.” His voice was rising; his tone was suddenly performative. It was as if he were trying to make a scene.
“Shhhhh,” she hissed. “They’ll hear you.”
“Who will?” He was mocking her, but she thought she saw a spark of fear in his eyes.
“Crow, how much do you know? What else have you seen in your . . . visions?”
“I know too much,” he said, sitting down heavily. “I knew about—I knew about Drea.”
Em felt the familiar wave of panic and hopelessness rush through her. “You knew that she was trying to get rid of them?”
“More than that,” he said dully. “I knew what was going to happen to her.”