“Are you in trouble?” Gabby asked. “Did your ’rents buy it?”
“They seemed to go for the fell-asleep-at-your-place thing,” Em said, knocking on the non-wood tabletop. “I mean, they made a big deal about being clearer next time . . . but I was already late for school, so they didn’t go on for too long. They haven’t mentioned it since.”
“It almost seems like you knew you were going to sleep there,” Gabby teased, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Em could tell she wasn’t going to just let this one go.
“I promise, Gabs. Nothing is going on between me and Crow. Nothing.” More than anything, Em wanted that to be the truth.
“Whoa, that’s crazy,” Gabby said, suddenly transfixed by Em’s hands.
Em looked down and sprung her hands away from the glass. There was steam rising between them, condensation from the heat of her hands against the cold milk-shake glass. Like she’d been sizzling on a stove.
She looked all around her and, with the strangest feeling of déjà vu, she tried to change the subject. “So what have you been up to?”
“I met with Ned about makeup on Monday night and then—”
Em put up her hand. “You met with who?”
“Ned—JD’s friend? The director? I’m going to do hair and makeup for the play!” Gabby smiled proudly.
“Now who’s keeping secrets?” Em asked playfully. “That’s awesome, Gabs. I had no idea.”
“I just decided on Friday,” Gabby said. “I figure it’s something good to put on the old college application, plus I’m good at it. And it won’t take up too much time. I mean, the play is coming up so soon. It basically just means I have to be there on Tuesday night.”
“Very practical,” Em agreed. “So you’ll be spending time with JD, huh?” She tried to sound casual, but Gabby knew her too well.
“Already thought of it,” Gabby said breezily. “I’ll take copious notes on what he does and say good things about you whenever I can. Plus, there is no reason for you to worry about those theater girls. They are cray-cray.”
“What would I do without you?” Em smiled. Here was an unforeseen benefit of telling Gabby about Crow: Out of nowhere, Gabby was rooting for JD.
Em felt a sudden rush of love for her best friend—her loyal Gabby.
Would she lose this, too?
? ? ?
Em was getting good—too good, maybe?—at following people, at tracking them down. If she couldn’t corner Skylar on their mutual territory, she’d have to go one step further.
After dinner, Em drove straight to Skylar’s house. It had started to rain, and the constant squeak of the windshield wipers was oddly comforting in the otherwise silent car. She’d decided against calling—there was less chance, this way, that Skylar could avoid her.
She was desperate and could think of no better options. Crow had said he’d help her, but what had he done? Nothing yet, other than write a few songs.
Em knew Skylar probably couldn’t do anything either. She was just another victim. One who’d somehow managed to escape the Furies’ long-lasting curse. But then there was Skylar’s aunt Nora.
Nora was knowledgeable about local lore and history. She knew Ascension’s secrets. She knew its ghost stories. Last time Em showed up at Skylar’s house, Nora had acted as though Em had leprosy. For the first time, it hit her that maybe Skylar’s aunt had some intimate knowledge of the Furies—had, in fact, recognized the darkness in Em.
Even though the woman seemed to despise her, Em had to find out what Aunt Nora knew.
The old Victorian house was close to downtown Ascension, and as she drove up Em saw several lights were on. That was a good sign. She parked her car and made a run for it, ducking her head as drops pelted down on her. Once she got onto the covered porch, she wiped the rain off her face and knocked loudly on the door, hoping both that Nora would answer and that she wouldn’t.
But it was Skylar who came to the door. Her wig was askew and it took everything Em had not to reach out and adjust it. Em wondered about the scars on her scalp and shuddered.
Skylar flipped on the outside light, bathing Em in an orange-yellow spotlight. “What are you doing here?” she said.
Em held out a hand, as though to prevent Skylar from closing the door in her face.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “I know we haven’t really . . . spoken since your—your accident. But we really, really need to talk.”
“I don’t—” Skylar began to speak, but Em cut her off.
“You know as well as I do that what happened to you wasn’t just random. It was retribution.” There was no time for mincing words—Em had to make sure that Skylar was paying attention.
She was. Skylar’s eyes grew wide and sad. “I was being punished,” she squeaked out.
“Exactly,” Em said. “Karma’s a bitch—or, really, three bitches. Called the Furies.”