Skylar nodded. “The ones you warned me about. I told them I was sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have . . . ” She trailed off, staring anxiously past Em into the front yard.
“Listen, Skylar. I’m sorry too. But they don’t care. None of that matters to them, so I’m hunting down a way to get rid of them. Forever. But I need to speak to your aunt,” Em said, shifting her weight restlessly from one leg to the other. “She knows something. About the Furies. I’m sure of it.” She couldn’t tell her why she was sure of it—then she’d have to admit what was happening to her, what was growing inside her.
“She’s not . . . ” Skylar started to say.
“Look, I know your aunt isn’t crazy about . . . unexpected visitors,” Em jumped in, doing her best to keep her voice steady. “But I’m . . . ” Running out of options, she thought. “I’m pretty sure she knows something important.”
“My aunt’s out of town,” Skylar offered apologetically. ?“She’s down in . . . Well, she’s gone for a few days, anyway.”
“Where is she?” Em asked, hoping to be invited inside.
“She had to go down South to deal with some family stuff,” Skylar said. “That’s all.”
Em looked down at her feet and tried to conceal her disappointment. Even this, a relatively minor blow, seemed to strike deep into her gut. She was running out of time. She knew this, could feel it, could already sense the change.
“I should have listened to you,” Skylar said in a whisper. “When you told me—about Meg and her cousins, or whoever they were.” Skylar twisted her thin fingers together. “I—I didn’t want to believe you. I wanted a friend, you know?“ She looked up at Em, her eyes wide, pleading, and Em felt a pulse of pity for her.
“I know, Skylar,” she said, and placed a hand on Skylar’s arm. “But those girls weren’t your friends.” She thought of the multiple times she’d attempted to find out more about Skylar’s relationship with the Furies. At the bonfire, at her house, at the hospital . . . rebuffed, every time. Still, there was always the chance that by warning Skylar in advance, Em had saved her from being targeted for the Furies’ continuous wrath.
“I know that . . . now,” Skylar said. Her green eyes were focused on something just past Em, into the now driving rain, and they looked filled with pain. Em could see that the girl standing in front of her was nothing like the mini Gabby of recent past. Her clothes were plain—medium-wash jeans and a gray shirt—and her face had the dull pallor of someone who hadn’t been getting enough sleep or enough sun. Still, Em noticed that without any makeup on, her eyes were big and childlike. She was cute. If it weren’t for the ever so slightly crooked wig and all those angry scars . . .
Em wondered whether they would ever go away—Skylar’s scars and her own, invisible but no less real.
“I’m sorry,” Em said, and it was true. “I should have tried harder.” She felt a sea of hopelessness well up inside of her, threatening to drown her. The days were ticking away. No one would help her. ?And her fate would be much, much worse than Skylar’s. What was happening to Em . . . it was unthinkable.
It was death.
And it wasn’t fair.
Em was suddenly exhausted. Slightly dizzy, she leaned against the porch railing and closed her eyes.
“It’s okay, Em, I know it wasn’t your fault.” Skylar spoke in a whisper. “If—if you want to talk about it . . . Do you want to come in, even though Nora’s not here?”
Em knew she must look pathetic. Weak. Desperate. Which she was.
“Look, just for a minute or two.” Skylar managed to smile. “We can talk things through. Maybe then we’ll both feel a little better.”
Em seriously doubted it. If it really was true that the evil was slowly taking her, nothing would make her feel better. Still, maybe she’d find some clue at Skylar’s place—something she’d missed before.
She wiped her wet shoes on the doormat and stepped inside. The place was a mess—nothing like the tidy home Em had seen last time she was here. Someone, presumably Skylar, had set up camp in the living room, with a sleeping bag laid out on the sofa and a microwave-dinner tray on the coffee table.
As if reading her mind, Skylar moved toward the couch and gathered the sleeping bag in her arms. “I wasn’t expecting visitors,” she said as she hurried out of the room.