He wasn’t exaggerating; I was still in bed and hadn’t pulled the curtains open yet. “That’s because I’m wearing pajamas and my hair’s a mess.”
“You’re gonna be late for school,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Maybe.”
Dad would never let that happen. It was quite clear to me that he and Mom were in some kind of silent competition about who was the more responsible parent. I’d gotten into a ton of trouble twice on Mom’s watch back in Wisconsin, and even though that wasn’t a reflection on the quality of her parenting at all, it fueled some kind of weird obsession of Dad’s to do a better job. If I wasn’t at the breakfast table downstairs within the next eighteen minutes, I could expect a knock on my bedroom door.
“I’ve gotta get back outside,” Henry said. “I’ve got a doubles match with a countess.”
“Sounds fancy,” I teased.
“Oh, it is.”
We said good-bye, and I wondered momentarily if the countess was beautiful. I didn’t want to think too much about it, but I was curious about why Henry made a point of checking in with me every day instead of walking down to the beach to eat lunch with his coworkers. Curious, but grateful for it. Our past had bound us in a way that was stronger than friendship. Our check-ins meant more to me than I suspected he knew; the few times he’d been a little late calling me, my heart had sunk at the possibility of him having moved on, found something—or someone—else to fill his time.
As always, as soon as I ended my chat with Henry, I wondered what Trey was doing at that very moment. Although I would have loved being able to FaceTime with him instead of writing letters, seeing him on a screen and talking to him might have just broken my heart. There was no way we would see each other again until July at the soonest, when he would turn eighteen and be released from Northern Reserve. Although Henry and I sometimes flirted with each other, it was always in a spirit of silliness. We never came near crossing any lines—not the way he had the night we were alone in his parents’ basement and almost kissed. I reassured myself that my dependency on him was because he’d taken on a brotherly role in my life, and not because I was in denial about having feelings for him.
I groaned, stretched, and climbed out of bed. Dad probably wouldn’t have been thrilled to know that I began every day by chatting with a friend from home since I’d failed to report having made any new friends in Tampa. Of course, he was right; I wasn’t making my semester there any easier by keeping to myself. But I had my reasons for not socially investing myself at my new school. First, I’d lived my entire life up until that point in a tiny town with just over four thousand residents, where I’d been acquainted with everyone and had never had to make new friends. Second, I’d just endured a pretty traumatic experience over the last five months, and I couldn’t discuss it with anyone. Not a single person, and especially not Ms. Hernández, the school counselor who I was required to spend my study hall with and who asked me relentless questions that I refused to answer about Violet, Trey, and all the trouble I’d gotten into at home.
The thing was, I viewed my life in Tampa as temporary. I didn’t want to settle in and get comfortable—not when I expected Trey would be released in July. I wasn’t sure what the future held for us, but finding a way to never be separated from him again superseded everything else.
And then… there was the matter of Mischa.
I didn’t want to get too comfortable in my new life at all, because of the frail balance on which it hung from a promise she’d made.
I never had the pleasure of hitting snooze on my alarm—even for ten minutes—because I had to cast my protection spell before I left for school. It was a spell given to me by Kirsten, the witch we’d met at the occult bookstore in Chicago. The incantation, meant to protect Mischa and her family members, had to be performed every day, at the same time.
Every single morning, in a clockwise direction, I carefully sprinkled salt around the four white candles on my nightstand in the shape of circle, making four complete circles—for Mischa, her sister, and both of their parents. As I lit each of the four candles, I whispered, “With this candle, I focus my intent and protect Mischa from all that would harm. With this candle, I focus my intent and protect Amanda from all that would harm.” And onward, until I’d protected all four members of the Portnoy family.
There were mornings, like that one, when I was cutting it close on time and rushed through the whispering part. But the thought of getting lazy about the amount of intent I applied terrified me. Ever since Mischa had e-mailed me back at the beginning of February talking about her newly discovered powers with tarot cards, I’d been terrified that the evil spirits who had originally tormented Violet until she delivered souls to them had refocused their attention on Mischa.
Violet had told me that when she’d refused to take orders from those spirits at first, they’d threatened her mother’s life. I knew that Mischa was strong-willed and that I could count on her to resist their threats, but I also knew that Mischa was a survivor. She was the most determined person I’d ever met. If she were made to feel like she had no choice but to deliver souls or have terrible things happen to her family, Mischa would do whatever it took to protect herself and her loved ones.
In that way, she was even scarier than Violet. In my experience, Violet was selfish and manipulative. But Mischa was fearless, physically strong, and stubborn. I didn’t want to have to find out what it might be like to challenge her.
Luckily, two new moons had passed since we’d lifted the curse from Violet, and I hadn’t heard any news out of Willow, Wisconsin, about tragic or unexpected deaths yet. Which suggested to me that my protection spell routine was working, and that Mischa had been keeping her promise about staying away from tarot. She’d sworn that she’d never actually given a full reading to anyone after discovering her uncanny ability to always pull the Tower card out of the deck, and I reluctantly believed her.
I blew out my candles, swept the salt into the trash can per Kirsten’s instructions, and got dressed, hoping—as I did every day—that I’d just safeguarded the lives of Mischa, Amanda, Elena, and Adam Portnoy for the next twenty-four hours.
“Just in time for the last cup of coffee,” Dad said when I finally stepped into the kitchen. He poured the last of the pot into a mug for me as I grabbed a banana off the counter. He was dressed for work, although to anyone other than me and Rhonda, it might have been hard to tell. Dad’s work outfits were T-shirts or polos with USF Bulls logos on them instead of just plain T-shirts or polos, and khaki shorts instead of his usual running shorts. He was a professor in the psychiatry and neurosciences department at the University of South Florida’s medical school, and from the handful of times I’d accompanied him to campus, his super-casual attire was not uncommon among faculty.
“Don’t forget. I won’t be home until seven thirty tonight,” I reminded him.
“I didn’t forget. Text Rhonda when you’re ready for a ride home and she’ll pick you up,” he told me.
I quickly replied, “I can take the bus.” A huge part of why I’d wanted to get a job was to gain some independence. Since moving down to Florida, I felt like I was always being watched. Even when I disappeared to the gym in my dad’s condominium complex at night after dinner, Rhonda often joined me. She insisted that it was to fire up her metabolism, but I knew the real reason: She and Dad were terrified that I was going to vanish the first chance I got.