I didn’t think it was possible to feel more out of my ele-ment than at Vince A—and then, that Saturday, I went dress shopping with Aunt Christine, Ashley and her mom, my aunt Jess. I self-consciously studied myself in the dressing room at Bendel’s, while my family waited on the other side of the 9780373210305_TS.indd 247
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dressing room door, where a thick stack of discarded dresses hung on the hook. They were all too…prom-y. And pastel.
And poofy. One of them was covered in so many bows, it looked like it belonged at the gift-wrapping counter. And based on the price tag, each bow was a hundred bucks.
I scrutinized the one-shouldered, red-sequined cocktail dress I was wearing in the mirror. “You guys, just because it’s November, doesn’t mean I have to wear red,” I protested, opening the door with a frown. “I look like a hooker in this.”
“Yeah, but at least it’s a high-priced ho.” Aunt Jess snickered, and Ashley giggled. Christine gave both of them disapproving looks.
“I know!” Ashley chirped. “Let me go pull a few more dresses. Trust me!” she begged when she saw my face. Visions of sugarplum-colored dresses danced through my head. Please don’t let it be covered in glitter.
“Here, try this on again,” Aunt Jess said, pulling a sparkling white strapless number with a full skirt out of the pile before leaving the room to let me slip into the f luffy frock.
“I look like a snowball,” I grumbled once it was on, holding open the door to the dressing room. I stared at my scar with a resigned sigh. They didn’t have any long-sleeved dresses that were right for the occasion. I desperately wished I could wear jeans and a black shirt. Why, oh, why was this dance semiformal?
“We can get you gloves,” Christine said, noticing me giving my arm the evil eye. “It’ll be acceptable.” I was relieved. Even though Brendan knew about the accident, he hadn’t ever seen the ugly scar. I shut the door to slip out of the dress when there was a stilted banging at the door. I opened it to find Ashley standing there. Or should I say, Ashley’s legs, sticking out from underneath a pile of dresses that she had piled in her 9780373210305_TS.indd 248
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arms. The stack was taller than she was. All the dresses were black.
“Oh, Ashley, I love you!” I exclaimed.
“Black is something for old women and widows to wear,”
Christine muttered disapprovingly. “You’re young. You should wear something bright and festive.”
“Well, you’re both, and look at what you’re wearing today,”
Aunt Jess cracked, dissolving into giggles. Christine looked down at her pink leopard-print twinset and frowned.
“I guess you’re right,” she conceded. “Well, what’s important is that Emma feels comfortable, so let’s see what you’ve got here.”
We hung up the dresses and my eyes immediately went to a simple strapless dress with a tulle skirt that was artfully shredded. It looked edgy yet classic at the same time. As Ashley pulled up the zipper, I prayed that it looked as good on me as it did on the hanger. I whirled around, completely thrilled.
“If I could wear this every day, I would,” I said, holding up the tulle and bowing to my ref lection. I couldn’t believe that was me in the mirror. The most dressed-up I had ever gotten was for my mom’s wedding to Henry, and even that was just a pale yellow sundress since they got married at City Hall.
I saw Aunt Christine’s ref lection smiling in the mirror and dabbing at her eyes with a pink tissue.
“Aunt Christine, are you…crying?” I asked, crestfallen. “Is it really that big of a deal that I’m wearing black?”
“No, honey,” she said, a melancholic smile on her face.
“You’ve just come such a long way from how I found you six months ago in June. I’m glad you’re getting the chance to be happy.”
“Aw, Aunt Christine.” I sniff led, stepping over a mint-green lace dress to hug her.
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alleviating the happy sadness in the tiny dressing room. “By the way, I have shoes that go perfectly with that dress.”
That night, I stared at the dress as it hung on the back of my door. I had shoes coming from Ashley (luckily when it came to shoes, we were the same size), a wrap from Aunt Jess, and gloves and earrings from Christine. I hated to admit it to myself, but I was actually excited about getting dressed up and entering a room on Brendan’s arm, as his legitimate, bona fide girlfriend. I allowed that thought to remain untarnished, letting it lull me to sleep.
The next morning, I knew Angelique had removed the protection spell.
I only remembered details from this dream because Angelique had suggested I start keeping a dream diary—a way to remember key moments before they faded into the oblivion of my subconscious. I was sitting with Ethan in the kitchen of our old house, playing a board game that I didn’t recognize or remember. He was explaining the rules of the game to me, very exasperatedly. It was clear that he’d thought he’d explained them before, and was annoyed that I hadn’t gotten the hang of it yet.
“Ladybug, if you go down this path,” he said, pointing to dark-colored squares on the board, “it’ll be harder to win.”
“But
I
like that way,” I insisted, sliding my pendant onto one of the black squares. The board kept changing shape—it was stone, then wood, but I still insisted on keeping my pendant on the dark square, holding it in place with my fingertips.
“I don’t care if it’s harder this way,” I told him.
“You could lose the game,” he warned. “You could lose everything.”
“I don’t care.”
“It’s not safe, Emma. Why can’t you stay away from him?”
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“I just can’t.”
“Well, if you insist on going this route, you need a brave teammate,” Ethan said, his brown eyes, a mirror image of mine, burning into my face. “Is he strong enough? Do you have enough faith in yourself ?”
“I think so.” I shrugged.
“Don’t
think so. You need to be stronger,” he demanded.
“You both do. This isn’t really a game.”
The board disappeared and we were no longer in the kitchen, but standing in the rose garden from my dreams.
“He has to be strong. You won’t even see it coming. He has to be willing to risk it all. Is he strong enough?” Ethan said. He opened his mouth to speak again—only to sing an old Madonna song. The scene before me was slowly replaced by my eyelid-slitted view of my room, and I realized that my alarm clock had gone off, with “Borderline” blaring out of the clock radio. I slammed my hand down on snooze and squeezed my eyes shut, trying hard to return to my dream.
But it was gone.
I didn’t feel as panicked as I had after all of my other dreams.
I felt, oddly enough, encouraged—empowered, almost—like this curse was something I could, most definitely beat. If I could figure out the cryptic warnings.
Brendan had left for his grandfather’s house right after school on Friday—he was still checking out his massive library for anything he could find about the legend of Aglaeon—but he wanted to spend Sunday taking me on an official date. Most people have to balance school and dating. We had to balance normal dates with supernatural revelation
s.
“I want to take you out properly when I’m back on Sunday,”
Brendan had said, his voice muff led with the static. “I feel like I’m a crappy boyfriend.”
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No matter how much I argued with him that he was the furthest thing from a crappy boyfriend, Brendan insisted.
“Just let me be good to you,” he persisted. “No rumors, no curses, nothing. Just me and you, just us together.”
So Sunday, we indulged in a time-honored New York tradition—brunch. My eyes were as big as the fresh-baked bagels piled in the breadbasket when I saw the prices on the menu.
“This place has the best eggs Benedict in the city, Emma,”
Brendan boasted, slathering a thick layer of cream cheese on a sesame bagel. For thirty-five bucks, it better come with a new car.
I did have to admit it, though—they very well may have been the best eggs Benedict in the state. Or on the planet.
But as much as I enjoyed them, I enjoyed Brendan more, in a mood I’d never seen him in before. He seemed to relish just being a normal boyfriend—no curses, no rumors, nothing to worry about. As he talked excited about possibly getting a regular deejay gig at a new club opening downtown—as long as he didn’t drink, the club didn’t care that he was underage—I decided not to tell him about my dream last night. No sense in killing his buzz.
Once we were outside, I impulsively threw my arms around his waist, still reeling that I could touch him whenever I wanted. I had that kind of access to him. It made me a little giddy, I had to admit.
“Thanks for brunch,” I said, my voice muff led by his jacket.
“My pleasure. I want to do more things like that with you.” Brendan tugged on my coat since I still had my arms wrapped around him. “By the way, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“What’s up?” I asked, resting my cheek against his chest 9780373210305_TS.indd 252
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and squeezing him more tightly. I didn’t feel like letting go just yet, thankyouverymuch.
“My family wants to meet you,” he said, tilting my chin up to look at him. “As in, officially meet you. You know, not in the principal’s office. Are you okay with that?”
I froze. Doomed soul mates? Yeah, I can handle that. Piece of cake. Battle rumors and evil cliques at school? I could get that done before lunch. Attempting to win over Laura Salinger, however, set off shrill alarm bells.
“Do they know about us?” I asked apprehensively.
“Emma, of course they know that we’re together,” Brendan said plainly. “Why do you think they want to meet you?” He was avoiding what I really meant.
“That’s not what I’m getting at.” I reluctantly unwound my arms from his waist and faced him. “For all your mom knows, I was just some girl at school that you were defending. What I mean is, do they know about the whole—” I lowered my voice “—curse thing?”
Brendan stopped at the corner and leaned against the frigid brick building behind him.
“Yes, they know what we think. My grandfather called them and told them last night. He thinks we’re right, by the way.”
I buried my face in my hands. “Why did he do that?” I wailed. “I don’t want them to think of me as…curse bait.” I looked up. “How did they treat your other girlfriends?”
Brendan snorted and gave me a dirty look. Clearly, I’d offended him. “Emma, be serious. Do you honestly think I’ve ever brought someone home to meet my parents?” I just shrugged. Even though he dismissed Kendall to me, I wasn’t dumb. At some point, some crafty girl had to have finagled an invite to the Salinger home.
“Emma, I would never bring just anyone home to meet my 9780373210305_TS.indd 253
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parents,” he said, his tone a little kinder now. “Anyone before you was merely that—just anyone.”
“Okay, I believe you,” I said, and resumed walking again, hoping he’d forget about the whole meeting-the-parents thing.
“Sweetheart, come on.” Still leaning against the building, Brendan managed to catch the hood on my jacket and gently tugged me back. I melted into him, resting my chin on his chest. He encircled me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
“They’re going to treat you like you’re my girlfriend, and that’s it. Even though—” he tightened his grip “—you know you’re so much more.
“And by the way, Emma,” he continued, “I want to meet your family, so let’s make that happen, okay? I’d like to do some things the right way.”
“Okay,” I agreed, remembering that Aunt Christine had actually requested to re-meet Brendan.
“So I’m going to pick you up Friday night for the dance, and I hope your aunt is there, ready to give me twenty questions.”
Brendan smiled a toothy smile and I laughed as he reluctantly removed me from his embrace.
“We’d better get going, the movie starts in a half hour.”
I started walking forward again. The theater was still about twenty blocks away. I stepped off the curb, reaching out for his hand automatically. It wasn’t there, and I looked next to me, confused. It was always there.
My eyes danced around, and I finally saw Brendan behind me. He stood about thirty feet away, checking the internet on his phone.
“If we miss it, there’s another showing in ninety minutes.
That’s not too bad,” he mused.
“Come on, slowpoke! We can make this one,” I called. I 9780373210305_TS.indd 254
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turned my head to look at him as I began crossing the street, and Brendan’s green eyes crinkled up with a little smile.
Then his eyes changed—they turned dark, panicked.
“Emma, watch out!”
He shouted my name again as he f lung his bag down, running forward and lunging for me. Instinctively, I reached out to him, even though I wasn’t quite sure why. I felt Brendan grab at my arm—it felt like it was being pulled out of its socket as he yanked me forward, toward him. My toe caught on the curb and I skidded forward, palms outstretched, onto the sidewalk.
A speeding taxi, racing to beat the light, missed hitting me by inches. It blew through the intersection, horn blaring.
I heard the bleating behind me, and I stayed frozen, sprawled on the sidewalk. Slowly, I was very aware of pain coming from my hands. Brendan was crouched next to me, his arm around my back.
“Emma! Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I moved slightly, disturbing the bits of dirt and concrete lodged in my palms. It made them sting more.
“Ow! Well, this isn’t awesome. ”
Brendan smiled a weak smile. “How bad is it?” He tucked his head under my arm and helped me up. Brendan grimaced at my bloody hands. “Sorry.”
I looked down and my hands were shredded, fresh blood streaming out of my skinned palms. They looked like I had used a cheese grater on them.
“I may have pulled you back a little too hard,” he said re-gretfully, taking my raw hands in his. “I’m so sorry, Em.”
“Why are you apologizing?” He just saved me from being a human speed bump and was asking for forgiveness. Brendan grabbed his bag from where he’d tossed it and pulled out a 9780373210305_TS.indd 255
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bottle of water, pouring it on my hands. I f linched at the sting, stepping back—and feeling a sharp stab in my right ankle.
“Ouch! I think it’s sprained!” I winced at the pain, hopping back onto my left foot.
“Emma, I’m so, so sorry,” Brendan said, his face crestfallen.
“Please stop apologizing! You saved me from being a hood ornament, you know.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” he said, bitterly. “The other could be that I’m the reason that happened to you in the first place.”
“New York is the reason that happened,” I said condescend-ingly. “Or do you think this city is renowned for taxi drivers following the rules all the time?”
Brendan frowned, his handsome face set in an angry mask.
“Oh, come on, Brendan,” I said, reaching out to touch his face and wincing when my skinned palms brushed against his faint stubble. It only made him feel worse.
“No guilt trips, please,” I begged. “This isn’t your fault.
This isn’t the Salinger curse at work.” But Brendan wouldn’t look at me and when he did, his green eyes went straight to my raw palms, and he’d blanch.
“I’m a ticking clock for you,” he said, keeping his eyes downcast.
“Oh, please, don’t be so dramatic,” I said, starting to get annoyed. “If a pigeon poops on my head, will you blame that on yourself, too?”
“That won’t kill you, Emma.”
“It might,” I said gravely. “Have you seen some of these New York City pigeons?”
Silence,
still.
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“Look, Brendan, you saved me—again, I might add. I didn’t even see that cab coming!”
But something about what I said echoed in my head. Didn’t see it coming…didn’t see it coming.
“Oh. My. God.”
“What,
Emma?”
“Brendan, um, do you think, just maybe, that was it?” I asked, gesturing to the gutter where I almost became roadkill.
Brendan just stared at me.
“What are you talking about?”
“Brendan, what if that was the it? The danger? The big bad? And you just saved me from it?”