Eternity

“Yeah, I just . . . I might have told an officer to fuck himself. . . . ”

“What?!”

“And then smiled at a judge the wrong way . . . ”

“You had to see a judge this morning?!” ?This felt way out of her league.

“Listen, Em, it wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s just that I pissed off some cop and so he pulled up my record —and now that I’m eighteen they don’t cut me such a break. . . . ”

“Crow, stop.” She took in a deep breath, trying to form a coherent thought in her head. “It doesn’t matter how it happened, not really. I’m just . . . I’m really worried about you. You’re going off the rails. Drinking too much, getting into fights, getting arrested, telling off cops? All of this could’ve been avoided. Why couldn’t you just talk to me? Why the hell did you run off like that last night?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s the darkness . . . these visions. They’re driving me crazy.” He rubbed his palms on the front of his jeans, his large hands shaking. It was torture—for both of them. As he did his best to deal with these visions, he only spiraled deeper—further and further away from her. She couldn’t withhold any information from Crow. Not anymore, not at this point.

“Can we go somewhere to talk?” she asked, looking around.

“Aren’t we talking now, princess?”

“I’m serious. Somewhere private.”

“My house?” he said quietly. “Let’s go get my car and meet back at my house.”

She looked at him skeptically. He tilted his head but she couldn’t read his expression. “No funny business,” she reminded him. It took a moment to realize what she’d committed to: She was going to Crow’s house. Alone.

At his split-level ranch, not far from Em’s street, Crow brought her up to his bedroom, a large space over the garage. “Sorry,” he said before opening the door. “It’s kind of a mess.”

And it was: an explosion of notebooks and guitars and guitar picks, jeans and empty cigarette cartons and black clothing and Dr Pepper cans. The rich and musty smell of candles and incense hung in the air. Nothing like JD’s room, she found herself thinking, before pushing the comparison from her mind.

“A seat?” he said, gesturing to the bed, which was covered in rumpled navy-blue flannel sheets. She scooted so her back was against the wall and he joined her, careful to leave a few inches of space between them.

“So, you first, or me?” Crow asked.

“I’ll go,” she said, reaching down to grab the book from her bag, where it always was. “There’s something I have to show you.” She flipped through the pages like they were on fire. “Look at this. I think . . . I think this is you.” She pointed to the chapter about prophets and passed the book to him, waiting breathlessly as he read.

“A prophet.” The words came out of his mouth like bricks, like he was using them to build a wall. “Tortured by visions.”

Em nodded. He looked back down at the book, frowning as though he couldn’t decipher the words on the page. Then he took in a deep breath. “This . . . this is crazy.”

“Crazy,” she said softly, “but real.”

“So that’s what’s going on? The Furies have a direct line into my brain? No thank you.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up.

“I’m still not sure exactly how it works, but I know you’re involved,” she said. “I just don’t know whose side you’re on.”

“I think you wondered that about me before you even read this book,” Crow said, a weak attempt at lightening the mood.

It was true. She had never completely trusted Crow. But now, she allowed herself to feel a moment’s pity for him. Crow was cursed, just like she was. Except one glaring difference: Crow hadn’t chosen his fate. But by betraying Gabby, she had.

“I’ve been trying to figure out a way to stop them,” Crow said, fingering the pages. “They’ve been getting more intense. More frequent.”

Almost like he was becoming more possessed by the evil.

“I don’t think you can stop them—unless the Furies go away,” she said, hoping to enlist his help for that very purpose.

Crow groaned. “You sound like them,” he said. He reached into his pocket for a stick of gum. “I’m trying to quit smoking,” he said, indicating the wrapper in his hand.

“I sound like who?” Em persisted, her heart in her throat.

“Meg, and Ty . . . ” he said.

“How would you know?”

“I know who they are, Em. When they came to town . . . that’s when the visions started again. I’ve met them. I know they’re part of this. I know they’re the bad guys you and Drea were up against.”

“What do you mean? When did you meet them? You’ve spoken to them? What did they say?” She asked the questions in rapid-fire succession. Em felt overwhelmed, heat reaching up and through her skin like she might combust.

“We don’t talk about anything, Em. They just harass me, show up to fuck with me. They don’t answer my questions. They don’t tell me what the visions mean. They’re like puppeteers with an unwilling puppet.”

“How do I know that, Crow? How do I know I can trust you?”

“Can you trust anyone?” Crow answered.

“I want to trust you,” Em said. If Crow had an inside line to the Furies’ hearts of darkness, maybe they simply had to learn to harness his abilities for good rather than for evil. “Did you have any visions last night, or today?”

“I did, actually.” He cleared his throat and looked at her. She nodded at him to continue. “You were looking for something. Frantically. Running all around like crazy. Digging in the mud.”

“Mud?” she repeated.

“You were in a field. . . . There were lots of flowers,” he said. “And then they started overpowering you. Overpowering me. I felt like I was suffocating right there in the jail cell.”

She waited for more, but none seemed to be coming. “Well . . . ? And?”

He stared at her. “It’s not a fairy tale, darling. That’s it.”

“What do you mean, that’s it?” she asked, throwing her head back. It thudded against the wall and she ignored the pain. “What does it mean?”

Crow frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Sometimes I can’t really figure that part out.”

Em forced herself to take a deep breath.

One thing was obvious: Crow didn’t understand his visions. He hadn’t even known what he was until tonight. She tried to read his expression but couldn’t. “I should tell you something else,” she said instead.

“Oh, there’s more good news?”

She grimaced. “Something else happened to me today. Another one of those . . . episodes. I got angry. . . . This kid in class was talking about Mr. Landon—our old English teacher—and then saying all this stuff to make a girl uncomfortable, and I was just like, Please shut up, and then his chair just . . . fell back. He hit his head and started bleeding. It was terrible. It was like I willed it to happen.” She shuddered.

Crow snapped his fingers in front of him, trying to call up some buried information. “Landon, is he the teacher that chick found in the woods? Drea was freaked about that.”

“Skylar?” Skylar. Yes. Of course. Skylar was hunted by the Furies. All of this was connected. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, he was.” There was a heavy silence. She looked at the big red numbers on the alarm clock next to Crow’s bed. It was already after midnight and suddenly she felt so weary.

“I should go. . . . ”

“No, don’t,” he said grabbing her hand. He let go of it just as quickly, realizing he’d somehow overstepped a boundary. “I need to ask you what you think . . . about what Drea said about you. Is she right?” He sounded as