Eternity

“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.”

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.

“I’ll help,” Em yelled as she took her jacket off in the front hall. She couldn’t stand awkwardly by the door, and she couldn’t just watch as Skylar ran around cleaning. Surveying the room, she figured the best place to start was the coffee table. She began gathering things to take to the kitchen: a microwave dinner tray, a bottle of hot