“I don’t remember,” I lied. She didn’t look convinced.
“This has to do with Brendan Salinger, doesn’t it?” Angelique asked, punctuating her question with another spin of her bangle. “And that’s why he just had to jump to your defense on Monday even though he barely knows you.”
I evaded her question. “But if Ethan’s trying to warn me, that means whatever tragedy is supposed to happen could be avoidable, right? If it was inevitable, what’s the point?”
Angelique took a deep breath. “It seems that way. I just wish we could zero in on why, after generations of cursed Emmas, you are the one who might be able to break the curse?”
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“’Cause I’m due for some happiness?” I said hopefully. Angelique just snorted.
“I don’t know. There just seems to be a lot of supernatural stuff happening around you—the dreams, the warning signs.
Hell, even meeting me and being able to find out about the curse. It’s like on the one side there’s the curse, and then there’s something else battling it.”
“I don’t know why,” I mumbled, picking the burnt eggplant slices off my pizza. “I’m just some girl.”
“If you were part witch it would make more sense,” Angelique mused. “Witches can’t really curse other witches, from what I know. The spells are never that effective.”
“But like I told you, I’m not really into all that stuff. I don’t even believe in ghosts!” I amended my statement. “Well, I didn’t used to believe in them. I don’t know what I believe anymore.”
Angelique paused. “Maybe you’re a born witch? I mean, yes, you have to study the craft to hone your skills, but you could also have inherited certain—how shall I put this?—special talents. Especially since with reincarnation, sometimes some traits can stick with the person in their next life. You could have gotten Gloriana’s mojo.”
“I doubt it,” I said, rolling my eyes. If I’d learned anything from my life, it was that I was hardly someone special.
“Oh,
now you’re going to be cynical?” Angelique huffed.
“Just ask your aunt.”
“I can’t just stroll up to her and ask, ‘Hey, Aunt Christine, I know I have my mother’s smile. Was she also secretly a witch and did I get that from her, too? Or can I blame my past life for my witch skills?’”
“Well, if you’re part witch, that could be why you have a shot at fighting this,” Angelique reasoned. “It would be a nice bit of ammo in our corner.” I realized that she said “our 9780373210305_TS.indd 157
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corner”—and felt bad for my cynicism. Angelique was in this with me.
“Have you ever known something before it was going to happen?” she asked. “That’s one of the biggest marks of being a natural witch. It usually manifests when you’re a little kid—
all innocence, not jaded by the world.”
“If I did, I would have tried to use it on winning the lotto,”
I joked lamely.
“It doesn’t work like that, Em. It could be something small, like knowing what someone’s going to say, or—”
“But even if I’m not, hey— There were pages missing in that book,” I interrupted, trying to change the subject away from my alleged witchy ways. “The last words in the Lord Archer legend said something about breaking the curse and it requiring a self less soul or something.”
Angelique nodded. “If freedom from the curse is your goal, be warned, it takes a self less soul.”
“Wow.” I was impressed. “Good memory.”
Angelique tapped her forehead and said, “Photographic memory, actually. It’s why my grades are so good.” I gave her a jealous look.
“But you’re right,” she continued. “There seems to be some kind of way to break the curse. ‘It takes a self less soul’? There has to be some kind of sacrifice involved.”
Seeing my face, Angelique corrected herself. “I doubt it’s a human sacrifice, Em. I wonder… Hmm. I’ll ask my mom about getting another copy of the book. One that’s in better shape.
“Oh, and, Emma, it’s so obvious that it’s Brendan, but I guess I’ll just wait for you to admit that to yourself before you admit it to me,” Angelique said matter-of-factly, rolling her eyes as she said his name with a dramatically exasperated tone. I just pretended to be preoccupied with my cell phone 9780373210305_TS.indd 158
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and showed her the time. We had to hustle back to school, barely making it in time for chemistry. On the way back, I was silent, mulling over Ethan’s other warning.
It’s not safe with him. Can you stay away?
I knew the answer.
No, I could not.
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Of course, I was running late on Saturday. I raced through my homework on Friday night, getting it done so I wouldn’t have to deal with it for the rest of the weekend—and I even spent a little extra time on Latin, my subjectus terriblus. But mostly, I was trying to distract myself from obsessing over my impending time alone with Brendan.
I vacillated between going through with the date—I mean, meeting—and chickening out, but ultimately decided that canceling would be rude. After all, I reasoned, even though he had the same medallion in his locker, that didn’t mean that he was my destined true love. And all we were going to do was talk, right?
Still, once I’d finally decided to go through with it, I’d had all day to get ready. At the last minute, I changed from a pair of cords into jeans. I paired a lightweight black sweater first with a pair of boots, then with my gray Vans sneakers, then the boots again, and finally, going with the Vans. My indecision had cost me: I had to run to make it there on time, and the unseasonably balmy temperatures told me my eyeliner would pay the price.
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As each foot hit the pavement, my internal monologue spoke out matching rhythmic lyrics.
Oh. My. God. This. Is. Real.
I slowed my jog at Seventy-ninth Street and pulled out my cell phone to check the time, realizing that I was already eighteen minutes late. I spied Brendan, lounging against the stone entrance to the park. Seriously, did he ever stand upright?
He was holding a plastic bag filled with what looked like takeout.
“Hey,” I said, a little breathless.
“I was starting to think you weren’t going to come,” he said dryly, his smile not quite matching his tone.
“Sorry about that. I have a problem with being on time,”
I said sheepishly, running my fingers through my hair—and feeling my face turn red when my hand got caught in a knot that had formed during the run over.
“You don’t like to be on time?” Brendan asked, bewildered.
“No, no, it’s not like that. I’d like to be on time. In fact, I’d love it,” I said, fidgeting a little as I tried to explain my rude-ness. “I just can’t seem to make it happen. I’m always misjudg-ing how long it takes to get somewhere. I think everything takes five minutes and it always takes so much longer.”
He smiled, looking amused by my mini-rant, and pushed himself off the stone wall.
“Okay, let’s go,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
“Into the park. There’s som
eplace I think you’d like.”
I looked around confused, which Brendan interpreted as a sign of concern.
“Central Park is totally safe. You’re with me. Didn’t you see me with Anthony?” he bragged, puffing his chest out a bit as we started walking into the park. “I’m no joke.”
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“That’s one way of putting it,” I muttered. We walked wordlessly along the leaf-covered pathways until a tall, loom-ing structure appeared, perched high on a bed of rocks.
“That’s one of my favorite places to go. Belvedere Castle,”
Brendan said, leaning into me and pointing. I looked up at the stone structure, rising out of the rocks proudly as the sun started to set behind it.
“It’s where we’re going for dinner,” he said, holding up the takeout bag.
We hiked up the pathway to the castle, finding ourselves in an open-air stone plaza at the summit of the rocks. Belvedere Castle sat on the second highest point in Central Park, overlooking a theater immediately below and to the left. After giving me a moment to admire the view, Brendan ushered me down a series of steps into a small, fenced-in area of smooth rock. Several yards beyond the fence, the rock jutted out into a jagged cliff, which overlooked a shimmering pond.
“That’s an observatory.” Brendan gestured to a building to our right.
“And that’s where they do Shakespeare in the Park,” he pointed out, following my gaze to the theater. “I thought you’d like this, based on…English class. You seemed into Shakespeare. You know, when you read the, um, poem. I mean, sonnet,” Brendan stammered, and I was surprised that, for the first time, he didn’t seem so sure of himself. He composed himself, dropping the bag of takeout on the other side of the fence, only to hop over the wall in one f lawless, athletic move.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.” I looked around nervously. “I mean, that’s why the fence is there.”
“There’s no security here until much later. Come on, the view’s better over here,” Brendan wheedled, motioning for me to join him. I tried to brace myself between where the stone 9780373210305_TS.indd 162
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wall framing the steps ended and the fence began, swinging my leg over the wall very un gracefully and missing.
“May I?” Brendan chuckled, ducking his head under my arm and lifting me over with ease. He held me in his arms longer than necessary before setting me gently on the rocks—
and I tried not to notice how strong his hands felt. I silently congratulated myself for opting to wear my trusty Vans, which gripped the uneven surface as I made my way to the cliff ’s edge. If I had worn my boots, I’d go sliding off these rocks as easily as if I were wearing Rollerblades. I peered off the rocks uneasily at the drop to the Turtle Pond below.
“So I guess the only way out of here is over the fence again?”
“Nah, you can go around the castle,” Brendan said, lounging on the cliff as he gestured to a narrow strip of rocks that jutted out around the observatory. I eyed the treacherous-looking strip of rock as I sat down cross-legged next to him.
For a moment, we wordlessly overlooked the pond, shimmering with the lights of the New York skyline and the colors of the fading sun.
“This is really beautiful,” I said, breaking the silence. “I didn’t know this was here. I go running in the park all the time. I guess I never looked up.” I looked around me in amazement. Brendan reached into the bag and pulled out a small wax-paper sack. “Egg roll?” he asked, holding it out to me.
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing the crispy roll and taking a bite. I chewed it slowly, waiting to see if he’d start the conversation.
“I’m glad it’s not cold out tonight,” Brendan said, shrugging out of his hoodie, this time a black Bouncing Souls one, revealing a long-sleeved green T-shirt that almost exactly matched his eyes.
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out,” he continued, leaning back on his elbows as he continued to be a human thermometer. I rolled my eyes at him.
“What?” He gave me a surprised look. “It’s not cold! Winter break is little more than a month away. You’d think it would be freezing out.”
“So, this is what you wanted to talk about, without an audience?” I asked Brendan more than a little sarcastically. “The weather?”
He laughed, and stretched his long legs in front of him.
“Okay, Emma, then how about we talk about how you’re not The Rock?” he said, f lashing that irresistible smile at me. “Really, what were you thinking? You’ve seen Anthony’s temper before. I was there, remember? He had you practically running out of the park.”
I raised my hands, palms out. “I— You don’t understand.
I was so mad.” I dropped my hands into my lap. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, no, you weren’t, you’re right about that,” Brendan agreed. “But it was pretty admirable how you stood up for your little cousin.”
He paused for a moment, then looked at me with a slight smile. “Did you really call Anthony ‘Mother Goose’?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. It’s all a blur, really,” I answered honestly. “But I think I may have said that.”
“You’re adorable.” He chuckled, rolling onto his back and staring up at the darkening sky, crossing his arms behind his head. “Even though you went after that big goon when you’re only an inch taller than your cousin.”
“I’m five-five,” I said defensively, still reeling over the fact that he’d just called me “adorable.”
“Yeah, maybe when you’re standing on Ashley’s shoulders,”
he said, smirking.
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“Ha ha, very funny,” I snorted, giving him a withering look. Tall people always have such egos about their height.
“But seriously, Emma.” Brendan rolled over onto his side again, propping himself up on his right arm. “What the hell were you thinking? If I had gotten there a minute later…”
His green eyes narrowed.
I opened my mouth to say something, then I shut it. “I don’t know,” I said softly. “It was my fault. I tried to stop her from even going out with him, but she didn’t listen. I had to do something to make it right. I should have done something from the start.”
“Emma, are you seriously blaming yourself ?” he asked, pulling himself into an upright position. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I shook my head. Brendan sighed and faced me, mirroring me by crossing his legs as I had. He grabbed my hands from where they were twisting together in my lap. “The only one to blame is Anthony.”
“But I should have—”
“You should have nothing. You did nothing wrong,” he assured, continuing to hold my hands, squeezing them gently. “You took down one of the biggest bullies I’ve ever known.”
“Well, it was worth it, for her. She’s the sweetest, and, well, she’s young for her age. I don’t mean that she’s immature,” I clarified. “Because she’s not. Ash’s really smart and mature about so much, but she’s also just so damn innocent. She thinks people are good.” I laughed a hollow laugh.
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t think people are either way. I think we have both in us, and you choose one way or another. I’ve known good people, and I’ve known
—” I stopped short. “Let’s just say I’ve known the opposite.”
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Brendan seemed to contemplate that for a minute. With a final squeeze to my hands, he looked down at the smooth rock between us and began tracing a crack with his finger.
“You know, Emma, I didn’t see him shove you,” he said quietly, “if I had seen him lay a hand on you, he wouldn’t be breathing right now.” Brendan lifted his eyes to meet mine, and the intensity in them made my breath catch. “I heard about it later that day. He’s still going to answer to me for it.”
“Don’t go to any— I mean, why? I mean, thank you, but…I don’t think…” I stuttered. Not sure of what to say, I looked back at the rock he seemed to find so interesting, tracing the same crack. Brendan took a deep breath and sat upright, ri-f ling in the white plastic bag for the rest of the food. He laid it out—vegetable egg foo young, General Tso’s chicken—and handed me a fork and an iced tea.
“Dig in,” Brendan said.
“Thanks, I love iced tea. Not much of a soda drinker.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said slyly.
“How?” I asked, a little confused.
“You asked me to get you one—that night we went to see Gabe’s band?”
“Brendan, about that night.” I shook the iced tea bottle and smacked the bottom of the glass, distracting myself with the popping sound the lid made as I tried to work up my nerve.
“The way you are now, is the way you were when we were at the Met and at the bar. But at school…”
“Yes?”
“You ignored me.” I sounded more like a pouting little girl than I’d have liked.
“I know,” Brendan admitted, his eyes downcast. “Look, I’m not proud of how I acted, honestly. I’d rather not get into it right now.”
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of hanging out two weeks ago and I felt like I had some claim on him? So what if I thought we had some kind of magical, supernatural bond? There was no way to explain myself without sounding like I was a sure bet for the gold medal at the Stalker Olympics. “It was unexpected.”