Nadia didn’t want any reminders of their life before. She wanted to seal her family into a place where nothing could hurt them—not memory, not her mother, not whatever weird magic was at work in this town. This house seemed to provide a chance, and she knew just enough of the Craft to help that along.
So she’d whispered the spells, encircled it with the best protection she knew. She’d slipped out in the night to bury moonstones next to the steps; she’d begun the work of painting the attic ceiling blue. To make it cute, she’d told her dad. The real power of that particular shade, what it meant for a home to be protected from above—those were things he never had to know.
Great, Nadia thought as she stared at her new high school, Isaac P. Rodman High. Just great.
Just the fact that it was a high school was bad enough. On top of that, it was a new school for her senior year. She’d accepted they needed the move, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to navigating completely new people and teachers and cliques for the nine and a half months before she’d graduate and be free again. Her new school was far smaller than the one she’d attended in Chicago, but in some ways that was more intimidating, not less. Everyone here knew one another, and probably had for their whole lives. That made her the odd one out.
But beyond that, there was something else. Something shivering just beneath the surface—once again, something magical, though it was different from anything else she’d ever known. Precisely how it was different, she couldn’t say, but this energy was familiar and unfamiliar at once. Nadia could feel it coursing all around her, that static-electricity thing all over again.
This was … a complication.
What is going on here? It’s not like someone is using magic near me—even if I could feel that, I don’t think it would feel like this. It’s more like some source of magical energy is kept here. But shielded—encased—in a way I don’t understand.
Nadia clutched the straps of her backpack tighter as she hurried inside the registrar’s office. Don’t think about it now, she told herself. You can figure it out later. Besides, there’s nothing you can do about it without Mom around to help. For now? All you have to do is get through the day.
Even waiting for her class schedule was almost more than she could take.
“So, like, Jinnie’s just standing there, like nothing is going on, even though we both know what’s going on, so I’m like, hey, Jinnie, and she’s like, hey, Kendall, and I’m like, what’s up, and she’s like, nothing. I swear to God, she is so fake.” The girl in front of Nadia somehow managed to talk into her cell phone without pausing, even though she was chewing at least half a pack of gum at once. “And she’s all, did you have a good summer, and I just went, yeah, because I’m so not getting into that with her.”
Nadia prayed for the ancient secretary behind the counter in her lilac polyester suit to find whatever the heck it was this girl wanted so she’d leave already. Or shut up. Either way.
The door opened and shut behind her; Nadia didn’t bother turning around. The girl in front of her did, her sandy hair falling over her shoulder. Almost instantly, her freckled face went from pleasant to nasty, her expression from vapid to mean. “Speaking of total fake bitches,” she said into her phone, far too loudly, “that skank Verlaine just walked in.”
Nadia couldn’t help but turn back to look.
The first word that came into her mind when she saw Verlaine was Goth. But that wasn’t right. The black dress she wore wasn’t lace or leather; it had puffed sleeves and a wide belt at the waist like something from a 1950s movie, and her shoes were cheerful kelly-green Converse sneakers. Her complexion was so white that Nadia had assumed she was wearing that stuff Goths used to come across like porcelain dolls or ghosts—but Verlaine was really that fair all over. And her long hair wasn’t an elaborate wig or even a dye job, unless she’d been thorough enough to even do her eyebrows. Instead, it was really, truly, totally silver-gray, though Verlaine seemed to be no older than Nadia herself.
The most striking thing about her, though, was how … hopeless she looked. Like people were mean to her all the time, and she no longer even dreamed of anything better. Her only response was to roll her eyes and say, “Kendall, give it a rest.”
Kendall said, “I have to go. If I don’t get out of here soon, the skank overload will kill me.” She stowed her phone with another withering glance toward Verlaine; Kendall’s bubbly personality seemed to have changed in an instant. “You’d think having two fags for dads would mean at least somebody would tell you what to wear.”
Nadia couldn’t hold it back any longer. “You’d think anybody wearing those shoes would know they didn’t have the right to tell anybody else what to wear.”
Kendall, caught up short, stared down at her shoes like she was trying to guess what was wrong with them. They were fine, as far as Nadia could tell, but with fashion, attitude was half the battle. Verlaine’s face lit up; her smile looked uneven, as though she didn’t get much practice.
“Here you go, Miss Bender.” The secretary shuffled out with a manila folder, which Kendall snatched from her hands before stomping out. “And you are?”
“Nadia Caldani. I’m new. You should have my records from Chicago.”
“Oh, yes. We have your schedule—right back here—” The secretary wandered toward the back room, still in no hurry.
“Thanks,” Verlaine whispered. “Kendall was being such a witch.”
Nadia tried to brush aside her momentary annoyance. “I prefer bitch, actually. Most witches are perfectly nice people. Sorry—pet peeve.”
“No worries. About time somebody else with some attitude got here. Captive’s Sound is mostly a graveyard for the living.”
“Wow, you make it sound awesome.”
“I’m exaggerating. Graveyards are more exciting.”
Nadia smiled, but talking to Verlaine felt—weird. She didn’t want to make any friends. After the way everybody had started avoiding her in Chicago—like her bad luck was catching—well, “friendship” obviously didn’t mean what Nadia had always thought it did. And there was just something about Verlaine … something she couldn’t put her finger on....
There was no time to think about that, though. By the time the secretary finally waddled forth with her class schedule, Nadia was already almost late for her first class. She politely waved good-bye to Verlaine, who didn’t really react, only nodded; then she rushed toward what she thought was the right building. Forget the locker—that she could find later, and it wasn’t like she had any of her books yet.
“There he is,” whispered one girl excitedly. “Holy crap, he got even hotter over the summer. I didn’t think that was possible.”
“He’s nice to look at,” said another whisper, “but he’s bad news. You know that.”
“It’s a bunch of crazy gossiping old people. That’s all that is.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, how come you never talk to him, either?”
“Shut up.”
Nadia couldn’t help but turn her head to see who the whispering was about—and her eyes went wide.
Mateo. He was here, in her school—letter jacket on his shoulders, dark hair brushed back, even more gorgeous in the daylight than he’d been in the dark. In those first terrifying moments, she’d assumed he was a couple years older than she was, but apparently he was a student at Rodman, too.
For his part, when their eyes met, he froze in place. It was almost as if the sight of her—scared him.
But that couldn’t be right. He’d saved her from the wreck, which was the single bravest act she’d ever witnessed. Why would he be scared of her?
Nadia said, “Mateo, hi. I didn’t realize you went here.” Was that a stupid thing to say? It wasn’t like they’d talked a lot about school or anything else.
He said only, “Yeah. Hi. Are you okay? You and your family?”
People were staring at them openly: the new girl and Mateo, who was for some unknown reason “bad news.”
r /> “They’re fine,” Nadia said quickly. “Dad cracked a couple ribs, but not too bad. He’s already feeling better. Started work today.” Like he even cared about her father’s job. Words seemed to be coming out of her mouth for no reason.
“Good. That’s good.” Mateo ran one hand through his dark hair, as though he was self-conscious; now that she saw it in daylight, Nadia realized it wasn’t black like hers but the deepest possible brown, just like his eyes. His skin was as tan as hers, maybe even darker. He wasn’t supertall, but a couple inches over her—which was of course perfect—
“So. Okay. I’ll be seeing you.” Nadia started to walk past him, then realized she’d forgotten to mention something. “I’m Nadia, by the way.”
“Nadia,” he said, his voice soft. Something about the sudden light in his eyes told her he’d been wondering about her name for a long while.
He knows me—I wasn’t imagining things—but how is that possible?
Yet he turned away and pushed through the crowded hall, surrounded by whispers that were almost as loud as the slamming locker doors.
She knew she needed to hurry in the opposite direction, but she found herself watching him go all the way down the corridor to the broad doors that led outside, until he pushed them open and was swallowed up in the light.
Mateo walked across the grounds—walked faster—and broke into a run. He had to get away from her, even more for her sake than for his. And yet something in his mind kept repeating the name. Nadia.
“Hey!”
He skidded to a stop only a moment before he would have run into Gage Calloway, who had four inches and about twenty pounds of muscle on Mateo. That would’ve hurt. His brain had obviously checked out. “Sorry.”
“Any particular reason you’re running out of here like the proverbial bat out of hell?” Gage grinned. “Not that I wouldn’t rather be escaping, too, but I figure we gotta graduate to make that work in the long term.”
Sighing, Mateo ran one hand through his hair. “I need a sec.”
“All right. I’ll take a sec here with you.”
That was fine with Mateo. They weren’t exactly close friends—they’d only met when Gage transferred to Rodman last year—but Gage at least treated Mateo like he was a normal person. Gage didn’t know any better, at least not yet.
Mateo saw that instead of cutting his dreadlocks over the summer, as some teachers had suggested, Gage had drawn them back into a neat bun at the nape of his neck, which brought him just into compliance with school rules. Although he was handsome and athletic—and not afraid to be himself in conformity-obsessed Captive’s Sound—Gage wasn’t one of the more popular kids in school. He was probably too independent for that, not to mention too discriminating to hang out with jerks like Jinnie and Jeremy. Instead he was content to hang out on the sidelines and do his own thing. Mateo was grateful for that; only someone who didn’t follow the herd would hang out with him.
Then Gage’s eyes widened, and his normally carefree expression switched into pure, abject devotion. “Which means maybe I get to talk to Elizabeth.”
Mateo looked across the grounds to the edge of campus, where Elizabeth stood. Her long chestnut curls ruffled in the breeze, as did the simple white dress she wore. She was so unlike any other girl at school—her face clean-scrubbed, her clothes anything but fashionable, and yet there was no doubting her beauty.
She was his oldest friend. His best friend. There was no one else he could ever have told about Nadia—and until this moment, he hadn’t realized how badly he needed to talk.
Elizabeth came toward him, and though she spoke softly, he heard every word. “Mateo. You look troubled.”
“It’s not a great day,” he answered.
Gage tried to cut in. “Since when is the first day of school a great day? Am I right?” He laughed a little too loud, then gave Mateo a look that clearly meant, Why am I talking like an idiot? The poor guy was so into her it scrambled his brains. Sometimes Mateo thought Gage might stand a chance with Elizabeth if he’d try shutting up occasionally.
But at the moment, Elizabeth showed no signs of even noticing that Gage was there. Her attention was only for Mateo. “Do you need to talk?”
“I kinda do. But I don’t want to make you late for class.”
“You’re gonna be late to class, too,” Gage pointed out. “Remember the part about escape through graduation?”
“They worked it out so my study hall is first period. In case La Catrina closes late.” Mateo spoke more to Elizabeth than to Gage. “Unless you guys are in study hall, too—”
“I can skip,” Elizabeth insisted. Her gentle voice could sound so firm sometimes. “This is important.”
Gage obviously wanted to think of a reason he should stay as well, but came up blank. “Okay. So. Catch you later?”
“Sure thing.” Mateo watched Gage lope off across the grounds, grateful there was one guy he could hang with. But he had only one real friend: Elizabeth. She alone understood him; she knew Mateo’s soul.
As they walked together to the broad elm at the very edge of school property, Mateo wondered once again why he wasn’t in love with Elizabeth. He should’ve been. Instead she was like the sister he’d never had. In childhood, when the other kids shunned him for being Lauren Cabot’s son, Elizabeth had played with him. Together they had climbed trees, made cookies, watched TV. She alone was loyal. She alone accepted him no matter what.
They sat side by side, their backs against the elm tree, as the bell rang. When it stopped, Elizabeth said, “Have you been having the dreams again?”
“Yes. Except they aren’t only dreams, Elizabeth. They’re real.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” The next would sound unbelievable, but the proof was here, now, walking the halls of Rodman High in the form of a girl so beautiful she stopped his heart. “I’ve seen her. The girl from the dream I told you about.”
“That could have been anybody in the wreck. It was dark and rainy—you had to be in shock—”
“You keep saying that, and I kept trying to believe you, but she’s here at Rodman High. Today. Her name is Nadia.”
“Nadia. Do you know her last name?”
“No.” He only barely stopped himself from saying not yet.
Elizabeth took a sip from her bottle of water, obviously taking a moment to consider this. “You’re sure she’s the same one?”
“Positive. It’s her. How else would I have known to be there before the accident?”
“Coincidence.”
“I could’ve believed that before today. Not anymore.” Mateo kicked at the ground with the heel of his sneaker. “I’m seeing the future. Just like Mom. Just like all the other Cabots.”
“They only thought they saw the future—”
“That’s what everybody always believed. I always believed that, too. But now I know it’s for real.”
Which meant the rest of the “Cabot curse” was real as well.
It stretched back through generations of his mother’s family—for hundreds of years, since Rhode Island was a colony and the first Cabots settled here. Maybe it went back to England, too; nobody knew for sure. All anybody knew was that, once a generation, a member of the Cabot family began claiming to know the future. That was how it always began. It always ended like—like it had for Mom.
At first she had been merely distracted. Staying up late at night, mumbling over breakfast with dark circles under her eyes. Yet over the next few months, Mateo’s mother had … disintegrated. There was no other word for it. Her temper had become quicker; she said things that didn’t make any sense. Mom stopped bothering with dressing nicely or brushing her hair, and when she came to pick him up from school, he was ashamed of her. He hated himself for that feeling now. She was his mother, and he shouldn’t have cared what anyone else thought.
Before long, Mom didn’t remember to pick him up from school in the first place. Dad would try to talk to her, tell her to get he
lp, but she’d sob brokenly, telling him there was no help for her and they both knew it. They’d known it from the start.
She’d taken a rowboat out on the ocean. There was no telling for sure whether it was an accident; Mateo thought she’d planned it that way, so maybe he wouldn’t know what she’d really done. He knew anyway.
Elizabeth turned toward him, more intent now than she had been before. “Focus. It’s important. If you saw this girl—what did you see? Have you seen anyone else you know? Have you seen me?”
“Not you. Not since that dream I had a few weeks ago.” It had been a weird one, something about them running through a haunted house; he wasn’t even sure that was one of the visions, since it could have been only a regular dream like any other. Mateo leaned his head back against the tree. Weak sunlight filtered through the elm’s spindly branches. “I see a lot of things I don’t understand. Rainstorms that seem to have been going on for weeks. Hospital rooms—lots of those. Jeremy Prasad trying to have a serious conversation with me, which absolutely can’t be the future, right? Because that would never happen. That girl with the gray hair, what’s her name, except maybe she was also glowing? That one was probably just a weird dream like any other weird dream. But Nadia—I’ve definitely seen her, and more than once. In one dream, she’s lying at my feet in the aftermath of this blazing fire. In another, I see her being sucked down into—mud, maybe quicksand, I don’t even know what it is, but it has her. I see her fighting something—something not human. But in a lot of the dreams, she’s in danger. Elizabeth—sometimes I see her dying. And when she dies, I’m with her.” He sought Elizabeth’s blue eyes. “What if I’m the reason Nadia’s going to die?”