Jennifer Armentrout: Cursed

N-No.”

“Yeah, you kept thinking about Mr. Theo and being in a basement. We wouldn’t have known to check down here if it hadn’t been for you. You did really good, Em.”

Searing, red-hot pain shot through my arms, but I managed not to move. Melting metal stung like holy hell. But it was working. The cuffs were already loosening.

“It’ll be just a little bit more, and we’ll be done.”

“She’s pretty messed up, Hayden,” Kurt said like I wasn’t right there. “You need to hurry up. Her leg is bleeding real bad.”

Probably due to my heart rate skyrocketing. Between the burning around my hands and everything that’d happened, I was pushed to my limits, but I needed to make sure that, if they failed, they wouldn’t take me to my sister. “P-Promise me, you won’t take me to Olivia. If t-this doesn’t work—”

“This will work,” Hayden said. “And if it doesn’t, I’m not losing you.”

“Y-You can’t use Olivia again. I-I won’t allow it.”

“Dammit, don’t argue with me about this!”

In that instant, I realized Hayden would risk anything—anyone—to make sure I lived. But I couldn’t expose her to this. Not again. The handcuffs melted enough that, with Hayden and Kurt’s combined efforts, they broke apart. My muscles screamed in protest, but I ignored them.

I grabbed Kurt’s hand, the raw flesh around my wrists bubbling. His mouth dropped open, a mixture of fear and disbelief crawling across his face. “Don’t let Olivia see me like this. D-Don’t let her touch me. Please.”

Kurt’s gaze bounced to Hayden, then back to me. “Okay. Okay.”

“Dammit, Kurt,” Hayden roared. “I won’t let her die!”

But Kurt was on his feet the moment I let go of him, digging in his pocket. “Jonathan has connections at the hospital, Hayden. He’s already on his way. I’ll call him.”

The heat of his anger poured off him. “If anything happens to her…”

“I know. You’ll kill me.” Kurt pulled out his cell and cursed. “I have to go upstairs. I’m not getting a signal.”

“I’ll get her. Just go.” Hayden turned back to me, already dismissing Kurt. His gaze traced every inch of me, enduring every cut, scrap, and bruise. His voice turned husky. “Em, I thought—I thought I’d lost you.”

“N-No, I’m here.”

Hayden leaned in and brought his mouth down on mine. I sank into him—his warmth and his love.

When he pulled back, his eyes shone in the dim light.

“I want to go h-home.”

“Hospital first,” he said. “Then we go home. Together.”

My eyes fell around the dark recesses of the cellar—the area I’d thought would be my final resting place. They roamed over the damp walls covered in mold and over Hayden’s shoulder where I saw Mr.

Theo—on his feet, gun in hand.

“Hayden—watch—” But it was too late. Hayden gasped and shifted as if he planned on shielding me with his body. I broke into a wild struggle, so powerful that Hayden jolted to his left just as the gun fired.

Mr. Theo missed, but he was aiming again.

Using the last of my strength, I pushed hard. I heard Hayden yell my name, but I focused on Mr. Theo.

He fumbled with the gun. With all the burns, he moved in halting jerks. Anger and desperation propelled me across the slick floor. The pain didn’t matter—nothing did but stopping Mr. Theo.

He leveled the gun, not at me, but at Hayden. I stretched out, running my hand under the hem of his charred pants and circling the sticky flesh of his ankle. He jerked once, twice. His entire body went rigid, even his fingers. The gun slipped from his hand, hitting the floor with a sharp rattle of finality. I held on.

Mr. Theo dropped to his knees, arms splayed out like some kind of fallen angel. A grayish color raced over his skin, veins bulging and darkening as if someone had taken a charcoal pencil and traced the fine lines. He turned his head and stared down at me, mouth gaped in a silent scream. In that heartbeat, our eyes met.

I felt my lips spread into a smile.

A great and terrible spasm rolled through his body, then his eyes rolled back and he fell face-first into a cold puddle. Mr. Theo didn’t move again.

Over the next couple of hours I slipped in and out of reality. When I woke in a warm place, I reached for Hayden. My fingers curled into the empty air until someone gently guided my arm back.

Cromwell moved into my line of vision. “Hayden’s all right. Just getting checked over again.”

I blinked and my head rolled in the other direction. A white curtain fluttered and a machine beeped.

There were voices far away. Or were they close? Things were kind of foggy from there on out. Someone in medical scrubs shot a syringe into the IV tube snaking from my arm, which didn’t help with my observation skills at all—not to mention I felt like I was floating halfway off the bed.

“Don’t touch her skin, whatever you do.” Cromwell—I was pretty sure that was Cromwell. Talking to the doctor, I guessed.

I couldn’t open my eyes again. I felt pleasantly numb. Detached. A door opened and closed. I hoped it was Hayden. I held my breath, waiting, hoping, waiting, floating some more.

“So this is Project E?” said a female voice I didn’t recognize.

“Yes, this would be her.”

“Do you want us to take her? We have a place for her immediately.” The woman’s voice was soft and melodious. She sounded like Mom. I liked that.

“No,” Cromwell answered after a stretch of silence. “She’s one of mine now. And she’s very important.”

“You should take better care of her, then. It would be a shame to lose this one, too.”

Then I floated up and up, past the ceiling and into a bright, warm nothing.

“It hurts. I can fix it.”

“No. Olivia, don’t touch it.” I pushed at the arm hovering way too close to the side of my face. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

She sat back on her heels, dipping the bed. “Emmie, why are you hurt?”

I turned my head slowly and stared up at the ceiling. How could I tell a five-year-old that my crazy English teacher had wanted to kill me? I couldn’t. So I settled on the same thing I’d told her ever since I’d woken up with her next to me. “I was in an accident.”

“With Hayden?”

My heart squeezed. I’d only been awake for a little while, and Olivia was the only person I’d seen.

“Yes, with Hayden.” Her lower lip trembled. “I don’t like accidents.”

“I know, honey, but everything is okay now.”

“You promise? No more accidents?”

I smiled, but it was more of a wince. When I’d first woken up, I’d hobbled into the bathroom and gotten a good look at myself. Half my face looked like someone had pummeled it. I had a knot the size of a golf ball on the side of my head. Even now, every inch of skin hurt, every muscle felt torn, and every bone ached, but my leg and wrists had suffered far worse. Olivia said I had over a hundred stitches, so I deducted eighty from that. I couldn’t see most of my hands; they were wrapped in heavy gauze.

“Emmie?”

“No more accidents. I promise.” I started to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced me back down. I hit the pillow, grimacing. I felt out of it, tired and so damn thirsty. “Olivia, want to do me a favor?”

Her head bobbed eagerly.

“Can you get me something to drink?”

“I can get you juice. I can help.”

“Juice would be great. Olivia—” She was already off the bed and at the door. “Olivia, I love you.”

“I love you, Emmie!” Then she took off flying from my room. I could hear her little footsteps all the way down the stairs.

Slowly, I tried to push myself back up again. It didn’t work. I stared at the ceiling until my eyes started to drift shut. The next thing I knew, Cromwell was pulling my desk chair across the room and sitting by the bed.