Jennifer Armentrout: Cursed

“What happened last night?”

What happened last night? I accidentally killed the guy who stole your other pair of glasses . That’s what happened.

“Hey,” he leaned in. “Are you okay? You look like crap, Ember.”

“I… I don’t feel very well.” It wasn’t a lie. I felt like I was going to hurl.

“Did you get sick last night?”

I nodded. “Sorry. I should’ve responded to your texts.”

“Nah, it’s okay.” He waved his hand. “Do you think you should be here?”

Looking back, I wasn’t so sure if that had been a bright idea. My legs felt weak as I murmured something and trailed after him. The warning bell went off, causing most of the groups in the hall to scatter. Adam kept casting worried glances in my direction while I squeezed the strap of my messenger bag so tightly I knew my knuckles were turning white.

We slid into our homeroom seats without drawing any attention. Today it seemed that Adam and I were like ghosts in the high-school caste system. No one paid attention to us—to me, except to make my life miserable. I stared at my gloved hands for what felt like the millionth time since last night, waiting for the sword to drop.

Nothing happened.

No one talked about Dustin. His absence from biology hadn’t raised any suspicion, but I was still a mess of bundled nerves throughout the day. Adam made me promise that I’d call him if I needed anything.

When I arrived at Olivia’s school to pick her up, I felt weak and dizzy. The lack of sleep and food wasn’t a good combination. I’d skipped the library and waited with the buses in front of her school.

A final bell sounded, and crowds of kids spilled out of the school, loading onto buses and approaching moms in minivans. I watched, trying to spot Olivia in the throng. It was slow to dawn on me that she wasn’t among them. Something heavy dropped in my stomach as I pulled the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the car. I crossed behind the last bus, stumbling up the curb.

“Are you okay, miss?” a teacher called, clipboard on hand.

“Yeah,” I breathed, rushing inside. My hands shook, and I dropped my keys as soon as I stepped inside the front office.

“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked, eyes wide in alarm.

“I’m looking for my sister. Her name is Olivia McWilliams. She’s in kindergarten. She’s five and—”

“Yes,” she cut me off, pulling a pencil out of the pile of gray hair. She was obviously in a hurry to leave for the day. Her purse and coffee mug were on the desk. “I know who she is.”

“Okay. Good.” I took a deep breath and leaned over the counter, the keys’ jagged teeth digging into my palm. “She wasn’t outside. I—”

“Of course she wasn’t,” she said. “Her mother picked her up this afternoon.”

The room tilted to the side, spinning around me. “What?”

“Her mother picked her up right after lunch. I’m sorry. What was your name again?”

Almost in tears, I slammed my hands down on the counter. “My mother wouldn’t have picked her up!”

The old woman huffed before drawing herself up to her full height, which was shorter than me and that wasn’t saying much. “Miss, we just don’t let anyone come into school and take our children. It was Ms.

McWilliams who picked up Olivia this morning. Now, what is your name?”

Rage flooded through me like a hot wave in my veins. The urge to react surged. I wanted to reach out and wrap my hand around her fat fingers. I wanted to touch her.

“Miss, what is your name?”

“How could you?” My voice sounded eerily calm. “That wasn’t our Mom.”

The woman blinked rapidly, shaking her head in denial. “No. She’s listed in our system, and she signed her out! Who are you?” she demanded. Other people were starting to come out of smaller offices.

“Are you a family member?”

I backed up, clenching my hands into tight fists. There was nothing else to say. Spinning around, I took off. I’d go home next. There was a chance—a small chance—that it’d been Mom. I’d have a better chance of waking up and discovering the last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare, but the small sliver of hope was all I had. Desperate, I clung to it. My throat constricted when our house came into view. Mom’s beat-

up station wagon was parked in the front of the house. It hadn’t moved since Dad’s funeral. The old wooden swing swayed on the front porch, sending darts of panic shooting through me.

There was no breeze.

Heart pounding, I climbed the steps and flung open the front door. The extra set of keys sat on the table by the door.

“Olivia?” I called out. “Olivia, where are you?” I went into the kitchen, then the living room, and finally rushed upstairs. “Olivia! Answer me now!”

Still, there was no answer.

Her bedroom was empty. “Oh, my God.”

I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea how long I stood there, staring at her empty bed. Nothing seemed real anymore. Only the blood rushing through my veins and slow desperation spiraled inside me.

A sob rose in my chest.

I was supposed to take care of Olivia.

A sudden noise, like someone knocking into a piece of heavy furniture, raised the tiny hairs along the nape of my neck. Swallowing down icy fear, I wheeled around and stepped back into the hallway. I pulled off my gloves, clenching them in one hand. Could I kill again—on purpose?

Yes, if Olivia was in danger.

Sunlight spilled out into the hallway through my bedroom door. The room appeared to be safe, inviting even. Had I left my door open this morning? I couldn’t remember. Slowly, I inched toward the open door. For a moment, I thought the room was empty.

It wasn’t.

He stood in front of the door to my bathroom, wearing the same duster jacket from the night before. A mane of blond hair stuck out from underneath a cowboy hat. The sudden image of a lion crouching, waiting for its prey to stumble into its sight, flashed before me.

I realized a split second later I was the prey.

The lion sprang before I even had the chance to release the scream building in my throat. He didn’t say anything, but the look of fierce determination as he moved toward me, arms outstretched, said it all.

Panic quickly turned into something else as I jerked back against the wall. Fury and desperation welled, spinning and bubbling over.

He reached for me.

Instead of touching him, I grabbed the lamp off the bedside table and hurled it at him. The base of the lamp struck his head, making a sickening thud and knocking off the cowboy hat.

The cowboy fell to the floor, unmoving.

“Well… that wasn’t necessary,” drawled a deep voice that tugged at my memory.

I shrieked and spun around.

Standing in my hallway was Hayden Cromwell. He held his hands out in front of him. “I don’t mean you any harm, Ember. I’m here to help you.”

“Help me?” I stepped back, brushing against the man’s leg. My stomach turned over as I looked at him. The cowboy hat lay beside him. Blood matted his blond hair. When had I become so violent? Had I always been this way?

“Don’t look at him, Ember. Look at me.”

It was like being compelled. I had no choice but to look at him. “Where is my sister?”

“Everything is fine. Your sister is safe. We have her—” All I heard was the last three words. I lunged at him. He didn’t even move out of the way. He simply caught my hand in his and squeezed gently.

The act knocked the air and common sense right out of me. This— this was what I’d been yearning for.

A simple touch, a brushing of skin without hurting someone, and it was everything I thought it would be.