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  Seeing her smile, I reach for her hand, but she pulls it back again. I feel a twinge of sadness—she hasn’t let me touch her all morning. I would think that means she’s still upset with me. She seems happy, though—the sky is clear. Either I’m missing something, or she’s doing an amazing job masking her emotions. I shouldn’t have taught her that.

  I shove aside my own pain and instead focus on her. “Maddy, if something was going to happen to you, you’d tell me, right?”

  “I hope so. If anyone could stop it, it would be you.” With that, she turns and casually strolls to her home. I follow, pondering her choice of words.

  I watch her through breakfast. The room is packed with Maddy, me, Maddy’s family, plus the Shadowwalker and his team.

  Everyone eyes Maddy with curiosity. She’s more affectionate, hugging and touching her family—though she still refuses to let me or the Shadowwalker touch her. Not only that, but she’s wearing a dress—a tight, short dress. She looks good. Sexy, actually. I can’t deny it. But it’s just . . . not her.

  I can hear her family’s thoughts. There’s some concern—especially from her father—about the dress. They think, of course, her wardrobe choice is meant to impress me, and they’re not too happy about that. At the same time, they are happy about the positive change in her attitude. They’re not sure if it’s Maddy blossoming on her own or if it’s a sign of her happiness with me. Either way, they like having “Old Maddy” back—the Maddy who existed prior to that trip with the Shadowwalker three years ago.

  I glance in his direction.

  What’s going on? he asks. He’s been frowning since Maddy bounded down the stairs to breakfast.

  I’m working on it, I reply.

  . . .

  At school, I follow slowly behind as Maddy makes a mad dash for her friends as soon as we’re through the doors. Still affectionate with everyone but me, she hugs each of them as she calls out their names. It’s as if she hasn’t seen them in a long time.

  “Whoa,” Kelli says. “Who the hell are you, and what have you done to my best friend?”

  I believe she’s joking. But as I listen to their thoughts and watch their incredulous faces, I can’t help but worry. For them to sense it too . . .

  Kelli does a circle around Maddy, her mouth open the whole time. “You look frickin’ hot! I love your dress—I’m so jealous.”

  My mind is bombarded with the thoughts and images of Maddy in the other students’ minds. She has the attention of everyone in here. Normally that would bother her, but she’s basking in it.

  Several of her male classmates are concentrating on Maddy’s legs and what is beneath her dress. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know what they’re thinking. I shoot icy glares around the room to ward them off, but the bell rings before I stop even half of them.

  I rub my forehead, fighting against a massive headache. Whatever I’m missing about Maddy, I feel it’s just out of reach. Why can’t I figure this out?

  In her first two classes, Maddy’s the star. She’s the first to raise her hand when the chemistry teacher asks questions, and she gets them all right to his obvious surprise. In choir, she volunteers to do a solo to the cheers of her shocked choirmates.

  This is Old Maddy again. At least, that’s what everyone thinks. I’m so confused by it all. I’ve always known she’s smart and talented, but I had no idea just how gifted. And I had no idea she could be so affectionate, full of hugs and warmth for those around her. Almost everyone around her, that is.

  Just as her family did, everyone here wonders if it’s because of me, if I’m the reason Old Maddy has come out of her shell. If it is because of me, that should be a good thing, right?

  Then why are red flags still going off inside me?

  I don’t know why she’s Old Maddy today. But more importantly, if this is “Old Maddy,” I don’t know why she ever changed into “New Maddy” in the first place. I don’t understand what the Shadowwalker could have done or said that would make her change so much of herself.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Maddy

  My fall into the masked demon’s TV ends almost as quickly as it begins.

  I blink, trying to orient myself, but all I can see is fabric with large flowers. It’s at an odd angle—sideways. The more I stare at it, the more I realize I’m the one who’s sideways. I think I’m lying down on a couch.

  My ears buzz as a muffled sound filters in. It sounds like a small child whimpering.

  I try to turn toward the sound, but my head won’t move.

  I can rest assured I’m not inside girl nine because the masked demon, not the demon serial killer, sent me here. But I still need to figure out who this is and how to disconnect at a moment’s notice. Regardless of who this is, I can die in here if something goes bad.

  Okay, whoever you are—apparently you have something to show me.

  I relax and let my unknown host take over.

  . . .

  My ears prick with the all-too-familiar sound of sniffling.

  Again?

  No. I shouldn’t be mad at her. It’s not her fault. I roll off the couch, rub the sleep from my eyes, and yawn. A full day of school and band practice after helping at Uncle Don’s farm is sure taking its toll. But I’m building strength. The next time he comes after me, he’ll be in for a big surprise.

  She sniffles again.

  I stumble to the television and shut it off. I didn’t want the sound on, but the picture helped lull me to sleep. I climb the orange and brown shag-carpeted stairs, leaning heavily on the banister as I try to shake off my exhaustion. Then I follow the narrow hallway to her bedroom.

  Her dolls are on the floor. He’ll hate that. I place them back on her shelf.

  A sob sounds from her closet.

  I sigh and open the door. The last bit of exhaustion evaporates as I take in the sight of her curled into a ball on the floor.

  “What happened, Meg?”

  I brush back her long brown hair, and tear-filled green eyes stare up at me.

  “I—I dumped it,” she says through a sob. Her little body shakes.

  I haven’t seen her this upset since the funeral. A seven-year-old shouldn’t have to deal with any of this. I sit and scoop her up into my arms. She sobs into my shirt.

  “Come on, Meggles—tell me what happened.”

  She cries harder at my nickname for her. I miss the sound of her giggles. It’s as if all the joy in the house died the night she flatlined.

  “He’s-gonna-be-so-mad-at-me, JayJay.” The words almost stream together as one.

  “Not you, little Meggles. Now tell your big brother what happened.”

  She raises her tiny fist and opens it. Mom’s perfume bottle rests in her palm. Empty. Orchids and cherry blossoms linger on her wrist.

  My heart stops.

  Not her perfume.

  “Oh, Megan. What did you do?”

  Her fist tightens around the bottle, and she pulls it to her chest. She burrows into me, wiping tears and snot on my shirt.

  “I couldn’t remember what she smelled like. I just wanted to sniff it, b-but it fell off her dresser.”

  He is going to be furious. That was the last present he bought Mom before she got sick. He puts a little on her pillow every week. He thinks I don’t notice, but I do. Otherwise, I wouldn’t think he cared at all.

  Tires crunch in the gravel driveway.

  We stiffen.

  He’s home.

  I run my fingers through her soft hair. She looks so much like Mom. Small, same brown hair and green eyes . . . I can’t stand the thought of him punishing her.

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Her crying stops. She pulls away, horror in her eyes.

  “No, JayJay. You can’t take the belt for me. I did it. I deserve to be punished.”

  “It’s not the first time I’ve gotten it,” I tell her, “and it won’t be the last. Besides, I’m stronger than you. I can take it, you can’t. But I don’t wa
nt you around. Go next door to Paul’s. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”

  She throws her arms around me and hugs me as tightly as she can.

  I hug her tighter and rest my chin on top of her head. The apple scent of her shampoo fills my airways.

  “I love you, Meggles.”

  “I love you too, JayJay.”

  The door downstairs bangs open. Loud thuds echo as he stomps through the living room and into the kitchen. Glass clinks as he grabs a bottle and glass.

  Whiskey. He had a bad day at work.

  This is gonna hurt.

  I take the bottle from her hand, shift her off my lap, then stand. Without saying another word, I grab her hand and lead her down the stairs. I open the door, grab her Mary Janes, and hand them to her. She hugs me. After a moment, I peel her off me and send her to safety.

  With the door shut, I close my eyes and rest my head against it. Please God, let him see it was an accident. Let him understand. Just—this—once.

  “Boy!” he shouts from the kitchen. I jump. “Where’s my dinner? Work my ass off to provide for you ungrateful brats, and you can’t even make dinner on time. What kinda lazy bastard are you?”

  Even without the perfume spill, I have a feeling my night would have ended with a sore backside. This will make farmwork unbearable tomorrow. But there’s no point in delaying the inevitable. The more he drinks, the harder he hits.

  I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and turn to meet my maker.

  He glares as I enter the kitchen, stroking his growing beard. He’s sitting at the table—the bottle of whiskey is in front of him along with a nearly empty glass. As he finishes it, I head to the fridge, hoping he will be happier once he’s fed.

  “I thought we could have sandwiches for dinner.”

  “Sandwiches? Sandwiches! I didn’t bust my ass all day to come home to a sandwich! Your momma wouldn’t never—”

  “Yeah, well, she ain’t here now.”

  I duck as the whiskey bottle is lobbed at my head. It hits the cabinet and shatters. The kitchen fills with the pungent scent of cheap alcohol as it drips down the cabinets and onto the floor.

  I resist the urge to groan, knowing I’ll be the one cleaning it up later. I don’t know how Mom put up with him. He’s much worse now that she’s gone, but he sure wasn’t a saint before. He didn’t hit her—he reserved that for me—but he never appreciated a thing she did. And he always put her down. It’s times like this that I wonder if she was glad for death, even though I know she didn’t want to leave Megan and me.

  His chair squeaks against the floor as he rises. In two short strides he’s standing in front of me. His blue eyes scowl into mine. I narrow my blue eyes right back.

  My heart pounds in my chest. If it weren’t for Meg, I would have left the day we laid her to rest. Maybe sooner. But I can’t stand the thought of the welts that would show up on her fair skin if I weren’t here to protect her.

  Uncle Don gave me a job. I’m saving every last penny to get us both out of here. Between that and the few gigs the band’s done, I have two months’ rent stashed away. Once I get a few hundred more, we’re gone.

  He huffs in front of me like a mad bull.

  Without a word, I raise my shaking hand, opening my fist to show him the empty bottle. His gaze slowly follows.

  In a flash, his hands wrap around my throat, squeezing so tight I can’t breathe.

  I grab his wrists, fighting for air, but he only grips tighter.

  Pushing me into the kitchen counter, he slams my head into the cabinet. Over and over again, he pounds me into it. My ears ring and my skull aches.

  “What did you do?” he screams.

  My chest burns. Darkness creeps along the edges of my vision.

  “That’s all I had left of her!” he shouts.

  He lets go.

  I collapse to the floor. My hands and arms sting with an unfamiliar pain. All I can do is cough—violently, desperately. No matter how much air I suck in, it’s not enough.

  Metal clangs as he undoes his belt.

  I brace myself. This pain—this pain will be familiar.

  Leather slashes through my shirt. The crack sounds through the kitchen. Tremendous fire rips through my body, but I know it’ll only get worse. I don’t scream. I won’t let him win. I’ll take my punishment. It’s the only pain strong enough to block out the pain of losing Mom. It’s the only thing real in this nightmare.

  Again and again, the leather hits my back, tearing away first at my shirt and then at my flesh. He’s never done this many before. I don’t know how many more I can take.

  I pound the floor. Those strange sharp pains ravage my hands and arms again. A small river of red flows from them. Shards of glass stick out of my hands and arms.

  The broken whiskey bottle.

  I concentrate on the burning in my arms, hoping that pain will be enough to get me through this. I have to. He will tire soon.

  “It should have been you!” he screams as the belt opens and reopens my skin.

  “Jesus!” I finally cry out.

  My vision blurs as images of Meg flash in my mind. He would have killed her. I can’t let him do this to her. Ever.

  I can’t let him kill me.

  . . .

  Death. Is it here for him or me?

  Fire tears apart my back, but I no longer feel the bite of each lash. I’ve managed to break away from JayJay, though I don’t have the strength to leave his body.

  I’m trapped. If I don’t find a way to fully separate from JayJay, I will die. I’m slipping into a peaceful numbness I’ve felt before—moments before Lauren’s death.

  Images flash in my own mind. My family. My friends.

  MJ.

  My heart constricts, tormented by the memory of what I said to him yesterday. I told him he should have killed me. Everything would be better that way.

  My heart races. Blood pumps through my veins so fast it feels as if my heart will explode. Darkness lingers for me. I latch on to the pain, letting the grief and fear take hold.

  No. I have to fight it. I can’t die here.

  Why did she send me here? I don’t understand.

  Death is coming. But he can’t have me. I won’t let him.

  Through JayJay’s eyes, I watch his father step away, leaning on the countertop in exhaustion. He runs a hand through his overgrown black hair. For a moment, the lashes cease, though the fire still burns.

  Icy blue eyes stare down at me, though they only see JayJay. “Jesus? You’re asking for Jesus, boy?”

  I take a staggered breath and close my eyes, trying to block out the horrors around me. In the darkness, I think of MJ—of running into his arms and begging him to forgive me.

  I open my eyes, praying to be home, but instead I’m still staring up at JayJay’s father. It didn’t work.

  The numbness of death grows stronger. My eyelids droop. Thoughts jumble.

  I fight the darkness. I fight the numbness. I can’t die here. I focus on the only thing I see—JayJay’s father.

  The father pants, the red-stained belt hanging in his hands. “Haven’t you figured out there is no God? If there was, he would’ve taken you off my hands instead of my Judith.”

  At the sound of his mother’s name, the boy lets out a cry of anger and pain—and loss. He pushes up off the floor and lunges at his father. My body moves with him, still stuck inside him.

  He grabs his father by the collar and slams his glass-and-blood-covered fist into his father’s neck. A large shard pierces him, sinking into flesh and artery. At the same time, his father sends his fist into JayJay’s stomach.

  JayJay’s abdomen tightens from the sharp shock. He lets go of his father and stumbles backward into the counter. He looks down.

  The black handle of a kitchen knife sticks out of his gut.

  He touches it, then pulls his hands away. They’re covered in blood. His own. His father’s.

  I stare at JayJay’s hands. The longer I do, th
e more they morph between his hands and mine.

  The bloody hands, the knife, the bottle. All I can think of is Ben . . .

  “Why?” JayJay asks. His voice barely makes a sound. He collapses to his knees, slumping over. Darkness hovers over him, anxiously awaiting his final breath.

  “He should have taken you, Justin,” his father mutters. Blood drips from the side of his mouth and down his throat. He falls to the floor.

  Justin.

  I scream.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  MJ

  Disappointment hits me the moment we walk into math. There’s a new substitute. I was hoping Maddy’s Guardian, Ms. Morgan, would be here. I wish I could ask her if I’m just being paranoid or if she too noticed anything off about Maddy. I haven’t seen Ms. Morgan since we talked at the cabin outside Seattle. Come to think of it, other than the Shadowwalker, I haven’t seen any of the beings that are supposedly helping Maddy. I could use their help.

  Halfway through class, Maddy becomes restless, shifting in her seat. I wonder if it’s because of Tom. He’s been staring at her legs all morning, picturing her in his mind. Thinking of touching her and kissing her in ways I myself thought about this morning. If he doesn’t stop, he’s going to have a pair of black eyes.

  Suddenly Maddy’s hands curl into tight fists and she groans. It’s quiet enough that her classmates don’t hear it, but I do. She’s in pain.

  I lean across the aisle. “Maddy, what’s wrong?”

  She grimaces and slumps over in her seat. “I must speak with you in the hallway.”

  “Now?”

  She nods.

  I close my eyes, focusing on the sound of the clock in the front of the room, listening for its rhythmic tic. I block out everything else. Slowly, the ticking stops. I reopen my eyes, and everyone except Maddy and I is frozen.

  Her face clenches in pain again, but she puts up her hands to block me from touching her before I even make a move.