Mortal Danger (Page 57)

“We are not talking about her man all night,” Jen cut in.

And I was grateful. “Cool. Let’s watch the time-traveling T. rex instead.”

That was bad SF at its best. I laughed until my stomach hurt, and so did the other two. I shouldn’t have been startled to find that they weren’t so different from me, but I’d started thinking of the people at school as a separate species, so it was tough to shift my thinking. Halfway through the movie, Jen broke out her secret stash and added vodka to our OJ.

Things got blurry after that. They told stories about Brittany, and I cried along with Davina and Jen; I regretted so much that I never got to know the girl who would strip down to her undies and steal a rose on a dare or drive twenty miles to buy a case of beer because she’d promised to make Davina’s first party the best one ever. Jen told me how when Cameron was sick—and there was nobody at his house—Brit went over and made chicken soup and then cleaned up the vomit when he couldn’t keep it down. How could such a nice girl do what she did to me?

And how could I do that to her? If I did.

People can be monsters, too.

It was half past midnight when Davina drunkenly suggested we try the Bloody Mary mirror thing. For a few seconds, I froze, and the giddiness dissipated almost instantly. Jen was already heading for the bathroom with some candles.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.

In my head, I heard Kian say, Sometimes you call things. And then they don’t leave. I remembered the girl in my bathroom mirror, and I wondered how to stop this. Circumstances might’ve thrown me together with Jen and Davina, but I liked them. As of yet, I didn’t trust them as I did Vi, but it would come, in time, if they didn’t turn on me or stab me in the back.

Provided they don’t die horribly.

Jen stopped in the doorway. “Why not? It’s kind of a sleepover tradition, along with light as a feather, stiff as a board, right, D?”

The other girl nodded. “Are you scared or something?”

“Obviously.” It seemed better to tell the truth. And if they’d seen a quarter of what I had, if they knew what I knew, they’d be petrified, too.

“It’s just an urban legend.” Jen tried to reassure me.

Davina wrapped an arm around my shoulders and dragged me to the bathroom. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Before I could say another word, she snapped off the lights and Jen lit the candles. The tiny flames cast spooky, flickering shadows on the dark tile walls. In normal circumstances, Jen’s bathroom seemed modern and elegant, done in black and white with red accents, but right then, the room looked like something out of an asylum with three faces seeming disembodied in the mirror. Jen lifted her candle, so that the scent of cinnamon wafted up; she leaned forward until her nose nearly touched the glass. I recoiled, but Davina was behind me. She put her hands on my shoulders, like that would settle me down.

“Bloody Mary,” Jen chanted, and Davina chimed in.

I didn’t say a word; I couldn’t. Fear crept up my spine on caterpillar feet as the other two whispered. They were smiling until the glass darkened. Our images distorted, warped sideways, and then it was like the creature in the mirror wiped us out of existence. She was a wraith of a thing in a ragged white nightdress, her face all bones and eye sockets, with a mop of tangled dark stringing down her cheeks like damp seaweed. The dead girl on the other side pressed her fingertips to the glass in front of the candle, and the flame winked out. When she smiled, it was like staring into an open grave. Jen shrieked and stumbled, dropping the other candle; it rolled across the floor and went out, bathing the room in shadows.

“Shit.” Davina scrambled for the door, unsteady on her feet.

I shoved Jen after her, then I grabbed a towel from the rack behind me. Quickly, I covered the mirror and turned on the overhead light. It took all my courage to stand my ground, but I counted to ten and waited, listening. The silence was broken only by the gasps and whimpers coming from Jen’s bedroom. My hands shook as I reached up to pull the towel down; my muscles locked in anticipation of the need to fight or flee, but when I looked in the mirror, it was clear. I leaned forward, touched the surface, and nothing happened.

“What’s with you two?” I asked, going back to the bedroom.

Jen eyed me like I was crazy. “Didn’t you see…?”

“What?”

“The thing … and the candle.” Davina paced, breathing too fast, and if she kept it up, she’d hyperventilate.

“See, that’s what happens when you suck down that much vodka and then play with matches.” I couldn’t afford to have them ask too many questions, so I grabbed Jen’s arm and tugged her back into the bathroom, now illuminated by plenty of overhead light. “See? Nothing.”

“You really didn’t see anything?” she asked.

“Just some shadows.” Hopefully, this lie wouldn’t drive her into counseling.

“Huh.”

Davina came up behind us, tipping her head in puzzlement. “So … it was like a shared hallucination?”

“What else could it have been?” Innocent expression, as I tried to slow my heartbeat and stop shaking. I had no idea what might’ve happened if I had been wrong about covering the mirror; my best guess was that it interrupted the connection to the other side.

But if the nightmare has a link to Jen’s mirror now … damn.

“I don’t know.” Jen looked at Davina, who shrugged.

We talked a little more after that, but the others were subdued, and we stayed together to brush our teeth. Later, Jen gave us some bedding, so Davina and I could make up the futons. I settled down, but as I lay there, I was afraid to shut my eyes. The ragged edge of disaster loomed closer and closer, as if my life was constructed on a fault line, and there were aftershocks constantly shifting me toward the precipice. Jen’s steady breathing filled the room pretty fast, but a glance at Davina told me she was wide awake, and she didn’t look like she’d be sleeping anytime soon.

“Edie?”

“What?”

“You were lying, I know you were. I’m not asking why, but you did something in there. And you expected something to happen.”

I didn’t deny it. Instead I whispered, “Remember me saying it was a bad idea?”

“Yeah. So you’ve had weird stuff go down before.”

“I’m really tired.” I dodged the question. “If you don’t mind?”