Midnight Games(29)

I was shivering under the blankets. Nate sounded so cold and insincere. I suddenly felt terrified—and totally alone.

“I’ve got to catch some sleep,” he said, yawning.

“Bye,” I said, and clicked off the phone.

I stifled a sob. Was he just tired, or was he like all the others? They all believed I killed those girls.

Was it possible?

Could I have murdered them while I was in that gray fog? Could I be guilty and have no memory of what I’d done?

No. No way. I wouldn’t let myself think that way. Not for a moment.

I dropped my cell phone to the floor. Nate’s cold, uninterested voice lingered in my ears. I sat up and shoved the blankets away.

I knew I couldn’t sleep. I had to talk to someone, someone who believed in me.

Jamie.

When I came home from the police station Monday night, she threw her arms around me and hugged me. I could feel the hot tears on her cheeks.

“I know you didn’t do it,” she whispered. “I know you didn’t. I’ll stick by you, Dana. No matter what happens next.”

Yes, Jamie seemed to be my last remaining friend. I hoped she hadn’t sneaked out to Nights. I really needed her tonight.

I climbed out of bed and straightened my nightshirt. I pushed back my hair. Then I tiptoed down the attic stairs and across the hall to Jamie’s room.

Was she in there? Her bedroom door was open just a crack. From the hall I could see flickering light inside the room.

I pushed the door open a little more. And realized I was peering into candlelight. Light and shadows danced and darted around the room.

I poked my head in. To my surprise, I saw Jamie down on her knees on the floor. She knelt in a circle of black candles. She had her back to me. I could see her hair, black in the flickering candlelight, flowing wildly behind her head.

What was she doing down there?

I held my breath and listened. She had her head down. She was reciting something, chanting words I didn’t recognize. Her voice was soft and low, rising and falling in a strange melody.

I listened, not moving, not breathing.

What language was that?

A chill ran down my back. I grasped the door handle.

Squinting into the orange light, I saw little bowls on the floor. Chanting softly, Jamie bent over them. She lifted a bowl and poured a dark powder into another bowl.

I watched her sift the powder with her fingers. She poured the powder from bowl to bowl, bending low, chanting in that strange, musical language.

I wanted to call out to her. But I didn’t dare interrupt.

And then she turned. And I saw her face.

Gripping the door, I stared wide-eyed at her face, flickering in the orange light.

But it wasn’t her face.

Older eyes. A turned-up nose. An aged, ragged, half-smile.

Definitely not Jamie’s face!





25

I ducked back. I didn’t want her to see me.

I’m imagining this, I decided. It’s just the darkness, the shadows falling over the orange light.

No. I could see the face clearly. A woman’s face—not Jamie’s face.

My heart fluttering in my chest, I turned and stumbled to the stairs. I pulled myself up to my room, dove into bed, and tugged the covers to my chin.

Impossible, I thought. Impossible. Impossible. I kept repeating the word in my mind.

But the picture of that face—the other face—wouldn’t go away.

My brain whirred. I struggled to make sense of what I saw. But I couldn’t explain it. I didn’t have a clue.

Did she see me? Did Jamie see me watching her from the doorway?

Another shiver rolled down my back. I struggled to catch my breath, to slow my racing heartbeats.

And then I heard a sound. A soft creak. The creak of the attic stairs.

I sucked in a deep breath and held it. And listened.

Yes. Footsteps on the attic stairs. Another creak.

In the dim, gray light from the hall, I saw Jamie creep into my room. Her face was hidden in shadow. I pretended to be asleep but kept my eyes open just a crack, open enough to watch her.

She hesitated in the doorway. Stood perfectly still. Making sure I wasn’t awake, I guessed.

Then she made her way to the couch. I had my school clothes there, laid out for tomorrow morning. A skirt, long-sleeved top, tights.

I lifted my head off the pillow to see better.

Jamie carried something in her hand. Squinting hard, I recognized one of the small bowls. I watched her reach into the bowl. She began to sprinkle powder over my clothes. And as her fingers moved back and forth, she chanted softly, murmuring words in that strange language.

What was she chanting? What was she doing?

An ancient spell?

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

I watched in icy horror as my cousin emptied the bowl of powder over my clothes. And I listened to her strange, soft song in that raspy, whispered voice.