Pascal and Peregrine begin to kiss now, sloppily and aggressively. Pascal’s hands tangle through Peregrine’s black curls and I feel weaker and weaker as their movement grows more frantic. It’s almost like my own energy is being sucked out of me and funneled into the center of the circle. I look at Caleb again, and when I see that his eyes are open now, I feel a surge of momentary hope. But my heart sinks when I realize he, too, is possessed by whatever spirit is filling this room. I look around and see that everyone else appears as blank and wide-eyed as he does. I seem to be the only one who hasn’t succumbed to the magic.
I don’t have time to think about it, though, because in that instant, Pascal lets go of Peregrine and swings in my direction. I’m frozen in place as his eyes rake me over. Then he grins, a big, sloppy grin that doesn’t look a thing like the carefully controlled Pascal. It’s not him anymore, I realize. It’s the spirit who’s in him.
In his eyes, I can read evil and foreboding. His grin melts into a sneer. “Eveny Cheval,” he slurs in a deep Louisiana accent that doesn’t sound a thing like Pascal’s aristocratic drawl. Then he begins to laugh. Suddenly, the sneer vanishes from his face, and I feel a chill run through me.
“Bang bang,” he says in a flat voice, staring directly into my eyes. “You’re dead.”
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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25
Terrified, I use the last of my strength to rip my hand out of Caleb’s grip. My arms and legs feel like they’re made of sand, but I manage to stumble away from the circle and toward the door. I land in a heap in the living room while behind me, Pascal is still cackling maniacally. I can hear him saying again and again in a singsong voice, “Eveny’s going to die! Eveny’s going to die!”
The moment I’m outside of the ceremonial room, my body feels more normal. My limbs aren’t as heavy, and I can move again. I lurch toward the front door of Peregrine’s mansion, pull it open, and land facedown on her front porch. The air outside is cool and crisp, and I drink it in hungrily as I try to gather the strength to run.
I struggle to my feet and head for the cemetery. It creeps me out to think about cutting across it in the dark of night, but it’s the quickest way home. I’m still woozy and unsteady, but Peregrine’s house doesn’t have a wall separating it from the cemetery like mine does, so I only have to climb over a waist-high picket fence. I land on my feet and plunge into the darkness between the clusters of tombs. Far away, I can see my back porch light glowing like a beacon.
As I move down Peregrine’s hill, deeper into the cemetery, the tree cover grows heavier overhead, and I begin to lose the moonlight. The farther I go, the heavier my feet feel. My brain is foggy, and I stumble over exposed roots that I can’t see in the darkness. I wince in pain as I come down hard on my left knee, slicing it open. I smell blood in the air as I struggle to my feet, and I can no longer see the light from my house. The graveyard is swallowing me whole.
I pause to catch my breath, and when I do, I hear footsteps somewhere behind me, moving fast. I stifle a scream. I can’t get Pascal’s words out of my head: Bang bang, you’re dead. Eveny’s going to die.
But maybe it’s Caleb. My heart soars for a second in relief. I begin to turn toward the sound, but my heel catches on another root, and my knees buckle beneath me, betraying me. I go down hard. The last thing I’m aware of is the sharp pain of hitting the back of my head on a grainy tombstone as the world goes black.
When I wake up, my head is pounding, and I’m not sure how much time has passed. I blink into the darkness, and the first thing I realize is that I’m still in the cemetery, lying in a patch of grass.
“Hello, Eveny,” says a smooth voice just to my right, and I jump, startled. My neck aches and my head throbs anew as I turn. I scream and struggle to sit up when I realize there’s a man in a dark jacket bent over me, peering at me like I’m a specimen in a jar.
It takes me a moment to recognize him.
“Blake Montoire,” I whisper. His pale face seems to glow in the dappled moonlight, and his eyes, which had appeared to be a normal shade of brown at the party, are now a chilling shade of almost translucent ice blue. He must have been wearing contacts so that he didn’t look so freakish.
“That was just the name I used at that silly little party of yours,” he says. “Very frat-boy chic, if I do say so myself.” His accent, I realize, is vaguely French.