TWENTY-SEVEN

Dinner is a painful affair. Mom tries to smile and talks about the trip we’re leaving for tomorrow as though it were a normal vacation instead of a desperate attempt to protect her daughter from the nightmare our small-town life has become. I can see in her eyes that she’d rather go immediately, but fleeing on New Year’s Eve seems pretty extreme.

Plus I can’t go. Not yet.

Because if I do, Michelle will die.

And even though she abandoned me last year, we were friends for a long time. Anyone else and I might continue to justify leaving rather than making things worse.

But not her.

I’m pretty sure it will be tonight. In the vision I got when my mom left my room, Michelle looks up at a dazzle of fireworks in the sky. It’s not city fireworks—they’ve been canceled. But a lot of people around town will still celebrate for the same reason Linden’s parents decided to hold their Christmas party: to show the killer we’re not afraid.

Even though we are.

I didn’t tell Smith. I didn’t try to enter my vision and change things. If there’s another Oracle involved, I’m going to have to do things the old-fashioned way. The risky way, but also the human way.

I spent the entire day in seclusion. I didn’t even text Linden—although I will need to tell him we’re leaving town. Assuming we still do after tonight. At eleven o’clock, I tell my mom I’ve decided I’d rather sleep my way into the New Year, and retreat to my bedroom. I lock the door and reach under my bed for the overcoat, hat, and scarf I stashed there earlier. I hesitate, and then grab the pendant as well. The stone is glowing a bright bloodred tonight and I try not to take that as an omen. I don’t know what I expect to do with the necklace, but it makes me feel stronger somehow.

And I take the knife. That doesn’t make me feel stronger at all, but I might need it. It’s simply the truth.

I don’t turn my bedroom light off—Mom knows I’m weird and sleep with it on. Ideally she won’t try to check on me, but if she does, I’m going to have to hope that she’ll decide I just want my privacy.

If not . . . I’ll have to deal with that later. I can’t think about it right now. I lace on my warmest boots and once I’m bundled up, I push my window open and crawl through it. Turns out it’s way harder than movies would have you believe to climb out a window. Especially in a coat. But eventually I manage.

And immediately fall over in the snow.

Cursing under my breath, I brush myself off and carefully turn around to close the window, making sure it’ll still open for me.

Ducking my head against the frigid wind, I start off toward a neighborhood only about half a mile from my house. I don’t know exactly what time Michelle will be passing by and it’s possible I already missed her. I stand huddled under a lamppost with my face buried in my scarf for almost an hour before I see her. I don’t know why she’s all dressed up, but as she approaches she’s the epitome of an all-American girl in a green wool coat and bouncing sable curls. I fall into step with her as she passes by. I don’t know what to say. “What are you doing?” I finally settle on.

Michelle doesn’t react, doesn’t startle, doesn’t seem to have even heard.

“What are you doing?” I ask, sharper this time, yanking her arm to turn her to face me. “You shouldn’t be out here. Alone, especially.”

Her eyes are vacant for a few seconds and I grip her tighter.

Then with a few slow blinks, her eyes come into focus. She yanks away and snaps, “What the hell are you doing to me?”

“It’s okay, I’m here to help,” I say, putting my hands up to show her I mean no harm, even though what I want to do is grab her and make sure she doesn’t bolt.

“Where am I?” she asks, and I can tell she’s on the verge of melting down.

“You’ve been—” Somehow I don’t think the term mind control is going to help right now. “Hypnotized,” I decide on, “out of your house and I’m here to send you back home.” I gently lay a hand on her arm but she jerks away.

“Get away from me. Freak,” she adds. Even though I know the words are fueled mostly by panic, they stab my heart just like the knife I’m trying to hide from her.

“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “I’m a freak, but you’re the one out in the middle of the night with a serial killer on the loose, Michelle. Why are you here?”

She hesitates, unable to counter the blunt truth of my words. “I don’t know,” she says, and I can hear the edge in her voice. “I was . . . I was at home. Someone was coming to see me.”

“You should go back. You’re close. You just have to turn around and go down that street.”

“Why are you here?” she says, and it’s clearly an accusation.

“To save you,” I say simply.

She stares and I can see fear and suspicion warring in her eyes. “Should I call the police?”

As tempting as it is to just say yes—to let the cops swoop in and rescue us both—I already called them with just enough information to get them to the right place at the right time. I hope. Michelle calling now would screw everything up. “No. Please don’t.”

“If you say so,” she says dubiously, but starts to turn, clearly anxious to be indoors. And away from her crazy ex-friend.

“Oh, just a sec,” I say, a hand on her shoulder. I hesitate, and for a moment I want to renege—to take my whole plan back and just run home and burrow down under my blankets. But I can’t. I have to do this. “Switch coats with me.” I’m already slipping my arms out of mine.