Black Heart (Curse Workers 3)

Before dinner I head up to my room to drop off my school-books. As I get to the top of the stairs, I see Sam storming down the hall. His hair is a mess and his neck and cheeks are flushed. His eyes look too bright, the way they do in people who are in love, people who are enraged, and people who are completely bonkers.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“She wants all her stuff back.” He slams his hand into the wall, cracking the plaster, a move so uncharacteristic that I just stare. He’s a big guy, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen him use his size for violence.

“Daneca?” I ask, like an idiot, because of course he’s talking about Daneca. It’s just that the whole thing doesn’t make sense. They’ve been fighting, sure, but the fight is over something stupid. They both care about each other—surely more than they care about an exaggerated misunderstanding. “What happened?”

“She called me and told me it was over. That it had been over for weeks.” He sags now, arm bent against the wall, his forehead resting on his arm. “Didn’t even want to see me to get her things. I told her that I was sorry—over and over I told her—and that I would do anything to get her back. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe she just needs some time,” I say.

He shakes his head pitifully. “She’s seeing somebody else.”

“No way,” I say. “Come on. You’re just being—”

“She is,” he says. “She said she was.”

“Who?” I try to think of anyone I saw Daneca talking to—anyone who she looked at lingeringly or walked down the halls with more than once. I try to think of any guy who stayed behind after HEX meetings to talk with her. But I come up blank. I can’t picture her with anyone.

He shakes his head. “She wouldn’t tell me.”

“Look,” I say, “I’m really sorry, man. Let me dump my bag and we can go off campus—get some pizza or something. Ditch this place for a couple of hours.” I was planning on meeting Mina tonight in the dining hall, but I push that thought aside.

Sam shakes his head. “Nah. I just want to be by myself for a little while.”

“You sure?”

He nods and lurches away from the wall to thud down the stairs.

I go into our room and toss my bag of books onto my bed. I’m about to go out again, when I see Lila, on her knees, peering under Sam’s dresser. Her short gold hair is hanging in her face, the sleeves of her dress shirt rolled up. I notice that she’s not wearing tights, just ankle socks.

“Hey,” I say, stunned.

She sits up. I can’t read her expression, but her cheeks look a little pink. “I didn’t think you were going to be here.”

“I live here.”

She turns so that she’s sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, pleated skirt riding high over her thighs. I try not to look, not to recall what her skin felt like against mine, but it’s impossible. “Do you know where Daneca’s stuffed owl is? She swears she left it here, but Sam says he never saw it.”

“I never saw it either.”

She sighs. “How about her copy of Abbie Hoffman’s Steal This Book?”

“My bad,” I say, and take it out from one of my drawers. She gives me a look. “What? I thought it was Sam’s when I borrowed it.”

She gets up in a single fluid movement and snatches the book from my gloved hand. “It’s not that. I don’t know. I don’t know how I got talked into this. Daneca was just so upset.”

“She was upset? She’s the one who just broke his heart.”

I expect Lila to say something cruel about Sam or me or about love in general, but she just nods. “Yeah.”

“Last night—,” I start.

She crosses the room, shaking her head. “How about a T-shirt with the words ‘NERD HERD’ on it? Have you seen one of those?”

I shake my head as she starts picking up laundry off the floor. “So I guess you guys got really close? You and Daneca?” I ask.

Lila shrugs. “She’s been trying to help me.”

I frown. “With what?”

“School. I’m a little behind. I might not be here for that much longer.” Lila straightens, a wadded-up shirt in her hand. When she looks at me, she looks more sad than angry.

“What? Why?” I take a step toward her. I remember something Daneca said about Lila having to do remedial work. She hasn’t been taking classes since she was fourteen; that’s a lot to catch up on. Still, I figured she could handle it. I figured she could handle anything.

“I only came here for you. I’m no good at this school stuff.” She unsticks a postcard from the wall over Sam’s bed, which involves her climbing onto the mattress in a way that ignites every bad thought I’ve ever had. “Okay. I think that’s it,” she says.

“Lila,” I say as she walks toward the door. “You’re one of the smartest people I know—”

“She doesn’t want to see you, either,” Lila says, cutting me off. “I have no idea what you did to Daneca, but I think she’s madder at you than she is at Sam.”

“Me?” I drop my voice to a whisper so that we won’t be overheard. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who told her I turned you into a cat.”

“What?” Lila’s mouth parts slightly. “You’re crazy. I never said that!”

“Oh,” I say, honestly puzzled. “I thought you must have. Daneca was asking me all these questions—weird questions. Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. It’s your story to tell if you want to tell it. I’ve got no right—”

She shakes her head. “You better hope she doesn’t figure it out. With her mother’s crazy worker advocacy stuff, she’d probably go straight to the government. You’d wind up press-ganged into one of those federal brainwashing programs.”

I smile guiltily. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you didn’t say anything to her.”

Lila rolls her eyes. “I know how to keep a secret.”

As she leaves with Daneca’s stuff, I am shamed into realizing how many secrets Lila has kept. She’s had the means to ruin my life pretty much since she became human again. One word to her father, and I would be dead. Since my mother worked her, Lila has even more means and a better motive. The fact that she hasn’t done it is a miracle. And I have not even the slightest idea why she hasn’t, when she has every reason, now that the curse has worn off.

I lean back on my bed.

My whole life I’ve been trained as a con artist, trained to read what people mean underneath what they say. But right now I can’t read her.

At dinner Mina denies knowing anyone who would blackmail her for spite. No one has ever teased her at Wallingford, no one has ever laughed behind her back. She gets along with absolutely everybody.

We sit together, slowly eating roast chicken and potatoes off our trays while she answers my questions. I wait for Sam to show up, but he never does. Lila doesn’t come into the dining hall either.

When I press Mina, she tells me that her ex-boyfriend doesn’t go to school at Wallingford. His name is Jay Smith, apparently, and he goes to public school, but she isn’t sure which one. She met him at the mall, but she’s a little fuzzy on where. His parents are very strict, so she was never allowed to go to his house. She deleted his number when they broke up.

Everything is a dead end.

Like she doesn’t want me to suspect anyone. Like she doesn’t want me to be investigating the very thing she asked me to fix.

Like she already knows who’s blackmailing her. But that makes no sense. If she did, she’d have no reason to involve me.

When I get up from the table, Mina hugs me and tells me that I’m the sweetest boy in the world. Even though she doesn’t mean it and she’s probably saying it for all the wrong reasons, it’s still nice.

I find Sam lying in bed when I get back to the room, headphones over his ears. He stays that way all through study hall, snuffling quietly into his covers. He sleeps in his clothes.

Wednesday he barely speaks and barely eats. In the cafeteria he picks at his food and responds to my most outrageous jokes with a grunt. When I see him in the halls, he looks haunted.

On Thursday he tries to talk to Daneca, abruptly chasing her out onto the school green after breakfast. I follow them, dread in the pit of my stomach. The skies are overcast and it’s cold enough that I won’t be surprised if we get sleet instead of rain. Wallingford looks bleached out, gray. For a moment Sam and Daneca are standing close together, and I think he’s got a chance. Then she lurches back and starts off in the direction of the Academic Center, braids whipping behind her.

“Who?” he yells after her. “Just tell me who he is. Just tell me why he’s better than me.”

“I should have never told you anything,” she shrieks back.

People want to lay bets on the identity of this mysterious guy, but no one’s willing to go to Sam with their guesses. He looks wild-eyed, stalking around the campus like a madman. When they come to me, I am glad that I already gave up the business.

By Friday I’m worried enough that I make Sam come home with me. I leave my Benz at Wallingford and we drive over to my mom’s old house in his grease-powered hearse. As we pull in, I notice there’s already another car parked in the driveway. Grandad’s come to visit.

CHAPTER SIX

I WALK IN THE FRONT door to the house, Sam right behind me. It’s unlocked and I can hear the chug of the dishwasher. My grandfather is standing at the counter, chopping potatoes and onions. His gloves are off and the blackened stubs where his fingers used to be are clearly visible. Four fingers; four kills. He’s a death worker.

One of those kills saved my life.

Grandad looks up. “Sam Yu, right?” he says. “The roommate.”

Sam nods.

“You drove up from Carney,” I say. “And you’re making dinner. What’s going on? How’d you even know I was going to come home this weekend?”

“Didn’t. You heard from that mother of yours?” Grandad asks.

I hesitate.

He grunts. “That’s what I thought. I don’t want you to get caught up with her bullshit.” He nods toward Sam. “Kid can keep a secret?”

“He’s currently keeping almost all of mine,” I say.

“Almost all?” Sam says, the corner of his mouth lifting. That’s the closest he’s been to smiling in days.

“Then both of you listen up. Cassel, I know that she’s your mother, but there’s nothing you can do for her. Shandra got herself in over her head. She’s got to get her own self out. You understand?”

I nod.

“Don’t be yessing me to death when you mean no,” Grandad says.

“I’m not doing anything crazy. I’m just seeing if I can find something she lost,” I say, glancing toward Sam.

“What she stole,” says Grandad.

“She stole from Governor Patton?” Sam asks, clearly bewildered.

“I wish it was just that idiot she had to worry about,” says Grandad, and he goes back to his chopping. “You two go sit down awhile. I’m making steaks. There’s plenty for three.”

I shake my head and walk into the living room, drop my backpack near the couch. Sam follows.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Who’s your grandfather talking about?”

“My mother stole something and then tried to sell a fake back to the original owner.” That seems like the simplest explanation. The details only make the whole thing more confusing. Sam knows that Lila’s father is a crime boss, but I’m not sure he really thinks of anyone’s parent as potentially lethal. “The guy wants the real version, but Mom doesn’t remember where she put it.”

Sam nods slowly. “At least she’s okay. In hiding, I guess, but okay.”

“Yeah,” I say, not even convincing myself.

I smell the onions hit a hot pan of grease in the kitchen. My mouth waters.

“Your family is badass,” Sam says. “They set a high bar of badassery.”

That makes me laugh. “My family are lunatics who set a high bar for lunacy. Speaking of which, don’t mind my grandfather. Tonight we can do whatever you want. Sneak into a strip club. Watch bad movies. Crank call girls from school. Drive down to Atlantic City and lose all our cash at gin rummy. Just say the word.”

“Is there really gin rummy in Atlantic City?”

“Probably not,” I admit. “But I bet there are some old folks who’d be willing to sit in on a game and take your money.”

“I want to get drunk—so drunk,” he says wistfully. “So drunk that I forget not just tonight but, like, the last six months of my life.”

That makes me think uncomfortably of Barron and his memory curses. I wonder how much, right now, Sam would pay to be able to do just that. To forget Daneca. To forget he ever loved her.

Or to make her forget that she stopped loving him.

Like Philip got Barron to make Maura—Philip’s wife—forget she was going to leave him. It didn’t work. They just had the same fights over and over again as she fell out of love with him exactly the same way she had before. Over and over. Until she shot him in the chest.

“Cassel?” Sam says, shoving my shoulder with a gloved hand. “Anyone home in there?”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “Drunk. Right. Let me survey the booze situation.”

>

Before dinner I head up to my room to drop off my school-books. As I get to the top of the stairs, I see Sam storming down the hall. His hair is a mess and his neck and cheeks are flushed. His eyes look too bright, the way they do in people who are in love, people who are enraged, and people who are completely bonkers.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“She wants all her stuff back.” He slams his hand into the wall, cracking the plaster, a move so uncharacteristic that I just stare. He’s a big guy, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen him use his size for violence.

“Daneca?” I ask, like an idiot, because of course he’s talking about Daneca. It’s just that the whole thing doesn’t make sense. They’ve been fighting, sure, but the fight is over something stupid. They both care about each other—surely more than they care about an exaggerated misunderstanding. “What happened?”

“She called me and told me it was over. That it had been over for weeks.” He sags now, arm bent against the wall, his forehead resting on his arm. “Didn’t even want to see me to get her things. I told her that I was sorry—over and over I told her—and that I would do anything to get her back. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe she just needs some time,” I say.

He shakes his head pitifully. “She’s seeing somebody else.”

“No way,” I say. “Come on. You’re just being—”

“She is,” he says. “She said she was.”

“Who?” I try to think of anyone I saw Daneca talking to—anyone who she looked at lingeringly or walked down the halls with more than once. I try to think of any guy who stayed behind after HEX meetings to talk with her. But I come up blank. I can’t picture her with anyone.

He shakes his head. “She wouldn’t tell me.”

“Look,” I say, “I’m really sorry, man. Let me dump my bag and we can go off campus—get some pizza or something. Ditch this place for a couple of hours.” I was planning on meeting Mina tonight in the dining hall, but I push that thought aside.

Sam shakes his head. “Nah. I just want to be by myself for a little while.”

“You sure?”

He nods and lurches away from the wall to thud down the stairs.

I go into our room and toss my bag of books onto my bed. I’m about to go out again, when I see Lila, on her knees, peering under Sam’s dresser. Her short gold hair is hanging in her face, the sleeves of her dress shirt rolled up. I notice that she’s not wearing tights, just ankle socks.

“Hey,” I say, stunned.

She sits up. I can’t read her expression, but her cheeks look a little pink. “I didn’t think you were going to be here.”

“I live here.”

She turns so that she’s sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, pleated skirt riding high over her thighs. I try not to look, not to recall what her skin felt like against mine, but it’s impossible. “Do you know where Daneca’s stuffed owl is? She swears she left it here, but Sam says he never saw it.”

“I never saw it either.”

She sighs. “How about her copy of Abbie Hoffman’s Steal This Book?”

“My bad,” I say, and take it out from one of my drawers. She gives me a look. “What? I thought it was Sam’s when I borrowed it.”

She gets up in a single fluid movement and snatches the book from my gloved hand. “It’s not that. I don’t know. I don’t know how I got talked into this. Daneca was just so upset.”

“She was upset? She’s the one who just broke his heart.”

I expect Lila to say something cruel about Sam or me or about love in general, but she just nods. “Yeah.”

“Last night—,” I start.

She crosses the room, shaking her head. “How about a T-shirt with the words ‘NERD HERD’ on it? Have you seen one of those?”

I shake my head as she starts picking up laundry off the floor. “So I guess you guys got really close? You and Daneca?” I ask.

Lila shrugs. “She’s been trying to help me.”

I frown. “With what?”

“School. I’m a little behind. I might not be here for that much longer.” Lila straightens, a wadded-up shirt in her hand. When she looks at me, she looks more sad than angry.

“What? Why?” I take a step toward her. I remember something Daneca said about Lila having to do remedial work. She hasn’t been taking classes since she was fourteen; that’s a lot to catch up on. Still, I figured she could handle it. I figured she could handle anything.

“I only came here for you. I’m no good at this school stuff.” She unsticks a postcard from the wall over Sam’s bed, which involves her climbing onto the mattress in a way that ignites every bad thought I’ve ever had. “Okay. I think that’s it,” she says.

“Lila,” I say as she walks toward the door. “You’re one of the smartest people I know—”

“She doesn’t want to see you, either,” Lila says, cutting me off. “I have no idea what you did to Daneca, but I think she’s madder at you than she is at Sam.”

“Me?” I drop my voice to a whisper so that we won’t be overheard. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who told her I turned you into a cat.”

“What?” Lila’s mouth parts slightly. “You’re crazy. I never said that!”

“Oh,” I say, honestly puzzled. “I thought you must have. Daneca was asking me all these questions—weird questions. Sorry. I didn’t mean anything. It’s your story to tell if you want to tell it. I’ve got no right—”

She shakes her head. “You better hope she doesn’t figure it out. With her mother’s crazy worker advocacy stuff, she’d probably go straight to the government. You’d wind up press-ganged into one of those federal brainwashing programs.”

I smile guiltily. “Yeah, well, I’m glad you didn’t say anything to her.”

Lila rolls her eyes. “I know how to keep a secret.”

As she leaves with Daneca’s stuff, I am shamed into realizing how many secrets Lila has kept. She’s had the means to ruin my life pretty much since she became human again. One word to her father, and I would be dead. Since my mother worked her, Lila has even more means and a better motive. The fact that she hasn’t done it is a miracle. And I have not even the slightest idea why she hasn’t, when she has every reason, now that the curse has worn off.

I lean back on my bed.

My whole life I’ve been trained as a con artist, trained to read what people mean underneath what they say. But right now I can’t read her.

At dinner Mina denies knowing anyone who would blackmail her for spite. No one has ever teased her at Wallingford, no one has ever laughed behind her back. She gets along with absolutely everybody.

We sit together, slowly eating roast chicken and potatoes off our trays while she answers my questions. I wait for Sam to show up, but he never does. Lila doesn’t come into the dining hall either.

When I press Mina, she tells me that her ex-boyfriend doesn’t go to school at Wallingford. His name is Jay Smith, apparently, and he goes to public school, but she isn’t sure which one. She met him at the mall, but she’s a little fuzzy on where. His parents are very strict, so she was never allowed to go to his house. She deleted his number when they broke up.

Everything is a dead end.

Like she doesn’t want me to suspect anyone. Like she doesn’t want me to be investigating the very thing she asked me to fix.

Like she already knows who’s blackmailing her. But that makes no sense. If she did, she’d have no reason to involve me.

When I get up from the table, Mina hugs me and tells me that I’m the sweetest boy in the world. Even though she doesn’t mean it and she’s probably saying it for all the wrong reasons, it’s still nice.

I find Sam lying in bed when I get back to the room, headphones over his ears. He stays that way all through study hall, snuffling quietly into his covers. He sleeps in his clothes.

Wednesday he barely speaks and barely eats. In the cafeteria he picks at his food and responds to my most outrageous jokes with a grunt. When I see him in the halls, he looks haunted.

On Thursday he tries to talk to Daneca, abruptly chasing her out onto the school green after breakfast. I follow them, dread in the pit of my stomach. The skies are overcast and it’s cold enough that I won’t be surprised if we get sleet instead of rain. Wallingford looks bleached out, gray. For a moment Sam and Daneca are standing close together, and I think he’s got a chance. Then she lurches back and starts off in the direction of the Academic Center, braids whipping behind her.

“Who?” he yells after her. “Just tell me who he is. Just tell me why he’s better than me.”

“I should have never told you anything,” she shrieks back.

People want to lay bets on the identity of this mysterious guy, but no one’s willing to go to Sam with their guesses. He looks wild-eyed, stalking around the campus like a madman. When they come to me, I am glad that I already gave up the business.

By Friday I’m worried enough that I make Sam come home with me. I leave my Benz at Wallingford and we drive over to my mom’s old house in his grease-powered hearse. As we pull in, I notice there’s already another car parked in the driveway. Grandad’s come to visit.

CHAPTER SIX

I WALK IN THE FRONT door to the house, Sam right behind me. It’s unlocked and I can hear the chug of the dishwasher. My grandfather is standing at the counter, chopping potatoes and onions. His gloves are off and the blackened stubs where his fingers used to be are clearly visible. Four fingers; four kills. He’s a death worker.

One of those kills saved my life.

Grandad looks up. “Sam Yu, right?” he says. “The roommate.”

Sam nods.

“You drove up from Carney,” I say. “And you’re making dinner. What’s going on? How’d you even know I was going to come home this weekend?”

“Didn’t. You heard from that mother of yours?” Grandad asks.

I hesitate.

He grunts. “That’s what I thought. I don’t want you to get caught up with her bullshit.” He nods toward Sam. “Kid can keep a secret?”

“He’s currently keeping almost all of mine,” I say.

“Almost all?” Sam says, the corner of his mouth lifting. That’s the closest he’s been to smiling in days.

“Then both of you listen up. Cassel, I know that she’s your mother, but there’s nothing you can do for her. Shandra got herself in over her head. She’s got to get her own self out. You understand?”

I nod.

“Don’t be yessing me to death when you mean no,” Grandad says.

“I’m not doing anything crazy. I’m just seeing if I can find something she lost,” I say, glancing toward Sam.

“What she stole,” says Grandad.

“She stole from Governor Patton?” Sam asks, clearly bewildered.

“I wish it was just that idiot she had to worry about,” says Grandad, and he goes back to his chopping. “You two go sit down awhile. I’m making steaks. There’s plenty for three.”

I shake my head and walk into the living room, drop my backpack near the couch. Sam follows.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Who’s your grandfather talking about?”

“My mother stole something and then tried to sell a fake back to the original owner.” That seems like the simplest explanation. The details only make the whole thing more confusing. Sam knows that Lila’s father is a crime boss, but I’m not sure he really thinks of anyone’s parent as potentially lethal. “The guy wants the real version, but Mom doesn’t remember where she put it.”

Sam nods slowly. “At least she’s okay. In hiding, I guess, but okay.”

“Yeah,” I say, not even convincing myself.

I smell the onions hit a hot pan of grease in the kitchen. My mouth waters.

“Your family is badass,” Sam says. “They set a high bar of badassery.”

That makes me laugh. “My family are lunatics who set a high bar for lunacy. Speaking of which, don’t mind my grandfather. Tonight we can do whatever you want. Sneak into a strip club. Watch bad movies. Crank call girls from school. Drive down to Atlantic City and lose all our cash at gin rummy. Just say the word.”

“Is there really gin rummy in Atlantic City?”

“Probably not,” I admit. “But I bet there are some old folks who’d be willing to sit in on a game and take your money.”

“I want to get drunk—so drunk,” he says wistfully. “So drunk that I forget not just tonight but, like, the last six months of my life.”

That makes me think uncomfortably of Barron and his memory curses. I wonder how much, right now, Sam would pay to be able to do just that. To forget Daneca. To forget he ever loved her.

Or to make her forget that she stopped loving him.

Like Philip got Barron to make Maura—Philip’s wife—forget she was going to leave him. It didn’t work. They just had the same fights over and over again as she fell out of love with him exactly the same way she had before. Over and over. Until she shot him in the chest.

“Cassel?” Sam says, shoving my shoulder with a gloved hand. “Anyone home in there?”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “Drunk. Right. Let me survey the booze situation.”