And I definitely didn’t remember being injured, so I wondered how I’d ended up there.

Just as I was leaning forward in bed, wondering if I could drag the stand on which the bag of saline solution attached to my IV was hung, I noticed Violet, of all unexpected people, sitting in the corner with a cup of coffee.

“You’re awake,” Violet said, sounding pleased. “Your mom just stepped out for a few minutes to check on your stepdad.”

“He’s not my stepdad,” I croaked, surprised by how crusty my voice sounded and how sore my throat was.

“You were intubated,” Violet said, gesturing at her own throat. “They just removed your breathing tube about two hours ago, if you’re wondering why your throat hurts.”

“Henry,” I managed to say, feeling tears forming in my eyes as I assumed the worst.

Violet leaned forward, closer to me, and lowered her voice. “That’s why I’m here. I was hoping I’d get to talk to you before the cops. I’ve been telling everyone that my dad came home early from his trip and thought there were intruders in the house, and that he shot Henry.”

That didn’t answer my question. I tried to prop myself up on my elbows and found that my left shoulder was strangely stiff. Bandages, I realized. I vaguely remembered a bullet grazing my shoulder blade; someone must have tightly bandaged it. “Is he alive?” I asked fearfully.

Violet smiled widely. “Of course he’s alive! He’s upstairs, recovering from the surgery he had yesterday. He just lost a lot of blood.”

My entire body went warm with relief. Then I remembered the chaotic moment when the police had burst through the door of Violet’s bedroom. “What about Trey? And Mischa?”

“Trey’s fine,” Violet said. “And Mischa’s… weird, but I think fine. Listen, this is important.” Her eyes flashed toward the door to make sure no one was entering the room. “I told the police that we were all hanging out on the roof for fun when my dad came home, and he thought we were burglars. Then, after shooting Henry, when he went up there? You stumbled, he realized who you were, and he fell off the roof while trying to save you.”

“None of that makes sense,” I said, wondering why in the world the police would ever believe that story.

Violet shrugged. “It makes more sense than trying to get the police to believe that my dad chased you to the roof to kill you and break an evil curse.”

I wondered why Violet was acting so nonchalantly about her father’s recent death, and why—after everything we’d both survived in the last six months—she was willing to lie to the police to spare Trey from having to take responsibility for what was definitely a murder. As if reading my mind, she said, “Look, I’m as relieved this is over as you are. I loved my father very much. But I know that he played a big role in architecting all of this. I think he knew what his mother was doing all those years, and that he at least suspected it had been passed on to me. But he let it continue. He never offered to help me make it stop. He didn’t even apologize when I told him about it in January, when I thought this was over.”