“When it hits the ground, if it looks different from just regular old salt, then you’ve got something bad on your tail.”

I thanked Mrs. Robinson for her guidance, and assured her that I’d be back the following afternoon. Once back in the hallway, I texted Mom with numb fingers. She wrote back within seconds, assuring me that she was fine. The tornado hadn’t touched down anywhere near Martha Road, although it had done some damage in Glenn’s neighborhood. I should have called her, but in my gut it felt safer to avoid making that much more of a connection. She was safe—for now. Mischa’s family had been punished and not mine… but what if my family was next if I kept trying to help Mischa? As I clocked out for the night, I felt cold, and my limbs seemed to be moving too slowly, like in a nightmare when you’re running away from something scary and your legs just pinwheel like you’re in water.

It had been foolish of me to play along with Violet’s game back in September, but I’d known all along that my friends’ subsequent deaths hadn’t really been my fault. This, however, was. If Amanda Portnoy didn’t survive, or if Mischa’s parents had died during the tornado, those deaths were on me. I was the one who’d begged Mischa not to follow the spirits’ orders. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since Mischa had called to tell me that she was scared of exactly this. I could have sneaked out of the house the night before to buy more candles, but had chosen to talk to Trey instead. Three new moons had passed since the night the curse had jumped from Violet to Mischa—over three months, and in all that time, I hadn’t made any real effort to figure out how to help Mischa.

I’d let the distance between Florida and Wisconsin convince me it was safe to wait.

But maybe Mischa’s mom and dad were injured or rattled, but fine. Maybe Amanda could still make a full recovery if Mischa issued three more death sentences before the new moon. This could all have been just a stern warning.

The powerful wave of nausea in my stomach said otherwise, though, and I feared that we’d run out of warnings. This was real, as real as the accident into which Trey and Olivia had gotten, as real as Candace drowning in the Pacific.

Dad must have heard the news about Willow, because he texted me from the parking lot of the assisted living facility to let me know that he had come to pick me up instead of Rhonda. It was raining when I stepped outside Oscawana Pavilion, and I felt my temper surge as I hesitated under the awning over sliding front doors. I was angry at Dad for having driven over in the rain. Angry that we had to ride home together on slick roads. Angry at myself for putting everyone I knew in danger—again.