“The thing is, the spirits won’t let you die. If the curse is on you, they just won’t let it happen! You can step in front of an eighteen-wheeler truck, and it’ll swerve out of the way instead of hitting you. You can be ready to jump off a bridge, and someone will come along at the last second and tackle you,” Violet explained.

“You expect me to believe you tried all those things?” Mischa asked. She was silently crying so hard that her nose was running, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I tried one thing—one thing that should have worked—and it didn’t. If you want to save your sister’s life, then I’m telling you… any of us dying is not the solution.”

This was the first thing Violet had said that seemed to matter to Mischa. She erupted into sobs, and for a moment I thought she was going to release her hold on Violet. But then she yanked Violet toward her and gripped her even more tightly. “No. Amanda’s doctors are saying that she’s probably suffering permanent brain damage, and the longer she’s on the respirator and feeding tube, the worse her chances are for ever recovering. We’re playing the game again, now. I want this thing off me!”

Henry and I exchanged loaded glances. That changed everything. On the drive over here, I’d thought we had more time to find a way to break the curse: twelve days until the next new moon, and three before I had to fly back to Florida. But Amanda’s time was running out fast.

“Okay, okay,” Henry told her. “We’ll play the game again. Just let Violet go so that we can talk about the best way to do this.”

Mischa shook her head. I was starting to wonder if Henry was going to tackle her to get her to release Violet. Violet was swinging her arms, having more difficulty breathing now that Mischa had strengthened her hold. If her face was turning red or even blue, we couldn’t tell because it was tilted toward the floor, and her dark hair obscured it.

“We can call Kirsten at the bookstore and ask her to help us,” Henry offered.

Still, Mischa adamantly refused. “No other people. We can’t wait around for anyone to drive all the way up here from Chicago.”

“Mischa, let her go. She can’t breathe!” I cried out.

“It’s going to be okay, Mischa,” Henry assured her. “We’re going to figure this out.”

As much as I adored Henry and appreciated his being there, I knew that his words of comfort for Mischa were just meaningless platitudes. He may have lost Olivia to Violet’s game, but I still didn’t think he fully understood what we were up against. I thought of Amanda in her hospital bed, presumably hooked up to ventilators and IVs, and couldn’t stand the possibility of Mischa losing her entire family.

Violet grunted and tugged at Mischa’s arm. She attempted to pinch Mischa’s skin with her fingernails, and Mischa swatted her fingers away. Mischa wrapped her other arm around Violet’s neck and squeezed even more tightly. Violet reached forward as if hoping to grab on to something to steady herself, but there was nothing in front of her. She kicked one of her legs out in desperation.