“I wouldn’t treat someone else’s race as a costume.”

Her face fell. “I forgot you aren’t white. Sorry! Do you want another drink?”

He did, badly, even though he wasn’t even halfway done with this one yet. But he wanted Kendall to leave him alone even more. “I’m good.”

“Okay, well, bye.” She jogged through the sand to the main group, where the music and laughter were loudest, and the light from the dock shone more brightly. Mateo figured the shadows suited him better.

“You think she’d forget I’m not white?” Gage appeared at his side; Mateo had almost forgotten he was still around. “Doubt it. Anyway, don’t you count as the Caucasian persuasion? You’re half, like, Pilgrim.”

“The other half is Mexican, and in this uptight town? People notice.”

Which was true enough. But of course it was the Cabot half everybody saw when they looked at him, the part they couldn’t get over. That was the reason Kendall was laughing with her friends now, making that little swirly gesture beside her temple that meant crazy.

He was cursed, not crazy. Mateo was reminded of that every time he looked in the mirror and saw the storm cloud writhing around his head. And he was reminded that the person who had cursed him was—

Mateo closed his eyes tightly against the pain.

“You’re kinda slamming them back, there,” Gage said.

“Looks like a cup you’ve got in your hand.”

“This is Sprite. Even if I did have a beer, I’d just be chilling. You’re—it’s like you’re trying to get yourself to pass out or something. Again.”

“I’m fine.”

“You won’t be for long, if you keep that up.” Gage shifted his weight from foot to foot, awkward now. “Dude, the last few days—no, all week—you haven’t been … right.”

Well, that was one way to put it. Haunted by the dark visions of magic that surrounded his home and his town and his own head, racked by dreams that showed Nadia Caldani dying over and over again, avoiding Nadia even though she was the only person he really wanted to see, and knowing that the one responsible for all this pain was the girl he’d believed was his best and only friend: “Not right.” Sure.

“This is about Elizabeth, isn’t it?” When Mateo turned to stare, Gage shrugged. “You guys were hand in glove all summer; you haven’t gone near her for weeks.”

“Nope.” Once again he thought of the monstrous, unearthly thing Elizabeth really was. Saw the waxen, gilded animal face that shone out from behind her skin. Mateo shuddered. “I’ll go near her again sometime. Promise you that.”

Mateo was pretty sure the first time he acknowledged who Elizabeth really was, what she could really do, he was going to kill her. Really. With his hands. He had always thought he could never do that, kill someone, except maybe in a war but maybe not even then; now he spent about half his waking hours imagining what it would feel like to get his hands around Elizabeth Pike’s throat.