Chapter 10

My hands shook, my arms trembled uncontrollably, and my teeth threatened to chatter as I hammered on Byron's door. Honey had stumbled wordlessly to her room, her eyes glassy and afraid, and collapsed on her bed to sleep off the alcohol in her system and whatever Nightmare did with that red light. I felt… different. Wrong. Like I'd been taken apart and put back together almost perfectly, but with a slight misalignment that would always gnaw at me like the jagged spires of a broken tooth.

"Byron, please open up," I choked out, knocking harder, staring at my pale hand. I should have been covered in blood after what I saw tonight, should have borne some signs of that red light touching me, but my hand was as normal as before I went to the party.

"What?" Byron demanded after a few seconds, wrenching open the door with a fierce scowl on his face.

I wanted to burst into tears.

"It's four a.m. Cat, I'm trying to sleep," he snapped, and I flinched back at the roughness of his voice, the lack of its usual care.

"I"m sorry," I mumbled, too fragile and freaked out to find even a spark of fire in my blood. I should have snapped right back at him but I didn't have the energy.

How was it four a.m.? Classes started at twelve tomorrow. I was exhausted by the mere thought of them.

"Something happened tonight, after you left the party," I said weakly, pressing my lips thin when they wobbled.

"Yeah, for me too," Byron muttered, his eyes dark and faraway. "And I have enough of my own shit to deal with, Cat. Can this wait until tomorrow?"

I recoiled another step in the hall. "What…?"

What was wrong with him? Where was my grumpy but loving Byron? I needed him, needed a fucking hug, but he was glaring, furious, and stressed, and I didn't understand why he was taking it out on me. Tears burned the backs of my eyes, the tip of my nose tingling.

"Sterling's pregnant," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sorry for snapping, Cat, I've just—got a fucking lot on my mind."

"Right," I said in a small voice, dimly registering that their parents would disown Sterling for getting pregnant at sixteen.

I didn't know what else to say, didn't have the energy for this, and he'd been a dick so it freed me up to be one too. I turned and walked away without even a goodbye and slumped into my room, feeling more alone than I remembered feeling before. So much more alone than even last night, when it felt like my world was ending.

I closed the door, made sure the lock was engaged, and let out the sob that swelled behind my solar plexus, the sound clamorous in the silence. I hated this room, hated this university, hated this whole damn island.

I scrubbed my tear-streaked face and stumbled to the dresser, frantically ripping out a makeup wipe, desperate to erase any sign of the Halloween party. I knocked a tube of lipstick and a pot of liner off the table and did not care. I didn't care if I destroyed this entire room. My hands shook, Nightmare's voice still in my head, sensually soft even as she killed people. I couldn't stop seeing them—Rone, Milani, Orwell, and Mason Lindgren. They were dead, and even though I was still clinging to the idea of an elaborate prank, I couldn't escape how real it felt. And if it was real, they were dead. Really, finally dead. Killed without a stab wound, gunshot, or even poison. Killed by the mere presence of Nightmare.

And I couldn't understand that.

So I shut it out, locked it away in a vault in my mind, and scrubbed the makeup off my—off my face—off—

I scrubbed—

"Oh god," I sobbed, throwing aside the pristine wipe and reaching for another, violently dragging it over the skull makeup on my face. Again and again I tried to scrape the paint off my face, but it didn't budge, not even a smear left on each wipe.

It was—I—I couldn't breathe.

I backed away, shaking, and curled up on my bed, gasping helplessly. My head spun violently. Pain and pressure pounded through my chest like a wrecking ball. I ripped at the dress clinging to my body and cried in relief when the zip tugged down, when I managed to crawl out of it. But a single glance in the mirror showed the makeup was still there. As if whatever Nightmare had done tonight, with the fire and blood and glowing crimson light… had made it permanent.

And staring at myself, I couldn't deny it.

Magic was real.