Chaos (Kardia Chronicles) (Entangled Teen) Read online

  I pushed my nerves aside and stood, crossing the room, determined not to hide in the corner because he’d made me feel self-concious. In fact, halfway there, I added a little swing to my step just in case he was looking because screw him.

  When I got to the table with all the decorative clippings and magazines, I noted Summer standing next to me at the sink. She’d pulled off her rings and put them next to the basin while she made “yuck” faces and tried to scrub the glue from her hands. All the calm I’d built up from Zen-decoupaging evaporated under the heat of need as my gaze flicked, unbidden, back to the tiny mound of jewelry sitting on the counter next to her. I took inventory quickly—a small aquamarine in a cushion cut surrounded by little diamond chips, a plain silver ring with the shape of a cross hammered into it, and a class ring. It was the last that set my heart racing and my palms tingling in an all too familiar way.

  Want.

  I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, but the lure was so strong, my knees nearly buckled.

  Want.

  My lids flicked open and the need to fight it—that twinge of conscience that always came first—dissipated. After days of battling myself internally for control, it all became too much, and I wanted…needed this. I was in full-on hunt mode. An apex predator through and through, and there was no place for guilt.

  For now.

  I’d feel sick later, but it was better than what would happen if I didn’t feed the need. So much better.

  Mr. Foster spoke, but his words didn’t register over the euphoric buzzing in my head. I watched as Summer patted her hands dry on the industrial brown paper towels she’d torn off the roll and chatted with a friend at the table behind her.

  Walk away. Walk away.

  The chant that started out as a mental plea aimed at Summer morphed into a command. A command from the brain of the world’s worst hypnotist. Color me shocked when she did it. Summer Bochino walked away, chattering to her tablemates, her little pile of treasures forgotten. I wet my suddenly sandpaper-dry lips and attempted to keep calm. To think clearly, but I was lost to the need.

  I made a show of rifling through the magazines and pictures in front of me, stopping every so often like I’d found something I was considering, but the gaze trained on the countertop was unseeing. I was biding my time.

  It was a huge risk. She could realize her mistake any second and my chance would be lost. The thought of it almost made me throw caution aside and leap toward the sink like Sméagol after his preciousss, but no good would come of that and my chances of getting what I needed would be obliterated. Another minute ticked by, and no one else approached the sink.

  Now.

  Heart pounding, I set the papers aside, clutching a small sheaf in my trembling hand. I cleared my throat to alleviate the choking sensation and sidled super casual-like to the sink. Once I was there, I was almost giddy. Home free, really. Because this part I was good at. When you take things that aren’t yours on the regular, you get pretty good at it fairly quick. And after months of what I had so creatively dubbed “collecting,” I think I could give The Artful Dodger a run for his money.

  It was done in a flash. One second, three sparkling rings sat on the scarred Formica. The next, only two.

  The euphoria I felt when I nabbed it was the closest thing I’d felt to joy since the change had started. The band of gold burned against my hip, a living thing in my pocket, and the power of it rocked me. I closed my eyes and let it fill me to the brim. Voices penetrated my glow, and I realized I needed to get moving. I slunk back the way I’d come and sat back in my seat.

  I was still waiting for my pulse to stop kicking when a shadow fell across the table.

  “Get everything you need, then, Magpie?”

  I shouldn’t have worried about my pulse beating too hard because those words—spoken in the musical lilt of Ireland—made it stop altogether. Sure, he could be checking up on my project and if I’d gotten enough clippings to add to it. And sure, he could just be breaking my balls for shits and giggles. But he’d called me Magpie. Not Maggie, or even Mags or Raynard. But Magpie? WTF? A type of bird, I thought…

  I shrugged noncommittally and focused so hard on my project I could feel a vein throb in my forehead. He stood there for what seemed like another full minute before he finally turned and walked away. The second he did, I tugged out my phone and peered at it under the table. I tapped out the letters into Google and waited while it loaded. Please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t let him have seen—

  The word popped up with a list of definitions, but my eyes were instantly drawn to the only one that mattered.

  Magpie: N. A black and white bird of the crow family. Makes a large, round nest of twigs cemented with mud and is known for being attracted to and hoarding small, shiny objects.

  The room spun, and I resisted the urge to bend low and put my head between my knees to make it stop. It was only the thought of giving up my new prize that had me gathering myself up and sitting straighter to crane my neck so I could stare at his profile. He was pretending to be engrossed in his work, and I turned away.

  So he knew. Okay. I could handle this. One more thing to add to the ever-growing pile of stuff he had on me. Either way, I wasn’t copping to shit, and I sure wasn’t putting the ring back. It would have been easier to cut off a finger and, quite possibly, a lot less destructive. If he wanted to accuse me, he’d have to come right out and do it. If I got expelled, or worse, arrested, I’d get off with a slap on the wrist. This was just another reason to talk to Mom about homeschooling. Home and alone was probably where I belonged.

  I waited in nauseating silence as the minutes eked by, but still not another peep from Mac. I wanted to slump with relief even if it was premature. Maybe I’d dodged another bullet, but in the middle of this clusterfuck of a war that I didn’t know the origins of, that wasn’t saying much.

  One thing was for sure: Mac wasn’t done with me.

  I only wished I knew what his endgame was. Libby’s theory about little boys pulling pigtails was a thin one, but in spite of my loathing for him, it was the least awful, even if it did complicate things. The other alternative—that this guy had it out for me and I was smack in the middle of a bad revenge movie and had no idea what my lines were—meant things were going to come to a head soon, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

  He knew I was She and now he knew I was a thief. I shuddered to think what other secrets I might give up before he stopped his attack. The thought was chilling.

  And still? Through it all? My prize burned. Tingled. Pulsed with a curious and addictive energy that couldn’t be dampened by my near miss.

  “Oh my God, my ring!”

  I winced at Summer’s dismayed gasp, and my stomach went sour. I’d hoped maybe we’d get out of class before she realized, but lately my luck had been about as good as a Kim Kardashian song.

  “Problem, Summer?” Mr. Foster stood from behind his “desk” and frowned.

  “I took my rings off to wash my hands to get that gross goo off, and I forgot to put them back on and now one of them is gone.” She bent low and began searching the floor. Mr. Foster rounded the table and joined her, and several classmates followed suit.

  I kept my eyes on my decoupage and may have even managed a murmur of dismay, but I didn’t move to help. That was too hypocritical, even for me. But that didn’t mean I didn’t feel bad. I felt terrible. Like super bad. And a part of me, albeit the weaker one, wanted to stand up, pull the ring out of my pocket, and hand it to her. But I just couldn’t. At that moment, I needed that ring like Katniss needed a sponsor.

  “Do you think it could have fallen down the drain?” Mac asked, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes in feigned concern.

  My gaze shot to his face, but his expression was blank. Throwing out a false trail for me? What was he playing at now?

  “Maybe.” Summer shrugged helplessly, and her perfect bow of a mouth trembled a little. “But that was Alex’s class ring
that he let me wear when we started going out.”

  That was what gave it power, made it special, and, by default, irresistible to me. It was a symbol of love, probably first from Alex’s parents to him, then from him to Summer. My stomach pitched again, but I held strong. What I had done was awful. Disgusting. Truly terrible. And what I might do if I had to give it back? Made that look like a day at the fucking beach. So I kept my lips zipped and waited in silence.

  When the bell rang a minute later, I shot out of my seat like it was on fire. Friday. A couple more classes to get through and I was out of here for two blessed days. That’s all I needed—a little time to recover, regroup, and reassess. I could handle Mac Finnegan just fine as soon as I got my shit together.

  I stuck my music box onto the counter with the rest and all but ran out of the classroom. Summer, Mr. Foster, and a couple of other students hung back, still looking for the ring, but Mac wasn’t one of them.

  “Me and you are going to need to talk,” Mac murmured as he moved in close, matching his gait to mine. I was in no position to argue, at least not then, so I settled for silence.

  “Soon,” he pressed. “How about tonight?”

  I shook my head. “Can’t. I’m going to the movies tonight.” We both knew he held all the cards, and if he wanted to, he could have told me that my plans were now broken, but he didn’t. He eyed me long and hard, his eyes going flat.

  “Fine. Tomorrow, then. Around three?”

  I knew I was pushing it, but I shook my head again. “I have a standing date every Saturday afternoon. It’s going to have to be another time.” My last class had me splitting off at the next intersection of hallways ten yards away. I stared at it like a drowning woman stared at a lifeboat, willing it closer.

  “Sunday, then. Noon, the park near our houses,” he said in a clipped tone. “Don’t be late.”

  He’d had it with me and this time, it wasn’t a request. His meaning was clear. I had to be there or else I’d suffer the consequences, whatever they might be. A part of me almost touched him then, just to see if I could get even a hint of something from him. One small memory that might clue me in to what he was after and why he’d picked me to mess with. Then I remembered that I was totally incapable of doing that without a shitstorm of regret slamming down on me, and that I had vowed to never try again. Once the beast in me latched on, I didn’t have the ability or control to stop it. That much had been confirmed after the incident with Eric.

  Guilt jabbed at me hard, and I widened the gap between Mac and me, desperate to get away. “Fine.” We reached the intersection, and I veered off, barely able to keep myself from breaking into a sprint. He didn’t follow me, thank God.

  Shaken, I scrubbed a hand over my face and tried to think. Mac Finnegan had already decided he had a major hate-on for me, and I’d gone and given him enough ammunition to make my life an absolute nightmare, all because I couldn’t keep my sticky fingers to themselves. Not fucking smart. I lurched to a stop in front of my locker and leaned into it, banging my head softly once, twice.

  Jesus, what was I going to do now?

  Chapter Four

  When I got home that afternoon, in spite of my stress, I couldn’t wait to escape to my room and get a better look at my treasure. It was like, with all the drama going on, more than ever I needed the fix.

  That’s how it felt, too. Like I imagined a meth head might feel when they finally scored after a long stretch of forced rehab. Shaky, unsettled, like I had bugs crawling on my skin. But when I walked into the house after tossing a quick wave over my shoulder to Bink in his car, I knew it was going to have to wait. Mom sat at the kitchen table with a bunch of papers spread out in front of her, reading glasses perched on her nose.

  “Come and sit. I need to talk to you.”

  No apology in her voice this time. She was very matter-of-fact and looked like she was bracing herself for a fight. Whatever she’d decided on, it wasn’t good, and all I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to know. I backed my way out of the kitchen, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl as I passed it.

  “Sorry, I’ve got something to do for school, and then me and Bink and Libby are going to the movies later. We can talk tomo—”

  “Sit down, Maggie.” Her voice snapped like a whip.

  I stopped in my tracks and shook my head. “I can’t do this right now, Mom. Please. My head is a mess.”

  Her face was a mask of determination. Jaw set, lips pursed. “It’s not going to be easy no matter when we do it, but it needs to be done. I’m looking at these three nursing homes for Gram. If you want to be part of the process and help me decide which would be best, then sit down.”

  The feelings swelled for the umpteenth time in two days and I closed my eyes and pictured my happy place. A beach with white sand…tart drinks with umbrellas.

  “Sit,” Mom bit out.

  The image faded as I stepped back into the kitchen and sat, furiously rubbing the ring in my pocket for strength. “Look, I know you feel strongly about this, but I seriously think we need to give it more thought. She’s fine a lot of days…”

  “It happened again this morning.” Her expression was grave, the words stark like sleet on blacktop. “It’s been getting worse and worse over the past six months, and I try to protect you from it, but you need to know the truth. We haven’t had a really good day in weeks, and the bad days are stacking up, one after another. The time is now, before it’s too late and they can’t help her at all.”

  I bit my lip to keep it from shaking as my heart sank.

  She tapped her finger against the walnut tabletop, motioning for me to look, and I stared down at the flyers spread out there. SHADY MAPLE POND, one brochure advertised in dark purple letters. The home itself was a nice, sprawling building that looked more like it belonged in Georgia than in New Hampshire. A long porch snaked around the front, wrapping the butter yellow building on all visible sides. I read the statistics about cleanliness and patient’s family satisfaction, which it passed with flying colors. Apparently, they had different wings for different levels of care. There was the Hibiscus Wing, and the Daffodil and Geranium Wings. Each brightly painted, cheery. All in all, seemed like a nice enough place, as far as places where people stuck broken loved ones no one wanted anymore went.

  Mom thumbed through the pile and stuck another sheet on top. WILLOW GLENN. What the fuck with these names? Did they think they were fooling anyone? When I got old, I’d find a place that didn’t pull any punches. A place called “I Just Shit Myself Manor” and I’d stay in the “Eating Through a Straw” wing. Truth in advertising.

  “This is the facility I liked the best. It’s the closest to home, about ten miles away, and it’s also got the best intensive care division.”

  My stomach cramped as I stared at the stone gray building and tried to imagine going there, visiting Gram, and leaving again without her. Would she get her jacket and try to come with us? What if we had to tell her every time that she couldn’t? And what if, when we weren’t around, the nurses were rough with her? Her skin was so fragile, she bruised if she even rolled over onto the remote. My eyes filled, and a fat tear plopped onto the paper in front of me.

  “Please don’t cry, Mags. I can’t take it,” Mom whispered, the last of the color draining from her cheeks.

  I snuffled loudly, trying to contain it all, but it wouldn’t be contained. A second later, the dam broke and I was sobbing uncontrollably—ugly, wrenching sobs that hurt my throat.

  “W-What if she can’t sleep at night and needs some warm milk, but nobody knows? Or what if she’s cold, and she can’t remember to tell them? What if she wakes up from a bad dream scared and alone and doesn’t know where she is? What if no one cares if she lives or dies?”

  It was all a broken mess of mumbled fears and whimpered pleas, and it wasn’t long before Mom joined in. She stood and pulled me close enough that I could bury my face against her stomach. My tears soaked her shirt and we wept like that for a long time
. I was still mad at her, but it was hard to be mean to someone who was at rock bottom, even for me. When I finally got it together enough to pull away, I looked up at her.

  “Promise me one thing.”

  She gave her head a barely perceptible shake. She couldn’t make a promise she had no hope of keeping. I knew that, but I was like a rabid dog with a bone. I’d make her give it anyway and deal with the fallout of having to break it. Then at least we’d both feel like shit. They could start polishing up my Daughter of the Year award any day now.

  “What is it?”

  “We give it a month. That’s long enough for her to settle in and work out the kinks, get used to the people and stuff.” I took her hand and squeezed, feeling like a five-year-old trapped in a sixteen-year-old body. “If she’s too sad, if she’s getting worse, we bring her home.”

  Mom stiffened and tried to pull her hand away, but I held on tight.

  “I’ll leave Crestwood and you can homeschool me. We’ll take turns and do it together. She’ll never be alone.” I needed this one thing so bad. I couldn’t give my blessing without it. She must have sensed that and finally nodded, her eyes filled with apprehension.

  My whole body went weak with relief, and I squeezed my eyes closed.

  “But that’s not the way it’s supposed to go, you know. You’re the child; we’re the grown-ups. We’re supposed to sacrifice for you, not the other way around. Your senior year is coming up. I don’t want you to miss a single minute of it.”

  “I don’t care. If I think she’s hurt or sad or alone I won’t be able to enjoy it anyway. Say you promise.”

  She paused for a long moment and then murmured, “Okay. I promise.”

  I resisted the urge to dig up a dagger and a scroll to make it all legit with a blood oath or something because for all I knew, she was blowing smoke up my ass again. But to tell the truth, I didn’t care. I was going to grab onto the reassurance with both hands because it was the life preserver I needed to get through the day. This horrible, seriously messed-up day.