Chapter 2

The next afternoon, Mark found me. I was at the public library, using their computers to search for jobs I knew I wouldn' t get. He walked right up to my table, his face a mask of self-righteous fury. Emily trailed a few steps behind him, looking concerned and fragile, the perfect picture of a worried sister.

"We need to talk, Sarah," Mark said, his voice low and aggressive, drawing looks from the other patrons.

"We have nothing to talk about," I said, not looking up from the screen.

"Don' t play dumb. That Commander Stone. I heard he' s under investigation. All because of you. Emily gave you that pen out of the goodness of her heart, and you somehow managed to turn it into a weapon."

His words were absurd, but the conviction in his voice was absolute. He truly believed I was some kind of malevolent force of nature.

"Are you even listening to yourself, Mark?" I finally turned to face him, my voice calm and cutting. "You think a pen I held for five minutes crashed a military server? Is that what Emily told you? Or did you come up with that brilliant theory all on your own?"

Emily stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Mark' s arm. "Sarah, please. We' re just worried. Mark is just upset because he cares about me, and he knows how much I care about you."

The hypocrisy was so thick I could almost taste it.

"You care about me?" I laughed, a short, bitter sound that made a nearby librarian frown. "Is that why you took my boyfriend? Or was that just another one of your lucky acquisitions?"

Mark' s face turned red. "Leave her out of this! This is about you and your toxic bad luck!"

"My bad luck," I repeated slowly, standing up to face him. We were in the middle of the library' s quiet reading area. People were staring openly now. "Let me tell you about my bad luck, Mark."

I picked up the lukewarm coffee I' d been drinking from the table.

"My bad luck is having a sister who is a leech and a sociopath. My bad luck was trusting a man who had the spine of a jellyfish."

I took a step closer to him. He was wearing an expensive, cream-colored cashmere sweater. A new purchase, no doubt. Paid for by Emily' s good fortune. My good fortune.

"And my bad luck," I said softly, "is that I' m always so clumsy."

I let the cup tilt, as if by accident. The dark brown liquid splashed all over the front of his sweater, creating a huge, ugly stain.

He gasped, jumping back. "What the hell, Sarah!"

Emily rushed to his side, dabbing at the stain with a napkin from her purse. "Oh, Mark, your sweater! Sarah, how could you be so careless!"

I looked at them, a perfect couple united in their outrage against me. And I felt nothing but a cold, clean satisfaction.

"Oops," I said, my voice dripping with false innocence. "My jinx must be acting up again."

I walked away, leaving them to deal with the mess. As I left the library, I reached into my purse to find my keys and my fingers brushed against something small and hard that shouldn' t have been there. It was a small, smooth gray stone, cool to the touch. I' d never seen it before. Emily must have slipped it into my bag at the apartment. Another little gift. Another little curse.

I walked to the nearest storm drain, looked both ways, and dropped the stone through the grate. It disappeared into the darkness below with a faint plink. One down.

Two days later, Emily cornered me outside my apartment building. She was holding a beautiful, soft-looking scarf, a swirl of blues and grays.

"Sarah! I' m so glad I caught you," she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She looked a little tired, with faint circles under her eyes. Perhaps her last curse failing had cost her something.

"I saw that you ruined Mark' s sweater," she said, her tone reproachful. "You really need to be more careful. But I know you' ve been under a lot of stress. I thought this might cheer you up. The colors would look lovely on you."

She held out the scarf. I could feel the faint, cold energy coming off it, a familiar draining sensation.

"Thank you, Emily," I said, taking it from her. "It' s beautiful."

This time, I didn' t even wait a day. I packaged the scarf neatly and sent it via messenger to Commander Stone' s office, with a simple note: "A small token for your aide, who was so helpful on the phone. Thank you for your time." I knew from my brief interaction that he had a young, female assistant who was always shivering in the overly air-conditioned government building. It was a plausible gift.

That night, my parents demanded I come over for dinner. It was an ambush.

The moment I walked in the door, my father grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh.

"What is wrong with you?" he growled, his face inches from mine. "First you make a scene at the library, and now Emily tells me you' re mixed up with that military man again!"

"I' m not mixed up with anyone," I said, trying to pull my arm away.

"Don' t lie to us!" my mother shrieked from the kitchen. She came into the living room, wiping her hands on her apron, her face twisted with anger. "Emily is worried sick about you! She tries so hard to help you, to give you nice things, and you just throw it all back in her face! You' re ungrateful, Sarah! You' ve always been jealous of your sister' s blessings!"

"Her blessings?" I snapped, finally yanking my arm free. "You have no idea what her 'blessings' are."

"Don' t you dare speak about your sister that way!" My mother' s hand flew out and slapped me hard across the face.

The sting was sharp, shocking me into silence. I stared at her, my cheek burning. She had never hit me before.

Behind them, in the doorway to the dining room, Emily was watching. And for a split second, as she saw the red mark blooming on my cheek, her mask slipped. I saw a flicker of pure, unadulterated pleasure in her eyes.

Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a look of horror.

"Mom, no!" she cried, rushing forward. "Don' t hurt her!"

As she moved, she stumbled, a small gasp escaping her lips. She clutched her head, her face suddenly pale.

"Emily? What is it?" my father asked, all his attention immediately shifting to her.

"My head," she moaned, swaying on her feet. "It' s… it' s splitting open."

She collapsed onto the sofa, curling into a ball and whimpering. A thin trickle of blood suddenly ran from her right nostril, bright and red against her white skin.

My parents were instantly at her side, fussing over her, their panic and concern a stark contrast to the violence they had just shown me.

I stood there, watching the scene, my cheek throbbing. The scarf. Its curse had been meant for me-headaches, confusion, maybe a dizzy spell that would make me fall down the stairs. But it had found a new target, and the backlash on its creator was immediate and visceral.

My father turned to me, his eyes blazing with a new kind of hatred.

"Look what you' ve done," he hissed. "You and your bad energy. You' ve made your sister sick. Get out."

"What?" I whispered.

"Get out of my house!" he roared, pointing a shaking finger at the door. "You are a jinx, a poison in this family. Take your bad luck and go! Don' t come back until you' ve learned to be grateful for what you have!"

My mother didn' t even look at me. She was too busy stroking Emily' s hair, murmuring comforting words.

I looked at their faces-my father' s rage, my mother' s blind devotion, Emily' s feigned suffering-and I knew with chilling certainty that I had no family left. The people I loved were gone, replaced by these strangers who looked at me and saw only a monster.

I turned without another word and walked out the door, into the cold night. The door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing like a gunshot.

I stood on the sidewalk, the familiar sting of tears welling in my eyes. But I forced them back. I wouldn' t cry. Not for them.

I started walking, with no destination in mind. After a few blocks, I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets for warmth.

My fingers closed around a small, sharp object. I pulled it out and looked at it under the dim glow of a streetlamp.

It was a small, intricately carved silver pin, shaped like a scorpion. Its tail was arched, the stinger sharp enough to draw blood.

He must have put it there. My father. When he grabbed my arm. A final, parting gift from my loving family.

A new wave of cold, much deeper than the night air, washed over me. They weren' t just letting Emily destroy me anymore. They were actively helping her.