Cleo's Curse

by Allie Burton

  She didn’t like me because I was rich. My Italian-leather wallet felt heavier, a larger burden than normal. The girl didn’t even know me. I was never outright rude to her. I’d never made an effort to know her because although she was a student, she was also a service person. Her job was to attend to the desk and the students’ needs.

  Nibbling on my lower lip, I assessed the situation. I’d never gone out of my way to be nice to her, either. I didn’t even know her name.

  She slapped the brown package onto the counter.

  “Thank you,” I scrutinized her name badge pinned to her yellow T-shirt. “Barb.”

  Her dark eyebrows lifted. “You’re welcome.” Her unsure tone matched her unsteady grin.

  The short, confused smile lifted my spirits. I picked up the package, and balancing my other shopping on my arms, took the elevator to my room on the top floor.

  The seventh floor lounge was empty. The teens still slept or studied in their rooms even though it was almost lunch time. Had everyone been up late except me? Probably at the party Barb had mentioned.

  Stopping the ache of loneliness before it spread, I trudged toward my room. The event must’ve been some lame affair.

  I unlocked my door, the one with the blank white message board. I’d bought two gigantic letter Cs and stuck them above the board to remind people I wanted to be called CC. I hated my official name of Cleopatra, or even the shortened Cleo. The name sounded ancient. As old as a toga design.

  Dropping the mailed package on the color-coordinated comforter on the small single bed, I slipped the shopping bags from my arms. At least I got Mother and Father to agree to get me a single room when they’d forced me to come to this boarding school. Could you imagine two people in a room this size? The dimensions were smaller than my closet at home in Westchester County, New York.

  I peered past the tiny dresser that matched the bed, a special accommodation because I refused to use the standard-issued dorm furniture, and out the window framed by bright orange-and-pink curtains. The sun was finally burning off the fog on this early spring day. After using a towel to wipe off some of the dirt on my clothes, I slid open the top drawer of the mahogany desk and took out a pair of scissors. Snapping them open and shut, I plopped on the bed next to the package.

  The brown-wrapped package had foreign stamps and markings. My ribs tightened, remembering the delivery guy’s disappearing act. Had he been attacked and vanished just after delivering to Henderson Hall?

  Had I imagined his body evaporating? How could it be real? The cop had looked at me as if I was nuts.

  I studied the colorful stamps with a picture of a pyramid.

  Egypt. Butt-farting Egypt. What would I want from there?

  My cell phone rang, interrupting the unwrapping. Not recognizing the foreign number, I answered, “Hello?”

  “Cleo. It’s Aunty Neffy.” She must not be using her own phone, because I had that number programmed. Maybe her phone didn’t work in whatever country she was currently traveling.

  Aunty Neffy had always been the free spirit in the family. Diagnosed with diabetes at a young age, she didn’t have a profession and wasn’t involved in charities. She loved to travel to exotic locales and live a bit dangerously.

  A life I’d never live, but secretly envied.

  She’d always had wonderful stories when she visited, and brought me exotic gifts.

  “Hi, Aunty Neffy. How are—?”

  “Listen to me.” Her tense voice screeched a warning. “Did you receive a package from me?”

  I studied the return address. The spidery script was similar, even if it didn’t say her name. “Did you send it from Egypt?”

  “Yesss.” She seemed far away and distracted. “I thought it would be a great birthday present.”

  “Thank you, Aunty.” Even though my sixteenth birthday had been over six months ago. Better late than never.

  “I need you to listen to me. I didn’t know, didn’t realize,” her tone rose higher, spikier, like designer heels. “I thought it was cute, because of your name, and its supposed heritage.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Aunty Neffy sounded how I’d probably sounded talking to the police earlier. Unhinged and unstable.

  “Cleo, the package contains—”

  A loud, screeching noise could be heard in the background of wherever Aunty was calling from. Glass shattered so close I heard the tinkling noise.

  The glass pierced my calm and unraveled into shock. My breath caught in my throat. First, I’m almost killed by those guys with weird guns and now Aunty is attacked. “Are you all right? What happened? Where are you?”

  “I’m in Egypt. Can’t get out.” Her spiked voice scratched with desperation and fear. “They’re coming for me.”

  Pop. Pop. Pop. A large bang. The deep noise reverberated across the line. Reverberated from my ear into my chest, squeezing out the oxygen. Shock unraveled into panic.

  “Who’s coming for you?” I sounded shrill, upset. Hysterical.

  The unraveling continued in my brain, tying the pieces loosely into paranoia. The men outside. My aunt. The package.

  “Cleo, you have to keep the package safe. Don’t trust anyone. Don’t—” A crash interrupted her speech.

  The crashing banged a dark rhythm of terror in my head. The offbeat pounding of my heart clashed. “Aunty? Aunty Neffy?”

  The line went dead.

  Chapter Two

  Cleo

  “Aunty Neffy?” I whispered into the dead phone.

  The silence of my empty room surrounded, making me even more alone. I fumbled the phone and dialed her number. Lots of strange clicks in my ear, a buzzing, and then nothing.

  Nothing.

  I let the word and the knowledge and the hopeless noise slide into me. Slide from my brain, down my throat, and plop into a knot of panic lying in the pit of my stomach. My fingers quivered and stumbled on the lighted numbers of my phone. I hit Mother’s speed dial number. She’d want to know about her sister.

  The phone rang and rang and rang. This one time she had to answer.

  She didn’t. No surprise.

  “Mother. I spoke to Aunty Neffy, and while talking the call went dead. I think something happened to her. Call me.” The last part of the message was a plea.

  You’d think Mother would want to talk to the only daughter she’d shipped off to boarding school across the country. Would want to hear her daughter’s voice as much as the daughter wanted to hear hers.

  My skin toughened with hurt. Nothing new. Mother always ignored me.

  I punched the off button with force and analyzed the package on my bed. Plain, brown-wrapped. Nothing dangerous, right?

  What about those men? They were searching for a package. And this box had just been delivered.

  With shaking hands, I picked up the scissors and cut through the paper and tape on the box. Maybe inside held the answer to what happened to my aunt. I braced myself and lifted the lid, not knowing what to expect. Would something pop out? Would a chemical release or a bomb explode?

  The earth shook.

  I trembled with the tremblor. I pinched the lid between my hands.

  A small earthquake. Nothing unusual in San Francisco. Nothing from inside the box.

  I blew out a slow breath, releasing my tension.

  Silly.

  Mother always said I thought the world revolved around me. I knew it didn’t. The world, her world and mine, revolved around Mother. Aunty Neffy wouldn’t buy anything dangerous. She’d said she’d bought the package for a birthday present. There must be a misunderstanding between me and her and whoever she was afraid of. Had to be.

  Still, doubts clung to me like polyester.

  A tangle of thick, golden rope filled the box. The threads shone and shimmered, seeming to glow. Beautiful in its simplicity. Nothing dangerous. The yarn wrapped around a glinting object in the center. That must be the gift.

  I lifted the knotted rope, which f
elt silky to the touch.

  Tingles spread through my hands, as if they’d fallen asleep. Freaking out, I shook one hand, and the other. The tingles lightened, moving up my arms and into my torso. My chest and hips felt lighter, weighing nothing. My legs prickled. Even my head vibrated with a strange sensation.

  Maybe falling to the sidewalk had given me a concussion.

  “CC?” Ellen, the resident advisor, stood at my open door. She peered into my room, her gaze going past me. She shook her head and closed the door with a snap.

  Whatever. I didn’t want anyone watching while I unwrapped the mysterious gift my aunt had sent.

  I wound the rope around and off the metal object. The sharp, pointed part kept getting caught in the rope. Maybe the object didn’t want to be discovered. The gift glinted, appearing to be jewelry.

  A joyful thrill swooshed up my spine. I loved jewelry. Aunty Neffy couldn’t have picked a better present.

  Tugging the final piece of rope from the object, I held the gift up.

  I crinkled my nose. It wasn’t jewelry, or at least nothing I would wear.

  The gold crown, probably tin, was shaped in a simple circular ring. Not shiny, but dull. No jeweled adornments. The sharp, pointy object the rope had gotten stuck on was the head of a cobra snake striking from the top of the crown. Menacing. Images in red and turquoise were painted on the side. Nothing I could decipher or understand. Scratchy, uneven, etched lines—like a foreign language—decorated the snake. The entire thing resembled cheap costume jewelry for a really bad ancient-Egyptian-themed costume party.

  Why would Aunty Neffy think I’d wear this? She knew I hated the name Cleopatra, and everything associated with the ancient-Egyptian queen. I’d been teased mercilessly as a kid, which was why, when I started attending Exeter Academy, I’d told everyone to call me CC. Most kids didn’t know my full name.

  I remembered Aunty’s request to keep the gift secret. Well, I’d hide the crown in the back of my closet until Halloween. I didn’t want anyone to see me with the ugly thing.

  Stalking toward the closet, I shoved the crown on the top shelf behind a group of folded sweaters. The belated birthday gift disappointed, yet I couldn’t stop the worry fretting in my bones. What had happened to Aunty Neffy?

  I scooped the golden tangle of rope off my bed. The knotted rope was prettier than the crown. The shimmering strands shone. My fingers undid the tangles. Every time I thought I’d have a long, straight piece of rope, a new knot formed.

  Standing in front of the mirror, I scooped my chestnut strands into a messy bun and wrapped the rope around the pile of hair. I’d thought the rope would be too long to use as a hair accessory, but the rope tightened.

  I shifted my head in front of the mirror. The rope had knotted itself to fit the bun. Normally, strands of hair stuck out when I put my hair up. The rope made the bun neat. Perfect.

  Pivoting in front of the mirror, I noted how my face glowed from inside. My skin appeared radiant. Twinkles flashed in my gray pupils. I seemed the same, yet different.

  I scrunched my pert nose at my reflection. What was different?

  I appeared confident. Authoritative. Proud. Like I held a secret. A secret my brain didn’t know.

  Ridiculous.

  I tugged the rope off my head. The glamor faded. I resembled regular old me.

  A girl desperate to prove to her parents she’d be good. That she was really trying in school, and they should let her come home. How could I prove anything, when they didn’t answer my calls?

  I let the rope fall to my shoulders. The rope expanded. Widened. As if the knots had untied, which lengthened the rope. Except there were more knots tied in the gold, silky thread.

  My own eyes widened. I caught my breath, waiting for the rope to come alive, to change into the snake decorating the crown. What was going on?

  The knotted rope shaped itself into what resembled a crocheted shawl around my shoulders.

  I drew back from the mirror. From seeing things I shouldn’t be seeing.

  Turning my body, I glanced at my reflection. The rope shawl appeared fashionable. I tugged the shawl from around my neck and tied it around my waist. The rope stretched to wrap around my body. The frayed edges hung down, adding a stylish flair to my outfit.

  I stared at my image in the mirror. The silk blouse and crisp jeans appeared lighter in color, almost translucent, and less dirty. The belt made me look skinnier. Was the knotted rope a magical weight-loss trick?

  Impossible.

  I didn’t believe in magic. The stress of trying to attend all my classes during the past week, complete all my homework, and keep up my chic wardrobe were getting to me. The gold rope had only been used to protect the cheap crown for shipping. Nothing else.

  And yet, I could hear my aunt’s terrorized tone over the lines. Her fear whispered in my ear and scratched at my mind. What if the danger was real?

  * * *

  The next day, I scanned behind me into the stacks of the library. I’d spent most of Sunday afternoon working on a presentation due the next day. I planned to rock the teacher’s mind with my ideas and my analogies and my research. I’d get an A and be taken off the about-to-be-expelled list.

  Exeter Academy used the old-fashioned shelves to store books. That’s what happened when a school was a hundred years old. Their stellar reputation had been built in the past. The old buildings, the old systems, the old teachers.

  Similar to my reputation. A few unexcused absences, a couple of dozen tardies, insubordination to the teachers, and one tiny little prank causing a small amount of damage to the school back home, and I’d been deemed a troublemaker. The last event finally got my parents’ attention.

  Trying to re-focus on the book about European History, I caught Ellen staring in my direction. I wiggled my fingers in a friendly-but-not-too-friendly wave, wanting to acknowledge her, yet not wanting to actually talk.

  There were several kids from my residence hall in the library. None of them joined me at my table. I guess they didn’t want to disturb me. Nothing unusual, except the fact I was in the library. Studying, doing homework, working at my grades, was a new concept for me.

  I took my phone out of my red leather jacket. No messages. I needed to try Mother one more time.

  After dialing, I waited for the familiar message and beep. “Mother, it’s CC again.” I watched the librarian. She hated cell phone use in the library. “Please call me back.”

  I kept the message short and gave the librarian a quick smile. She ignored me. Ignored my phone use. Ignored me ignoring the rules.

  The librarian understood the power my parents held.

  A movement behind me caught my attention. I swiveled in my chair. A flash of dark hair and dark clothes. Unease slithered between my shoulder blades. Or maybe it was nothing. Ever since yesterday I had this strange feeling.

  Weird. The sensation of being watched didn’t stop, and yet no one looked at me. The other kids in the library seemed to be looking past me. I wasn’t the most popular girl in school. These private-school-pretenders didn’t understand social standing. Usually my money and my family’s social rank influenced how I was treated.

  Must be my restlessness. I hadn’t slept well, and had been jumpy all day, expecting to be attacked.

  After another hour, I packed up my books, put on my jacket, and headed out of the library. The building reminded me of Hogwarts. Steel spirals and ugly gargoyles and spouts dribbling rain during storms. The late-afternoon sky was already dark. Fog rolled in off the coast, adding to the coldness in the air. And the eeriness.

  My cell phone buzzed and I jerked. Recognizing Mother’s number, I pressed the button with force. “Thanks for calling back.” I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic.

  “You know how busy I am. So many meetings and events.”

  Volunteer meetings and social events. Nothing important. Nothing that should be more important than her daughter.

  “What do you need, Cleopatra?” Mother�
�s impatience and the use of my real name grated on my nerves.

  “CC.” I corrected. “Have you heard from Aunty Neffy?”

  The school buildings between the library and the hall closed in on me. My heeled boots clicked on the pavement, the clip, clip echoing between the brick walls. No other students were around. Restlessness shifted to nervousness bubbling in my veins.

  “She’s been traveling for months. Last I heard, she was somewhere in Africa.” Mother’s uncaringness bugged me. She only cared about herself.

  “Egypt?”

  “Yes, I believe she planned to spend several weeks touring pyramids, or some other ancient ruin. You know she loves Egyptian stuff.”

  Um, yeah. She’d given me my name. Not Mother.

  “She sent me a birthday gift—”

  “So thoughtful of her. Make sure you send a thank you.” Mother never forgot the social niceties, even if she didn’t mean them.

  My heeled boots pounded harder, the echo getting louder, and I realized how alone I was. Alone like yesterday morning. Nerves skittered across my skin. Maybe I should’ve walked with a friend. If I had any. “Then, Aunty Neffy called and we got disconnected.”

  “That’s what happens when you choose to vacation in uncivilized countries.” I heard the shake of her head in her voice.

  “Egypt has been a civilized nation for thousands of years.”

  “Good to know you’re learning something at that expensive boarding school.”

  Every muscle in my body tightened. “I wouldn’t be at this expensive boarding school if you hadn’t forced me to attend.”

  “All for your own good.” Mother’s tone went merry. As if she could brush me off by making my requests to come home sound trivial. “Is that what you needed to talk about? Your father and I agreed if you can improve your grades and show effort in school you can return home.”

  “I know, and I am.” My body slumped. “That’s not what I was calling about.”