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myself on my feet, reaching for my phone from where it had fallen. My hands shook as I kept my eyes on Anthony’s back, my fingers closing around the small silver case. Just stay quiet, run outside and call the cops, call Brendan.
I slowly started backing away from Anthony—when my phone rang. Reminded of my presence, Anthony whirled around, the base madness spreading over his face as he targeted me in his gaze. I saw my lock dangling within inches of my reach; I grabbed it and aimed for his head, chucking it right at his face.
I didn’t wait to see if the metal lock connected with him, but I heard him grunt as I whirled around, running for the fire exit. I shoved open the heavy door and raced up the stone stairs, which let me out right near the rear entrance of the school—the entrance that led into the gym. I pulled on the door—locked. Of course it’s locked. It’s always locked from the outside. I could hear the music—Brendan’s music—taunting me through the door, see the lights through the high windows that I could never reach without a ladder.
I started running around the block to the main entrance, but a chilling thought brought me to a halt. What if he’s waiting for you in front of the school? Just run somewhere, just run and hide.
I raced toward Fifth Avenue, trying to keep my thoughts clear as I ran for my life. Go somewhere with people—go to the Met. There were always people hanging out on the steps of the Met. He wouldn’t dare attack me in plain view.
Within minutes I had reached Fifth Avenue. The avenue was f lanked on one side by the long stone wall that framed Central Park, and on the other, wealthy East Side homes. I could see the Met in the distance, shining from the spotlights that lit it up at night. I heard two sounds—my own heartbeat, 9780373210305_TS.indd 287
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throbbing in my chest, and my own soft footfalls, the rapid but light sound of the satin slippers on pavement as I ran, afraid to look behind me.
And then I heard the third sound—a heavy, thudding, rhythmic sound. I glanced over my shoulder as I ran, and my blood ran cold—a large figure was following me, racing after me.
Even in the darkness I could make him out.
Anthony.
“You better run!” Distant but savage, his warning spurred me on. I ran faster, afraid if I tried to call someone I’d drop the phone, or lose speed. And that’s all he’d need to catch up with me. I kept looking at the empty street, hoping to see a taxi or any car that I could f lag down. City that never sleeps my aching butt.
The phone in my hand vibrated. I opened it and barely had it to my ears when I heard Brendan’s frantic voice.
“Where are you? I heard your message, Em, are you okay?”
“Anthony’s following me!” I screamed, gasping for air as I ran, feeling a sharp pain slice through my ankle every time my foot hit the sidewalk in the thin slippers.
“Where are you?” Brendan yelled.
“Met,” I gasped. “People—there will be people there.”
“I called the cops after I heard your message. I’m coming,”
he shouted. I shut the phone, holding it tightly as I pushed myself faster, seeing the white museum grow closer with each step.
Don’t even look behind you. Just keep going. Don’t waste any time.
I raced along the empty, dark sidewalk, the streetlights ahead of me f lickering as the light inside them stuttered and died. It was as if I were running into a tunnel of darkness. I 9780373210305_TS.indd 288
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rounded the corner when I got to the Met, scanning the grass for the sight of anyone—any people, any classmates, even a stray homeless guy. Someone. I needed a witness; I needed someone to see me.
But it was empty. The night was so cold—too cold. But the temperature wasn’t what set me shaking. I turned around—he was farther away, but he was still coming for me. And he wasn’t going to stop.
In spite of myself, my muscles locked, immobile. Do I continue to run away, up Fifth Avenue? It was a straight shot—nowhere to hide, since the park wall was on one side, practically framing me as prey. Should I try to double back and go to Vince A?
I peered into the park—dark, silent. I could lose him in the park. I knew my way around.
I made my decision, running through the night-chilled grass into Central Park.
I stayed close to the rear of the museum, hoping to find a security guard or someone to help me. I shivered as I rested my back against the museum, trying to quiet my breathing as I listened for his pounding, heavy footsteps. All I heard was the wind rustling the dead leaves along the lawn.
My phone rang again—the tone echoing off the stone of the building as if you were ringing a Church bell. I grabbed it quickly.
“Brendan, no one’s here. The Met was empty. I’m afraid,” I whispered into the cold metal. “I don’t know if I lost him.”
“I’m close—where are you?” Brendan’s breathing was heavy—it sounded like he was running to meet me.
“I’m behind the Met—I’m trying to lose him in the park.”
My voice shook as I slinked through the trees. I tried to avoid the lampposts, opting to stay hidden in the dark.
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“Emma, don’t do that—please, get out of the park. I’ll be there in a minute.” Brendan’s voice was softly pleading, but I could hear the urgency behind it.
I cautiously stepped back on the pathway, looking behind me as I passed the Obelisk behind the Met.
“I think I lost him,” I said, relieved.
“Where are you exactly?”
“Not too far from Belvedere Castle,” I said, walking backward and watching the empty pathway, which twisted before me.
“I’ll be there soon,” Brendan vowed. “Just stay on the phone with me until then. Is there anyone there—a security guard, anyone?”
“No. Wait, I only see…” I squinted in the distance at a dark, shadowy form—was that a person? I couldn’t tell.
And then the form began moving. It was running. It was coming for me.
“He’s here,” I choked.
My fight or f light kicked in—because I was f lying. I ran along the pathway, berating myself with every throbbing footstep that I rapidly pounded into the dark pavement.
Stupid girl, stupid cliché. Run off into a deserted park. With an injured ankle, too. Find a security guard. Find someone.
And then I remembered my date with Brendan at Belvedere Castle. When security kicked us out.
I changed directions and started running for Belvedere Castle. It sat perched above the park, luminous and bright.
The castle was very close, and in less than a minute I was running up the steps that just two weeks ago, I leisurely climbed with Brendan, blissful in our first date together. And now, I was speeding up the stairs, fearful for my life.
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I burst into the stone plaza, f linging myself on the doors of the observatory. I yanked on the doorknob, banging loudly on the embellished windows.
“Help me!” I screamed, pounding on the doors until my already-raw palms split.
An older, gray-mustachioed man rounded the corner, swinging a f lashlight and wearing a Parks Department uniform.
“Miss, we’re closed,” he said sternly. Then he got a good look at me and his face softened.
“Are you okay, miss?” he asked gently
. “Did someone hurt you?”
“Yes, please, help me,” I croaked, still gripping my phone.
“I’m being followed. I was attacked at school—I’ve been running….”
“Okay, miss, you’re safe now,” the man said, his voice gentle as he approached me with his palms forward. Only then did I realize how wild I must have looked.
The guard pressed a button on the radio attached to his shoulder.
“Hey, this is Yanek up at Belvedere—”
His kind eyes rolled back in his head as his knees collapsed underneath him, his jaw dropping in an uncontrolled, stomach-twisting way. My eyes followed his fall—and then they looked up.
“You’re so predictable, Emma. Running to the fancy lit-up building for help,” Anthony mocked me in a high-pitched imitation of a girl’s voice, f luttering his hands about excitedly. I noticed he held a bloody rock in his right hand, and he stepped over the man’s crumpled-up body, throwing the red-smeared stone to the side.
“You’re crazy!” I screamed, backing away from the observatory.
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“No, I’m desperate. It’s different.” Anthony took two steps forward for every one that I took back.
“Because of you, I have to go away. My life is over.” He snarled, baring teeth that shone in the shimmering, f lickering light of the lampposts.
“No, I can change things. I can go to Principal Casey,” I cried, stumbling backward down the steps to the rocks.
Stall, the cops have to be close. Brendan will find me.
“It’s too late for that.” Anthony scowled, lunging forward and losing his footing on one of the stones that lined the base of the plaza.
“No, it’s not,” I said hastily, trying to make my voice sound sincere. “My aunt’s on the board, Brendan’s mom is, too. We’ll get you back in the school. We’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Like I can go back there now,” he scoffed. “That part of my life is over.”
I looked around me, trying to figure out my options. The guard lay motionless—but his radio sounded like it was going off. Someone had to come up here to look for him. The cops were on their way. And there was no chance I could hop that fence onto the rocks without Brendan’s help. Stay out here and let him pound on me until the cops get here? Try to stall?
Stall, stall, stall.
“It doesn’t have to be over,” I bargained, my pleas getting more creative as he closed the gap between us. “Imagine, you’ll look like a hero, finally vindicated. I’ll even transfer schools.
I can go back home. I don’t need to stay here.”
“Everyone knows already,” he shouted, and I noticed the blood-crusted cut above his eyebrow. I guess I had better aim with that lock than I thought I did.
I tried another tactic. “I think they’ll just be impressed with how you stood up for yourself. I mean, I am,” I said, trying 9780373210305_TS.indd 292
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to make my voice sound f lirtatious. Instead, I just warbled shakily.
“Who cares? Everything’s over for me—because of you!”
Anthony’s face turned red with fury—the same look he had when he’d confronted me in the quad. Only Brendan wasn’t here to save me.
“I can fix it, I promise!” I begged, letting the tears f low down my cheeks. I didn’t have the power to stop them.
“Please—”
This time, no one was there to step in. My hands shot up to protect my face, but I was too late. At first, everything went dark—just for a second, a calming, dead blackness. Then the pain exploded across my left cheek like a f lashbulb, popping and leaving spots in my vision. The taste of my own blood filled my mouth as my teeth cut into my own cheek.
I pressed my palm against my cheek, but it only made the throbbing worse. And then there was more pain—a familiar agony as Anthony’s hands closed around my neck, his fingers twisting the chain that held my pendant. The thin silver links cut into my skin like wire, more effectively choking me than he could do with his hands alone.
I wheezed, my fingers feeble as they searched my throat, trying to pull the chain off me. I could feel my eyes straining as my fingers felt numb against my own skin. Then sudden relief—the chain snapped, my medallion dropping to the f loor with a metal plink before rolling away.
My knees crumpled and I fell over on the stone ground, choking for air as the panic began to shake me.
Angelique had said we’d know the threat, the danger, because I’d somehow lose my pendant. The danger was here.
The medallion had snapped off, rolling away to wait for my soul when it came to reside in a new body.
Because I was about to be killed.
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I screamed as loudly as I could with my rough voice, trying to call anyone’s attention.
I pushed myself off the f loor, but Anthony grabbed my upper arm, f linging me against the wrought-iron bars effortlessly. My right shoulder took the brunt of the blow, throbbing until it was eclipsed by another strike, a sickening ball of pain in my stomach as Anthony smashed his fist into my torso. I blindly aimed for his throat, throwing all my weight into a punch that only connected with his shoulder. He barely felt it. I fought back, hitting, pulling his hair, scratching his face, punching his nose, his throat—anything I could get—but my weak efforts seemed to just fuel Anthony’s rage.
Then another f lashbulb blow—everything was dark a little longer this time, and when the explosion f lashed before my eyes, it was sharper, more painful. Louder as it reverberated within my head.
“Emma!” I heard the voice, through the bright f lashes of pain. It was dim but it was there. And then the bursts of pain stopped as I grabbed onto the metal bars, keeping myself standing.
I forced my eyes to focus. Brendan and Anthony were twisted on the ground, Brendan on top of Anthony, pinning him down like he had in the quad. Only this time, Brendan wasn’t hesitating—his knuckles connected to Anthony’s face with a quick motion, the brute force behind it evident when I heard a sickening crunch. Blood f lowed from Anthony’s broken nose as he screamed in pain.
Brendan didn’t stop his assault, landing another powerful punch right in Anthony’s face. Fueled by his own agony and bloodlust, Anthony kicked wildly, causing Brendan to lose his balance and his grip. The monster’s oversize fist sliced through the air, striking Brendan on the right side of his chin.
Brendan pitched forward, and Anthony took advantage of his 9780373210305_TS.indd 294
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distraction, leaping up and kicking Brendan in the stomach.
He groaned, and Anthony raised his leg, ready to stomp on Brendan’s head. From his prone position on the f loor, Brendan kicked Anthony in the back of the knee, knocking him off balance so he stumbled forward. Brendan heaved himself off the stone f loor, this time landing a fast punch in Anthony’s stomach. But Anthony took the hit well, slamming his beefy fist into Brendan’s chest and causing him to falter.
Frantically, I looked around for a weapon. I wiped the blood out of my eyes as I searched for something, anything, to hit Anthony with, to incapacitate him. He wouldn’t be able to hurt Brendan. He can’t hurt him.
I saw something shiny glisten in the distance—my cell phone. I ran for it, falling on my knees and dialing 911.
“Help, we’re up at Belvedere Castle in Central Park, we’re being attacked
! The guard’s unconscious, help us!” I screamed into the phone before dropping it, leaving the call still connected as I grabbed a splintered-off piece of a fallen tree branch. It was no more than a stick, but I raised it like a knife as I approached Anthony from behind.
His shirt was a thick black thermal, so I put all my force into it, plunging the sharpest end of the stick between his shoulder blades. It pierced the fabric, ripping into his skin and twisting itself into his f lesh as the rest of the stick broke off in my hand.
Anthony fell forward onto his knees with a bellow, his hand f lailing behind him as he tried to remove my crude weapon.
Finally, in the distance, we heard the sirens. Brendan’s green eyes found me, and for a minute we thought it was over.
Then Anthony’s head snapped up at the sound of the sirens—and a manic look took over his face. He lunged forward, shoving Brendan back and using his massive arms, hoisted 9780373210305_TS.indd 295
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himself over the stone wall, around the fence and onto the rocks.
“Emma, just get out of here,” Brendan ordered. “I’ll take care of him. He’s not getting away.” Brendan ran after Anthony, pulling himself up over the wall and around the fence.
“No, Brendan, please!” I screamed, trying to follow them and not quite able to get my footing.
They were just a few feet away but they may have as well been wrestling on the other side of the world. I gripped the bars, trying to scale the fence and watching in agony as Brendan and Anthony had a bare-knuckled brawl on the rocks, more than a hundred feet above the Turtle Pond.
Brendan was fast—but Anthony was desperate. He didn’t have the precise aim Brendan boasted, but he had an almost feral strength, blindly landing punches with his grapefruit-size fists.
I jumped up again, and this time, I was able to get a grip on the stone wall. I hauled myself over it, and landed on my ankle with a thud.
I gasped at the pain, and Brendan jerked his head my way.
Anthony took advantage of the distraction, launching an up-percut that connected right underneath Brendan’s chin. He stumbled backward, losing his footing and falling backward mere feet from the edge of the rocks. Anthony towered before him, his fists curled at his side, panting. His silhouette looked more otherworldly, more demonic than I could have ever imagined—this hulking, dark figure that had come straight from Hell for me.
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