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  Quinn fingered the chunky, short strands that fell just below her ears. She still wasn’t used to it. It made her head look too small and her eyes too big. It had taken the stylist two hours, and Quinn more than a few tears, to fix the damage.

  “You’ll never guess what happened at lunch.” Teresa plastered her onyx hair down on all sides, making sure no loose ends escaped. “Marcus asked me out! Can you believe it?”

  “You said no, of course,” Quinn said.

  “Well, no. You weren’t there to back me up. You know how persistent he can be. Besides, he’s cute, and homecoming’s next Saturday. That’s exactly eight days from today.” Teresa coughed and waved her hands in front of her to clear the hairspray fumes. “Besides, I don’t think I should hold out for Aaron. He’s seriously stuck on you.”

  Quinn winced at the sound of his name.

  “How could anyone, even a freak like Aaron Collier, want leftovers like Quinn Taylor?” Kerstin shoved her way between Teresa and Quinn, grabbing the hairspray from Teresa’s hand. “Haven’t you all noticed how he wears long sleeves, even when it’s ninety degrees out? What’s up with that? If you ask me, he’s hiding something. His dad probably beats him.”

  “Well, we didn’t ask, and this is a private conversation. Hey, don’t you think you should put on some more makeup? You wouldn’t want anyone to see your real face.” Quinn shoved a bag of makeup at Kerstin and smiled sweetly.

  Kerstin returned her smile with a saccharine one. “At least I know how to stand on my own feet. What a desperate act from a desperate loser. If you thought that little fainting spell and a new ugly ass haircut would get Jeff back, you were wrong. He wanted to break up with you last year, you know. He only stayed with you because he felt sorry for you after your dad left. That’s not all he told me when we were in bed together … ”

  “You’re such a liar.” Teresa stepped in front of Quinn, fists on her hips, black eyes scowling, ready for a fight.

  “What’s wrong, Quinn? Missed lunch? Too weak to fight your own battles?”

  A shrill whistle broke the tension. “Okay, girls, time for warm-ups.” When nobody moved, Coach White blew her whistle again. “I mean now, ladies.”

  “Come on, Kerstin, these losers aren’t worth it,” Spring said.

  “You’re right. Quinn’s already humiliated herself enough. How many times have you been mistaken for a boy today with that haircut and flat chest?” Kerstin flipped her ponytail, hitting Quinn in the face. “You better hurry, Quinn, the pep rally can’t start without the head cheerleader. Oh, right, that’s me. Try to keep that bench warm.” Kerstin and Spring laughed, slamming the door behind them.

  “Just ignore her.”

  “Easy for you to say. She’s not sleeping with your boyfriend.”

  “Ex-boyfriend.”

  “Rub it in, why don’t you,” Quinn said.

  “Please! Kerstin is lying about sleeping with Jeff. And if he is sleeping with that monster, then he’s more of a jerk than I thought. He’s so not worth it,” Teresa said.

  “Monster? Have you looked at her lately? She’s beautiful. Gorgeous red hair. Long legs. My legs are so stubby and short. And let’s not forget her boobs. She’s right, my chest looks like a boy’s.”

  “Have you actually met Kerstin? Hello? Snotty, loudmouth, gossipy, shallow, liar, and, let’s not forget, mean. Do you really want to be like her? She’s not even fit to clean gum off the bottom of your shoe.”

  “Yeah, just good enough to sleep with my boyfriend.” Quinn clipped a stray hair back with a bobby pin to keep it out of her face.

  “Ex-boyfriend. I know it’s not easy, but you’ve got to face reality. They’re together. Whether he’s sleeping with her or not has nothing to do with you.” Reese shoved the makeup bag and spray can back in her gym bag and threw it in her locker. “Come on, we’ve got to get going.”

  “Do you really think they’re sleeping together?”

  “Don’t know. Don’t care. And neither should you. Let’s go.” Teresa held the door for Quinn.

  “I’ll be right behind you. Nature calls.”

  “Okay, but hurry up. Coach White will have your ass if you’re late.”

  Alone, Quinn took a deep breath, invoking the silence of the locker room to quiet her butterflies. She cupped her hands and splashed cool water on her face. Rivers of droplets flowed down her cheeks, pouring like tears into the shallow basin of the porcelain sink. She reached for a paper towel to dry her face as a locker screeched and clanged shut behind her. She whirled around.

  “Reese?”

  No answer. Quinn turned back to the mirror to check her makeup. Steam covered the glass, like someone had taken a hot shower. The drip of the faucet, amplified by the metal gym lockers, resounded like the tapping of a spoon on a water glass. Her hand trembled as she wiped the condensation with her sleeve.

  She stared into the unreality of the looking glass; her reflection peered back. A gray fog surrounded her mirror image, smothering the room in gloom. Mesmerized, she watched the cloud writhe and squirm, growing darker and denser as it twisted itself into the claws and fangs of a living nightmare.

  Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Quinn thought as she pressed herself back against the lockers.

  The mirror held the beast’s complete image like a photograph. It sat on Quinn’s shoulder and cocked its head, an oversized prune with eyes, and clicked a forked tongue. Four leathery wings sprouted from a lithe, catlike body. The fog writhed around it—one moment covering the entire beast, leaving only disembodied, glowing orange eyes—then retreating to reveal the full horror of the creature.

  And, as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!

  Unlike the boy in the poem, Quinn had no vorpal sword to slay her foe.

  Not daring to look away from the reflection, she tentatively inched her hand up her arm until it reached where the thing should be. Her fingers didn’t find anything on her own shoulder, but the reflection showed a demon wrapping its tail around her wrist. Saliva dripped from its thick tongue as it slowly licked the back of her hand. She grabbed at the beast, tearing at her uniform to throw it off, but she clutched nothing but air and fabric.

  What she saw in the glass wasn’t really there at all.

  She turned back to the mirror, determined her imagination ran on a creepy path that she controlled. But there it sat, crouched on her shoulder, wisps of living smoke, coiled to strike. Her chest ached as cords of panic constricted her breathing. She took a step back and groped the bench beside her in search of a weapon.

  “We’re here to help you, Quinn. You need us.” The demon, the smoke, and the voice worked like one symbiotic being. Each fused with the other, their whispers and actions overlapping.

  Quinn shook her head. “You’re not real.” Her hand grasped a hairdryer one of the girls had left out, and she hurled it at the demon.

  The mirror shattered. A dozen shards crashed to the floor, and, with each smash, a demon ascended through the portal of broken glass, corporeal, freed from their confinement inside Quinn’s illusion.

  “Aren’t we?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The gym buzzed as all six hundred students of Westland High crowded onto the bleachers for Friday’s pep rally. All pep rallies were mandatory. “Have school spirit or else,” was Westland’s motto.

  Aaron and Marcus waded toward the gym floor with a crowd of seniors oozing with school spirit. Those who were anti-school spirit swam against the stream, clawing their way to the top of the bleachers, as far from the madness as they could get.

  Aaron watched the mascot jump around in a costume with so many faded patches it looked more like a piebald horse than a wild mustang. Bored with the antics, Aaron turned his attention to the signs that covered the walls.

  Poster One: The Invitation

  Student council of Westland High

  Invites
YOU

  To The Annual Homecoming Dance

  Yesterday, he’d actually considered asking Quinn to homecoming. Now he knew that had been a fantasy.

  Poster Two: The Information

  When? Next Saturday night

  Where? In the gym

  Tickets $15 a Couple

  He should forget about her, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. He had sensed her distress in the hallway with Kerstin. She’d wanted him to interrupt. One look in her eyes, and he’d almost caved.

  If Marie hadn’t shown up, he would have put himself right in the middle of it. And for what? His usual thanks? To have her push him away again?

  Poster Three: The Evisceration

  Be Sure to Join us Next Friday Night as we

  Rip the Raiders

  In our Annual Homecoming Game

  Which brought him to the thing that bugged him the most—why would she block his number? It didn’t make sense. Why would you ask someone to call you, hang up on them, and then block their number?

  Maybe he had been too hard on her. Maybe her phone had died or she’d hit a wrong button to block him by mistake, a misunderstanding. Or maybe she really didn’t want to talk to him, and he should stop making excuses for her. Marcus was right. She was damaged goods. Better to stay away from her.

  A girl dressed in blue and white, her face painted like a cat, drew Aaron’s attention back to the gym floor.

  “Here, Kitty, Kitty. Here, Kitty, Kitty. STOMP!” screamed a blond girl next to Aaron, her voice picking up others as the chant roared around the gym like a hurricane. With the urging of the crowd, the mustang chased the wildcat around and around the gym, bringing roars of laughter from his adoring fans.

  Aaron laughed too, caught up in the frenzy of school spirit, and chanted along. “Here, Kitty, Kitty. Here, Kitty, Kitty. STOMP!”

  Cornered, the cat rolled over on her back, cowering in fear as the mustang placed its mighty, ragged hoof on her belly, raising another holey hoof in the air. Victory.

  “Look, there’s Reese,” Marcus yelled over the racket. “She is such a hottie.”

  Fifteen cheerleaders, both Varsity and JV, stood in perfect formation.

  Quinn was usually the first one through the doors, and she never missed a pep rally. Aaron’s stomach turned. “Do you see Quinn?”

  “Why? Getting bored of being Clark Kent today? You must be dying to get into your blue tights again. Man, spandex does you justice. There’s not a girl in school who doesn’t wish she were your Lois Lane, or should I say, Quinn Taylor. Hey, if you develop the ability to see through walls, promise me you’ll take a look into the girls’ locker room.”

  “And ruin the mystery?”

  “I think it’s a mystery worth solving.”

  “I like to use my imagination.”

  “All right, all right, no peeky at the cheer-goddesses in their lacy undies.” Marcus sighed. “Bummer.” Marcus cupped his hands and yelled down at the court. “Yo! Reese! Nice legs!” He winked at Teresa, who pretended not to see him. “Ah, the thrill of the hunt.” Marcus folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in satisfaction. “She’s got it bad for me, you know.”

  “I can tell.” Aaron’s spine prickled as his barrier cracked. Dammit, Quinn. All he wanted was to stay away from her, but how could he when one little thought of her pale, pathetic face ignited a connection between them? Mentally, he batted her away, but none of his usual blocking methods worked. Learning to control his ability through physical touch was one thing, but learning to control something so random and unwarranted was something completely different.

  He tried to ignore the tapping in the back of his brain, his power trying to get his attention, but every second brought him closer to losing himself until he couldn’t fight it any longer.

  Closing his eyes, he searched for her. Fog swirled around her thoughts, making them hard to read, but her emotions came through loud and clear. She trembled with fear, screaming inside for someone to help. Desperation bubbled up like hot, wet tears, pulling at his heartstrings, begging him to rescue her.

  He refused to give in. He gritted his teeth and worked to close the crack in his barrier. Trouble followed her like a black cloud. Why should he run after her again? That’s all he ever did anymore, run to her every time she called, every time she hinted at distress. He wanted to be her boyfriend, not her puppy. She could get out of her own mess this time. The taste of metal filled his mouth, and fear knifed through his barrier. He pushed harder. The pain eased. She was gone.

  “Okay, Westland. Let’s give a big cheer for your fighting mustangs.” Principal Halstor pulled her powder-blue polyester pants up around her waist and tapped the top of the microphone.

  The students ignored her.

  “Is this thing on?”

  The microphone screeched. A skinny kid with glasses moved a speaker out of the way until the feedback stopped.

  “As I was saying, let’s give a big cheer to the state champion, Westland High Mustangs.” Principal Halstor pushed her glasses up with her middle finger, put the microphone under her arm, and clapped.

  Principal Halstor lived in a time warp. Westland hadn’t won a game in two years.

  “When did we become state champions?” Marcus asked.

  Aaron shrugged. “Twenty years ago?”

  Kerstin and Teresa held a six-foot sign between two poles. “Kick the Wildcats,” was written in bright-red letters.

  The crowd erupted in rollicking cheers as Jeff led his losing team through the sign, shredding it into a million pieces. What did Quinn see in him? He looked like a dumb jock, even dumber for dumping Quinn for Kerstin.

  Quinn. Maybe he shouldn’t have ignored her. Maybe she’d fallen and broken her leg. She could be lying in agony in the locker room. Aaron drummed his fingers against his thigh and shifted in his seat. Sweat gathered on the back of his neck. She was probably applying makeup or whatever cheerleaders do. She’s fine. Not that he cared.

  The blond started to chant again. “Jeff. Jeff. Jeff.” Others joined in, and Jeff stood, grinning and waving like a king.

  “A two-year losing streak, and he’s still the most popular boy in school. They all treat him like a god,” Aaron said, rolling his eyes.

  “A god? Maybe I should scrap the swim team and try out for football,” Marcus said.

  The noise in the gym dimmed as Aaron’s head surged with the familiar tingle of psychic energy, stronger than the last. Waves of fear and desperation rushed him; his barrier crumbled like paper, and he had no choice but to fall into the vision.

  Eyes wide, Quinn backed away from her reflection. In the glass, a shadow moved behind her. A person? Who? He wasn’t sure—the vision was obscured by steam from a too-hot shower. Aaron jumped as Quinn screamed.

  Then she was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  What had been one creature—one voice—became dozens as more of the leathery beasts appeared, taking shape from the wisps of fog that swirled around Quinn. She wanted out of the locker room—to find her friends, Coach White, anyone—but the tiny fog beasts blinked in and out of her vision like strobe lights, disorienting her, and making it impossible to find the door.

  She covered her nose to block out the choking sulfurous smell that filled the air and groped for the row of lockers to her right. Demons weren’t real—they only existed in bad horror movies; they didn’t haunt girls’ locker rooms or jump through broken mirrors. If she was going to hallucinate, why couldn’t she see unicorns instead of evil, scary demons?

  A rope of fog wrapped around her forearm, solidifying into a long, leathery tail, complete with scaly head and pointy claws. She screamed and grabbed for the beast, but the thing disappeared into a patch of fog and dissipated into the air. A dream, a delusion, nothing more. Sleep deprivation was known to cause hallucinations; she’d looked it up online. But how could it be lack of sleep when she’d slept a full eight hours the previous night? Or maybe all the caffeine pills and energy drinks had
altered her mind, sent her on some sort of bad trip.

  Blink. One monster landed on her head and laughed maliciously. Blink. One hovered over her back, the beating of its wings blowing strands of hair around her face. Quinn batted it away. Blink. One appeared on each shoulder.

  “You’re crazy,” the left one said.

  “Pathetic,” the right one added.

  Another hovered in front of her face. Quinn stood perfectly still, back against the lockers, and gazed into its orange eyes. Her chest burned, and sweat dripped from her nose. It opened its mouth in a maniacal grin, revealing three rows of teeth. Its breath smelled like rotten eggs.

  Quinn heaved and covered her mouth to keep from vomiting. “What do you want?”

  “Your soul,” the voice boomed as the demon swiped at her cheek. She covered her face to protect her eyes, and a long talon scraped across her hand. Quinn whimpered as blood oozed from the cut. Faster and faster the beasts flew around her, disorienting her. A cacophony of shrieking ensued as they fought to be heard over one another, spewing words of hatred, each more terrible than the last.

  Others filled the empty space, forging a spasmodic coffin around her. Brown ones, black ones, green ones, beating their leathery wings, screeching, jeering, and cheering the whisperers on.

  Desperate, she dropped to her knees and closed her eyes. She felt along the floor, the cold, hard concrete bruising her knees as she crawled forward in search of the door. Enraged by her flight, the beasts screamed together in a macabre choir. She tried to block the sound of their shrieks by humming a tune of her own, but the louder she hummed, the louder they screamed. “Get this party started,” she sang, her light melodic voice clashing with the metal on metal sound of the beasts.

  The demons pulled her hair and scratched her bare skin. She jerked and flinched with each strike. They were like a swarm of bees, everywhere at once. All she could do was bat at them, tuck her chin to her chest, and keep moving. Picturing the layout of the locker room in her mind, she crawled to the right until she felt the wall.