Harlowe’s Curse – Chapter 9

NORMA

My first thought is that the fortune teller is back.

I step away from the threshold, hands in front of me. “Saleali’s here?” I say, panic straightening my spine and making my shoulders ache with tension. “They were the one pulling that trick on us at the tent, weren’t they?”

Jaden shakes his head at me. “Not exactly.” He’s about to say more, but Clare’s voice interrupts him.

“WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?” she screams from the front lawn. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?”

Harlowe rolls on her back in the grass with a groan, her black curls a mess. She’s so out of breath the groan turns into a squeaky whistling sound.

Peverell joins them outside. “Clare, calm down. I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

Clare grabs the long necklace hanging on her chest and gasps. “I can’t feel her now,” she says, tears welling in her eyes. “Peverell, she’s so small, I can barely feel her.” She turns back to Harlowe, who managed to sit up, rubbing her hip. “Who are you?”

The question doesn’t make any sense because the answer seems too obvious. Of course, this is Harlowe. I’ve always been able to tell, even on the several occasions she showed up to school with new hair or some ridiculous glasses and an accent, pretending to be a secret twin and fooling every other kid at school. Sometimes—when she later experimented with make-up and got really good at it—she even confused some teachers.

But never me.

When Harlowe doesn’t speak, Clare flings a hand up and suddenly Harlowe is flying again, landing with a loud crash against the hood of Jaden’s car.

“Mom!” he yells, leaving my side to run outside.

“Clare,” Peverell says calmly.

I lean forward but don’t find the courage to step outside. I grip the open door for stability instead.

Peverell holds Clare in a tight embrace, holding her arms between them so she can’t attack Harlowe like she obviously wants to do.

“That’s not the way we’re going to get our answers,” he says in a conciliating tone.

Clare manages to break free from his hold, but she doesn’t look at Harlowe anymore. She treads back toward the porch, staring down as she breathes in and out, as loud as a machine about to detonate.

Jaden approaches Harlowe carefully. “Are you okay?” he asks, offering her a hand.

Harlowe glares at him. She scrambles to her feet and props her hands on her knees, catching her breath.

I know my best friend.

I know the exact shade of her dark blue eyes, the graceful curve of her jaw on the way to her pointy chin, and how the moonlight seems to turn her black hair purple on nights like these. This is her. It is.

Isn’t it?

“That’s not Harlowe?” I ask from the threshold, my voice so weak I think nobody heard me, but then Peverell turns to offer me a gentle smile.

“We have a Watcher, that ugly red thing by the windowsill.”

I glance right to see the stuffed animal, ragged and creepy. I’ve never noticed it before since the curtains always hide it. But it’s glowing now, the red fabric bright and impossible to miss.

“Keeps anyone from getting in unless they have a direct invitation from a member of this family,” Peverell continues. “Which means whoever this person is,” Peverell adds waving at Not Harlowe. “It’s not our daughter.”

“Oh,” I manage. I try to sound like this all makes sense to me and mimic his composure, but if this isn’t Harlowe, I fear I can’t trust my own eyes anymore.

Clare makes a sound that’s between a sob and a growl. She runs down the steps to push Peverell a foot away. “Why are you always so calm? Why are you this calm, rightnow?”

“Because I feel her too,” he says, a hand on his heart. “She’s unharmed. We just need to figure out what curse Saleali put on her. Then we’ll fix it.”

“Dad’s right,” Jaden says, looking at both his parents, then glancing briefly at me. “We won’t get answers if you scare whoever this is away.”

Clare releases a long sigh, then finally looks at the person who resembles my best friend so precisely it’s giving me a headache.

“Who are you, then?” Clare asks, her voice feeble, as though she’s giving up on something that costs her.

Not Harlowe straightens up, balling her hands into fists. “If I tell you, will you let me go?”

“Unless you turn out to be the key to getting my daughter back, sure.”

“Mom…”

“Yes,” she adds over Jaden.

Not Harlowe pinches her lips, hesitating, and that is what convinces me it’s not her. Harlowe never hesitates. Never allows others to see her vulnerabilities. Even when she’s pretending to be someone else—that’s the one piece of her she can never let go of.

The girl fidgets and takes a deep breath that quivers when she releases it. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I can see the fear and plea in them so perfectly it breaks my heart. Then she looks directly at Clare.

“My name is Damara,” she says in a clear voice. “And two weeks ago, I died.”

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