Page 188 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

I blink at her. How the fuck can she think talking back to me is going to make this any easier on her?

“You’ll be pissing blood for a week.”

Her knee lifts, but I twist away just in time. If she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t put me on my guard, I’d probably be writhing on the floor in agony right now.

My phone rings again. Just two rings, then it goes silent.

Time to go.

I release the girl, and drag my fingers down my jaw as I give her a long, slow once-over. “Run, Angel,” I say quietly.

She slips away from the tree and backs up as if expecting me to rush her. Honest to God, I should…but I need to check my phone; I know it’s important. So I just keep grinning at her until she turns tail and disappears into the night.

I lean against the tree and take my phone from my pocket. I toy with the girl’s switchblade, turning it over in my hand as I wait for my call to connect.

“Hey…uh…” A voice breathes in my ear. I straighten, pressing the phone harder against my ear.

“Marcus?” I can barely recognize his voice.

“Yeah, ‘s me.” He sounds short of breath, exhausted. “Can you…could you?—?”

“Be there in five.” I put down the phone without bothering to hear his response. Then I’m sprinting, my encounter with Angel already forgotten.

Marcus needs me.

Indi

I stop outside Marigold’s house to hack up all the spit that’s gone thick in my mouth. I stay bent over for a few panting breaths, and then straighten and haul icy air into my lungs.

Run, Angel.

And boy, did I obey.

On the plus side, I not only survived being murdered, but also the run back here. That must be some kind of miracle, right?

I push back my shoulders and stride toward the house. I have to give myself a mental shove before I can get myself to open the door.

Who’d have thought I’d be more reluctant to go inside this house than wait out here, in the dark, where a monster roams?

Marigold is nowhere to be seen when I let myself back inside her house. In fact, the house is so dark and quiet, I think she may have gone to bed already.

Crap, what time is it?

My legs quiver like jelly as I sneak upstairs, taking those unfamiliar steps one at a time because I have no idea which of them creak.

Turns out, all of them do. I give up on sneaking three-quarters of the way up, turn into the hall, and yell out when my gran materializes in front of me like the Mayflower looming from a fog bank.

“Holy crap, you scared me,” I say, laying a hand over my thumping heart.

Marigold stares at me, nonplussed. “You do know you start school tomorrow?”

My throat tightens a little. “Of course.”

“You should be in bed, not roaming around in the woods.”

“But I wasn’t?—”

Marigold’s hand lashes out. I instinctively close my eyes, expecting a slap. But all she does is tug gently on my hair. I open one eye, and then the other. Then my shoulders drop.

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