“No,” was all he said, and offered no explanation. But now I was curious. I remembered what she had done to my friends Dante and Freddy, picking them apart and putting them back together with her words.

“Why?” I asked. “What did she say to you?”

“She didn’t
say
anything. It was the way she looked at me.”

I shrugged. “So? She looks at everyone like that.”

But Ernest shook his head. “No ... not the way she looked at me.” He glanced down at his tray for a moment, then back up at me. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I looked down, too, because I didn’t want to meet those cold eyes. Instead I caught sight of his hand on the table. Just like the tone of his voice, and the look of his eyes, there was something strange about his hand, too. Not just his hand, but his skin in general. The awful flickering fluorescent lights in the cafeteria did have a tendency to paint everyone in morgue-tones, but even so, Ernest’s skin didn’t look right. Not so much pale, as gray. Like dolphin skin.
Maybe he’s sick,
I thought.
Maybe it has nothing to do with Tara.

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Summary: Accustomed to a carefree existence, fifteen-year-old Parker Baer meets
the girl next door and finds his life taking a menacing turn as he
begins to absorb some of her terrible powers.

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For Eric and Jan, may your midnight buffet plate always be full

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Dread
Locks would not have been possible without the support and contributions of quite a few people:

Eric Elfman, whose crucial creative input helped to mold many key chapters; Jean Feiwel, for giving me the first shot with this story; Tonya Martin, for her insightful early editorial work; Easton Royce, for knowing when it’s time for a pseudonym to go away; Andrea Brown, for believing in the
Dark Fusion
series and bringing it to my market; my assistant, Janine Black, for her tireless efforts running interference and keeping me on task; my kids, who have become so good at critiquing stories, it’s scary.

And finally, Stephanie Owens Lurie, who has shepherded me from the very beginning of my career. I couldn’t hope for a better editor or friend.

I
’ve been thinking about it a lot. It seems all I can do these days is think, playing the events over and over again in my mind until I’m numb. I see all the ways it could have turned out differently. How the nightmare could have been avoided, and the deaths—all the deaths—would never have happened.

You have to understand I never intended to be a part of Tara’s cruelty. I just couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t resist, and if you knew her, you wouldn’t be able to resist either. I have to believe that it wasn’t just my weakness, but a power dark and devious, as irresistible as gravity. I have to believe that, or I’ll lose my mind. I can’t lose that, you see—it’s the only thing I have left ...