Jinx (11 page)

And for the rest of the week, things didn't—get any worse, anyway. Nothing bad happened. Tory was being kept pretty busy by her parents, who had finally been alerted to the fact that she was flunking out of most of her classes, due almost entirely to the fact that she hadn't done a lick of homework all semester. How could she? She'd been out almost every night with Gretchen and Lindsey, playing at being witches.

But my aunt and uncle finally put a stop to that, by canceling all of their social engagements and staying home to supervise her comings and goings, and by hiring Tory a tutor, whom she was forced to see six days a week, including Saturday mornings. Tory put up an enormous fight, but her parents weren't backing down.

Personally, I took this as a pretty good sign that things might actually calm down.

Zach, however, was dubious.

“I've seen it before,” he said, with a shrug, when I told him about it. “Your aunt and uncle get in her face about her grades for a while—get her to see her therapist more regularly, the works—and then she'll do something dramatic to make them feel guilty, and they'll back off.”

I found this hard to believe, but Zach, who still wanted to tell Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Ted about the rat—except I wouldn't let him—only said, “Just you wait. You'll see.”

I did wait, thinking that he'd be proved wrong. Aunt Evelyn remained vigilant for the rest of the week about checking with Tory's teachers to find out what her homework was, and Uncle Ted went over it with her every night, even after she'd met with the tutor. Except for the dirty looks she regularly shot me, Tory left me alone…and I didn't think it was because of the pentacle I was wearing for protection, either. She left Petra alone, too. Was that because of the binding spell?

Or had Tory really turned over a new leaf?

“I think she's doing better,” I told Zach, over dinner at a boisterous Italian restaurant the night we went to see Nigel Kennedy. “She doesn't have time to think up ways to torture people. She's too busy catching up with her Geometry homework.”

“Well, maybe she hasn't strung any more dead animals from your locker,” Zach said, “but that doesn't mean she doesn't plan on doing something worse. That girl has it in for you, Jean.”

But, giddy with joy at being out on the town with
Zach—even if we did spend a good portion of the meal discussing Willem's impending visit, and how that would impact Zach's campaign to win the heart of the woman of his dreams—I couldn't exactly share his gloom over Tory.

And by the end of the concert, he was smiling as much as I was…though probably more in amusement over how hard I'd clapped than because of anything else. It wasn't until we were strolling home, having decided to walk in order to enjoy the warm night air, that anything happened to dampen my spirits.

“It wasn't the most boring concert I've ever been to,” Zach was trying to assure me.

“Then why were your eyes closed during most of it?”

“I was resting them,” Zach said. “Honest. Seriously, I have nothing against classical music. Jazz, though? Don't get me started on jazz. Especially—what's it called? Free jazz. You ever try tapping your foot to free jazz? Yeah, not gonna happen. What I really like is the blues. There's a great blues place downtown…maybe we should go there next weekend. I have to get you a fake ID first, since they don't let you in if you're under twenty-one.”

“That'd be great,” I said.

“Actually,” Zach said, “we better make it the weekend after next. Next weekend is the spring dance. You know, the formal. I don't know if you'd want to go—it's pretty lame. But I've never been, so I thought, well…would you want to go? With me? To the dance? Strictly as friends, of course.”

My grin felt as if it might split my head in two. It's true he was in love with another girl. But he'd asked me, not her, to the dance.

This was too good to be true. This couldn't be happening to me, Jinx Honeychurch. This had to be happening to some other girl.

“Okay,” I said, my heart feeling as if it were about to burst. “That sounds like it might be fun….”

And then we turned the corner onto East Sixty-ninth Street.

And I was able to see the ambulance parked in front of the Gardiners' townhouse, the flashing red lights reflected off all the dark windows in the brownstones around it.

“It's probably nothing,” Zach called after me, as I broke into a run.

It wasn't nothing, though. We got there just as the paramedics emerged, bearing Tory on a stretcher. I saw at once that she was conscious, and even looking around. When her gaze fell upon me and Zach, her eyes, as dramatically made up as ever, narrowed dangerously. And then they were loading her into the back of the ambulance, and I couldn't see her anymore, because they'd closed the doors.

I raced up the stoop and nearly collided with Petra, who was standing in the foyer, flipping through a pile of credit cards while a police officer stood nearby.

“Oh, Jean,” she cried, her pretty face tear-stained. “Oh, Jean, thank goodness you are home. You will stay here
with the children, while I go with Torrance? Her parents—they had a benefit to attend. They aren't here. She was doing so much better, they thought it would be all right to go out—”

I said, “Of course.” It was Zach, who'd raced in behind me, who asked Petra, “What happened?”

“It was my fault,” Petra said, as she thumbed through the pile of plastic cards. “I was supposed to check on her at six o'clock, but I was too busy helping Jean get ready to go out—”

I slid a guilty look in Zach's direction. Petra
had
spent nearly an hour helping me put together an outfit for my date with Zach at six, instead of checking on Tory, who was supposed to be in her room studying.

“If I had checked her then,” Petra said, her voice filled with barely suppressed tears, “I would have found her sooner. But with helping you, and then Zach coming over, and then getting the children's dinner, and then their baths, and storytime—I just forgot. She was so quiet, I forgot she was even home. When has she ever been home before on a Saturday night? Oh!” She turned to the police officer. “I can't find it!”

“That's all right, miss,” the police officer said. “Just take them all, and you can look for it on your way to the hospital.”

“The insurance card,” Petra explained to me, as she slipped out the door. “I can't find it. I haven't had a chance to call Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, either. Can you call them, Jean? Tell them we're at—” She threw a questioning
glance at the police officer, who said, “Cabrini.”

“Cabrini Hospital,” Petra repeated, as she started down the front steps toward the waiting ambulance. “Will you tell them to meet me there, Jean? Tell them Torrance—”

“Torrance
what
?” I asked, my voice breaking.

“Tried to kill herself,” Petra called, holding up the tiny clear plastic bag Shawn had delivered Tory's Valium in. “Overdose.”

“Oh,” I said, looking from the plastic bag to Petra to the cop and then back again. “Actually, if the pills were in that bag, they were just baby aspirin.”

Well, what else was I supposed to do?

I couldn't just let my own cousin go around taking drugs. Not if there was something I could do to stop her.

So I'd found her secret stash one night when she wasn't home (it hadn't been that hard; she'd hidden the pills inside her jewelry box), then searched all over the local Duane Reade until I found similar-looking, but harmless, pills that I could substitute in place of the real thing—which I'd then flushed down the toilet.

“When she gets home,” Zach observed, over his Coke, “she's going to kill you.”

“She was going to kill me before this,” I said glumly. “All this will do is cement her resolve.”

“You know she didn't really mean to do it, anyway,” Zach said. He lifted the soda can to his lips and took a long swallow.

“Didn't mean to do it? Zach, of course she did. You
don't overdose on Valium by accident. That's just crazy!”

“Huh.” Zach reached into the bag of chips someone had left open on the kitchen table, and helped himself to a handful. “Crazy like a fox. Valium's the one drug it's pretty hard to kill yourself with. And her timing was impeccable, in case you haven't noticed.”

Slumped miserably in the chair at which Alice usually sat at breakfast time, I glanced at Zach in astonishment. “Her timing? What are you talking about?”

“She knew you and I were going out tonight, right?”

I chewed my lip, remembering our confrontation in the kitchen.

“Well,” I said. “Yes.”

“That's what I thought. So she must've taken the pills at suppertime,” he said. “Right before I came to pick you up. If Petra had checked on her, like she was supposed to, she would have found Tory sprawled across the floor, and our little trip to the theater”—he bit down noisily on a chip—“would have been indefinitely postponed.”

I stared at him across the kitchen table. “You can't be serious,” I said. “You're saying Tory wasn't trying to kill herself at all—that she took a handful of pills just to keep me from going out with you?”

He shrugged and washed the chip down with a swig of soda.

“Not a handful,” he said. “Two. That's how many she told the paramedics she'd taken. Tory knows two Valiums won't do anything. It's all just for show. A big, inconvenient show. She'd never really hurt herself. Fortunately for
us, this time, you swapped out the real thing for some baby aspirin. And then Petra screwed up, and didn't find Tory until after we'd left.”

“Oh, Zach.” I sighed. “Poor Petra thinks this was all her fault, but it isn't. It was mine.”

Zach put his soda can down with a thump. “Screw that,” he said, making a face.

But it was easy for Zach to say screw that. It wasn't so easy to say it myself. Tory had, after all, confided in me, showing me that doll she'd made. And how had I paid her back? By going out with Zach myself. Sure, Zach didn't like me—not the way I liked him, anyway. We were just friends.

But he and Tory were just friends, and he wasn't going to any concerts with her. Of course she'd been jealous. Of course she'd acted out of that jealousy.

And now he'd asked me to the dance. If she'd tried to kill herself—or, if you believed Zach, faked a suicide attempt—just because we'd gone to a concert together, what would she do when she learned Zach had asked me to the spring formal?

I didn't know. But I did know I didn't want to find out.

It was right then that the phone rang. I was up and out from behind the table, snatching the phone from its cradle, before it rang a second time.

“It's me,” Aunt Evelyn said. “We're here at the hospital with Tory. We'll be home soon. She's going to be fine. Thanks to you.”

I let out a gusty sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.” I gave Zach a thumbs-up signal. He mouthed,
I told you so.

“How are the kids?” Aunt Evelyn asked.

“Asleep,” I said. Alice had mercifully never woken up. Teddy had heard the commotion and come downstairs, but Zach had convinced him to go back to bed by promising a game of catch in the garden the next day.

“Good. Well, it looks like they're going to discharge her soon. They didn't have to pump her stomach, once they knew it was…well, what you said. I could hardly believe it when they told me—I don't know how she got hold of
Valium
. How did you know, Jean?”

“Know what?”

“Know that she had those pills?”

I swallowed and said, “I, um, just found them—”

“And didn't tell us?” Aunt Evelyn sounded really disappointed in me. “I'm very grateful for what you did do, Jean, but you still should have told us. Tory is—Oh, here comes the doctor. Don't wait up for us, Jean. We'll talk in the morning. Thank you for watching the kids.”

“Oh, it's no pro—”

But Aunt Evelyn had already hung up.

I put down the receiver, then turned toward Zach. I felt as if I were going to be sick. But I had no choice.

Tory had seen to that.

“So?” Zach was looking at me with those intense green eyes. “She's okay, right? I told you so.”

“She's fine,” I said. And swallowed. “Zach. I can't go to the dance with you.” I said it fast. And I said it firmly.

He just went on looking at me.

“That's what she wants, you know,” he said. “That's why she did it.”

“Still,” I said, remembering how ragged Aunt Evelyn's voice sounded on the phone. “I can't go. I'm sorry.”

Zach rolled his eyes. “Stop beating yourself up. None of this is your fault.”

“It is too my fault! That's why I can't go with you. It wouldn't be right. You'd better ask someone else.”

Zach looked angry. “I don't
want
to ask anyone else,” he said. “If I can't go with the girl I want, I won't go with anyone.”

“Why?” I demanded hotly. “Petra's the one you want, but you were going with me. So what difference does it make?”

“You know what?” he said, letting out a sudden—and totally humorless—laugh. “You're right. It doesn't make any difference at all. I'm going home now. I'll see you tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

I was all alone in the Gardiners' kitchen. Which made it easy to do what I did next, which was sit down and cry my eyes out for a good ten minutes. I wasn't just crying for myself, either, or because I'd lost Zach—not that I'd ever had him in the first place.

No, I was crying for Tory, and for Petra, and for all
the people my magic—was it magic, or was it just simply bad luck?—had hurt.

Because, in the end, wasn't what Tory had done to herself a direct result of my binding spell? I'd bound her from harming others…

…but not from hurting herself.

This fact stung all the more when she finally got home, and I saw her there with them—her parents and Petra—in the foyer when I hurried in to greet them. She was pale, and looked thinner than ever.

But though she might have looked wan, there was nothing weak about the way that she flung a look of pure, unadulterated malevolence over her shoulder as she paused on her way up the staircase, upon hearing my voice when I said, “Oh, you're home.”

“Oh, Jean,” Aunt Evelyn said, as she shrugged off her evening coat. “You're still up? You didn't have to wait. It's late.”

“I was too worried to sleep,” I said.

“Well, you don't have to worry anymore,” Uncle Ted said, glancing up at Tory on the stairs. “She's fine. Thanks to you.”

Hearing this, Tory's face lost some of its paleness and turned a sort of mottled red color. Then, looking down at me, she spat, “I will get you for this if it's the last thing I do, Jinx!”

“Tory!” Uncle Ted looked appalled. “Your cousin might possibly have saved your life tonight. The appropriate
thing to do would be to thank her.”

“Oh, I'll thank her, all right,” Tory said, with a sneer. “I have a very special thank-you I've been saving up, just for Jinx.”

“Torrance!” Aunt Evelyn's voice was so hard, it could have cut glass. “Go to your room. We will discuss this in the morning.
With
your therapist.”

Tory shot me one last baleful glare, then ran up the stairs. When her door had slammed, Petra, who'd been standing quietly by the French doors to the living room, said, “Well. I'm tired. If it is all right with you, I think I will go to bed.”

“Oh, of course, Petra,” Aunt Evelyn said in an entirely different tone. “Thank you so much for everything you did tonight.”

“It was no problem,” Petra said. “I'm just glad that…well. I'm just glad. Good night.”

She vanished through the door that led to her cozy basement apartment. As soon as she was gone, I turned to Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Ted.

It was time. I'd done it with Zach. Now it was their turn.

I didn't want to. But I didn't have a choice.

“I know you're both tired and probably want to go to bed,” I said. “But I just wanted to say that I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the drugs. That I knew Tory had them, I mean. And…and…” I added this last part in a rush, having rehearsed it virtually nonstop in my head since seeing Tory being carried out of the house on that stretcher.
“And if you want to send me home, I totally understand.”

Both Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Ted stared down at me as if I'd suggested they lop off my head.

“Send you home?” Uncle Ted echoed. “Why would we do that?”

“Oh, Jean, honey.” Aunt Evelyn, smelling as exotic as always, and looking beautiful in a long, black evening sheath, put an arm around me. “What happened tonight wasn't your fault. Tory's been having…difficulties…for some time now. I'm sorry I lashed out at you on the phone. I was just upset. But we don't blame you. Not at all.”

“But”—how could I explain this without making Tory hate me (not that she didn't already) forever if she found out about it?—“it's just that…well, this thing with Zach—”

Aunt Evelyn's pretty face hardened, and she dropped her arm from me. But not, as I first thought, because she was angry with me.

“Is that what this is all about?” she asked. “We wondered. Tory's had a crush on him for quite a while. It's unfortunate he doesn't return her feelings, but I've explained to her…that's life. It isn't your fault he chose you and not her.”

I blushed to the roots of my hair.

“Oh, no,” I said, horrified. “Zach and I…we aren't going out. We're just friends. I don't know why Tory thinks it's anything more than that.”

Aunt Evelyn raised her eyebrows. “Really?” she said. “Well, maybe because he always seems to be—”

But she didn't get to finish, because Uncle Ted interrupted.

“Wait. I can't keep up. I thought Tory had moved on from Zach,” Uncle Ted said. “What about this Shawn guy?”

“They're just friends, I think,” Aunt Evelyn said.

Yeah. Friends with benefits.

“The thing is,” I said, feeling as if the point of my speech had been lost somehow, “I think my being friends with Zach is what made Tory do what she did. So maybe if I just went home—”

“You can't go back to Hancock yet, Jean,” Aunt Evelyn said, looking troubled. “Ted and I love having you here. And Teddy and Alice adore you. Petra can't say enough good things about you. Even Marta says you're like a breath of fresh air through the house. You've become such a fixture here, I don't know what we'd do without you.”

“And,” added Uncle Ted, “frankly, I think your being here has been good for Tory. I know tonight was rough. But imagine how much worse it might have been, if you hadn't…well, done what you did.”

“You set a good example for her, Jean,” Aunt Evelyn agreed. “You've got your feet planted so firmly on the ground. I have to admit, Jean, I was really hoping some of your good influence might rub off on Tory.”

I bit my lower lip. A good example? They were hoping some of my good influence might rub off on Tory? God, no wonder she hated me so much!
I
hated me,
hearing myself described in such a way.

But the truth was, I didn't want to leave. Even if Aunt Evelyn was totally off the mark with her whole “feet planted so firmly on the ground” comment. She clearly didn't have any idea where I was headed tomorrow—where I knew that, now that I was staying, I had no choice but to head.

And I wasn't about to tell her.

“All right,” I said. “I'll stay.”

After all, what was the worst that could happen? Nothing as bad as what had happened back in Hancock.

Or so I thought. Then.