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  I laughed. “You want to be a witch, too?”

  “Of course,” she said. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Where are we going?” I asked. “Your house?”

  “No. I promised Lonny . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “Promised him what?”

  “That we’d pick him up. His car is in the shop, and he’s getting off early today.”

  I made a right onto Park Drive. A little kid on a scooter made a fast stop on the sidewalk and almost toppled over. His mother came running up behind him.

  “Can we talk about Lonny?” I said.

  She fiddled with the beads. “No. I know how you feel about him. You’re wrong.”

  “You don’t know how I feel about Lonny,” I said. “Because we never really discuss Lonny.”

  “We don’t have to. I know how you feel, Morgan. You think—”

  “I think he’s using you.”

  “Okay. There. You said it. Feel better now?” Pink circles formed on her cheeks. I could tell she was getting angry. I’d gone too far.

  “Sorry,” I said. “But . . . seriously, Morgan. Do you really think he cares about you?”

  The pink circles darkened to red. “Yes. For sure. Of course he does.” We drove on in silence for a few blocks. “Know what Lonny is going to do for my birthday tomorrow?” Morgan asked. “He said he’s going to tattoo my name on his arm.”

  “He told you that?”

  She nodded. “Doesn’t that prove he cares?”

  I didn’t answer. I thought of a few sarcastic things to say, but I held myself back. I didn’t say them.

  “I can read your thoughts,” Morgan said. “Maybe I’m a witch, too. A mind reader. I know you’re still thinking bad things about Lonny. But you are so wrong about him.”

  The tattoo parlor was on the corner at River Road. I made a left turn and was pleased to see a parking space right in front.

  I shut off the engine and we climbed out. Morgan brushed back her hair with one hand and straightened her skirt.

  The late-afternoon sunlight filled the front window of the tattoo parlor. Above the door, a red-and-blue neon sign announced INK, INC.

  An elderly woman leaning on a walker came out of the little grocery store next door. She had a bag of groceries resting on the tray of her walker. She narrowed her eyes at us suspiciously. Then turned and moved off slowly in the other direction.

  Morgan and I stepped onto the sidewalk. We made our way to the front window and, shielding our eyes from the sunlight, peered inside.

  And Morgan opened her mouth in a shriek of horror.

  30

  Morgan Fear Continues

  Morgan raised her fists to pound on the glass. But I grabbed her arms and held her back.

  I saw what made her cry out. It was Lonny, tilted back in his tattoo chair with a girl on top of him. She had long blond hair and was wearing short shorts. Her legs sprawled over his and they were, shall we say, being as intimate as two people can be who are wearing clothes.

  Yes, they were entwined in each other, Lonny’s arms around her waist, holding her down, their mouths locked together in a long kiss.

  “I’m going to kill him!” Morgan cried.

  I held on to her. She struggled to break free, to get to the door. She wanted to barge in, break them up, scream and cry at Lonny.

  “No,” I said. “No. Morgan—no.”

  I held on till she stopped struggling. She let out a long sigh and her body slumped, like a tire deflating.

  I pulled her back, away from the window. “Not now,” I said. “Don’t go in there. Don’t do it. Not till we have a plan.”

  I was surprised by the tears that trickled down Morgan’s face. I guess I didn’t really know how much she cared about Lonny. So I didn’t take any pleasure in knowing that I was right about him.

  Lonny was seriously a creep.

  I told you so. I told you so.

  I thought it, but I didn’t say it.

  I didn’t like to see my best friend in the world so upset and miserable. Lonny would have to pay. My devious mind was spinning with ideas.

  I dragged Morgan to a Starbucks on the next block. We got lattes and took a table against the back wall. The place was nearly empty at five in the afternoon. Just a young woman wearing earbuds, typing away on a laptop, and two kids and a nanny having big chocolate chip cookies and juice.

  Morgan had stopped crying, but her cheeks were still wet from her tears. She tapped her blue fingernails tensely on the tabletop and ignored her latte.

  I sat across from her, cradling my cup between my hands. We didn’t talk for a long while. I was still thinking hard, scheming, trying to come up with the perfect plan to avenge my friend.

  Finally, Morgan broke the silence. “Happy birthday to me,” she murmured under her breath. “I could kill that jerk. I feel like a total fool.”

  “Shut up,” I said. “You’re not a fool.”

  “He knew I was coming to pick him up,” she said. “He knew I was coming.”

  “I guess he forgot,” I said.

  Morgan spun the latte cup in her hand. “I wanted to strangle him. I really did.”

  “I have a better plan than strangling,” I said. I couldn’t keep a smile off my face.

  She eyed me suspiciously. “What kind of a plan? If it doesn’t involve strangling, I probably won’t like it.”

  I took a sip of my drink. I’d poured too much sweetener in. “I want to do something special for your birthday,” I said.

  “Like strangle Lonny?”

  “Shut up about strangling. I want to do it at Lonny’s tattoo parlor.”

  She stared at me, one hand twisting the beads at her neck, waiting to hear the rest.

  “Let’s give each other a tattoo and make it a surprise,” I said.

  Her face twisted in confusion. “Excuse me?”

  “You surprise me, and I’ll surprise you,” I said. “We’ll give each other a small tattoo, and we won’t tell what it is until we do it.”

  She thought about it. “Tattooing is hard. You can’t just pick up a needle and tattoo someone.”

  “Lonny will show us what to do,” I said. “He can do most of it. The main thing is, we’ll surprise each other.”

  Her dark eyes flashed. “I like it. Only one problem. How does that help me get back at Lonny?”

  I tapped the back of her hand. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I have a plan for him.”

  31

  Morgan Fear Continues

  Lonny was setting up his equipment when Morgan and I walked in after lunch the next afternoon. The shop had just opened, and we were the only ones there.

  I saw the look of surprise on his face when he saw us. He quickly replaced it with a smile and stepped forward to give Morgan a quick hug. He nodded to me. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Before I could answer, he turned back to Morgan. “I thought you were going to come pick me up yesterday.”

  Morgan clenched her fists at her sides. But she kept the steady, blank expression on her face. “Sorry. I . . . uh . . . got hung up.”

  “No problem,” Lonny said. “I got a ride.”

  Two pink circles formed on Morgan’s cheeks. She flashed me a quick glance. She wanted me to take charge here. I could see she couldn’t control her anger much longer.

  “It’s Morgan’s birthday,” I said. “And—”

  “Oh, yeah.” Lonny suddenly remembered. “Happy birthday, babe.”

  Babe?

  “We want to do something special for her birthday,” I said. I motioned to the tattoo chair. “We want to give each other tattoos. And we’re going to surprise each other. We’re not going to tell what they are.”

  Lonny rubbed the stubble of a beard on his cheeks. “You mean you want to do it yourselves?”

  “Well . . . kinda,” I said. “We thought you could help. You know. With the needle and everything.”

  He thought about it for a few seconds, his eyes on Morgan. “Awesome ide
a,” he said finally. “Totally awesome. Sure, I’ll help.” He moved to the equipment and lifted a large needle attached to a hose. “I’ll even give you the employee discount.”

  Morgan couldn’t hold back. “You’re going to charge us?”

  He shrugged. “I kinda have to. My boss keeps track of the ink and stuff.”

  Lonny had obviously forgotten about his birthday promise. That he was going to tattoo Morgan’s name on his arm. That had to be a lie from the start.

  A funny picture flashed into my mind. I suddenly saw Lonny with the words I’m with Stupid tattooed on his forehead in black and red.

  He was saying something to Morgan, but I didn’t hear it. He turned and raised his shirtsleeve, showing off his Star Wars tattoo sleeve. “I designed it,” he said, “and Mickey, my boss, did the art. It took two weeks.”

  Morgan just stared at it.

  “Awesome,” I said.

  “I submitted it to Inked magazine,” Lonny said, pulling his shirtsleeve back into place. “They’ll probably want to do a spread on me.”

  Yes. For sure. It’s all about Lonny.

  “Who wants to go first?” he asked.

  I dropped into the chair before Morgan could answer. “I want to get the first tattoo,” I said. “I can’t wait to see what Morgan has in mind for me.”

  Lonny grinned. “I know what it’s going to be. It’s going to be a big red heart, and it’s going to say Morgan and Morgan.” He laughed.

  “Shut up, Lonny,” Morgan snapped. “Don’t be dumb. I have a nice idea for Morgan.”

  “Let me set it up,” he said. He set down three little cups in a row on the table. Then he filled each cup with a different-colored ink. He pulled a couple of bottles from a drawer. I saw that one of them was skin lotion.

  “Let’s get your skin clean and smooth, Morgan,” he said, taking my arm.

  “Just the backs of her hands,” Morgan told him.

  “No problem.” He rubbed lotion over the back of my hands with a cotton cloth.

  He turned to Morgan, who was watching over his shoulder. “Tattoos bleed while you’re doing them. So you use this to wipe the blood away as you work.” He squeezed some kind of gel from a tube onto another piece of cloth.

  Then he flipped a switch and the equipment started to hum. He raised a needle, flipped another switch, and it made a whirring sound and buzzed in his hand. “Do you know which color you want?”

  Morgan eyed the ink cups on the table. “Just blue.”

  Lonny nodded. “Okay. Remember, keep your hand steady. If you slip—”

  Morgan backed away. “You know, maybe you should do it for me, Lonny. I don’t want to mess it up.”

  I knew this would happen. I know Morgan so well and her total lack of confidence. But that’s okay. Lonny could go ahead and do my tattoo. It wouldn’t change my plan at all.

  “Go ahead, Morgan,” I said. “Tell me. What’s my tattoo?”

  She kept her eyes on the needle in Lonny’s hand. “Little bluebirds,” she said. “I want to tattoo a tiny bluebird on the back of each of your hands.”

  I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Bluebirds? Why?”

  “Because you are so free. You are the freest person I know. Your spirit is free as a bird.”

  I felt a stab of emotion in my throat. “That’s . . . very sweet,” I said softly.

  Lonny placed my left hand on the table, and he spread my fingers out. The needle whirred and spun in his hand. He dipped it in the blue ink.

  “It stings,” he said. “But you can take it. Just don’t move your hand.”

  “I’ll show you what I want,” Morgan told him. She unfolded a sheet of paper. She had drawn a bluebird on it with its wings raised.

  And that’s what I got. Two tiny bluebirds, blue outlined in black, on the backs of my hands.

  A little surprise for my parents. But the tattoos were tiny and they were my hands, and I didn’t care if they both had fits.

  Besides, I didn’t realize it at the time, but I wouldn’t be alive to show it to them.

  32

  Morgan Fear Continues

  Two bluebirds. Beautiful. Lonny admired his work and rubbed my hands with alcohol to wipe away any germs, then another layer of gel. My hands throbbed, but he said the pain wouldn’t last long.

  Morgan’s turn.

  I had a delicious plan for Morgan.

  She started to sit down in the chair, but I motioned her away.

  Lonny was leaning over a sink against the back wall, cleaning his needle.

  “What’s my tattoo going to be?” Morgan asked.

  I raised a finger to my lips to silence her. Then I turned and pointed at Lonny. I began to mumble the words of the spell I had memorized the night before.

  A new spell. Exciting for me, but also very stressful. What if I messed it up?

  Morgan opened her mouth to speak, but I motioned again for her to shut up. Her eyes locked on mine as if she were trying to burn inside my brain and see what I was doing.

  I mumbled the words quickly, so low that Lonny didn’t hear.

  And when his knees folded and his eyes closed and he slumped against the wall, I darted forward and caught him under the shoulders before he could fall.

  “Help me,” I shouted to Morgan. “Grab him. Help me put him in the chair.”

  Morgan hesitated, then hurried over and grabbed Lonny’s other arm. “What are you doing?” she cried. “What on earth—?”

  “It’s a sleep spell,” I said. “Hurry. Get him into the chair. On his stomach. I . . . I don’t know how long the spell will last.”

  “This is crazy,” Morgan murmured. But she wrapped her hands around him, and we dragged him to the chair.

  “Stop,” I said. “Let’s get his shirt off. Hurry.”

  “Huh?” Morgan squinted at me. “What exactly—”

  “No time,” I said. “I really don’t know how long he’ll be asleep.”

  It was a struggle, but we pulled his shirt over his head. Then we dumped him onto the chair, tilted the chair all the way back, and rolled Lonny onto his stomach.

  His arms hung limply down to the floor. They were totally tattooed and his shoulders were covered in ink. But his back was clean.

  I grabbed a needle and fumbled with the switches on the unit until I got it to hum to life.

  “What are you doing?” Morgan demanded, hands pressed against her waist. “Tell me!”

  “It’s your birthday surprise,” I said. My voice came out high and shrill because of my excitement. Am I really going ahead with this?

  “Please,” Morgan pleaded. “Explain. Tell me.”

  “I’m going to make Lonny keep his promise to you,” I said. “I’m going to tattoo your name across his back.”

  Morgan gasped. “Are you serious?”

  I laughed. “Of course, I’m serious. He promised you, didn’t he?”

  “But . . . but . . . you can’t . . . You—”

  “Watch me,” I said. I lowered the needle to the black ink cup. Got it whirring. Pressed it to his back. It pierced his skin, and I made a short black line.

  I motioned to Morgan. “Help me. Hold him down. This is harder than I thought.”

  She hesitated. “I don’t think I want to help.”

  “Come on, girl. Don’t spoil it!” I cried. “This is your birthday treat!”

  Lonny was breathing softly, his mouth open a little, eyes shut. I pressed the needle against the pale skin of his back. “Oops.”

  The needle slipped. I jerked the needle away from the puncture mark I had made. Bright red blood spurted up from Lonny’s back.

  Morgan let out a scream.

  More blood splashed up. Had I hit an artery or something?

  I glimpsed a spot of blood on the back of my hand. Without thinking, I raised the hand to my mouth and licked the blood off.

  “Mmmmmm.”

  A river of bright red blood trickled down the crease in the middle of Lonny’s back. I dipped a finger in a
nd tasted some more. “Hey, tastes good,” I murmured.

  Lonny breathed softly and didn’t move.

  I brought my head down and licked some warm blood off his back. It felt so good on my tongue, and the sweet-sour iron taste made me crave more.

  “Morgan? What are you doing?” Morgan shrieked at me. “Have you gone crazy?”

  I licked more blood off his back. So tangy. So . . . satisfying.

  “Morgan, come try it,” I said, waving her over. “I never knew . . . I mean, I never knew it was so delicious.”

  The flow of blood slowed. A long line of it had already dried on Lonny’s skin. I took the razor he uses to shave the skin and dug another cut, a long horizontal line just below his shoulders.

  A new fountain of blood splashed up. I leaned over, let the warm liquid flow against my lips, and took a long drink.

  “You’re sick!” Morgan cried. “This is sooo sick! You really are a Fear!”

  She grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away. I jerked my arm away from her and licked the warm blood—so tasty and delicious and real—like drinking life itself.

  I took the razor and sliced another deep cut. I wanted the tasty nectar to be fresh, fresh and hot.

  “Stop it! Are you some kind of vampire?” Morgan shrieked. “Stop it! Stop it!”

  “Try it,” I rasped, my voice deep and hoarse, like an animal voice. “Try it, Morgan. Try it.”

  “Noooooo!” she screamed, backing away, hands pressed to her red cheeks. “No! Morgan—please!”

  The blood spurted up. I drank it like at a water fountain. So rich and warm and thick. It gurgled down my throat, splashed over my lips. I knew my face was dripping with the hot blood . . . Lonny’s hot blood. But I didn’t care.

  “I never knew . . . ,” I growled at my friend, in a voice I’d never heard before, a creature-voice from deep inside me. “I never knew . . . I never knew.”

  33

  Morgan Fear Continues

  We squealed away from the curb. I didn’t remember if we closed the shop door or not.

  I let Morgan drive. I felt too insane to get behind the wheel, the life force pumping through my body, the life force from Lonny’s blood. I felt crazy and giddy and dizzy, far beyond being drunk. I wanted to sing and scream and dance and fly.