Page 6

Chapter 6

Rebecca’s Revenge

A ll the traffic lights are out, so the bus moves at a snail’s pace. I would walk if I weren’t afraid of getting run over by another cyclist, or worse.

My stomach churns as shadows flicker past the windows and the stale air fills my nostrils. The engine rumbles, making the paper bag at my feet vibrate as if the doll is about to explode.

Okay, I just have to stay calm until I get back to my suite and can call Helping Paws.

Needing a distraction, I put in my earbuds and tap my soothing study playlist.

“Total Eclipse of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler comes on.

I pick a different playlist—bossa nova music.

“Total Eclipse of the Heart” by Bonnie Tyler.

What the fuck?

I try several more playlists, growing more frantic with each attempt. Pop, classical, death metal—it doesn’t matter. My phone keeps jumping to the same song.

Oookay then .

Slumping lower in my seat, I abandon my music app and call Helping Paws. I don’t think I can wait until I get back. “Hi, it’s Katie Alexander again.”

The vet tech sighs. “Miss, Doctor Zacharias clearly said Lucy is—”

“This is different.” I grip the phone tighter, my palms sweating. “I adopted another pet that has the same symptoms. I don’t want to come in person because it’s contagious.”

“Right…” She sounds unconvinced. “I’ll pass on the message, but I’ll warn you now that this isn’t how our appointments work, and she might not call back unless you come in with the sick animal.”

“Noted. Just please tell her it’s urgent, and I’m sure it’s the same disease as before.” I hesitate. What if she doesn’t believe me? What if I get stuck with this potentially dangerous doll? “Tell her it’s really rabid. Worse than last time.”

As we end the call, I rub my face, praying this works. The staff at Helping Paws might think I’m a stalker or a weirdo or both, but I’m in deep now, and there’s no going back.

I bounce my knee as I wait to get close enough to my place that it’s safe to get off. I try the podcast app instead and tap the first one that comes up.

“Total Eclipse of the Heart” resumes.

Resigned, I let the song play, taking slow breaths.

But a shiver crawls up my spine, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck. Is the song trying to send me a message?

I check over my shoulder.

The guy seated behind me meets my gaze and offers a pursed-lip smile.

I return it and face forward again. I’m being paranoid.

By the time I rush into my basement suite, my movements are jerky and frantic. My hunger from skipping dinner doesn’t help. I slap the light switch, but the power is also out here.

“Dammit. ”

“ Meew !” Not-Lucy trots over to greet me.

I pick her up and clutch her to my chest, her presence and baby-soft fur comforting. I haven’t given up on the real Lucy, but I have grown attached to this one. She’s playful and cuddly and everything I wanted. If— when —I get the original Lucy back, I’ll have two cats.

I take her to my room and place her on top of her scratching post, safely away from the doll.

“Stay there,” I say, a nervous tremor in my voice.

I light all three candles I own, which helps cut the darkness, then take Rebecca The Creeptastic Doll out of the bag and put her on my bed. Her glassy stare bores into me, the candlelight glinting off her face and making each flaw look like an open wound.

From her scratching post, Not-Lucy stands up, arches her back, and hisses.

Her reaction makes my heart jump.

“You feel it too, huh?” I murmur.

As I look at Not-Lucy, something happens in the corner of my eye—the doll shifts.

I gasp and leap back, throwing my hands up in defense.

But when I look at the doll, nothing’s changed.

I blink, waiting, keeping my fists up. Nothing happens. The candlelight flickers over her chipped face and dress.

I tear my gaze from her, my heart thudding. There it is again—the shift.

My breath catches, but I force myself to keep my eyes on Not-Lucy. The effect is only in my periphery. It’s like when you’re in a dark bathroom and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, and there’s a half a second when you think it’s a ghost or a murderer.

In the edge of my vision, the doll’s eyes gleam red. Her mouth is open in a silent scream of rage. Her dress is black and tattered, and her little white shoes have morphed into crow feet .

I flick my gaze to her again. Blue eyes and a frilly purple dress.

And then away. A demon in my periphery.

My face tingles as unease settles over me.

Okay, I’m really going to need Natalie to call me back.

My phone makes a noise, and I lunge for it before the sound registers. It’s not ringing—it’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart.”

“God dammit!” With a trembling finger, I smash the pause button.

Should I grab a weapon in case this doll decides to pull a Lucy and go rabid on me?

I sidle over to my desk and yank open the drawer. Even a pair of scissors is better than nothing.

But where my scissors should be, a long, hairy leg pokes out from the depths of the drawer.

I freeze.

Another leg extends, and sick horror wells inside me as an engorged body appears.

I leap back, a blood-curdling shriek tearing from my throat as a spider as big as Not-Lucy scuttles out.

“Ew, ew, ew!” I jump onto the bed, curling my legs under me. I don’t know if it’s a tarantula or a wolf spider or something else, but it’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

It reaches the corner behind my door and stops, two legs on the wall, the rest on the carpet.

Panicked breaths escaping, I lean over and grab Not-Lucy from her scratching post, hugging her close. Do spiders eat kittens?

My phone rings for real, and I scramble to answer. “Hello?”

“You adopted another one?” Natalie shouts.

Though she’s yelling, the relief at hearing her voice is so great that I sink onto the bed, my shoulders slumping.

“It’s a doll.” I try not to panic as I keep both Rebecca and the spider in view. How am I going to get that thing outside? I don’t have a cup big enough to trap it, nor do I want to step anywhere near it.

“Explain,” Natalie says.

“I was at a flea market, and I had the same feeling as when I saw Lucy in the shelter. I knew it had the same… problem.” I don’t know what to call it, because it’s definitely not an infectious disease.

Natalie’s breath hitches. “So you bought it?”

“Tell me where Lucy is,” I retort. I can’t lose sight of why I brought this doll home in the first place.

Hollow footsteps thump in the background, like she’s pacing or maybe walking somewhere. What’s she thinking during all these long silences?

Finally, she huffs. “What’s your address?”

Nothing like a hot girl coming over to abruptly shift your priorities. In the twenty minutes before Natalie arrives, I frantically shove dirty dishes into drawers and laundry into the closet, make the bed, wipe dust off every surface, and wave candles around to mask the musty basement smell. I give the spider a wide berth, still unsure how to get rid of it.

Out of breath, I glance out the dark window, seeing only my reflected silhouette. My hair is a mess, falling loose from its clip. I tame it with shaking hands.

The solar floodlight illuminates the path. A pair of brown Blundstones strides past.

Oh God. She’s here.

I grab Not-Lucy and take her with me, speed-walking down the hallway and through the kitchen .

Doctor Natalie Zacharias is at my place .

She knocks twice, the sound piercing the quiet.

I stop, take a half a second to try and look composed, and open the door.

My greeting comes out like a breathy, “Hi-i…”

Her hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, loose strands framing her face. She’s wearing an oversized black blazer over a tiny white bralet and straight-leg jeans, showing off her toned abs. Behind her familiar shade of copper eyeshadow, her gaze is hard and serious. “Where’s the doll?”

I point down the hall, where candlelight flickers from my room. “On my bed.”

She kicks off her boots in a rush and strides past me. Her warm, herbal scent hits my nostrils, rooting me in place for a second before I slam the door and trot after her. Those little braids with hints of green and yellow peek through her ponytail, which comes halfway down her back.

Heat floods my cheeks. Doctor Natalie Zacharias is in my bedroom .

She puts an arm out to stop me from passing, staring at the doll on the bed. “You touched her?”

A jolt runs through me as her arm brushes my chest. I step back. “I mean, to buy her—”

She spins, scanning me up and down. I suddenly feel underdressed in my flannel, ripped jeans, and moccasins.

“Are you okay?” Her tone is soft, but her eyes are blazing and her jaw is tight.

I shift. Am I itchy? Nauseous? I can’t tell what’s real and what’s in my head. “I think I’m fine.”

She rummages in an inner pocket of her blazer, the swaying material wafting her scent at me. “I’ll take the doll with me. Are there any, uh, side effects I need to take care of while I’m here?”

Catching her meaning, I point. “There’s a spider in the corner. ”

Not-Lucy hisses and leaps from my grasp, her needle-sharp claws digging into my forearms.

“Ow! Hey, no!” I cry, trying to catch her.

She hits the floor with a thump and zooms from the room in a white blur. My eyes water in pain, my skin burning where her claws sliced me open.

“Leave her!” Natalie extends a hand. “I need your help.”

A crackling noise fills the air, and it dawns on me what the kitten was hissing at. The doll contorts, bending backward, her angelic face melting like hot wax.

Terror seizes me, weakening my legs. I scream.

“Okay, new plan.” Natalie takes a glass vial from her inner coat pocket. It’s thumb-sized, tubular, with a cork stopper to keep the shimmering amber substance inside. “We’re doing this here. I have to get this onto the doll, but she’s going to resist.”

“What’s in the vial?” The second part of that sentence registers, and a chill ripples through me. “What do you mean resist ?”

Her dark, molten eyes meet mine. “I’m not going to let you get hurt. But I need you to do exactly as I say.”

She uncorks the vial. The pop is drowned by something louder—the whoosh of my window opening.

A cold draft blows in, lifting the strands of hair framing her face and raising goosebumps on my arms. The candlelight shudders, casting moving shadows over everything.

Uncertainty crosses Natalie’s expression. “You really shouldn’t have brought that doll home.”

She lunges for Rebecca, and I hurtle toward the window to shut it.

I’m too slow. A massive bird swoops in, knocking me back a step. It heads straight for Natalie .

“No!” I lurch after it, trying to shoo it away as its talons close over Natalie’s wrist. For an absurd moment, the word pterodactyl comes to mind. Then logic kicks in. It’s a hawk.

Good God, there’s a hawk in my bedroom.

At least my landlords aren’t home.

Natalie roars in pain, blood oozing between the claws on her wrist.

“Get off her!” Icy fear shoots through me. She came here because of me, and I can’t let this happen.

In an explosion of sound, music blares from my desk.

Natalie looks around, a hand on the bird’s neck as she tries to pry it off. “What—is—that?”

Heat invades my face. “My phone.”

“Total Eclipse of the Heart” has resumed, blaring at full volume, filling the room until my head throbs.

“Why?!” Natalie shouts.

“I don’t know! Ask the doll!”

Fine, it was the last song I listened to. I have a playlist of power ballads that Hazel and I love to bellow at the top of our lungs, and I may or may not have been reminiscing earlier.

I would dive for my phone and turn it off, but the hawk is still on Natalie’s arm, and whatever is in that vial is in danger of spilling.

I charge and seize the bird around the middle. Its bony wings flap against me, its soft feathers smushing between my fingers. Its shrieks shred my eardrums.

Something catches my eye on the bed.

From the melted porcelain and crumpled purple lace that used to be Rebecca, a black shape emerges. It breaks apart, trickling over the duvet. In the darkness, it takes me a moment to process what’s going on.

“Spiders!” I shriek.

A nest hatches from the lump that was a doll, scattering across the room .

Shit, shit… What have I unleashed? Are these poisonous? Will they spread through the city and—

Wait. The huge one in the corner… It’s gone. And there’s something on my pant leg.

I look down to see the monster spider from earlier scuttling up my jeans. A scream tears from my lips, fear clouding my head so all I can do is kick and thrash.

Somehow, amid my tap dancing, I slap it back to the floor. In the millisecond that its spindly legs and soft body touch my palm, the heebie-jeebies rocket through me.

“Katie!” Natalie grits out.

Right, the hawk!

With a roar, I grab it again, pull it away from her, and throw it at the window before it can sink its sharp beak into me. It lands on the windowsill with the agility of a cat landing on its feet.

Natalie stumbles, her wrist bleeding freely. “Hold it off!” she shouts over the blaring music.

The hawk takes flight in the bedroom, and I wave my arms to keep it away from her, crushing spiders beneath my moccasins with every step.

This is so out of hand. I’ve unleashed an arachnid infestation on the city and we’re both going to die from a rabid bird attack.

I look back at Natalie—and freeze, my brain derailing as I try to process what I’m seeing. Her palm hovers over the vial, and the amber contents have risen out of it, morphing in the air like an amoeba. It’s not a liquid, more like the slime my sisters and I used to make as kids. And it’s floating .

A thud pulls my attention. A candle on my desk has fallen to the floor, the carpet smoldering.

“Shit!” I grab the nearest container of water—my diffuser—and dump it on the smoke before anything catches fire .

I’ve unleashed an arachnid infestation and we’re going to die and the house is going to burn down.

The was-a-doll throbs, pulsing like a black heart at the center of the chaos. Pictures fall off shelves. My lamp hits the floor. Gasping for air, I seize a textbook from my desk for self-defense and send the whole pile crashing down.

“Hurry!” I cry, praying that whatever amber substance Natalie unleashed from that vial is enough to stop all this.

The goo hits the was-a-doll with a wet slap , warping and stretching until it engulfs it.

The song crescendos, and I bellow over Bonnie Tyler’s voice, swinging at the hawk before it can bite my face.

The goo-covered was-a-doll sizzles and spits, steam rising. A scent like burnt sugar curls in my nostrils.

Ohmygod ohmygod…

The hawk circles. Spiders scuttle. We gulp down air, Natalie on all fours on my bed, me frozen in place with the textbook raised.

I drop the textbook and step closer, but she puts a hand out. “Stay there.”

“Is it…?” I trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence. Dead? Deactivated?

From the kitchen, the microwave beeps, the fridge hums, and ambient light brightens the room by a fraction. The power is back on. My bedroom light remains off, the candles dancing as if in a high wind.

A spark comes from the shimmering amber goo-covered was-a-doll, snagging my attention. Zap. Zap.

“Cover your ears!” Natalie shouts, launching off the bed.

She throws herself at me, smothering me with her body and pinning me against the wall as an explosion rattles the bedroom.