Page 8

Chapter 8

An Alexander Christmas

S o Natalie is not an ordinary veterinarian. She’s not even an ordinary person. She has something to do with possessed cats and dolls, and the need to figure it out consumes me day and night until my dreams are full of exploding dolls and purple butterflies.

Is ‘possessed’ the right word? Are we dealing with demons? Hazel’s petrified shouts are burned into my memory as Lucy climbed my bedroom wall. I thought that night was the scariest of my life, but little did I know what hell awaited me at a flea market.

As the days pass, I sometimes catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror to find haunted eyes staring back—the face of someone who’s realized the world isn’t the safe, predictable place she’d always believed it to be. Other times, the phantom sensation of Natalie’s body shielding mine rushes back, tingling through me, betraying me with a burning attraction to this woman I can’t trust. The woman who’s lied to me over and over again .

Huddled in a campus cafe one December afternoon, desperately trying to focus on studying for finals, I tip my laptop screen away from my study buddies and do a quick internet search on exorcism.

I’m with Clayton, Johnny, Mo, Andrea, and three others, a coffee on my left and an open statistics textbook on my right. We’ve been meeting on Tuesdays and Thursdays to study between classes, a big change from my old routine of sitting in the library with headphones on.

Look at me, making friends.

Wikipedia tells me exorcism tends to involve some kind of ritual, religious amulet, or recitation—none of which match what Natalie did. But I could argue that the shimmering substance in the vial was holy water. Or… holy goo.

I grab my phone to text Natalie.

Katie

I figured it out. You’re an exorcist, and Rebecca and Lucy were possessed by demons.

I’ve texted her a few other theories since she gave me her number, and while I was hesitant to bother her and make her pull back, my messages don’t seem unwelcome.

“What possessed me to take calculus?” Andrea moans into her hands.

The word possessed makes me look up.

“Katie’s taking calculus,” Clayton says, perking up. “I bet she can help.”

“Um—sure.” I blink, pulling my focus away from my phone. It’s been more challenging to study lately with my mind constantly circling Natalie. I’ll be mid-sentence on a paper, and suddenly, I’m reading an article on jinxes.

“Do you have any idea what I did wrong?” Andrea pushes her notebook across the table to me, and I mold my brain around the equation .

“Katie’s a genius.” Clayton leans in and gives me a not-so-subtle flirty nudge. He always manages to sit beside me and never misses an opportunity for a poke or elbow.

I keep my gaze on Andrea’s page. “Just a perfectionist who doesn’t give up on solving a problem.”

“That’s why you’re going to ace everything,” he says.

Clayton failed two midterms, which was obviously an awakening because he’s been less concerned about being the Party Guy since then. Now, his approach is to ask me to get together and study instead of inviting me to parties.

“You almost had it,” I tell Andrea. I scribble down the solution and slide the paper back to her.

She looks it over. “Oh my gosh, I love you.”

My phone buzzes, and my heart skips a beat.

Natalie

If I were exorcizing demons, how would that change your world view? Would you adopt a certain religion?

I press my lips together, hearing the text in my head in her low voice. Typical Natalie, skirting the answer.

Katie

It’s a little infuriating how you don’t confirm or deny any of my theories. At least give me a hint.

Natalie

Have you considered a zombie outbreak? Rebecca was looking a little undead before she exploded…

Katie

You’re such a bra t

Natalie

(:

I sip my coffee to hide my smile. I don’t need Clayton asking me what I’m smirking at.

The playfulness in Natalie’s texts is… surprising. Encouraging. If she didn’t want me messaging her, she would tell me, right? She was certainly direct about it before.

But something’s changed since the doll incident. She’s more open.

I scroll back through our message history. Of all my scattered and ridiculous theories, I keep coming back to one word: cursed . I think Lucy and Rebecca were carrying curses. What else could bring powerful strokes of bad luck? What else could cause electrical outages, hatch spiders on my bed, and open the window to let aggressive birds fly into my room?

Two weeks ago, I texted the word to Natalie. Her response, also a single word, was as noncommittal as ever: Interesting.

“You going home over the break?” Clayton’s voice breaks through my thoughts. He leans forward, folding his arms across his textbook and forcing himself into my line of sight.

“My family’s actually coming here,” I reply, setting my phone down. “They’ve never been to Vancouver. You?”

An excited jitter goes through me at the promise of seeing my family. Homesickness has been my constant companion since September, curled up against my belly right beside Ethel.

As he tells me about catching up with his high school buddies out in the suburbs, a pang of sadness hits me. I’d kill to see Hazel over the holidays. Ever since the guy in her program, Sean, asked her out in November, they’ve been blissfully attached. Glued together, really. It’s great to see her so happy, but it means I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the exploding doll or the fact that Natalie and I have been texting .

And although she was adamant that I don’t tell anyone… I can’t hold in something that weird. It’s eating away at me, and I have to bounce ideas off my bestie—starting with the theory that I accidentally adopted a cursed kitten.

Standing in the domestic terminal at Vancouver International Airport, my mouth falls open as I process the sight of a familiar face walking toward me. She’s in ripped jeans and a black varsity jacket, her hair in a loose braid, and a full backpack over her shoulders, looking effortlessly cool until we spot each other.

“Hazel!” I scream, dropping my cardboard sign.

She screams back, and we meet in a jumping hug.

“Surprise!”

“Oh my God! How long are you staying?” My voice is muffled against her shoulder.

“Just three days. I need to go home for my family’s Christmas thing—”

“Of course.”

“—but I had to come visit you while I could.”

My heart is ready to burst as we step apart. “We have to jam-pack these three days. Ugh, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Hazel raises her eyebrows, and my stomach twists in anticipation. Finally, I’ll be able to get her opinion, and she can help me come up with a plan.

Over her shoulder, my family pushes through the crowd rolling their carry-on luggage, all smiles and waves.

I scramble to pick up my handmade cardboard sign, holding it high.

Welcome home from prison, Alyssa, Pearl, and Nicky !

They dissolve into giggles, enveloping me in a group hug—my sisters, Hazel, Mom, and Dad. Everyone looks the same as ever, a reminder that it hasn’t been as long as it feels. Alyssa is in full makeup and a knee-length trench coat, with fresh highlights lightening her brown tresses. Pearl is sporting her usual ponytail, her coat open over loose jeans and a white tee. Nicky’s dark hair is long and wavy, her willowy legs peeking out from beneath a down jacket and a short skirt—definitely something that would’ve sparked an argument with Mom about bare legs in the winter. Dad towers over us in aviators and a jean jacket that make him look helplessly like Alan Grant from Jurassic Park. Mom, the shortest of us all, is swathed in a calf-length down jacket, leaving only her round, smiling face, signature pearl earrings, and black bob exposed to the cold.

To my horror, my eyes prickle and my vision blurs. When was the last time I hugged someone who wasn’t a cat? It feels like thawing out by the fireplace after a long day in the snow.

Luckily, nobody notices my watery eyes because everyone is shouting over each other.

“Nicky was sitting next to a guy who snored the whole flight—” Pearl shouts.

“I had to pee so bad—” Nicky says.

“I tried to flirt my way into getting bumped up to first class—” Alyssa says.

They keep it up during the entire van ride to the vacation rental, which is a few blocks from my place. I’m going to bring Ethel over and stay with them for the week.

“We have to visit Grouse Mountain—”

“—and Stanley Park—”

“Will you show us the UBC campus?” Hazel adds, contributing to the din and earning her title as an honorary Alexander sister.

“—a day trip to Whistler—”

“Can we eat sushi every day?”

I laugh, my shoulders dropping as my homesickness melts away. “Yes to all of it.”

I promised the sushi in Vancouver is better than anything they’ve ever had at home, and I can’t wait to prove it.

A skip of excitement shoots through me at the prospect of showing them around. It hasn’t felt like my city to show until this moment.

Maybe there’s hope that it’ll one day feel like home.

With a few hours left in the day, we hit the Christmas market downtown. Snowflakes drift gently, dusting the ground and making the North Shore mountains look even more picturesque. I’m wrapped in my ski jacket, which now hopelessly reminds me of the chaotic day I met Natalie.

“Hey, brought you something,” Pearl says, nudging me with her arm. “I had to fight Nicky for the last one.”

She pushes a sandwich bag into my hands. In it is a slightly crumbled butter tart—Auntie Jan’s famous recipe.

I gasp. “You’re the best.”

“You owe me,” she sings, skipping off to join the others.

A huge, unstoppable smile tugs my cheeks. It’s the simple things that make me miss home so much—family recipes, Pearl’s energy, the non-stop chatter.

I share the butter tart with Hazel as we wander through displays and vendors, overindulging in sugar and taking ridiculous photos that will end up on my shelf. The air is filled with the scent of soft pretzels and gingerbread, bursts of warmth hitting me as we pass heat lamps.

Eventually, my parents and sisters go in separate directions to explore different stalls, leaving Hazel and me with our hot chocolates.

“Have you met someone?” she blurts, seizing the moment to ask about my love life .

I laugh. “No.” My traitorous thoughts jump to Natalie. I sip my hot chocolate. “How’s Sean?”

Hazel grins, oblivious to my deflection. “Great! I met his parents a few days ago.”

“Ooh, big step! How’d it go?”

She recounts the slightly awkward dinner while we browse the vendors. Tables are full of candles, soap, ornaments, flavored popcorn, candy… It’s all disappointingly normal.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” Hazel asks, maybe noticing the way I’m studying everything we pass.

“I’ll know it if I see it.” I’ve done this a couple of times since the doll—once in a used bookstore and once at a consignment store I walked by. Nothing has triggered the same reaction as the doll and Lucy. “I’ve still been trying to figure out what happened to Lucy. I don’t believe it was a disease.”

Hazel nods, looking thoughtful. “Same. I told Sean about that whole thing, and he—”

“You did?” I exclaim.

She chews her lip. “Was I not supposed to?”

I hesitate. I guess I never told her not to tell anyone. It’s just such a bizarre situation, and after Natalie warned me to keep quiet about it, I feel like we should be careful. “It’s okay. Go on.”

“Well, he plays Dungeons and Dragons, and he said it sounds like Lucy was carrying like… a jinx, or a hex, or a curse.”

I grab her arm as a wave of relief hits me. “I had the same idea.”

Her validation is like a hug, a reassurance that I’m not losing my mind.

Hazel leans in, flashing a smile. “Have you told Natalie what you think?”

“I’ve texted her my theories, and—”

“You’ve been texting ?” She balls her fists in front of her mouth, her eyes gleaming .

“Theories! And she won’t confirm or deny anything I say.” Frustration creeps back, and I crush my empty cup and toss it away. The hot chocolate’s warmth is dissipating, leaving me hunched against the cold.

“Hm…” A table of candles lures Hazel in. She picks up a pine-scented one and smells it. “You should try to find another pet with the same problem so you have an excuse to give her another call.”

Here we go—the part where I tell her I already found another curse, and her name was Rebecca.

I bury my chin deeper into my scarf. “The thing is, I kind of stumbled on something…”

Hazel gasps. “What?”

“A doll at a flea market,” I say like it was no big deal, even as my brain replays my screams of terror as a thousand spiders scuttled across my bedroom. “Weird, right? A toy showing the same symptoms as Lucy?”

Hazel’s mouth opens and closes as she processes the news. “Do you think she’s even a vet?”

“I think being a vet is a small part of her job, and she deals with anything carrying a curse.” We continue to the next table, which has knitted scarves, mittens, and toques. I poke at a mound of wool, relishing its softness. “What would you do if you were me?”

Hazel tries on a pair of red mittens with reindeer on the backs, wiggling her fingers as if to test them out. “I see two options. One, you can drop it and move on with life.”

I deflate, gazing blankly at a white scarf as I consider abandoning this mystery and never talking to Natalie again.

Hazel searches my face. “Do you really have to figure this out? What if it’s better for your sanity if you let it go?”

Letting it go would be easier, sure. But how can I? “I need to know the truth about her,” I say easily.

She keeps watching me, her brow furrowed, as if reading the meaning beneath my words. My fierce desire to understand people has always been my guiding force in life—the whole reason I’m here studying psychology on a scholarship. I just think if everyone took the time to understand each other a little better, the world would be a kinder place. Like, I would’ve had an easier time making friends—and I wouldn’t have been called weird in Grade 7 for being quiet when I was really just shy. And then there’s Pearl, who wouldn’t struggle so much with being neurodivergent if people took the time to understand what that means. And more people in Nicky’s life would empathize with her anxiety instead of getting frustrated. This is about more than just solving a mystery. Learning about people, fully understanding them, is who I am.

Hazel smiles, knowing this without my needing to say it. “I would expect nothing less from you, Katie.”

I smile back.

“Plus, you like Natalie, right?” she adds.

Heat rises in my face, her bluntness catching me off-guard. I could deny it, but what’s the point? “A little.”

She thinks for a long moment, returning the mittens to their rack. “What if…”

“What?” I press.

“No, it’s a bad idea.”

“Tell me!”

She faces me, uncertainty crossing her expression. “You know how Sean kept coming to my cafe to buy cinnamon buns? It gave us a chance to talk and get to know each other, and it kind of… showed me he was interested.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to follow. “Okay…”

“What if you did a version of that? She obviously works with curses, so what if you bring her another one?”

“What, like a penguin bringing a pebble to its mate?”

A smirk plays on her lips. “It’s a way to see her again, and it’ll make her realize you’re not going to give up on figuring out what’s going on. ”

My pulse quickens at the thought of finding another cursed object. Is it a coincidence that a second one fell into my lap, or is it easy now that I’ve opened a door into this world? Maybe curses are everywhere, and it just takes awareness in order to see them.

But do I want to touch another one? The risk of unleashing hell sends a shiver down my spine—and at the same time, a thrill races through me at the prospect of seeing Natalie again.

“It’s a ridiculous idea,” Hazel says, walking on. “It’s one thing to show up at your crush’s work to buy a cinnamon bun. It’s a whole other thing to search for a potentially dangerous object because your crush happens to be… whatever she is.”

“That is the question,” I murmur. What’s the name for someone who explodes cursed objects?

We stop at a table of wooden nutcrackers. They range from the size of my hand to several feet tall—the one standing beside the table is my height. They gaze at me with sad, dead eyes, tufts of clown-like white hair poking out from under their hats, their toothy grins ajar as they wait to be given something to crunch.

They’re super creepy. Like, Rebecca creepy.

As I focus on a particularly sad-looking one with his mouth open unnaturally wide, something twists inside me.

Was this the same sensation as when I set eyes on Rebecca? Or am I just feeling it because I’m thinking about the way the doll contorted on my bed?

Ugh, this situation has me questioning everything lately, including my own senses.

Footsteps and festive jingling rush up behind us, and all three sisters appear wearing antlers with bells. They’re holding two more.

“We bought these for pictures!” Pearl wrestles one onto my head. The jingling beside me tells me Alyssa is doing the same to Hazel .

Although I laugh, frustration cinches around my stomach. I can’t decipher what I’m feeling when I look at this nutcracker. Is this another item worth telling Natalie about, or am I imagining it?

As my sisters tug us over to the five-foot tall one and tell us to smile for a selfie, Hazel glances from me to the creepy one I was staring at, her eyebrows raised.

“I’m gonna do it,” I whisper to her. “I’ll be a penguin bringing pebbles.”

Very dangerous pebbles.