My Soul to Take by Rachel Vincent

laced with…suspicion? “Were you there?” Had she already guessed what I was going to say?
    Maybe Nash was right. Maybe I should keep my secret a little longer….
    I shook my head slowly, and my gaze flicked back to the sticks protruding from the tiny oil bottle. “No, I didn’t actually see it—” she exhaled in relief, and I almost hated to ruin it with the rest of what I had to say “—but…You know the girl who died at Taboo the other day?”
    “Of course. How sad!” She returned to her chair and took a slow sip from her tea, eyes closed, as if she were thinking. Or maybe praying. Then she took a much longer drink and lowered her mug, eyes wide and wary. “Kaylee, that girl had nothing to do with what happened today. According to the news, she was drunk, and may have been on something stronger than alcohol.”
    I hadn’t heard that last tidbit, but I got no chance to question it because she was talking again. Like mother, like daughter.
    My aunt gestured with her mug as she spoke, but nothing sloshed out this time. It was already empty. “Sophie said Meredith collapsed while she was dancing. That poor child ate almost nothing and lived on caffeine. It was really only a matter of time before her body cried ‘enough.’”
    “I know, and Sophie may be right.” I let go of the scent sticks and bent the tab on my Coke can back and forth, carefully working it free from its anchor to avoid seeing the pity and skepticism surely lurking behind her cautious sympathy. “The way they died may have nothing to do with anything.” Though I certainly had my doubts. “But, Aunt Val, I think I’m the connection between them.”
    “What?”
    I made myself look up just in time to see my aunt’s eyes narrow in confusion. But then her forehead actually relaxed, tension lines smoothing as if she’d just figured out what I was talking about, and it came as a relief.
    If the return of my “delusions” put her at ease, what on earth had she expected me to say?
    Her expression softened, and the familiar, patronizing mask of sympathy stung my pride. “Kaylee, is this about your panic attacks? ” She leaned forward and whispered that last part, as if she were afraid someone would overhear.
    Anger zinged through me like tiny bolts of lightning, and I made myself set down my half-empty drink can before I crushed it. “It’s not a joke, Aunt Val. And I’m not crazy. I knew Meredith was going to die before it happened.”
    For an instant—less than a single breath—my aunt looked terrified. Like she’d just seen her own ghost. Then she shook her head—literally shaking off her fear of my relapse—anddonned a stoic, determined mask. I’d been right all along. She wasn’t going to listen. Ever.
    “Kaylee, don’t do this again,” she begged, a frown etching deep lines around her mouth as she stood and carried her empty mug into the kitchen. I followed her, watching in mounting irritation as she lifted the teakettle from the stove.
    “I know you’re upset about Meredith, but this won’t bring her back. This isn’t the way to deal with your grief.”
    “This has nothing to do with grief,” I insisted through gritted teeth, dropping my half-full can into the recycling bin.
    It landed with a thud, followed by the fizz and gurgle of the contents emptying into the plastic tub.
    I read frustration in my aunt’s narrowed gaze. Desperation in the death grip she had on the teakettle. She probably wished she could knock me out as easily as she had Sophie. And some part of me knew that talking to her would do no more good than trying to warn Meredith had. But another, more stubborn part of me refused to give up. I was done with secrets and sym pathetic looks. And I was definitely done with hospitals and those little white pills. I was not going to let anyone else call me crazy. Not ever again.
    Aunt Val must have seen my determination, because she set the teakettle back on the stove, then planted both palms flat on the