***Veronica***

The sisters sleep through most of the day after killing the little girl. Their spells drain their energy. When I am finally able to crawl out of the cellar and to the ground floor, I see they are still hiding in the darkness of their bedrooms. In the kitchen, I boil water to clean rags and try to treat the three open gashes on my back. The pain makes me black out twice. My cheek throbs, too. The poison from the sister's fingernails has certainly infected the scratches. I could use magic and heal these wounds in the matter of minutes, but then they would win.

Use magic and I would be one of them. I asked Vivian once if she was afraid I would use my powers for revenge as soon as I changed. She laughed and asked if I thought the sisters all cared for one another. Apparently, when I change I will see the usefulness of having strength in numbers, and even if I hate them, I will love the idea of having power more. It sickens me. As a weak human, they are killing my body. But if I accept my powers, I won't want to wipe them from the face of the Earth anymore.

I lay on the floor, breathing and waiting for my dizziness to pass. I need food, too, but there isn't anything edible in the house. I am the only one who needs it, now that the little girl is gone. Going out for supplies is a daunting, impossible task. There are medicines and bandages at the pharmacies in town, but how could I get there or pay for anything?

If I was a witch....

I swallow my fury. I shouldn't be on the floor, prisoner to their demands and beaten senseless. It has to be possible to change without becoming one of them and then I would wreck my revenge on their heads. Visions of the sisters in agony bring a smile to my lips. If I could harness the power of a Shadow Hex without being a witch....

But it isn't possible. To become a witch, I have only to use black magic or inflict terrible pain on another. To reach my powers of a Shadow Hex, I have to kill an innocent during the changing ritual, which will trigger my evil side and make me a witch as well. As one of the sisters, I wouldn't want to kill them. These thoughts go round and round. Evening is approaching and I am still half-naked and starving.

One possibility to make the sisters suffer occurs to me. The idea is simple. It won't be a full revenge; they wouldn't suffer much, but a little, and perhaps I could also escape my hateful destiny. The sacrificial knife is on the table, still covered in blood and razor sharp. I put it in a leather bag along with the card the boy gave me.

My back is on fire, but I wrap myself as best I can in clean cloths and walk out of the house. The road through the woods is long. Too long. But I will walk it until I reach the town and can get supplies in a pharmacy. At night, I can steal what I need. After I have eaten and taken care of my wounds, I will try to escape this curse.

Two hours later, I am pacing back and forth in front of Benjamin's house. No one is home. I shouldn't have come here first, anyway. My stomach twists with hunger in spite of my burning wounds. But it is too early to break into the pharmacy. Perhaps there is food here. There must be, it is an ordinary house for humans. They always keep food in the kitchen, and they rarely put children in cages in their cellars.

I should be able to find a way inside. There might even be what I need to clean and dress my back. Pain killers. That thought spurs me forward. The boy's house is big and fine, with a large yard and many trees. The doors are locked, and I can't find any keys hidden in the bushes or under rocks. I begin to try the windows, starting in the back in case the neighbors are watching.

Benjamin's bedroom window is unlocked and slides up without protest. I am on the second floor roof above the patio in the back. I crawl through his window onto his desk, recognizing his essence in the room. The warm smell of him permeates everything, from the scent of soap and cologne on his clothes, to the delicious bread and butter of his natural odor in the bed. Dirty shoes and football gear are piled in a corner and papers litter the desk and waste bin. What will it feel like to kill such a normal boy who smells so good? My guts twist in knots for several reasons.

It's my hunger, though, that drives me quickly into the hall and down to the family's kitchen. Food to fill up half the neighborhood is tucked away in the cabinets. Brightly colored boxes, cans and jars tempt me with their yumminess. The refrigerator and freezer hold enough food to feed the other half of the neighborhood.

However, I settle for canned chicken noodle soup, eaten cold straight from the can. There is no time to waste and it tastes better than most meals I've had. I also dig a spoonful of peanut butter from the jar - the oil will give me needed energy.

As soon as I hide the evidence, I go to find the medical cabinets in the bathrooms. The first small bathroom has extra-strength Tylenols in a drawer and I swallow two dry and put the package in my bag.

I am kneeling in the large downstairs bathroom, going through a dozen little baskets when I hear a car in the drive. A second later, the garage door is clicking mechanically as it goes up to let the car in. Shoving everything back in its place, I stand, turn off the light and listen at the crack of the bathroom door.

There are voices in the garage that must be the boy and his parents who have come home. They are very close. I tiptoe out of the bathroom and can hear them on the other side of the wall in the hallway. As I hurry towards the main staircase at the front of the house, a door behind me opens and the voices grow louder. Reaching the entry-way, I move out of their line of sight, thankful that I have turned out all the lights as I went through the house earlier. Two steps later, I reach the stairs at the same moment one of them switches on the lamps throughout the entire ground floor. I take a step and the board under my foot creaks. I freeze.

From the hallway, the mother is talking loudly, repeating the same nonsense to her husband and son about how the hospital staff was inefficient and slow and how the doctors did not know the first thing about the human body or medicine. They stop before coming into the living room to put their coats in the hall closet. I take several careful steps upwards. The stairs are partly in the shadows, since both sides to it are solid walls and the light above me is still off. They'll see me soon, though. I continue to tiptoe up, matching my steps with the pace of theirs. They are going slowly - because of Benjamin? -which means I have to go slowly as well. Finally, I am in the upper half which is dark when they come into the living room. I take another step. The boy is hungry and the trio are heading directly to the kitchen. One glance to their right and they see me. I keep walking at their speed. A step crackles, and I am sure they have heard. The father pauses. "Has anyone seen my glasses?" he asks.

"Check in your jacket pocket," the mother says, still leading Benjamin to the kitchen.

The father pivots to go back to the hallway. I go up the next step, and the next, no one is in the living room. Only three steps to go. I am at the top of the stairs. The father returns.

He looks at the stairwell. I am in darkness at the top. He squints at me. He hasn't found his glasses. He goes on to the kitchen.

I tiptoe to Ben's bedroom and slip inside. Glancing around, I can see there is nowhere safe to hide. I move to the window and begin crawling out to the roof, feet first. The sound of Benjamin and his mother coming up the stairs startles me and I scrape my back against the window sash.

I collapse downwards, paralyzed by shooting pain. Also, something has come loose and is snagged on the sash. I reach behind me and realize my torn shirt is caught on the wood. I yank on my shirt to free it, but accidentally pull one of my bandages off, too. Newly formed scabs tear apart where the dried blood glued the cloth to my skin. I bite back a hiss.

The door is opening. A hand appears, searching for the light switch.

I duck my head down and out the window, bringing my arms through as Benjamin's mother walks in, carrying a glass of milk.

I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth against the pain. Laying on the roof, I hide in the space under his window. That's when I realize I dropped my bandage on his desk.