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*hey, I gotta go see Kay before I come home, sorry. I'll try to be quick, love you.*

That's what I text Derek when I change course. The spell, that weird message and Kaylee are more pressing issues than my warped fiancé. I don't call my best friend, I don't text her. I'm just going to drop by unannounced, kind of like a probation officer. It's not that I don't trust her, it's just...

I sigh.

Maybe I don't trust her right now.

Not with a million and one dollars and not with that recipe for disaster I more or less taught her.

*

The sky is crimson when I get to Kaylee's parents' place.

The house sits innocently beneath this open wound of a sunset, among interchangeable suburban homes with a pristine lawns and picket fences and driveways wide enough to fit the ridiculous SUVs everyone insists on driving.

I walk up the steps to the front door, feeling more nervous than I ever have coming to this house, and ring the doorbell.

Nothing.

I ring again, twice in quick succession this time.

Still nothing.

I glance around, debating if I should just let myself in. Kaylee's parents have always welcomed me with open arms and if they were home, they definitely would have opened the door for me. Under any normal circumstances, they wouldn't make me stand around and not react to my presence. This is off.

I try the handle. To my surprise it turns. One more notch in my *things that are not the way they're supposed to be* column.

I step inside, my pulse quickening, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing up. The entryway light is off, but there's a faint glow coming from the kitchen.

"Kay?" I call, stepping forward.

No answer.

I move toward the light, my heart beating a little too fast. My sneakers are soundless against the polished wood floors. When I round the corner into the kitchen, I stop short.

Kaylee is there.

So is the bag.

It's open on the table, bundles of cash stacked neatly beside it, right there for everyone to see if they walked in through the open door.

And Kaylee—Kaylee is just sitting there, elbows propped on the table, staring at the money, her look searching, analytical. Like she's a detective stumped by a mystery.

I exhale and my heartbeat slows a little. *This is not an emergency,* I tell myself. *We're okay. She's acting strange, but she's alive and uninjured.*

"Kaylee."

She startles, snapping her head toward me. Her eyes narrow, she's locking in, her gaze intense and suspicious. She's still wearing her glasses. Has she not left the house all day?

"Skye!" She pushes up from the table and runs a hand through her tousled hair. Damn, she's still in the same sweats she wore this morning. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" I step forward, lowering my voice. "Jesus, Kay, what are you doing? I thought we agreed—"

"You agreed," she cuts in, crossing her arms. "I never said I wasn't keeping it."

My pulse ticks in my throat. All that nervousness and fear is flipping over into anger. I whisper-shout at her, my volume low but every word a vicious hiss. "That's one thing, but why the hell would you drag it down here and spread it on the table for anyone to see? You left the front door open too! Where are your parents? They could walk in any second!"

"They're not going to. They're having a date night." She sounds like a sullen teenager and with all this pressure on me, I'm starting to see red. I can't believe what I'm hearing, what I'm seeing, any of it. It's all so crazy and unnerving.

"Aren't you even a little bit worried about the consequences this might have?" I ask her, a tremor of outrage in my voice.

"Consequences?" She laughs, shaking her head. "You keep saying that, but nothing bad has happened, Skye. No one's come knocking, no FBI agents, no curses, no divine retribution—"

I pull out my phone, my fingers cold, and shove the screen toward her.

Her expression falters as she reads.

*I know you have it.*

*Bring it back.*

*Don't make me come find you.*

I watch Kaylee's eyes widen as she reads, then she exhales, and rubs her temples. "Okay. Um, shit." Now her voice is small, the manic glint in her eyes has dimmed. She seems stricken. Well, she should be.

"Yeah," I reply, the single word drenched with misery.

Her eyes flick back to the money, like she needs to ensure it's still where she left it.

Finally, she asks, "So what do we do?"

I take a good look at Kaylee—really look at her. She's still in the same gray sweats and oversized hoodie she was wearing this morning, her short hair unbrushed, her face pale and splotchy like she hasn't even bothered to splash some water on it, much less give it a wash. There's a wildness to her expression, one I've only ever seen before when she was deep into her first big writing project - a novel during her first year of college that she ultimately never finished. At the time she would launch into these rants about world-building and different character arcs as if they were real life events.

"Kay…" I keep my voice level, but the unease curling in my stomach sharpens. "Have you been here all day just staring at this pile of money?"

She raises an eyebrow. "What else am I supposed to do?" She gestures vaguely at the house around us. "I'm unemployed, I live with my parents, and, oh yeah, I just came into a fortune. Forgive me for wanting to make sure I actually have a million and one dollars."

I swallow. "And? Do you?" I didn't hang around for the actual counting of the money because it freaked me out too much so I genuinely don't know, but I'm at the point where I'm pretty sure I know the answer anyway.

A slow grin spreads across her face, confirming my suspicion. "Every. Last. Cent."

I glance at the stacks of money, the red Adidas bag gaping open like the jaws of some flesh eating monster. The pristine bundles of cash look so unnatural sitting there on a normal kitchen table, in a place where I've eaten breakfast after sleepovers. This is like a scene from a movie. It doesn't belong in real life.

Kaylee follows my gaze and then—just like that—her grin shifts. Turns sly like she's some kind of cartoon coyote.

"You know," she says, voice silky, "there's a really easy way to handle this little text message problem."

I snap my attention back to her, already dreading where she's going with this. Because I know, of course I know. "Kaylee—"

"We just use the spell again." She says it like she's offering me a piece of gum, like it's the most normal, reasonable solution in the world. "Whoever this creep is, we wish them away. Poof. Done."

"No." My answer is immediate, it comes right from my aching insides.

Kaylee narrows her eyes at me and puts her hands on her hips. "Why not?"

"Because we don't know what this magic actually does," I say, my voice rising despite myself. "We don't know what it takes. This isn't a goddamn genie in a bottle, Kaylee. What if 'wishing them away' means we just killed some random teenager?"

She scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, come on. You think I'm a murderer now? I'm not saying we wish them dead, we just make them forget. Make them lose interest in the whole thing. Everyone will be fine."

I shake my head, stepping back like I need physical distance not only from her suggestion but from her. I can't believe I even have to say it. "No. No more spells. We're not ever using that notebook again."

Kaylee's jaw clenches, her fingers curling into her sleeves. "So what, then? You wanna just sit around and wait for weirdo to show up at our door? What if they're a killer?"

I almost want to taunt her now, ask her what happened to her conviction that there would be no consequences, but I hold myself back. Kaylee and I are friends and we're both in this together. I need her on my side.

I take a breath, steadying myself. "No. I'm going to return the notebook."

Silence.

Kaylee's expression freezes for a beat before twisting into outraged disbelief. "What?"

I press on before she can interrupt. "Someone showed up at the library looking for their lost notebook. Rica gave me the number he left. Some high school boy, she said. Anyway, I'm giving it back."

She stares at me like I've just confessed to wearing a wire. And when did my life start to feel like a low-budget remake of The Sopranos? 

"You're just gonna hand it over?"

"Yes."

"To some random nerd who obviously didn't know what he had? Who lost it? Skye, that notebook is power. Like God-like, make all your wishes come true super power! And you just wanna give it away?"

I fold my arms. "Yes."

Her lips part like she wants to argue more, but something about the finality in my voice stops her. Instead, she exhales, shaking her head, her frustration rolling off her in waves.

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard," she mutters.

"Maybe," I admit. "But it's still my choice."

Kaylee doesn't answer. She just looks away, jaw tight, arms crossed defensively, and I sense the wall between us. We are not on the same page.

And for the first time, not just since this mess started, but for the first time since I met Kaylee in preschool when she pushed a boy into the dirt for calling me a big fat booger face and we became instant friends, for the first time ever, I wonder if she'll end up stabbing me in the back.