Page 73 of Within These County Lines

“I’m not dead!” Xander shouts. “Tell her we already determined that. It’s just a curse from those witches. I have a chance to come back. Tell her!”

I swallow. “Xander wasn’t killed,” I say. “We were cursed. And the answer to breaking the curse could be upstairs.”

“And so could trouble.” Her bottom lip trembles. “All I’m saying is, be careful. Xander can’t help you. No offense.” She looks behind me even though Xander stands next to her. Xander sticks out his tongue, then mouths no offense, mocking her words.

“Cute boys tend to make you unaware of your surroundings,” she continues.

I groan. “Whitley—”

“I’m just saying . . .” She lifts her hands. “You brought me into this situation for a reason. Holler if you need help. I’ll wait down here, still dealing with your ex, like I have been all summer.” She flops onto the living room couch, next to a couple making out, and crosses her legs.

Xander turns to me with a mischievous grin. “Am I the cute boy she’s referring to?” he asks.

“What?”

“She said cute boys trip you up.”

“Forget about it.” I swipe at the air.

“You’re a cute boy,” he says. His golden eyes flicker toward the floor like he’s not sure he should’ve said that out loud.

I sigh. “Xander . . . it’s not the time. Look.” I point to the staircase. “We’re losing Robbie.”

He’s already made it to the landing and nearly slips out of sight. I jog after him, my pulse hammering louder than the bass rattling the floor.

The stairs creak with every step, the hardwood splintering beneath my weight. My hand trails along the railing and sends chipped white paint fluttering through the air like brittle snowflakes. At the top of the stairs, Robbie shoves open his bedroom door, but I hesitate before following him inside.

The stench hits first. It’s worse than the stale beer and sweat choking the downstairs air. It’s a mix of dusty laundry, cigarette smoke, and something sour that sends my head spinning. Wrinkled clothes are strewn across the stained carpet, and the only window is covered by a damp bath towel instead of blinds, barely hanging on by two plastic clothespins. I avoid looking at his bed, fearful of what’s on those sheets.

Whitley’s warnings echo in my mind.

Stay aware. He could be dangerous.

“I really wish my sense of smell was gone too,” Xander says, pinching his nose. I try to breathe through my mouth.

“Are you sure you’ve never heard of Robbie before?” I ask Xander in the hall.

“Yeah. He would’ve been, like, ten years old when I was at Stillwell Trail. If a kid did something to me at Pinehurst, maybe I deserve to be dead.” He forces a laugh, but I don’t. An unease settles in my chest.

I step inside, knowing Whitley is only one call away.

Robbie slinks around us and shuts the door. The sharp click of the lock sends a hot wave of anxiety through me.

“I get all your beer?” he asks. He maneuvers through the mess with ease, avoiding the piles of clothes like they’re obstacles in a game only he knows how to play.

Xander nudges me forward. I stumble over a shoe that used to be white. “Uh, sure.”

He extends his hand. “Shake on it.” Dirt cakes the creases of his palm. His fingers waver in the thick air.

I glance at the door. “Is that necessary?” I ask.

Robbie’s lip curls. “What I’m about to tell you is going to make no freaking sense. So, yeah. It is necessary because I can’t have you back out of the deal.”

The room suddenly feels smaller. My mouth dries out from the stale air. But I force myself to lean in and shake his hand.

“We have a deal,” Robbie says, voice low.

“Yeah,” I say, shoving him off me. “Now tell me what happened.”