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People in town probably think I left to avoid a curse.
As the legend goes, live here long enough and misfortune befalls.
The curse never scared me growing up. Ultimately, I had a very different reason for leaving, but avoiding a curse was like a little consolation prize that I don't take for granted. Being back here now, I feel the weight of the risk I'm taking. Six years. I've avoided a curse for six whole years. I can't forget that.
I’m getting in. Getting out.
I’ll do what I came here to do, and I won’t stay long enough to get fucked over by some generations’ old legend.
That’s the plan.
Let’s just hope fate doesn’t fuck with it.
CHAPTER 2
Zoey Durand
Two minutes. That’s all it takes for someone to spot me walking down the main path towards the old docks. As soon as the five-foot-nine girl does a double take, she doesn’t go about her day. No. She speeds up her pace towards me like she spotted prey, and I’m just that dumb rabbit caught doe-eyed in the forest.
Awesome.
I should have known that I’d receive an unwelcome party on my arrival. This party of one has a name.
Amelia Roberts.
Reddish-brown hair in a neat fishtail braid, a J.Crew wardrobe, and perpetual snotty attitude—she’s made my life absolute hell since the ninth grade. The Roberts own The Mistpoint Harbor Historical Museum of Curses & Curiosities near the east side of town. A tourist hot spot in any season.
I had the unfortunate experience of working the ticket booth when I was in high school. But people treat Amelia and her family like royalty in this town. They ass-kiss to ensure the museum records their own families favorably.
Believe me, there’s a whole section on the Durands in that museum and none of it is kind. No amount of ass kissing could change that.
It made me an easy target growing up.
And right now, that bullseye is growing hotter and angrier on my chest. Screw it. She’s going to have to chase me. I grip the handle of my suitcase and bolt towards the docks.
“Zoey Durand!” Her shrill voice calls behind me.
Cold March wind whips against my cheeks. My grin spreads. And then I hear a snap. The wheel of my battered suitcase breaks off from the uneven cobblestone. The corner of the hard case skids across the ground.
“Fuck,” I groan, slowing to a stop in pathetic defeat.
Amelia lands behind me as I turn around. She’s not breaking a sweat. Barely panting.
I remember she’s literally Miss Mistpoint. She won the contest the year I left, and it’s not even some small-town beauty pageant. No. It’s a fucking expert-level treasure hunt that the elders in the town put together. Classic Nancy Drew shit, and Amelia won in record time.
Under the cold overcast, coastal sky, we have a thirty-second staring contest. Birds chirp and fog rolls over the lake not far from our stand-off, but I know better than to flee again.
I blink.
Shit.
“You can’t be here,” Amelia says, breaking the tense silence. She crosses her arms over her cashmere sweater.
My stomach twists. I didn’t expect anything kind to leave her lips, but I wish those words weren’t the first thing I heard since I’ve been home.
“Take that off,” Amelia suddenly says in disgust.
“What?” I frown, confused until I realize she’s fixated on my bracelet.
“Take. It. Off.”
Don’t worry, my jewelry isn’t cursed. Amelia is just wearing the identical bracelet. Translucent beads strung together; every purchase gives 50% to a marine wildlife charity. It’s become a basic bitch bracelet with about a billion Instagram ads, and I actually like it.
I make a noise. “You take it off.”
Amelia is taken aback by my courage. “Seriously?”
“Did I stammer?” I say roughly, and I can’t help but think October might be a little proud of me.
After a long, awkward beat, Amelia tugs her sleeve to hide her bracelet. Acting like the exchange never happened, she repeats, “You can’t be here.”
“Too late for that, Amelia,” I say. “I’m back.”
Her pink lips purse, and her eyes drop to the suitcase in my hand. She inhales a sharp, choked breath. “You’re planning on staying?” She looks mildly horrified.
Like big bad Zoey has come to wreak havoc on the town. Only I know she’s never seen me as a big baddie. Most people only relentlessly try to crush things smaller than them.
People are cruel that way.
And I know better than to think she’s worried that me staying here means I’m opening myself up to being cursed. Amelia couldn’t care less.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” I bend down and grab the orphaned wheel from the cobblestone.
She huffs. “You’re going to have to explain yourself to everyone in this town. If you think you can waltz back like nothing happened and we all embrace you with open arms—”
“No worries there, Amelia,” I cut her off. “I definitely don’t want to be embraced by your arms.” I rise to my feet, a good five inches shorter at five-foot-four. I try to tower.
