She gazed at Kira. "It isna Pappa's fault," she told her.

"I know." Kira sniffed and wiped her nose. "I should have yelled sooner."

"No, baby. This wasna your fault, either." Weakly, her mamma lifted a hand and touched Kira's cheek.

"Stupid car."

"'Twas fate, darlin'. An' now I'm goin'. Not 'cause I wanna, but 'cause I've no choice in the matter. But I'll be with ya always, lass. Always my bonny, bonny girl."

"But Mamma, I don't want you to go."

"Like an angel, love. I'll be watchin' over ya like your own guardian angel."

"No Mamma! No!"

But Mamma's eyes fell closed, and her hand, cold and white, fell away from Kira's cheek and landed with a final thud in the grass.

For the first time in her life, Kira heard her father cry. And then there were sirens and more people. Paul Monroe wrapped his little girl in his arms, and carried her a few steps away to let the paramedics have room to work. But Kira knew it was already too late. Mamma had gone. Kira knew it, had seen it and felt it when it happened.

Mamma had gone. And she'd blamed it on a curse. Kira wasn't sure exactly what that meant, or whether it could even be true. All of the grownups who surrounded her for the next several weeks—her grandparents and aunts and uncles—all on her pappa's side, of course—she didn't know any of her mamma's family—told her that there were no such things as curses.

And for a little while, she believed them. But only for a little while. Once Pappa shot himself in the head, she realized that curses were very real, and very very bad.

Chapter 1