Bye-Bye, Evil Eye Read online

  I stay silent for the rest of the ride. Kat meets me at the door and takes me straight upstairs to her bedroom. She shuts the door to give me some privacy. I start pacing frantically back and forth across her floor. I’m so tense right now, moving is the only thing that’s keeping me calm.

  “Did something else happen?” she asks. Her voice is hushed and ready. Like she knows something awful is coming.

  “Yeah,” I say weakly. “Just like you warned me it would.”

  “What is it?”

  But just as I’m about to tell her about Rosie, something catches my eye. I stop pacing for a second and pick up a thick book balancing on the edge of her desk. The cover is all black except for the blood red letters of the title: Curses and Cures. The top edge of the book is littered with dog-eared corners, like someone’s been reading it carefully and taking notes. I open it up and flip through the pages. The musty smell of old ink and stale paper breezes under my nose.

  I turn to look at Kat, holding the book up to show her. My hand is trembling from all the stress. “What’s this? I thought you said you weren’t superstitious?”

  “I’m not superstitious,” she says, taking the book from me and tossing it back down on the desk. Real fast. Like she’ll get cooties if she touches it too long. “It’s my mother’s book. She must have left it in my room. Now will you please tell me what happened before I die of suspense?”

  My thoughts switch back to poor ruined Rosie. A sob flies out of my mouth and I bring my hands up to cover my face. I can feel tears coming, and it isn’t going to be pretty. I hate crying in front of other people but this time it’s completely unavoidable. At least it’s just Kat. She’s seen me at my worst.

  “You were right,” I say, collapsing onto her bed. “I’m cursed! If I’d only listened to you when you tried to warn me, Rosie would be okay right now.”

  “What do you mean? What happened to Rosie?”

  The awful story comes pouring out in a swell of tears. When Kat hears what happened, she lets out a short shriek. After a minute, she pulls a box of tissues down from her bookshelf and comes over to sit beside me on the bed. “Wow, this is a really bad case,” she says, handing me the box. “That girl on the beach must have been a witch or something.”

  I wipe my cheeks with the tissue as my thoughts careen back to that day in Greece and that strange little girl with her cold blue eyes. Kat has a point. It was right after our walk on the beach that everything started to go wrong for me. First the bad fish, then the sprained ankle, then the fiasco with my passport. And now poor Rosie.

  “Hang on,” I say, thinking back. “What about Costa? I saw him that morning too. And he definitely looked at me funny. Kind of like this.”

  I raise one eyebrow up while trying to squint the other one down at the same time, just like Costa did that day. But I guess I’m not as good with impersonations as Kat. “Well, it was way scarier when he did it.” I shrug. “And that day on the beach wasn’t the only time.” My mind flashes back to that night he tried to kiss me and a shudder creeps over my skin. You’ll be sorry, he said.

  Yeah, he could totally be the one who cursed me.

  Kat flicks her bangs out of her eyes and sighs. “I don’t think it matters who gave it to you. The important thing is to figure out how to cure it.”

  Her words are like mac and cheese to my ears. “Yes,” I yelp, grabbing her hands and squeezing. “I want to get cured today. Before something even worse happens!” I let go of her hands and jump to my feet. “Where do we start?”

  She gets up too. Marches over to the door, motioning for me to follow. “Mummy’s downstairs. We have to ask her. She’s an expert on the Evil Eye. I promise you, she’ll know how to fix this.”

  We find her mother in the kitchen baking a batch of cookies. So that’s why this house smells like Christmas in the middle of the summer, I think. There’s half a pan full of perfectly shaped round sugar cookies spread out in tidy rows on the baking sheet beside her. The rest of the dough is still in a big lump and she’s busily pounding and squeezing it into submission. It must be hard work because she’s grunting with exertion. In fact, Mrs. P is concentrating so hard on her dough, she doesn’t even notice us come in. She gives a startled jump when Kat comes up behind her and taps her on the shoulder.

  “Ah!” she yelps, spinning around. “Oh, Katerina, you scared me!”

  “Sorry, Mummy, but this is really important. You were right about the Evil Eye.” She puts her arm around me and pulls me forward. “Dani’s bad luck is getting worse. Someone attacked her car last night right in her own driveway.”

  Mrs. P gasps and drops her dough. When she turns towards me, her eyes are wide with shock. Practically as big as those sugar cookies. After a moment, she wipes her floury hands on her apron and pulls up a chair at the kitchen table. With a nod to me and Kat, she motions for us to sit too. She puts a dish of cookies in front of us and waits for us to take one. I do. It’s buttery and sweet and it melts on my tongue like a snowflake.

  “This news doesn’t surprise me,” she sighs, reaching across the table to take my hand. “Beauty can be a curse. And a girl as beautiful as you, Daniella, is a natural target for Matiasma — the Evil Eye.”

  I wait for her to let go of my hand. Although her skin smells of sweet, fresh butter, it’s all rough and scratchy — like a gnarled old tree branch. And there are tiny red cuts all over her knuckles. Who knew baking was such a workout?

  “I don’t understand, Mrs. Papadakis. I never hurt anyone. So why would someone want to hurt me?”

  She smiles a sad smile. “Whoever gave you this curse might not have intended to harm you. Usually the Evil Eye is completely involuntary. Let me tell you a story. In Greece, a grandmother is called yiayia. When my Yiayia was a young woman, she had three daughters — each of them born seven years apart. My own mother was the oldest of the three daughters. When she and her middle sister had grown into big girls and gone off to school, my Yiayia was left to spend her days with her youngest daughter, a pretty girl with soft brown curls, almond-shaped eyes, and a rosebud mouth. Every day, she liked to take her young daughter down to the village to go shopping for their daily food. One day, a stranger came to the village, saw the little girl, and said, ‘What a beautiful child! She must make you so happy.’ Well, my Yiayia was so proud of her child that she forgot to start spitting and denying the stranger’s words.”

  I wince at that. More spitting? What’s with this family?

  “Almost immediately, the Evil Eye began to take effect,” Mrs. P continues, her grip on my hand tightening as she names the curse. “The girl became ill overnight with a terrible stomach bug. She became dehydrated very quickly and, although the doctors tried everything to cure her, within two days, she was dead. Nothing could be done to save her life.”

  “All because of a stomach bug?” I gasp. “Like the one I had in Greece?”

  Kat and her mother nod, their heads bobbing up and down in almost perfect synchrony. I’m amazed by how similar they look in that one moment. When Kat grows up, she’s going to look just like her mother, I think. Only hopefully not so constipated. Then Mrs. P puts her other butter-scented hand over mine.

  “You see? The child’s beauty brought on the curse. Wealth and good fortune bring it on as well. The stranger didn’t mean to harm the child, but her admiration for the little girl’s beauty was deadly.”

  Her calloused palm scratches against mine like a brick of sandpaper. I can’t take it any longer. Holding her scratchy hand is worse than listening to my parents sing karaoke.

  “Okay, I totally get that this is a Greek thing,” I say, pulling my hand away and sneaking it into my lap where she can’t reach for it again. “But I’m not Greek. Why is this happening to me?”

  Mrs. P holds a finger up in front of my face and waggles it back and forth like a metronome. “Daniella, Matiasma is not just for Greeks. There a
re many cultures that know and believe in the power of the Evil Eye.” She counts on her fingers as she names off a list. “Morocco, Spain, Israel, Turkey, Russia, Iran, Italy. It’s only here in the West that people are ignorant of the danger — walking around like peacocks, showing off their fancy things, flashy cars, giant homes, foolishly inviting the Evil Eye into their lives.”

  She looks angry. Like she’s spraying poison along with the words flying from her lips. Suddenly, I begin to feel guilty. Did I bring this on myself? My thoughts zoom back to poor Rosie — demolished in my very own driveway. How I loved riding in my car and showing her off. Am I one of those peacocks she’s talking about?

  Mrs. P waves her hands at Kat. “Run and get my jewellery box. There should be something inside to help Daniella.”

  Jumping to her feet, Kat scurries up the stairs to fetch the box. I let out a big sigh of relief and slump back against the hard wooden chair. I’m already beginning to feel better.

  Mrs. P has something to cure me. It’s all going to end here.

  She sits quietly, watching me eat another cookie, waiting to wash my dish. A minute later, Kat comes clomping down the stairs. I turn to see her walk into the kitchen holding a large box covered in a skin of fraying sky blue leather. She hands the box to her mother, as carefully as if she’s passing her a newborn baby. Placing it gently on the table, Mrs. P lifts the lid. I can hear the small metal hinges creaking from exertion as a musty odour rises up and overtakes the lovely Christmas smell of the kitchen. That thing must be ancient, I think, trying to peek around the raised lid to see what’s in there, but Mrs. P’s hands block my view.

  “Ah, yes. Here it is,” she whispers as she reaches inside. I hold my breath while I wait to see what she has to cure me. A cute pair of earrings? A pendant? A little beaded bracelet like hers and Kat’s? But what she pulls out of there makes me recoil in horror.

  What is that thing?

  “This necklace once belonged to my Yiayia,” Mrs. P explains, her pinched lips spreading into a tight smile. “After the death of her daughter, she became a rabid believer in the Evil Eye. She crafted this necklace to keep it away. My Yiayia passed this to my mother when she was pregnant with my older sister, Sophia.”

  “You know, the same Sophia we stayed with in Greece,” whispers Kat, in case I’m not following closely enough.

  Mrs. P nods. “That’s right. My sister passed it on to me when I became pregnant with Katerina to help protect our house from the curse. My Yiayia had the reputation of being the most superstitious woman on our island. The power of this necklace was once legendary in our part of Greece. My mother used to tell us that it was the strongest amulet ever created to keep Matiasma away.”

  Bringing the thing to her lips, she kisses it and then holds it for me to take.

  I stare at her in shock. That thing isn’t a necklace. Necklaces are beautiful, dainty, delicate things that help show off a woman’s beauty. What she’s holding out to me is like something straight out of a horror movie. A big, ugly string of giant blue glass eyeballs. She doesn’t actually expect me to wear it, does she?

  Because I don’t know what else to do, I take the thing between my thumb and forefinger and, with my arm stretched out as far as it’ll go, slowly examine it. “How exactly does a bunch of eyeballs keep this curse away, Mrs. P?” I don’t want to be rude. But, as much as I try, it’s just impossible to keep the horror from creeping into my voice.

  With a sigh, Mrs. P stands up, grabs the thing from me, and loops it around my head. I shiver as the glass eyeballs come in contact with the bare skin of my neck. It’s heavy and clunky and cool to the touch.

  “Don’t you see?” she demands, her words short with frustration. “If someone looks at you with the Evil Eye, these eyes deflect the curse away from you.”

  I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the awful feeling that my life is spinning out of control. More than anything, I want to tear this disgusting thing off me and fling it across the room. I want to tell this lady that her superstitions are stupid. I want to tell her that I wish I’d never gone with her to Greece … that I should have stayed here where people don’t do curses. And necklaces are pretty. And beauty isn’t something to be feared.

  But all that will probably just make her mad.

  And then maybe she won’t help me anymore.

  And I really need her help.

  But the necklace is so ugly.

  I bite my lip and shift in my seat as I wonder what to say. Mrs. P’s eyes narrow. “Daniella, if you’re serious about removing this curse, you’ll stop pouting and accept this gift.”

  That’s when I realize I don’t have much choice. This necklace is the lesser of the two evils. Literally. My stomach lurches as I force out the most grateful smile I can muster. “Thanks, Mrs. P. I — I appreciate your help.”

  Her face softens. But just a bit. “You’re welcome. I want you to be safe.”

  And with that, she closes the lid of the jewellery box with a soft thump and goes back to her cookies. Clearly, I’ve been dismissed. Kat walks me to the door. The necklace thuds against my chest with every step I take. No kidding, it feels like it weighs about fifty pounds.

  “So, do you feel better now? I told you Mummy would know what to do.”

  “Kind of, I guess.” Should I tell Kat how I really feel? Will she be hurt if she knows how much I despise her mother’s necklace? “It’s just so … big. And freaky.” I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror and shudder. All those eyeballs hanging off the string are giving me the creeps.

  “Yeah, but it’s going to work. Just don’t take it off. Not even when you’re sleeping. You heard Mummy — she said this is really powerful. Wear it every day and, I’m telling you, your luck will change.”

  “I really hope you’re right,” I reply. The image of my poor, ruined Rosie flashes through my head again. At this point, I’d probably wear a string of real eyeballs if it would keep this bad luck away. I don’t want to think about what — or who — this curse might hurt next.

  “Just do me a favour, Kat? Don’t tell Nick about this. I don’t want him to, you know, freak out or anything. We’re really starting to get serious.” I hold out my guitar string bracelet for her to see. “Look what he made me.”

  Kat’s eyes grow wide as she inspects the bracelet. “Yeah, that Nick’s a great guy.” Then she smiles and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Dani. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Chapter 15

  Luckily, I’ve been able to hide the eyeball necklace pretty well under some lightweight turtlenecks and high-necked sweaters. Yeah, it’s August, but I don’t mind sweating a bit if it means keeping it a secret. So far I haven’t taken it off for a second. Not even in the shower. Not even overnight, even though it’s been ruin-ing my sleep. No matter what position I try or how many pillows I use, it pokes into me all night long. I have the bruises all over my neck and chest to prove it.

  On my date with Nick tonight, I figure out a way to hide it under one of Mom’s silk scarves. He’s invited me to his house to watch a movie. That has me feeling nervous and excited at the same time.

  “His parents will be home, right?” Mom asked when I told her about my plans.

  “Of course,” I replied, although I’m not really sure. I kind of hope they are, though. It would be nice to meet them.

  Now I’m standing on his doorstep, checking my reflection in the mirror of my compact. Luckily, the necklace is still perfectly hidden by the scarf. I tuck the mirror back in my purse. When he opens the door, his smile greets me like a sunrise.

  “Are your mom and dad here?” I ask, peeking around his shoulders for signs of parental activity.

  Now Nick looks sheepish. “Sorry, they’re out at a party. We’re here alone.”

  I hesitate in the doorway. He notices. “That okay? I could call Mrs. P if you’d feel better with a chaperone.
”

  I giggle at that. “No, thanks.” I walk through, feeling even more nervous and excited than before. I’m hoping he won’t discover the awful necklace. As long as he doesn’t get too close to me, I should be fine.

  After the movie, Nick gets me a glass of ice water and takes me downstairs to show me his room. Okay, I admit that I wondered about his bedroom. But it turns out to be way more impressive than anything I imagined. When he flicks on the lights, I see that the entire basement has been converted into a bedroom/ music studio. Every wall is covered in vintage rock and roll posters featuring dudes with shaggy hair, electric guitars, platform shoes, and bell-bottom pants. Across from his desk, there’s a complete drum set, a stage, a sound system, and a whole lineup of guitars. I pluck a string on the shiny electric one at the end of the line, smiling because it reminds me of my Nick bracelet. Putting down my glass of water, I pick up the only acoustic one in the bunch and hold it out to him.

  “Play a song for me?”

  Nick laughs. “I can’t. They’re all bass guitars.”

  Am I supposed to understand what that means? “They’re instruments, right? Don’t they make music?”

  “Yes. But just the bass line. There’s no melody.”

  Okay. Still don’t know what he’s talking about. “Come on,” I plead. “You’re telling me with all these guitars, you can’t play me one song?”

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. You win.” He takes the guitar from me and throws the strap over his shoulder. “I’ll play ‘Under Pressure.’ It’s an old song, but somebody did a cover of it a few years ago so you might know it.”