Marked

on Sunday?”
    He narrowed his eyes when I opened my mouth to answer, and interrupted before I could speak.
    "We are going to do what any good family should do. We are going to give this to God.”
    They were sending me to a convent? Unfortunately, I had to deal with another round of coughing, so he kept right on talking.
    "We are also going to call Dr. Asher. He'll know what to do to calm this situation.”
    Wonderful. Fabulous. He's calling in our family shrink, the Incredibly Expressionless Man. Perfect.
    "Linda, call Dr. Asher's emergency number, and then I think it would be wise to activate the prayer phone tree. Make sure the other Elders know that they are to gather here.”
    My mom nodded and started to get up, but the words that burst from my mouth made her flop back down on the couch.
    "What! Your answer is to call a shrink who is totally clueless about teenagers and get all those uptight Elders over here? Like they would even begin to try and understand? No! Don't you get it? I have to leave. Tonight.” I coughed, a really gut-wrenching sound that hurt my chest. "See! This will just get worse if I don't get around the…I hesitated. Why was it so hard to say " vampyres"? Because it sounded so foreign―so final―and, part of me admitted, so fantastic. "I have to get to the House of Night.”
    Mom jumped up, and for a second I thought she was actually going to save me. Then John put his arm around her shoulder possessively. She looked up at him and when she looked back at me her eyes seemed almost sorry, but her words, typically, reflected only what John would want her to say.
    "Zoey, surely it wouldn't hurt anything if you spent just tonight at home?”
    "Of course it wouldn't," John said to her. "I'm sure Dr. Asher will see the need for a house visit. With him here she'll be perfectly fine." He patted her shoulder, pretended to be caring, but instead of sweet he sounded slimy.
    I looked from him to my mom. They weren't going to let me leave. Not tonight, and maybe not ever, or at least not until I had to be hauled out by the paramedics. I suddenly understood that it wasn't just about this Mark and the fact that my life had been totally changed. It was about control. If they let me go, somehow they lose. In Mom's case, I liked to think that she was afraid of losing me. I knew what John didn't want to lose. He didn't want to lose his precious authority and the illusion that we were the perfect little family. As Mom had already said, What would the neighbors think―what will people think at Meeting on Sunday? John had to preserve the illusion, and if that meant allowing me to get really, really sick, well then, that was a price he was willing to pay.
    I wasn't willing to pay it, though.
    I guess it was time I took things into my own hands (after all, they are well manicured).
    "Fine," I said. "Call Dr. Asher. Start the prayer phone tree. But do you mind if I go lay down until everyone gets here?" I coughed again for good measure.
    "Of course not, honey," Mom said, looking obviously relieved. "A little rest will probably make you feel better." Then she moved away from John's possessive arm. She smiled and then hugged me. "Would you like me to get you some NyQuil?”
    "No, I'll be fine," I said, clinging to her for just a second, wishing so damn hard that it was three years ago and she was still mine―still on my side. Then I took a deep breath and stepped back. "I'll be fine," I repeated.
    She looked at me and nodded, telling me she was sorry the only way she could, with her eyes.
    I turned away from her and started to retreat to my bedroom. To my back the step-loser said, "And why don't you do us all a favor and see if you can find some powder or something to cover up that thing on your forehead?”
    I didn't even pause. I just kept walking. And I wouldn't cry.
    I'm going to remember this, I told myself sternly. I'm going to remember how awful they made me feel today. So when I'm scared and alone and whatever else is going to happen to me starts to happen, I'm going to remember that nothing could be as bad as being stuck here. Nothing.

CHAPTER FOUR

    So I sat on my bed and coughed while I listened to my mom making a frantic call to our shrink's emergency line, followed quickly by another equally hysterical call that would activate the dreaded People of Faith prayer tree. Within thirty minutes our house would begin to fill up with fat women and their beady-eyed pedophile husbands. They'd call me out to