Chapter One

The night was warm for September, heavy with the remnant humidity of a hot summer.

Genevieve paused her step and listened. The street was silent—dead even—but for her own shallow breaths and the quiet whining of the rottweiler that walked at her side. Funny, she could have sworn she heard something...

Her sapphire blue eyes glanced about, studying the scenery for anything unusual. Suburban houses, dark due to the late hour of night, met her gaze. No visual signs that anyone else was about, and though moments passed, she heard nothing out of the ordinary either.

Gen wasn't usually the paranoid type. Even if someone was around, watching her or whatever, she wouldn't take notice, and certainly didn't suppose people were hiding in the bushes at night, staring at her, on a regular basis. Her initial reaction was to brush off the sudden feeling of being watched—to ignore that inner voice that everyone seems to have. Still, against her rational mind, she found herself checking over her shoulder, eyes searching the darkness for some sign that she wasn't insane.

Her dog whined louder this time and looked up at her, then gave a small woof as if inquiring why they had stopped.

Genevieve sighed. "Sorry, Penny," she mumbled. She gave the short leash a slight tug and the two continued on their walk, with Penny electing to take the lead.

This was Newhaven, after all. It was by no means a hotspot for anything approaching violent crime. The occasional vandalism, sure, and some drug trafficking. But psychos following girls around at night? That didn't happen. Besides, she had Penny. Amazonian-tall girls walking a rottweiler just don't get attacked; it might as well be a documented fact. She was nearly home anyway—no sense getting herself all freaked out over what was undoubtedly nothing.

Both Genevieve and her dog failed to notice the two figures standing only a block away, watching from the protective shadow of a row of hedges.

"I'm sorry, but I still have no idea," the young woman whispered to her companion. "You know I can't tell..."

"I already know." The man beside her nodded to himself, a hateful stare fixed on the sixteen-year-old girl fading from their view. Her waist-length, yellow hair shone in the lamplight, swinging from side to side as she walked, and was the last thing he saw when she turned the corner towards her home. They didn't need to follow anymore; he'd been tracking her for weeks. He knew her route, her habits, her schedules.

"But how can you—" the girl began.

"I just know," he replied sharply. He abruptly turned around and stalked in the opposite direction of Genevieve.

"If you're right—"

"I am."

"Well then, what are we going to do?" hissed the girl, struggling to meet her friend's brisk pace with her short legs. "Do you want me to—"

"I'll take care of it," he cut in.

"But—"

"I said I'll take care of it." It had been coming to this for awhile, and finally the time was here. Now he had to act...act alone, if he was to succeed.

Tomorrow night. This would end one way or another then.

"Miss Weist?"

Genevieve glanced up to find the entire class staring at her. In front of her desk stood her portly, forty-something English teacher, Ms. Kern. The woman looked annoyed and as if she was expecting something; presumably some answer to a question that Gen hadn't been listening to.

"Yes?" Genevieve asked, trying not to focus on the bizarre magenta spandex cat suit Kern was poured into, and the orange silk shirt she wore over it. That was a considerably difficult task—those colours side by side were downright distracting. If she dared look down at the woman's shoes, her head might explode altogether.

"Miss Weist, do you plan to join the rest of class today? I asked you a question."

"I'm sorry, what was it?"

Tiny dark eyes, heavily lined with black and shadowed with orange, narrowed on Genevieve, and if she hadn't already received Kern's infamous glare so many times since the semester began, she would probably be fidgeting in her seat. But she was used to the situation, so she sat quietly and waited for her teacher's sharp reply.

"What do the rhyming couplets in act one, scene one, foreshadow?" Kern asked, her high-pitched voice on edge. "What is suggested when they are used in Shakespeare's work?"

"Um..." Genevieve looked down to see her English books weren't even open, a small sketchpad and pieces of graphite in their place. This wasn't looking good. Yesterday's homework on the
Macbeth unit had been to read...uh...something in the play. Gen couldn't remember what—she figured that since she'd seen the movie, she should be able to answer basic plot questions, but foreshadowing rhyming couplets? Polanski didn't spend a lot of time explaining those.

A few of her classmates snickered, sending a flush of anger to her cheeks. Like at least half of them hadn't been in a similar situation at least once this semester! Unable to turn and send a glare their way, since Ms. Kern's gaze hadn't left her yet, Genevieve was forced to sit there and endure it all. While floundering around in search of the book and scrambling to find an answer might be choice of many, it wasn't for her. Instead, she leaned back in her uncomfortable chair and crossed her arms, waiting for Kern's inevitable bark of annoyance followed by the reveal of the answer to her own question.

The hand of the boy sitting in the desk to her left drifted upward, and Kern's face softened as she turned her gaze his way.

"Yes, Levi?"

"In this case," Levi began, "as in many of Shakespeare's plays, the rhyming couplets suggest something bad is about to happen. I believe here it also adds to the cryptic ambiguity of the witches that will further entangle Macbeth."

"Very good, Mr. Greene," Ms. Kern said, her face beaming with approval. Her expression darkened again as she looked at Genevieve. "I suggest, Miss Weist, that you take the time Levi does to listen in class." She tapped on the sketchbook. "If I see that again, it'll be confiscated." She turned sharply and strolled to the chalkboard, then jotted down in point form what Levi had said.

Oh well, Gen thought. At least that's over—

"Perhaps volunteering to read for us the lines of the first witch might refresh your memory?"

Any relief Genevieve felt dissipated under the sound of Kern's voice. Shit, she really wasn't talking to me, was she?

Kern turned to stare at Genevieve, planting her hands on her hips. "Well?"

Damn.

Gen snatched the book up and flipped it open, skipping through the introductory pages. There were a lot of those. Stupid Shakespeare, writing all deep and complicated, and requiring editors centuries later to fill her book with so many extra pages! Gen finally reached the play itself, only to realize she had no idea where the class was in the story.

"Act one, scene one," Kern reminded her. While Genevieve looked for the page, her teacher selected two other students to be the sister witches. "Haley, you can take the second witch,
Izzy the third—"

"No," Izzy Marx replied coldly. Genevieve paused her searching to swing around and face the girl. She sat with her shoulders squared, back straight, and chin up in defiance, with a slight smile on her face, as if she took pleasure in pissing the teacher off. Knowing Izzy, though, that was probably an accurate assessment. Genevieve existed on the hope that she could get by class without drawing too much attention to herself; Izzy thrived on having everyone stare at her in horror for being such a shit disturber.

"And why is that, Miss Marx?"

"Because Shakespeare's depiction of witches is not only highly inaccurate and ridiculous, but offensive, and I'm not taking part in acting out a stereotype."

"It's fiction, Miss Marx, and if you refuse to participate in class, we can take up your 'issues' after school with the vice-principal."

While the prospect of spending any more time with Ms. Kern than the provincially mandated allotment was horrific to any normal person, it didn't seem to faze Izzy.

"Okay," she said instead. "And while we're there, we can discuss your unwillingness to take a moment to differentiate between real witches and this disgusting depiction in Macbeth, which has seriously offended the religious beliefs and practices of myself and other Wiccans in the class."

As far as Genevieve knew, there weren't any Wiccans in the class—probably not even Izzy, but then she was the kind of person that seemed to seek out something to be in opposition to. Last year it was the "exclusory" terms in an out of date textbook. She had gone over the words in white-out and written over top of them in her copy. This was likely no different.

"This is English class, not 'Religious Tolerance: 101,'" Kern said, calling her bluff.

"Yeah, well, it's not Drama either—if I wanted to act, I wouldn't be in English class being offended by my bigot teacher, now would I?"

Gen was pretty sure she heard the collective jaw of the class drop at that one.

"I'll speak to you after class."

"I look forward to it," Izzy replied.

Genevieve could at least thank Izzy for taking the focus off of her, if only for a day. There was no way Kern would still be pissed off at her after that—

"Miss Weist can take over the part of the third witch as well," Kern said.

Damn it!

After class, Genevieve stalked toward her locker, muttering under her breath.

"What was that?" Levi asked as he caught up. "I don't think I quite heard you."

"I said, 'Evil Demonic Bitch from Spandex Hell,'" Genevieve replied, causing a chuckle from her friend.

"I wonder what you'll say when I tell you I was only reading from the notes written in my copy of Macbeth by whatever student had it last year."

Annoyed but unable to really blame Levi for that, she twirled the dial of the combination lock on her locker furiously and had to attempt it three times before she actually got the damn thing open.

"I'd feign surprise, but then I'm a terrible liar. You're one of her basketball players, after all. You could hand in everything late, bomb every test, and she would still say, 'Are you sure you'll have enough time for basketball practice, hun?'"

"Yeah, that 'honey' thing is pretty creepy," said their friend Stephie as she flopped against the locker next to Genevieve's.

"Try being on the receiving end." Levi shuddered.

"You sure there's not something going on you're not telling us about?" Stephie asked with a grin, brown eyes twinkling at the look of horror on Levi's tanned face. "Is she Mrs. Robinson-ing you or anything?"

"I know you think you can tell me anything, Lev, but please, never ever tell me that," Genevieve said before he could respond. "My stomach can't handle that kind of thing."

Levi still looked too appalled to form words at that point, and Gen had to laugh. She stowed her unused English notebook and copy of Macbeth in her locker and hunted down what she needed for her next class...only then realizing she didn't know what her next class was.

"Guys, what do I have next?" she asked.

"Definitely Physics," Stephie replied, as if she was certain of it.

Gen sighed. "I doubt it because I'm not taking Physics." Why hadn't she taped her schedule in her locker like every other student had? That way, when her memory failed her in the third week of school, she wouldn't have to rely on the height of unreliability—usually stoned, wannabe punk-Goth, Stephany Meyers.
Neither the punk, nor the Goth community would actually have anything to do with her, so she found herself quite at home in the company of artsy-slacker Genevieve and the "I-hate-jocks" jock, Levi.

"Well, I know it's Thursday...maybe it's Art?"

"You suck, Steph," Levi muttered.

"Only for the nice boys who buy me dinner first," she replied with a wink.

"So tell us, Oh Great One, what do I have next?" Gen asked.

"Nothing—it's lunch time," he announced, and held up his sports watch to prove it. The digital clock read 11:34 pm.

"Well, I was close," Stephie said as they started down the hall toward the cafeteria. As she wiggled her way between her friends, she threw one arm over Genevieve's shoulder, and the other over Levi's—a task that was only accomplished because the huge heels on her boots helped her come near their matching heights of six feet.

"How is Physics close to lunch?" Gen asked. "Wait—never mind, I don't want you to even try to explain that one."

Lunch hour found the three of them sitting in the east stairwell where they always ate, trays of cafeteria food barely fit for human consumption stacked to the side where Levi picked through what remained of his friends' lunches. He ate indiscriminately, not caring how sick the pasta salad looked or how questionable the origins of the veggie burgers were. He had already consumed three large fries on his own—Gen often observed he had a metabolism like no other.

Genevieve kicked off her shoes and stretched her long legs out, then pulled out her sketchbook and a piece of graphite. The main Visual Arts project that year for her class was a series of self portraits using various mediums...as if any artist was really that interested in drawing herself. Though the students had been encouraged to use photos if they chose to,
Gen went by memory, deciding it would be far more interesting to see how she saw herself. So far, she seemed to have a caricature going—her eyes, while large and round in real life, had taken on Anime style proportions, and dominated her heart shaped face, while her bow lips were pulled into a pout. She debated sticking an evil looking Ms. Kern in the background waving a copy of Macbeth wildly over her head, but she knew teachers talked, and that would get back to the witch somehow.

At the beginning of the year, she hoped that perhaps her close friendship with one of Kern's favourite students, friendly and well liked by all point-guard Levi, might soften the woman's opinion of her. Gen had heard that worked for other people, but Kern seemed just as set against her as she was with half of the class. That was unusual for Genevieve—usually teachers paid her little mind, only bothering to reprimand her when the most important projects were late.
Otherwise, she was quiet and didn't disrupt the other students, so most of her teachers didn't bother with her.

"So, what are you two doin' tonight?" Stephie asked, dropping one of the braids she had put into Genevieve's waist-length, thick blonde hair and picking up another clump of tresses to begin again.

"Not going out with you to wherever you're going," Genevieve replied. There would be no living with her mother if the police called her after being found at a rave.

"Levi?"

"Basketball."

"Game or practice?"

"Practice. First game of the year is tomorrow."

"Cool—wanna go to a basketball game, Gen?" Stephie asked, once again demonstrating her attention span of a fruit fly.

Before she could answer, a guy a year older than them—who looked remarkably like Levi—joined them, as did his girlfriend.

"Hi Hayden," Genevieve said. Stephie offered a similar greeting, though Levi's gaze went elsewhere.

"Hi Sage," Levi said, addressing his brother's girlfriend first.

Two years later and he's still pining for her, Gen thought. This crush was no longer kind of sad—it was borderline pathetic. Not far from creepy, too. But nothing she said would sway him from it. She didn't blame him; Sage was pretty. Only around five feet, five inches in height, she looked much taller given her trim, athletic build. She had absolutely flawless skin in a rich medium brown. Good bone structure. Definitely striking, but she wasn't the only pretty girl in school, and she lost points on personality. She rarely spoke to anyone, leaving most to believe her highly stuck up. All that aside, Gen suspected Levi just had a thing for unattainable women. First there was Genevieve herself, and now Sage—his older brother's serious girlfriend. Next he'd be looking at a nun.

Sage barely glanced in Levi's direction, nodded her hello, and continued looking bored while Hayden talked about having to work that night and how Levi had better not forget his house keys again else he'll be stuck out there all night. While she seemed a little rude to some, Genevieve had decided she was just reserved. There had to be some actual personality there underneath her cold surface, or else why would Hayden, of all people, be with her for so long?

Another possibility was that she knew Levi had a thing for her (and how could she not?) and just didn't want to encourage it. But while Hayden, a twelfth grader, seemed like the best of friends with all his little brothers classmates, Sage—who was actually their age of sixteen herself—seemed awkward and out of place. Never flat out rude, but never warm or friendly either.

"So, Gen, game tomorrow night?" Stephie repeated her earlier inquiry.

"I don't know," Genevieve replied.

"Aw, c'mon, it'll be fun. We can paint our faces maroon and gold and cheer for the team!"

"School colours are navy and gold," Levi pointed out.

"That really doesn't make any sense," Genevieve said. "You're the Phoenixes...shouldn't you have red or something?"

"One of the other county school teams we played against a few years ago had those colours...things got confusing on the court," Levi replied.

"Whatever," Stephie brushed him off. "We can write 'Levi rocks' across our boobs and flash them during half-time."

"I'll skip work tomorrow and go to the game if you're doing that," Hayden said with a smirk and Sage smacked him. "Really sweetie, these are beautiful, empowered womyn and I completely support their right to be topless if they so choose. I also support you joining them."

"I'm sure you would," Sage muttered, then she gave him a "Can we please go now look," that he pretended not to notice. She even inched back a bit away from the group, showing her displeasure at being there.

Forget reserved—she's just a bitch, Gen decided.

"Hey, Gen, game?" Stephie asked again, leaving Gen a little shocked her friend was able to focus on the same subject all this time.

"Maybe," Genevieve replied, though actually meaning "no," but not wishing to reveal her reasons why. Someone had been following her lately—she was sure of it. While she had tried to ignore those thoughts last night, she spent the entire evening glancing out her window to the front lawn, checking to see if anyone was out there. Though her rational mind couldn't explain the feeling, she grew terrified at the prospect of being out there alone. Though she could probably find a ride home from the game, for the next couple of nights she wanted to stay home where she could be certain the doors and windows were locked. But how long could she be expected to keep that up?

The mere remembrance of being out with Penny last night seemed to darken the atmosphere of the stairwell for her and sent a shiver reverberating through her. Her mouth went dry and all other thoughts fell away as the memory overcame her; footsteps that mimicked her own, a figure she could have sworn she saw in the shadows, the overwhelming sense of being watched. She gave an involuntary shiver.

"You okay, Gen?" Hayden asked, shaking her from her thoughts. All at once, the memory retreated, and she was once again back in the stairwell with her friends.

"Just flashbacks from English," she said, and gave another shiver, exaggerated for effect this time. "I think Kern's outfit might have branded itself in my memory."

"Someone definitely should offer counselling for her students," Hayden agreed. "I had her last year and I think a few times I went legally blind. I'm a guy, and even I can tell the clothes she picks don't match."

Gen nodded and even managed to offer a weak smile while her thoughts lay elsewhere, with something infinitely more terrifying than Kern's questionable fashion sense. There might really be someone out there, following her.

God, I hope I'm wrong about this.

Rebecca Weist dropped her fork on her plate and turned her blue eyes to her daughter all too overdramatically, or so Genevieve thought. She shook her head of greying blonde hair.

"Well, I don't understand why that teacher treats you as if you're some idiot like the rest of the class,"

"Mother, I don't think that's a fair assumption to make," Genevieve said, rolling her eyes and stuffing a spoonful of potatoes in her mouth.

"That's right, dear—for all you know, Genny is on par with the class' stupidity," her father said with a wink in her direction.

Genevieve groaned. "Can we please not talk about this?"

"You brought it up," Leo Weist pointed out.

"Yeah, 'cause she asked how my day was. You want me to lie?"

"Of course that would be preferable, sweetie," he said. "That way you keep your poor mother from worrying."

"I should give that woman a call and let her know what an exceptionally bright student you are," Rebecca said, then looked at her daughter pointedly. "Or at least you can be when you put your mind to it."

"First of all, if you do that, I'm moving out," Gen said.

"Promise?" her dad joked.

"Ha ha," she replied. "Second of all, it won't do any good. If I'm not on the basketball team, she wants nothing to do with me."

"Well then, sign-up for the basketball team," Leo said. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"That's hardly helpful," Rebecca said, sending him "the look." It was a look Gen caught all too frequently, when her dad didn't seem to be backing her mom up on whatever she was saying. He was just a laid back kind of guy, though; he knew it was pointless to pounce on the little, silly things in life like her mother did.

"You say that now, but wait 'til Genny joins—she'll have straight A's. I'm telling you."

"Yeah, I'll sign up right away because I'm so coordinated and athletic," Gen retorted.

"At least stand up for yourself in class," Rebecca said, returning some of her attention to her meal. "The next time she embarrasses you like that—"

"I wasn't embarrassed!" Genevieve protested, but she knew it was of little use. When her mother got an idea in her head, it was impossible to change her mind about it.

"The next time it happens, call her on her behaviour. Report it to the head of the English Department and—"

"Oh my God, what century did you go to high school in!" Gen sighed and stood up from the table. "Can I be excused?" Without waiting for an answer, she took her dishes into the kitchen and loaded them in the dishwasher.

"Is that what you do in class every time this teacher yells at you?" her father called after her. "Ask to be excused?"

"I have homework," Gen said with annoyance. "Leaving now—goodbye."

"Run away, Genevieve—run away!" he said with a chuckle. "Beware of confrontation!"

"Have a nice meal!" she returned. Christ, who were they kidding, anyway? She always mouthed off in school when she was little, and her mother had been constantly hauled into the principal's office for meetings about it. Then her mom just argued even more with them, and her teachers soon learned whom she got it from. At about age eleven, Genevieve discovered her father's way of doing things—passive aggressiveness. Just as infuriating to people, but it usually resulted in less hassle.

"Gen," her mother called just as she started up the stairs. "Penny's sitting here whining—you should take her out now."

Hmm, good point. They had to eat later than usual due to her mother's work schedule, and this was usually the time Penny went out. And it wasn't like she was really going up to do homework.

"C'mon, Pen," Genevieve said, and the rottweiler came bounding over. She led her dog to the back door and let her into the yard.

"Hey," Rebecca said. "She should be going for a walk—don't be so damn lazy."

"Too tired tonight," Genevieve lied, not wishing to try to explain to her mother the footsteps she swore she heard following her at night. Either she'd call her a liar or phone the police right away, and neither reaction seemed like the best course of action. Of course, hiding in her house all night may not seem like a bright idea either, but at least if she was crazy, no one else would know.

"Genevieve Sarah Weist, get your shoes on and take your dog out for a walk! You knew the rules when you got her—either take care of her or—"

"Yeah, yeah, God, I hear you already." Penny waited eagerly at the door anyway, as if knowing what her mom and grandma were discussing.

With the leash on Penny, Genevieve was nearly out the door when the phone rang and her mother hollered for her again.

"What!" Gen shouted back.

"Don't you take that tone with me or I'll—"

"Sorry, sorry," Gen muttered with a sigh. "What is it?"

"Levi's on the phone."

"I'll call him later," Gen replied and slipped out the door before her mother could force the phone in her hand. They both knew "I'll call him later," meant she would just wait and talk to him tomorrow.

Genevieve started down the front steps when she felt herself hauled backward. She turned to see Penny still standing by the door, frozen in place and staring off into the distance.

"C'mon." Gen gave the leash a tug, but unfortunately, when a rottweiler isn't interested in moving, there isn't a hell of a lot anyone can do about it. "Penny, move it—"

Penny hunched her head down low between her shoulders and let out a low growl. Jesus, what the hell? Penny didn't growl! What was her problem—

The dog whined and backed up, and try as she may, Genevieve couldn't get Penny to move. Oh, shit. She swallowed hard as she warily glanced around. It wasn't just her now—Penny sensed someone too.

Deep breath, Gen...deep breath... This was insane. They couldn't stand out here on the steps all night!

She turned to Penny and gave the dog a stern look. "You need to go for a walk. Come on."

Penny didn't budge.

"Okay, how about a cookie?"

That got her attention.

"Want a cookie, Penny?"

Penny's gaze darted around Genevieve, hoping to find the treat was in her possession.

"Let's go for a walk and you can have a cookie."

Her fears forgotten, Penny leaped down the steps and bolted across the lawn toward the sidewalk.

I wish I shared her enthusiasm, Gen thought as she gazed around nervously. Especially 'cause no one's giving me a cookie for being out here. But no one would dare come near a girl walking a rottweiler, no matter how crazy-stalker-y he was...right?

When they got back, after she found that dog treat for Penny, Gen was definitely hunting down some cookies for herself.

She walked without incident and without running into anyone. Eventually she began to relax, as did Penny. She was just being paranoid, that's all. Besides, Penny was scared of Stephie's pet budgie—who knows what set her off earlier. They were nearly home and—

Both Genevieve and Penny froze at the sound of a shoe scrapping on the cement somewhere behind them. Penny growled and tugged her in the direction of their house, but slowly Gen turned to confront the source of the noise, almost afraid to look.

At first she saw nothing. Trees, a few hedges, cars in driveways, nothing out of the ordinary...

From the heavy shadows surrounding the side of a house on the corner of the block stepped a tall figure.

Genevieve's heart beat just a little faster as the figure cut across the lawn. It's okay, he can't possibly want anything to do with me...just someone out for a walk, or on his way to work, or—

She began to back up, and as she did, the stranger's pace quickened.

A lump formed in her throat. She tightened her grip on Penny's leash, turned, and began swiftly walking back toward her home.

Only four houses from hers, and she cast a glance back over her shoulder. He was on the sidewalk with her now, facial features and any distinguishing details obscured by the shadows cast by trees. His stride was even and brisk, and she realized he really did mean to catch up with her.

Genevieve broke into a run.