Every night, in the Devil's Hour, Carrie Moore would practice lifting objects. She would stir awake automatically, pushing the covers off her limbs and gather her books on her bed. She wouldn't even brush the sleep from her eyes, always too compelled, always too electrified to bother with anything else. While Carrie still didn't know nearly enough about her power yet, she had come to the conclusion that her mother was right—Carrie did have a blood curse. One that allowed her to do the unimaginable, the insane and the wonderful. Or the wicked, depending on which way you looked at it.

Margaret Moore definitely considered it wicked and evil, and a gift from the Devil himself. Carrie had shown signs of her power when she was young and it had made Margaret regret and wish that she had given her daughter to the Lord when she had given birth to Carrie in that very same house when the moon was swollen and red.

Margaret had never told her daughter, or anyone else, that Carrie had been born during a blood moon, believing it was a sign, an omen, from God about the darkness that dwelled in the baby girl. She remembered staring at the baby, sleek with blood and birthing fluid, blinking in her new world. Margaret had held a pair of dressmaking scissors above her newborn, right above her tiny, beating heart. But the longer she stared at the babe, the weaker she grew and then she lowered the scissors and that was Margaret's greatest mistake, or so she believed till this very day.

Knowing her daughter was different, cursed by the Devil, she sheltered her daughter greatly. She was strict, impossibly strict, and ruled the house with an iron fist rooted in her Christian fundamentalism. When Carrie was younger, Margaret would pray for her daughter's soul, but she didn't pray for Carrie anymore. Carrie was a lost soul, damned for the fires of hell.

The school library was starting to feel safe again for Carrie, and the closer they got to summer, the cooler the library got. The air-conditioner worked harder to fight off the dawning heat and the blonde teenager wished for winter again. Carrie and Ava Gold searched one of the many aisles side-by-side, reading the titles with their heads bent to the side a little.

"I can't wait to go to university," Ava was saying, eyes scanning the rows for inspiration to strike. Ava Gold was a scholar; she loved learning new things and only wanted to broaden her mind. "I can only imagine the wider book collections there," she added, flashing Carrie a smile.

"And the unrestricted access to scholarly databases," Carrie replied, smiling back as she dragged a finger over the book spines.

"Gosh, my mouth is just salivating at the thought!" The girls laughed together and Carrie didn't know how she had gotten so lucky to have two friends suddenly. She had gone her whole life without having a simple friend, a single person that didn't think she was weird, or cursed or damned or crazy. She was terrified that the universe was playing a sick joke on her. Just chuckling before it ripped Carrie's heart out of her chest, taking away her tiny happiness at Westfield High, taking away the only solace she knew with Michael Langdon. "Do you know what university you want to go to?" Ava asked, pulling a book free from the crowded shelf.

Carrie shook her head. "Anywhere but Los Angeles," she said breathing in the scent of old books; soft paper and faded ink. While Carrie didn't really allow herself to wonder about the future too much, it was hard. When she wasn't wondering about her power or Michael Langdon, she was thinking about leaving for university and leaving her mother. Sometimes the very notion would leave her with a bellyache, other times, a bud of excitement would open in her heart, bright and powerful. She was nearly eighteen and could start a new life, someplace where it snowed and had more cold days than warm ones. The guidance counsellor had encouraged Carrie to send off some university applications, so she had, without giving it too much thought, save for further the better.

"Well, I can't blame you for wanting to get away from this eternal sunshine," Ava laughed, reaching for yet another book. "It would be nice to see the leaves change colour for once. All those rich and dead leaves." Ava sighed whimsically and leaned her shoulder up against the shelving. "Speaking of rich and dead things," Ava added, meaning the cheerleaders and the football team, "wanna go to the pep rally with me?"

Carrie's face dropped with disdain. "The pep rally?" she gulped out. She had never gone to a football game, let alone a pep rally. The thought of a school event wracked her nerves.

"I know, I know. I'm not one for school spirit either, but it's the last one of the year," Ava pointed out. "The last one we'll probably ever go to." The dark-skinned beauty battered her eyes at Carrie, pouting her lips ironically as she begged for Carrie's company.

Carrie caved, not wanting to disappoint her friend. "Sure, I guess. Who knows, maybe it'll be fun?" Ava squealed with delight while Carrie chewed at her bottom lip, and a bad feeling was born in her stomach.

—

The sunlight was blinding and harsh that afternoon, so Carrie and Michael found shelter under the drooping branches of one of the Weeping Willows in the graveyard. But there was no escaping the heat that wanted to penetrate the earth, or perhaps it was bubbling up from hell.

Beads of sweat gathered on Carrie's temples yet Michael didn't seem to even notice the heat— is skin was already hot, too hot. And while his body warmth reached for Carrie with sweltering violence, she didn't move away from Michael, their shoulders brushing against each other.

She liked the small touch, the innocent touch of another person. She wanted his heat, wanted his heat to seep into her skin, even if it burned her alive. And Michael Langdon wanted her touch too, wanted that simple physical contact that he was always craving. The touch he'd never gotten from his mother or father. He wanted to fill the hole in his heart so desperately, and it often resulted in him getting too attached to other people. Like Ben Harmon and Miriam Mead.

That afternoon, while completing some of her homework, Carrie told Michael about Ava Gold. "She's like a sponge for knowledge, just absorbing information about anything and everything. I don't think there's a single topic that doesn't fascinate her," Carrie said with a smile, looking up from her page decorated in chemical equations. Michael was watching her intently, listening to every word and memorising the way her lips moved with each vowel, memorising the sound of her voice filled with glee and admiration as she spoke about Ava Gold.

There was no wind and no breeze in the graveyard today. The air was just still with heat. Above the pair, nestled between the branches, was a bird's nest and both Carrie and Michael could hear the chirping of a baby bird calling for its mother. Michael leaned in closer to Carrie, his shoulder now pressing against her shoulder. His skin was the same temperate as metal baking in the sunlight, but Carrie couldn't move away, wouldn't move away. "Can you tell me more about her?" he asked, interested in every aspect of Carrie's life.

"She has an older sister named Darcey who lives in Seattle," she replied, more than happy to indulge Michael. Carrie also just liked talking about her friend. Margaret certainly wasn't interested in hearing about Carrie's friend and Michael was the only one she could talk too, other than Ava.

"I have a sister," Michael announced nonchalantly, like it was no big deal that he had a sibling.

"What?" Shock flooded Carrie. They had spent hours upon hours together and she still knew so little about Michael Langdon. She was sure he knew more things about her than she knew about him. Save for one little secret, of course.

"A half-sister, actually. Violet," he added, looking away from Carrie and towards the bird's nest. The baby bird's call was getting louder, more urgent.

"You've never mentioned her before," she replied.

"We aren't close," he expressed and there was indifference in his voice born from hurt and anger. Violet Harmon had never acknowledged Michael, not even for a moment. And it wasn't like he hadn't tried to be a brother to her; the gloomy teenager had rejected him instantly. Just another person who thought he was a monster. "Can we get back to Ava Gold, please?"

Carrie was thrown but nodded. "She invited me to a pep rally this Friday night."

"What's a pep rally?" Michael's eyes blinked back to Carrie, shining with curiosity.

"It's a school gathering to inspire the football team, but really it's just to idolise the team and bloat up their egos some more," she explained, forgetting about the homework in her lap. "Apparently, there's gonna be a bonfire this time," she added as the baby bird chirped louder and louder. The little guy sounded stressed; she hoped he was okay.

"May I go with you?" Michael asked with a child-like curiosity sparking in his blue eyes.

Carrie paused, thrown again. She couldn't imagine Michael Langdon at a pep rally. "Uh, yeah. If you want too."

Just as Michael's face lit with such remarkable joy and excitement, there was a rustle of leaves and the snap of twigs, and a little chirp that whistled out in distress. Both teenagers looked upwards as a small bundle of feathers raced towards the hard earth.

Raw energy spiked in Carrie's blood, rushing and roaring like a tidal wave. Instinctively and impulsively, she lifted one hand, flexing her fingers as she focused on the falling baby bird. Concentration worked through her bones, waking up every one of her dormant cells that contained her power. Margaret believed the power was stored in the cursed blood, the tainted blood.

And the seemingly impossible happened: The baby bird never hit the ground and hovered in the air for a few seconds. The little creature was baffled and it showed in its tiny chirp, and Carrie slowly lifted the bird back to its nest safety. Her heart was racing, smashing against her rib bones as she lowered her hand back to her lap.

"Carrietta?" Michael's voice blossomed over the pounding blood in her ears from adrenaline and embarrassment. She couldn't believe she had done that, not in front of someone. Not in front of Michael Langdon. She had never shown anyone her power before and she had kept it a secret for a reason.

"It was an accident... I... I need to go," she stammered out, not meeting his eyes. She shifted away from him, gathering up her homework. Her whole body was flushing with redness and she just wanted to get home and pretend she was as normal as Michael was. Unshed tears stung her eyes and she locked her teeth around her bottom lip, pressing hard enough to break the skin.

She was on her knees, ready to get up and run when Michael latched onto her arm, stilling her. Carrie couldn't meet his eyes, afraid of what she would find there. Surely, judgment and terror. Carrie Moore was a crazy freak with a thing for blood. The universe had finally reached the punch line of its joke on Carrie. She let her mane of hair fall over her face, shielding her.

"You don't have to hide from me." His voice was low and clear. His hand slid down from her forearm to her hand. Michael threaded his fingers through hers, guiding her closer. "Carrietta." Her name on his tongue made her heart pulse harder and a stray tear traced a wet path down her bright cheek.

"You weren't meant to see that," she whispered, shaking her head. She finally raised her glossy eyes and she was shocked when she didn't see fear or judgment resting in Michael's eyes but... Understanding and wonderment. "You can't tell anyone—" she started.

"That you can move things with your mind?" he finished, squeezing her fingers as more tears fell down her cheeks. She nodded, chewing at her trembling lip. "I'll always keep your secrets, Carrietta." Conviction and seriousness rang in his voice and he moved forward to face Carrie, on his knees too. "Would you like one of my secrets in return?"

Carrie just blinked at him, her eyelashes glittering with teardrops. "What?" she uttered, confused and shaking.

Michael untangled his hand from Carrie's to move it to her cheek. His long, warm fingers cupped her wet cheek perfectly. "You like snow, don't you?" Carrie's barely nodded, not sure what Michael was talking about, not sure what he was going to do.

He closed his eyes for a long second and took a deep breath in, and when he opened his eyes to the world again they were glossed over a with strange whiteness. It stunned Carrie, the sight of Michael's pure white eyes that looked so unusual but not exactly frightening either. Michael then raised his other hand, palm open to the sky, and flexed his fingers, his wrist twisting. His motions were cool and fluid, almost like a dancer. And then he smiled, proud and wide.

His smile broke across his handsome face as a spot of coldness landed on Carrie's other cheeks. It melted into her salty tears and she blinked again. Michael turned his face upwards and Carrie followed the gesture, and her heart swelled majestically inside her chest.

Snow fell around the teenagers kneeling in a graveyard under a Weeping Willow. Soft whiteness danced around them, swirling as they fell delicately and gently. Carrie's lips parted but no words came out, she was speechless with the impossible beauty that fell around them. The impossible beauty that Michael had made with a power all of his own.

"I believe we were meant to meet, Carrietta," he said, his thumb caressing her cheek, running along her cheekbone softly. "And I believe we can help each other." Her blood was humming with such incredible power and snowflakes replaced the tears on her cheeks. She wasn't alone in her strangeness anymore. She would never have to be alone in her strangeness again.

Snow continued to fall in the Los Angeles graveyard till the ground around them was covered with a fine powder of pure, innocent whiteness. And unbeknownst to both of them, Michael Langdon was getting attached to Carrie Moore, dangerously attached. And so was she to him.