He lurched forward against his seat belt. “What? You want me to drive?” He smiled like everything was normal, but his eyes were squinted and he glanced out the window a few times.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Nothing. I just . . . everything is so damn bright up here, huh?”

We were on a narrow road, covered by trees. Sunlight barely seeped through. “Carson, listen to me. Do you think maybe you’re not feeling right? Like you might have a seizure?”

“I told you I don’t get seizures anymore.” Which wasn’t exactly a denial. I made a decision then. I chose a path, and I committed. I pulled a fairly dangerous K-turn in the middle of the icy road, where there wasn’t enough visibility to see if anyone was coming around the corner, and headed back down the mountain.

“Where are you going?” Carson asked.

I performed some mental calculations. Three minutes down the mountain. Three minutes to the highway. Ten minutes to the doctor’s office. I could make it. The itch had barely just begun. We could make it. “We’re going to see my doctor. You don’t look good.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, but he didn’t protest. He must have sensed something because he was letting me save him.

“Call Janna. Or your parents.”

Carson wasn’t listening. He was looking from side to side, squinting, holding his hand in front of his face and turning it over. “What are you doing?”

“I see an aura,” he whispered.

“What’s that?” I picked up speed, leaving my foot off the brake as we coasted downhill. A black car passed us in the other direction, and I briefly made eye contact with the driver. I gripped the wheel and moved my foot to the gas.

“It’s a sign,” he said, still looking at his hand. “It’s a warning.”

I turned off the mountain road. Three more minutes to the highway. “You’re gonna be fine, Carson,” I said, but I was starting to panic. The pull was strong. The itch was spreading through my brain, threatening my neck, moving much faster than I had anticipated. “Hold on,” I said, increasing the speed.

We skidded around a corner too fast and fishtailed. Carson put a hand flat on the passenger window. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

I gritted my teeth together as the back wheels gripped the road again. “Not even close.”

We made it to the highway in under two minutes. It was a straight shot from here to Dr. Logan’s office. We’d make it and they’d run tests and find the problem and fix it.

Except one minute and thirty seconds down the highway, the itch spread further, through my shoulders, down my arms. Too fast. I sucked in air and pounded the accelerator. “Carson?”

“There’s something wrong, Delaney.”

“I know, I’m going as fast as I can. Just hold on.”

“Not with me. With you.” He pointed one steady finger out toward the steering wheel. My hands, gripping the wheel, were trembling. I couldn’t hold the wheel still. I forced my fists to uncurl and placed my palms against the wheel, watching my fingers predict the future. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and shook my head, trying to clear the itch, as I struggled to focus on the road.

“Shit,” I said, jerking the wheel to the side and slamming on the brakes. I held one shaking hand out to him. “Take out your phone and dial.”

He looked at me cross-eyed, but he took out the phone. “Dial what?”

“911.” He pressed the keys and held the phone to his ear. Then he lost his grip and the phone tumbled to his feet, but I could hear the operator already asking for our emergency. I unbuckled and reached across his lap. And then Carson went rigid.

“Carson?” His eyes rolled backward, and his limbs shot out. I reached down and grabbed the phone while a woman was asking, “Hello? Hello? What is your emergency?” And as I was straightening myself back up, Carson’s knee jerked into my cheekbone and he started convulsing.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” I mumbled to myself and into the phone. Carson jerked against the seat belt as his limbs thumped against the floor and the door, creating an unnatural sound.

“Miss? What’s happening.”

“Carson Levine,” I said, my voice wavering. “He’s having a seizure.”

I reached over to unbuckle his belt, which would bruise him from the way he was seizing. “Okay, miss, don’t touch him. He’ll be okay.”

“He’s in my car. The seat belt . . .”