She stayed in the snow until dusk called her home. Carrie could still feel the coldness in her fingertips and taste the melted snow on her lips, and as she ambled home, she replayed the rest of the afternoon over in her mind.

"I've never met anyone else with power," Michael Langdon had said quietly and with a growing smile that made the sadness in his eyes vanish. "I thought I was alone in that," he added as tiny and oh-so-delicate snowflakes drifted around them peacefully.

Carrie's heart pulsed with raw compassion and empathy as she nodded in agreement. "I know the feeling all too well." Carrie Moore had always believed she was alone, different and an outcast unwanted by the world she desperately wanted to fit into. She touched her golden cross hidden under her grey shirt. "Meeting you was a blessing from God." The teenage girl was a strong believer in the fact that God was marvellous and worked in mysterious ways, and she strongly believed that Michael was a marvellous and mysterious gift from her Father in the sky.

"Or maybe Satan," he suggested. While the teenagers were separated by religion, it didn't matter, for they were connected by power and shared experiences. "I believe our destinies are interwoven, Carrietta. That your destiny is parallel to mine." He traced a pattern into the snow gathered on the long, dry grass of the graveyard. While his hands were distracted, his voice was soft but resolute. He was adamant in this fact, this truth about their destinies and futures.

"You know what your destiny is?" Carrie asked, tucking her damp hair behind her ears. Fine whiteness still fell around them angelically in the chilled air that was impossible in the Los Angeles afternoon sunlight and heat, but Michael Langdon was impossible.

"I do." He nodded, but there was doubt in his voice, anxiety and nerves laced in the blueness of his eyes. Michael looked so young suddenly, his sharp edges fading. He looked soft and unsure but burdened with a mountain of responsibility and expectation; it was a hefty weight for him to carry. And he wasn't sure if he even wanted to carry it, but he knew he didn't want to carry it alone.

Carrie reached for Michael's hand in the snow. "You're not alone, Michael." Somehow, the two had been on the same brainwave without a single word about loneliness being uttered. They laced their fingers together in the melting snow.

"Neither are you," he replied. The pattern in the snow was a star inside a circle—an inverted pentagram.

—

Friday night had come quickly, the rest of the week passing in a blissful blur. Carrie Moore had never known such joy or happiness, and it was all because of the impossible Michael Langdon. She now had someone whom she could share her power with. Without judgement or scrutiny and without feeling like she was cursed or damned for having an ability that was rare and unnatural for the majority of the human race. Her research into her power had paused momentarily, because for once in her life, she wasn't worried about how she had gotten her power or what it was, for Michael didn't care. And it was a relief not to be troubled by her power or ashamed of it.

It was the night of the pep rally and Ava Gold had come over early to pick up Carrie. It was unusual for the Moore house to have a guest, but luckily, Margaret Moore was at a bible study session at the local church.

"I know I'm super early, but I over calculated how long it would take me to find your house," Ava babbled on cheerfully as Carrie ushered her inside. The house was illuminated in a soft orange light that only made the outdated furniture look ancient. Embarrassment and worry leaked into her stomach.

"It's all right," Carrie muttered, ringing out her hands as she watched Ava observe her tiny house. The dark-skinned girl studied the one photograph on the wall—it was an old photo of Margaret Moore from when she was younger. There were no photographs of Carrie at all, and while Ava Gold noticed that immediately, she didn't feel the need to point it out.

"Your mother has such lovely hair," was what Ava Gold said instead, turning away from the photograph to her friend. "And so do you. You're so lucky you don't have to use any products."

Carrie's hair was hanging in messy waves down her back and her cheeks burned at Ava's genuine comment. Carrie considered her mother lovely and beautiful, but not herself, not ever. Therefore, the touching comment struck at Carrie and she felt awkward in her own body.

Actually, Carrie Moore had always felt awkward in her body, in her own skin. It was like she wasn't herself or maybe she hadn't grown into herself yet. It often felt like her skin was stretched and tight, that her bones were fragile like glass and one crack would shatter her body, her soul. Something was holding her back, draping over her like a shadowed veil. And Carrie couldn't piece that veil, couldn't see herself clearly, couldn't feel like her true self. She hadn't blossomed into womanhood, into herself. Not yet.

"I was gonna braid it for tonight but I'm not very good at braiding," Carrie replied, tugging at a strand of hair. While Carrie never really bothered about her appearance, she wanted to look nice tonight for Ava and Michael. She had even planned out her outfit—a long black pinafore dress she had found at a thrift shop, a high-necked cream shirt with long sleeves and her saddle shoes.

"Don't worry, I'll help you!" Ava offered brightly. "I had to learn how to braid when I was pretty young, ever since my mother left. Dad was terrible at it and Darcey has practically no hand-eye coordination!" Ava continued yapping as the girls headed for Carrie's bedroom. The girls ended up on Carrie's bed, Ava braiding Carrie's long and untidy hair into two braids that draped over her shoulders. Carrie had worried at her bottom lip over Ava being in her bedroom at first, seeing as only two people have ever been in her room before—that being herself and Margaret—but her concern waned with Ava's bubbly demeanour that instantly put Carrie at ease.

"They look wonderful," Carrie admitted breathlessly, running her fingers over the long, peach-blonde braids that hung over her shoulders like ropes. "Thank you!" she added, turning to smile at Ava, who was looking through Carrie's collection of gothic novels on her nightstand. The same books that Carrie practised her power with each night.

"No problem," Ava grinned cheerfully, her cheekbones high and mighty. She picked up a book that captured her attention. "Ooooohh, you've read Dracula?"

"A few times," she replied, still brushing her fingers over the stylish and neat braids. She wondered if Michael would like the braids, and then mentally scolded herself for a such a silly thought.

"It's one of my favourites," Ava announced, flipping through the pages she knew off-by-heart as she searched for any passages that were noted. Ava Gold was a reader that liked to highlight passages she fancied and made notes in the margins when something struck at her heartstrings. Carrie Moore wasn't one of those readers, though. "I mean, there's just something about a mysterious and handsome stranger draped in shadows, am I right?" Ava giggled as Carrie nodded her agreement. There really was something about a man like that and Carrie couldn't blame Mina Murry or Lucy Westenra for their dangerous attraction to the original fictional Prince of Darkness. "Speaking of strangers, when's this Michael, whom I know next to nothing about, going to get here?"

"I told him around six, but he's pretty punctual, so any minute now," Carrie declared just as the doorbell rang out.

Ava lifted one eyebrow. "Speak of the Devil," she uttered jubilantly, already hopping off the bed and skipping down the hallway towards the door. Carrie hurried after her friend, her stomach twirling like a whirlpool.

Ava Gold opened the door briskly and with a curious light blazing in her dark eyes. And standing on the threshold was Michael Langdon, his golden curls shining under the porch light. He was dressed in his ripped jeans, military boots and a navy shirt that was a little loose on his lean shoulders. Carrie peered over Ava's shoulder, her heart leaping in her chest at the sight of him standing at her front door, just ready and waiting.

"Hello." He didn't miss a beat. "I'm Michael. Carrie's friend from across the road." He stepped forward, holding out his hand. "You must be Ava Gold?"

"I am, yeah!" Ava slid her hand into Michael's open palm, shaking his hand firmly. Ava Gold's father had taught her the importance of a good handshake. Ava bristled with delight before stepping away to let Michael inside. "I love a punctual man with manners," Ava said into Carrie's ear with a girlish chuckle.

"Hi, Michael," Carrie greeted him, waving him into her house further.

"I didn't know what to wear to a pep rally. I assumed a suit would be too formal?" he breathed out. Carrie could tell the boy was nervous, but he held his shoulders back regardless, his hands cupped behind his back.

"You assumed right," Ava agreed politely. "Casual is best."

"You look perfect," Carrie added demurely, adjusting her braids self-consciously.

He smiled widely, his blue eyes vibrant even in the low lighting. "Good. Shall we go?" Michael Langdon had been nervous all week about the pep rally. He even asked Miriam Mead about it, looking for advice, but she argued that it was a silly event and he was just wasting his precious time when he could be looking at the big picture. But Michael was curious and he wanted to experience what the world had to offer, even if it was a high school pep rally.

"Absolutely!" Ava Gold said gleefully as Carrie just nodded. The trio crossed the threshold and the purple-hued dusk swallowed them up whole.

—

The pep rally was being held in Westfield High's car park, the one adjacent to the football field. The place was overcrowded with students and parents and some teachers that had been roped into playing supervisors for the celebratory school event. Mostly, it was teenagers that made up the gathering, all hyped up on the energy that shimmered in the humid air and buzzed on by the great bonfire that was blazing in the falling night sky like a beacon. The bonfire was the centre of the pep rally and music from the marching band sailed over the massive crowd of youths. Carrie felt small, insignificant among the roaring throng that expressed their encouragement and school pride rather vocally.

Around the fire were the football players in their black and white letterman jackets, smiling and being macho in their high school limelight. Then there were the cheerleaders dancing with their pom-poms, cheering through sugar and alcohol rushes as their short skirts flipped and rustled against their bare thighs.

"Go Wolverines!" Ava Gold hollered out before leaning closer to Carrie. "That's what we're supposed to do, right?" Teenagers jostled against the trio and Carrie was partly afraid she'd lose Michael in the human sea.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Carrie called back, her voice nearly lost over the chorus of laughing, shouting and cheering. It was a joyous and wild event, one that Carrie didn't really understand and the boy next to her didn't understand either. Michael observed the crowd of rowdy and messy youths with a creased brow.

His excitement and fascination for the night were declining drastically. He saw the horde of teenagers as animals, crazed animals that were ruled by their carnal and baser instincts. And while he could relish in this crowd, he didn't feel the need to at that moment. Regardless, he decided the crowd was dulcet and so was the blaze of the bonfire, reaching for heaven while it was clearly closer to hell.

Ava Gold pushed her way through the crowd, creating a path towards the bonfire, pulling Carrie along too. Carrie grabbed at Michael's hand and he tagged along, still studying the untamed crowd with critical and knowing eyes. The temperate of his skin riled against the heat radiating off the bonfire in waves.

There was a student with a microphone, calling out the football team by names and the numbers etched into their letterman jackets, announcing them to the clapping audience of teenagers as the Wolverine mascot danced around idiotically, pretending to throw a football.

"Here comes our brave leader, Tommy Ross!" the speaker announced and there was a roar of encouragement from the audience. Tommy Ross jogged forward, smiling against the blush on his cheeks (he wasn't one for the spotlight) and offered the crowd a tiny wave as Deliah Snell pranced to his side, her dishwater blonde ponytail swinging. The cheerleader looked beautiful against the burning light of the fire that highlighted her cheeks and full lips. She even looked beautiful as she roared beside her boyfriend, shaking her pom-poms beside the wolverine stitched into the top of her cheerleading uniform. Carrie looked from Ava—who wasn't impressed at all—to Michael Langon on her other side. He was staring at the pair darkly. She wondered what he was thinking as she returned her eyes to the beautiful Deliah Snell standing with the dashing Tommy Ross. "And here's Winn Nelson! The brawn if not the brains!"

Winn Nelson came forward with all the world's bravado and swag. He liked the spotlight, the adoration from the audience of fellow Westfield High students. And while he wanted the worship and the praise, he didn't know even half of the names of the peers that made up the cheering crowd. He didn't recognise the faces before him because he didn't care to, but Michael reconsigned Winn Nelson. Michael's gaze sharpened, darkened. He knew this was the boy that had tripped Carrie outside of the school that one afternoon and laughed about it like it was nothing, like it was fun to hurt someone in public.

"Such an asshole," Ava Gold muttered as Winn Nelson flexed his muscles like he was the God of Thunder. Carrie's shoulders bowed, remembering that afternoon when her nose had bled and her knees had stung with pain so brazenly. Michael noticed when Carrie's face dropped, her energy dying and his gaze cut back to Winn Nelson.

Carrie looked to her feet as her knees and palms stung with phantom pain and she wished she could be at home, tucked under her blankets reading her gothic novels. Or maybe sitting at the foot of a stone angel with Michael Langdon, listening to Black Sabbath.

The shouting turned from cheerful to fearful with the snap of one's fingers, with the blink of an eye. Carrie raised her eyes and her heart stopped beating, her mouth falling open.

Winn Nelson was burning. Flames engulfed the teenage boy rapidly, yet he hadn't been standing that close to the bonfire. He screamed out in pain and fear—so deep and brutal as he scurried around, trying to shake off the blazing fire. His frantic movements made his arms appear like wings, flaming wings, but Winn Nelson wasn't going to heaven.

The crowd broke with panic and terror eclipsed the pep rally. Ava Gold latched onto Carrie's arm as parents and teachers rushed forward, attempting to save the boy, but he was already gone. Gone is a blazing glory, a column of fire that stripped the boy of all bravado and flesh. Deliah Snell and Christabelle Slater were sobbing with hysteria, their heavy makeup running in black rivers down their faces as they were pulled to the side by Tommy Ross, whose face was paralyzed with shock.

Michael's grip tightened around Carrie's fingers and she looked away from the burning disaster that was all that was left of Winn Nelson to Michael's face. He blinked away the strange whiteness that had blanketed his eyes as he sucked at his teeth, his jaw set tight. He appeared so unholy with the burning body of Winn Nelson reflected in his eyes.

A sick feeling curled over Carrie Moore then, as she noted the small smile of triumph hidden in the corner of Michael Langdon's mouth. But it wasn't just the smile of triumph, but justice and glory. Michael had made Winn Nelson hurt in public, just like he had done to Carrie, but tenfold.

A thick scent hung in the air that night, right beside the terror and the grief. The scent was robust and delirious, and the panic and the anguish and the raw madness of the crowd was something that Michael Langdon did relish in.