Page 52 of The Unknown

“Hey,” I say.

She eyes the table with suspicion. “What are you doing?”

“Investigating.” I see no point in lying. “Trying to prove to myself that what happened last night was fake.”

“Of course it was,” Susie says before sucking on her vape like it’s an oxygen tank and she’s a woman drowning. “It’s stupid to think it wasn’t.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

She lifts the vape. “Trying to find somewhere to do this in peace. Which is clearly not here.”

Before she can speed away in a cloud of vapor and bratty entitlement, I call out, “Did I do something wrong?”

Susie stops and turns my way, her ponytail whipping. “No. Why?”

“Because I get the sense that you don’t like me.”

“I don’t.”

Even though the feeling is very much mutual, hearing it still hurts. When I was growing up, Susie had felt like a friend during a time when I didn’t have any. Now, seeing her look of utter disdain makes me feel sad for that younger version of me. I wish I’d had a happier childhood. Just like I wish I’d chosen someone other than Susie Hutchinson to idolize.

“Can I ask why?” I say.

Susie, caught mid-vape, coughs out an incredulous laugh. “You reallyhave to ask? It’s because you don’t belong here, Marin. Do you know how many auditions I went on before I got a single callback?”

I shake my head. I have no idea.

“One hundred and ten,” Susie says. “Plus dozens more after that until I finally booked a role. Always auditioning with the same girls for the same stupid parts. Some of them were so fucking talented. Like, scary good. And pretty much all of them are now housewives or Realtors or dental hygienists. They gave up a long time ago, which I refused to do. I know I’m not the most gifted actress or singer. But I worked hard. I paid my dues. Yet here you are, Miss Skin Rash Commercial, taking a leading role you don’t deserve just because Ronan is smitten with you.”

She returns to her vape, glaring at me as I try to unpack everything she’s just said. My first thought is about all those other girls who’d auditioned alongside Susie, their dreams unfulfilled. I wasthisclose to becoming one of them. The sad, stereotypical actress/waitress who never achieves the first part of that combination. That could still happen, depending on how the next few weeks pan out.

I next think of Susie herself and how her bitterness is, if not justified, then at least understandable. I’d feel the same way if I were her and saw someone else snag a bigger, better part. Especially if I thought it was because the director was attracted to her.

Which isnotthe case here. Ronan has no interest in me romantically. He’s certainly not smitten. Unless Susie noticed something I haven’t. For all her faults, she seems to be more observant than the others. For example, Susie was the only other person to hear the sinister whisper last night.

I look to the remaining letters on the table, now a jumble. “What did you hear last night? At the end of the séance?”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

I’ll give Susie credit. Ialmostbelieve her. But her eyes give away the lie. Real fear sits within them, bright and jumpy.

“Iheard something,” I admit. “A voice.”

Susie hugs herself. “What did it sound like?”

“Horrid,” I say, recalling the sandpapery rasp at my ear. That’s how Daisy described it in her diary. An awful hiss.

“And what did it say?”

“‘You will be last.’”

“Mine didn’t say that.” Susie leans against the door, shrinking into herself. She looks so tiny, so impossibly fragile. “It said something else.”

“What was it?” I say, taking a step toward her.

“It said”—Susie pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath—“‘You will be first.’”

Eleven