Page 136 of She Haunts Me Still

Inside, however, she’s not nearly as sure.

It’s been more than three years since that night at Penelope’s cottage. Three years filled with classes and rehearsals and performances. A whirlwind of semesters, anchored by the cozy off-campus duplex Mallory has shared with Arden, Raf, and Saskia since sophomore spring. Endless take-out dinners, wine-laced evenings on the porch, parties with perfectly curated playlists—an entire lifetime of friendship, baked into just a few years. And though none of them ever says it out loud, they seem to silently carry the reminder that they almost didn’t make it at all.

It’s why Mallory has been keeping journals, archiving every memory just like Rebecca did—Remember it this way; write it down. The way Saskia looks in the morning. Thefeeling Mallory gets when they sit in comfortable silence. How they sayI love youall the time, in the quietest moments—waiting in a checkout line, over loud music at a bar, in the car during stretches of hushed, tree-covered roads.

Mallory glances at her watch. Everyone is probably already waiting downstairs; they’re due at Exeter Hall for Shore’s graduation dinner in ten minutes. But she walks farther into the dressing room anyway, skimming her hand over the counter until she finds the spot she’s looking for. The one with her and Arden’s initials, over and over—a pair for each autumn they’ve been at Shore.

Smiling, Mallory kneels in front of the markings, thumbing the rough corners.Freshman year was full of firsts, and senior year will be full of lasts,Arden said when they carved their final set into the counter.I’m glad we’ve been together for it all.

Not everyone can say they know someone like Arden Thatcher. A girl who would turn her back on everything she once held as true and plunge headfirst into a hell-soaked abyss if it simply meant helping a friend.

Mallory rummages in her bag until she finds what she’s looking for: a small pocketknife, the same one she’s had since freshman year. Looking over her shoulder, she shimmies farther beneath the counter and turns her attention to a blank stretch of wood.

She takes her time with each letter, carving careful lines and sharp corners. Fingers moving with the most delicate precision. She’s spent so long thinking of this exact moment—she needs to get it right. Finally, Mallory sits back and blows gently before staring at what she’s left behind.

In one spot readsEP.

And farther down the counter,JW.

“You were alive,” she whispers, brushing her fingers over Ezra’s initials before turning her attention to her mother’s. “And so were you.” She blinks, lashes wet. “People should know.”

For a moment, Mallory lets herself sit beneath the counter in the silence. She doesn’t try to wipe away her tears. Because Mallory has learned that grief is not a linear thing. It’s a curl of smoke, a stubborn fire. A forgotten ember that lights itself over and over, refusing to be snuffed out. It’s another type of haunting, but one that doesn’t scare her anymore. Because being haunted by memories of her mother and Ezra means she hasn’t forgotten any of it. The first hand she held. An almost-love. They live inside her, and she’ll quietly carry them wherever she goes.

Mallory is about to tuck the knife away when another thought occurs to her. She leans back up to the counter, carefully scraping one more set of letters into the wood:

LH

“Lily,” she says, folding the blade carefully. “You were here, too.”

She stands, straightening her graduation gown, and casts one more glance around the dressing room.

“Goodbye,” Mallory murmurs. She half expects a bulb to flicker, a shadow to move in the corner of her eye.

But tonight, there’s only quiet.

Shutting the door behind her, Mallory hurries downstairs to where Raf and Arden are standing in the lobby with Penelope. Mallory waves as she approaches, finding that the sight of her aunt doesn’t make her stomach twist like it usedto. She’s not quite family—Mallory’s not sure if she ever was or will be—but right now, Penelope feels something like a friend.

It hasn’t been easy, though. After the ritual, Mallory didn’t talk to Penelope for weeks. But as the anniversary of that December morning approached, Mallory found herself filled with fresh memories: A day spent on a frigid wooden bench in a courtroom. Penelope, insisting she was meant to be Mallory’s guardian, armed with Jasmine’s handwritten will. The first night in Penelope’s house, the way Penelope let Mallory crawl into bed with her when she couldn’t sleep. The images consumed her, stirring up guilt, until Mallory was grabbing her keys and driving through fat snowflakes to finally talk with her aunt.

They didn’t exchange Christmas presents, and Penelope didn’t attempt to cook. Instead, she lit up the fireplace and they sat in front of it with tea.

I thought I was doing right by you,Penelope admitted.I thought I was keeping you safe. I was wrong. And I’ll live with that for the rest of my life.

Mallory tried to imagine Penelope in her early twenties, suddenly responsible for a child that wasn’t hers.You did your best,she said, realizing it as she spoke.I think most people are just doing their best.

It’s not always good enough,Penelope replied.You deserved more. You deserved your mother.

The admission reached something soft inside her, excavating the edges of her forgiveness.Maybe we can start over,Mallory had said.Try again.

Mallory thinks of that conversation now as she steps into Penelope’s warm embrace.

“Congratulations, graduate,” Penelope exclaims, squeezing her hard. “Next stop, Broadway.”

“We were just talking,” Arden says, “about how no one ever found the seventh raven. There are the two by Vaughn Row, the courtyard, the gardens, the old chapel, and Thorne Hall. But that’s only six.”

Mallory turns to her, considering. It’s not a new topic of conversation—they recently spent an entire brunch going over where the seventh one could be hiding—but now, in their graduation robes, they don’t have any more time to search.

“Maybe,” Mallory posits, “the seventh raven wasn’t ever a statue at all. Maybe it was something real. Something that looked like a bird but wasn’t.”