Page 15 of She Haunts Me Still

“You don’t know anything about me, other than my name,” Mallory says, “and you can’t even get that right. Youdon’tknowme at all.” Her fingers tighten on the lace. “For the last time. Nothing happened.”

She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s not the way he stares intently in response, gaze locked on hers in a stony challenge. She fights to hold eye contact, but her bravado wavers as she registers how little distance she’s put between them, how she can track all the shades of green beneath his lashes. How his breath lands on her cheekbone, just warm enough that her traitorous brain dares to wonder if that’s how his touch might feel, too.

“I—”

Christina squeals from the doorway. “Oh no!”

They both whirl at once. “I’m sorry,” Mallory blurts. “The zipper, it got stuck, and—”

“This is going to take forever to repair,” she moans, gathering the lace. “Why didn’t you just call for me?”

“She did. I got here first.” Ezra answers for her. “I tried to help, but I ripped it.” He’s talking to Christina but looking only at Mallory when he adds, “It’s my fault.”

“Alright,” Christina says with a resigned sigh. “I can take it from here, Pierce.”

Ezra holds Mallory’s gaze, unanswered questions flickering in his eyes. But the longer she stares, the more it seems he’s not waiting for her to fill in the blanks.

He’s waiting for her to confirm something he already knows.

The realization stings as he pushes past her, leaving her alone with Christina’s delicate fingers and sharp pins, piecing together the dress until it resembles something whole.

4

Soft midnight rain dampens the grass as Mallory returns to Fletcher Hall, grasping at the edges of a fresh plan: feign a family emergency, come up with a believable lie for Penelope, and get the absolutehellout of this school.

Regret simmers inside her as she hurries through the wrought iron gate, fog unspooling like scrawny fingers through the bars. She was a fool to think she could slip into her mother’s old world and magically discover the reason behind her haunting, as though the Death of Jasmine Webb could be her academic major. Some people’s entire lives are a secret, and so their death becomes one, too.

Mallory fishes for her keys but halts when a flash of white catches her eye.

A girl lurks at the edge of the brick building, near the courtyard, peering around the corner. It’s eerie, the way the light from a nearby streetlamp hits her, like she’s otherworldly. She’s wearing an ivory slip that’s the same shade as her shoulder-length hair, which seems to shimmer like a halo beneath the slope of the moon. Her features are sharp andangular, with high cheekbones that glow against cream-toned skin and widened, feral eyes.

Eyes that are trained directly on Mallory.

Her pulse skips. For a moment, Mallory thinks back to orientation, her tour guide’s warning about ghosts after nightfall.So many people took their final, bloody breaths here,he’d said dramatically as they walked through the lush gardens.Shore may be a school now, but when it was a sanitarium, it was the last place patients lived. Some say they never left at all.

When the tour was over and the guide made his rounds to answer questions, Mallory worked up the courage to ask:Is it true? That Shore’s haunted?

But he only smiled.Let’s just say you don’t spend four years here without seeing a thing or two that makes you question reality.

Mallory knew better than to tell a stranger she’d been questioning everything her entire life, that her world had been ripped apart at the seams by something supernatural long ago. So instead, she’d simply thanked him, tucking his words away for a moment like this.

Staring at a ghostly figure in the night, wondering if she’s real.

Mallory should feel fear as she peers at the white-haired girl, but instead, a strange familiarity creeps in. One that encourages her to call, “Hello?”

The girl jumps at Mallory’s voice and immediately darts away like a frightened rabbit.

“Hey, wait!” Mallory hurries after her, but the girl is faster, disappearing into the dark.

Mallory pauses in the courtyard’s arched entryway, gaze raking over the bubbling fountain and a willow tree in thedistance. Her focus settles on a stone raven adjacent to a bench. It’s the third one she’s seen on campus so far, but something about it unsettles her. As though it’s staring back, waiting to see what she’ll do next.

“Who were you talking to?”

Startled, Mallory whirls to find Ezra a few feet away.

He leans against the gate, coat fluttering in the misting breeze. Fog filters through the autumn leaves, kissing the laces of his boots.

“What the hell?” she clips instead of answering. “Did youfollowme?”