Page 18 of She Haunts Me Still

“Kind of. Yeah.”

Ezra nods slowly. “Then the answer is yes.”

Mallory flattens her hands on her thighs. “Okay. When I was little, I used to…see things. A woman, specifically. I know what you’re thinking. Little kids ‘see things’ all the time, right? But it wasn’t like that; she wasn’t an imaginary friend. She wasreal. And she was fuckingterrifying. Covered in blood, like her heart had been ripped from her chest. And always, this horrible smell followed her around. Like something burning. My mother called her a ghost.” She drops her gaze. “Herghost, specifically. She always promised the ghost would never hurt me. Maybe because she knew the woman would hurt her instead.”

Mallory chews her lip, this time feeling the heat of Ezra’s gaze on her mouth.

“My mother looked just like that ghost when she died,” she whispers, skipping over the details. The blood-slick kitchen knife. The EMT’s words. The grief that sunk like a stone between her ribs and hasn’t disappeared since. “Sometimes I feel like it’s all my fault. Like my fear conjured her death into existence.”

“What? Jules.” Ezra tips his head. “Youdidn’t kill your mother.”

“But everything stopped after she died.” A breeze licks her cheek. “No more blood-soaked women. No more moments when I couldn’t trust my own eyes. Until now. I think the ghost has been waiting to show herself to me again. Here.”

Ezra is quiet for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Tonight, in the costume dungeon, I saw her. Only, for a second”—Mallory draws in a shaky breath—“she looked exactly like me. It felt like a premonition. Like athreat. Likeshe’s going to push me toward my death just like she did to my mother. Unless…unless I stop her first.”

Mallory’s words linger.

“Why Shore?” Ezra finally asks, studying her intently. “Why here, of all places?”

“I’m a legacy student,” Mallory answers. “Every woman in my family has gone to Shore. I only have two things that belonged to my mother. One is this locket.” She fingers the brass butterfly. “The other is a notebook with the college’s insignia.”

Ezra narrows his eyes as Mallory describes her mother’s illegible handwriting, that final page, the one covered in little squares Mallory’s tried over and over to understand.

“It’s some kind of code,” she says finally. “I don’t know what it means, but I’ve always had this feeling that something happened to her at this school. Something that connected her to the ghost she carried with her the rest of her life. And into mine.”

“And you’re trying to figure out what it is,” Ezra concludes. “And prevent whatever happened to her from also happening to you.”

Mallory looks up at him. “I used to think the house I grew up in was haunted. That’s the simplest explanation, right?” She shakes her head. “But it was never the house. It was always just us. My mother. Me.”

“Well, that’s because places aren’t haunted,” Ezra says. “People are.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You say that like it’s a fact.”

“Being haunted—it’s a feeling. A sense that something’s wrong. Something that wears you down. Something that aches. Only apersoncan feel that.”

Mallory nods, absorbing his words. “You’re right.”

He studies her. “I have an idea. We could meet after rehearsals. Find your ghost. Figure it out, together.”

Doubt creeps back in at the thought. This isn’t something anyone else should be a part of, least of all a stranger.

“No.” Mallory jumps to her feet. “I don’t need help.”

“Really?” Ezra counters, standing just as fast. “So, you would have been perfectly fine tonight if I hadn’t been there to rip you out of that dress?”

She spins, hoping the annoyance in her eyes masks her blush at the memory of his broad hands tearing the lacy fabric like it was paper.

“I’m not going to turn myself into ghost bait just so you can get an A.” Mallory takes a breath. “Besides. I’ve already decided—I’m leaving Shore. Tomorrow.”

Ezra frowns, jaw set. “No,” he says. “You’re not.”

A laugh grinds loose. “It’s not exactly up toyou—”

“It’s not just about getting an A, okay?” Ezra exhales through his nose. “Look. There’s this theater society in London called the Caligo Group. It’s…elite. Selective. Only admits one new college graduate a year. I’ve been working toward this forever—almost fucked my chances with everything that happened at Grey, but they miraculously approved my pre-application for next year. All I need is a 4.0 and I’m in.” His voice shifts, a note softer. “You don’t understand. This is my last chance.”

Mallory falls silent. “What do you mean?”