Page 19 of She Haunts Me Still

“You’re not the only one with a past you’re ashamed of,” Ezra says quietly. “Or ghosts that follow you around. Only thing is, mine is still alive.” His expression darkens. “My father.”

Understanding takes hold. “You want to get away from him.”

“When you grow up with a father like mine, you learn to play a certain role until you become brave enough to fight back. To sever ties and start your own life—one where you’re not so helpless, hiding scars and lying to protect someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Mallory sorts through all the possible meanings of his words. The weight of the secret he’s just unraveled in front of her.

“He’s all I’ve ever had,” Ezra continues. “My mother left when I was small. And for twenty-three years, I’ve lived a life that doesn’t belong to me.” His throat sways in a swallow. “I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

Mallory pictures how Ezra might have looked as a boy, easily imagining the fall of raven-colored hair over his eyes, the serious stare that must’ve formed so early. She glances at his hands, studying his silver rings, the tendons and veins that disappear beneath his coat sleeves.

Her fingers suddenly itch to touch him. She picks at her nails instead.

“Here’s my proposition,” Ezra says. “We find out what your ghost wants. Set it free. The showcase is a hit. We both get what we need.” He tips his head. “Are you in, Jules?”

Mallory’s brain races in silent debate. Less than an hour ago, she was calculating how many lies she’d have to tell in order to leave Shore first thing in the morning. And now, this man she barely knows is convincing her to stay.

Maybe it’s the possibility of answers she’s been so desperate to find. Maybe it’s the guilt that would gnaw at her if she left Ezra’s future in ruins. Maybe it’s just something about theway he’s been staring at her this whole time, like he’s trying to find a method to crack her hardened shell and learn what’s beneath her lies.

Whatever the reason, she stands up straighter and nods. The gesture is at once a surrender and a leap of faith, and he notices, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, Ezra Pierce,” Mallory says. “Let’s catch a ghost.”

5

Mallory isn’t used to this kind of secret. The kind that isn’t just hers to hold.

She’s on edge in her Intro to Psych class the following morning. Sitting between Jessica and Arden at the back of the dusty lecture hall, Mallory half listens to Professor Spaulding talk about cognition, mostly doodling and staring out the window. She feels hungover, her head aching and stomach in knots. Like her insides are on the outside, vulnerable and exposed.

Just then, a sound cuts through her thoughts. A low rumble, vibrating against her ear, coupled with a sudden icy breeze that brings the hairs on the back of her neck to attention. The noise grows louder, morphing into a growl.

And for a moment, it sounds like her name.

Mallory whirls. But there’s no one there. Just the cinder-block wall with its chipped paint. Her pulse hums as she tries to convince herself it was simply the wind. A draft. She doesn’t hear voices, has never heard anything likethatbefore—

“Mal.” Jessica’s alarmed whisper snags her focus. “What are youdoing?”

Mallory turns back. And her breath catches.

She hasn’t stopped drawing this entire time. Mallory drops her pen with a clatter, blinking at the furious scratches of ink in her notebook.

At first glance, it looks like nonsensical scribble, covering the width of the page. But the longer Mallory blinks, the more it looks like the silhouette of a wing.

Like a raven’s.

Ignoring Arden’s and Jessica’s incredulous stares, Mallory tears the notebook paper loose and crumples it in her fist. She takes a long swig from her water bottle, trying not to flinch at the way her throat burns. Trying equally hard not to think about her mother’s notebook from Shore, filled with things Mallory is certain she didn’t intentionally write.

“Mal, are you—?”

“I’m fine,” Mallory says, flipping to a new page.

Fine. A lie that slips out so easily, she can almost believe it’s true.

At rehearsal that evening, Mallory silently practices the excuse she’ll give Arden—Hendrix and Pierce asked me to stay late to practice my soliloquy—but when it comes time to say it, the statement feels flimsy. Arden fixes her with a questioning stare while buttoning her coat, as if quietly weighing each syllable.

But eventually she shrugs and says, “Okay, Mal. See you at home.”

When Mallory makes it into the dressing room, it’s to find Ezra sitting on the counter, reading a book like he’s been waiting for hours. Several bulbs are out along the mirror behind him, and the dim light sends a soft shadow across his pale skin.