Page 34 of She Haunts Me Still

Mallory flinches. That last word wasn’t a manifestation of her anxiety; it was spoken right in her ear. A low growl spurred from something unseen, stirring her hair with icy breath.

Just like the other day in class.

Mallory scans the room, heart pounding. But the dimly lit space is empty; it’s just her, the walls, and the remnants of a friendship that’s crumbling fast.

She darts toward the door, avoiding her own gaze in the mirror, the remorse that’s surely baked in her dark brown eyes. Because she knows that lies are never siloed, never exist independently of one another. They’re always linked, like tiny stars woven together to form the angriest, most destructive constellations.

And Mallory Webb is building an entire night sky.

The knot of worry hasn’t loosened by the time Mallory slinks back to the Crypt. She retrieves her script, eyeing cast members in the wings. Did they laugh at her when she was out of the room? Question whether she belonged here, if she was good enough to be on this stage?

Even if she was sleeping with Ezra, no one would blink twice athim.

It’s so fucking easy to whisper about women, to demand they be everything at all times. Be innocent but don’t be a prude; be sexy but don’t be a slut; be pretty but don’t be abitch. The world will pull a woman’s limbs in every direction, then act surprised when she splits and bleeds.

What if shedidwant to fuck Ezra? Would that make her any less of a good actress?

And when did everyone get together and decide that sex is something women have togiverather than want for themselves? Deep down, she knows it’s not true. Knows there’s something powerful about a woman who doesn’t see desire as a threat to be tamed.

But until everyone else catches up, she’ll just be the girl who spread her legs to get the lead.

She rips through her script, fuming.

“Ms. Webb,” Hendrix calls. “I’d like a word.”

Mallory smooths her skirt before crossing downstage to where he’s standing, his directorial binder spread out on the black-painted wood. She sits on the edge facing him, silently bracing herself for whatever’s coming next.

“I know we have time, but I’m growing worried about your performance. And I’ve got to tell you, I really don’t like it when an actor makes me worry.”

Her cheeks flush. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distracted—”

Hendrix holds up a palm. “No need for apologies, Ms. Webb. In theater, we like to be prepared, don’t we? We have backup bulbs in case of technical difficulties, costume repair on standby in the event of a ripped seam. It’s only natural to bring in an understudy if an actor is struggling. Fortunately for us, yours is back on campus and ready to join the fray.”

Mallory recalls what Ezra said at the read-through.Her name’s Saskia.She’s starting the semester late. But the wordunderstudyfeels like an insult. Mallory has never missed a performance, and she’s not about to start now. She needs theaterthe same way she needs her anxiety medication, to maintain the balance, create her own sense of safety.We don’t have to be ourselves today.

“Saskia should be here any moment,” Hendrix says, oblivious to Mallory’s inner turmoil. “In the interim, you should share your blocking notes, and please make sure that any future costuming appointments are attended together instead of— Ah, perfect timing! Here she is now!”

Mallory turns as the door flies open with a hollow clang.

And the entire room seems to tip on its side.

Because she’s staring at the white-haired girl from the maze.

The one who called her Lily.

9

Mallory spends the rest of rehearsal studying Saskia.

When she followed Saskia into the maze earlier, she’d looked scared and panicked. Like she’d seen a ghost. But right now, she looks like anyone else—a college student in jeans and sneakers. Her flannel shirtsleeves are rolled to her elbows, revealing a series of arrows tattooed on her arm, and her ears glitter with piercings all the way up the cartilage.

At Hendrix’s request, Saskia offers a brief introduction, announcing she lives in a single in one of the newer freshman dorms. “I’m from Boston,” she adds with the barest hint of an accent. “Been doing theater since I was a kid. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it sooner. I was in the hospital this summer, so I had to start the semester late. But I’m excited to meet everyone now.”

Mallory isn’t oblivious to the way Saskia avoids her gaze. Perhaps because Mallory is the one person in the room who knows she’s full of shit.

Saskia has been on campus this entire time.

As soon as Hendrix releases them with his standardCast dismissed!, Mallory bolts out the side door, darting into thecrisp autumn air toward the front entrance. The evening is quiet, shadows gathering around the unlit buildings adjacent to the theater. In the distance, orange lights glow from the dining hall, like unblinking eyes.