Page 40 of She Haunts Me Still

She frowns. “What—?”

“You aren’t safe,” he replies. “Some ghosts need help to cross over to the other side. To find eternal peace. But after this—I don’t think that’s what Lily wants.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think Lily,” Ezra says, “wants revenge.”

10

Sleep at Thorne Hall is a tangled, restless thing.

It takes Mallory ages to fall asleep, dressed in one of Ezra’s black T-shirts. The fabric smells so much like him that it’s distracting—cedarwood, juniper, something smoky—and she’s tempted to hold it to her nose and inhale.

Mostly, though, confusion keeps her awake. She wasn’t oblivious to the way Ezra’s gaze slid over her when she emerged from the bathroom, lingering on the noticeable outline of her curves through the thin material of his shirt. Probably identical to the way she stared when he undressed for bed, attention snagging on the hard lines of his bare chest. She half expected his hands to be on her seconds after they climbed beneath the covers, but instead, he put a careful distance between them.

Like he’s wary of what might happen if he gets too close.

When Mallory does drift off, it’s to a new dream. A different bonfire—one that’s raging at the top of a snow-covered hill. She glances down, noticing the pink ribboned nightgown she used to wear as a child in the blue house.

The one that Penelope had to throw away after it became stained with her mother’s blood.

Recognition sets in as Mallory clocks her surroundings. The sloping roof of a modest green cottage. The rock-crusted shoreline. The distant whinny of a horse.

This is the remote beach where she went on vacation the week before her mother died. The last time Mallory saw Kiki.

As if Mallory summoned her, Kiki is suddenly by her side. Her skin is paler than Mallory remembers, and her skinny arm is peppered with bruises, crooked around a stuffed blue bear. The icy wind stirs her golden curls, and her chapped lips chatter in the evening cold.

“What are they doing?” Mallory asks, gesturing to the flurry of women up ahead with flower crowns in their hair, tending to the fire.

“They’re building something special,” Kiki says, voice small. “For you.”

“What is it?”

Kiki smiles. “A surprise.”

Mallory studies her. “Kiki, what happened to you?”

But Kiki doesn’t answer, focusing on something over Mallory’s shoulder. Mallory turns to peer into the pine trees but only sees a stretch of endless midnight.

“What are you looking at?”

“It’s always watching us,” Kiki whispers, words curled in fear.

Mallory squints. “What is?”

“Don’t let it see you.” Kiki winces. “It’s hungry.”

“Hungry? What are you talking ab—?” Mallory falls quiet at the sound of rustling—like the rapid movement of wings. It’s coming from the tops of the trees, like something is flying just above them, out of sight. “Kiki? Whatisthat—?”

A thunderous banging steals Mallory’s next question, hauling her awake. Three crashes in a row, right next to her ear.

Mallory gasps, eyes flying open, and sits straight up.

She whirls to the wall behind her and presses her palm against it, almost expecting to find it cracked. But the surface is smooth, save for the scratches she noticed earlier.

She takes a steadying breath, and her exhale forms a puff of white. The room is freezing cold all of a sudden. Mallory hugs her torso, convinced her lips are turning blue, just as she registers the smell.

It’s almost floral at first, but quickly turns stale, odious, like raw meat left out on a counter in direct sunlight.