Page 8 of She Haunts Me Still

And then something that makes her freeze.

Jasmine came in with symptoms of severe headache, nausea, and phantosmia. Referral given: Ariana Heigl, MD, neurologist.

Mallory’s head snaps up. Phantosmia. Imaginary smells.

Like, she can’t help but think, something burning.

Something rotting.

Just like the odor from last night, and at the blue house.

Mallory shoves the folder into her bag and jumps to her feet, right as her nose tickles. She swipes it—and startles at the wet smear of dirt she finds on her hand.

“What the fuck?” She digs in her bag for a tissue, blowing into it. More dirt, this time tinged with drops of blood.

Concern takes over as she rubs her nose again. Glancing at her watch, Mallory buries the dirty tissue in her pocket and flies from the room. Fifteen minutes until theater history, barely enough time to run to her dorm and call this neurologist. She could take a shortcut through the hedge maze to the theater and—

Mallory halts, attention catching on the tall figure in the lobby. A man in a long dark coat, clipboard in hand, pen poised in the air as he stares in her direction.

The assistant director. Ezra.

The bio he recited at auditions echoes in her head.Ezra Pierce. Born and raised in Providence. Started as an acting major before leveling up.Previously attended Grey University. Was on track to graduate last year but needed a change.

Everyone seemed impressed, but Mallory had only felt confused. Grey University is one of the best schools in Rhode Island, if not the entire country. Practically an Ivy, especially for theater.

Everyone tries to transfer in. No one would transfer out.

Pink flooding her cheeks, Mallory stalks past Ezra to snatch her prescription slip, waving an awkward goodbye to the receptionist. She gulps at the foggy September air as she hurries outside. Laughter drifts toward her, and Mallory traces it to a trio of students on a dirt path a few feet ahead.The walkway splits in front of the health center, turning one way toward the underclassmen dorms, the other toward the library. A wide stretch of brick looms to the north—Vaughn Row, a series of interconnected buildings with classrooms and faculty offices, peppered on either side by two raven statues.There are supposedly seven ravens on campus,Mallory recalls her tour guide saying at orientation,symbolizing death and wisdom. They honor Shore’s past as a sanitarium, and its future as an institution of learning.It’s tradition to try to find them all before graduation, but no one ever has.

Mallory starts down the path but only makes it three steps before Ezra’s voice cuts through the crisp afternoon breeze.

“I didn’t know students were allowed in the health records office.”

Mallory flings a startled glance over her shoulder. “I took a wrong turn.”

“Really. So that’s not a medical folder in your bag?”

She halts, boots skidding in wet leaves as she looks at her half-open bag to find her mother’s records peeking out. Her lungs suddenly feel too tight, ballooning with the distinct claustrophobia of being caught in a lie.

Mallory turns, silently scrambling for an explanation. As Ezra descends the stone steps, she can’t help but notice his height, the way he has nearly a foot on her, even in her boots, making him at least six foot five. His rings catch the glare from the sun, illuminating the symbols on each. Sharp angles and curves, dashes and lines.

“It’s information that belongs to me,” Mallory finally says, meeting his eyes. Jewel-toned green in the ashy daylight. “I’ll put it back when I’m done.”

Ezra seems to consider this.

“If it’s yours,” he replies, “maybe you should keep it.”

Surprise flickers through her, but before she can respond, he nods at her bandaged hand.

“How is it, by the way?”

“What?” Mallory blinks at the sudden change in topic. “Oh. It’s fine.”

“Is that a lie, too?”

She bristles. “Excuse me?”

“You told that nurse you cut your hand in the dining hall,” Ezra says, pointing. “A bagel wound. Right?”