Page 82 of She Haunts Me Still

The question jumbles her feelings even more. She’s not even close to healing from the whiplash of Ezra’s actions; just days ago, her thoughts were infected with fantasies of him. Mallory never predicted she could feel this way about two different people, emotions overlapping like fallen leaves, yet here she is. Looking at Saskia and unable to quell the burning curiosity of what her mouth might taste like.

Of what the rest of her might taste like, too.

Maybe there are infinite ways to fall for someone. Ezra lit something explosive and feral inside her, and she fell fast, hard, all at once. The crash was inevitable, only one way down. But with Saskia, maybe falling would feel more like flying, like maybe she’d never touch the ground at all.

“Well.” Saskia studies her. “Want to get out of here? Luxuriate in some light evening reading of obituaries and female rage?”

Mallory cracks a smile before rummaging through her bag for the planchette.

“I have to show you something first. Hendrix said he found this in the prop loft. He thought it was mine. But I think it belongs to Ezra.”

Saskia’s eyes widen. “Shit.” She takes the object, examining it. “This is what mediums used in, like, the eighteen hundreds. What the hell would Ezra be doing with one of these?”

Mallory shakes her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes it seems like Ezra’s looking for the same answers we are, also racing against some invisible clock.”

“Like he’s afraid of what might happen if he’s too late,” Saskia agrees.

“And another thing.” Mallory reaches into her bag for the letter Rebecca wrote to that woman named Catherine. “I think Rebecca knew that Lily’s heart was being used for something…evil. She was trying to protect her, even after it happened.”

Saskia studies the letter. “So much still doesn’t add up. There must be a thread we’re missing.”

“One that connects Ezra’s family to Lily somehow,” Mallory says. “More than just Shore’s campus being builtover her grave. His father is way too interested in her—andme—for this to be anything but personal.”

“Not to mention,” Saskia says, “what all of this has to do with me.”

Mallory looks at her. “Is it weird to say I’m happy Lily’s visited us both, even if we can’t figure out why?”

“Maybe a little. Given she’s fucking terrifying.” Something shifts between Saskia’s lashes. “But weird finds weird, remember?”

Holding Saskia’s gaze, Mallory summons a wisp of bravery, finding once again that it’s easier to grasp when she’s next to her. A tangible thing she can wrap her fingers around, press into her palm. Wield it like a magical object that connects the living to the dead.

“Victor’s gala is next week—the same day as opening night. We need to figure this out by then.”

Saskia frowns. “Why then?”

“Ezra’s dad knows I’m Lily’s bloodline. He knows I’m the one who’ll die next.” Mallory sinks her teeth into her lip. “I think he wants to make sure I do. He was so insistent I attend—I think he’s planning something. I just don’t know why the curse is so important to him.” She studies the planchette. “But maybe if we go back to the beginning, we can find out.”

Saskia lifts an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s ask Lily,” Mallory says, “what she knows.”

The prop loft is tucked behind the curtains, accessible only by a thin, foldable ladder. Since the start of the semester, theentire area has been sealed off with a colossalXmade from painter’s tape, daring to be ignored.

Mallory carefully peels back the end of the blue tape before pulling on the chain, unfolding the ladder as quietly as possible, hoping not to alert any custodial staff of the sound. The ladder releases a cloud of dust with a rumbling sigh. Saskia tugs on the sides, testing its weight, before starting up the narrow passage. The wood groans beneath her sneakers, and disquiet creeps into Mallory’s stomach as she follows.

They crawl into the loft, and Saskia flips on the light, casting the faintest glow over the cramped space. The ceiling is so low that neither of them can fully stand, and when Mallory runs her hand over the shelves, a film of dirt lingers on her fingertips.

“You have a lighter, right?” Mallory asks as she tugs on a bin markedCandles.

Saskia produces one from her bag while Mallory rummages for three pearlescent votives, arranging them in a triangle on the floor. Saskia kneels to light them, and Mallory finds the wall switch, plunging the alcove into a coral glow.

“Do you know how to use this thing?” Saskia asks.

“Theoretically,” Mallory says, thinking of séances she’s seen in movies as she digs in her bag for a notebook and pencil. She tears a page loose, then slides the pencil carefully through the hole in the heart-shaped wood before crouching. “We put the planchette on paper and then ask questions. If Lily hears us, she’ll write an answer. Like a Ouija board, but with actual words.”

For a moment, Mallory contemplates whether they might need a gift, if she should whisper that Latin phrase again. Butthen she thinks about Lily’s hardened eyes, the blaze of her soulless stare. Deep down, she’s certain Lily doesn’t need to be bribed, that there’s something she’s desperate for Mallory to know.

Saskia hesitates. “You really think this will work? I mean, we’re not mediums.”