Page 120 of Shadowface

My stomach twists. Lincoln gave me a C. I grab my phone and rage text.

Summer: You gave me a fucking C?

I receive a message back almost immediately.

SF: You can do better than what you submitted. Your thoughts were all over the place, and you didn’t drill down on any topic. The C was generous. It would have been a D, but I’m aware of how rough you had it with us this past weekend, so I cut you some slack. Plus, fantastic blow jobs persuaded me to bump you a letter.

My mouth falls open. Lincoln really has a way of making my jaw drop.

Summer: I was a tad distracted by a sexy guy in a mask who calls himself a god.

SF: Don’t be mad at me. I told you I wasn’t going to take it easy on you just because you’re my girlfriend.

My stomach flutters and I read those words again. Girlfriend? Did he just call me his girlfriend? Our relationship has been so confusing; I didn’t think those words were in his vocabulary. But I suppose I’m his girlfriend…

Summer: I never asked you to take it easy on me. Never, not once.

SF: I want to be the best boyfriend I can be for you. The kind your father would approve of. That means I have to push you, baby.

I nearly choke on my tongue. I’m not sure if my father would approve of Lincoln, but I don’t say that. I part my lips and huff before I press the call button, and he answers on the first ring.

“Hi, pretty girl. Did you miss me?”

I jolt at the sound of Mikael’s voice. For some reason, I wasn’t expecting it. Lincoln’s essence has been coming through and I haven’t seen Mikael since he re-sliced my thigh.

His voice is calm and sexy as always, but it’s not Lincoln on the other side of this phone right now. I’ve spent hours on the phone with Lincoln this semester, and this isn’t him, but in so many ways, it is.

I rarely get to communicate with Mikael directly, even though he’s always underneath the surface, so I need to be sure⁠—

“Mikael,” I whisper. “Is that you?”

A beat of silence. “Summer, it’s still me.” I blow out a breath and nearly drop my phone as a tidal wave of relief washes over me. His voice, for the moment, sounds like Lincoln again.

The idea of Lincoln disappearing because of me is something I can’t process. Even if there’s a small part of me—the darkest, most repulsive and repugnant part—that can’t help but be incredibly thrilled every time Mikael visits.

I grip the phone and stare down at my computer screen, at the article I was just reading about Shadowface: 2002.

My father—my serial killing, psychopathic father—never loved me. He wasn’t capable of loving people. He killed them and studied them and had no love to give⁠—

“Speaking of my father,” I say carefully, “he didn’t love me. He lied to me my entire life.”

“He loved you, Summer. He moved his entire life away from Kinsmen to keep you away from it all. He did what he could to keep me away from you.”

I pull my knees to my chest, as if it could fix everything. “Then why did he pull strings to get me to come here? I don’t believe that scholarship was a coincidence.”

He chuckles. “That was all me. I think you underestimate how much control I have here. You needed to come here, and I had to make it happen.”

Of course it was Lincoln, but part of me wishes it wasn’t—that my father believed in me.

“Did he kill anyone else?” I ask. “Or was it the four known victims?”

He pauses longer than he should, and that pause answers my question. “I believe you have the necessary information to answer that question.”

My stomach eats itself when I think about my suppressed memory or acknowledge what I witnessed as a young girl. However, with each passing day, it becomes clearer and more of it resurfaces.

My father killed a lot of people. The girls in the photo’s were the beginning.

Mikael’s mother was the first, and not part of the documented cases. As in, he never left a photo. She was dead and forgotten.