What am I doing?
The music grew louder, and I heard girls laughing and then a guy half-yelling. Three things were forbidden at Marlwood: cheating, drugs and alcohol, and guys. I had come to understand that rich girls didn’t break rules. They didn’t even ignore them. The concept was so foreign to them that they didn’t perceive their existence.
Into the belly of the beast, I thought, as I clomped down the stairs. The music provided a perky counterpoint to my clunky rhythm. Susi Maitland and Gretchen Cabot stood at the bottom, sharing a flashlight, waiting for me to come down so they could go up. They were totally glammed in new big-hairdos, and I swear Susi had on false eyelashes. Their jeans had probably cost in the hundreds if not thousands of dollars, and were topped with silky gem-toned camisoles beneath wool coats with wide elaborate belts. Susi had a pack of cigarettes in her hand and Gretchen was carrying two plastic glasses of red wine. I thought everyone knew smoking was repellant. I had never seen Susi with a cigarette before.
“Hey, Lindsay,” Susi said, blinking up at me. She swayed, already a little tipsy. “You came back.”
Had they assumed I wouldn’t?
“Who’s here?” I asked.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” Gretchen replied, and they scooted around me to go upstairs.
The crowded basement flickered with candlelight—another Marlwood tragedy waiting to happen—and at first I couldn’t make out any details, just silhouettes. Shadows stretched on the walls and I hesitated to enter—I was the one who had never belonged, and who still didn’t.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, the first person I saw was Mandy Winters. Of course. She was standing sideways, so that I saw her profile, and she was laughing. It was bizarre, knowing what I knew about her—that she had allowed a murdering, insane spirit to possess her—but I still felt a warm glow as I stood in her orbit. Mandy had more charisma than anyone I had ever met. So did Satan, I supposed.
And she was beautiful. She was wearing her white-blonde hair in a bouffant, with opal earrings the size of Jolly Ranchers. A black wool Edwardian maxicoat brushed the tips of her pointy city boots. I couldn’t imagine she’d walked through the snow in them. The coat hung open, revealing tight black leather pants and a cream-colored sweater, a belt loosely circling her hips.
The world telescoped for a moment, and I shivered, hard.
I can’t do this, I thought, and began to hang a U.
“Linz,” Mandy said to my back. “How was your drive?”
I turned around, to find a taller, slightly older-looking male clone of Mandy approaching her with two shot glasses. Wearing a nubby, loosely knit gray sweater over a white T-shirt and a pair of jeans, he raised his arms high into the air, then settled them over her shoulders, twining himself around her like a serpent. A retro fifties ducktail of platinum hair, darker scruffy five o’clock shadow, the same icy eyes, staring at me as if he were a rattlesnake and I was the juiciest chipmunk that had ever lived. I had only seen pictures of him, but I knew who he was—Miles, Mandy’s partner in kinky crime, who until recently, had been in rehab, again. The brother Troy blamed for ruining the sweet girl he’d grown up with. The guy who looked strung out, and shaky, but far more muscular than I had anticipated. His shoulders were massive.
Mandy gave me an eye-sweep, quirking half her mouth as if she had to keep from laughing at my lame outfit. She opened her mouth and Miles poured in the hooch.
She licked her lips, then said to me, “Up to your old tricks, I see.”
“What tricks would those be, hmmm?” Miles asked. Although he was smiling, his eyes were flat, dead. Here was a guy to stay clear of. Definitely.
I didn’t say anything. I just looked at her, trying to stare her down. She gave as good as I did. We were back on her territory again—Marlwood—and she had friends. It occurred to me that if she was here, then my roomie Julie had to be, too, since they’d been planning to drive up together.
Alis DeChancey and Sangeeta Shankhar slunk over, in to-die-for wool and leather jackets and striped Italian scarves, facing me head-on as if to make it clear that they were on Mandy’s side. Next came Lara, Mandy’s second-in-command, her short red hair glimmering with gold glitter that matched the gold sparkles on her cheeks. She still wore her signature preppy-boy plaid jacket, white blouse and tie, and short skirt. Over that, a heavy car coat. She rested her chin on Miles’s shoulder.
“No tricks, just treats,” I replied, ticking my glance toward Miles. He blinked, and then he grinned, and it changed him completely. He became a friendly, handsome guy, as if he’d just taken off a mask and revealed his true self. Or vice versa.
“I’m Miles,” he said.
“Lindsay.”
“Got that. I like your look.” He sounded sincere.
“She dresses like that to dis us,” Mandy said. “Too bad we don’t care.”
“No, because she knows grunge works and Walmart doesn’t,” Lara said.
Bingo. Most mean girls are also really smart.
Miles just smiled.
“Where’s Julie?” I asked, ignoring Lara’s backhanded remark, and Mandy shrugged.
“Dunno.” She worked her arm under Miles’s chin and cupped the side of his head. “We went skiing. Julie stayed home.” She rubbed her cheek against his, like a cat. “Thermal hot springs. Much communal skinny-dipping. It was fabulous.”
“She’s around here someplace,” Lara said.
“Lara, get Linz something to drink. She needs it,” Mandy said.
Lara flushed. Mandy cleared her throat and Lara huffed and broke from the pack, off to do her liege’s bidding.
“Pass,” I said. Trying to hide how hard I was trembling, I edged away, into the crush of girls, and looked for Julie. I began to see more boys, all of whom I recognized as Lakewood Prep students. A little tingle tickled the based of my spine. Was Troy here? Wouldn’t he have mentioned it?
Not if he was going to hook up with Mandy, I thought.
Of the rest of the crowd, more people were nicer to me than not. I saw my dormies—Claire, Ida, Marica, and Elvis. We caught up with what we’d been doing over the break. I lied. Claire was a bronze Maui goddess, Ida had gone home to Iran, and Marica did some modeling in Brazil. She was still wearing her big-ass emerald earrings. Elvis had attended an opera intensive at Julliard. They confirmed that Julie had come to the party, too, but they couldn’t tell me where she was at the moment.
After we swore to cover for one another if Ms. Krige checked on us, I resumed circulating. Shayna was in a corner with some girls from Stewart—her dorm—drinking red wine. She didn’t see me, and I kept my distance in case she slipped up and said something about seeing me with Troy in the parking lot. I felt a little weird, since she’d essentially invited me to the party, and it really dawned on me that in the eyes of Marlwood, Troy was Mandy’s boyfriend.
Julie was nowhere to be seen, and I figured she had probably gone back to our room. I looked for Rose Hyde-Smith, who’d been my partner in spying on Mandy . . . until she, too, had become possessed. She wasn’t there, either. Having made the rounds, I decided to leave. It was past time for me to unpack and get ready for the first day back, and if Mrs. Krige decided to do a bed-check (although she hadn’t done a single one during the first semester), we would be way busted. As the only scholarship student in Grose, I couldn’t afford to get in trouble. By sneaking out, I was already playing with fire.
I worked my way back out of the basement to the stairs, through the upper room and out on the rickety porch. It had stopped snowing, and the wind was still. There was no denying the beauty of my surroundings, and my heart ached for the ability to simply enjoy life again. I hadn’t stopped bracing myself for the next bad thing since my mom’s death. And it seemed that life kept handing them out.
I heard a familiar giggle on the opposite side of the building, on the porch overlooking the lake. Cautiously, I avoided the rotted planks and gaping holes of the floor and walked around the corner. Julie was sitting w
ith Spider, her boyfriend, on a fuzzy yellow blanket and they were bundled up together in another one, of Marlwood hunter green. Julie had cut her hair to a chin-length geometric bob, very Katie Holmes in her Beckham phase. Spider looked like Corbin Bleu, from his mocha-gold skin to his tight ringlets, his hair even crazier than mine. He was rubbing noses with her, and I smiled, cheered up.
Excellent timing, universe, I thought. Thank you for this moment of goodness.
“Hey,” I said.
They turned their heads in unison. Julie let out a happy yelp and jumped up to hug me. She towered over me—she was at least five inches taller than my five-two—smelling of vanilla and a whiff of vodka.
“Linz, Linz!” she cried. “You made it!”
I hugged her back, teary and relieved. Spider got to his feet, too, and gave me a quick hug once Julie was done. I was among my friends.
“How did you get here?” I asked her, as she and Spider laced fingers. They really were an adorable couple.
“My parents,” she said, pulling a little face. “Not the original plan, as you know.” I could see that there was Mandy-related gossip in my future. “You?”
I ticked my glance toward Spider, to see if Troy had told him our little secret. They were close friends. It was hard to tell, since he was staring at Julie. “Drove,” I told her vaguely. “By the way? It’s mucho late.”
Julie grabbed Spider’s arm to check his watch, which was a simple gold-rimmed rectangle with a worn leather band that had probably belonged to his great-grandfather, who had gotten it from Albert Einstein, or Abraham Lincoln. All Lakewood boys had history, and connections.
“Oh my God, I totally lost track of time,” Julie said, aghast. “We should go back to the dorm.”
“I’ll row you both back,” Spider offered, slipping his hand around her waist as she let go of his wrist. “We came over in some boats.”
“Thanks, but you guys go ahead,” I replied. “I’ll walk.”
Julie looked dubious. I gave her a little nod and she said, “Oh,” as if she realized that I didn’t want to go on a boat in the lake where Kiyoko had died. “If you’re sure . . . ”
“I am,” I told her.
“’Kay.” Julie bent forward, her wheat-colored bob swaying as she kissed my cheek. “And everything’s . . . okay?”
“Yes.” She’d thought I’d lost my mind last semester, and had begged me to see my old therapist during the break. “All checked out,” I added, even though that bordered on a lie. Actually, it was a lie. Dr. Yaeger had retired.
We walked down the broken stairs together and they peeled off toward a trio of rowboats pulled up on shore. The boats were painted white with LAKEWOOD added in large green letters. I watched as they pushed the boat into the water, Julie stepping in at the last moment, Spider balancing on a rock jutting out of the water, then hopping in, too. I gave them a wave and Spider took up the oars. Julie waved. She looked so much older with her haircut; having a boyfriend had matured her, it seemed. I reminded myself that she could swim; so could Spider. But the lake was half-frozen, and if something happened . . .
I hate this place, I thought, as they disappeared into the darkness. I exhaled, watching my breath, feeling my eyes well. I imagined my tears freezing to my cheeks.
I remembered Kiyoko’s blue-white face again, and her shiny eyes. Lurching forward, I felt my stomach clench, hard, and I coughed slightly, trying to keep everything down. The day had been long and stressful; the party was a bust. But I had seen Julie, and there was peace between us, and Spider adored her. Good things happened to good people.
Lowering my head against the chill, I stuffed my bare hands in my pockets and started walking. Two weeks gone by, and I had forgotten how to dress for Northern California. Yesterday it was shorts and a tank top; tonight, I needed mittens. It was cold, and I was tired. And scared. I wished with all my heart that there was a route back to Grose that didn’t involve walking along the lakeshore.
After a few minutes, I heard a sharp crack, like a breaking branch. A chill scurried up and down my spine and I cocked my head, listening. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea, going back alone. Maybe Marica and the other Grose girls were ready to go, and we could walk together. Or maybe they were behind me, hurrying to catch up.
I turned around—
—And I nearly ran straight into Mandy. And Lara. And Alis, lined up beside her, three abreast. They stood in shadow; I could only make out their silhouettes, standing very still.
“Come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me,” Mandy whispered. Then her head snapped back, and she exhaled slowly, almost as if she were dying. She straightened, and took a step toward me, into the moonlight. Her eyes were completely black, and the smile on her face was terrifying—crazy. Cruel.
And I knew she was Mandy no longer.
“Hello, Celia,” she said, in a voice that was not hers. Syrupy-sweet, with a Southern accent, and filled with deadly menace. I knew that voice—it was Belle Johnson, the ghost who blamed Celia for her death and the deaths of her five friends, in the fire of December 20, 1889. The same fire that had cut Celia’s life short. The fire that haunted me.
Nausea clenched my stomach. Acrid smoke seared my eyes. Flames crackled in my ears. I took a step back, into a stand of pine trees, and knocked the back of my head against a low-hanging limb. The impact rattled my skull and I grabbed onto a couple of branches to keep my balance.
“Julie,” I groaned, trying to call for help.
Hidden by the darkness, Lara . . . or whoever was possessing Lara . . . snorted. “No one’s coming this time, sweet bee. It’s just us.” Her new accent was pure New York.
“No,” I whispered fiercely. “Spider,” I called again, just a little louder, but far too softly for anyone but us to hear.
They began to walk toward me. I ducked underneath the pine branch, keeping my eyes on Mandy—on Belle. Help me, Celia, I thought, but if she was there, she was hiding. That was how she had come to me in the first place—to hide from Belle. It was all so crazy—how could a ghost hope to kill a ghost? But Mandy, when she was possessed, wanted to kill me.
My mouth moved but no more sound came out. I stepped backward and my foot slid into a hole. I lurched, grabbing the branch.
They came closer. I remembered that Troy had told me Mandy was afraid. Maybe she would help me here, now.
“Mandy,” I said. “Mandy listen to me. Make her leave.”
“Mandy, Mandy, Mandy,” Belle chanted in a singsong voice. “Oh, she’s a little whore, that one.”
“Lara, Alis,” I begged. “Please, help me.”
One of them laughed. The other was silent. Both of them moved toward me, slowly, like zombies.
I began to pant. I couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t run, couldn’t save myself. Then freezing cold swept though me hard, shocking me, like a jolt of electricity.
“Julie!” I screamed. My voice—mine—echoed off the lake. The flapping of wings buffeted the echo as startled birds took flight. “Julie! Spider!”
Mandy, Lara, and Alis kept coming.
For a moment, I stood rooted to the spot. Maybe they expected me to run away. It was my first impulse. Instead, something made me stand my ground; then, before I realized what I was doing, I ran hard into Mandy, barreling into her like a linebacker, and knocked her down. She fell hard on her back with a grunt.
Hit her, said a voice inside me. With your flashlight.
I bent at the waist, arced back my arm, and sucked in air through my teeth. And in that moment, the blackness in Mandy’s eyes vanished. And I knew I couldn’t do it.
I jumped away from her and crashed into Lara. Her eyes were normal. I pushed passed her to the shoreline, running so fast I couldn’t stop in time and sloshed into the freezing water. I gasped from the icy pain, swaying as I waved my hands. I remembered my flashlight and turned it on.
“Julie!” I yelled. I splashed backward onto the shoreline, aiming my flashlight at the lake as I half-ran, half-stagg
ered back toward the lake house. “Julie! Spider!”
Soon a circle of light blossomed on the water. “Lindsay?” Julie bellowed behind the light.
“Please, come get me!” I shouted, looking over my shoulder as I ran. Alis and Lara were helping Mandy to her feet.
“No problem.” That was Spider.
My feet sizzled with cold. I fell and pushed myself back up. I couldn’t see Mandy, Alis, or Lara; the darkness had swallowed them. Run-walking, staggering along the curving shore, I reached the other two Lakewood rowboats, and squinted out at the lake, shifting my weight from one throbbing foot to the other as I watched for Julie’s flashlight, for their little boat. The cheery reggae had been replaced with a dark, ambient gothy drone. Shivering, I tried to ignore it as I listened for other, more dangerous sounds—the footfalls of Mandy, Lara, and Alis.
Suddenly, I had the sense that I was being watched—a prickling sensation between my shoulder blades—and I whirled around, passing my flashlight over the jagged porch. Shadows moved across the exterior wall. A board creaked.
“Hurry, Julie, hurry,” I whispered, even though I reminded myself that the lake house was crammed with partying students. There was safety in numbers—witnesses. Mandy wouldn’t try anything now.
“Lindsay,” Julie called. I saw her flashlight. “Here we come.”
I opened my mouth to answer as a figure stepped from the blackness of the porch. It was Miles Winters. How long had he been standing there? Had he seen Mandy and the others go after me? There was no way he could have seen me push his sister . . . could he? The burning tip of a cigarette flared orange as he inhaled, angling light into the hollows of his faintly-stubbled cheeks. He saw me and slowly took the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling, lowering his hand to his side. Smoke and breath mingled and rose around his angular face. His bleach blond hair almost glowed against the night. He didn’t speak. Neither did I.