Page 37 of Twisting Beauty

“Christ,” Rafe said, unease clear in his voice, “no more weed for you, my friend.”

Breezy laughed, but it sounded forced. “You do realize Body Snatchers is just a movie, lad.”

Only Finn remained quiet, turning back to study the girl in the courtyard with narrowed eyes, like he was actually contemplating the impossible. For a moment I thought I might have an ally in this.

Then his nose wrinkled, a signal of dismissal. He saw but did not see.

I hated even more that none of them seemed to understand the one thing that mattered.

She was not Rua.

I glared down at her as she laughed at something Nuala said as they stood and walked away. The sound drifted up on the fall breeze, and every note of it felt wrong. A beautiful forgery.

She was an irritation. A lie in my house. A problem to solve.

But I knew exactly how to handle irritations.

I kept watching her with my teeth grinding together and my thoughts already moving ahead to how I was going to corner her next.

I tracked her retreat, the gaze snagging on the defiant swing of her hips under all that black.

Inside me, something dark stirred awake, pacing behind my ribs.

She was in my house. She had Rua’s face. She had the nerve to stand in front of me, lie to me.

Whatever she was hiding had become mine to uncover.

Let’s see how long you last, imposter.

12

LIATH

After that scene in class, I couldn’t avoid Nuala.

Nor could I avoid her questions.

About Rua. About Liath. About who I really was.

I had tugged her across the courtyard to an empty stone bench, glancing around to make sure no one was listening before I had admitted to her the only truth I could afford. “If anyone here finds out I’m not Rua, I’m finished.”

She had gone still at that, the books in her arms tightening against her chest. Curiosity had flickered all over her face, but she had swallowed it down. “I see.”

“You can’t tell anyone.” I had hated how desperate my voice sounded. “Not about Liath. Not about Magdalene.”

Nuala had studied me for one long moment.

She had obviously been curious. I’d seen it in the way her mouth parted, in the questions pressing at the back of her teeth, in the way she kept looking at me like she was trying to solve a riddle.

“I’m begging you,” I said. “Please.”

She nodded. “I won’t tell anyone. Promise.”

She’d held up a pinkie and I grasped it with mine.

Relief came first, thin and shaky, because for one brief moment in this godforsaken place, I had not had to pretend. Someone here knew my real name.

It was only later that the anxiety crept in behind it, colder and harder to shake. Trusting anyone at Ravenwood felt like handing them a knife and praying they liked me too much to use it.