Page 38 of Hallowed Bones

Haven hadn’t been angry at the end of our conversation but afraid. Fear glimmered in the depths of her eyes. Fear of the unknown but also fear that she might be forced to find out what that unknown truly is.

Reyes is right, though. The truth will always come. Like death, truth is inevitable.

CHAPTER 15HAVEN

Dear Ms. Devi,

I write with increasing concern regarding Haven’s recent behavior. She’s become markedly withdrawn, and several … incidents in the classroom have left both staff and students uneasy. I believe it would be best for us to speak in person about her situation—and whether Brighton High remains the right environment for her at this time.

Please contact me at your earliest convenience to arrange a meeting.

Sincerely,

Marian Faulkner, Brighton High Faculty

—LETTER FROM BRIGHTON HIGH HOMEROOM TEACHER MARIAN FAULKNER TO TRISHA DEVI

It’s as if there’s another you, deep in your soul. She’s trying to claw her way out and you can’t contain her anymore, but she frightens you.

Cameron’s voice echoes in my head, the memory of his words slipping over my spine like a whisper of silk and razor blades. He saw her, the one inside. How could he possibly know? My dreams are a place that no one but me knows or can see.

Ever since he said those words, though, she’s been screaming. The wild thing inside me that’s been there since the night my parents died. She wants out. She always has. But letting her loose is like breaking a curse—irreversible and unforgivable.

She’s the reason bad things happen. She is the bad thing.

“No.” The word tears from my throat as I slam my own wardrobe shut, harder than necessary. The mirror inside rattles. My pulse mimics the tempo.

Cameron Goode doesn’t know me. Not really. No one does. They can’t.

The door to the room bursts open like a gunshot, and for a single, twisted heartbeat, I half expect to see no one there—or maybe a monster or a ghost coming to finish the job of unraveling me.

Instead, it’s Elodie.

She breezes in, trailing chaos in her wake, throwing her bag on the bed and collapsing beside it with a melodramatic groan. “This week was hell,” she mutters into the mattress, sounding more like her normal self than I’ve heard in several long days. “Actual hell. With fire and demons and everything.”

“You forgot the pitchforks,” I reply flatly.

She rolls onto her side and eyes me. “That’s a nice outfit. Where’d you get the pants? They’re flattering.”

“Liz.” I turn, popping the wardrobe door back open to study myself in the mirror. “They’re a bit long, so I cuffed them.”

“Well, they make your ass look sinful.” She sits up and stretches, catlike. “Fair warning, the lacrosse boys get handsy when they’re drunk. Though a few are good in bed, so if you bring one home instead of staying at the house, hang a scarf on the door. I don’t need to walk in on you mid-thrust.”

“Gross,” I say, snatching a small pillow from my own bed and lobbing it at her head.

She catches it with a smirk. “What? Sex is therapy. It’s good for you.”

I hold up a bigger pillow, threat evident. “I will smother you,” I warn her.

She cackles, unfazed, and hops off the bed to drift over to her closet. Half an hour later, I’ve perfected the winged eyeliner and added several layers of mascara. Elodie, meanwhile, has accomplished absolutely nothing.

She turns to me, holding up two options. “Red dress with slits or slutty glitter bodysuit?”

“Bodysuit,” I say without conviction.

She sighs dramatically. “I liked the dress.”

“Then wear the dress. Why do you ask me if you already know?”