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“Well, um,” she says, pausing. I don’t like her tone. Something is wrong, and I can feel it. “Something happened at Havencrest. It’s Cordelia. She … killed herself, Lyd. Can you believe it?”

Her voice breaks across the receiver, and I know she’s on the verge of tears. I’m stunned by Sloane’s words, unable to formulate a response. How could this have happened? Cordelia said that she … oh my god. What if my life is in danger, too?

“Lyd?” Sloane’s worried voice filters through my thoughts, pulling me from the dark places my mind was sprinting toward.

“That’s awful,” I say. “How did this happen?”

How could Havencrest have allowed this to happen? How could Emery have allowed this to happen? How could the goddamn universe have allowed this to happen?

“Don’t say anything to anyone, but Cordelia was found at her home. She … she drowned in her bathtub. Obsidian Press is headlining the story, but otherwise, only her family is aware,” Sloane says, pausing. “And also, they found some super creepy stuff at the scene.” She sniffles.

Although Sloane has seen her fair share of horrid things and doesn’t always know how to express her emotions, she tends to have a soft spot for those suffering from mental illness. I’m frozen again, unable to respond as my mind imagines all of the worst possible things that could have been found at the scene.

“W-What did they find?” I ask, voice trembling.

“Well,” Sloane starts, “Cordelia sliced up and down her arms with a knife. Alex says the cuts highly resembled sound waves. She had a piece of masking tape over her mouth with the words ‘surrender to the sound’ on it. There was a speaker next to her playing a song on repeat, and a vinyl cracked in half, lying in the tub with her. It was one of Reverb’s vinyls, and one of their songs, Lyd. Someone was using the frequencies on Cordelia. And, well, I’m not sure you’d want to hear this last part.” She hesitates.

“Tell me,” I say, needing to know everything.

“Alex said that Cordelia’s eyes were wide open in horror, staring off into the corner of the bathroom as if she was afraid of something, or someone.”

Chills run down my spine as I imagine the scene, terrified that the same thing could happen to me if I don’t figure out what the hell is going on. I decide that telling my best friend might ease the uncertainty. I know that she’d be able to help.

“Sloane, I—”

“Sorry, Lyd. I gotta run. Let’s talk more later. Okay?” she interrupts. I hear Alex’s voice in the background.

“Yeah, of course. Talk to you later, Lo.” I sigh, pulling the phone from my ear and ending the call.

I set the phone down on the kitchen counter, grabbing the warm cup of tea and bringing it to my mouth. The aroma envelops me, and I take a long sip to allow the warmth into my bones. Setting the mug down, I stare blankly at the living room without truly seeing. Why would Cordelia do this? She was practically begging for help. Why would she take her own life? None of it makes any sense.

I suck in a breath when the energy in the room instantly shifts. The air around me grows colder, and I drag my gaze up and up, locking eyes with someone long gone.

I should be afraid. I should be running for the sage bundle upstairs or calling a damn priest. But all I can do is stare into her lifeless, dull blue eyes as she stands motionless, watching me. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, and I’m not entirely sure she’s there at all. After the news of Cordelia, this scene feels entirely subdued. Maybe she’s not a vengeful ghost. Maybe she’ll be nice this time.

I’m not sure how to approach this, having never actually seen a ghost before. I’ve felt energy shifts and known when someone from beyond the veil was with me, but I’ve never actually seen a damn ghost before. For all I know, this could be a hallucination.

Nyx jumps onto the counter, pulling my attention down to her. I watch as my cat turns toward the ghostly figure, and her fur stands in a straight line down the center of her back. She sits back, hissing at the apparition standing before her. Well, so much for hallucination, and so much for nice ghost.

“Hello, Vivienne,” I say to my mother’s ghost.

Vivienne was never a mother to me, and Nyx has confirmed that she isn’t here to make nice. I stroke Nyx’s fur, anxiously awaiting a response from the dead. As I stare at Vivienne’s still form, I consider that maybe I am losing my damn mind after all. Soon, I’ll be another headline like Cordelia. I wince at the thought, feeling awful for the poor girl and her family. This wasn’t her fault.

If someone wants me dead, they’d better damn well be planning to do it themselves. I will not take my own life. I’m not convinced Cordelia even took her own life. She could have very well been murdered. The whole scene described to me screams staged suicide. I’m almost certain this has to do with that damn music box, but I really don’t want to call Callum right now.

“Hello, Lydia.” Vivienne’s voice pulls me back to the present.

Except, it’s not really my mother’s voice. It’s distorted, not entirely belonging to anyone or anywhere. I stare, stunned, until the voice breaks through the air again.

“Come with me. I can help you,” she says, motioning toward the door with her ghostly hand.

I’m pretty sure this is the part where I tell her to go fuck herself, and call Ghostbusters or something. I’m pretty sure this is definitely not the part where I follow her out into the darkness to never be seen again. So, why do I have the urge to do just that?

“Lydia,” she says, the sound echoing around the room as if amplified by a thousand voices at once, all eerily dissimilar, “you do not have to surrender to the sound. Let me help you. Let me make up for the transgressions of my past.”

I tilt my head, studying the way her ghostly form sways on a silent breeze. I consider her words, wondering how she would know about the message on the masking tape from Cordelia’s crime scene. Do ghosts have access to crime scenes? I mean, I don’t freaking know.

I want to ask my mother why she said that. I want to tell her to leave. I want to tell her that she’s beyond forgiveness. I open my mouth to do just that, but the words betray me. Something about this scenario feels wrong. I mean, apart from the whole ghost in my living room bit.