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She leans back, looking pleased with herself. “I want to know why you are going to such great lengths to hide yourself?”

I face her as my heart pumps. “The real question is, why am I still alive? Perhaps you should be asking your boyfriend and brother that question.”

Amusement dances in her eyes. “Perhaps, but I’m asking you.”

I run my hands over my wig, considering my next words. “I’m not hiding myself. It’s just…” My words catch in my throat as she leans closer.

“What is it?” she asks with genuine curiosity in her voice.

If she wants to know the true reasons, so be it. “People get frightened when they look into my eyes, so it’s easier to hide or divert them. And everyone believes the girl with white hair killed the priest and summoned a demon named Shadowface.”

I suck in a breath and dare to look at her, hoping no one else heard me. Her legs are crossed, and she’s tapping her platform shoes, which are a mile high.

A single word from her would expose me. I’ll be blamed for Father Malcolm’s death and sent to the asylum, or prison, where perhaps I belong.

“I have to admit,” she says in a low voice, so close I can smell her floral perfume. “I’m extremely impressed; I’m rarely deceived like that. Why show yourself now after all these months?” She reaches over and grasps a strand of my wig and twirls it. For a second, I’m worried she might yank it off.

“I suppose I just got tired of hiding.”

She arches a brow, and darkness flashes over her. “And you killed Father Malcom?” She keeps her voice low.

Let my silence be the answer she seeks.

She gently withdraws her hand and doesn’t press it. “What’s it like living there? I heard ghosts haunt that house and make people go insane. Are you insane, Diana?”

A simmering rage takes hold of me. I’m not insane—at least, I don’t think I am. Everything I did was of sound mind. “Define insanity?”

A slow smile spreads across her face. “I see it as a severely distorted state of mind that clashes with societal norms. However, its meaning really depends on the situation. It’s not actually a formal psychological term, if you can believe it. Psychologists don’t know what causes it. It’s fascinating stuff.”

I bite my bottom lip. “Then I’m not insane. Nothing in my mind is distorted. I understand right from wrong.”

She laughs, tilting her head as the professor approaches the stage. “Too bad, because I might be consumed by madness myself, and it would be nice to have company.”

Insane, indeed. I killed out of sheer necessity, while her reasons are far eviler. Still, the pain that drove her to such brutality must be immense. Fifteen stab wounds…yet I accomplished what I needed with two.

She bites her pencil. “Come to my house tonight. We’re having a party, and I’d love it if you came.”

I frown at her. “It’s a Monday night. And I don’t think Tommy or Remy will be happy to see me.”

She arches her brows. “Don’t worry about them. I’m sure once the shock wears off, they will both be thrilled to see you.”

I let out a sigh and tap my pencil on the desk, and warmth blooms in my stomach at the thought of them. I was so close to giving in to Remy the night he took my belt off. He could have taken my virginity right then, and I would have let him.

So much unsaid, so much unfinished.

Does she know what happened between the three of us?

“What do you want from me, Talia?” I ask her.

She bites down on her bottom lip. “I want to uncover the layers of the girl who broke Tommy and my brother to pieces. I’m curious about you, Diana.”

My heart pounds at that thought—broke them to pieces.

“Where is it?”

“Make sure you’re home around seven. Someone will pick you up.”

Through my aching heart, I manage to say “Okay. I’ll be ready.”