Twenty-Three

I wake slowly, at first aware only of the way my body aches. Against the soft sheets, cushioned in the blankets, I am warm and tired, and I never want to crawl out of bed again. But gradually the rest of the world demands my notice. Twilight seeps in at the windows, and from downstairs comes the usual noise of a house full of college students—laughter, arguments, music.

I slept, I realize with relief. For a whole day, probably. Hours and hours. I missed my classes, but I slept. That means Isabella is truly gone. That means I'm myself again. I'm free of her.

The events of the last few days pour in on me. I couldn't fully feel it all while it was happening, but now, with my mind rested, the numbness has faded. And I realize how monstrous it all has been. How horribly monstrous. I dug up a woman's grave. I removed her corpse and scattered it in the woods.

And Neil helped me do it. Why? Why would he risk himself for me? He hates me. But he seems to hate Isabella more. I wonder if he hates his own ghost too.

I sit up in bed and stretch, wincing at the aches all over me. There is no part of me that does not hurt. But it was worth it. Every aching, screaming muscle and ruptured blister was worth it. I got rid of her. My life is my own again.

I blink at the window, its curtains thrown open to the indigo sky. My stomach growls, and I realize how long it's been since I've eaten. There's plenty of time to make it to the cafeteria for dinner, if I can just get myself out of this bed.

With enormous effort, I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand, scratchy fabric riding uncomfortably up my thighs. A new wave of pain washes over me as my feet and knees take the burden of my weight. I limp around my room, gathering stuff for the shower. I am about to put on my bathrobe when I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of the door.

I scream, stumbling backward, away from my reflection. Away from her.

She stares at me in the dim light, her short hair in disarray, her cream-colored blouse wrinkled from sleeping in it. She wears a knee-length wool skirt and nylon stockings as if she's about to go teach a class.

Except, I realize after a long moment of shock, that this isn't like before. This isn't some disturbing mirror trick. It's not Isabella's face in the mirror where mine should be, only her hair and her clothing. My own frightened face stares back at me. But I've been dressed and styled like her as if in a costume. The musty smell coming off the clothes tells me they're the same ones I found in her attic storage.

My hands go automatically to my head. What I feel there matches what the mirror shows. It's not a wig. Someone has cut and dyed my hair. It's shorter and dark brown, curled in an old-fashioned style. There are bangs.

Without my blond hair, I look nothing like myself. I'm pale and washed-out; a stranger. I may as well be wearing Isabella's face instead of my own.

My hand goes to my mouth. No. No, no, no, no, no.

There's only one person who would have done this.

I didn't get rid of her at all. After everything I went through, she's still here. She's still haunting me. She's still in control.

And this haircut isn't some joke, a ghostly lark. It's punishment for what I did. For what I tried to do. It's a message, clearer than the words she wrote with my finger in the steam of a bathroom mirror.

You are mine, it says.

She's never going to give me up. No matter what I do.

With a convulsive cry, I rip her clothes from my body, sending buttons flying with the force of my desperation to be rid of her. I push the ruined clothes deep into the trash can beside my desk before I run down the hall to the bathroom and jump in the shower. I scrub my skin and my scalp, pulling the shampoo roughly through my now-short hair, watching brown water swirl down the drain. I scrub and scrub, but it won't change anything. She'll still be haunting me.

I avoid looking in the mirror as I dress in my room. I brush my hair and throw a beanie on over it, shoving the strands up inside the hat. I don't want to see it anymore. I don't want anyone else to see it either.

I'm trying to decide what to do next when someone knocks on my door. I pause, considering who it might be. Neil? Penny? Maybe just Wren.

I open the door. Quigg smiles at me. "Hey, Tara."

"Now's not a great time, Quigg," I say. "Sorry."

"Dr. O'Connor is downstairs and wants to talk to you," he says quickly, before I can close the door in his face.

My stomach clenches. "He's here?"

"In the library." Quigg gives me a sympathetic smile. "I wouldn't keep him waiting if I were you. He seems pretty mad."

I close my eyes. "Fine, I'll be right down."

"He wanted me to... escort you."

"Are you serious?"

Quigg looks mortified but only gives me a dignified nod.

I clench my jaw. Just when I thought this couldn't get any worse. "Okay, let's go," I say. I close the door behind me. We walk slowly down the stairs, and Quigg doesn't say anything. He just shoots surreptitious little looks at me, both curious and pitying.

When I walk into the library, Quigg leaves me with a gentle squeeze of my shoulder. Dr. O'Connor is standing at the window, his back to me. I'm reminded again of what a small, slight man he is. It's astonishing how much power he manages to exude.

He turns, and I suck in a breath. His eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth hard. "Tara, what were you thinking?" he asks, his voice quiet but sharp at the edges, rage held barely in check. "How could you do this?"

"How could I do what?" I ask, looking down at my shoes. I had to wear an old scuffed-up pair of Chucks because my boots are caked in mud.

"Don't play games with me," he says, his voice dropping half an octave. He steps toward me, and I try not to flinch away. "What you did is a crime. A felony, actually. You could go to prison."

My mouth drops open. I'd never even considered the legal ramifications of digging up Isabella's grave, only the spiritual ones. "How did you find out?" I ask, my heart racing.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does," I grit out.

I wonder if Neil told him. But that would implicate him too. I remember how Penny said the walls of Denfeld have ears. Anyone could have seen me digging up Isabella's grave and told O'Connor.

Dr. O'Connor shakes his head. "That's all you have to say for yourself? No apologies? No explanations?"

"You know why I did it," I say quietly. "You tricked me. You made me—"

Dr. O'Connor takes another step toward me. "I made you do nothing, young lady. I thought we had an understanding. I thought you understood."

He thought he'd cowed me yesterday. He thought I'd keep my mouth shut and write my book. He didn't expect me to fight back.

"I understand nothing," I spit. "I didn't agree to this. I want out of this."

O'Connor raises a finger to point at my face, all pretense of politeness gone. "Now you listen here. I have taken your trailer trash ass out of a place of obscurity and lifted you into a position that others would kill for. You will be quiet, and you will be grateful. You will do what's expected of you. No more foolish games."

I meet his eyes, fire kindling in my chest. "And if I don't?"

"You will be out of this college so fast, with a mark on your record so black that you won't be able to get into community college, let alone another school of this stature," O'Connor snarls.

That takes me aback. I wasn't expecting outright threats from him.

"Fall in line, Tara. Now. Fall in line or you're done. You can stay here and write your book and start a career for yourself, or you can go back to Yeehaw, Florida, and work in a convenience store for the rest of your life. That's your choice."

My face burns. I clench my fists at my sides. No words will come to me.

O'Connor stalks past me, letting his shoulder knock into mine as if to emphasize his point. Once he reaches the door, he turns. "Oh, and by the way, Isabella Snow's remains will be reinterred tonight."

"What? How? How did you find them?" I ask, but he's already walking away.

I stand alone in the library swallowing down my anger, my shame, my despair. My shoulders rise and fall with my breaths, but no tears come to my eyes.

"What the fuck?" I whisper, sinking into the nearest chair.

O'Connor said no more games, but what is everyone else doing except playing games? Him? Neil? Even Penny, Wren, and Jordan? They've all been toying with me. No one ever comes right out and says anything. It's always sideways looks and allusions. But everyone knew what was happening to me.

Everyone except me.

Neil steps into the room. "So it didn't work," he says, leaning against the wall by the door.

I leap to my feet. "Did you tell O'Connor?"

Neil laughs cruelly. "Just when I was starting to think you weren't stupid after all."

I shake my head in disgust and turn away. "God, why did you bother to help me? You don't even like me."

"No, I don't, but I hate her."

"Isabella?" I ask. So I was right about that.

"Of course, Isabella. I hate her," he says so viciously that his top lip peels back in a snarl. "I mean, I knew your plan probably wouldn't work, but it was worth it just to fuck with her. Just to get back at her a little."

"Get back at her for what? You're not the one she's haunting. You're not the one she did this to," I say, pulling off my hat.

Neil blinks at me. "So she gave you a bad haircut. So fucking what?"

"So what? Are you—"

"She killed Meredith!" Neil screams, pushing off from the wall. "She killed the girl I loved. Ended her life. Like that." He snaps his fingers.

"Meredith died of a ruptured brain aneurysm," I say quietly. "That's why Isabella moved on to me."

Neil stares at me, eyebrows raised, like he's waiting for me to catch up.

My stomach turns to ice. All along, I never questioned what O'Connor told me about Meredith's death. People have brain aneurysms all the time, don't they? At worst, I thought the stress of Magni Viri caused it. But not that Isabella did it on purpose. Maybe I just didn't want to let that idea into my head. Maybe it was too scary to even consider.

I remember Meredith lying on the library floor, tear tracks on her cheeks. She didn't die. She was murdered.

Fear leaps into my chest, followed by a rush of rage. "Isabella killed her? And you didn't think you should tell me that? You didn't think I deserved to know what I was walking into here?"

Jordan comes to the door, the others behind him. "Hey, the whole house can hear you two arguing."

I look at him, at Penny, at Wren. At Azar, standing slightly off to one side like she's not sure she wants to be here.

The rage in my chest explodes. And for once, it's not tears that come out. "Who fucking cares if they hear me?" I yell. "Everyone already knows! Everyone in this house knew what was happening to me, and no one said anything. No one cared. All of you pretended to be my friends, and all this time, you were—you were—" I shake my head, unable to find adequate language for their betrayal.

Jordan ushers everyone into the library and shuts the door, sealing the six of us inside. "We are your friends, Tara. We were never pretending about that."

I laugh. "If that were true, you would have warned me. You would have told me what I was walking into.... She killed Meredith," I add weakly.

Penny steps forward, her hands reaching out. "We wanted to tell you. We wanted to tell you so badly. But O'Connor..." She looks helplessly at the others.

I shake my head, backing away from her. "Why? Why would you keep this from me?"

They all look afraid, like even now that I know, they aren't allowed to say it out loud. Penny shocks me by bursting into tears, her usual calm, detached manner giving way. "O'Connor said that if we told you what was happening to you, you would fight it. And Isabella would kill you too. We thought you might die... like Meredith did. We thought you would die, Tara! Do you know what that has felt like?" She knocks a closed fist against her chest, overcome. "To be with you and care about you and not be able to tell you anything?"

For a moment, I'm moved by her emotion, the anguish in her voice. But I shake my head. I signed on to Magni Viri before Penny ever knew me. Before any of them did. "Why did you let me walk into this at all? Didn't you know what was going to happen when I joined Magni Viri? Don't you all have ghosts of your own?"

She opens her mouth only to close it again.

I glance away from Penny to the others, watching emotions pass over their faces. Guilt, fear, and something harder-edged I can't name. Everyone is afraid to speak.

Finally, Penny seems to gather her courage. "O'Connor said that Isabella had already picked you, that she'd made her choice and there was nothing we could do about it. All we could do was try to keep you as safe as possible," she says. "And—" She glances over at Jordan. There's something else she doesn't want to say.

"Well, you see," Jordan says, "it's— Well, we..."

Azar swears. "If we didn't let Isabella have what she wanted, it would have cost all of us something, not just you."

"What do you mean?"

"When we joined Magni Viri, we were told what we were walking into. We all agreed to it: that we'd allow our bodies to be used as vessels by brilliant minds for four years. Whatever the partnership created during that time, we got to claim credit for. We would already have careers started for us before we even graduated. We would be successful. We would be taken care of."

"And you didn't want me to jeopardize that? God, you're all so selfish! I would never do something like this to someone."

"Shut up and listen," Azar says, her eyes flashing. "The way this all works... it's complicated and it's delicate. The ghosts are all bound together. If one of them isn't getting what they want, it can be dangerous for everyone. And Isabella is powerful. I don't know why. But she has the ability to disrupt the entire system. To throw the whole thing out of whack." Azar looks almost frightened. "The night she killed Meredith and was disembodied..." She shakes her head.

"I heard you all yelling for her that night. Somehow I ended up by the cemetery, and I heard you."

Azar's eyes widen slightly. "We didn't know where she'd gone. We didn't know yet that she'd already chosen you. That she'd chosen you even before she killed Meredith."

I remember the way Meredith stared at me when I saw her at the reading, the way her gaze cut right through me, to my very heart. It was Isabella's stare, not hers. She'd picked me out. But why, when she had brilliant, beautiful Meredith Brown already?

"Why did Isabella kill Meredith?" I ask.

"That's what we've been trying to tell you," Wren says, a hitch in their voice like they're trying not to cry. "She killed Meredith because Mer was resisting her. Mer wanted to do her own work, write her own books. And she was doing everything in her power to stifle Isabella."

Neil cuts in. "That night at the reading, the night she died—the story she read—do you remember it? ‘Incubus'?"

I nod.

"That was Meredith's writing, not Isabella's. It was about Isabella."

"Oh," I whisper. The story I didn't really understand at the reading now makes perfect sense. The relentless dread, the nightmarish, surreal atmosphere of it.

"That was the last straw for Isabella, I guess," Neil says. "Mer wasn't being a good, obedient vessel and so she killed her. And then she chose you to take Mer's place."

"That's why we didn't tell you," Penny says, wringing her hands. "We were afraid she would kill you too."

"Oh my God. And last night I dug up her grave!" I shake my head, realizing how lucky I am that all Isabella did was dye my hair and dress me in her clothes. I could be dead now, just like Meredith.

I stare into Penny's eyes, which are wide and worried, still leaking tears. I almost believe her, that it was about me. Almost. But then I remember the way they talked about me the other night, how Penny said dating me was a mistake. How Wren whined about having to room with me. They were only pretending to be my friends because they needed me.

That's what people are like, I hear inside my head. For a lurching, sickening moment I'm not sure if it's my own thought or Isabella's. That's why you're on your own.

"You weren't afraid for me. You were afraid of what she would do to the rest of you," I snarl.

"Of course we were afraid," Neil says. "We're not fucking saints. We have our own lives and our own futures to protect. Between the ghosts and O'Connor... well, rock and hard place, you know?"

I shake my head, backing away from them.

Wren reaches for me. "Tara, please. We do care about you. We really, really do."

I snatch my arm away from them. "Don't touch me."

"Tara," Penny says, "let us help you now. Now that you know, we can teach you how to manage it. How to make it more bearable. It doesn't have to be so hard. There are ways—"

"And you," I growl, interrupting her. I feel my lips twist with suppressed tears. My chin quivers dangerously. "I heard you say it was a mistake to go out with me. Why did you do it, then? Why did you get close to me, make me think you wanted me? For O'Connor, for Magni Viri? Was it all a lie—what was between us?"

Penny's gaze softens with something like pity. "Of course not. It was never about that. I swear. I liked you. I wanted to be with you."

I look around at all of them. I still can't believe what they've done to me. The web of lies they've built around me, trapping me inside. Neil? Sure. Azar? Maybe. But Jordan? But Wren, who seemed so completely guileless, so open and real? And Penny? Penny who asked my permission to even hold my hand? How could she do this to me?

It hurts. It hurts so much. I've never felt more betrayed.

A breath shudders out of me. "I can't believe—I just—I thought I'd finally found a place to..." I shake my head, unable to make the words come. "I couldn't have been more wrong. God, you're... you're all just a bunch of selfish assholes! You're heartless. I can't believe I thought you were my friends."

"Tara, we're sorry. We're all so sorry," Jordan says.

I shake my head. "I'm done with all of you. I'm not your plaything anymore."

The five of them stand together in a group, bound together as they've always been.

And I stand apart, on my own. Like I've always been.

There's nothing left to do but walk away.