Waysider (The Voyants Book 1)

Chapter 18

The rest of Cass’s week was uneventful.

She did her homework. She attended all her classes. She spent time with her housemates. She made phone calls to Teresa and her dad. She bickered with Cal. Her brother’s mysterious absences stopped, and now he spent most of his time worrying whether she was eating, or that she wasn’t trying hard enough to make friends. Cass brushed off his comments as she always had, usually throwing in an insult for good measure. She almost felt… normal. Well, as normal as someone could be who was attending a university for ghost hunters and had their dead twin for a roommate.

As for their other roommate, well, there was no sign of him. Cass avoided going upstairs as much as she could, but her efforts to ignore Michael turned out to be unnecessary. He didn’t come back all week, and Cass told herself she was glad. Her room was crowded enough with Cal and his never-ending concern. But Cass felt an unsettled flutter in her stomach every time she thought of the ghost she’d apparently succeeded in driving away. She ignored that, too.

Basics of Untethering was her favorite class. Not because of the subject matter, or the professor, who somehow made a British accent unattractive with his high, nervous voice. It was the room itself—three of the walls were made of windows, and ivy had spread across most of the glass. Sunbeams slipped through all the green, casting all the faces, floors, and desks in intricate shadow and soft, buttery light. Professor Horn had filled every surface and corner with even more plants, making a scent cling to the air that reminded Cass of springtime.

In the past, she’d made a habit of sitting in the back during her courses. She had always been the last one to arrive and the first one to leave. For Basics of Untethering, though, Cass sat in the front row, where she could feel the sun on her skin and the clock wasn’t in her line of sight. She’d discovered that it actually helped her pay attention. Most of the time, at least.

“Are we ever going to learn how to actually untether a revenant?” someone asked on Friday morning, drawing Cass’s gaze away from the window. She lifted her head from her hand, blinking, and refocused on Professor Horn.

In response to the girl’s question, their professor reached into the pocket of his tweed jacket and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing his forehead with it. This in itself was not out of the ordinary—Professor Horn was easily frazzled, and beads of sweat were always sliding down his temple or dampening the thin cotton of his shirt. But the handkerchief had made several appearances already today, and Cass noticed how Professor Horn kept glancing toward the clock, as if he couldn’t wait until the hour was up. Everyone knew about the silver flask he kept in the desk. He was probably counting the seconds until he could take another swig. Cass couldn’t help feeling sorry for the guy. At some point in his life, Professor Horn had almost died, just like the rest of them.

But apparently he’d never recovered.

Suddenly Cass wondered if she was in danger of the same fate. What if she was looking at her future? What if the hole in her chest never went away, and eventually she’d need to dull herself just to get through the day, too?

Realizing that she’d stopped paying attention again, Cass blinked and sat up straighter in her chair.

“…are not permitted to attempt an untethering until their second year,” Professor Horn was saying, tucking the handkerchief back into its hiding place. Then he paused and added, “But today, you’ll get to see them.”

A ripple of excitement traveled through the class. Cass’s stomach clenched. What did he mean, ‘them?’

“See what?” a boy with red hair called. The golden pin on his lapel was a bird. House Pennyseeker.

Professor Horn fell silent again. Slowly, he circled his long desk, and Cass couldn’t help but glance toward the figure sitting at the other end of it. Teddy Crane’s eyes met hers.

Most days, he spent the hour writing in a notebook, or correcting the assignments they’d turned in. Today, the class seemed to have his full attention. Teddy’s gaze lingered on Cass for a moment, and she knew he’d probably seen her fear. The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely, into what Cass thought might be a reassuring smile. His bright hair gleamed as he turned his head and refocused on Professor Horn.

The professor reached down and pulled something out of a drawer—a music box. There was a slight tremble in his hands, and though Professor Horn set the box down gently, he wasted no time pulling away.

Cass regretted her decision to sit in the front row now. She stared at the music box, fighting the urge to grab her books and move to the back of the room.

“As you’ve probably deduced, this item is haunted,” Professor Horn told them. He was even paler than he’d been at the start of class. “It belonged to a woman named Marie Clairmont, and she lost several children to miscarriage before dying in childbirth. She herself is not attached to the object, but the trauma of her final moments left an imprint on it. The music box was playing while she died.”

Everyone in the room watched the small object as if the lid were about to spring open. Professor Horn didn’t move to open it. “In order to untether a revenant,” he continued, “you must first be able to see it. Thus, how this compound got its obvious name. See.”

With his pale, thin fingers, Professor Horn pulled a small bottle out of his desk and held it in the air. The liquid within glittered in a ray of sunlight. It looked like water. “It’s perfectly harmless,” their professor said, “but it can only be made in small batches and there’s high demand, because of all the other institutes. That’s why it can only be used on official Hauntings, at the aptitude tests, and this class.”

He bent over, and they all heard the sound of another drawer opening. When Professor Horn straightened, he was holding a silver tray, its surface covered with over a dozen glasses that were the size of a thimble. Once he’d set it down on the desk, Professor Horn retrieved the vial and began to pour the liquid into the glasses, putting barely more than a drop or two in each. He continued his lecture while he poured, the top of his bald head gleaming. “It should be noted that some voyants don’t need the See. It enhances the abilities you already have, which is why it’s used at the Tests. Many students have been able to determine their specialties because of this,” he concluded.

No one moved or spoke. Cass looked from the vials to the music box, her pulse quickening in a way that was becoming all-too familiar. She didn’t want to enhance her abilities or see whatever was attached to that eerie, wooden box. Her heart was so loud that she barely heard their professor as he prompted, “Well, come on, then.”

Chair legs screeched over the floor as everyone stood. The class formed a line and shuffled toward the desk. Teddy had gotten up, as well, and he started handing the vials out, nodding his bright head as one of the other students said something. Cass hung back, intending to wait until there was less of a crowd before she approached. But then someone gasped. A second later, someone else made a sound of surprise. Within a minute, murmurs filled every corner of the room. They were all staring at the music box. No one seemed afraid, Cass noted, and the realization made some of her own fade, just a little.

Less than a minute later, Cass reached the desk. Teddy flashed her his golden boy grin as he handed her one of the last vials. Quietly he told her, “Don’t worry, it doesn’t last long.”

He was trying to comfort her again, Cass thought, taking the tincture with the tips of her fingers. She nodded her thanks at Teddy, not trusting herself to speak, then moved out of the way so the nervous-looking kid behind her could get his See. Slow with reluctance, Cass returned to her desk. She briefly considered only pretending that she’d drank it, but Professor Horn was watching her intently, as if he knew what she was thinking. Cass looked down at the clear, glistening liquid in her hand, her stomach churning. Before she could talk herself out of it, Cass tipped her head back and downed it.

It was sweeter than she’d expected it to be, with a bitter aftertaste that lingered on her tongue. A couple of the other students were making dramatic gagging sounds. Cass ignored them. Holding the empty bottle tightly in her fist, she sat back in her chair and waited. She concentrated on her breathing so she didn’t think about all the things she’d encountered without any enhancement. Maybe she’d be lucky and it would have no effect on her. But Cass had never been very lucky.

Within seconds, she realized why everyone was gaping at the music box—there were white, glowing threads all around it. Almost like spider webs, if spider webs were luminescent.

Professor Horn was speaking again, but Cass wasn’t listening anymore. His voice was a low, meaningless hum as she studied the threads. Distantly, Cass felt her fingers twitch. She could already see how she’d begin. What path she’d take to undo the knots and tangles. It would be so easy. Child’s play, really. Suddenly Cass felt a fierce, urgent compulsion to reach for those bright strings. Clear the mess away. She watched them shift and move with rapt focus, and it was as if they had a mind or a life of their own. It almost felt like they were… calling to her. Communicating with her, somehow…

“Don’t touch it!”

The words penetrated the haze around Cass, and she jerked her hand back, turning to see who’d spoken so sharply. Everyone was staring in her direction. Another jolt went through Cass as she realized that she’d stood up and approached the music box. It was Professor Horn who had snapped at her, shockingly. Cass’s face flooded with heat, and she avoided looking in Teddy’s direction. For some reason, the thought of him witnessing her mental breakdown was particularly humiliating.

“Sorry,” Cass muttered. “Sorry.”

Her face was on fire, and she knew everyone in the room was staring. Without another word, Cass backtracked to her desk, snatched up her books, and hurried down the aisle between the tables. Professor Horn didn’t try to stop her, or question where she was going in the middle of class.

Despite her resolution to attend every class, Cass went back to Wayside. If anyone asked, she’d say she was sick. It wasn’t far from the truth. Cass kept her head down the entire way, replaying those last few minutes of Basics of Untethering again and again. What the hell was wrong with her? Was she losing her mind? She worried that the See was still in her system, but Teddy had said it didn’t last long. Cass prayed he was right as she hurried up the walkway, not daring to glance toward her bedroom window. She wasn’t sure she could handle another ghostly encounter right now.

A burst of noise greeted Cass the moment she opened the front door. It was the middle of the day, but there always seemed to be someone else around at House Wayside. Cass welcomed the distraction, pausing in the living room doorway to survey the scene before her. “What are you guys doing?”

“New game,” Justin muttered, jabbing the buttons on the controller.

“It’s called Ghostbusters,” Bradley chirped without taking his eyes off the TV.

Cal was there, too, which was a recent development. Cass still didn’t like it, but Cal had argued that if her roommates could see him, they would’ve by now. He was losing his mind staying upstairs all the time. So her brother sat on the other side of the couch, looking for all the world like he was just one of the guys. Cass’s gaze lingered on him, but he kept his focus on the video game, his arms draped over the lumpy cushions behind him. If Cass said anything, Justin and Bradley would think she was insane, or they’d realize her dead twin was living with them. Her lips pressed together.

“Hey.” The sound of Cal’s voice made Cass turn. He’d followed her. His brows were drawn together, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Everything okay?”

Cass didn’t force herself to smile—that would be overkill—so she gave him an annoyed look and said, “I’m fine. The professors are just killing me with the homework load. Need to get started if I want to avoid falling behind.”

“It’s Friday,” Cal started, but Cass turned away and slipped up the stairs. Tonight, all she wanted was to feel normal. Just for one night.

Maybe Cal sensed it, because for once, he let her go.

When she reached her room, Cass opened the door with a flutter in her stomach, just as she always did. But there was no sign of Michael, of course. She let out a breath, her shoulders slumping, and Cass stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Her book bag hit the floor with a hollow sound.

For the rest of the afternoon Cass sat at her desk, holding a highlighter in one hand while her other lightly gripped the corner of the textbook she was reading. Her parapsychology class was more difficult than she’d thought it would be, and Cass had gotten a C on the last quiz—a low C. She studied an image of a human brain, trying to commit it to memory again. Beneath it, the caption said things like known sensory organs and functional brain imaging and right parahippocampal gyrus. Whatever the fuck that meant. Cass sighed through her nose at the same moment someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she called without looking up.

Finch poked her head inside. Her thick hair fell over one shoulder, the frizzy strands catching the lamplight. She wasn’t wearing her glasses tonight, and her watery blue eyes were earnest as she said, “Hi, roomie. Just thought I’d check on you. You’ve been awful quiet this week.”

“I’m fine. Just trying to keep up.” Cass flashed her a distracted smile.

She expected Finch to smile back and retreat, but she didn’t move. Instead, Finch shifted her weight from foot to foot, keeping one hand on the doorknob. “So that party is later,” she ventured.

Losing her patience with the picture of the brain, Cass turned the page. “I think I’ll just stay in this time, if that’s okay with you. I’m not really in the mood for a party.”

“Stay in?” she heard Finch repeat. “But… it’s House Shadowripper. Everyone wants an invite to one of their parties, and it’s practically unheard of for a Waysider to get one. And… and Teddy will be there. I’m sure he’ll introduce us to people.”

The way Finch said his name betrayed her. Cass finally pulled her focus from the textbook and looked at Finch—really looked at her. Cass realized that if she didn’t go, Finch couldn’t go, and the other girl clearly wanted to. Cass heard her brother’s voice in her head again, urging her to go out, make friends, try to be normal. Fuck.

She swallowed a sigh and set her pencil down. “Okay. I’ll meet you downstairs. Just give me a few minutes.”

Finch beamed. “I’ll go get ready!”

The floor creaked and groaned as she hurried away. Cass sat there for another moment, staring toward the window, where she could see part of the night sky. She thought about the person she used to be. Someone who waited eagerly for the darkness, using its cover to sneak out, to explore, to live. Well, she’d wanted to feel normal tonight, and what was more normal than going to a party?

She forced herself to leave the desk and go over to the dresser. There, Cass changed into her pinstripe jeans and a black net shirt. The top exposed her tattoo—the small X on her chest—and Cass mentally ran through a list of possible responses when someone inevitably asked about it. She never gave the same answer twice. Over the years, it had become a game for her. Oh, that’s where Mark Hamill touched me once. This? I actually don’t remember, I was blackout drunk when I got it.

Her classmates had thought it was weird, and Cass knew her family didn’t understand, but making something up about a tattoo was better than answering questions about the scar it covered. There was nothing ominous about it, since she’d been born with the mark, so there was also nothing to explain why Cass hated it.

Once she was dressed, Cass went downstairs and into the bathroom. She reapplied her mascara and brushed her teeth, then ran a brush through her short hair, watching her nose ring wink in the weak light. Mom is going to murder you.

Cass hurriedly set the brush down with a clatter and turned away from the memory. Her stomach felt uneasy again. She told herself it was the See, or the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day. Back in her room, she spritzed some perfume over her body and grabbed her jacket. After casting a final glance in the wood-framed mirror over the dresser, Cass let out a breath, mussed her bangs, and went downstairs to meet Finch.

This time, nearly all of her roommates were there. Justin, Bradley, Tammy, Finch, Cal. But the boys’ game was paused on the TV, and the air in the room was thick with tension. Cass glanced between their grim expressions before finally landing on her brother.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know.

Finch was the one to answer. There was sadness in her voice, and a little fear, too.

“They found a body in the chapel,” she said.

House Shadowripper was on the outskirts of campus.

Finch walked on Cass’s right, and Bradley was on her left. Their voices floated through the night in an excited, never-ending stream. Candice and Tammy had opted to stay behind. Justin vanished before they’d even left the house, of course.

They passed other students on the path, and Cass tried to block out their conversations, too. It was the same one Finch and Bradley were having.

Everyone was talking about the body that had been found.

Cass didn’t want to think about it. She still didn’t want to think about what happened in class, either. But if she blocked out her thoughts, she heard what her roommates were talking about, and if she tried to ignore them, she started thinking about all those glowing threads on the music box and hearing Professor Horn’s voice snapping, Don’t touch it!

As a result, she’d picked up bits and pieces about the Chapel Victim, which was apparently what everyone was already calling her. The police had been called, and the entire area was cordoned off, but that hadn’t prevented information from slipping out. So far, they knew the victim had been a student here. A girl. The circumstances of her death were unknown, in any official capacity. They all knew, though—someone had to put her in that wall. And Cass could still hear the sound of her wet, broken sobs from the day of the earthquake. The day she’d finally broken free of her prison.

“Here we are!” Finch said, her voice a pitch higher than usual. Cass pulled her mind back to the present and glanced over at her roommate. Finch’s smile was overly big as she arched her head back and gazed upward. Cass looked up, too.

The house itself was a dark green, with a black-painted porch and purple-framed windows. The effect was meant to be charming, Cass thought, but the thick clusters of ivy had a menacing look. Their small band of misfits went up the porch steps, and Cass could already hear music coming from inside. This moment was as familiar to her as climbing out a window or making out with someone in the backseat of a car, and yet, Cass’s sense of unease only grew. It was all she could do not to turn around and go right back to House Wayside.

A girl sat beside the front door. She held a wad of cash in one hand and a cigarette in the other. There was a tattoo on her hand, a small shape on the skin between her thumb and index finger. She wore a cropped bolero-style jacket and thick eyeliner. Cass didn’t see a pin anywhere on the girl’s clothing. Her legs went on for miles, but somehow, she made sitting on a small stool look effortless. Someone stood in front of her, and the Waysiders stopped, listening to their interaction in silence.

“Not a chance, you child,” the Shadowripper said in a bored tone. The other girl burst into tears and ran down the porch steps, brushing past Cass and her roommates. The supermodel rolled her eyes. “Fucking Dreamwalkers. So emotional. You can go in.”

It took Cass a moment to realize she was talking to them. Apparently Finch had been taken by surprise, too, because her voice was unnaturally high again as she blurted, “We can?”

“Yeah. Sin told me he invited you. Wayside, right? You have that confused look. Like abandoned kittens.” The girl lost interest in them, her gaze shifting to the cluster of boys that were coming up the steps. “Get lost, Saunders.”

“This is discrimination!” one of the boys protested. His three friends made sounds and shouts of agreement, clustering on the stairs behind him.

The Shadowripper’s eyes narrowed. “No, it’s learning from past mistakes. You never did replace our coffee table from the last time, and we had to cover that giant hole in the wall with a poster of Tom Cruise. I hate Tom Cruise.”

Cass and her roommates went inside, and the argument on the porch cut short when Bradley closed the door. “I Melt With You” greeted them. The party was already in full swing, and there were red Solo cups everywhere. Cass smelled a burst of sweat, hairspray, and beer.

“This is totally tubular,” Finch whispered, looking around as if she’d never seen anything like it before. Cass watched her roommate, smiling a little. Her smile faded when a terrible squealing sound cut through the music. As Cass winced, a voice boomed through the house, nearly unintelligible because of the microphone feedback.

“Uh oh. Did I hear someone say the word ‘soul?’” Bradley asked.

Cass shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Finch shook her head. “They know better. The last time someone tried to have the soul debate—”

“Einstein’s theory,” someone announced. A collective groan traveled through the room.

“Piper, please, not tonight,” another voice said, the tone pleading.

They reached a wide doorway, where a huge crowd had gathered. A girl stood at the front of the room. Her arms shifted in exaggerated movements as she spoke, making her plastic bangles clack. “…all energy beings on the quantum level,” she said. “We’re made up of atoms and neutrons. We have an energy aura that surrounds our living bodies. This aura is created by the millions of electrical currents that are created through our bodies. Our brains create waves, a form of pure energy that is transmitting our thoughts, what we see, what we feel.”

“Take the microphone from her!” a male voice called.

Piper ignored her hecklers and stepped over a wire, tugging at it so the long cord was behind her. The microphone released another high shriek, and everyone in the room groaned or winced. Piper just sniffed and pushed her black-rimmed glasses to the bridge of her nose.

“When we die,” she continued, “the aura that constantly surrounds our bodies leaves. We lose six ounces on the instance of death. What is this six ounces, huh? There’s only one obvious answer. This energy, this aura, or you may even call it your soul, is carrying the information of what we used to be. If it can do this, then why couldn’t it also carry our intelligence? If it can carry our former intelligence of our previous life, then it should be able to interact with us intelligently. When we see this aura, we call it a revenant. But there’s—”

Someone else had finally grabbed the microphone. Piper tried to wrench it away. They were still struggling when Cass lost interest, turning away to explore the rest of the house. Bradley and Finch were so absorbed at the spectacle that neither of them seemed to notice as she left.

As she put the living room behind her, the music’s volume rose again. Cass felt it pound through her bones, and there was something comforting about the sensation. In the past, she’d liked being at the center of a party, and she thrived in the middle of a crowd, but she also had a habit of wandering. There were times it felt compulsive, as if Cass had no choice whenever the urge stole over her. She felt it now, and she gave in, hoping it would make her feel more like herself. Small images and details imprinted on her mind, pushing out everything else. She saw the bright end of a cigarette, tendrils of smoke rising into the air. A boy with a rattail spilled beer on her arm, its cold splash a welcome relief from the suffocating heat. Cass caught a glimpse of a girl’s bared breast as she passed a couple practically fucking in the hall.

The girl’s eyes widened at the sight of her. “Holy shit, are you the—”

Cass ignored her and kept going, shouldering past. Seconds later, she found herself entering the kitchen. It was huge, even bigger than the one at Wayside. Cass looked around curiously, noting the black and white tiles, the oak cabinets, the row of stools tucked beneath the counter. She caught herself wondering if Sinister ever sat on those stools. She also wondered about the other Shadowrippers that lived here.

There was no sign of them now, whoever they were. Of all the people in here, filling the space with their voices and laughter, there only seemed to be voyants from every other house. Their pins flashed and glinted. A butterfly, a tree, a rose. But no snakes.

Around them, the counters were covered in chip bags, family-sized sodas, liquor bottles, and dozens of cans. Cass scanned the mess and briefly considered getting a drink for herself. Then she remembered the last time she’d had a drink. That night had ended with her getting academic probation and a bus ticket back to New York. Definitely not, Cass decided with a wince. A moment later, she noticed a door on the other side of the room. She started toward it without hesitation. Eyes slid toward her, then slid away as she crossed the tiled floor. They’d probably talk about her the second she was gone—the weird girl who had answered the attic riddle, or the quiet Waysider who’d lost it in class—but Cass didn’t care. She slipped outside and shut the door behind her, the curtains clacking against the frame.

Outside, Cass moved onto the porch and breathed in the fresh air greedily, closing her eyes. For the hundredth time that day, she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Everyone at this school had been through something terrible, and none of them were losing their shit. Not publicly, at least. Why couldn’t she get back to the person she’d been before everything? Maybe Cass hadn’t been perfect, but she definitely hadn’t been such a basket case. Someone who couldn’t even leave her room or enjoy a party.

At least she could take a fucking shower again. That was something, right?

Oh, god. She was so pathetic.

Cass let herself wallow for another minute or two. She knew she had to go back in, though. Her roommates would wonder where she’d gone. Eventually Cass exhaled and squared her shoulders. You can do this. For Finch. For Cal.

She was about to turn around when movement drew her gaze. There was a figure entering the yard through an open gate. When Cass registered what she was seeing, she stiffened.

It was a revenant.

The girl wore a pleated dress, and her hair had been permed within an inch of its life. She could’ve been just another student, were it not for the fact that Cass could see her rib cage, all those white bones gleaming in the moonlight. Shards of glass were embedded in other parts of the girl’s body, blood still running down her skin, as if the injuries were fresh. She’d probably died in a car accident.

House Shadowripper was on the opposite side of campus from House Wayside, which meant it was closer to the road. Cass would bet money this revenant had been drawn here by all the noise. She felt her breathing quicken, her heart beginning to reverberate against the walls around it. She didn’t dare move and draw the dead girl’s attention to her. She could make a run for it, Cass thought shakily. But she was frozen in fear, and she couldn’t seem to move.

As she wavered, Cass felt an abrupt, hot rush of feeling shoot up her throat, practically choking her. God, she hated them. She hated them. Her hands curled into fists, and she trembled with helpless fury.

Completely oblivious to Cass and the darkness emanating from her, the revenant drifted toward one of the windows and peered inside, pressing her fingers delicately against the glass. She stood on tiptoe and watched the partyers with a curious, forlorn expression. Cass willed herself to take advantage of the revenant’s distraction, but even now, she couldn’t bring herself to budge.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there when Cass heard the door hinges squeak, then footsteps on the grass.

“She’s from one of the houses nearby,” someone said.

Cass’s heart did another strange thing at the sound of Sinister Gray’s voice.

A moment later, he stopped beside her, and she glanced up at him. He looked good, Cass observed reluctantly. Tonight there was no sign of the duster jacket, and instead he wore an oversized blazer and ripped jeans. She quickly refocused on the revenant, worried about taking her eyes off it, even for a few seconds. In her peripheral vision, Cass saw that Sinister’s face stayed turned toward her.

“You’re afraid of them,” he said. He sounded surprised.

She made a low, bitter sound. “You aren’t?”

Sinister reached up and did something with his hearing aid. Cass caught herself wanting to ask about it, and whether his NDE had something to do with it. But even before she’d come to Else Bellows, Cass knew how deeply personal a question like that was. Since then she’d learned that it was an unspoken rule—you only talked about your NDE if you wanted to, and no one would prod or ask. So she stayed silent and waited for Sinister to answer.

“Not really,” he said, raising his hands to sign while he spoke. “Once in a while, on a Haunt, they’ve caught me off guard, and I remember how powerful they are. But I’m not afraid of them.”

“How?” was all Cass said. Her tone was rife with disbelief, and she felt pleading in her eyes as she stared at Sinister. It took her by surprise, but she didn’t try to hide it. Cass wasn’t even sure she could if she wanted to.

It must’ve taken Sinister by surprise, too. He paused, and he searched her expression. A line appeared between his brows. Cass couldn’t define the way he was looking at her. Concern? Disappointment? Normally she would’ve had the urge to shift or fidget, or blurt something out and run. But her mind filled with the image of that empty, shadowed chapel, and she saw Sinister’s silhouette sitting nearby, the two of them sharing that quiet room together. Strangers, yet not, because they’d both gone there for a reason. Not for the first time, Cass wondered what had brought Sinister to the chapel that night.

At last he said, “Come with me.”

Startling herself again, Cass nodded without hesitation. Sinister silently led her to a side gate and held it open, waiting for Cass to walk through before he pulled it shut with a soft, muffled click. Once they were outside, Sinister fell into step beside her, and the two of them started down the sidewalk. The street was lined with elegant houses, most of them darkened and silent. It was late, a time when only college students and lost souls were still awake. Overhead, where there should have been a moon and stars, there was an endless expanse of darkness. The air stirred with a cool breeze and the distant wail of sirens.

Cass was about to ask where they were going, exactly, when Sinister stopped. She shot him a questioning look, but his attention was elsewhere. Cass studied Sinister’s elegant profile for a moment, then followed his gaze.

A man sat on a bench. Cass knew he was what Sinister must’ve brought her to see, since there was no one else in sight. He had white hair and wore a brown suit. He was holding a bouquet of daisies, and he stared straight ahead, as if he were lost in thought. There was nothing remarkable about him, really. Nothing to betray that he was no longer part of their world. But in an instant, Cass knew. It was just a feeling in her gut, a certainty. She was looking at another revenant. Why had Sinister brought her here?

The Shadowripper spoke quietly. The night was so still that Cass felt his voice beneath her skin. “His name is Alfred Pugh,” Sinister said. “When I first saw him, there was something about him. I couldn’t let it go. So I found out who he was, and how he died. I found out how he lived, too.”

Cass raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that the opposite of what we’re supposed to do?”

One side of his mouth tipped up, and after a moment, Sinister peered down at her. “Being a voyant isn’t as black and white as the school makes it seem.”

Cass didn’t look away, and neither did he. Sinister’s gaze was steady. Cass felt that flutter again. To hide it, she smiled back and said, “All right, I’ll bite. What did you learn about Alfred Pugh?”

Finally breaking their stare, Sinister refocused on the old man and shrugged. “He was a simple man. He worked at a printing press for thirty years. He was married to a woman named Rose, who was a schoolteacher. They never had children of their own, but in all the pictures I could find of him, he looks peaceful. They lived in a small house down the street from here. And every night, he waited for his wife at the bus stop so he could walk her home.”

Cass was silent. She watched as Alfred pushed himself up from the bench, every movement shaky, as if he were always a moment away from falling. As if he truly believed he was an old man, with all the aches and brittle bones that came from being alive.

Slowly, he began walking down the sidewalk, away from them, still clutching the flowers in his frail hand. His shoulders were slumped. His wife hadn’t come. She would never come again, Cass thought. But the old man didn’t know that, and he’d show up tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. The street would change, along with everything else, but Alfred Pugh never would.

“They’re not monsters,” Sinister murmured. He was watching Alfred, too. “They’re people.”

Unbidden, Cass thought of the boy on the bridge. She saw a flash of his hands, so pale in the moonlight as they reached for her. She suppressed a shudder and pretended not to feel Sinister’s gaze. “People are the most terrifying of all,” Cass said softly.

Alfred was gone now. Not because he’d reached the end of the street or turned a corner, but because he’d faded away completely. If the street had been hushed before, it now felt like Cass and Sinister were the last two people in the city. Neither of them moved. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, and for a brief moment, they became those strangers in the chapel again. Seeking solitude together, sharing their pain and uncertainty. For the first time since that disastrous class, the storm inside Cass abated. She released a long, soundless breath, and the tightness in her chest eased.

“We better get back,” Sinister said eventually. “People are going to wonder if I ditched my own party.”

Cass turned away from the empty road, smiling faintly with amusement. “No offense, but by the looks of things when we left, no one is going to notice.”

Sinister inclined his dark head and contemplated this. “I think I’m insulted,” he decided.

“Oh, yeah?” Cass arched a brow at him. “Careful. You’re about to ruin your persona of being the cool guy who doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”

Sinister smiled again. “Noted. We definitely can’t have that.”

They turned in the direction of House Shadowripper, and their conversation drifted to school. Sinister told Cass which teachers to avoid, if she could, or how to pass certain classes. Apparently Professor Horn pulled all his test answers from the footnotes of the textbook, and Professor Harkens offered extra credit in the form of volunteer work, which Cass had completely missed in the syllabus. Once they reached the backyard, Sinister opened the gate for her again, and Cass caught his scent as she brushed past. She felt that heat in her lower stomach, only this time, it moved even lower. She tried to ignore it as they walked up the porch steps together, each one creaking beneath their weight.

Near the door, Cass faced Sinister and tipped her head back. She liked how tall he was, she thought. She liked that he was the sort of person who saw an old man with flowers and wanted to know his story. “Thank you for showing that to me,” she said.

He put his hands in his pockets. Cass had never seen him do that, since he signed every time he spoke. But now he just nodded, seemingly unaware as a dark lock of hair fell into his eye. Silence wrapped around them. Sinister’s gaze lowered, his lips slightly pressed together, as if he were thinking about something. His attention lingered near her collarbone. He’d noticed her tattoo, Cass thought. She waited for Sinister to ask about it like everyone else did. Instead, he lifted his head and told her, “I think you’re going to be an incredible voyant, Cass. Maybe the best one this place has seen in a long time.”

Warmth spread through her. Cass knew there were a hundred reasons why it would be a bad idea to get involved with him, but right now, she couldn’t bring herself to care about any of them. Her gaze dropped to his lips, and she wondered what Sinister Gray tasted like.

She was still watching those lips when Sinister said, “I’m with Webster.”

His words registered a beat later, and Cass’s stomach dropped. Now a rush of embarrassment flooded her. Past the hot, frantic urge gripping her to run, Cass realized the name sounded familiar. Within seconds, she remembered where she’d heard it. “Oh. The girl I met at the door?”

“Yeah.” Sinister paused, his expression unreadable. “If you ever need someone to talk to—”

“You’ll be the first person I come to, pinkie promise,” Cass cut in. To her dismay, she felt a telltale prickle in her eyes. “Thanks for the invite tonight. It meant a lot to my roommates.”

She shot him a tight smile before she swung away. She knew she was going to cry, and she didn’t want anyone to see, especially not Sinister. But Cass couldn’t leave, not without telling Finch. She had a feeling her roommate would worry if she just vanished, and Cass wasn’t a total asshole. Not all the time, at least.

But there was no sign of her. Cass blinked rapidly as she made her way through the party again, searching each face she passed for either of her roommates. Despite the distance she’d put between her and Sinister, Cass couldn’t seem to regain her composure. She wasn’t sure why, since it wasn’t like she’d never been rejected before, and it hadn’t been personal on Sinister’s part. None of that seemed to matter, though. Something within her had crumbled like that wall inside the chapel, and she needed to put the stones back to contain all the emotions spilling out like trapped spirits.

Thankfully, nearly everyone Cass saw was drunk, and fewer people noticed her this time. As their faces began to blur, she went upstairs, seeking shadows and quiet, and also to check the bedrooms. Cass highly doubted she’d find Bradley or Finch in any of them, but stranger things had happened. Especially when alcohol was involved.

When Cass reached the second floor, she discovered at least six doors within sight. Almost all of them were tightly shut, and Cass began to second guess her plan, since she really didn’t want to walk in on any of her classmates. One of the doors was cracked open, though, and the room beyond it was dark. As Cass approached, the only sounds she heard were the ones coming from downstairs. She pushed the door open, hoping Finch had come up here to be alone. The hinges creaked.

The people on the bed sprang apart, making the light fall over their faces. Cass’s gaze darted between them, her stomach dropping with recognition. It was Victoria Chen and Sinister’s girlfriend, Webster, who was cursing under her breath and starting to climb off the bed, one hand extended toward Cass. “Shit, wait, just let us—” she started.

Cass stepped back and closed the door, then ran for the stairs. She didn’t want to deal with this. Didn’t want to entangle herself in other people’s drama. She had enough of her own.

Webster called her name, but Cass was already at the bottom of the stairs. She dove into the throng of partiers and didn’t look back. There were too many people between her and the way they’d come in, so she aimed for the back of the house again. Laughter and shouts filled her ears as she fought her way down the hall and through the kitchen. The bottoms of her shoes started sticking to the floor.

“Great,” Cass muttered under her breath. For the second time that night, she yanked the door open and stepped outside.

It took her brain a beat to comprehend that she wasn’t outside, though. Cass drew up short, and she frowned. Her eyebrows drew together. She wasn’t in the yard. There were no steps or stars. She was… in a closet. Cass shook her head and turned around, finding the door tightly shut. What was happening? Had she hit her head?

Just as Cass reached for the knob, a sound reached her. Cass froze again. She could hear breathing somewhere in the dark.

But there was no one else in here. There couldn’t be—the closet was the size of Cass, with barely enough room for her to move. Blood roared in Cass’s ears as realization screamed through her.

She was locked in with a ghost.