Chapter 10 #2
Laz Kislev is part of my dad’s group of long-time guy friends, which includes Wren’s dad Bane, Damiano’s father Carmine, Lucia’s dad Nico, and Galina’s father Roman.
The rest of them all found their great loves in their twenties, but Laz stayed Mr. Single Bachelor until just a few years ago, when he abruptly married the oil heiress Victoria Donahue, whose son from her first marriage, Bryce, is Wren’s shithead ex.
“Why is Laz coming up here?” I frown.
Mom sighs. “It’s….well…” She hesitates. “I would say sad, but I don’t think anyone including Laz is all that sad about it. He and Victoria are divorcing.”
My brows arch. “Oh?”
Dad nods. “Yeah, and about fucking time,” he grunts.
“Anyway, he’s got a place up in Hawthorne Hollow that he's rented out for years. He’s going to take a break from the city and stay up there away from all the bullshit for a while until the divorce blows over.
” Dad shrugs. “Like I said, I don’t hate the idea of him being up there to keep an eye on you. ”
My nose wrinkles. “I don’t need anyone keeping an eye on me.”
Pretty sure I already have someone doing that.
I can’t prove it, but ever since that insane night at the Para Bellum party, I’ve felt…eyes on me.
Constantly.
A shadow following my footsteps.
A flicker of a ghost in my peripheral vision when I turn around.
And I’m pretty sure I know exactly who it is.
“Your father’s just kidding,” Mom laughs.
Dad’s dark brow pinches. “I’m only kidding until you get a boyfriend, at which point I’ll be posting Laz up in your fucking closet to keep an eye on you.”
Mom laughs and shakes her head. “You’re insane, you know that?”
He turns to wink at her. “Insanely in love with you, princess? Yes.”
I groan when they start to kiss.
Yep, nauseatingly cute.
After I finish saying goodbye to my family, I head over to Montclair Gymnasium. I’ve never been much of a gym bunny, but last semester, I started using some of the machines to stretch before I went running. From there, I realized that I really liked the free weights.
I put in forty-five minutes with the weights, do some stretching, then go for a run around the campus perimeter.
It’s still light out, so I put headphones in as I head along the gorgeous cliffside path that winds past The Spire and the ruins of Fort Hawthorne before circling back to Montclair Gymnasium, since they have a divine steam room and sauna.
Twenty sweaty minutes after that, I hit the gymnasium showers to rinse off.
I’ve wrapped a towel around myself and am padding back over to my locker when a scream lodges in my throat.
Icy prickles dance across my body and a sharp chill drags up my spine as I gape at the mirror above the row of locker room sinks.
Written across it in what looks like cherry-red lipstick is a message:
LEAVE THE DEAD WHERE THEY LIE.
What the fuck.
I towel off and get dressed in a blur, my gaze darting repeatedly to the words written on the mirror. I mean, it could just be some weird college prank, or maybe related to the Initiation Trials, even though those aren’t for a few months.
But still.
What?
I glance at the message once more before I rush out the door, mention it to the front desk, then bolt across campus to the comfort of Morvaine Manor.
I’ve barely closed my bedroom door behind me when there’s a banging knock on it that almost makes me scream again. I open the door, trying to calm my racing pulse.
“Damiano?”
He pushes past me before I can say another word.
“Uh, hi? Hello?”
My not-cousin ignores me as he comes to a stop in the middle of my room, glancing all around.
“What’s going on, Dame?”
He draws in a slow breath and turns to face me. It’s only then that I see the grim look on his face.
“Nothing amiss in here?”
I frown. “N…no? I mean, I just walked in, but…” I look around and shrug. “I think it’s all good?” My face shadows. “Why, what’s—”
“Someone ransacked my room,” he growls. “And they left me this.”
He hands me a page torn from what looks like yesterday’s print edition of the Hawthorne Herald.
My heart drops through the floor.
Written in lipstick are the words “STEALING CRIMINAL EVIDENCE IS A NO-NO…”
It’s the same cherry-red.
Same handwriting.
Dread pools in my core as I swallow heavily, trying not to shake.
“Someone knows about those panties I yoinked for you,” Damiano growls. “Have you said anything to anybody?”
I quickly shake my head. “No! Honestly, no one.”
It's true. I didn’t even tell my friends, because that would prompt questions I’m not sure I’ll ever be okay answering.
He nods. “Okay, I believe you.” He frowns and glances around my room again. “If they didn’t do shit to you, that’s good. I'm okay being on the radar of whoever this is, but I don’t want you involved.” His jaw tightens. “Anything weird happen to you today?”
Images of the locker room mirror flicker through my head, making me shiver.
“No,” I say quickly. “Nothing.”
Damiano insists on checking in my closet, under my bed, behind my dresser and in the shared bathroom. Then he inspects Wren’s room. She asks him if he’s looking for ghosts.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he says. I laugh, but out of nerves, not humor.
After Damiano leaves, my phone dings with a text from the gymnasium management.
KU - Montclair Gymnasium Front Desk
Hello Ms. De Luca. Did you take a photo of the vandalism you saw in the women’s locker room earlier today? Our staff was unable to find anything when we went to clean it up. Thank you! - Rachel
My stomach knots as I re-read the message.
How the hell could they miss it? I immediately told the front desk after I ran out of the locker room and watched the girl get up from the desk and walk back in their direction.
…Did someone really wipe it off in a matter of seconds?
Maybe it wasn't there in the first place.
Maybe you're seeing things.
I swallow.
…Maybe things are seeing you.
Haunting me. Hunting me. Cursing me.
I’m not superstitious. But later, as I’m sinking into my pillow and pulling the blankets up to my chin, an uncomfortable thought slides into my head.
Am I being haunted?
I had Damiano steal a dead girl’s panties, and used them to try to frame my abuser for murder.
Yes, sometimes bad things must be done to stop bad people.
But maybe doing those bad things comes at a price.
And maybe that price is an angry, lost ghost…