Chapter 25
Professor Golden looks surprised to see Mallory at her door for office hours. Possibly because it’s the first time she’s showed up all semester—or because she’s not alone.
“Ms. Webb.” Golden lays her glasses on her desk before glancing toward Saskia. “Ms. Garin. Usually, I meet with one student at a time—”
“It’s not about class,” Mallory says. “It’s, um, personal.”
Golden nods, gesturing to the leather chairs across from her. “Very well.”
Mallory takes a seat, looking around Golden’s small office.
The walls are covered in frames—Golden’s BA from Shore, her MFA from Boston Conservatory, various stage production pictures—and her rectangular desk is adorned with elegant pieces of décor.
An antique globe. A paperweight made of quartz.
A gold plaque reading Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow.
“So,” Golden says. “What did you want to talk about?”
Mallory looks toward Saskia, who offers a reassuring nod.
“My mother,” Mallory says. “Did you…know her?”
Golden blinks, and for a moment, Mallory panics that she was wrong. But then her professor’s expression settles into a neutral one.
“Yes. Sorry, I thought you knew when you requested me as your advisor.” She clasps her hands. “I was very sad to hear what happened to her all those years ago.”
Mallory frowns. “Requested you? I didn’t—I didn’t make any requests.”
Now it’s Golden’s turn to frown. “Perhaps I’m remembering incorrectly. Regardless, your mother and I were roommates at Shore. And very good friends—until our fourth year, that is.”
The floor seems to dip beneath her feet. Mallory scrambles to process how close she is to a major revelation, how she’s sitting with someone who was a part of her mother’s life. How she’s been here this entire time.
Mallory leans forward. “Why? What happened?”
“I don’t want to speak any ill toward Jasmine,” Golden says. “She was a good person.”
“I won’t be offended,” Mallory promises. “I’m trying to learn more about her. Anything you can tell me—good or bad—can only help. Please.”
Golden studies them. “That year,” she says, “Jasmine was…preoccupied with something. She spent a lot of time at the library. She was sick a lot, too. Headaches, bouts of dizziness, complaining about smells no one else noticed. The health center referred her to a neurologist, but Jasmine wouldn’t go.
She was convinced they’d call her crazy, like everyone else did. ”
“She wasn’t crazy,” Saskia pipes in, and Golden raises her eyebrows. “Instead of acting like a woman is nuts, maybe people should try just believing her.”
“I don’t disagree,” Golden says. “But as time went on, it became harder and harder to reach Jasmine.”
“Did she ever talk about what she was researching?” Mallory asks. “At the library?”
Golden nods. “A little. She was very interested in certain legends about Shore’s campus, got hooked on the ghost stories our RA told us that year.”
“From when Shore was a sanitarium?”
“That’s right.” Golden leans back, her chair creaking. “Jasmine wholly bought into it, but she always believed in that sort of thing—superstition, the afterlife, witchcraft. And when she realized her friends didn’t, she found new ones who did.”
At that, Mallory’s skin prickles.
“New friends?” Saskia asks.
“Well,” Golden says, tipping her head, “I suppose just one friend.”
Mallory’s heart pounds. “Do you remember anything about this friend?”
Golden skews her mouth to the side. “You know,” she says carefully, “sometimes, the past is best left in the past.”
Mallory bristles at her words. They remind her of what Aunt Penelope always said, the arguments they had leading up to Mallory’s acceptance to Shore.
She’s tired of trying to explain to people that she’s not some fragile girl who will shatter beneath the weight of the truth. Her strength has grown teeth.
“She was my mother,” Mallory finally says. “I need to know. No matter how it feels.”
Golden holds her stare another moment before finally capitulating.
“Alright. Jasmine began spending time with a girl who lived about an hour away from Shore. She came by campus a few times, gave the rest of us an…unsettling feeling. It’s hard to explain, but there was something off about her.
Nothing nefarious or aggressive, more…otherworldly. ”
“Otherworldly?” Mallory narrows her eyes. “You said a second ago that my mom believed in witchcraft. Are you saying…” She swallows. “Are you saying this new friend was a witch?”
Golden tilts her head. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.
I don’t really believe in that sort of thing.
” Her mouth flattens in a line. “But Jasmine told me once, in confidence, that this new friend did identify as a witch. Her whole family did. Now, whether that was true, I can’t say. But Jasmine sure seemed to think so.”
Mallory leans forward. “You said this friend lived an hour away? Where? In which direction?”
“East,” Golden answers, and Mallory’s chest clenches. “She lived off the coast of Narragansett Bay.”
Saskia darts her foot against Mallory’s, hard. “Like, on one of the islands?”
Golden nods, and Mallory’s heartbeat skyrockets. “Which one? Prudence?”
“Jasmine never told me,” Golden says, “but I listened to her on the phone once. If I heard correctly, she said her friend lived on Mercy Island.”
“Mercy?” Mallory echoes. “No one lives on that island.”
“Apparently Jasmine’s friend did.”
“Do you remember her friend’s name?” Mallory asks, breath quickening.
At that, Golden purses her lips again. “Ms. Webb, I don’t think I’m in the position to—”
“Please,” Saskia jumps in. “We need to find her.”
“It’s important,” Mallory adds. “Please, Professor Golden. What was her name?”
Golden stares again, and Mallory holds her breath. Feeling like she’s standing on another invisible precipice, hovering between desperation and an answer that will slide into place.
But when Golden speaks, it’s not the revelation she expects.
Instead, it tips Mallory’s world on its side.
“Her name,” Golden says, “was Penelope Vass.”