CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I WAS STILL a sniveling mess when Aveda returned. I had at least managed to downgrade from sobs to pathetic little sniffles, and I’d kicked off my boots and wriggled myself under a blanket so I was no longer totally exposed to the elements.

“Evie?” she said softly, her brow furrowing as she took in my crumpled form. “Hold on . . .”

I turned over on my side, facing the wall. I heard her rustling around, opening our mini fridge, the scrape of a knife against something . . .

And then a pickle slathered with peanut butter and sprinkled with furikake was shoved under my nose.

“Here—eat,” she ordered, her voice taking on that imperious Aveda Jupiter cast. “And then tell me what’s wrong.”

I took the pickle from her as she settled in next to me and took a bite, trying to focus on the soothing crunch, the mix of flavors, tangy sour and creamy sweet and just a little salt exploding on my tongue. Aveda sat there silently until I’d finished the whole thing.

“So I guess your romantic reunion with Nate ended up being totally unsexy,” she said, her tone softening. “I expected to see at least one scrunchie on that door—instead there are none. Zero scrunchies, Evie!”

“You’re only supposed to use one,” I whispered, my voice snuffly. “One says, ‘I’m doing sex, don’t come in here.’ You don’t just keep adding scrunchies to show how much sex you’re having.”

“Oh.” Aveda sounded puzzled. “Well. That’s how it should be, though.”

“A whole new scrunchie rating system for dorm sexytimes—we should have folks get right on that,” I said, trying for a laugh. It came out bitter and vaguely snorty.

“Turn over and look at me,” Aveda said, jiggling my shoulder. “And let me know if I have to murder Nate or what.”

I flopped to my other side, pulling the blanket tightly around me. Aveda took in the remnants of my sexy superheroine costume—the sad little ribbons sliding down my shoulders, the tiara that was now tangled in my hair—and cocked an eyebrow.

“He didn’t like the costume?”

“No, he did.” I shoved down a sob. “He just . . . I . . . well, I’m actually not totally sure what happened. He seems to be jealous of Richard. And then he said we needed some time apart and—”

“Whoa.” Aveda held up a hand. “How can he be jealous of Richard?”

“I don’t know,” I said, the sob rising in my throat again. “I just . . .” The sob came out fully, and I swiped at my eyes, unable to hold back tears.

Aveda stroked my hair while I cried, gently smoothing out tangles and keeping the same, rhythmic motion. She removed my sad tiara and set it on the nightstand.

“I think you need extra support right now,” she declared, pulling out her phone and tapping on the screen. “Let’s get Lucy on the line.”

“What? Annie, no, don’t bother her, she’s on her honeymoon—”

“Hello, loves!” Lucy interrupted me, her face filling the screen. She looked sun-kissed, relaxed. Her golden brown hair was tousled, the blonde bits more vibrant than usual. And she had a bright purple flower tucked behind her ear.

“Oh, no,” I said, burrowing under my blanket. “Look what a good time she’s having, look at . . .” I hiccupped, tears filling my eyes.

“Evie?” Lucy leaned in, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“Marital woes,” Aveda said. “They’ve been communicating badly—ow!” She glared at me. “Did you just smack my arm?!”

“I said we shouldn’t bother her!” I hissed.

“Anyway,” Aveda said, rolling her eyes and scooting farther away from me on the bed, “the latest is that Nate’s being weird because he’s jealous of Richard for some unfathomable reason. Will you please tell her everything will be okay? You have the ability to sound much more reassuring than I do.”

“Ah.” Lucy gave me a gentle smile. “Whatever’s happening, darling, I’m sure you and Nate will work it out. Just remember: sometimes when someone gets mad about something seemingly silly, it’s really about something else underneath. Something that person might not even be aware of yet.”

“Yes!” Aveda said, jabbing her finger at the screen. “That’s exactly right.”

“Great,” I said, my voice raw, hoarse. “So there’s something else Nate’s probably mad at me for—something I don’t even know about. Worst mystery ever.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Lucy said. She paused, pursing her lips, as if carefully considering her words. “The two of you didn’t date that much before you got together, yes?” she said slowly. “You didn’t really get to have that typical twentysomething sowing of wild oats experience—and neither did he. And then you both fell completely in love with the first person either of you were serious about. Which is very lucky.” She gave me a soft smile. “But that also means . . . well, perhaps there are love-related complications coming up you haven’t experienced before, enhanced by the recent big changes in your lives.”

“Right,” Aveda said, nodding vigorously. “Like, maybe Nate’s having petty jealousy over Richard simply because he’s never loved anyone the way he loves you. So when that feeling comes up, he doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s irrational, and he is very rational—but he can’t just stop feeling that way, he can’t science his way out of it. So it completely upsets his equilibrium.”

“Very astute!” Lucy said, giving her an approving grin. “Aw, you and Nate are like babies yourselves, in a way! You both had to be grown-ups at an age where most people are anything but. So now you get to deal with all of those little puppy feelings and high drama most of us experience much earlier.”

“It really is like we’re all in college,” Aveda said. “Nate, too.”

“I . . . that kinda makes sense,” I admitted, toying with the silky edge of my blanket. “But what do I do about it?”

“That’s something you have to figure out, love,” Lucy said with an elegant shrug. “But you will, I’m sure of it.”

“Thanks, Luce,” I said, still snuffling. “Go back to your honeymoon, okay?”

“Ta, darlings,” she said, blowing us a kiss. “Keep me updated.”

Then she winked out of sight.

“I have a thought,” Aveda said, studying me intently. “Let’s get your mind off the Nate problem. Perhaps if you’re thinking of something else, the solution will become clear.” She gave me a hopeful smile. “For instance, I could show you what I found in that creepy book while you were initiating an unsuccessful pregnant lady seduction.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel better.” I sat up more fully, pulling the blanket tightly around me. She grabbed the big red book we’d taken from the Quiet Room off the nightstand and flipped it open.

“Now,” Aveda said, her brow crinkling as she switched to business mode. “The section right before the torn-out pages is particularly interesting.” She opened the book to the part where the pages had been ripped out, then flipped back. “Give it a read.”

I leaned in obligingly, squinting so I could make out the cramped, spidery writing.

The girl who became a ghost didn’t start out that way—one supposes they never do.

“Well, yeah,” I murmured to myself. “Most of us don’t start out dead.”

“There is some rather florid writing on display,” Aveda said. “Nobody can match angsty twentysomethings when it comes to drama.”

I smiled slightly as I refocused on the page.

Legend has it that she was quite the artisan, creating new concoctions for her loved ones out of the most disparate of ingredients—sprigs of mint coupled with fresh strawberries. Orange peel swirling in the depths of the darkest bourbon.

“Those ingredients don’t seem super ‘disparate’ to me,” I said. “They actually sound pretty complementary, no?”

“Again with the drama,” Aveda said, shaking her head. “If I was this writer’s teacher, I would definitely have some feedback about purple prose and needlessly enhancing your writing to make a point.”

This was the gift of her love. But then, one day, all of that changed . . .

“Oh, shit,” I hissed. “Now things are getting good.”

Here are some of the words I swear I overheard her say as she brewed her concoctions: “I will get her to tell the truth, I know she feels the same way. Maybe a new cocktail will make her feel inclined to do so? I’ve been experimenting with bitters lately . . . and bitter is how I’m going to feel if she doesn’t confess . . .”

I turned the page—and realized I’d reached the section of torn-out pages, just as I had earlier that night. Someone didn’t want us to read whatever came next.

“Dammit!” I exclaimed, flipping through the pages again, just to make sure.

“I know!” Aveda shrieked, smacking the book with the palm of her hand. “What a cliffhanger, right? But on the plus side, this annoying person with the penchant for making her friends ‘artisanal’ but actually kind of pedestrian sounding drinks—”

“—sounds like our eventual ghost bartender,” I finished.

“Exactly!” Aveda crowed. “And it can’t be a coincidence that the rest of her story’s been torn out just as she shows up at a dorm party.”

“We don’t know when it was torn out, though.” I ran my fingertips idly over the jagged spots where the pages had been ripped. “No one we’ve talked to seems to know anything about a ghost bartender—and we haven’t been able to find anything about her in the stories about Morgan’s ghostly lore. Maybe this book has been this way for years.”

“True.” Aveda stared into space, thinking hard. “We need to find someone who knows her story. Like, her full story. What happened to her after she peeled her last orange?”

“And how does this connect to Pippa’s disappearance?” I mused. “Because I’m thinking it must—do we have anything else on the bracelet yet? Scott said they were doing further analyses, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Aveda said. “That’s really a Nate thing, which . . . you know what, why don’t I just ask Scott to ask Nate? That seems better for everyone right now. Healthier.”

“Our household’s definition of ‘healthier’ has some issues,” I muttered.

My phone buzzed, and I reached over to grab it, still turning this latest clue over in my mind.

“Maybe that’s Nate texting you, realizing the error of his ways,” Aveda said, nudging me. “And now you can ask him directly about those analyses!”

A slight flutter of hope bloomed in my chest—and was instantly replaced by dread. What could Nate and I talk about that wouldn’t lead us down the same path, to misunderstanding and frustration and hurt? Even asking about something purely scientific seemed fraught.

I glanced down at the screen, almost afraid to look. But it wasn’t Nate.

“Oh, Tess!” I cried out, showing Aveda the screen. “They finally got back to me. Says they’re fine, they haven’t seen Pippa, and . . .” I held the screen closer to my face, reading each word very carefully. “They can get us into the next ghost-hunting society meeting. Well, sort of.”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?” Aveda said, her eyes narrowing. She leaned over my shoulder, trying to read the screen.

“They say we have to act like we got a mysterious, anonymous invitation,” I said. “We can’t let on that we know Tess. And we have to bring Shelby, since she had the encounter the society’s dying to hear about.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Aveda said, straightening her spine and tightening her ponytail. “And did they give us a place and time?”

“Yup,” I said, tapping the screen. “Tomorrow night . . . oh, tomorrow’s almost here already. Tonight’s been pretty action-packed.” I glanced out the window. It was pitch black outside, creeping into the early morning hours, the wind whistling through the air and rattling against the glass.

“Then let’s get some sleep,” Aveda said. “Do you want another pickle?”

“Yes!” I said eagerly, my mouth watering at the thought of more salty-sweet goodness. I threw the blanket aside and leapt out of bed—and my flimsy outfit finally gave out entirely, one of the straps snapping from the sheer force of movement. One broken strap was all it took—the whole mess of lace and ribbons collapsed, the costume crumpling around my waist.

“Oops,” I said. “Sorry. I’m totally flashing you.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Aveda said, waving a hand. “But you might want to put on some less sexy pajamas—I know you and Nate are in a fight, but he’ll kill me if you catch pneumonia.”

“On it,” I said, heading for the closet. “Unsexy pajamas have never sounded better.”

---

“I told you this was gonna be cold.” I gave Aveda a faux-admonishing look. It was the following evening, and we were waiting in the courtyard by Morgan Hall again—and I was studiously avoiding looking at the library build site, which still creeped me out. The temperature had plummeted as soon as dusk fell, and once again, Aveda’s cool-but-insubstantial leather jacket wasn’t really protecting her from the elements.

“I have to look like I fit in,” Aveda protested, hugging herself and dancing around to keep warm. “I need to be hip, Evie—and a big, puffy jacket is not hip. No college kids are wearing that.”

“Hey, guys.” Shelby strolled up just then, wearing . . . a big, puffy jacket.

“Thank you for coming,” I said, giving her a gentle smile. “I’m sorry there’s still no word on Pippa. How are you holding up?”

“Not great, honestly.” Shelby’s expression darkened. “I was hoping this would take my mind off it. I’ve never been to a top secret ghost-hunting society meeting.” She gazed at Morgan Hall, her eyes wandering to the one window at the very top that was lit up like a beacon—the rest were completely dark.

I squared my shoulders, homing in on that beacon. “Let’s do this. Remember, whatever we can find out about our little bartender friend—whatever’s missing from this book . . .” I brandished the tome from the Quiet Room, which I’d brought with me. I’d filled Shelby in on what we thought we’d learned. I was hoping showing these supposed ghost hunters that we were pretty big into research would help our case. “It might help us find Pippa.”

We trooped into the foyer of Morgan Hall. During the day, it was bright and airy, all gleaming light wood and sparkling white paint and bright “Morgan blue” accents. Those arched windows offered glorious views of the courtyard and the bell tower. You could fantasize you were the castle’s princess, surveying her kingdom.

But nighttime was a different story. Wind slammed against the glass, making disconcerting rattling sounds. And if you tried to peer out at the courtyard, all you saw was inky darkness that looked like it was about to swallow the building whole. Even the library build site wasn’t visible from here. Though just knowing it existed still made me shiver.

“It’s all the way at the top—that one lit-up window,” I said. “Apparently that’s the attic of Morgan Hall. Which is intriguing, because I didn’t even know that room existed.”

“How very on brand for ghost hunters,” Aveda said. “Choose the creepiest possible location. But if this is supposed to be a secret ghost-hunting society, why don’t they meet somewhere less obvious? They should get together at a McDonald’s or something.”

“You can give them that feedback once we’re in,” I said. “Come on.”

We filed up the staircase in silence—the Morgan Hall staircase was more solidly built than the one in Mara Dash, and sported an ornate brass banister. Still, the sounds of our feet ascending to the top cut through the darkness in the most disconcerting way. There were, of course, no other lights on. It felt like that darkness from outside was spilling in now, slithering through every corner of Morgan Hall and enveloping it in impenetrable shadows. I held tightly to the cold metal of the banister and tried to keep my eyes trained forward—but was occasionally distracted by all the Halloween décor that had just been put up. Paper ghosts, rubber bats, and cotton ball cobwebs decorated our path, and a life-size plastic skeleton greeted us when we reached the top of the staircase. All of this created an odd effect—the decorations looked cute, almost quaint. A macabre contrast to the actually haunted-seeming environs of Morgan Hall at night.

Just beyond the skeleton was a long hallway with three doors. A faint dusting of light spilled from under the door in the middle.

“Okay,” Aveda whispered to me. “You know what to do, right?”

“Yes—or at least I know what Tess told me,” I whispered back. “Let’s see if it works. And remember: we have to act like we don’t know Tess. We can’t reveal that they sent us the invite. We have to blend in.”

We approached the middle door in silence, and even though I supposedly knew what was on the other side of it, I felt my heart beat faster, shards of tension slivering their way through my blood. The entire haunted vibe of this place was definitely getting under my skin. The plastic skeleton stared at me, ratcheting up the anticipation.

Once we were all standing outside the door, I raised my hand and knocked once, twice, three times. Per Tess’s very detailed instructions, I made my knocks firm and rapid. Authoritative.

Silence fell again and I leaned in, trying to hear what was happening behind the door. I could barely make out the faintest of rustlings—or maybe I was imagining it, maybe the wind against the windows was still looping through my brain.

“Well,” Aveda said, sounding trepidatious but like she was trying to cover it with her usual bravado, “this seems very—”

Creeeeeaaaaaaaak

The door swung open a crack, and a statuesque white woman peered out at us. She was striking—tall and weedy, with bright green eyes and a voluminous mane of hair dyed a rainbow of colors.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice had a warm, raspy quality to it. “What have we here? Who is this tremendous trio of warriors?”

“I’m Eliza Takahashi,” I said, mentally pulling up the script I’d crafted with some help from Tess. “This is Angelica Chin and Shelby Tran. We received an invitation from your society. We’re aficionados of all things ghostly, and we want more than anything to further our studies in—”

“Shelby!” The woman opened the door a little wider. “Of course we know all about Shelby, who confronted a ghost and won. Truly one of the mightiest warriors Morgan College has to offer.”

I turned to Shelby . . . and did a double take. All the blood had drained from her face and she was backing away from the door, her eyes shifting to the side.

“What . . .” she whispered. “What are you . . .”

“Come in,” the woman said, smiling at Shelby. “Please.”

“She is a mighty warrior!” I said, grabbing Shelby’s arm. “And she’s ready to discuss her experience with other paranormal enthusiasts, in order to give your discussion group even more information in their continuing quest to understand all there is to understand about the afterlife.”

“Ahhhhhhh.” The woman beamed at us and threw the door fully open. “My dearests, please enter! Though we prefer the term ‘curious society of knowledge seekers’ to ‘discussion group’ or even ‘enthusiasts.’ It’s so much more active.”

I smiled and nodded while doing an internal fist-pump. This was what I’d been hoping for—that Shelby would be like catnip to the campus ghostbusters, and that her presence would grant us entry even if we’d received an invite that wasn’t quite legit. Luckily, Shelby had been up for it, especially if this helped us find Pippa. But was she still? Her gaze was locked on the rainbow-haired woman, apprehension emanating from her every pore.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, squeezing her shoulder.

“I’m just surprised by something,” she murmured. “Let’s go in, I’ll try to get it together.”

We filed into the attic room, which was much larger than I’d expected—although the low ceiling created the illusion of a very intimate space. It was lit by a haphazard collection of mismatched lamps, which illuminated the wall-to-wall bookshelves and the colorful cushions spread out on the floor. A group of seven Morgan students was sprawled over the cushions, wrapped in sweaters and fuzzy blankets and nibbling on what appeared to be Halloween-themed Oreos with bright orange icing. Tess was among them, gamely nibbling their cookie and pretending they didn’t know us.

It looked more like an extra cozy book club than a bunch of people obsessed with all things creepy.

“Take a seat, warriors,” the rainbow-haired woman said, gesturing expansively. “I am Leonora Quinn, the faculty advisor for our little coterie, and—”

“The head of the Ethnic Studies department?” I said. So this was Richard’s paramour—somehow, she was exactly what I’d expected.

“That’s right!” she said, beaming at me. “And, Ms. Takahashi, it might interest you to know that I’m currently working on a section about the films of Kurosawa and how they relate to the current Japanese American experience—”

Aveda interrupted her by having a massive coughing fit that I’m pretty sure started as a laugh. I gave her a look.

“That’s so kind of you,” I said—and for once, was grateful that I’d been practicing pasting on big, fake smiles recently. Because that meant I had one all saved up for Leonora Quinn. “Do you know Professor Covington? He also has a unit on Kurosawa, maybe the two of you can cross reference.”

“I do know him,” she said, blushing a bit. “I find his lectures very scintillating.”

“Then it must be true love,” muttered Aveda as she, Shelby, and I settled ourselves on a cluster of empty cushions. I shoved the Quiet Room book next to my thigh and gnawed on my lower lip, surveying the scene as Leonora sat down on a cushion and smiled at her fellow ghost-hunting enthusiasts.

“Now, then,” Leonora said. “It’s always a pleasure to welcome new people into our fold, especially since we pride ourselves on being a bit challenging to seek out.” She trained her too-bright smile on me. “Who sent you the fated invitation, young warriors?”

“We’re not sure,” I lied—luckily Tess had prepared me for this question, too. “Shelby here received it under her door this morning. We’re guessing it has something to do with her now legendary ghost encounter.”

“An excellent deduction,” Leonora said, nodding approvingly. “But what about you and Ms. Chin, Ms. Takahashi? Our society invitations generally do not come with a plus-one attached.”

“Um, mine did,” Shelby said, her eyes shifting from side to side. “It said I could bring whoever I want.”

“Did it, now?” Leonora said, the genial twinkle in her eyes fading just a bit. “Well. How very interesting.”

She cast a look around the room, lingering on each person. They all remained silent, none of them wanting to take the blame for the haphazard invite with its sloppy provisions for plus-ones.

“Angelica and I are extremely into all this ghost-hunting stuff,” I said, doing my best to make my face sincere. “We can’t wait to hear the latest.”

“We hadn’t gotten to the latest in sightings just yet,” Leonora said, her attention going back to us. “We always start off with cookies and quiet time, to set the mood.”

Several of the society members made mumbly noises and brandished their cookies.

“But since we have such a very special guest here, perhaps we could cut cookie time short and see what she has to say,” Leonora said, smiling brightly at Shelby. “Ms. Tran, do you have a talk prepared, or will you be taking questions?”

“Um, questions. Definitely questions,” Shelby said, sitting up a little straighter on her cushion. She still seemed to be laser-focused on Leonora, regarding her warily. I noticed Tess trying to catch her eye, perhaps to give her a nod of encouragement.

I patted Shelby’s shoulder, attempting to give her my own comforting vibes. Being put on the spot like this, being the center of attention—I could tell these were things Shelby was very much not into. As a non-enjoyer of these things myself, I could relate.

For a moment, there was silence, save for a few crunches from people still chewing on their cookies. Tess’s gaze shifted from side to side. They didn’t want to go first for fear of identifying themselves as the anonymous invitation sender.

“Come, now!” Leonora enthused. “I know you’re all curious. I have to admit that I’m just dying here, so I guess I’ll start . . .”

“Yeah?” Shelby said, her expression turning even more guarded. I guessed she was finding Leonora kind of off-putting. I couldn’t blame her.

“Was it strange when the courtyard spirit spoke directly to you, Ms. Tran? From the sounds of it, she really wanted to communicate something. Something that was meant just for you.”

Wait . . . what?

Shelby had said she hadn’t shared that particular tidbit with anyone—except me, the other night. After she’d had the truth serum punch. I turned to study Leonora, trying not to show my surprise. She was smiling at Shelby in that bright-eyed way, like she was just so curious and eager to learn . . . but I swore there was something else behind it, a flicker in her expression I couldn’t quite place. Something almost triumphant, maybe?

What was that about?

“Um . . .” Shelby had gone white as a sheet. “How do you . . . um . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“What I think Shelby is trying to say is, that’s a detail she actually doesn’t like to talk about much,” I said. “So she’s probably wondering how you know that?”

“Oh . . .” Leonora waved a hand, her beaming smile re-setting. “I don’t recall where I heard that, but people often share things with me since everyone knows of my fascination with all things ghostly. You wouldn’t believe the things that show up in my inbox.”

“I think I might,” I murmured, sneaking a sidelong glance at Shelby. She was staring at me in the most confused way. And I realized she must think I somehow told Leonora what she’d confided in me. I gave a very slight head shake, but that just made her look more confused.

“The ghost did talk to me,” Shelby finally said, her expression growing even more guarded. “And then I crashed into a tree. That’s all I remember.”

She shot Leonora a borderline defiant look.

“We’ve been speculating about what happened to the courtyard spirit after your encounter,” Tess piped up, their voice a bit hesitant. Their gaze slid to Leonora, then back to us again. “Did you know she hasn’t been seen again since then?”

“I . . . I didn’t know that,” Shelby stammered.

“We have some theories,” Tess said, waving a half-eaten cookie around. “Well, I have some theories. The most likely being . . .”

Their eyes slid to Leonora again, as if asking for permission.

“Now, Tess,” Leonora said, giving them a benevolent smile. “We don’t want to bore our mighty warrior sisters with useless speculation.”

I shifted uncomfortably. There was something about the way Leonora talked to these kids—and the way they kept looking to her, as if they couldn’t have an idea or eat a freaking cookie without her okaying it first—that felt creepy. Like Leonora had hypnotized them into being part of a ghost-hunting cult that worshipped her. And hey, we’d dealt with that kind of thing before, so it wasn’t completely out of the question.

“I’d like to hear any speculation, actually,” I said, giving Tess a meaningful look.

“Well,” Tess said, their eyes sparkling with excitement. They leaned forward and lowered their voice—perhaps worried about errant ghosts hearing them. “We—er, I—think Shelby helped the courtyard spirit pass over, to the afterlife. Where she can finally be at peace.”

“What does that mean?” Aveda said. “And why do you think that?”

I turned to look at her. She’d been so uncharacteristically quiet, I’d almost forgotten she was there. But now I saw that she was scribbling away in a Morgan-branded notebook with a Morgan-branded pen. That intense focus that had guided her so well through her superheroing career was on full display, and it looked like she’d already filled several pages of the notebook. She was glamoured as Angelica, but the flinty determination in her eyes was one hundred percent Aveda Jupiter. With her hair pulled into a sloppy version of her usual power ponytail, her school swag, and her muddy sneakers, she looked so classically college student, I couldn’t help but have a flash of what it would have been like to be in college together.

I guessed that’s kind of what we were doing now.

“Do you really not know what it means to ‘pass over’?” A surly-looking girl with a mass of auburn curls gave Aveda a patronizing look. “That’s a really basic concept and our discussions and action items here in the society tend to be pretty advanced, so maybe this isn’t the club for you—”

“Miriam, we don’t gatekeep,” Leonora said, giving the girl an admonishing smile. “But perhaps this is a topic better suited for our newest warriors once they’ve been to a few meetings—”

“I’d like to hear about it now,” I said, giving Leonora a pleasant but firm smile. I nodded at Tess, encouraging them to continue.

“Passing over is like when a spirit finally leaves the mortal realm entirely,” Tess said, their eyes flicking to Leonora. Now Tess was starting to look defiant. I flashed back to them talking about their “friends” who had convinced them that their ghostly encounter hadn’t happened. I wondered if one of those “friends” was Leonora, because I could totally see it. I gave them another encouraging nod.

“When they manifest as ghosts in our world, it means they’re caught in between worlds,” Tess said, their voice becoming more sure as they started to get into it. “And since Morgan has so many spirits who have appeared for so long, one of our primary discussion points here at the society—well, at least in the past—involves trying to figure out what it would take for them to pass over.”

“I see,” Aveda said, scribbling madly. “And have you been able to help any of the ghosts with that?”

An immediate silence fell as everyone stopped chewing on cookies and just stared at Aveda.

Tess opened their mouth to speak, then closed it abruptly, their eyes going to the floor.

“No, my dear,” Leonora said, looking at Aveda like she’d just suggested something positively unspeakable. “One of the primary tenets of our society is that we don’t believe in interfering with the business of the spirit world. Helping a ghost pass over interrupts the natural order of things.”

“It wasn’t a primary tenet until recently,” Tess muttered, frowning at the floor.

“But you all are so thirsty for any and all details about Shelby’s story,” Aveda said, scribbling in her notebook again. “Shouldn’t you be upset with her for interfering?”

“Hey!” Shelby hissed.

“She wasn’t trying to help the ghost pass over, though,” Miriam said. “She was just reacting as she normally would—therefore, whatever Shelby did was what was meant to help the courtyard spirit in the first place.” She gave Shelby an approving nod.

“So how do you think Shelby helped the ghost, even if it was unintentional?” I asked, trying to steer us in a useful direction. “You said you’re always trying to figure out what it takes for ghosts to pass over—so do you have any idea what it was here?”

“It’s very hard to say unless our warrior sister is willing to share more about her encounter,” Leonora said, turning her benevolent smile on Shelby. There was something underneath that smile again. Not quite a threat, but this was definitely a test.

I expected Shelby to look down and retreat, turning inward, but instead she met Leonora’s gaze. “No,” she said firmly.

Something about Leonora was bringing out a defiant side of Shelby I hadn’t seen before—and I liked it. I’d have to compliment her later on holding her ground.

Silence fell again, and this time it was definitely uncomfortable, the sounds of the society chewing on their cookies punctuating every single second. Only Aveda seemed unbothered, still scribbling away in her notebook.

“Well,” Leonora said, smiling in a way that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “if that’s all we have to discuss tonight—”

“Wait!” I blurted out.

Everyone swiveled to look at me. Including Shelby and Aveda, who both gave me “what the fuck are you doing?” looks.

Okay, so yes, I’d tried to encourage them to blend in and now I was doing the exact opposite . . . but I couldn’t leave this meeting we’d spent so much effort getting into with nothing.

“Um. So there was a rumored haunting just the other night in Mara Dash,” I said, my words coming out in a rush.

“Oh, Ms. Takahashi, we can discuss more recent hauntings at the next meeting,” Leonora said. “But I always like to end our society sessions whenever the energy feels exactly right—”

“This can’t wait,” I interrupted. “It’s urgent. Um, yeah, an urgent haunting.” I could feel Aveda staring at me, her eyes practically boring holes in my skull. Okay, so maybe I wasn’t the best at this whole undercover improv thing, but Tess and Miriam both looked intrigued, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“We believe there was some kind of bartender ghost at the dorm party a couple nights ago,” I barreled on. “A girl who interacted with Angelica and me, and who seemed fully human. There was no wailing, no appearing all blue and translucent-like—although she does have kind of a blue aura around her in photos. She just looked like a regular student. And the punch she was giving to people was possibly spiked with some kind of . . . I don’t know, magical element. That made everyone want to confess their darkest secrets. But later we discovered no one else had even seen this bartender—we were the only ones. So. Have you guys ever heard of something like that?”

I slumped back on my cushion, slightly winded.

Everyone just kept staring at me.

“I . . .” Tess began—but then Leonora caught their eye and gave them the slightest of frowns. They seemed to wilt on the spot, sinking into their cushion. “I . . . I’m not sure we have,” they concluded.

“Okay,” I said, trying a different tack, “well, surely you guys know about the volumes of student documentation in the Mara Dash Quiet Room—I brought this one with me . . .” I pulled the book from where I’d tucked it next to me and held it up. An audible gasp went through the room.

“Oh my god,” Tess whispered, their eyes widening.

“Is that real?” hissed Miriam.

“Young warrior,” Leonora said, her eyes flashing with something I couldn’t quite place. “Where did you get that?”

“I mean, from the Mara Dash Quiet Room?” I said, lowering the book to my lap. “I thought that was obvious?”

“Student documentation tomes are a very old and very valuable chronicle of our lived history,” Leonora said. “They are not to be removed from the rooms where they are placed. I’m surprised no one went over this with you?”

“Um, nope, they didn’t,” Aveda said. “We’re still new here, we don’t know all the protocols.”

“Anyway,” I said, turning to the section of torn-out pages. “Someone had already damaged this particular valuable chronicle of our lived history, and it’s the section that deals with our ghostly bartender. I thought that was weird and I thought maybe your, ah, educated paranormal insights could help us figure out why someone might do this.”

“May I . . .” Leonora said.

She held out a queenly hand in a way that indicated this was not a request.

I passed her the book. She spent a few moments paging through, inspecting the ripped-out section, clucking disapprovingly.

“I see,” she finally said, closing the book and looking up at me. “This is certainly a can of worms you’ve stumbled into, Ms. Takahashi. So even though this is your very first meeting and you haven’t been through all of the society’s initiation rites—”

“The what, now?” Aveda muttered under her breath.

“—I’ll share with you what we know about Victoria Morales, the ghost of Mara Dash.” Leonora hesitated, her gaze going dark. “Her story is very tragic. Which is one of the reasons she’s our least known spirit. The college has tried to suppress all information about what happened to her.”

“Then why don’t you, the ghost-hunting society, get it out there?” Aveda said, gesticulating with her pen. “I mean, if you know what happened to her—”

“It’s not that simple, Ms. Chin,” Leonora said. “Now. Tess, Miriam—why don’t the two of you share Victoria’s story with our new warriors. See if you can remember all the most important details.” Her smile, once again, had that “this is a test” feel. I wondered if everything was a test with her.

“Right,” Tess said, looking a bit uncertain. “Victoria attended Morgan in the fifties. She was one of the first students to be admitted to the school on a full scholarship, and she had to overcome so many obstacles just to go to college in the first place. She was an orphan—”

“Of course,” murmured Aveda. “Because this story has to be the most tragic.”

“—and she and her grandfather, Horatio, were each other’s only living family,” Tess continued. “His health was failing by the time she graduated from high school, and she took care of him—worked a whole host of odd jobs while going to school.”

“That must have been hard,” I murmured, feeling a stab of something sharp and familiar. That sounded a lot like my grad school experience.

“She always felt that the other students—your classic wealthy white girls, on the path to become good high society wives—looked down on her,” Miriam said, picking up the thread.

“They did,” Tess muttered. “She felt correctly. But she found a passion in the Bio department—it’s actually pretty amazing that Morgan offered Biology at all back then. It was the beginning of the transition from being a finishing school for only the richest young ladies to a college that actually teaches useful shit. Victoria had always loved the science courses in high school, but being able to really focus on all the elements of Bio—it made her feel like she could better understand how our world works. And it made her think: maybe she could break some barriers, become a scientist. From what I understand, her grandfather was her biggest supporter, and they had quite a bond over this. He really wanted her to achieve her dreams.”

“And then of course there was her paramour,” Leonora said.

I tried not to recoil, hearing that term yet again—she and Richard really were a perfect match.

“That’s right,” Miriam piped up. “Victoria fell in love with Jocelyn, another Bio major—”

“Ooh, I’m a Bio major!” Aveda exclaimed, scrawling more notes.

“—and they extended their love of experimenting in the classroom to inventing their own special cocktails,” Miriam continued. “They’d stay up until dawn, mixing drinks and trying them out with their friends.”

“It sounds sooo romantic,” Tess said, clasping their hands to their chest.

“Except,” Miriam said, shooting Tess a look, “their relationship at the time was forbidden, particularly by Jocelyn’s wealthy family, who had promised her hand in marriage to some other rich Bay Area family. Her future was all laid out for her, but once she met Victoria, all of that changed.”

“So what happened?” I said, on the edge of my seat.

“Jocelyn and Victoria made a plan to run away together, right after graduation,” Miriam said. “Jocelyn stole money from her family so that Victoria could set up a fund and a private nurse for her grandfather, so he’d be taken care of for the rest of his life. But at the last minute . . .”

“Victoria couldn’t leave her grandfather,” I whispered, my voice quavering.

“Ev—Eliza,” Aveda whispered, laying a hand on my arm.

I realized then that my eyes had filled with tears. I couldn’t help it—obviously my and Victoria’s paths were different, but there were so many things from her story I recognized. That feeling of being pulled in a thousand different directions, of not being able to handle everything, of loving someone so much—

“You’re correct, Ms. Takahashi,” Leonora said, giving me a small nod. “Victoria went to see her grandfather one last time—and realized she couldn’t leave him behind, even if she knew he was taken care of. She met Jocelyn on the roof of Mara Dash, where they’d agreed to rendezvous before running away, and told her she couldn’t go through with their plan.”

“I’m guessing Jocelyn took it . . . not well,” Aveda said.

“That’s right,” Tess said, picking up the story again. “Jocelyn was enraged. Morgan had opened her mind to so many new ideas, and so had Victoria—but at her core, she was still a rich white girl who was used to getting her way. And Victoria wasn’t budging. Soooo . . .”

“Jocelyn cried and screamed and argued,” Miriam said. “And when none of that worked, she wiped her eyes, pretended she understood—and excused herself to make Victoria a drink.”

“Oh god, did she poison it?” I said.

“Yes,” Tess said, pointing at me with the last bit of their cookie. “She and Victoria had learned a lot of interesting things in Bio and Chem together. She brought the drink out, all smiles, and Victoria took it . . .”

“And then at the last minute, Jocelyn had a change of heart,” Miriam said. “She snatched the drink away just as Victoria was about to imbibe. And then she took a big ol’ gulp of it.”

“Wait, what?” Aveda spat out, looking up from her notes. “Damn, so much drama. Jocelyn was messy.”

“Was she trying to poison herself?” I said.

“We think it was more of the, uh, messy element,” Tess said. “Like, she had a brief moment of ‘If I can’t be with you, I don’t want to live.’ I don’t think she actually meant to kill herself.”

“Of course Victoria, being such a smartie, immediately figured out what Jocelyn had done,” Miriam said. “She made a grab for the poisoned glass, tried to snatch it away from Jocelyn. They scuffled and . . .”

“And ended up falling off the roof of Mara Dash together, to their deaths,” Tess said, their eyes going shiny. “As the legend goes, Victoria’s grandfather also died that year—of a broken heart. God, it’s just so tragic.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, thinking back to our ghostly bartender. She’d seemed so vibrant, so full of life. It was unspeakably sad to think of her plunging to her death in the prime of her young life.

“So do you know of others who have experienced a haunting from Victoria?” Aveda said, raising her hand like she was in class. “How has the college kept that hushed up?”

“While she’s a long-running ghost, she is also an infrequent one,” Leonora said. “And as the legend goes, she only appears to one or two people at a time—which seems to track with your sighting.” I couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to be the only one completely unaffected by Victoria’s story. Her students were all wiping tears away, sniffling, or at least looking moderately disturbed. Perhaps, as the head of the society, Leonora had heard this story over and over again. But I couldn’t imagine not being affected by it at all. “There have only been a handful of sightings over the years, and the college has managed to suppress most of them.”

“Victoria usually appears as a more human-like apparition than, say, the courtyard ghost,” Tess said. “Remember that the ghosts of Morgan take on different forms. But it’s interesting that she interacted with you guys so much! Kind of like Shelby’s ghost.”

“Yes, we’re still piecing it together,” Aveda said. “Why would Victoria’s punch make us so uninhibited? How does that connect to her story?”

“Victoria wished she could live her truest life—maybe she’s trying to get us to do that,” I said, trying to figure it out. “And since the punch affected us, making everyone at the party be completely honest, at least for a moment . . . I mean, does that mean she’s passed on? Is that what it took?”

“That part will likely remain a mystery, Ms. Takahashi,” Leonora said, giving us one of her all-knowing looks. I couldn’t help but feel that it bordered on smug. “You may just have to wait and see if you encounter Victoria again.”

“Although . . .” Tess’s brow furrowed, like they were working something out. They opened their mouth, then closed it, their gaze sliding to Leonora again. “There’s another part of the passing over theory I’ve been working on—”

“Tess, please.” Leonora frowned at Tess. “You must remember that exploring this side of the spirit world is very dangerous. That’s why other members have had to leave us—”

“Only one member left us,” Tess muttered under their breath. “And actually, she was kicked out. You kicked her out—”

“Stop.” Leonora shot Tess a forbidding look. This time, she wasn’t even bothering with a maternal façade—her gaze was freezing cold. “Please. We don’t share society business with newcomers, remember?”

“Right,” Tess said, the fire in their eyes dimming. They slumped back against their cushion, sulking.

“We’d like to be more than newcomers, though,” I said, attempting to sound eager but not desperate. “When’s the next meeting?”

Leonora trained her gaze on me, those brilliant green eyes sizing me up. Her stare was so direct and unwavering, it unnerved me—even more than the darkened windows of Morgan Hall.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, after what felt like an eternity. “I don’t believe we’ll be able to extend an invitation of membership to you at this time.”

“Excuse me, what?” Aveda blurted out. “You ‘don’t believe’? Don’t you run this group?”

“I was trying to be courteous,” Leonora said, her gaze like ice. “But if you’d like me to be more direct, I will. You are not invited to join our society. If you try to infiltrate one of our meetings again, you will be dismissed. Or removed.”

“Whoa.” I held up my hands in what I hoped was a placating manner. “Why the sudden hostility? We really want to learn more about all of this, to—”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Leonora said, waving a hand. “And I would like it if you’d leave now.”

“Now, hold on,” Aveda said. “You’re not the only person who belongs to this society. Why not put it to a vote?”

“Oooh, yeah!” Tess piped up. Leonora sent them another admonishing look.

“There is no vote,” Leonora said, standing up. The other members followed suit. “Please leave.”

Aveda looked like she was just itching to start a fight, her fingers curling tightly around her notebook. I kind of was too, but I had a sneaking suspicion we weren’t going to win. Something had turned Leonora against us. I had no idea what it was, but it had come on so suddenly . . .

We needed to regroup, talk this through, figure it out. I laid a hand on Aveda’s arm and gave her a look—not now. Let’s get out of here.

“We appreciate your hospitality,” I said, pasting yet another big smile onto my face and motioning for Aveda and Shelby to stand with me.

We got to our feet and exited silently, but I could feel Leonora’s eyes boring into my back even as the door clicked shut behind us.

“What a waste of time,” Aveda growled, stomping toward the staircase.

I was just about to follow her when the door opened a crack, revealing Tess’s bespectacled face.

“Hey,” they whispered. “If you really want to learn more about the ghosts—come to the Halloween hauntings ghost crawl tomorrow. Midnight, meet outside Morgan Hall. Don’t tell anyone I told you about it, okay?”

“Tess—” I began.

“I can’t talk right now!” they hissed.

The door clicked shut before we could respond.