CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AVEDA WAS PACING again. We’d returned to our dorm room to further contemplate this whole reverse portal possibility, but we didn’t seem to be getting very far. Bea told us she’d do a little more research and cross-reference with Nate. Until then, we could only hypothesize.
“A reverse portal makes some sense, given how the demon connection to our world has evolved recently,” Aveda said, tramping across the floor between her bed and mine. At this rate, we were going to have to pay the college for completely destroying that section of carpet. “After Bea’s adventures jumping into the Otherworld, maybe the demons were like, ‘Oh, hey—it still seems to be difficult for us to travel to the human realm, but if we go the other way, perhaps we can actually get access’?”
“Maybe,” I said, turning it over in my mind. “But what would the ultimate goal of that be—just keep taking people until Earth doesn’t have anyone left? That would only overcrowd their realm without giving them a way to get to ours.”
“True,” Aveda said, flopping down on her bed. “But remember Bea’s Mom-Demon—she needed a certain amount of human souls to weaponize Bay Area locations. And she was close to getting enough souls to actually cross over to the human world. It could be something like that?”
“Then why did they return Pippa? It doesn’t make sense. It’s almost like they were . . .” I trailed off, trying to make all the puzzle pieces fit. For some reason, Bea’s chatter about her math game popped into my head. How she and Sam had experimented with adding new numbers, new equations—new ways of challenging themselves. “What if it’s more like the Otherworld demons are experimenting with something?” I began, feeling out a theory. “What if the reverse portal is a test, something they figured out they could do now that the walls between worlds are thinner—maybe they want to see how that sort of thing would work and what the limitations are?”
“That could explain what happened to Pippa,” Aveda said. “But basically nothing else. What do the ghosts have to do with reverse portals?”
“Hmm, let’s think about the other thing we just learned,” I said. “Which is that there’s a Morgan ghost of a person who’s actually still alive. How did Tess describe what they and Julie hypothesized: demonic energy fusing with leftover paranormal energy, those emotional resonances left behind by humans?”
“They said that’s what produces the more aggressive apparition,” Aveda said, nodding. “The ghost that’s able to interact and attack people.”
“But now we know that ‘leftover paranormal energy’ doesn’t necessarily come from someone dying,” I said, shaking my head, trying to make it all make sense. “How did Victoria leave any kind of ‘energy’ behind? Did she just have such a strong presence, her emotional resonance, like, dripped off of her and stayed here? But if that’s possible, wouldn’t there be so many more ‘ghosts’?”
“If these ghosts are essentially powered by demons on purpose, rather than the collision of the two energies being an accident, maybe the demons are choosing which resonances to activate,” Aveda said. “Then again, it seems like they don’t have total control over the ghosts. Otherwise the ghosts would never pass over, right? They’d stick around and keep terrorizing humans. But I guess experiments don’t always go the way you think they will. Too many variables—isn’t that what Nate would say?”
“He would say that,” I said, my heart clenching. I brushed the feeling aside. “I mean, maybe the demons need the ghosts to pass over for some reason? Something along the lines of Bea’s Mom-Demon needing all those souls? But we still don’t know what makes them pass over. Ugh. I wish we could talk to Julie again.” I took a deep breath, forcing my mind to focus—trying to see the whole picture. “Let’s go back to one of our first examples of this kind of ghost—Shelby’s courtyard ghost. Who seems to have passed over. Maybe there’s something in here . . .”
I reached over and grabbed the big red book we’d taken from the Quiet Room.
“Let’s see,” I said, flipping through. “Ah, here we go—a whole damn section entitled The Spirit of the Courtyard.”
“What did Richard say her story was?” Aveda said. “She was looking for her children?”
“Yes, and she broke off from the rest of her wagon train, desperate to find them.” I scanned through the spidery handwriting, trying to find something beyond a basic description of the ghost. “Huh. This is interesting.”
“What?” Aveda said, breaking from her pacing and sitting down next to me on my bed.
“It says our pioneer woman didn’t break off on a whim—she proposed an alternate route that actually might have gotten the whole party to their destination more quickly,” I said, reading over the page. “But she was immediately dismissed by the men leading the party. She fought with them for two days straight before finally deciding to go her own way and try to find her children.”
“Tragic,” Aveda said. “And yet another instance of men ruining things, I might add.”
“So why was she telling Shelby that Shelby was destined to fail here?” I mused, thinking back to my conversation with Shelby at the dorm party. “And why was that the thing that may have gotten the ghost to pass over? Did she just need to fully get her aggression out or what?”
“Let’s go talk to Shelby and Pippa,” Aveda said, jumping up from the bed. “We should check in on them anyway, see how they’re doing.”
“Great idea,” I said, just as my stomach let out an embarrassingly loud growl. “Except first I need pickles.”
“I know the drill,” Aveda said, marching over to our mini fridge. “Pickles, peanut butter, furikake. Look how amazing I am at this! You should be pregnant all the time, Evie, it really brings out my caretaking side.”
“Dear god, please no,” I said. “Though if you want to make me snacks all the time, even when I’m not pregnant, I am one hundred percent for that.”
“You wish,” she said, expertly slathering a pickle with peanut butter.
“Cool TAs!” Pippa sang out, throwing open her dorm room door and ushering us inside. “You are just in time for my! Epic! Meltdown!” She slammed the door shut behind us and stomped over to her bed, flopping down and pulling a pillow over her head.
Shelby, who was sitting on her own bed, gave us a little wave.
“What’s going on?” I asked, crossing the room and sitting next to Shelby. Aveda stayed standing, leaning against the wall and studying Pippa curiously.
“Professor Covington’s threatening to fail her,” Shelby said, pulling at the ends of her hair. Her gaze went to Pippa, who was now lying inert, grumbling into the pillow over her face.
“What?” I spat out. “Why?”
“Because I missed class and am now late turning in a big paper and apparently being kidnapped and stuffed into a velvet coffin for a couple days isn’t a good excuse,” Pippa snarled, throwing the pillow to the side.
“Did you actually tell him the velvet coffin part?” Aveda asked.
“Of course not,” Pippa spat out. “Provost Glennon was supposed to take care of it for me, explain that I was totally excused. But I guess that wasn’t good enough for him, and he’s been all up in my inbox saying that even if I miss class, I’m still responsible for turning in work on time and I’ve had all semester to work on this paper, which is technically true, but . . .” She shook her head, pulled the pillow back over her face, and screamed into it.
“Pips . . . here, hug Carpet Ball. Carpet Ball always helps,” Shelby yelped, her eyes widening with desperation. She tossed the furry green monstrosity across the room. It landed with a sad little thunk next to Pippa’s head. Pippa threw her pillow aside and pulled Carpet Ball into her arms, curling herself around it like it was a life preserver. “Guys, I can’t fail this class,” she said, a thread of fear weaving its way into her voice. “I’ll lose my scholarship, I’ll . . .” She hugged Carpet Ball tighter, her face crumpling. A tear trailed down her cheek and she rubbed her face against Carpet Ball, wiping it away.
Shelby jumped up and went to her, plopping down next to Pippa and patting her back.
I studied them for a moment, a heady stew of emotions bubbling up in my gut. It was sudden and all-consuming and I couldn’t stop it. My face got hot, my vision narrowed, and all I could see were these two vibrant girls on the cusp of adulthood . . . being torn down by a fucking awful man who only cared about spouting his pretentious theories and preserving his massive ego.
Then I realized it was actually just one emotion bubbling through me.
Rage.
“Fuck that!” I growled, jumping to my feet. My hands fisted at my sides and I forced myself to uncurl them. I had a momentary flash of pleasure, though, realizing that I wasn’t afraid of my fire coming out, as it had all those years ago in the library—because now I was in control. “He is not going to flunk you, Pippa,” I declared, putting my hands on my hips. “I’ll make sure of that.”
I turned on my heel and strode toward the door, that rage blazing through me in a way that felt positively unstoppable.
“Wait, Eliza!”
I whirled around to see Pippa leaping up from her bed, Carpet Ball still clutched to her chest.
“It’s after five,” she said, gesturing to the darkening sky outside the window. “If you’re on your way to confront him . . . well, he won’t be in his office anymore.”
“Then . . . then I’ll go to his cottage! Or write him a strongly worded email! Or—”
“Eliza.” A sweet half-smile broke through Pippa’s tears. She hugged Carpet Ball a little tighter. “I appreciate it. But please don’t do any of that—I don’t want you to jeopardize your job.”
“What good is my job if I’m not protecting my own students?” I said, blowing out a long breath.
“You have protected us,” Shelby said, crossing the room to stand next to Pippa. She gave Carpet Ball an idle pat on the head—er, did Carpet Ball have a head? I supposed it didn’t matter. “Or at the very least, you and Angelica make me feel like there’s someone here who’s on our side. I mean, you guys are the only ones who took me seriously when I was scared about Pips being missing. You were the only ones who cared.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Shelby,” I said, my gaze going to Aveda. She gave me a small smile—she was being uncharacteristically quiet again, taking it all in. A true student of the collegiate experience. “But I’m still not going to let Professor Covington fail Pippa over such a small infraction. If nothing else, surely Morgan has a student board of grievances that—”
“Yes,” Pippa said, laughing a little. “Surely we do. But why don’t we sleep on how to handle it, Eliza. I was gonna have my meltdown and then pretend I didn’t see the email until tomorrow. I need to, like, process the rage first.” She made an expansive gesture with Carpet Ball that seemed to indicate “processing.”
“Pippa.” Aveda finally spoke up, pushing off of the wall. “How were you going to process? Did you have a plan for that?” She cocked her head at the girl, genuinely curious.
“You saw the first part of it,” Pippa said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Flop on bed, scream into the void.”
“Hug Carpet Ball,” Shelby interjected.
“Hug Carpet Ball,” Pippa agreed. “Part two involves . . . well, it’s a bit of a Mara Dash rage-processing ritual. Wanna see?”
“Do we ever,” Aveda said, giving me a sidelong glance. “I love rituals. And I think Eliza might want—might need—to partake of this one as well.”
The girls led us up to yet another odd corner of Mara Dash—it was sort of an outdoor patio attached to the second story of the dorm. The only way to get to it was to climb down a rickety metal ladder-like staircase winding up the exterior of the building—and said staircase could only be accessed from a third-level window.
“This building is so odd,” Aveda said, gingerly making her way down the ladder. “It’s like a puzzle where all the pieces don’t quite fit—as if it was designed for maximum creepiness. Almost like the architect knew it was destined to be haunted.”
I followed her, taking care to step carefully in my wobbly skyscraper heels, which I really should have taken the time to change out of. My Sexy Professor ensemble was definitely not made for rage-processing rituals, and I winced as the tight skirt cut into my flesh with every precarious movement.
“A lot of people who live in the dorm don’t even know about this spot,” Pippa said, gesturing expansively to the patio. It was actually pretty big, with a surface of gray concrete and a single table covered in at least an inch of dust. An umbrella with a print of cheery yellow flowers sprouted hopefully from the middle of the table. I allowed my gaze to wander past the table to the dusky sky, slowly settling in for the night. This outdoor area also had a big stone barrier surrounding it, just like the rooftop.
“You kinda have to work to find it,” Pippa continued. “But Shelby and I are always exploring and doing little treasure hunts and stuff, right, Shel?”
She grinned at Shelby, who’d brought Carpet Ball down with us and was hugging it to her chest like a fuzzy green shield. I’d noticed that Pippa had actually suggested Shelby bring Carpet Ball—as if she knew there was something about it that always comforted her friend.
“Yeah, Pips,” Shelby said, smiling softly.
“Soooooo,” Pippa said, bounding across the patio to the far right corner, “here’s what we do.” She scooped something into her arms and came bounding back toward us. “Oh, hey, Tess!” She waved enthusiastically, and we all turned to see Tess making their way down the rickety ladder. “I invited Tess ’cause I thought they might also have some rage to get out,” Pippa said, beaming.
“I don’t know about rage, but I definitely have a shit-ton of angst,” Tess said, making a face as they came to stand next to us. “Leonora’s kicked me out of the ghost-hunting society.”
“What? How could she do that?!” I exclaimed, whipping around to face them. “I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” I opened my mouth, shut it. My ability to form words was overtaken again by that rage bubbling up, rising in my chest, ready to explode—
“Whoa,” Aveda said, patting my shoulder. “Your rage is noble, but save it for the ritual, Eliza.”
I nodded and turned back to Pippa—but my hands were still curling themselves into fists.
“Soooooo,” Pippa said, brandishing the bounty she’d just retrieved. “I know this looks like an ordinary stack of dinner plates that I maybe, possibly stole from the dining hall—oh, shit.” She narrowed her eyes at Tess. “You won’t report me, right? Since you work there and all . . .”
“I confessed my green bread disaster to you,” Tess said solemnly. “I’ll take it to my grave.”
“Awesome!” Pippa said, giving them a jaunty thumbs-up. “So this is something Shel and I came up with after I stole all these plates—”
“Wait, you didn’t steal the plates specifically for this ritual?” Aveda asked, her brow furrowing. “Then why did you—”
“Not important!” Pippa chirped, slicing a hand through the air. “Now. Allow me to demonstrate.” She tucked one of the plates under her arm and set the rest down, then marched with purpose toward the metal ladder.
“Um. Can you give me a spoiler about what this ritual entails?” I murmured to Shelby, as Pippa began to climb the ladder. “She’s not doing something dangerous, is she? She looks like she’s getting ready to perform a high-flying trapeze act—without the trapeze.”
“She’ll be okay,” Shelby said, hugging Carpet Ball to her chest as she watched her friend ascend to the very top rung of the ladder. “She just loves drama. So everything has to be done as dramatically as possible.”
Her mouth quirked into a half-smile, amused and . . . did she sound wistful? I turned and studied Shelby for a moment and was surprised to see that her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. I wondered what it was about this particular moment that was affecting her so much. Maybe she was just overcome with happiness at having her ride-or-die back.
“Hello, friends!” Pippa bellowed from the top rung. She kept a firm grip on the ladder with one hand, and brandished her plate with the other. “Now please observe the great rage-processing ritual of Mara Dash!”
She closed her eyes and raised the plate high in the air.
“Fuck Professor Covington!” she shrieked. “I am so fucking sick of his condescending, sexist bullshit! I’m sick of him making me feel small! I! Am! Not! Small!”
And with that she flung the plate to the patio with all her might. It hit the cement surface with an explosive smack and shattered into a million pieces.
It was so cathartic, so visceral, so satisfying.
We all burst into cheers.
“Yesssss!” Shelby shouted, waving Carpet Ball around.
“Fuck that guy!” Tess cried, stabbing the air with their two middle fingers.
Aveda and I jumped up and down, throwing our arms around each other and screaming until our throats were hoarse.
“Wait,” Tess said, their brow crinkling as we all settled and Pippa began her climb down the ladder. “Should we be yelling this loud? This area is still connected to the dorm—won’t people hear our potentially incriminating expressions of rage?”
“Nah,” Pippa said, waving a hand as she returned to us. “Something about the way the sound works in this particular area, the acoustics . . .” She gestured around. “People in the dorm hear something, but it’s mostly just random shouting and they can’t make out the words. We could be cheering on a Morgan soccer game or something.”
“That was great, Pippa,” I said, impulsively pulling her in for a hug. “It felt like you exorcised something really powerful.”
“Thank you!” she said, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “Just wait ’til it’s your turn, Eliza, it’s such a rush!”
“I’m still not going to let Professor Covington do this to you, though,” I said, putting my hands on her shoulders and meeting her gaze. “It’s not okay. And I can’t believe he . . . he . . .” I trailed off, sputtering, that all-consuming rage rising up again.
“Hey, Pippa, what’s the best technique for this?” Tess asked, picking up a plate and swinging their arm through the air like they were training for the shotput. “I want the most powerful smash.”
“Ooh, it’s all in the elbow,” Pippa said, her eyes lighting with glee. She gave my hand a grateful pat, and went to coach Tess. “I’ll show you.”
“Eliza, come talk to me for a minute,” Aveda said, grabbing my arm and tugging me toward the edge of the balcony. “In private. I want to discuss all the rage we have to process.” I allowed her to tow me over to the stone barrier, out of earshot of the others—they were occupied anyway, caught up in Pippa’s passionate explanation of proper plate-throwing technique.
Aveda released my arm and turned to face me, putting her hands on her hips.
“I need to ask you something,” she said abruptly, leveling me with an Aveda Jupiter Stare so direct, it made me squirm a little.
“Is this about how I’m going to get up on that ladder and throw a plate in these heels?” I said, gesturing to my shoes. “Because I’m wondering about that, too. I might have to come up with a good excuse for not participating in this ritual—”
“It’s not about the heels, it’s about . . .” She sputtered, glaring at me. “Why is it so easy for you to get mad on behalf of other people, but not for yourself?”
I shook my head at her, trying to parse her words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean . . .” She paused, letting out a long breath. Her face was getting all red. “Richard is a massive asshole in so many different ways, no question. You’re absolutely enraged at the way he’s treating Pippa, and so many of his other students—and for good reason. But you don’t get mad about the way he treated you.”
“That’s not true,” I protested, fiddling with a loose thread on my blouse sleeve. “I burned down an entire freaking library, remember?”
“But you still frame that as something you did wrong!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “It’s like you think getting mad was an incorrect response somehow.”
“Annie . . .” I nodded toward Pippa, Shelby, and Tess, who were still talking about best plate-throwing maneuvers. “Is this really the time to discuss this?”
“Yes.” She slammed a hand down on the stone barrier, then winced. “Okay, that’s actually really hard. But listen to me, Evelyn: it is killing me to see you treat these kids with such incredible empathy and compassion, but not give any of that to yourself. You told Tess that Leonora disrespecting them wasn’t their fault. You always make the extra effort to ask Shelby if she’s okay, because she wouldn’t even think of speaking up if she wasn’t. You nearly blew your cover on the first freaking day because you were so pissed at Richard for how he treated Pippa in class. But when you talk about what he did to you . . . well, it’s like I said when we first got here. You sound like all he did was steal your laundry quarters.”
“Because it’s in the past,” I protested. “I’m not Sad Mouse Evie anymore, I’ve worked hard to—”
“You keep saying that.” Aveda shook her head vehemently. “And I think it’s because it’s easier for you to make everything that happened all your fault—all her fault. Sad Mouse Evie.” She took a step closer to me, her eyes flashing. “He slept with you when you were a student, Evie. I know it was a consensual relationship. I know you were close in age. I know you were an adult, old enough to make your own decisions. But there was still a huge power differential. He took advantage of you being sad and lonely and his subordinate. And on top of all that, he treated you like shit.”
“I . . .” I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it, pausing to think—really think—about what she’d just said.
The full-body rage I’d felt when I’d seen Richard in the library had been so all-consuming—even now, I still remembered my face getting hot, my vision narrowing, my fingers curling so tightly against my palms, they’d left marks. I’d attributed it all to jealousy, to the betrayal of whatever our connection had been. But if I stopped and really thought about it . . . it was also a release of everything I’d felt, everything that had been building during the entirety of our relationship. He had done all the terrible things Aveda said.
My anger in that long-ago library moment had been so powerful. It had showed me what I was capable of, how destructive my power could be if I was pushed too far.
It had scared me.
I’d never really stopped to consider that it was also justified.
I’d never considered that I deserved to get angry.
“Annie,” I finally said, reaching out to take her hand.
“What?” she said, her voice rising suspiciously.
“You’re right.”
“Excuse me?” She shook her head at me. “Did I hear that correctly?”
“Yes.” I gave her a small smile. “I never really thought about it that way, but you’re totally right. I think . . .” I paused, my gaze drifting to the darkening sky. “I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable these past few years actually having emotions—showing emotions, not stuffing them down. But I’ve suppressed so much for so long, I don’t always know how to process everything, and it’s still easier for me to have those emotions, like . . . for other people. I don’t always know how to have them for myself.”
Aveda returned my tentative smile, squeezing my hand. “Evie,” she said slowly. “Please be honest with me. I know that . . . well, I’m certainly part of why you do that. For years, you repressed all your feelings so you could deal with mine. But tell me, was I not there for you enough when you were in grad school? It sounds like you were going through so much, and you felt so alone. I don’t think I really knew that. At the time. And it feels weird that I didn’t know that.”
“You were always there when I asked,” I said, squeezing back. “I guess I just didn’t ask very much. I felt like all of this stuff was my stuff, you know? That I had to deal with it myself. That I had to just keep saying I was fine—because maybe that would make it true.”
“Which is what you’ve been doing lately as well,” Aveda said, giving my hand a little shake.
“I know.” I released her hand and turned back to look at Pippa, Shelby, and Tess. Tess had climbed to the top of the ladder and was brandishing a plate high over their head.
“I am strong and powerful!” Tess screamed. “And I refuse to be manipulated by asshole fakers who don’t know shit about ghosts!”
“Say that!” Pippa bellowed, jabbing her index finger in the air.
“Also I’m pretty sure I’m in love with Julie Vũ! Ahhhh!” Tess threw their head back, yelling into the night sky, then hurled the plate at the concrete with gusto.
“Whoa!” Aveda breathed.
“Plot twist!” I murmured. “Though maybe we should have guessed as much, given how upset Tess was over Julie.”
“I hope we can reunite them,” Aveda said, her expression morphing to determination. “True love must prevail over gaslighting professors and terrible faux-woke white women who insist on calling their students ‘warriors.’”
“I want to throw one,” I said abruptly.
“What?” Aveda shook her head at me. “But you were just saying . . . your heels . . .”
“Fuck my heels!” I yelled, loud enough for Pippa and Shelby to swivel in my direction.
“Yeah, Eliza!” Pippa said, pumping her fist in the air. “Get over here and do that.”
I stomped back over to Pippa and Shelby as Tess climbed down from the ladder. My heels still felt wobbly, but they made the most satisfying clack-clack-clack sounds against the concrete. The harder I stomped, the louder they were. I took the plate Pippa offered and tucked it under my arm, striding toward the ladder.
Something took root in my chest, a feeling of bone-deep strength that grew with every step I climbed up the ladder. The rusty metal scratched against my palm, but I held on tighter, the plate tucked firmly under my arm. The evening chill had descended now, creeping under the thin silk of my blouse as the wind whipped my hair around my face.
And I didn’t care about any of that. I didn’t even care that my heels kept catching precariously on every single rung of the ladder.
All I could hear were the encouraging cheers of the people below—Aveda, Pippa, Shelby, Tess. Every echo of their voices bolstered that strength rising up inside of me, powering me forward.
When I finally reached the top rung, I steadied myself, holding tightly to the ladder as I swiveled my torso around so I could see the ground below. My eyes met Aveda’s, and she gave me a firm nod, her eyes flashing with pride and solidarity.
“Get mad, Eliza!” she called out.
I looked past her, out at the campus. At the library build site, a menacing formation of shadowy shapes off in the distance. A shiver ran up my spine. I quickly shook it off.
I called up the memories I had of that moment from so many years ago. My rage. My need to release it. My face got hot again, that pure mad pulsing through my entire system, overwhelming everything else, demanding to be let out . . .
“Fuck you forever, Richard!” I screamed.
I yanked my arm back and flung the plate at the ground with such force, it reverberated through my entire body.
It landed with a massive smash, shattering into a glittering cascade of porcelain. The pieces flew everywhere, bits of brilliant white contrasting with the gray of the concrete.
Everyone exploded into cheers.
“Amaaaazing!” Pippa sang out.
“Right on!” Tess whooped.
“Carpet Ball loves you!” Shelby yelled, brandishing the fuzzy green thing in front of her.
I met Aveda’s eyes again and she gave me the biggest, brightest smile.
“You did it!” she cried.
I smiled back at her—my cheeks were flushed, my hair a windblown mess, and the rage had morphed into unbridled exhilaration. And I realized I didn’t know exactly what all of this meant, or how to process it. My rage felt messy, long-suppressed, hard to describe or contain in a neat little box—like it was still leaking out all over the place. But I also didn’t feel the need to explain it or force it to make sense.
I just knew that letting it out so completely, with people I cared about cheering me on, felt really fucking good.