Page 20 of She Haunts Me Still

“Here you are. Finally.”

She glances at her watch. “This is exactly when we said we’d meet.”

“But we’re in theater.” Ezra closes his book. “If you want to be on time—”

“Show up early,” Mallory finishes with a roll of her eyes. “I’ll be sure to remember that.” She closes the door carefully. “What if someone finds us?”

“Doesn’t that make this more fun?” Ezra cracks an amused grin. “Custodial crew doesn’t come until later. I checked. We’ve got two hours.”

Mallory drops her bag on the counter and tugs at her sleeves. “So, what’s the plan? Just wait for something bad to happen?”

“Not exactly. We have to set the scene.”

Ezra rummages in his messenger bag before pulling out a handful of objects: three black candles, a silver lighter, a piece of chalk—and a pocketknife. Mallory narrows her eyes as he slides off the counter, peeling away the rug that stretches across the wooden planks. She kneels beside him, watching as he rolls up the sleeves of his black shirt and draws a large chalk circle in the floor.

“What in the world are you doing?” she asks, tucking her pleated skirt around her thighs.

“Creating a liminal space to allow for spiritual entry.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

A wisp of dark hair falls over his forehead as he glances at her. “I watched a lot of scary movies as a kid, which turned into reading horror novels and eventually nonfiction. Accounts of hauntings, exorcisms, that sort of thing. There was this one woman in Germany—she was exorcisedsixty-seventimesin one year before she died. That kind of shit fascinated me. I started studying theories of demonology, methods for séances, you name it. I guess you could say it was a bit of a hyper-fixation. Medicinal, in a way.”

Mallory studies him. “Like an escape.”

“Exactly,” Ezra says. “When your real life is already scary, horror films or books don’t give you nightmares. Instead, they can be weirdly comforting. There’s always that one character who survives, right? Who makes you feel like you can survive anything, too.”

She searches his gaze and nods, thinking of how she’s numbly sat through slasher movies with Arden in the past, the fake blood onscreen unable to touch her, not when the last memory of her mother is permanently etched in her brain.

“Yeah,” Mallory says softly. “I know what you mean.”

Ezra completes the chalk circle and sits back to blow dust from his hands. “Anyway, this is the first thing you’re supposed to do when contacting a spirit: Make a circle.”

Mallory eyes the knife. “What’s the second?”

His expression grows darker. “Offer it something.”

“Like…what?”

Ezra’s gaze rakes over her, considering. And then he reaches forward, grazing the layered ends of her chestnut waves.

“My hair?” Mallory manages, trying not to notice how close his hand is to her sweater, practically brushing her chest. She swallows. “You want to give it my hair?”

“You’re right. That’s not good enough.” Ezra lowers his arm. “How do you feel about blood?”

Mallory instinctively touches her bandaged palm. “Blood?”

“Just a little,” he says. “A pinprick from your finger, likethey do at the doctor. A dash of blood with a lock of a beautiful girl’s hair—now that’s a decent offering.”

She shakes her head, ignoring how his voice sounds around the wordbeautiful,the way it causes warmth to spread deep in her stomach. “I don’t like it.”

“Look, in movies, people just hold hands and call a spirit,” Ezra says, “but it’s not that simple. The accounts I’ve studied all say you have to give a spirit areasonto make contact.”

Mallory hesitates. “It feels a little too easy. Andcheesy. How do you even know it will work?”

“I don’t.” Ezra shrugs. “But we might as well try it and see. What’s there to lose?”

She squints. “My hair and blood, for starters.”