Page 76 of She Haunts Me Still

Victor, thankfully, is nowhere in sight.

Mallory flips the lock and stands with her spine rigidly against the door. In the hall, the blond man’s footsteps slow to a crawl. The doorknob rattles only once before he retreats.

She’s safe. Temporarily, at least.

Mallory pushes a trembling hand through her hair, mussing her bangs. Her forehead is slick, and her skin has an alarming chill to it. Like she’s running a fever. She considers the headache that’s lingered for days with no relief, the relentless queasiness in her stomach. Alone with a list of mounting symptoms and zero explanations, she has no choice but to confront a new reality.

She’s been feeling sick since Ezra bit her.

The realization snuffs out her fear, reigniting her determination. Mallory flies across the room to Victor’s mahogany desk, yanking open drawers and rummaging through folders, not even sure what she’s looking for. But she moves with hardening tenacity, with a hunger for answers, for a sign, forsomething—until she stills, wrapping sweaty hands around a framed photograph.

It’s a picture of a younger Ezra, standing next to his father and an older man in front of this very building. Ezra looks no more than twelve, cheeks flushed under a mop of dark hair. He’s wearing a black blazer and slacks, paired with a red tie, in almost identical dress to his father and the other man in the photo.

A red tie, she realizes with a shiver, like the employee at the front desk. Mallory glances at the third man in the photograph, studying his face. He’s slightly shorter than both Ezra and Victor, but with a similar bone structure. Same angular jaw, identical sharp cheekbones. Saskia’s voice echoes in her mind: Ezra once said his grandfather lived past a hundred.

Sliding the photo back into the desk, Mallory crosses to the file cabinet, tugging it open. She sifts through several documents—sale agreements, land deeds—and is about to close the drawer when she spots a thick, leather-bound folder.

One labeledShoreview Historical Preservation Society.

Mallory cracks it open—

And her breath rushes out when she finds she’s staring at a stack of obituaries.

Lily Hubbard’s is on top, the same newspaper clipping as the library’s. Consumption. Shoreview Sanitarium, 1890. Survived by her daughter, Rose—

Rose, whose obituary is next.

The little hairs on the back of Mallory’s neck stand up.Lived a life filled with love. Her family respects her decision to die.

“ ‘Decisionto die’?” she whispers, flipping to the next one—a woman named Charlotte, who died in 1928. Followed by Betty, deceased in 1943. Followed by—

Eleanor Webb in 1966.

Mallory’s grandmother.

Her entire body hums as she finally understands what, exactly, she’s holding. A stack of death notices for the women in her family. A treasure map for the historical preservation society to follow, the nextXplaced squarely over her heart.

Hands trembling, Mallory flips to the last page.

Jasmine Webb, 1985. Survived by her daughter, Mallory.

Unexpected tears prick her lashes. It shouldn’t hurt to see her own name, not when she already knew she was a target. But it underscores a truth she’s no longer able to avoid.

The next obituary will be hers.

Mallory Webb, deceased at nineteen. Survived by no one at all.

She shoves the obituaries into her bag and slams the cabinet shut, whirling for the door—but it unlocks instead.

Startled, Mallory stumbles. Her hands crash into the desk to catch herself before she falls, sending a jar of pens flying—

As Victor Pierce enters his office.

He stands in the doorway just as she remembers him from the chapel. Tall, in a black suit, with a coat that looks like acape. A fedora atop his dark hair, cane bejeweled with a glittering stone. Hard lines in his jaw, handsome and menacing.

And emerald-colored eyes, just like Ezra’s.

“I’m sorry,” Mallory works out. “I got lost looking for the bathroom, I—”