The Evil Within

  The icy rain returned that night, so the prank would have to be delayed. I watched as the word spread, as people got more and more excited as suspense grew. Charlotte basked in the attention for the next two days straight: noticed, selected by Mandy—the kiss of popularity burning like a brand on her forehead. Even if Charlotte didn’t make it to the winner’s circle, she was being given a chance to run the race, and few Marlwood girls had gotten that far. No matter that she might get shot down (probably), humiliated (definitely), or even . . . killed. For a few brief shining moments, she could see paradise.

  “Someone should clue her in that she’s just the sideshow,” Julie told me as we looked on over those two days. “She’s not Cinderella. Not to be mean, but it just doesn’t seem like Charlotte is going to turn cool overnight. I guess it wouldn’t matter if we said anything, though. Right?”

  It hadn’t mattered last semester to the girls who had vied for spots on Mandy’s team. In fact, I had come to Mandy’s attention—lucky me—specifically because I had made it so clear that I didn’t want to play. My uniqueness made me attractive. A challenge. Not to mention that I was possessed by Celia, and Mandy by Belle. But neither of us had known that when I first arrived at Marlwood.

  As the tension mounted, Shayna and I planned our excursion to the old library in more detail. Shayna had a sense of mission, of purpose: avenging her former best friend, Kiyoko. I felt as if I were standing in front of an open grave, a shovel in my hand and a choice to be made—either I handed the shovel to Mandy and lay down in the dirt . . . or I hit her over the head with it and buried the evidence.

  Please, please help me find a way out of this, I silently begged Shayna, at meals, between classes. Walking through the snow, staring at the white horse heads holding the thick white chain links in their mouths. Sitting in my room as Julie chattered obliviously on, while I watched the light shift on the ceramic head—or was it moving?—and the frozen figure in Mandy’s window.

  Fog swirled, covering our faces, hiding us from one another. Girls started playing tricks on each other, sneaking up, jumping out and saying, “Boo!” Screaming “Marco! Polo!” and talking about ghosts. Marlwood was known to be haunted. Everyone said so. Many, if not most of us, of course, believed it.

  THEN THE RAIN FINALLY CLEARED, and it was Prank Night.

  That evening, after dinner, Ms. Krige shared some ginger-bread she’d made with her grandnieces in Portland, Oregon, and we brewed some spiced cider. As the evening stretched into Ms. Krige’s bedtime, eyes gleamed and girls grinned secretively to each other. A death-defying Mandy Winters prankapalooza was about to begin!

  I had my excuse prepared: I was on probation. So I told Julie I wasn’t going.

  “But Charlotte may need a lifeguard,” she argued.

  “You’ll be there. You’ll watch out for her.”

  So as was our habit, Julie went to bed fully dressed, while I put on my camisole and plaid pajama bottoms, pretending to really go to sleep. I was exhausted, but I lay with my eyes wide open, trying to fake being asleep, trying even harder not to stare at the white head, which Julie had transferred to our nightstand because she was afraid it might fall off the windowsill and break. It was angled slightly toward me, and the moonlight glinted off its forehead as Julie quietly slipped out of bed and tested her flashlight.

  I heard Ida and Claire giggling and whispering in the hall; someone was creeping down the stairs. Julie mentioned my name. Then silence. They were in the bathroom by then, easing up the sash of the wooden window frame. There was a boulder outside the window, very convenient for climbing down.

  I checked the digital alarm clock. It was 10:45 p.m. I got up, dressed in tights and jeans, a long-underwear T-shirt, and my mom’s UCSD sweatshirt over that. Then I grabbed my army jacket, mittens, and a black knitted cap; also my flashlight and cell phone, even though there would probably be no reception. I just felt better having it with me.

  I had to walk through the bathroom in the dark in order to get out the window. The five large tubs sat in the center of the large, white-tiled room, between the bank of sinks and the bathroom stalls. The showers were on the far wall, the single window above the large white wicker hamper for our towels. The window was cracked slightly open, making it easier to climb back into the dorm. I crawled onto the hamper, slid open the window, and slung my legs over onto the boulder. Then I dropped into the snow.

  I gazed over at Jessel. The figure in Mandy’s window was still there, and chills washed over me as I looked away. I didn’t think that it was Celia’s reflection, but I didn’t know who—or what—it was. And I wasn’t about to investigate just then.

  I hurried through Academy Quad toward the buildings with our classrooms. There was the commons, and behind it, our old gym, with its frieze of naked Grecian male athletes, scheduled for demolition during the summer, when it would transform into the Winters Sports Complex. I’d seen the watercolor sketches in Dr. Ehrlenbach’s office. Very lavish, very modern, looking nothing like the rest of the campus. I wondered if they’d keep the old Greek statues in the sculpture garden behind the gym. I hoped not; they creeped me out.

  You won’t be here next year, I reminded myself. And I shivered, hard; because what if I was here next year? What if I still wasn’t free by the end of the term?

  It began to snow again lightly, big, powdery flakes that at least weren’t a repeat of the earlier icy rain. I felt awful for Charlotte but also annoyed—she’d asked for her own torture, after all. I gritted my teeth and zipped up my army jacket, still unused to the cold weather. If it ever snowed in San Diego, it made the national news.

  I skidded along another path, remembering to slow down because of the black ice. The blank, staring horse heads observed me as I turned left, moving into the edge of the forest, tracing the route to the library from memory. I thought of Charlotte, who was slightly overweight, a major infraction among our skinny, toned student population. Mandy had probably targeted her because of it. Undressing in front of so many size zeros and twos would just add to Charlotte’s humiliation, and Mandy would like that. A lot.

  Troy, you’re such an idiot for dating her, I thought. But when I even thought of his name, I went warm inside. Maybe that was proof that I was an idiot, too.

  Or recreating a love triangle so powerful it had lived beyond the grave? Belle had tried to kill Celia over a guy. And Celia wanted me to kill Belle—but in self-defense, right? Because Mandy, possessed by Belle, was stuck in the same pattern?

  Finally, I reached the old library—it reeked of dirt and decay. There was a light glowing in one of the upstairs windows. Shayna had nerves of steel, I thought, if she was brave enough to go upstairs alone. I reached the threshold of the front entrance, to find the splintered, moldy door canted against the rotting wood, leading to a pitch-black entryway. My Doc Martens sank into a pile of dust and trash, and I aimed my flashlight, sweeping up, down, seeing spiderwebs overhead, and dusty, broken beer bottles strewn across the floor. Last semester, Mandy and friends—and I, so very much not a friend—had tromped up and down the same hallway; it hadn’t taken long for it to revert back to its abandoned appearance.

  Above my head, I heard a hollow, knocking sound, like a very loud footfall, or, more likely, someone moving furniture. I wondered if Shayna had found something interesting. Images of operating tables and scalpels flashed in my mind; goose-bumps rose over my skin, as if someone had just walked over my grave.

  I had decided to tell her everything that had happened, and everything I knew: about the fire, and Belle, and my visions and/ or nightmares. I would trust her, and she would help exorcise not only Mandy and company, but me as well. No murders, no more deaths, just . . . life.

  And maybe, Troy.

  “Hey?” I called. “It’s me.” My voice seemed to echo around me, too noisily. I winced; we needed to keep our mission on the downlow.

  Another hollow sound. I shone my flashlight into the dark, deciding to wait for her to come to me. As a cold gus
t of wind blew behind me, I jumped and checked over my shoulder. It wasn’t the same cold hand-like pressure that was Celia’s trademark, I assured myself. Just . . . wind, making the spiderwebs dance.

  I shifted my weight; I was cold and my nerves were starting to fray. I thought of Charlotte. I hoped she had come to her senses and told Mandy to go to hell. Or better yet, that Charlotte had pushed Mandy into the lake. Or best yet . . . just walked away. You did not want to be a target for Mandy Winters. You didn’t want to be on her radar at all.

  Another footfall. What was Shayna doing? I pulled out my cell to check the time, and I was shocked to discover that it was nearly eleven thirty—we were supposed to meet at eleven. How long had I been standing in the dark waiting for her to appear? Had she already come and gone?

  There was a creak on the floorboard directly behind me, and I jerked my finger, accidentally taking a picture. The flash went off, blinding me; I blinked rapidly and whirled around, expecting to see Shayna.

  But there was no one there.

  “Hey, can you hurry up?” I said loudly—too loudly; actually, I shouted—and then I was so freaked out I scooted out of the library and onto the snow, turning to look up at the upstairs window where I had seen the light . . .

  . . . But all the windows were dark.

  “Shayna?” I whispered. It was the loudest sound I could make. Because suddenly, I was more than afraid. Something was wrong. I could feel it. Fear chilled me; or maybe it was Celia, serving as my spirit guide, warning me, as she had in the woods. I was in danger; I knew it.

  I cleared my throat. Twice. “Shayna, come on. We have to get out of here.”

  There was no answer except for whooshing of the wind. My mind raced. I had heard her upstairs. I had seen the light. She couldn’t be pranking me. She’d been serious about the dybbuk, and Kiyoko’s murder. Mandy was the sadistic hazer, not someone like Shayna, who had suffered at Mandy’s hands.

  “Come on, this isn’t funny,” I croaked. I sounded a hundred years old. I ran my flashlight over the front of the house, the gaping holes in the walls and the blackness. My heart sped into overdrive. I started backing away, squinting at the darkened windows, shivering in the snow. I pushed the button to check the time again . . . and instead, I opened up the picture I had taken a minute before.

  The picture was a white blur, vaguely human-shaped. Maybe the bright flash had washed out the person’s features. Maybe it was just Shayna teasing me, or someone spying on us . . . or . . .

  . . . Or . . .

  Someone else had been in there with me.

  Terrified, I turned and ran.

  ELEVEN

  I RACED AWAY from the ruined old library, past beams of light flashing off the windows of the gym. It was coming from the statue garden, where eerie white marble figures of Greek gods and goddesses posed below the boughs of overhanging trees laden with snow. I avoided looking at them whenever I crossed from the dining commons to the gym. Despite their blank stares, they were eerily lifelike—and just one more thing about Marlwood that gave me the creeps.

  So maybe that was it, I told myself. It was somebody behind you with a flashlight. Or they dragged a statue out to the library somehow. That was the noise upstairs—them moving it around. Shayna’s probably yukking it up with them right now, having a laugh at your expense.

  I had trouble believing that, accepting it. Shayna had seemed so sincere. But I’d misjudged people before. Riley had been sincere.

  Troy, too.

  “Go, Charlotte, go!” someone shouted. There was laughter, some hoots, then a lot of shushing. I skidded on ice, nearly face-planting, not wanting to face them, to be the butt of a joke. I had to pull myself together. I was scared. And if Shayna had played me for a fool . . .

  “You know this is Mandy’s doing.” Celia’s voice filled my head.

  I jerked, hard. I was inside the pool area, standing on the low diving board, and staring down at her reflection three feet below me in the black water. Chlorine-laced mist rose from the surface, revealing her white face and her black eyes staring up at me; I could see them clearly even in the darkness. I was so startled I nearly tumbled off the board. Flailing my arms, for balance, I gave my head a shake. I didn’t remember pushing on the door that led inside the pool area, or climbing onto the board. But here I was, and the door was hanging open, blowing in the icy wind, revealing the falling snow in the moonlight.

  “You have to stop her,” Celia added.

  Then the wind slammed the door shut, hard. I yelled, but footsteps and laughter drowned out the noise I made . . . jostling and shushing and someone crying, hard.

  They were coming in here.

  I turned and ran-walked the length of the board, unsteady and anxious, jumping down and crouching behind the board, then scooting backward, into the shadows thrown by the dark green wood equipment locker where kickboards, noodles, and weights were kept. I crouched beside it, shaking.

  They came through the same door that I had, whispering and laughing. A single flashlight blinked on, revealing Mandy, dressed all in black, wearing a black knitted cap, and drinking from what looked to be a bottle of champagne. Mandy was holding the flashlight, and Lara walked beside her, bundled up against the cold.

  Then the pool lights flicked on—both below the surface, one at the far end of the pool and the other beneath the diving board. Otherwise it was still dark in the gym. Mandy walked toward the edge of the pool and looked down, the light giving her face a bluish cast that reminded me of Kiyoko’s face after she had drowned. A strange little smile flashed over her face and I glanced at the water. Had she seen Belle?

  Next came Gretchen and Sangeeta, bundled in beautiful leather jackets trimmed in fur, and then Charlotte, flanked by Susi and Alis. Charlotte was wearing her steampunk coat and she was crying. Her red-streaked black hair was covered with snow. Julie walked behind her wearing a cute blue knitted cap, brushing the melting flakes off the shoulders of Charlotte’s coat like Charlotte’s valet. Julie’s face was ruddy with cold.

  Then more girls pushed their way into the room, giggling and snickering. Their breath mingled with the steam rising from the pool. Someone bellowed, “Be quiet, you guys,” and there was more laughter and stumbling.

  The door slammed shut. I was still hidden in the shadows, and I pressed my back against the wall. The snow on my clothes began to melt and I shivered.

  “Oh God, that was so awesome,” Rose declared, swooping down in front of Mandy. Her profile was to me and alcohol fumes wafted off her. She bowed with her arms extended, making I am not worthy motions. Sucking up. I was shocked. “A work of art, lady. How did you do that?”

  “It’s totally obvious. She replaced the statue,” someone called out.

  “Ssh, whisper,” Lara commanded.

  “Well, duh,” Rose retorted, whispering. “But it was so perfect. It looked just like the original, with the perky chi-chis and all. I can’t even figure out when you made the switcheroo.”

  “Did anyone else think Athena looked like Ehrlenbach?” Alis murmured.

  “I’ve always thought that,” Sangeeta replied. “Those statues are creepy even without turning them into robots.”

  Mandy grinned, in her element as the center of attention, when it was Charlotte who was crying. Ida and Claire pushed through the crowd and gave her little hugs. Then Julie handed her some tissues and Charlotte wiped her face with them.

  “So how did you do it?” Rose persisted.

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Mandy waved her flashlight at the water in the pool as if she were drawing a picture, or writing words. Then she handed the flashlight to Lara. Lara played with it, holding it beneath her chin so that the light beamed upward, making her look demonic. Her eyes were hidden in their sockets; I couldn’t tell what color they were.

  Mandy yawned. “Now, let’s finish this up so we can get some sleep before breakfast.” She smiled at Charlotte. “Mademoiselle, onward?”

  “She’s totally tra
umatized,” Ida snapped, stepping in front of Charlotte and raising her chin, squaring off. I remembered when Shayna had done the same for Kiyoko. She wasn’t in the crowd, at least among the girls I could see from my hiding place. So where was she?

  “Is that true?” Mandy asked Charlotte. “You want to bail?”

  Sniffling, Charlotte shook her head. Then after another beat, she started unbuckling her coat.

  “Take it off,” Lara murmured.

  “Take it off,” Susi whispered. She nudged Sangeeta, who grinned, and echoed the words back to her.

  More girls joined in. “Take it off, take it off, take it off.” The whispers rose like steam, like mean-girl energy made visible in the cold.

  What possessed girls to do things like this to other girls, to themselves? Before I became a Jane-bot, I had been stunned by some of the really cruel things she and her friends had done, but at the same time I admired them because they were so subtle and effective. She’d drop a word here, make a suggestion there, and people’s worlds collided. She wasn’t a bully so much as an imp of the perverse. And she made it seem effortless, and even kind of classy. But what she did added to the chaos of making it through school, and wasn’t that already hard enough?

  But then, once I became one of her followers, all that stuff we did had seemed not mean but funny. Figuring out what to do next—what prank, what hilarious “practical joke”—and who to do it to was like learning a new language. I got better and better at it, and I reveled in my bizarre sense of accomplishment. It stopped being about my victims and became all about me. About power. That was Mandy in a nutshell.

  Charlotte was still crying as she took off her coat. Julie took it from her. Beneath, she was wearing black boots, black trousers, and a black sweater with a bronze clockwork design on it. Steampunk. She pulled off her boots and then her pants, which Julie also took, and stood in her black boy-short underwear and her sweater.

  “Take it off.”

  Charlotte hesitated, then pulled her sweater off over her head. She stood in her bra and underwear, looking miserable and determined, and climbed onto the diving board—where I had been standing ten minutes before.