As was often the case with these things, Tai was right.
Music loud enough to make the walls tremble. Writhing bodies slick with sweat. Alcohol bottles on windowsills and side tables. It would have reminded Ellory of the night that she and Liam had met, but this was less of a party and more of a rager. Just squeezing through the crowds without ending up wearing someone’s mixed drink was an exercise in patience. Only Liam’s hand on the small of her back, the tips of his fingers barely dipping into her pocket, kept her from getting lost in the crowded, cavernous room.
A week had passed since she had unofficially joined the paper.She hadn’t heard from Stasie, and she hadn’t reached out to Hudson, but shehadheard from Liam, and his texts had pulled her from her frustrated spirals. She had continued to scour books and search the internet for further signs of the Old Masters, she continued to watch her surroundings for looming enforcers and glitches in the Matrix, but it was nice to have Liam remind her that there was more to her life than school and murders.
She wished only that it were enough to settle her conflicted heart.
This was their second date, and Ellory still felt like she was playing a role—and she couldn’t decide if she wanted to commit to it or not. She hardly qualified as a prize to be shown off, but there had to be a reason he took her out only in group settings. It felt performative rather than intimate, and yet she always had a good time.
Maybe her mind was trying to ruin this for her. It wouldn’t be the first time.
They pinballed from group to group until Liam introduced her to the entire lacrosse team, all carbon copies of his build and charisma. “This is my…Ellory,” he said, and it was only a little awkward. Ellory knew the polite thing to do would be to correct him with a decisive label, but she also didn’t want to define the relationship because it wasthe polite thing to do. Instead, she told a man who identified himself as Beau that she liked his shirt.
“Oh, thanks,” he said, beaming down at the photo of a slumbering toddler on the front. “That’s my kid. Do you want see a better picture?”
Six pictures in, Liam slipped away to find them some drinks. Eleven pictures in, Ellory’s curiosity won out.
“Do I pass muster?” she asked, winding a curl around one of her fingers. It sprang free, framing her face. “I know Liam’s dated the likes of Graveses and Mayhews, so I’m a little worried.”
Beau’s eyes flicked to her and then at something over her shoulder. He cleared his throat. “That was a while ago. Blackwood talks about youallthe time.”
Joy bloomed in her chest. Still, she turned, catching sight of a woman standing near the wall with a Corona bottle in one hand and her phone in the other.
Her skin was unseasonably golden, blessed with the color of an increasingly invisible sun, and long lashes surrounded eyes the pale gray of mountain mist. Reddish-brown hair framed her face in a tight curl pattern, decorated by a silver headband that matched her sparkling long-sleeved top. Her earrings dangled toward her shoulders, shaped like guillotines.
Their eyes met, and Ellory’s cheeks grew hot.
“Is that her?” she asked without daring to be the first to look away. “His ex?”
“I don’t want to be involved,” said Beau. “But yes. Can I interest you in more pictures?”
Ellory wandered toward the woman—the Mayhew—before he had even finished speaking. With everything going on, she had completely forgotten to track her down, and now the party was secondary, another step on the inevitable path to truth.
To her credit, the Mayhew woman didn’t pretend she hadn’t been staring. Those gray eyes watched unblinkingly as Ellory cut through the crowd, her eyebrows lowering as the space between them shrank. She put her phone away and took a sip of her Corona, leaving a perfect smudge of pomegranate lipstick.
“Hey,” said Ellory.
The woman smiled. “Hey.”
She introduced herself as Farrah Mayhew. Her handshake was firm but not combative. Her nails were painted lily pad green. Shewas strikingly pretty in a way that made Ellory glad she had missed the entirety of her relationship with Liam. Independently, Farrah and Liam drew helpless longing gazes. Together, they must have been devastating. A bisexual’s nightmare. Ellory would never have gotten any studying done.
“So, you and Liam, huh?” said Farrah. “Ugh, sorry.” She ducked her head, her cheeks alight with a rose-petal blush. “Asking about it probably makes me seem like an asshole, but I can’t help myself.”
“I’m willing to abandon decorum if you are,” Ellory said. “Though my question is going to be a lot more morbid.”
Farrah took another sip of her Corona. “I’m intrigued.” But clearly, whatever Farrah had expected her to bring up, Malcolm Mayhew wasn’t it. She blinked twice, birdlike, eyebrows knitting together. “My uncle? How do you know about that?”
“I stumbled on the wrong article at the right time, I guess. Do you know much about him?”
Farrah’s mouth opened and closed. She looked down at her bottle, thumb circling the lip. “Not really. He was my father’s younger brother. He died here on campus.” Her wry smile returned. “I’m a legacy student. That’s not the legacy I would’ve chosen, but at least you’re only the second person to ask me about it this week.”
“Second?”
But even as Ellory’s lips formed the question, she knew down to her marrow what—who—had gotten to Farrah first:
“Hudson Graves.”
***
