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“Of course, but there’s always a way to spin this kind of thing. They don’t even need to show the body, do they?” Marcella tilts her head, pensive again. “This was sloppy,” she says, thoughtful. “A mistake was made here.” She regards me, her gaze stony. “Tell me, when was the last time you came to the fifth floor?”

“Um … I don’t know,” I whine. “A week ago? Maybe?”

“Be clear.”

I stomp my foot, childish and frustrated by that even as I do it. “My friend is dead!”

“And I’ll need to explain myself, likely.”

“You just got here!” I snarl. “You have an alibi! She’s been dead for days!”

“Think about it: I swept in and took Laurel’s spot. Easy, just like that, stole an esteemed scholar’s position. What wouldn’t anyone do for a tenure-track setup like hers at Preston?”

My jaw slackens. “You—you’re crazy.”

“No. I’m smart.” It’s almost a growl, her body hunched and fierce as she turns to me. “But we are in this together now.”

“What? No. We’re in nothing.” I hold up my hands—and see the blood on them. Look down, see it slicking my legs. “Oh, fuck.”

Marcella gives me an almost-smile that turns my stomach liquid with panic. “Yes. We are in this together. And I, for one, would prefer that the two of us—you, so close to Laurel, and I, newly arrived—were not used as scapegoats for a messy wight kill.” She paces toward me, her lips curling. “But I am impressed by you. I thought you were a little lamb, but we’ll make a lioness of you yet.”

“I don’t— I am not! I don’t want to— I just wanted to work!” I gather a shaking breath into my lungs. It doesn’t take much to realize—because I’m smart, if nothing else—that there is no other option. “F-fine,” I manage.

“Good, sweet Lacie. Don’t worry. We’ll protect each other. Won’t we?”

I feel that threat more than hear it. I chew my lip, heart a riot, eyes darting from the body to Marcella and back again.

“What do we do now?” I finally ask.

“We leave her.”

“Leave her? Like that?”

“Yes. Someone eventually will smell her. And then the race to pin this kill on someone will be on. But until then—”

“I’m sorry, we’re going to leave a dead body until, what, a student finds her? Oh god, a janitor?” I think of the lovely women I know who work during Preston’s liminal hours and cringe. I can’t do this to them.

Marcella lifts an elegant shoulder. “Unless you want to report Laurel’s death yourself? Remember, you have no solid alibi since she went missing and you were her closest friend, yes? Perhaps you and she were vying for that same showcase spot?”

Shit. My skin chills. We were, weren’t we? Laurel and I were kind to each other about it, but the reality is, we were always in competition. There are no friends at Preston University, not in our department.

“Right.”

“I suggest we … go our separate ways. I’ll go down to my meeting with Dean Shea. You go back to your room, get cleaned up. Say nothing, talk to no one.”

“Wait, I got a coffee!”

“And then you forgot you left a book in your room,” Marcella whispers. “And then you went to the library. And that was it.”

I look down at my shaking, bloodied hands. “Okay.”

“We’ll meet after nightfall in my room. You can make the acquaintance of my cat.”

I close my eyes lightly. “Okay,” I say again. “Fine.” If only for the cat.

When I open my eyes again, Marcella is smiling. “Good. We have an agreement. Run along now, Lacie.”

SIXMarcella