The Evil Within (21 page)

Courage is tiny pieces of fear all glued together.

—Irisa Hail

There is only one difference between a madman and me. I am not mad.

—Salvador Dali

February 14, my birthday

possessions: me

the pieces of the puzzle; i can almost feel them fitting together. but do i have them all?

am i possessed, or am i obsessed?

haunted by
: too many questions
listening to
: who should i listen to?
mood:
fragmented

possessions: them

my answers? all the answers?

haunted by
: dead girls who don’t care if they live or die
listening to
: Mandy.
mistake
.
mood
: bitchy

possessions: mandy

she thinks she owns Troy.
she knows she owns Miles.
but she doesn’t own herself. Belle does.

haunted by
: unfinished business
listening to
: lies
mood
: mean, edgy, ready

possessions: troy

well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?

A CANDY-RED LOTUS hummed in front of the admin building, and as I hesitated, the driver’s side opened and Troy stepped out. He was wearing a tux, and it showed off his broad shoulders and nonexistent hips. His dark hair was slicked back, accentuating his eyes and the angles of his face. He looked older and, if humanly possible, hotter than ever.

I had never been on a date with a guy in a tux before, having not gone to the winter formal with Riley, of course. And I had never even seen a Lotus outside of a movie. I suddenly felt very shy, and weird. All this was way beyond me.

I hadn’t expected him to get out of the car. I thought I’d sneak in and he’d peel out, as if we had committed a crime. To him, going out with me was sort of a crime, since he still hadn’t officially broken up with Mandy. To me, it was . . . wonderful at one level, highly terrifying at another. I knew now that at least on
some
level, I really was repeating the past. But this was different because Troy was good. Wasn’t he?

“Lindsay,” he said, gawking at me.

“Troy,” I retorted, highly self-conscious in the clothes my dormies had lent me—a red halter top of raw silk that loosely crossed just above my bra line, a little black leather motorcycle jacket, eensy gray jeans which made my legs look really long, and a pair of towering ebony slingbacks that, frankly, were a half size too small. Marica’s. Everything had been “created” by designers with single names. I had on rubies and diamonds, including a few that Marica had glued on my cheeks and left shoulder. Real? Probably. My wild dark mane was pinned partly back to show off the angles of my face, and I wore a faint berry stain on my lips. I had never looked this stunning in my life. Happy Birthday, me.

In my pocket, I held Celia’s broken locket, as well as the silk crochet necklace with the crescent moon pendant that Troy gave me for Christmas. Knowing nothing of possession, but plenty about the true meaning of Valentine’s Day (the claiming of hearts), my friends had decided that in the case of Mandy, the honor system didn’t apply after all.

Ever since our confrontation in the snow, Mandy had transformed into a crabby diva and hardly anyone could stand her. Where before she ruled the roost with some style, now she acted like an overtired, indulged two-year-old, sending her minions to fetch more bottled water or to go back to her room to grab her history book, or even to take notes in classes they shared with her because she didn’t feel like it.

Mandy wasn’t sleeping well either.

I thought somehow she would remember what had happened—that Belle would let her remember. But Mandy obviously didn’t recall our mutual revelation about David Abernathy, or maybe she didn’t think that had anything to do with her, and me, and Troy. Or maybe she did, and was plotting something way beyond my scope.

Whatever the case, I was the one my dormies cared about, not Mandy; and I wasn’t acting like a bitch. So all gloves were off in the Troy sweepstakes; they styled me into the hottie I never was and served me up on stilettos.

“You look amazing,” he said. “Not that you don’t in real life.”

The “real life” comment reminded me that he was my snarkmate; while he was flushed and happy to be all dressed up and driving a Lotus, he acknowledged that there was an unreal aspect to it. Maybe even for him.

“Don’t get used to it,” I ordered him. “This is just for . . . because.” That made no sense, but he grinned and swept a bow. I almost curtseyed before I thought just how wonky that would look. I
felt
wonky, and unsure. I had only gone out with one other guy in a boy-girl way—Riley, and that hadn’t turned out very well in the end.

Riley
could
have turned out well after all. He was checking you out in the theater
, I reminded myself.
Before you started channeling Celia.

Well, I was channeling her now, so there was no telling what would happen tonight. The thought made me itch, badly. Or else I was allergic to the glue Marica had used to apply the jewels.

I had finished all of Shayna’s books. There were a lot of exorcism rituals in the world, and a lot of them required special equipment—rattles, bones, talismans, holy water, and crucifixes. I had even learned how to say the Ninety-First Psalm and the Ten Commandments in phonetic Hebrew, although I had no idea which word was which. Just in case.

Troy walked me to my side of the car and opened the door. The seats were real leather.

“Sweet,” I said.

He smiled. “Borrowed from the same guy who told me about the restaurant.”

“Your other car was really nice.”

“T-bird, Lotus. No comparison.”

I was flattered—and awestruck—by his rich-guy logic. He was actually trying to impress me. Me, the girl who had been stupid enough to believe that Riley the quarterback really liked her best. And the small-minded section of my heart—located in the same quadrant as all the scar tissue—wished that Jane and Riley could see me now.

Or Mem
, I thought, and choked back a wistful sigh.

“Thank you, same guy,” I said. My big ruby earrings tickled my neck. I was tingling from head to toe, feeling gorgeous, edgy, guarded, giddy, and close to overwhelmed with how simply happy I was to be with him. Fragmented. Amazed I could feel so many different ways, all at once.

The Lotus didn’t so much roll as glide; the motor purred. I thought of Miles’s Jag and pushed that comparison firmly aside.

Diamond stars, pearl moon. Troy was breathtaking behind the wheel, moving one hand behind my neck and playing with tendrils of my hair. His smile was positively radiant. I had never seen a guy so uninhibited about expressing his delight, unless it had been on the football field.
I
was making him smile like that. Me. Fartgirl.

We went down the bypass famed for the appearance of the burning ghost. One of the seven who had died in the fire? I almost wanted to see her.

Almost.

A few minutes later, we pulled up a circular drive starring floodlights on pine trees, a towering rock waterfall, and an enormous bronze statue of an eagle scooping up a fish.

“Jeez,” I said. “Cheery. It’s just like Marlwood.”

Troy chuckled and drove up to an alpine-style hut. A guard inside was dressed in a navy blue suit. Troy gave him his name and a white barrier lifted.

That waterfall was only a prelude to a far more amazing waterfall at least two stories tall, in front of what looked like an infinity pool. Beyond that, a beautiful multi-storied stone lodge snuggled against the incline of the hill, like a couple sleeping like spoons.

A guy—a valet—took the keys from Troy and another guy helped me out of the car while Troy came around. I stared down at the gravel walkway and then at Marica’s beautiful shoes. I could never hope to replace them if I scuffed them up—and they were probably one of a kind. Make that two.

Troy looked from me to the gravel, to my shoes, and grinned. Then he bent down and scooped me up in his arms, one arm under my knees and one around my back. Troy was muscly and he smelled like cotton and soap, with maybe a dash of tuxedo. Clean and sexy. He smiled at me happily, and I took that moment and held it closely—no matter what else was going on, right then, right there, a handsome, rich guy in a tux was carrying me like a hero in a fairytale.

“Wow, you are dinky,” he said. “I knew you were short but you don’t weigh much either.”

I laughed and we sailed into the restaurant. The foyer was a circular room, water cascading down a wall of black marble behind a black marble podium. A woman with chestnut hair tied in a knot, wearing a simple but elegant black gown, smiled at us and said, “Mr. Minear?”

“Yes,” he said, setting me down. I tottered briefly on Marica’s heels and he steadied me. His grin was impish.

Then she walked us around the black marble wall to a dining room with a black-and-white marble floor, dominated by a sweeping spiral staircase. Black sconces on the walls held white candles, and the tables were covered with black tablecloths and white candles set in crystal. Prisms of light danced against the walls. Other diners, most in suits and nice dresses, but at least one other man in a tux, smiled at us as we passed. Everyone sort of gleamed, fit, trim, healthy, ageless.

She led us to the staircase; then we went up to the second level, to a small round table for two. Other couples smiled at us, and we smiled back. A man in a white jacket arrived, explaining that he was Missou, our waiter.

Our table bounced with candlelight. In front of a black vase with a single red rose, a white tent card read “Lindsay Cavanaugh and Troy Minear, Valentine’s Day.”

Troy pulled out my chair. His body heat warmed the nape of my neck.

“We have the menu in hand,” Missou informed Troy. “Would you care to change anything?”

Troy turned to me. “Are you a vegetarian?” I shook my head. “Beef okay?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I think we’re all set, then,” Troy told Missou, who kind of wafted away.

Then another man came, wearing a chain around his neck. He introduced himself as the wine steward and asked Troy if he should bring the Bollinger. I knew that was a kind of champagne because Jane and I had taken a trivia quiz about James Bond; 007 used to drink Bollinger, but he switched to something else.

There was no way I, at least, looked old enough to be twenty-one. I decided that liquor licenses just didn’t apply at a place like this—just like Marlwood, where the rules didn’t matter.

“Yes, thanks,” Troy said, as I sat there, floundering.

Missou popped our bottle of champagne, poured, and put the bottle in an ice bucket. Wine came, and steaks and all kinds of side dishes—little potatoes and asparagus, which I loved.

“You’ve got the strangest look on your face,” Troy said, finishing a bite of steak. The candlelight glimmered in his dark blue eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

Actually, I had been thinking about Julie, and wondering how she was doing. She and Spider were going to the dance as a couple, but she wasn’t as excited about it as I’d thought. She’d insisted on keeping what had happened in the woods a secret; not even Spider knew, apparently. I hated the shadow that had fallen over her life. Hated whoever had done that to her.

“This is really nice,” I replied instead. “Thank you.”

He leaned across the table, took my hand, and gave me a look that was more than a look—a Valentine’s Day look, an
I am serious
look.

“I’m going to break up with Mandy at the dance tonight,” he announced. He was perfectly calm. As if he had planned this entire dinner to tell me this. Which maybe he had.

My heart soared. I was so happy I almost started crying.
Don’t trust Troy
? Celia was
so
wrong.

“So watch out for fireworks,” he added. “Because there will be some later.”

Why
did
mean girls get good guys? I opened my mouth to blurt that out, then firmly shut it. I was the nice girl and I was getting the good guy after all. The impulse to babble was enormous, because I felt so . . .
extreme
. I tried to think of something to say. I had never told him about seeing Mandy and Miles probably-kissing in the Jag. I hadn’t even known how to go there—
your girlfriend was cheating on you with her brother—
or maybe she was like Angelina Jolie and her brother, in a tease relationship that exploded my middle-class boundaries. I thought about saying it now, to make sure the deal was sealed. But it would make me look small and mean, and besides, I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d seen.

“You’re so quiet,” Troy whispered with a grin as he tugged apart his dinner roll. He was leaning toward me, and I saw his dimples, and the candlelight reflected in his eyes.