The Evil Within by Nancy Holder Page B

Gretchen Cabot for talking about Miles. Like no one is even allowed to say the hallowed name of incest boy.”
    Troy’s dimpled face popped into my mind. I wonder what he would think of his poor, terrified girlfriend if he’d been there. My heart registered further insult.
    “I’m surprised Gretchen didn’t end up dead in the lake this morning,” Rose went on.
    I stared at her. She waved her hands.
    “I know, sorry, that was tacky. Rest in peace, Kiyoko.”
    “Hey,” Shayna said from the door. Stewart girls favored after-class warm-up clothes; she had on beige cashmere and gold hoops that glittered against her perfectly shaped long cut. Her dark eyes took in the scene—me on Rose’s bed, Rose sitting up semi-possessively, angled toward me. She was holding two steaming coffee cups. “The cocoa’s ready.”
    “Cool,” Rose said, smiling at Shayna. “Thanks.”
    “C’mon, Lindsay.” She looked at Rose. “We’re studying.”
    “Oh.” Rose’s face fell. She looked from Shayna to me and back again. “I . . . see.”
    Awkwardly, I got up off her bed. Shayna handed me a cup and I passed it to Rose, as if that had been Shayna’s intention. Rose took it, slurping noisily, then smiled at me.
    “When you guys are done, we can walk to dinner together,” she announced. “Us three.”
    “That’d be great,” I said. “Shayna’s totally helping me catch up in trig.” I sounded like a moron, but I was uncomfortable.
    Shayna led me out, down to a room at the end of the hall. She opened the door and I went in, to a room furnished more cheerfully than I had anticipated. She had an abstract oil painting on the wall beside a poster of a gorgeous girl who bore a resemblance to her. The girl was lying on her side, on what appeared to be a sheet of Lucite lit from underneath with blue lights, holding out a shiny red apple. Suggestive shadowing implied that she was naked.
    Shayna’s bedspread was white decorated with purple and red tulips. She had covered her chandelier with a large purple paper star decorated with silver wires. On her desk were several plastic containers of silver, black, and green beads, a pair of pliers, and a spool of stringing wire.
    And on her nightstand was a five-by-seven picture of Kiyoko and her, wearing matching pink feather boas and cheap rhinestone tiaras over what appeared to be baggy peasant-style dresses. They were blowing kisses at the camera.
    She handed me the other hot chocolate and gestured for me to take a beanbag. She was wearing what looked like red thread on her left wrist. I remembered reading an article about all the Hollywood celebs who were wearing them, but I didn’t remember why.
    She saw me looking at it and said, “My stepsister got this in Israel. It’s for protection.”
    I sank down, flashing for a brief moment on the horrible vision I’d had in the shower. My hands shook, and I silently cleared my throat, struggling to reboot.
    “My parents didn’t want me to come back. I’m here for Kiyoko.” She swallowed hard. “They murdered her.”
    I closed my eyes for a few seconds, struggling to keep it together. Wondering if I could trust Shayna. “They . . . they tried to . . . ” Kill me too , I added silently. I couldn’t say it. I just couldn’t.
    She leaned forward and gave me a long, penetrating look. Beneath her perfectly applied makeup, there were deeper, darker circles around her eyes. And I saw that she’d gone heavy on the blush. The actual Shayna was washed out and pale. “Why did you come back?”
    I felt Celia’s icy presence flooding through me. Was she warning me not to tell?
    “Tell me about the dybbuk ,” I said.
    “I never really listened to all my grandmother’s old stories. Until . . . now.” She gave me another look. “It’s usually the ghost of a dead person, someone who’s not done here. Earth, I mean.”
    “Not done,” I ventured. “Like they have a grudge?”
    She smiled her cynical smile, pulling up the left side of her