I sat back against the pew, frowning. It was starting to make sense now. All of it.
Roland was still watching me, brow knitted. “Kat.”
“What?”
“You’re crying.”
Startled, I touched my cheek, then wiped my face with the napkins. “Ugh, sorry.”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Girl stuff, you don’t want to hear about it.” Ignoring the skeptical look he gave me, I shoved the napkins into my pocket. “Looks like they’re finishing up.” I pointed at Jess, who was shaking Guzmán’s hand, camera hanging at her side. Roland glanced over, too, and I slipped out of the pew and down the aisle before he could ask me anything else.
“Mind if I jump in the shower first?” Dad asked as soon as we got back to our hotel room.
“Sure.” I flopped back on the bed and pulled my phone out of my pocket. Whistling cheerfully, Dad grabbed his pajamas and headed into the bathroom. The whole cast was clearly thrilled about how things had turned out with Guzmán. I’d spent the last hour pretending to smile and act just as excited. But I wasn’t.
I opened my inbox first, keeping my right finger off the screen. The cut wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it still stung.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Monica Has Invited YOU to a Bridal Shower!
For: Katya Sinclair
WILL ATTEND WILL NOT ATTEND
Please join us for a bridal shower in honor of
MONICA MILLS
Sunday, March 1, at 6:00 p.m.
Maison Bellerose, Chelsea, Ohio
Hosted by Edie Mills
I closed the e-mail quickly and opened my blog dashboard. No new comments.
Sighing, I tossed my phone on the comforter, then pulled off the Elapse, too. I wouldn’t be able to put off telling Mom I didn’t want to be in her wedding much longer. I should just call her before we left for New York the next day and get it over with. The thought made my stomach turn over.
I rolled onto my side and winced as something sharp dug into my thigh. Sitting up, I ran my hands over the comforter, then stuck my hand in my pocket. And pulled out a rock.
I stared at it, bewildered. It was about half the size of my palm, and flat, with one side tapered to a razor-sharp point. Smooth, dark gray with a marbled pattern . . . like the rocks under the willow tree. When had I put this in my pocket?
Unsettled, I stood up and walked over to the desk to examine the rock under the lamp. I remembered playing with one of these when we were filming the séance under the tree. But I hadn’t even been wearing these shorts. And I didn’t remember that rock having such a sharp edge. Sharp enough to carve words into tree bark. Oscar had said it looked like that’s what I was doing tonight. But I hadn’t.
Had I?
A sudden movement in the mirror made the blood in my veins freeze.
I carefully set the rock down on the desk, keeping my eyes averted. But I could see her in my peripheral vision: the girl standing next to me in the mirror. Not transparent anymore—just as solid, just as real as me. And I knew who she was before I even looked up at her face. I’d known ever since she appeared in the catacombs, but I wouldn’t let myself believe it because I didn’t see how it was possible. But now I understood. Guzmán had created Brunilda. Roland had created Ellie.
And I’d created the Thing.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT’S BAAAAACK!
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IT—SHE—wore a dress, lacy and delicate. She had my old braid, the one I’d chopped off before leaving Chelsea, hanging over her shoulder. A few loose tendrils curled around her face, and long lashes framed her cold, expressionless eyes.
Then she smiled. Or sneered. I couldn’t tell which, but it was enough to break me out of my trance. I stumbled away, staring at the space next to me. Frantically, I searched the room: the closet, under the beds, the ceiling (because I’d seen enough horror movies to know people never think to look up until it’s too late).
I was alone. When I forced myself to look back in the mirror, all I saw was my frightened reflection, alone.
“Bathroom’s all yours!” I jumped at the sound of Dad’s voice, banging my knee against the desk. He raised an eyebrow as he crossed the room and pulled back the blankets on his bed. “You okay?”
“Yeah! Fine.” My voice came out all squeaky. “You just startled me.”
Dad laughed. “Hours underground in a room made out of human bones, and you get scared by your old man coming out of the bathroom.”
I forced myself to smile, even though my insides were still shivering.
An hour later, Dad was snoring away. The lights were off, but the TV was blaring. I was lying in bed, doing my best not to glance at the mirror every few seconds. I wasn’t sure how I’d ever sleep again.
The Thing had been real to me pretty much all my life. But this was different. Just like Brunilda, now she was real to everyone else. She’d knocked Mi Jin’s camera out of her hands in the catacombs. She’d left a message on the willow tree, and Oscar had seen it. She wasn’t just in my head anymore. She was out.
What was she going to do next?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected], [email protected]
Subject: Re: hey!
Sorry you hate being on TV. The Graveyard Slot thing is really cool, though. How did things turn out with the professor making up that ghost? Do you think the episode will be okay?
My mom did indeed make peppermint brownies. Come back to Chelsea and you can have all you want. :)
Mark
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected], [email protected]
Subject: Re: Re: hey!
well hello there, MS. TV STAR! :D i’m leaving for florida tomorrow, coming back after new year’s. how long will you be in new york?
i looked up that rumorz interview you mentioned—oscar’s really funny. are you going to do any interviews? you should!!
Ideas on How to Get Out of the Wedding from Hell:
your spider-web dress idea
you and i are co-bridesmaids and we walk down the aisle holding hands, dressed like those evil sisters from The Monster in Her Closet
you replace whatever music your mom picked with the soundtrack from Cannibal Clown Circus (still haven’t forgiven you for making me watch that one btw)
when it’s your turn to walk down the aisle, mark sets fang loose (sidenote: is it possible to train a snake to be a ring bearer? must research)
YOU TELL YOUR MOM YOU DON’T WANT TO GO. seriously, kat. you don’t want to do it, so tell her. and if she’s hurt, well, whatever. i’ve seen her hurt your feelings a million times. just tell her.
<3<3<3 trish
When our alarm went off at 8:00 a.m., I rolled over and flipped it off before Dad had even budged. My eyes were sore and scratchy, and my head felt like it was suddenly too heavy for my neck, but I was relieved. Every time I’d started drifting off, I’d seen that other version of my face in the mirror and jerked awake again, terrified.
But the Thing didn’t make an appearance as I brushed my teeth and attempted to brush the knots out of my hair. I changed into shorts and my Zombies Are People, Too! shirt— appropriate, considering my appearance this morning—and left the bathroom quickly.
The rest of the cast looked pretty zombie-like, too, although probably not because they’d lain awake all night, wondering if they’d really created an alternate ghost versio
n of themselves. Professor Guzmán and some of his students had come to see us off. Outside, I could see Inés and Abril chatting animatedly with Mi Jin while helping her load luggage into the back of one of our rental vans, while Roland and Sam were deep in discussion with Guzmán. Dad joined Jess and Lidia, who were going over our itinerary with Mr. Cooper by the checkout desk.
Jamie waved from where he was standing with Hailey, Oscar, and Thiago near the entrance. I dragged my suitcase over, doing my best impression of a normal, fully-awake girl who was not on the verge of a complete meltdown.
“Hello,” I said, smiling at Thiago before pointing at the croissant in Hailey’s hand. “That. I need one of those. Or, like, three.”
“I’ll go with you,” Jamie said immediately, and we headed into the breakfast room. I grabbed a handful of napkins and studied the selection of pastries. Jamie pointed to the smaller croissants in the middle of the tray. “Those are chocolate.”
“Done.” I took three, along with a blueberry muffin for the plane.
“So you’ve never been to New York, right?” Jamie asked.
“Nope,” I said, filling a cup with orange juice. “Dad and I didn’t even pack winter clothes. I think my grandma’s going to send some.”
“Well, there’s this supernatural museum I’ve been to a few times, and right now they’ve got a psychic photography exhibit, and—”
“A what?” I interrupted, suddenly much more awake.
Jamie grinned. “Physic photography. It’s when the image in a photo appears through telepathy, not because it was actually there when the picture was taken. Supposedly it’s even possible with video.”
“Wait, you mean, like, someone projects the image onto the photo with their thoughts?”
“Yup.”
My mind started racing. The video I’d taken on my Elapse, when the Thing had appeared like a shadow in the mirror . . . when I’d seen her through the viewfinder across the pool and in the sacristy . . .
“Hailey’s the one who found out about the exhibit,” Jamie was saying. “So she got our mom to e-mail the director a few days ago, and she ended up arranging a private demonstration for us with the photographer on Saturday. And, um . . . do you want to go?”
“Um, yeah,” I said fervently. “That’s a great idea for the web series! Hailey’s really good at this; I should ask if she wants to help me research for some of my other posts.”
“Oh.” Jamie’s eyes widened. “Um. Actually, I meant . . . do you want to go with me? As, like, a second date kind of thing.”
He sounded nervous, and for a few seconds I managed to forget about ghosts and photos. “Yes. Yes, I definitely want to do that.”
Jamie beamed. “Okay! Just to be clear, Hailey isn’t actually going with us.”
“Got it,” I said, trying not to laugh. “Your sister doesn’t go on your dates, she just plans them.”
“Yeah, she’s obsessed with the whole matchmaking thing. She wasn’t joking about Natalie Blackwell, either,” Jamie added, lowering his voice. “You might want to warn Oscar.”
“Natalie?” I frowned. “Oh, that girl who came to your viewing party?”
“Yeah.” Jamie shrugged. “She’s nice and all. But Hailey’s not always good at this. Natalie might not be his type.” It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw him glance briefly at Thiago.
I’d meant it when I told Oscar that I suspected Thiago might like him. Had Jamie noticed, too? I couldn’t ask him, obviously. After everything Oscar had confided in me last night about Mark, I didn’t want to give him any more unwanted advice. But we were leaving for the airport in a few minutes. If Oscar had decided to talk to Thiago, I could at least make it a little easier. After all, he’d gone along with Hailey’s plan to send Jamie and me on a date.
Mr. Cooper was just heading outside with Dad and Jess, while Roland and Sam were loading the second rental van. I quickened my pace, handing Jamie my napkin filled with croissants. “Can you hold these for a sec?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. Hey, Hailey!” I said, grabbing the handle of Oscar’s suitcase with my free hand. “Mi Jin promised to let us borrow two comics each for the flight. Want to come pick them out with me?”
Hailey’s face lit up. “Okay!” She took off like a shot through the doors, and I followed, silently willing Jamie to come with me. “See you guys outside!”
Jamie pushed through the doors and held them open. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Oscar watching me, eyes slightly narrowed. I gave him my best attempt at a supportive-but-not-pushy smile, and then the doors swung shut.
After tossing Oscar’s and my suitcases into the pile of bags Roland was still loading into the second van, I joined Hailey in the backseat. Jamie squeezed in next to me, and we started rifling through Mi Jin’s for-comics-only backpack. She hopped on the van a minute later, snatching the bag out of Hailey’s lap.
“I took the liberty of carefully curating a few personal recommendations,” she informed us, carefully pulling out eight issues. “These two are Oscar’s . . . Hailey, these are yours . . . Jamie . . . and Kat.” Mi Jin handed me two Guardians of the Galaxy comics with a gracious smile. “Moondragon. You’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” I said eagerly. Roland was climbing into the van in front of us, followed by Jess. Dad waved at me before getting in behind her. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Lidia shaking hands with Professor Guzmán. She called, “Let’s go, Oscar!” before hopping into the front seat of our van next to the driver.
Oscar hurried out of the lobby, and I quickly turned my attention back to my comic. I sneaked a peek at him when he sat next to Mi Jin and pulled the van door closed, but his expression was impossible to read.
For most of the ride to the airport, Mi Jin told us about the next few episodes they were planning—a haunted bridge in China and an abandoned asylum in South Korea—but I barely listened. I was thinking about Jamie’s explanation of psychic photography and how Sam had told Roland “not believing is just as powerful as believing.” I believed in the Thing, and she appeared in my camera. She got out, and now she was real. She’d even left a comment on my last blog post. I GOT OUT.
But if I stopped believing in her . . .
I squeezed my eyes closed, fighting the urge to laugh. Maybe I really was losing my mind. Stop believing in the Thing, and she won’t exist! Tinker Bell is dying, so clap if you believe in fairies! But crazy or not, I’d have to figure out some way to get rid of the Thing once and for all.
I’d just started to doze off when we pulled up to the airport. Groggily, I followed everyone through all the baggage check-in lines, security lines, and customs lines. I thought I was doing a pretty good job hiding my exhaustion, but when we finally got to our gate, Dad pulled me aside.
“What’s going on, Kat?”
“What?” I dropped my backpack onto one of the hard plastic chairs. “Nothing! Why?”
“Roland told me you were crying about something last night,” Dad said, eyes filled with concern. “But you wouldn’t say what. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, that. Um . . .” I couldn’t tell anyone about the Thing, obviously. That would require explaining that I’d spent my whole life imagining this ridiculous other version of myself. And then I heard myself say:
“I got an invitation to Mom’s bridal shower.”
“Ah.” Dad nodded sympathetically. “Kat, whether or not you go is totally up to—”
“I want to go.”
The words spilled out before I’d fully grasped the thought. But once I said it, I knew it was the right thing to do. Not because I wanted to go—I didn’t. Not because my mom wanted me to go—she’d be fine without me, just like always.
The Thing was my mother’s ideal version of me. If I wanted it to stop haunting me, then I couldn’t keep running away from either of them.
�
��It’s March first,” I told Dad. “I know it depends on the show’s schedule, but I’ll have to go back to Chelsea at some point. Mom said I need to get fitted for my bridesmaid dress.”
Dad was smiling in a mostly proud, kind of sad way that made my chest ache a little. “We’ll work it out with the schedule,” he assured me. “If you want to be there, I’ll make sure it happens.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
One of the flight attendants called for first-class passengers, and I waved at Jamie and Hailey as they followed their father to the line. I mulled over my plan as I waited to board. The thought of being in my mom’s wedding still made me queasy. But if I could get through it, maybe the Thing—real or imaginary—would finally disappear.
After Roland helped me shove my backpack into the overhead bin, I sat down next to Oscar with a heavy sigh.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I glanced at him. “You?”
“Fine.” He went back to staring at the open comic in his lap, and I pulled out my phone. “Any more comments?”
“No,” I said, lowering my voice, since Roland and Sam were sitting behind us. “Not since Maytrix kicked him off the forums. Hopefully he just gave up.”
“Cool.”
I didn’t mention the other, anonymous comment.
After clicking Will Attend on the shower invitation from Grandma, I turned my phone off and half listened to the flight attendant go over safety stuff while Oscar read his comic. Ten minutes later, our plane was in the air, and he still hadn’t turned the page.
“Okay, I have to ask,” I said quietly. “Did you talk to Thiago about . . . you know . . .”
Oscar didn’t look up. “Kind of.”
I sat up straighter. “Kind of?”
“He sort of, um . . . brought it up first.”
“I knew it!” I exclaimed, and Oscar pressed his lips together like he was trying not to smile. “I so knew it. What did he say? Did he tell you he likes you?”
“Not exactly. Um . . .” I watched as his face grew steadily redder. Then it hit me, and I gasped.
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