Keystone

by Katie Delahanty

  Also by Katie Delahanty

  The Brightside Series

  In Bloom

  Blushing

  Believe

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Malice, by Pintip Dunn

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Katie Delahanty. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Preview of Malice copyright © 2020 by Pintip Dunn.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Road

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Entangled Teen is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Candace Havens

  Cover design by Covers by Juan

  Cover images by

  Sveta Aho/shutterstock

  Interior design by Toni Kerr

  ISBN 978-1-64063-824-2

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-64063-825-9

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2020

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Memamade.

  Wherever you are, rest assured, your legend will live on.

  “In the future, everyone will be

  world-famous for 15 minutes.”

  —Falsely attributed to Andy Warhol

  Chapter One

  June 25, 20X5

  This will be my first and last entry, the final secret I share. It’s strange, knowing this is goodbye. What will be my final words to my so-called friends?

  …

  I thought I’d get to choose, but in the end, it isn’t my decision.

  “Jump!” The voice is the wind ruffling the lake, but it’s inside me at the same time. Wherever it comes from, it’s a voice I obey. Instinctively wadding my limbs into a ball, I launch myself overboard seconds before the explosion.

  As soon as I hit the water, the blast pushes me under. Bubbles rumble past my ears in a rush to the surface that fast fades above me. Frigid fingers shove into my nostrils until my eyes bulge.

  Where is Adam? I can’t go without him.

  Seconds ago, I was overjoyed to see him. Those unforgettable blue eyes connected with mine, sending a jolt of hot relief down my spine. He was coming with me, and we had everything in front of us. Memories to be made.

  And now…

  Panicking, I thrash, frantically feeling for his fingers until a second wave of debris—champagne glasses, yacht remnants—presses me deeper. Invisible hands bind me, dragging me down.

  He’s gone. Everyone is.

  My heart balloons until it will surely burst, and I sob, inviting in the lake. As I choke, my throat scorches and my legs grow heavy, too heavy to move. Held hostage in chilly limbo, I stare into the hazy water, my useless arms floating in front of me. What strikes me most is the silence settling into my core, making room for the Lonely to reside. It would be easy to submit to the tantalizing darkness, to let the cool kiss take me, but some gut reflex won’t let me go. Of their own volition, my legs kick, getting tangled in the vintage Balenciaga dress Mom said would be the envy of the party, and there’s no way I’m letting that be the weight that drags me down. Lungs screaming, I push for life, clawing my way through wreckage until I break the surface with a pop.

  I gasp, burned air searing my raw throat as I scan the lake for a sign of life—for evidence any of my friends are still part of mine—but all I find is unrecognizable fragments of my old existence sinking to watery graves. A fire smolders in the distance. Unwilling to believe the inevitable, I bob and dip my way toward it, my dress clinging to my legs, hindering my progress. I hike it up to my chest so I can move freely, but it’s still a fight for my exhausted limbs to keep my head above water. When I finally arrive at the charred remnants, it’s obvious the yacht is gone.

  I’m alone.

  If I could let the water swallow me, I would, but now that I’ve chosen to live, I can do nothing else.

  A siren sounds on the breeze, reminding me of the plan.

  This isn’t how it was supposed to happen, but it can still work. I’ve got to hide.

  Walling off the desperation that squeezes my heart, adrenaline takes over, giving me strength to paddle toward shore. This night can haunt me later.

  Crawling out of the lake, I sprawl on the beach, sucking in precious air for as long as I dare. Still breathless, I limp into the woods. My temples throb and I long to return to the house and climb into bed, to huddle under the blankets until the shivering stops. Last chance to keep my old life. I could come out of this a survivor. My parents would be so proud… Once the story hit the Networks, my Influencer status would be reinstated—especially now that everyone who knew my family’s secret is…dead.

  Isn’t that convenient?

  I don’t dwell on who’s behind the explosion. Maybe part of me already knows the truth, but I’m not ready for it. Instead, the final fleeting glimpse I had of my best friend, Deena, her blond hair whipping across her face right before the blast, assaults me.

  Doubling over, I swallow the sickness rising in my throat, shutting my eyes against her. We weren’t speaking, but she didn’t deserve this. None of them did. Tears bubble down my cheeks. Dropping to my knees, I stare up at the starry sky, an irrevocable ache seeping through me. How can I be in this world without them? Wherever they are, can they see me? The universe is endless, and the stars shine down without even a wink.

  A voice drifts up from the lake, its nearness sobering me. For the plan to work, the world needs to believe I’m dead. But if I stick to the plan I can never go back. That truth should terrify me, but I’m already overwhelmed. B
esides, there’s nothing left to go back to. Not without Adam. He was the only one who made me feel like I mattered. Breathing deep, I heave myself to my feet and drag myself deeper into the woods. I have no home. I have to keep going.

  The old me would have ordered a car to drive me from Lake Tahoe to the Sequoia National Forest, but the Disconnects offered me refuge on the condition I wouldn’t be tracked. Starting now, I’m invisible. They were supposed to send a guide, but he never showed up, and it’s pure luck I stumble upon the bikes, sneakers, and hooded sweatshirt hidden behind a tree. Taking it as a sign I’ve made the right decision, I yelp. Choking back the cry, I tug the sweatshirt over my dress with shaking hands. In the pocket I find a tube of glittery gold paint and draw a haphazard zigzag over half my face to disguise my identity from facial-recognition cameras.

  The mark of a Disconnect.

  Putting my hood up, I hit the trail. Don’t think. Just go. My muscles scream, but I push forward, praying for momentum to carry me. Luckily, I’m headed downhill, and I focus on pedaling. If the explosion sinks in, my legs will cease to move.

  But even the ringing in my ears can’t silence the screams.

  It’s six long miles to the abandoned strip mall where Allard is waiting. Despite my pounding headache, I go as fast as I can, knowing the risk she’s taking to rescue me. When my Jell-O legs thrust into the drive, she’s standing next to a black hunk of metal that must have been stolen from an antique car museum. Silver letters read “Rambler” across the grill.

  For a master thief meant to blend in, Allard is stunning, with a collection of silver and white beads dripping from her forehead. At the sight of her red hair and dangerous figure, I burst into tears.

  She wraps me up in a brief hug. “You’re alone,” she whispers before tugging open the heavy car door and strapping me into the musty backseat. “What happened to your contact? Is he…”

  “I’m not sure. He never showed up.” My scorched throat strains against the words. Tears roll hot and fast over my cheeks, and I hiccup.

  The color drains from her face, but it’s the only indication she’s worried about my contact. Her voice remains firm. “Okay. It’s okay. Keep your head down.” She closes me inside the car before throwing the bike into the trunk and getting into the driver’s seat.

  I press my cheek to the cracked vinyl, my vision blurring as she turns the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life, and relief vibrates through me. I made it.

  Shifting into gear, Allard steps on the gas. We lurch forward, winding our way into the Sequoias. Beyond the whir of the tires, all is silent except for my sniffles.

  “You need to forget Ella Karman ever existed,” she says before my thoughts can return to all that is lost. Meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror, she hands a piece of paper over her shoulder. “Your name is Elisha DeWitt, now.”

  Savoring the rarity of real pages, I run my fingers over the smooth surface, resisting the urge to tear the perforated row of holes running down each side of the page in case it serves some purpose known only to Allard.

  “I’m not sure she existed in the first place,” I whisper, examining my pretty face printed at the top of the article, amber eyes flashing bright and full of life under the headline:

  ELLA KARMAN, DEAD:

  NOT-SO-SWEET SEVENTEEN KILLS DOZENS

  Every detail of Ella Karman’s seventeenth birthday was planned, down to the custom driverless BMW X-pro18, a gift from her Super-Influencer parents Noah Karman and Tiana Santos. It was scheduled to arrive in the driveway of the Lake Tahoe mansion they’d rented for the occasion at precisely 10:47 p.m., honoring the exact moment Ella was born. But Ella never showed up. Instead, she seduced her closest friends into joining her on a yacht anchored offshore for a private, champagne-fueled fiesta. Little did she know, she was leading them to their death. Or did she? In what is being called an act of terror, the yacht was riddled with explosives.

  “How did you get this?” I ask. “So soon…”

  “Lil’s Life Stream was on. Millions watched tonight’s events play out in real time. It’s hardly news anymore, though her feed went dark the moment the yacht exploded.”

  Gravity descends, its weight pinning me to my seat, and it’s like I’m at the bottom of the lake, unable to catch my breath. The words twist, and I scan the rest of the article through a cascade of tears.

  Our brightest stars, the biggest up-and-coming Influencers, snuffed out so quickly when the bomb went off. Their families are devastated. How will they ever recover?

  Biting my lip, I imagine the horrific images being played out in cinematic detail for the world’s entertainment, and anger flares in my belly. “It’s all lies.” I wad the article into a ball so I don’t have to see my wavy black hair and poreless olive skin, so eerily like my mom’s. “My parents wanted us dead. ‘Nothing like a little misfortune to bring the eyeballs to you,’ it should say. They’re totally going to profit off this.”

  “Do you really think your parents are behind this?” Allard asks.

  “They have to be. They had everything to lose. Their secret was going to come out.” I wince, familiar anxiety I’ll be overheard closing my throat. But, whatever, it’s not my secret anymore. “The only reason I was born was so Mom could post her baby-bump pics. It was good for their image—the perfect Hollywood power couple needed the perfect Hollywood baby—but I wasn’t theirs. They used a donor embryo and grew me on a surrogate farm. She faked everything. Her whole get-your-pre-baby-body-back magical fitness empire is built on a lie.” I expect Allard’s eyes in the rearview mirror to register surprise, but they remain flat.

  “Don’t you think it was them?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure,” she says.

  “Who do you think it was, then?” My stomach clenches as a wave a sickness pummels me, and I press my forehead to the seat.

  “I don’t know, but you have to stay strong,” she says. “I understand it’s hard.”

  We whip around another curve, and, bracing myself, I catch her smiling.

  “This is fun for you?” I ask, swallowing the metallic taste in my mouth.

  “What’s not to love? Being out on the open road, having complete control of your own destiny… Tell me, have you ever felt more alive?”

  “I’ve never felt more terrified.”

  She laughs. “I thrive on risk—the adrenaline rush the moment you take what isn’t yours, slip it in your pocket, hide it away. I miss my days in the field, but I get to keep you for a while—you’re my fix.” Her smile softens. “The fear will pass. Soon you’ll understand your potential. Yes, things didn’t go as planned, but you’re safe now.”

  The car slows, and we turn into the forest, bumping along an unpaved path. Out the window, high above the giant sequoia trunks, pink light peeks through the leaves. I can’t believe it’s morning. A lifetime has passed since last night.

  “We’re here,” Allard says several minutes later, shutting off the car.

  “Where are we?” The majestic trees surrounding us all look the same.

  After getting out of the car, she opens the back door for me. “Welcome to Keystone, Elisha Dewitt. Are you ready?”

  I stare at the crumpled article, knowing the girl on its pages is dead. My old life is over. I won’t miss me, but I’ll miss him… Picturing Adam sitting next to me on the dock the last time we talked, our toes making tiny ripples in the lake—remembering the foolish hope that I could keep a little piece of home—I want to curl into a ball and die. All I wanted was a friend to come with me, for something in my life to be real so I wouldn’t have to be alone… I press my burning eyes shut, trying to get a grip.

  Hugging myself, I rock back and forth, memorizing his face—his longish blond hair, his broad, tan shoulders with the slight spray of freckles spreading over them—his lips… Why can’t I remember his lips? I’m appalled the details are already f
uzzy.

  Outside, Allard shifts her weight. Leaves rustle beneath her feet, reminding me I need to answer her—need to move on.

  Before he said he’d come with me, I was willing to go alone. I chose this with or without him. I take a deep breath. No more looking back. From now on, I only move forward.

  Before I lose my nerve, I step out of the car and fold my arms against the chilly morning air. “I’m ready. This is what I want.”

  “Nobody can know who you were—and nobody will care who you are. Those are the rules.”

  “It’s a dream come true.”

  Smiling, she nods. “Then follow me.”

  Chapter Two

  June 20X5, Keystone

  Allard leads me down a lightly worn trail, our feet crunching over brittle leaves. It’s eerily still this deep in the woods, and we walk in silence for several minutes until she asks, “How did you escape the explosion?”

  My heart stalls. She’s going to think I’m nuts. “I heard a voice…not with my ears, but from…within me,” I say, sucking in my breath. “This is going to sound weird, but it said ‘jump,’ and it was almost like this hurricane wind pushed me over. I mean, I threw myself overboard, but it all happened so fast…”

  The night comes flooding back, and I bury my face in my hands, holding back stinging tears, trying to forget what happened next. Did I hear them scream or did I imagine it?

  Allard touches my elbow. “That’s instinct. Your superior intuition is unique. It’s why we want you. It will serve you well here.”

  Raising my head, I push the memories away and focus on her. On the future. “I don’t know if I trust my intuition. It’s been wrong before.”

  “I’m here to help with that.” She guides me forward alongside a gurgling stream.

  “How?”

  “Practice. Forgiveness. We study and understand your past so it no longer limits your future.”

  “Fun,” I say, keeping my plans to only move forward and never look back to myself.

  We arrive at a small stone cottage so overtaken by ivy it disappears into the landscape. I may have missed it entirely if Allard hadn’t pushed aside vines to reveal a weathered wood door.