Page 125 of I'll Be Waiting

“No,” she whispers. “She said she didn’t kill Heather.”

“Because she’s a fuckingpsychopath.What did you expect her to do? Tell the truth?”

Shania’s head drops, sobs ripping through her. I hesitate one heartbeat. In spite of everything she’s done, my instinct is to help. But I can’t do that. Patrice cut off Cirillo’s head with a goddamn spade. Am I standing here waiting for my turn?

Steak knife clutched in my hand, I run, my gaze on the door. Get upstairs. Grab my phone. Get out and call for—

Shania’s head jerks up. I skid sideways, thinking she’s about to come at me, but she only sits there, her head jerking unnaturally from one side to the other.

Go. Forget her and run!

Yet my gut tells menotto run. Do not make any sudden moves. I sidestep to move around Shania, whose head keeps swiveling left to right.

One more slow step—

Shania leaps to her feet lightning fast, and in a blink, she’s blocking my path. My grip tightens on the knife as I try to swing past, but she’s there before I can.

“Hello, Janica,” she says, her voice pitched an octave lower. “Thank you.”

I should stare, confused by Shania switching to that name, by the change in her voice. But I look into her eyes, and I am not confused at all.

“Hello, Patrice,” I say.

“Not going to ask why I’m thanking you?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “I couldn’t get in. The brat’s anger was a wall against me. But you broke down that wall, and now I’m here.”

She takes a slow step my way. I keep my hand lowered, knife held so tight blood drips from my cut fingers.

“Like that night in the forest,” Patrice continues. “My defenses were down, and she got in. That’s what it takes. Readiness. And blood, of course.”

My gaze goes to the pool of blood beside Cirillo.

“Not that kind,” she scoffs. “You were always so literal, Nic.Sharedblood. That’s the key. I lowered my defenses that night, and I read the incantation from her book, together with the wine and the mushrooms, and she got in.”

“The mushrooms were fake.”

She lets out a sharp laugh. “Really? That’s your response?” She shakes her head. “They say I lost my mind, but you were never in your right one. Always a little bit odd, weren’t you, Nic. Got a computer where your brain should be. No wonder Anton fell for you. He was just like you. A little bit off. A little bit weird. Cute, but not quite right in the head.”

My eyes narrow, and she laughs.

“Don’t like me insulting your Prince Charming? I can insult you, but not him? How sweet.” She tilts her head. “Did you really thinkhe could have killed Heather? He barely tagged along for the haunting.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Whoops. You didn’t know about that? Cody and I set it up.” She flashes her teeth. “Good practice for haunting you.”

She wants me to be outraged. Or shocked. Maybe even curious.

Oh my god, you were the one making those scary footsteps in the attic! Making the dumbwaiter creak! Did you do the newspaper and the blood hallucination?

Instead, I say, “You helped Cody spook your friends?”

She shrugs. “He wanted to scare the shit out of you and Heather, so I let him.”

“You let a guy terrorize your friends because hewantedto?”

“Again, you focus on all the wrong things.”

“No, Patrice, I don’t think I do. I don’t know what that bullshit was about ‘her’ getting into you, butyoukilled Heather. You snapped. You needed help. I’m sorry if you didn’t get it before you slashed open your best friend—”

She lunges at me, exactly when I expect it. I dart to the side and race past her. I make it to the door. Yank it open and barrel through. My foot strikes something on the floor.

The box with Anton—

---