Who Killed Grace

Chapter 4

Violet | After

"What do you think of... Tristan?" Kaci asks as we move through the dining hall in House. 

"Which one's he?" I ask. 

"The dark one with the Edgar Allen Poe." She jerks her head to a boy reading while systematically putting forkfuls of pasta into his mouth. 

"He's cute," I giggle. "Let me guess, he's claimed by some crazy boarding school girl."

"Naw, we don't do that," she laughs. "But he is sorta off limits. Anyway, you get to meet Max tonight. He's the one with Fall Out Boy."

Sitting at the table I've eaten breakfast and lunch at today is a boy with dark hair and headphones. He's one of the guys who was sitting on the stage with the rest of the important people in assembly this morning. If my memory serves right, he's the youngest prefect in history. 

"How come he wasn't at breakfast or lunch?" 

"Because he has all these prefect duties which means he gets to have lunch with the Fantastic Four." She sits down. "He also got to miss form, the lucky bastard." 

"Who are the Fantastic Four?" I ask, sitting at the seat that I think is now mine. 

"Denny's Reed Richards, Ali's Johnny Storm, Zoe's Sue Storm and Freddie's Ben Grimm," Max answers, looking up. "I'm Scott Lang, by the way." 

Kaci snorts. "Keely's doing?" 

He nods. "Who's this?" 

"Violet," I reply. 

"I'm Max," he says. "And no matter what lies Kaci, Zeph and Carlos have filled your Californian head with, I'm not insane." 

"You are insane," Carlos says as he sits. "You got up earlier than everyone today. I'm pretty sure you broke a record." 

"I'm not insane," Max repeats. "If anyone's insane, it's Dr Martha Summers. Where's Zeph? I need to discuss this lunatic with him." 

"He's right here." Zeph slams a tray down and slides into the seat next to me. "God, this stuff is a disgrace." He pokes a fork at his plate, making a face. 

"It's pasta, Zeph." Kaci rolls her eyes. "And not everyone is a culinary genius." 

"Remember when you did those interviews in last year at the start of spring?" Max interrupts. "For the school therapist? Yeah, well I met her today at lunch. Properly." 

"Ooh!" Zeph drops his fork. "Who was it? I hope it was F—" 

He cuts himself off and takes a long sip of water to draw attention away from himself. 

"It's some woman named Summers," Max explains. "She called me Diego." 

"What, like Dora's brother?" Carlos asks. 

"Yeah. She came into the room where we were to say hi to everyone and we were supposed to say our names." 

"Let me guess, you skipped and held hands afterwards," Carlos snickers, causing Max to roll his eyes. 

"No. When it comes to me, she says 'Hi, Diego.' She played it off all casual and just pretended that I looked like some guy at her university."

"So?" Zeph asked. "I saw this one girl during the summer who looked exactly like Vivienne, but with loads of braids." 

"Come on, Zeph, how many people except my father and grandmother do you know who have eyes like mine?" 

Out of curiosity, I glance at his eyes. He's right, that isn't a common colour. Blue? Sure. Brown? Definitely. Green? Yes. Grey? I've seen quite a few. But I have hardly ever seen anyone with eyes that are all those colours at once. Blue and green and grey with a hint of hazel. 

"Maybe she didn't see your eyes." 

"It was creepy," he says. "So, did she mention anything in the interview about herself?"

"I can't tell you that," Zeph says. He sees the look Max gives him. "Alright. I won't tell you anything important, but she went to Rosewood." 

"Zeph, have I ever told you how much I freaking love you?" 

"Shut up and eat this monstrosity," Zeph answers before turning to me. "Violet, how was your first day?"

"Fine," I answer. "I think I might need to get a Maths tutor. My old one in San Diego offered to do it over video call, but time zones and all that." 

"I can tutor you," Carlos offers. "Saturday night okay?" 

"Yeah, sure." 

It's not like I'll have any plans anyway. I must have less of a social life here than I did in San Diego. At home, or at Everly House. God, that's pathetic. 

"Violet, can I ask you another question?" Max asks. 

"Okay."

"Have you seen a scrapbook in your dorm?" he questions. "It's black, not very big. There's a scrap of paper stuck on the front with Grace written on it. Seen it anywhere?"

"I don't think so." I turn to Kaci. "Have you?"

"No," she says. "It's just something Max is a little weird over. If you want to look at pictures of Leonardo DiCaprio and the Peaky Blinders, I suggest taking a look in Frankie's locker." 

I leave dinner earlier than everyone else to go back to the room Kaci and I now share and to avoid more conversations about Leonardo DiCaprio scrapbooks. Despite her initial freak out about the whole room sharing thing, she's been really nice about the whole situation. She even asked what time I usually wake up to set the alarm to a time that would suit us both. 

I still hate it. 

It reminds me of Everly. The single beds with small, regular chests of drawers and closets. It shouldn't remind me of that place. The view is different. Instead of seeing the outskirts of the city, all I can see from the window is an English beach. It's nothing compared to the golden brown sand and blue-green sea at the beach I'm used to. But here the sand is more pebble than sand and the sea is more grey than blue. 

"Hi," a soft voice says behind me. 

Behind me is a girl. Not just any girl. The girl from the painting in assembly. The girl who made Kaci, Zeph and Carlos practically jump out of their skin. The girl whose pictures have been spammed on the statuses and Instagrams and Snapchat Stories of everyone who have shared their online accounts with me. I rack my brains to find her name. 

Grace. Grace Covey. 

"I'm Grace," she says. "You're Violet, right? The new girl from San Diego?"

"I am." My voice is barely a whisper. 

This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This was meant to stop. This had stopped. I'm not meant to do this anymore. Not since Cassie. Not since Jace. Not since I killed her. Not since they locked me up and diagnosed me. 

"Well, Violet, sit down." Grace gestures to my bed. "I like to think I'm a good hostess." 

"What do you want?" 

"Violet, I want you to do me a favour." She smiles, flashing her perfect white teeth. God, even in death the girl looks amazing. "It's a big favour."

"What? To hold a seance so you can contact your boyfriend?" 

"Tristan wasn't—" she stops herself. "I don't want you to hold a seance. I want you do something much bigger."

"What? What the hell do you want me to do?" I demand. "Because I'm not supposed to do anything like this anymore."

"I want you to solve my murder."