She doesn’t even know what I am.
Her best friend has been turned into something else. And for a sliver of a split second, I consider telling her the truth. Getting it over with. One night to shatter her entire world—to tear apart her reality.
But then I remember Bo.
He wasn’t with Gigi in the cottage. He didn’t go to kill her after all.
And then I realize . . . Olivia is nowhere in the crowd. She wasn’t even here when Gigi appeared.
They’re both missing.
* * *
“Where are you going?” Rose asks. She and Heath and I are the last remaining people standing beside the bonfire. Everyone else has gone in pursuit of Gigi.
“To find Bo,” I tell her. “You guys should go back to town.”
A slight rain has begun to fall, and a wall of bruise-black clouds pushes beneath the stars and blocks out the moon.
I walk to Rose. I hope this isn’t the last time I’ll see her, but just in case, I say, “You did the right thing helping Gigi. You didn’t know what she really was.” I want her to understand that even though she was wrong about Gigi, she shouldn’t doubt herself. She wanted to protect Gigi, keep her safe, and I admire her for it.
“But I should have known,” she says, her eyes turning glassy with tears, her cheeks flushed. And in this instant, I know I can’t tell her what I really am. It will destroy her. And after tonight, if I’m still Penny Talbot, I will continue pretending to be her best friend. I will let her believe I am the same person she grew up with. Even if the real Penny Talbot will be gone—lost in the trenches of a body and mind that I have stolen.
“Please,” I say to her and Heath. “Go back to town. There’s nothing more you can do tonight. Gigi’s gone.”
Heath reaches forward and touches Rose’s hand. He knows it’s time to go.
“Call me tomorrow?” she asks. I hug her, smelling the sweet cinnamon-and-nutmeg scent that lingers in her wavy hair from her mother’s shop.
“Of course.” No matter what, if I’m still Penny tomorrow, I’ll call her. If I’m not, I’m certain the real Penny will call her anyway. And Rose will hopefully never know the difference.
Heath pulls her away, back to the dock, and my chest aches watching them leave.
A deluge of rain begins falling from the dark, funeral-black sky, making the bonfire pop and sizzle.
I pick my way through the sharp beach grass and large boulders, the rain blowing steadily now. I will check Bo’s cottage first and then the orchard. But I don’t even make it that far when I notice something atop the lighthouse. Two silhouettes block the beam of light as it sweeps clockwise around the lantern room.
Bo and Olivia. It has to be them. They’re in the lighthouse.
* * *
The metal door into the lighthouse has been left open by whoever was the last to enter, and it taps lightly against the wall behind it, the gusting wind blowing rain onto the stone floor.
Otis and Olga are standing just inside, mewing softly up at me, eyes watery and wide. What are they doing out here? I pause beside the stairwell, listening for voices. But the storm beating against the outer walls is louder than anything else. Bo must be inside. Otis and Olga have been attached to him since he arrived, following him around the island, sleeping in his cottage most nights. I think they’ve known I’m not really Penny since the start; they sensed the moment I took up residence inside her body. And they prefer Bo over me.
“Go back to the house,” I urge them, but the two orange tabbies blink away from me, staring out into the gloomy night, uninterested in leaving the lighthouse.
I take the stairs two at a time, my breathing ragged. I use the railing to propel myself up the interior of the lighthouse. My legs are on fire. Sweat ripples down my temples. But I keep going. My heart feels like it’s burning a hole through my chest. But I reach the top in record speed, pulling myself up over the last step and sucking in deep, quick breaths.
I inch along the stone wall, trying to steady my crazed heartbeat, then peek around the corner into the lantern room. Bo and Olivia are no longer inside. But I can see them through the glass. They are standing outside on the narrow walkway that encircles the lighthouse. Bo has something in his hand. It glints as he moves closer to Olivia.
It’s a knife.
TWENTY-ONE
The small door that leads out to the walkway bangs open when I turn the knob, sucked out by the wind. Both Bo and Olivia jerk around to face me.
“You shouldn’t be out here, Penny,” Bo yells over the storm, his gaze quickly whipping back around to Olivia. Like he’s afraid she might vanish into the air if he doesn’t keep an eye on her.
The walkway hasn’t been used in decades; the metal is rotted and rusted, and it creaks as I shuffle out onto it. “You don’t have to do this,” I say. The wind is blinding, rain stinging my face and eyes.
“You know that I do,” he answers, his tone calm, resolute.
I’m trying to piece together the series of events that brought the two of them up here—who ambushed who? “Where did you get the knife?” I ask. The blade is large, a hunting knife, and not one I immediately recognize.
“Dresser drawer, in the cottage.”
“And you’re just going to stab her with it?” I ask. Olivia’s eyes widen, and beyond the thin surface of her skin, Marguerite seems to be squirming.
“No,” Bo answers. “I’m going to force her over the edge.”
Eighty feet below us, rocky outcroppings lie in jagged, toothy mounds. A quick, abrupt death. No final gasps. No twitch of a finger. Just lights out, for both Olivia Greene and Marguerite Swan. At least it’ll be painless.
“How did you get her up here?” I ask, inching closer to Bo. Olivia is leaning against the metal railing, and the entire walkway shudders when I take a step.
“I didn’t. I saw her walking to the lighthouse.” He swallows and grips the knife tighter in his hand, held firmly out in front of him. The blade glints with rainwater. “I knew it was my only chance.” So it was Marguerite who lured him. Maybe she thought she could seduce him, prove to me that she could have him if she wanted. But instead Bo hunted her. She never had a chance to even touch him. And now he’s going to force her over the ledge. It will look like suicide, like sweet, popular Olivia Greene took her own life by flinging herself from the town’s lighthouse.
“Please,” I say, stepping closer to Bo. The walkway shivers beneath me. “Doing this won’t bring your brother back.” At this, Olivia’s expression changes. She didn’t know about Bo’s brother, that he was drowned in the harbor last summer, but her eyes light up and her lips tease into a smile.
“Your brother?” she asks inquisitively.
“Don’t fucking talk,” Bo snaps.
“Your brother was drowned, wasn’t he?” she prods.
I can just barely see the side of Bo’s face, and his temple pulses, rain spilling off his chin. “Was it you?” he asks with gravel in his voice, taking a single, swift step forward and pressing the blade against Olivia’s stomach. He might just gut her right here if she gives him the wrong answer. He wants his vengeance, even if it means spilling her blood instead of forcing her over the railing. Murder instead of suicide.
Again Olivia smiles, eyes swaying over to me as if she were bored. She can see it in my face, in the tense outline of the real me hovering beneath Penny’s skin. Marguerite is my sister, after all—she knows me, can read the truth better than anyone. “Of course not,” she answers sweetly to Bo. “But you should ask your girlfriend; maybe she knows who it was.”