She couldn’t let Lily get involved. Lily was too unpredictable. Besides, she might get hurt, and Maria couldn’t let that happen. She needed her now more than ever.

Lily was right about Brandon, though.

Maria would have to handle him herself. After it was over, Lily would be glad she’d taken care of it.

Maria turned on the shower, the ancient pipes creaking as the hot water pumped through the silent building. Middle-of-the-night showers were a luxury reserved for Maria and Lily with their exclusive private bathroom.

Steam poured out into the room as Maria pulled off her clothes and drew back the transparent shower curtain. She stepped into the stall, letting the hot water pour over her back, and waited for clarity to come to her.

It didn’t come. But the room started getting colder.

The water was still piping hot, but the chill struck her skin everywhere the water didn’t. The steam was so thick she could barely see through the curtain. Maria cursed herself for not turning on the overhead light. The faint glow coming from under the door wasn’t enough for her to even make out the mirror over the sink. All Maria could see in that space was a dark, round blur.

Wait.

Maria squinted at the shape. She drew back the shower curtain.

There was a thin, dark face in the mirror.

The scream formed in Maria’s throat and bubbled up, but the only sound she let out was a tiny gasp.

She crossed her arms over her chest and buried her face in her hands. She dug her nails into her scalp. The pain was a needed distraction.

She had to stay calm. She couldn’t shout. Couldn’t run out the door, screaming and naked, into the school hallway.

You couldn’t lose control when you were dealing with a spirit.

Maria counted in her head until she caught her breath. She opened her eyes slowly.

The face was fading. Then it was gone.

Had it ever really been there?

Maria shut her eyes again and rubbed them with the heels of her hands. When she looked back up, the face was still gone, but there was something strange in the mirror.

There were lines in the steam. As if someone had drawn on it with their finger.

Maria stared down at her hands. They were wet and wrinkled from the shower. She was sure she hadn’t touched the mirror.

When she turned her gaze back up, the lines were clearer than before. They almost looked like writing, but they weren’t in any order that made any sense.

Then she looked again, and she understood.

It was writing. But it was backward, and in Spanish.

Altagracia?

Maria turned off the water, her hands trembling and slipping on the cold faucet. She grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her. Her wavy, tangled wet hair dripped onto her bare shoulders.