The others looked at one another. She endured this silent communication of theirs much as a traveler on a cold night endured glimpses of warm people through the windows of their houses; although she could see them, she was not part of them. But an explanation came from the unlikeliest source — herself. Not long after she'd said the name Charlotte, she smelled a sweet rush of perfume, sandalwood under jasmine. She saw a crazy mass of wavy red-brown hair barely held in place by pins. She saw a sweet round face and warm brown eyes. She saw a girl broken at the foot of a huge staircase that spiraled up into the dark. And the blood, oh, God, the blood. So much of it.

More memories followed, scattering like shards of broken glass across a floor.

Elise, sprawled on grass outside a small school, her backside and legs throbbing with pain. Girls encircled her, jeering. Abriana Adesso led the pack of them, grinning like a wolf. She looked all of fourteen and vicious.

"Wh-why are you doing this?" Elise said. "Why?"

Predator stalked towards prey. She shrank back. Another kick would come this time, or maybe a slap. They liked to slap, because they thought it didn't matter. But it did matter, it did! Just because she wouldn't stay bruised for long didn't mean it wouldn't hurt.

Fire sprang up in the grass, catching on fallen leaves. The jets of flame rose until they towered over Adesso.

A clear voice rang out. "What do you think you're doing?"

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Disbelief and hope coursed through Elise. She looked over her shoulder to the one who'd saved her and saw a girl haloed by wild curls.

Each new shard cut more deeply than the last one had.

A hand held out in friendship. Air that smelled of smoke. Lips that parted in a smile. "I'm Charlotte Cooke," said the girl, no anger in her voice now. "And you are?"

But Elise kept picking them up. Was incapable of not doing so. And, God, how they hurt.

The coffin looked beautiful. It was wrong for something like that to look beautiful. A deep glossy brown, with such much red in it. Like Charlotte's hair. And the flowers, she would've loved the flowers. Not white lilies, but a profusion of colorful, unfamiliar blossoms that burned in the pale morning light. Ash, he must've grown them just for this, just for her.

They were beautiful, too, these flowers, and Elise longed to rip apart their petals and their leaves and their stems until her fingers bled.

The shards stopped falling. Some of them had contained memories that didn't involve Charlotte — grammar books, blue pens, struck out sentences — but Elise couldn't think of them right now. She gasped at the pain of her sudden, yet old loss. Her stomach rolled, threatening to send her breakfast into her throat. Someone rushed to her side at once, joined by the others.

"What's wrong?" Willow said. She took Elise's face in her hands. They felt so warm. "Ellie, what's wrong?

Tears turned the office to a blur. Elise blinked them away. Some spilled over. "I remember," she said, with a sob. "Not everything ... but Charlotte ... oh, poor, sweet Charlotte." Her shoulders trembled. "How could I forget Charlotte when I love her so much?"

Willow's worry softened into sympathy. "I know," she said, gathering Elise into another hug. "I know — we all know. We all loved her so much."

Another sob wracked Elise, because that wasn't what she'd meant. That wasn't what she had meant at all.