Suddenly she stood up and started pacing around the room.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, my voice trembling.

Startled, she turned to me. “I don’t know. I have to think about it,” she murmured as if she were talking in her sleep, the hem of her nightgown fluttering around her legs in the moonlight.

The next morning I woke up early to go to Horticulture. It was our first day back in classes. Eleanor was in bed, curled up, facing the wall. I prodded her gently. “Eleanor, get up. We have Horticulture at six.”

Eleanor lay with her back to me. “I’m not going,” she said miserably. “I’m not in that class anymore.”

“What?”

“They switched my schedule. Just go without me.”

I waited a moment to see if she would roll over, but she didn’t move; and with nothing else to do, I left for class without her.

That morning we gathered by the chapel, until Professor Mumm showed up and led us out the gates of the campus.

“Renée,” Brett called out to me as we walked.

I stopped, looking at him in a new light. “Oh hi, Brett.”

He jogged up to me, looking like a robust ski instructor in a winter coat and a blue-and-yellow Gottfried scarf, his brown curls emerging from the bottom of a knit hat. “How’s it going?”

“It’s okay,” I said. “You know, I’ve been better.”

“Break wasn’t so great?”

I laughed and shook my head. “That’s the understatement of the year. But I did watch a lot of movies.”

“Crappy horror movies, I bet.”

I looked up at him, surprised.

He shrugged, pleased with himself. “You seem like the type.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you do always seem to find dead things whenever we’re in class.”

I bit my lip, thinking back to the first day of class, when I found the dead fawn, or later in the semester when I found the carcass of a bird when we were supposed to be collecting baby saplings; or when I found a frozen squirrel when we were supposed to be learning about seasonal mosses. “I guess you’re right.”

Brett stuffed his hands in his pockets. “It’s not a bad thing. Professor Mumm loves you; you’re like her prodigy. Maybe it’s some sort of special talent.”

Letting out a laugh, I said, “Yeah, right. More like a curse. A Gottfried Curse.”

I looked at him to see if he recognized the term, but he didn’t seem to be familiar with it.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Brett said. “About Eleanor.”

I smiled, unexpectedly comforted by normal conversation. “Thanks.”

“How is she?” His forehead was furrowed with worry.

How to respond. “She’s … different. Quieter. I think she’s traumatized,” I said, which was partially the truth.

“How was her break? Was she at home with her mother? Or was she in the hospital?”

“I think she was with her mom. It sounded like her break wasn’t so great. Recovering and all. Why don’t you just ask her yourself?”

“Oh, no. I don’t think so. Is her brother around a lot?”

Brandon had been hanging around Eleanor a lot these days, looking even more stern and angry than normal. And who could blame him? His sister had probably died, and from the scrutinizing look he gave anyone who talked to her, it was clear that he was certain someone was responsible, and was determined to find out who it was and punish them. “He is.”

Brett shrugged. “I figured as much. Did she say anything about how it happened?”

I shook my head. “She doesn’t know.”

We stopped just at the edge of the woods. Professor Mumm cleared her throat. “Today we’ll be learning how to read snow. Like soil, the texture and topography of snow and ice can tell us what lies beneath. A dune, a crevasse; whether the snow is powdery or packed, blue or creamy or a brilliant white—each of these characteristics can tell us what’s hidden beneath”—she held up an index finger—“if we learn how to read them. Now, what I want you to do is partner up.”

Brett elbowed me. “You and me?”

I smiled.

When I got out of class, Dante was leaning on the stone at the entrance to Horace Hall, waiting for me, as beautiful as ever. He looked up at me as I approached, his face young and dark and gallant, his hair pulled back like an Italian model. If I hadn’t known everything that he was, I would have fallen in love with him all over again. He was wearing a crisp blue shirt and tie. Only a thin coat, no scarf. Snowflakes collected on his hair. Everything about him reminded me of how different we were.

“Renée,” he called out, but I kept walking. “Renée, wait. Why won’t you talk to me?” He reached out and grabbed my arm.

Unprepared for the coldness of his skin, I pulled my arm away and stared at him as if he were a stranger. For the briefest moment our eyes met, and a flicker of understanding passed between us before I looked away.

What does it feel like to discover that your boyfriend is Undead? Shocking. Unfair. But mostly disturbing. How was it possible that I had spent so much time with Dante without knowing what he truly was? I couldn’t decide which was more disturbing—that he was dying, or that a killer was dormant inside him. Was there a part of him that wanted my soul? I thought back to every time we almost kissed. I shivered at how close he had come to taking my life. Could he do it? I didn’t want to ask him or talk about it. What could I possibly say? I was alive, he was dead, and no amount of words would change that.

“Renée, please,” he said as I turned to go. “Just listen to me. Talk to me. I’ve been trying to call—” But I was already gone.

“How was Horticulture?” Eleanor asked while we were sitting in Philosophy, waiting for class to start.

“We had it in the forest,” I said.

Eleanor’s eyes went wide. “What was it like? What did you do?”

“Snow topography. With partners.”

Nathaniel frowned. “What does that have to do with horticulture?” He looked at Eleanor. “So you weren’t there?”

I shrugged. “It’s pretty useful. You can figure out what the terrain is like below the snow, or if there’s stuff buried beneath it, or what the temperature of the ground is.”