Waysider (The Voyants Book 1)

Chapter 21

Cass had never been in the headmistress’s office.

Under normal circumstances, it would be a soothing room. The lower half of the walls was covered in wood paneling, and the rest was striped wallpaper, the green as deep as a forest after a thunderstorm. All the furniture was dark, polished wood, and the air smelled like books, which lined three of the walls on floor-to-ceiling shelves. A brick fireplace nestled in the middle of all those books, covered by a black grate.

The headmistress had stepped out for something, and Cass waited in one of the chairs before Crane’s huge desk. Her heel tapped against the rug restlessly. Cal sat in the chair beside her, still infuriatingly calm.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” Cass said under her breath. She was starting to feel like a broken record.

Cal kept looking around. His expression was bored. “We’ve already established that Crane can’t see me, sis. She’s been to our house, for god’s sake.”

She started to demand how he could be so calm, but then Cass remembered that her brother had never learned to dread visits to an office like this. When Cal got called in to see the principal, it was to be congratulated on something. Cass exhaled loudly and slumped in her chair. “Yeah, well, better safe than—”

The words stuck in her throat. She stared toward the window, at what stood in front of it, and terror crashed over her. Swearing, Cal shot to his feet.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a revenant. Not one that can hurt you, at least.”

Cass hadn’t even heard the headmistress come in. Neither had Cal, apparently, because he went still. His hand was on Cass’s arm, and she had half-risen from her chair. Slowly, Cass lowered herself back down, and Cal followed suit. He didn’t look calm anymore. Cass glanced at Crane, but she quickly refocused on the old man in front of the window. “Why haven’t you… untethered it?” she asked.

Crane paused next to Cass. She looked at the old man, too, and shadow passed over her face. “Because it’s just an imprint… and he’s also my great-grandfather,” the headmistress said softly.

Cass didn’t answer; she couldn’t. All her focus was on the scene playing out in front of them. The old man was still standing there, staring out the fogged glass. As they all watched, his hand rose. He was holding a small gun, Cass realized with horror. She made a strangled sound. She started to rise again so she could bolt, get out of this room—

Too late. The old man’s finger closed on the trigger, and Cass’s mouth started to open in a scream.

At the same moment they should’ve heard a gunshot, blood and brain matter flying in every direction, the old man vanished.

The room was so silent that Cass could hear a clock on the mantle ticking. After a moment, she realized that she was rigid in the chair. It’s gone. It’s gone, Cass told herself. Her eyes stayed on the window, convinced the revenant would reappear. She tried to relax as Crane circled the desk, ignoring Cal’s muttering beside her. He hadn’t been a fan of the strange show, either.

“You’re a Timekeeper, right? What’s stopping you from going into the past and changing this?” Cass managed, holding onto her armrests with white fingers.

“‘To learn and observe,’” the headmistress recited, sitting down. “That’s what is written over the doorway of House Timekeeper. We travel only to act as witnesses or discover the truth. We don’t try to change it—we couldn’t even if we wanted to, honestly. It would take an unimaginable amount of energy, and no voyant has that sort of power. Not even you, Miss Ryan.”

Cass frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Mrs. Crane opened one of the desk drawers, speaking as she reached for something inside. “After the night of the scavenger hunt, I brought in a handwriting expert. He studied the chalkboard and determined there really were two writers in that attic. I also had a meeting with Sinister Gray, who repeated the account he gave to Professor Green. Mr. Gray is known for his discipline and intelligence in the field, and he’s earned the respect of many on this campus, not to mention throughout the entire community. His word is as good as a binding contract, and it’s been officially confirmed that you did, indeed, answer the attic riddle. You have displayed considerable power, Miss Ryan, even if we don’t know your speciality yet.”

With that, Mrs. Crane came back around the desk and held something out. A narrow, slightly yellow piece of paper. Cass took it, her pulse leaping when she read the words PAY TO THE ORDER OF CASSANDRA RYAN. The prize money.

“But… I thought…”

“I’ve made an exception in this case,” Mrs. Crane said briskly. “Considering the circumstances of your enrollment here.”

“Oh. Well, thank you.” Cass folded the check and put it in her jacket pocket, thinking that at least one good thing had come out of all this.

As Mrs. Crane once again returned to her seat, Cass didn’t know what to say—the headmistress was making her nervous. Cass didn’t want power. She didn’t want fame or success. Not here, not in this world. Cass just wanted to get through her time at Else Bellows alive and leave with firm control over her abilities. Then she’d go home and make a new plan. Maybe she’d open a records shop, or go back to school. A normal school, where she could study to be a dentist or a police officer. Crazier things had happened, right?

Once she’d resettled in her chair, Mrs. Crane folded her hands atop the desk. A gold bracelet she wore glinted in the lamplight. Cass glanced at it, but her attention snapped up to the headmistress’s face at her next words.

“It’s been brought to my attention that there’s a revenant attached to you,” the headmistress said.

Cass went still. At first, she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Her breathing felt shallow as she mentally replayed Crane’s words. Panic roared through her veins.

She knew. Headmistress Crane finally knew about Cal.

Cass fought the urge to look at him. They should’ve been more careful, she thought dimly. She should’ve forced Cal to stay hidden at every second of every day. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Her hands clenched into fists and she scrambled to think of a lie, any lie that would protect her twin. God, why couldn’t she come up with anything?

“I know your story, Miss Ryan. I can guess who’s attached to you,” Crane said gently, drawing Cass’s attention back to her. “But seeing as you’ve only just begun your studies, you probably haven’t been made aware yet of the potential consequences this could—”

“Shut up,” Cass said.

The headmistress blinked. “I’m sorry?”

It felt like Cass’s heart had turned to stone. Suddenly she didn’t care about her future at Else Bellows. She didn’t care about the money or the knowledge these people could offer her. She met Crane’s gaze, and her voice was flat as she replied, “You heard me. My brother is none of your fucking business. None. You are here to provide me with an education. Bring up Cal again, and I’ll walk through those gates and never come back.”

Cal was silent. Crane didn’t speak, either. Cass waited, her chin raised high, eyes flashing dark fire. Silently daring the other woman to say his name.

After a few seconds, Headmistress Crane ended their standoff. She took a pen out of the drawer in front of her and wrote something across the back of it. “This is the number to my personal phone line. I’ve written the number for my home phone on the other side. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need something, Miss Ryan. Anything,” she added.

Cass thought about walking out without taking it, just to make sure she’d made her point, but she wasn’t a complete asshole. She took the card from Crane and nodded, getting to her feet. “Thanks.”

The headmistress watched her with an inscrutable expression. “Get some rest. You’ll need it,” she replied.

Cass couldn’t get out of there fast enough. She sensed Cal behind her as she hurried out of Crane’s office and past the girl at the front desk. He kept pace with her effortlessly down the hallway, then through the double doors. They stepped into the cool evening.

Cass immediately started down the path that would take them back to House Wayside. Cal was uncharacteristically silent, and Cass’s stomach felt like a nest of hornets. Somewhere nearby, wind chimes clinked in the breeze. The gentle sound filled Cass’s ears as she walked in the direction of Wayside.

Her brother waited until there was no one else in sight.

“Cass,” he started, his voice soft.

They’d arrived at a section of the pathway that was surrounded by hedges. Realizing that Cal had stopped, Cass reluctantly turned. For the second time that day, she didn’t like the way he was looking at her. There was wide, shining pain in her brother’s eyes, as if he was on the verge of saying something terrible. Unnerved, Cass turned away from him quickly.

“I need to study. I have a quiz coming up,” she muttered.

“Cass,” he said again. She hunched her shoulders and kept going.

This time, Cal didn’t follow her.

Cass’s mind churned the entire walk back to House Wayside. Headmistress Crane knew about her brother. What did this mean for them? Was Cal in danger? Should she pack up her shit and leave? Suddenly Cass longed to call Teresa. She’d always been able to talk to her about anything, but the nondisclosure agreement had been very clear. Teresa didn’t know the truth about the ghosts, anyway, Cass reminded herself. Even without the agreement, she couldn’t confide in her oldest friend.

Cass arrived at a familiar mailbox and turned right, starting down the front walkway. Every move was automatic, instinctual. She barely registered any of it. More questions buzzed through Cass’s head like cicadas. That was all she ever seemed to get at Else Bellows—an endless stream of questions, and never any answers. Frustration simmered in her gut.

Shouts and music flew at Cass the moment she stepped inside. Her head tilted in curiosity, and she followed the noise, stopping in one of the doorways. When Cass saw the scene in the living room, her eyebrows shot up, and she completely forgot about the conversation with Headmistress Crane.

Her roommates were playing Twister.

All of them were there, contorted and balanced on the plastic sheet. Finch, Bradley, Candice, Tammy. Even Justin had deigned to join. Finch was half-draped over Bradley in order to touch the yellow circle on his other side, and the boy beneath her looked like he was on the verge of passing out. Justin and Tammy were also locked together, but Justin kept getting hit in the face by her knobby knee. Candice displayed startling flexibility as she reached around Justin and planted her palm on a red dot, her leg stretched out on his other side.

Around them, cups were scattered throughout the room. On the tables, the floor. A couple must’ve been bumped in the chaos, because the cups were tipped over, small puddles gleaming beneath them. Cass suspected they were partly to blame for what was happening in front of her.

“Hey, Cass!” Finch said, her face scrunched with laughter. “Care to join?”

To Cass’s surprise, she found herself tempted to say yes. But she smiled and shook her head, raising her voice to say, “Next time!”

Finch opened her mouth to respond, but half a second later, Tammy lost her balance. All of Cass’s roommates collapsed like a stack of cards. She walked away to the sound of Justin’s muffled, “Fuck!” and another burst of laughter. Smiling at the sound, Cass grabbed hold of the banister and started up the stairs. She took them two at a time, her backpack thumping against her spine. She reached the door to her room and flung it open, expecting it to be empty.

But Michael stood next to the window, outlined in fading daylight.

Cass faltered at the sight of him. Her hand tightened on the doorknob. Michael’s dark eyes studied her, and she resisted the urge to hunch her shoulders again. Why did it feel like he saw everything she was trying so hard to hide?

His timing couldn’t be more perfect, though. Schooling her features, Cass cleared her throat and stepped inside the room. “Hey,” she said.

There was a beat of silence, as if Michael had been expecting a different reaction. “Hey,” he echoed.

Cass kicked the door shut and set her backpack down before she moved to join Michael at the window. She crossed her arms over her chest and followed his gaze, looking out at the shadowed yard. There wasn’t much to see—just the browning grass, the trees, and the hedge wall beyond those—but the end of the front path was also visible. Once in a while, someone walked past House Wayside, or clusters of students whose voices rang out. Small but constant reminders that, no matter how still and quiet it felt up in this room, life was still happening out there.

“Your name is Michael de Leon,” Cass said quietly. She looked him, but Michael kept his dark eyes turned away. “I showed the photo to a history professor, and she knew who you were. She’s studied the previous classes at Else Bellows, I guess.”

Cass stopped, waiting for Michael to say something. She hadn’t even gotten to the part about his death yet. With every second that passed, her confusion grew. Just as she was about to demand what Michael’s glitch was, he met her gaze and said, “It doesn’t matter.”

Cass wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?”

Michael’s mouth tightened, as if he were stopping himself from saying something. Another silence fell between them. His voice was clipped when he eventually said, “It doesn’t matter anymore. If you look into this, you could get hurt. Just let it go, Miss Ryan.”

Oh, they were back to “Miss Ryan”, were they? Cass stared back at Michael and felt a surge of rebellion. She didn’t like being told what to do, and the thought of leaving things as they were felt… wrong. “I can’t,” she said.

Michael searched her expression. Though he hadn’t moved, it seemed as if he’d gone still, and the intensity of his brown eyes made Cass’s heart quicken. “Why?” he asked softly.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. Cass felt another nervous flutter inside of her, and she swallowed. She glanced out at the yard again, trying to hide how Michael affected her. Her voice was soft, too, as she asked, “Don’t you want to find out more about your past?”

A second passed. Then another. A storm raged in Michael’s dark eyes. Cass didn’t try to end the silence, or ask him more questions. She just waited, her pulse trapped in her throat like a hummingbird. When he finally spoke, Michael’s voice was low and heated. “I’m afraid because—”

A gentle knock cut him off. Cass jumped, and her head jerked toward the door. Panic sluiced through her. “Yeah?” she called.

“I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay. After the meeting with Headmistress Crane.”

It was Finch, of course. Cass desperately wanted to keep talking to Michael, but she couldn’t bring herself to give her roommate the brush off. She went over to the door and opened it just enough to show her face, carefully shielding the room behind her. For a moment, Cass couldn’t even remember what Finch just said. Right, the meeting with Crane.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she said. Truth be told, Cass had half-forgotten about her disastrous conversation with the headmistress. Now the memory came crashing back, and she felt a rush of hot anxiety as the realization struck her all over again.

A powerful voyant knew about her brother.

Cass must’ve tensed or flinched, because Finch stayed where she was, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “It’s okay if you’re not. Fine, I mean. Sometimes I’m not fine,” she said.

The admission made Cass’s heart ache. She mustered another smile for her roommate. “Thanks, Finch. Really. I appreciate you checking on me.”

Finch smiled back and said good night. Once she was gone, Cass closed the door and turned around. She wasn’t surprised to discover that Michael was gone, too. It seemed to be a habit of his. She leaned against the door, and the silence rang in her ears. As Cass stood there, her gaze fell on a splash of white in the room that didn’t belong.

There was something on the bed—Cass hadn’t noticed it before because she’d only been looking at Michael. She crossed the room and picked it up, frowning.

Haunting 7203, the first line declared. Cass’s stomach sank. She forced herself to keep reading.

Beneath this, there was a date and a time, along with instructions to meet her colleagues in Old Main. Fuck, Cass thought, her hand beginning to shake. Suddenly Crane’s parting comment made more sense. Cass would definitely need all the rest she could get, but she had a feeling that she wouldn’t sleep a wink.

She was about to go on her first Haunting.

Two days later, Cass walked into Old Main at two a.m. on the dot.

She was the last to arrive—there were six figures standing in the dim hallway. One of them leaned against a bulletin board, and the rest stood scattered. Cass didn’t recognize anyone other than Sinister and his girlfriend. As she drew closer, she couldn’t help but remember what Finch had said about them once, her voice low and solemn. Shadowrippers tend to have pretty short lives.

Suddenly she regretted making Cal stay behind. But Finch had warned her the team would be drinking See tonight. Cass couldn’t risk the other voyants finding out about her brother. What if they tried to untether him?

It was bad enough Crane knew. Since that meeting in the headmistress’s office, part of Cass had worried, every time she opened her bedroom door, that Cal would be gone. Not just off on one of his secret absences, but gone-gone. Untethered from the living world. Forever out of her reach, stuck somewhere she couldn’t follow.

Cass’s stomach clenched, and she fought the urge to turn around and sprint back to House Wayside. Her hands fisted in her jean jacket as she closed the distance between her and the small, strange group.

Before Cass could speak, Sinister’s girlfriend beat her to it. “Hey. My van is out back, and we should really get going. I’m Webster St. James, by the way. House Shadowripper, but you already know that.”

She paused, and her dark eyes were unreadable as she gave Cass a chance to respond. Cass was careful not to look at Sinister. Her and Webster had never spoken since the party. Never acknowledged what Cass witnessed in that dark bedroom. Not for lack of opportunity—Cass had seen Webster in the dining hall, and they’d passed each other on the walking paths. At some point, the two of them had made the silent, mutual decision to act like that night didn’t happen. Cass wasn’t about to change the status quo now.

“Cass,” she said simply. She nodded at Webster, then quickly turned her attention to the person standing next to her.

A girl with long dark hair came forward, holding out her hand. She gave Cass a soft smile and said, “Camila Sanchez. House Dreamwalker.”

To Cass’s relief, none of the others followed Camila”s lead—they stayed right where they were as they finished the awkward introductions. After Camila, a thick-armed boy next to her spoke. He kept those arms crossed, his biceps bulging against the front of his leather vest.

“Wolfgang Schmidt,” he said. He had a thick German accent. “House Pennyseeker.”

The boy standing on his other side went next. This one was thin and short, almost the exact height as Cass. But there was nothing small about his hair, which was a riot of brown curls around his delicate, pale face. A sprinkling of freckles covered the bridge of his nose and part of his cheeks. He, too, had an accent as he declared, “And I am Frenchie. House Timekeeper.”

A brief silence fell. Cass’s eyes darted between the six voyants, confused by the way they all seemed to be waiting for something. Sinister’s countenance radiated annoyance as he said, “Anyone heard from—”

The door at the other end of the hall squeaked open, and a tall figure appeared. The newcomer jogged toward them, his long shadow stretching over the tiles. It was one of Teddy’s friends, Cass saw as he drew closer. She couldn’t remember his name, though. It was something painfully unmemorable, like Thad or Brad.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, out of breath. He raked his silky hair back, and his attention landed on Cass. Interest lit his gaze. “Oh, hey, is this the freshman? What’s up? I’m Chad.”

Frenchie muttered something to Wolfgang, who snorted in agreement. Cass thought she saw one of the boys slip the other a five dollar bill, and a whisper of curiosity went through her. What was that all about?

Cass realized the new guy was still waiting for a response. She held back a comment about how she preferred to be called Cass, and not “the freshman,” and raised her chin in a polite—but dismissive—gesture of acknowledgement. Without waiting to see Chad’s reaction, Cass’s gaze shifted to the only one who hadn’t made an introduction.

The last voyant was, of course, Sinister. Since they already knew each other, Cass expected him to say something about the Haunting. But he stepped away from Webster and moved toward her. He signed his name, his fingers moving with pale grace.

“Sinister Gray,” he said. “I’m honored to have the Attic Whisperer with us tonight.”

Cass looked at him sharply, expecting to see a mocking smirk on the Shadowripper’s face. But Sinister’s mouth was curved with soft teasing, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Cass shook her head, but she smiled a little, too. Finch had told her about the Attic Whisperer thing a few days ago.

“God, what a terrible name,” she replied. “Can I just be Lucky and Scared Shitless? That would be more accurate.”

Scattered laughter went through the group. Hearing it, Cass felt a strange warmth in her stomach. Stop being weird, she commanded herself. She glanced between Sinister and Webster again. “I thought there was only one representative from each house. Aren’t both of you Shadowrippers?”

Each house except Wayside, Cass thought to herself. She was startled by the small ripple of… protectiveness that went through her. She couldn’t help but think about Finch, and the droop of sadness to her roommate’s eyes as she said, They’re so disappointed in me.

“Normally, yeah, but the school’s official vehicle is out of commission,” Frenchie said, pushing himself off the wall.

“And no one drives Betty except for me,” Webster added as she turned away.

Everyone in the hallway started walking toward the back exit. Cass found herself behind Wolfgang, and she thought of that fiver she’d seen Frenchie give him.

“So what was the bet?” Cass asked, keeping her voice low.

Frenchie still heard her. “Oh, you saw that, did you? Good eye you’ve got there.”

Down the hall, slightly ahead of them, Chad was talking to the Shadowrippers. His voice bounced off the walls, loud enough to disguise any other conversations that might be happening. Wolfgang didn’t look at Cass as he answered. “I told Frenchie that Crane wouldn’t show, because he never shows when he’s assigned to a Haunting. Something always comes up for the pretty little rich boy. The first time it was a fever, poor thing. He missed the next one because he was out of town and never saw the slip. Once, he sprained his ankle during practice, delicate flower.”

Cass frowned. “If Teddy never makes it to a Haunting, how is he at the top of the scoreboard?”

“There’s more than one way to gain points,” Frenchie told her.

“Good thing, too, or the pretty boy wouldn’t even be on the board,” Wolfgang put in. “But Frenchie is a hopeless optimist, so he made a bad bet.”

“And what is so terrible about believing the best in people?” Frenchie shrugged his slender shoulders. “Sometimes, they actually come through, and that feels really good.”

“Optimism gets you killed.” Wolfgang’s voice was flat. As the other half of the group reached the doors, and the sound echoed back to them, Cass glanced at him sidelong. She couldn’t help but wonder what Wolfgang’s NDE had been—he had the same emptiness in his eyes that she saw every time she looked into the mirror.

“Agreed,” Cass said softly. Wolfgang’s gaze flicked to hers, and she got the distinct impression she’d startled him. A moment later, he opened the door for her. Cass shot the boy a brief smile as she passed.

“Hey now. I had dibs,” she heard Frenchie say. Wolfgang didn’t answer.

One by one, they piled into Webster’s van. Or Betty, as she was apparently called. Webster and Sinister sat in the front. Cass and Camille ended up in the middle, and the three boys crowded in the backseat. The engine turned over with a worrying sputter.

“Don’t worry,” Webster shouted, smacking the dashboard. “It always sounds like that!”

Cass looked over at Camila with raised brows. The other girl’s eyes shone with amusement, and Cass chose that moment to remember what Finch had said about Dreamwalkers. Space cadets. Maybe Camila just wasn’t afraid of dying in a fiery crash. If they did, at least it would be quick, unlike the first time Cass had croaked—but she wasn’t sure what came afterward. That was the part she was most afraid of. Finding out about ghosts and a place in between worlds had only created more questions. What if she didn’t end up in the same place as Cal? What if she left him all alone?

As Webster changed the radio station and changed gears, Cass put on her seatbelt. A second later, the van lurched from the curb. Sinister grabbed hold of his armrests. “Jesus, Webs,” he muttered.

“We’ve been over this. I’ll get the new parts on my birthday. My grandma always sends me a check.”

“I told you, I can loan you the goddamn money, it’s not a—”

“Not now, Sin.”

The Shadowrippers went quiet. “Sweet Dreams” floated past Cass’s ears, carried on a breeze that slipped through the open window. She rested her temple against her fist and gazed out at the California landscape, marveling at how different it was from New York. She wished she’d been able to talk to her brother before she left, but Cal had never reappeared after their argument.

The drive took forty-five minutes. For most of it, Cass just listened to the voyants around her. They talked about everything from lacrosse to Reagan. At one point Sinister gave Camila a manila folder, which made its way around the van. Then Cass felt someone lean over the seat, and a burst of cologne overpowered her senses.

“There it is,” Chad said, squeezing her shoulder, as if she’d been asleep or something. Cass was already looking out the window, so of course she saw it. A mansion rested on the dark hill above them. There wasn’t a single light on, and the only reason the house was discernible amongst the dark landscape was because of the moonlight.

At first, there was nothing creepy about it. The family obviously had money—like, a lot of money. These were the kind of people who played tennis and owned a fleet of Porsches, and the house looked new. New houses usually meant no ghosts, so something must’ve happened here pretty recently. The thought made Cass’s skin crawl.

The van climbed up a winding driveway. They hadn’t gotten very far when a gate appeared, framed by two brick columns. On the left side, there was a piece of white machinery, shaped like a small tower. As Webster pulled alongside it, Cass noted the smattering of holes in the center. It looked like the speaker on a boombox. Sinister leaned over his girlfriend to get closer to the window. Cass noted the place where his chest touched Webster’s shoulder.

“We’re from the Else Bellows Institute,” he said, and Cass twitched with surprise. It was jarring to hear him talk like that. Sinister had a soft voice; a kind voice. This was the voice of a trained Shadowripper.

No response came from the speaker. They waited for several seconds.

“Perhaps he’s taking a shit,” Frenchie whispered loudly, shrugging. Muffled laughter floated through the van. Sinister twisted in his seat and shot them a glare. Before he could tell everyone to shut the hell up, a sound floated through the night, and then there was movement in front of them. Cass had never seen electric gates before. She watched them slide open with raised brows, and then Webster drove through. Cass’s stomach twisted in a rush of dread.

Wait, she wanted to say. Stop. Go back.

But she didn’t say a word. Cass prayed she wouldn’t remember this moment later and regret it.

The house was even bigger than she’d thought. It loomed over them like a sleeping giant. During the daytime, or when every light was on, Cass could imagine it differently. Elegant and beautiful, with its sandstone walls and huge windows. But in its current state, it looked like a hulking shape, emanating a silent warning to stay away. There was a fountain directly in front of the wooden doors, and despite this place’s size, there was only one car parked in the circular driveway.

At the approach of their headlights, someone got out. A man, Cass saw as they got closer. He was obviously alive, and her chest loosened with relief. As soon as she got a look at his face, though, the relief vanished. He looked…

Terrified, Cass thought. He looked terrified.

“The family has vacated for the evening,” the man said by way of greeting, speaking the second they were all out of the van. As if he were in a hurry. He was middle-aged, with crow’s feet and peppery hair, and he wore a wrinkled white shirt. The material around his armpits was slightly darker. Strange, since it was a cool night.

“You don’t want to walk us to the door?” Frenchie asked innocently. Cass wasn’t the only one who had noticed the man’s eagerness to leave.

“It’s unlocked,” was all the stranger said, and then he got in his car without another word, closing the door hard. The gate was still open, and the man drove away so forcefully that his tires screeched against the pavement. Cass smelled burnt rubber as he tore down the hill.

“Normies,” Frenchie said with a roll of his eyes. Wolf grunted in agreement.

“Poor man,” Camila murmured, pulling something out of her back pocket. She tugged a pair of fingerless gloves on as if she were readying for a fight. A cross necklace glinted against the hollow of her throat.

The others were putting things on, too. While they got ready, Cass walked over to Sinister, who’d gone to the back of the van. He held a pair of boots out and spoke without turning. “Here, these should fit you.”

They were surprisingly heavy, Cass discovered as she took them. But he was right, they did fit. Cass knelt on one knee, tying the laces on each shoe. She stood up and did some experimental hops. Grinning, she lifted her head and caught Sinister staring at her. He quickly turned away, rummaging some more. Before Cass could ask the Shadowripper why she needed a pair of clunky boots, he straightened again. This item was less familiar, and Cass frowned. It looked like a sword, but the pointed, stabby part of the weapon wasn’t metal, and its shape was strange. Not sharp or deadly in the slightest.

“It’s called a paracaus blade,” Sinister told her. He moved a small switch on the base of the hilt, and Cass heard a brief humming sound. He held it out in a silent invitation. Cass took it from him slowly, her fingers curling around the weapon just beneath where Sinister held it. After a moment or two—Cass told herself she was imagining the way he lingered—he pulled away.

“Thanks,” Cass said. She sounded normal, thank god.

Sinister nodded and asked, touching the edge of his hand between his thumb and finger, “Did you get a chance to read the file?”

Cass remembered the folder he’d given Camila. It had never reached her, probably because of Chad taking his sweet time when it got to him. “No.”

“Knowing about the family or the background of the property can be helpful with untethering,” Sinister told her. “You’ll learn more about that in your second year. For now, all you need to know is that this is the Masterson residence. Or it was—they moved out a few weeks ago. There was a home invasion, and Mrs. Masterson was killed.”

Cass swallowed. So it had been a violent death. “Oh. That’s really sad.”

“Hey,” Sinister said. Cass glanced up at him, and their gazes locked. “You’re a survivor. Nothing in that house is stronger than you.”

In the pause that followed, Cass remembered what Headmistress Crane had said about him. Mr. Gray is known for his discipline and intelligence in the field, and he’s earned the respect of many on this campus, not to mention throughout the entire community. His word is as good as a binding contract.

On the Shadowripper’s other side, Chad’s eyebrows rose. “You’re letting her have one of those? Isn’t that a little risky? She hasn’t been trained.”

“Then what’s your excuse for being so lousy with them?” Webster asked, snapping a rifle open to peer inside the barrel. Cass felt her eyes widen at the sight of it.

Chad scowled. “I’m on the lacrosse team. I don’t have as much time as you to play with toys.”

“That’s funny. I’m pretty sure you play with a little toy every night,” Webster countered. A burst of laughter came from behind them. Chad’s nostrils flared, and he opened his mouth to respond.

“You guys carry guns?” Cass interjected. She had a feeling this could go on all night, and the sooner they began, the sooner it would all be over.

“The bullets are made of salt,” Wolfgang explained. “Won’t kill ’em, but it’ll hurt like hell.”

“They also don’t like iron,” Frenchie added, glancing down at Cass’s boots. So that’s why they were so heavy. It might’ve been helpful for Sinister to tell her when she put the boots on.

Chad pointedly turned his back on Webster and refocused on their leader. His voice rose with indignation. “Seriously, man. She could accidentally fry one of us.”

Sinister looked at Chad for a moment, sliding another paracaus blade into his belt. Tension swelled between them, and the rest of the group went quiet. Then Sinister turned to Cass and said, “Leave the switch off. There, is that good enough for you, Airweaver?”

Without waiting for Chad’s response, Sinister moved to get something else out of the van. When he reemerged, he was holding a familiar wooden box between his hands. He lifted the lid, and Cass caught a glimpse of the vials stacked inside before Sinister turned, giving one to Webster. After that, he continued on down the line. Once all of them had a bottle, Sinister lifted his in a brief salute. His expression was hard.

“What’s done cannot be undone,” he said.

No one repeated it back, like Cass half-expected them to, but there were nods and sounds of agreement. A moment later, everyone tipped their heads back and downed their See.

It tasted as good as before. Like sugar water, or flower nectar. Within seconds, a soft glow appeared at the edge of Cass’s vision. She looked around slowly, and she could feel her heart pounding inside her. The thump-thump, thump-thump made her ears pulse.

The threads were back. They covered the ground, stretching as far as Cass could see. To her surprise, not all of them had the soft glow like the music box revenant—some of them were black, and others looked like spider webs. Cass raised her gaze and stared out at the view beyond the house. Holy shit. There were so many. Thousands, maybe millions. They covered the roads, reached into houses, draped over trees and rooftops. They even went into the dark stretch of ocean, weaving into the water like snakes or vines. Cass didn’t know whether she was awed or terrified.

“Hey,” a voice said. Cass turned, and realized with a jolt that everyone was staring at her. It was Sinister who had spoken. He waited until Cass met his gaze, then added, “Whatever happens, stay close to one of us.”

Cass nodded without hesitation. “No worries there,” she said.

Someone snickered. Ignoring them, Sinister started toward the house, taking the lead. Webster turned to follow him. As Frenchie walked past her, Cass noticed that he was carrying an EMF meter. It wasn’t quite the same as Tammy’s, and Cass wondered if her roommate had done some modifications to the one at House Wayside. Frenchie noticed her interest and winked. “I can show you how it works sometime, eh?”

A moment later, they reached the front doors, and Cass was spared from a response. Frenchie moved to stand by Wolf, and Cass glanced back to see that Camila was behind her. The other girl gave Cass a nod of encouragement, probably seeing her reluctance to go inside. Cass fought the urge to swallow; her mouth was so dry it hurt. As she forced herself to step over the threshold, Cass remembered that it could only be a Level Three Haunting, at most.

The thought wasn’t comforting.

She half-expected the hinges to moan, like they always did in horror movies, but the door was eerily silent as it opened. Their strange group walked inside, and Camila closed the door behind them. The sound, though soft, seemed to echo through the stillness.

Cass didn’t like this place. She knew that immediately, suppressing the urge to shiver as a prickling sensation moved over her arms, making the small hairs stand on end. She stared up at a chandelier dangling above them, the lights set to a low, yellow glow that made every shadow in the room longer. Darker.

“Spread out, but don’t go too far,” Sinister instructed. “And no solo hunts.”

Cass wondered if the last part was for her benefit. She stayed where she was, realizing she had a choice to make. Cass didn’t want to go with Webster, for obvious reasons. But if she went with Sinister, it might look like she was interested in him or something. Frenchie and Wolf were clearly attached at the hip. That left Chad or Camila.

Cass hurried to catch up with Camila, who had started down one of the hallways.

But as she walked through a patch of darkness, Cass rammed into something. A scream lodged in her throat, and her hands flew up, catching something cool and solid. Breathing hard, Cass caught hold of a string, and she tugged at it automatically. Warm light flooded the area around her.

She’d bumped into a lamp.

Her pulse slowed. Feeling eyes on her, Cass lifted her head. Camila stood nearby, and it was obvious she’d seen the whole thing. Judging from the concerned look on the Dreamwalker’s face, Cass knew she was doing a shitty job of hiding her terror. She cleared her throat and fussed with her bangs. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Some of them can be beautiful, you know. The Hauntings.” Camila opened a door and peered inside. After a moment, she closed it again and returned to Cass’s side. They started walking toward the next room.

Camila talked as they made slow progress. Her husky, lilting voice was oddly comforting in the quiet hallway. “Once, back in Spain, I visited a farm just outside of the city. It was a Haunting that had frustrated many voyants, much like your chalkboard revenant. I wasn’t properly trained, since I hadn’t received an invitation to Else Bellows yet, but the owner of the farm heard about my abilities and he was desperate. It was well-known this revenant didn’t want to leave her horse, and nothing could separate them. By the time I got there, the stallion was old and nearing the end. I tried to untether its owner, like all the others before me, but she was too entangled. After her animal died, though, the revenant still didn’t move on. She became confused and lonely. The last time I went back, I couldn’t find her, but I did see an old stallion on a hill. I realized the revenant had become the creature she’d loved so much. I finally untethered her and watched her run, and then she was gone.”

Camila fell silent, a soft smile tilting the corners of her lips. Cass kept scanning the hallway, alert for any sign of movement. Her grip was so tight on the hilt of the paracaus blade that she could feel the bite of her nails.

“Nothing about that story was beautiful,” Cass said flatly.

She felt Camila studying her with a thoughtful frown, but Cass didn’t look back at her—she was too paranoid that something was about to rush at them out of the darkness. Cass just wanted to get this search of the house over with, and if she was lucky, maybe they wouldn’t find any revenants tonight. Finch had told her that it happened sometimes. Exhaling again, Cass paused beside another door and put her thumb on the blade’s switch.

There was no trace of fear on Camila’s pretty face as she turned the doorknob and looked inside. Unlike the other room, she didn’t move on. Without saying anything to Cass, the Dreamwalker went inside, frowning.

For a moment, Cass was tempted to stay out in the hallway. Then she remembered Sinister’s warning to stay together. No solo hunts. Cass let out a shaky breath and followed Camila.

They were in a huge bedroom. Cass couldn’t even look at the furniture or the walls, because the tethers were everywhere in here. They weren’t the pale, ethereal threads Cass preferred—these were the dark ones. All of them seemed to be going in the same direction. Cass lifted her head and found herself staring into pitch black. The lamp in the hallway was the only source of light, other than Camila’s flashlight, and the small rays reached feebly into the dim room.

But Cass knew, in her gut, that they weren’t alone.

“There’s…” Her throat was so dry again that she had to stop. Cass swallowed, fighting the urge to run. Slowly, she pushed the switch on the bottom of the paracaus blade. Her voice sounded like the rasp of sandpaper as she said, “There’s something in here.”

Camila was walking along the perimeter of the room. She turned her head and looked back at Cass. “What—”

A sound came from behind them, and Cass whirled, her mouth parting in a strangled gasp. Frenchie stood there, still holding the EMF meter. It was lit up now and making a high-pitched, crackling noise.

“Hey, I’ve got something,” he called over his shoulder. As Camila came back over to them, Frenchie knelt and put the EMF meter into his bag. He pulled something else out and set it down on the floor.

“What is that?” Cass asked, watching him. She was desperate for something to distract her from the way her skin was prickling and how every part of her body wanted to bolt from the room.

“It’s a ghost box,” Frenchie said. Cass must’ve given him a blank look, because he explained, “A ghost box is any device that allows revenants to communicate verbally through technology. Some tools scan radio frequencies, and sometimes they catch snippets of speech that can be interpreted as the voices of the deceased. Fascinating, no?”

Sparing Cass from a response, the others appeared and gathered on one side of the room. Cass waited for someone to remark on the strange, menacing tethers. She followed them with her eyes again, all the way to the part of room that was still cast in darkness.

She was still straining to see anything when a figure stepped out of it.

Cass must’ve made a sound, because she sensed every head in the room swivel toward her. She dared to take her eyes off the revenant, wondering why none of them were saying anything. But… they were still looking at her, and not the dead woman coming toward them. Even Camila was frowning in confusion.

Cass started backing away. Her voice was hushed, as if speaking too loudly would make the revenant startle like a wild animal. “Don’t… don’t you see her?”

“What do you see, Cass?” Sinister asked, his voice steady. She felt his warmth beside her.

But Cass couldn’t take her eyes off the revenant now. It was still shuffling across the room, coming closer, closer. She’d been young when she died, only thirty, if Cass had to guess. She had dark hair, cut into a bob, and she wore a lace-edged nightie that had been pink, once. Now the silk was covered in dark stains. There was a small pile of brain matter on the woman’s shoulder, and it looked like part of her skull had been smashed, or blown all to hell.

Cass was about to answer Sinister—or try to, anyway—when the revenant stretched her arm out to the figure standing closest.

“Chad, watch out!” Cass cried.

The guy moved fast, she’d give him that. Without pausing to question or doubt her, Chad recoiled, retreating so quickly that his sneakers twisted on the rug and he nearly fell. He put himself behind the wall of voyants, shouting something, but Cass wasn’t paying attention. She wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the thing in front of her.

At the sound of Cass’s warning, the revenant’s gaze swung toward her, and their eyes met. The dead woman’s eyes were a pale, pale blue, and there was no sorrow or humanity in them—only a sharp, manic light. Before Cass could react, the revenant’s jaw unhinged, and she let out the most chilling sound Cass had ever heard. She clapped her hands over her ears and screamed. Someone said her name, but Cass was finally moving, instinctively backing away. Her back collided with something hard and warm.

She was about to run when the revenant’s body gave a violent twist, and her limbs began to stretch like pulled taffy. Cass heard a horrible crunching sound, as if the woman’s bones were breaking. Her head snapped at unnatural angles and her eyeballs popped out of their sockets. Black liquid poured out of the gaping holes.

Within seconds, the woman in the nightgown was gone, and a creature straight out of a nightmare had formed. It moved like a spider, even had legs like one, but spiders weren’t covered in tar. It dripped off the revenant, great blobs of it that made Cass dimly think of drool. She watched as the thing pushed itself into a standing position, and its eyes zeroed in on her again.

“Oh, fuck,” Cass heard someone say. Guess they could see it now, she thought dimly, terror roaring in her ears.

Before she could even move, the monster launched at her.