How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 4TH
6:36 AM
THE RIVERA'S FRONT PORCH

I tug on my backpack and answer the door, still attempting to prepare myself for going back to Vanterbest after what happened. After we decided to essentially play Ghostbusters, the four of us went home, agreeing we all needed to calm down a little bit before diving into research.

So, forgive my knee-jerk reaction to seeing Watts when he finally shows up at my house. I don't mean to be rude, but there's no denying the obvious: he looks pretty terrible.

His eyes are red and puffy behind his glasses, and his hair is even messier than usual. He looks like he's still half-asleep, and his plain grey sweatshirt is a stark contrast to his typical brightly-patterned button-downs. To be honest, it's a lot like how I look this morning.

"You okay?" I ask, shutting the door behind me and heading for my bike. The chill of October has finally settled in, and the morning air feels sharp as I breathe it in. A breeze rustles the thick oak trees that line Bradford's streets, sending a few of the copper leaves to the sidewalk. I brush away the sudden memories of raking the yard with Miguel, a chore we always tackled as a team.

Watts nods, but sighs heavily. "Yeah. I just... I guess because of what happened yesterday, I hardly slept. I had a nightmare like you wouldn't believe."

I laugh shortly as we hop onto our seats. "Join the club."

He turns to me with wide eyes as the two of us begin our usual route through the foggy neighborhood. "You too?"

"Well, I don't know if I can really call it a nightmare. More like..." I know how the truth is going to sound, but I also know Watts is more likely to believe it than anyone else. And with everything going on, what's the point of beating around the crazy bush? "More like my dead brother Miguel showed up in my room last night and left a bloodstain on my floor."

Watts presses his break so hard that his tires squeal against the road. "Holy shit."

"I know," I say, backing up to where he stopped.

"No—I mean—Your brother. He..."

I raise my eyebrows, urging him to get it out. I expected it to shock him, but not this much.

Watts's eyes flicker between me and the pavement. He takes a deep breath. "Miguel... he died from the glass through his head?"

I'm surprised my heart doesn't stop in my chest. How would he know that?

My expression must confirm it to Watts, who chokes out a laugh and shakes his head. "Oh my God. Oh, man! I can't believe this. Diego, he came to me, too. I saw him."

I'm frozen in place, trying to make sense of it, trying to wrap my head around the idea that any of this is real, that it's not all some month-long dream.

"And look—" Watts shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and unzips it, pulling out one of the library books with shaking hands. 

He opens the hardcover to the copyright page, which is stained with dry, browned blood around the edge. And in the middle, the blood's been used to draw a symbol: a figure eight with a vertical line down the center that tapers off at the top end. Two shorter, horizontal lines intersect the top half of the eight.

"I watched him pick up the book and draw this. Then I blinked, he was gone, and it was morning. I didn't think any of you'd believe me about it, I was going crazy trying to think of how to explain it. But this must be the symbol—it has to be." Watts returns the book to his bag as I slowly come out of my daze.