How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER THIRTY

MONDAY, OCTOBER 14TH
2:30 PM
BRADFORD

I leave Watts' house right at 2:30, knowing that after yesterday, having my parents think I did anything but go to school today would be a big mistake. Ambrose takes Renny home, telling a concerned Watts that he'll stay with her overnight to make sure she gets more sleep.

I hop on my bike as Ambrose pulls out of the driveway, giving me a wave as Renny rests in the passenger's seat. There's still so much for us to do, to figure out. I mentally go over the list of unanswered questions for what feels like the millionth time as I pedal.

By now, I know the route back to my house by heart—I've got a mental map of Bradford in my head, thanks to biking everywhere. That's why I'm so surprised when I snap out of my thoughts and find myself heading in the direction of Vanterbest instead of my street.

I slow to a stop, trying to think how I possibly could have made a wrong turn. I'm sure I wouldn't have, even as distracted as I was. With a sigh, I figure maybe I'm lacking sleep, too. I haven't gotten much since Saturday, and I guess it's starting to show.

I turn around, head back up the road lined with old, well-kept houses, and make the right turn. Only to stop dead in my tracks as I find myself faced with the wrong road again. A different street of houses, none of which are the ones I usually pass on my way to Watts's house. But I do recognize them—I see this street every day. Every day on my way to Vanterbest, after I leave my house.

How the hell did I get here? I just left Watts' house a minute ago. There's no way I rode all the way past my house without even realizing it.

I force myself to take a deep breath, to let the chilled air sting my lungs, and let it out with a humorless laugh. I'm losing it. I must be.

I close my eyes, picturing where I am in regards to my house. I just need to turn around, take a right, then a left, and I'll be on my street. I take this route five times a week—there's no way I can get lost.

I step back onto the pedals and steer myself in yet another circle to head back the way I apparently came—and come to a stop so sudden that I almost topple over as the shock of what I'm seeing knocks the wind out of me. Landmarks of Vanterbest High—the large oak tree that stands right next to the staff parking lot, the nearby woods, the lone house sitting on the distant hill that looms over the building.

Only, the building I'm looking at isn't Vanterbest. In its place is a small building with a domed roof and wide, tall steps leading up to ornate double doors. Above the entrance, engraved in thin, fancy letters are the words, Town Hall. It's the building from the image Watts showed me at lunch that day—the old town hall that used to sit where Vanterbest was built. The building that was torn down decades ago.

And there are people—a large crowd is gathered out front, twenty feet or so from where I'm frozen in place. It's like looking at a page in a history book—their clothes are old-fashioned and dull, stout faces illuminated by the light of flames glowing at the ends of torches held in their angry fists. The commotion is loud and tense, voices shouting over each other with threats and accusations.

It's all aimed at one woman, who's writhing and snarling in the middle of the mob, attempting to free herself of the binds that hold her arms and legs together. Her struggle has her long blonde hair sticking to the sweat that's gathered on her face, but even through the strands, I can make out her feral expression and hate-filled eyes.

I don't know how I'm seeing this, but as soon as I see her, it becomes clear what I'm watching: Joan's execution.

And then I see him. Miguel, standing at the edge of the crowd, just as he looked that night in my room. Covered in blood, skin charred, the large pane of glass protruding from his forehead. His name falls from my mouth before I can stop it. But he only holds my gaze in response, motionless as the crowd continues to bustle beside him.