“Auditorium should be clear right now, right Bree?” Vik’s voice echoed in the corridor. He sounded like he was speaking from somewhere simultaneously vast and far away, even though he was right there next to me.

Bree nodded. “No play practice today. In a few weeks I’m going to be wicked out of free time, but we’re golden for now.”

“Perfect,” said Vik.

The words hung there in the air for a moment. So casual. So relaxed. To me, though, they had a strange heaviness to them that I couldn’t place. The words sounded like they were just waiting to be contradicted. Golden. Perfect. But nothing was perfect, especially right then, in that empty place.

We were out of time. It was as if our entire lives, we’d been working toward that moment without knowing it. And so the three of us headed for the auditorium, Necronomicon in tow, our steps echoing on the tiles like the drumbeats of destiny.

Chapter Three: Convocation

The auditorium was dark, and no one was about.

It was the perfect place to read Vik’s mysterious old book. Well, it would have been if there had been more light. But that problem could be easily solved, as I was never without my portable clip book light. As we passed through the wings, I noticed an abundance of strange, macabre props and devices. Swords, bloody cloaks, tribal garments, skulls… a grimy old bathtub.

“What is all this stuff?” I asked.

“It’s for the Halloween play,” Bree answered matter-of-factly. “One of the seniors wrote it—Natalie. You remember her, she was the lead in Our Town last year.”

Ah, yes. She wasn’t bad, as far as I recalled. In fact, she had performed the role quite well. I just hadn’t been so pleased with the choice of production. It was a bit overdone. I didn’t think I’d ever heard of a high school that hadn’t done Our Town at least twelve times.

“Don’t see it,” Bree added, referring to the Halloween show. “It’s horrible.”

“The props are spooky, at least?” Vik observed uneasily.

They were incredibly creepy, actually. Not that I was scared or anything. But Vik, on the other hand was eyeing a skeleton like it was about to bite him.

I watched Bree creep up behind him. “Boo!” she yapped at his ear, prompting him to practically leap out of his corduroys.

“I hate you,” he growled as we laughed.

“Would you prefer to do this somewhere else?” I teased.

“Actually,” he responded, “why don’t we just go out into the arts garden? It’ll be easier to see out there, anyway.”

Oh, the arts garden. Yet another reason why I couldn’t stand my school. It was just too perfect. It had an actual, legitimate garden. With plants and a fountain and stuff. Outside, right behind the auditorium.

“If you insist,” I answered, resigned.