Sarah Beth, it’s Mom. Are you okay?

When no answer came, she tried again, louder this time.

Sarah Beth, it’s Mom. Answer me if you can . . . please.

“What’s going on?” Maria said, screwing up her face.

“I have to go,” Rachel said, popping to her feet and heading to the mudroom cubbies, where she kept her purse and keys.

“Rachel, wait . . . go where?” the detective said, chasing after her and grabbing her by the arm.

“Let go of me,” Rachel said, shaking her arm free and whirling on Maria. “I can’t explain it, but something is coming for Sarah Beth . . . something terrible. I have to help her.”

“Wait!” Maria called, but Rachel was at the door, pulling on a jacket with her car keys clutched in her hand. She reached for the knob, then stopped.

I need a gun.

She turned and ran to the black gun safe next to the desk. Kneeling, she entered the code, the keypad beeping with each number and then double beeping as the bolts released. With Maria looking on, she pulled the compact pistol from the safe. She checked that a round was in the chamber, released the slide, and then grabbed an extra magazine, which she shoved into her jacket pocket on the left, the pistol going into the right.

“Where do you think you’re going with that gun?” Maria said, blocking her path to the door.

“To St. George’s,” she said. “Now please get out of my way.”

“Do you really think they’re going to let you onto the campus, armed and raving like a lunatic about something coming for Sarah Beth that you can’t describe?” the detective said, not moving.

Feeling flustered, Rachel stammered. “I’m her mom, and I have a right to protect her.”

“They’re not going to let you on campus in this manic state,” Maria said, her voice and body the model of calm and confidence. “Believe me, this is what I do for a living.”

“I don’t care. I have to try,” Rachel said, tamping down the panic and collecting herself.

“Then I’m coming with you,” Maria said, reaching out and giving Rachel’s shoulder a squeeze.

Rachel stared at the police detective—this enigma of a woman with an earnest, confident demeanor but muddy, unreadable intentions.

I wonder . . .

Using only her mind like she did with Sarah Beth, she reached out to the detective.

Are you with God or with the Dark Ones?

A long pause lingered between them, but Rachel’s unspoken question was left unanswered.

“Look, I can see that you’re upset,” Maria said, dropping her cop voice and seeming to talk as her friend. “But why don’t we call the school first? Let’s start with that, okay?”

“It doesn’t matter what they say,” Rachel said, shaking her head. “I’m going.”