Her fingers tightened over the canister of mace and she shined her small beam into the darkest corners and crevices of the landing, but she appeared to be alone.

She didn’t believe in ghosts or vampires, but she did think that someone else was inside the house. Marnie, the blonde, messing with her mind? Nah. No reason. So who else?

She heard the front door open and close and she pressed herself into the shadows of the second floor hallway, her pulse thumping. She heard hushed voices—female voices—and footsteps, more than one. What the hell was going on? Her penlight was tucked under her arm and she gently clicked it off. Carefully, she edged near the railing, looking down to the foot of the stairs, but she saw no one, just heard them pass through the foyer and, she thought, the hallway that led to the back of the house.

On stealthy footsteps she eased her way back to the first floor. She was still gripping her little canister of mace in clenched fingers as she moved to the back of the house and the kitchen, keeping close to the wall.

Empty.

The women had disappeared.

Kristi entered the kitchen and stopped, ears straining, but she heard nothing. She peered through the windows, but saw nothing outside. The answer was the locked door to the basement; it had to be. She tried the handle. It didn’t budge. So the girls who came here had a key.

To what?

She thought of Lucretia’s talk of a cult. Could this be the meeting place, an old manor complete with gargoyles and a haunted history? Could the cult meet here? Her heart raced, perspiration ran down her back, and she gripped the damned mace as if it were the very essence of life.

Leaning close to the door panels, she closed her eyes and strained to hear anything, but the house was again silent as a tomb. She tried the door again. Nothing. She shined her light over the kitchen looking for a key—anything—that might open the dead bolt, but found nothing.

And she couldn’t wait here any longer.

Not if she wanted to catch the person who had broken into her place.

Holding her can of mace in one hand and her phone in the other, she slipped out of Wagner House and started running across the campus, adrenaline spurring her, unaware of the eyes that were following her every move.

Run, Kristi, run.

You’ll never get away.

Vlad watched her flee across campus and he smiled to himself. He’d known she was in the house, had sensed her presence, seen her from his hiding spot outside on the overhang of the portico. She was a brave one. A little foolhardy, but athletic, strong, and smart.

One of the elite.