Sanctum (30 page)

A few firefighters emerged from Brookline’s front door with a stretcher. Even from where they stood, Dan could tell it was Cal being pulled out alive. A few yards ahead of him, silhouetted against the blaze, he could see Abby and Jordan standing side by side. Jordan’s shoulders slumped with relief. Dan shuffled up to his friends, feeling exhaustion overtake him at last.

“So what now?” Dan asked, though he didn’t direct it to anyone in particular. It was as much a question put to himself. He slipped his hand into his pocket and closed his fingers around the smooth face of the red stone. “We just . . . go around shouting ‘sanctum’ at people hoping it does something?”

“I don’t know,” Abby replied with a shrug. “But I’m glad we get to go home.”

Dan took Abby’s hand and hardened his jaw, watching Brookline burn. Dancing flecks of fire shot out from the windows, blown about on the breeze. He didn’t say it, but Dan hoped no more stretchers came out of Brookline, that the monster Caroline Reyes had become—had been made into—would be gone forever, buried in the most appropriate place Dan could imagine.

Chapter 35

T
wo hours later, he and Jordan waited for their rides out of town with a light rain just beginning to fall. Abby faced them on the sidewalk, huddled under her hood with her mittens deep in her pockets.

“I’m only staying one extra day,” she said, “just to see Aunt Lucy and make sure she’s okay. You don’t need to worry, I’ll text like every five minutes.”

“Cold comfort, Abs. I hate the idea of you staying here one more minute,” Jordan replied sourly.

Dan found himself nodding, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t seem to stop holding the stone in his pocket. He rubbed his thumb over the smooth, glassy surface, his eyes fixed on a point in the road over Abby’s shoulder.

Rain gathered in the potholes and he felt each droplet hit the top of his head, drip, drip, his thumb moving back and forth across the stone in the same rhythm.

“Dan?” Abby was smiling at him, then went on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Everything okay? You seem distracted.”

“Just . . . thinking. I mean, in a way, we ‘solved the mystery’ or whatever, but is that really going to help us? What if we get back home and realize it wasn’t any kind of hypnosis or brainwashing or anything, and we were all just traumatized by the summer?”

“Then we’ll just have to move on,” Abby said. “Like everybody else.” She motioned behind her, to where other prospies were no doubt reassuring their very concerned parents that the building that had caught fire was empty.

“Besides, we
weren’t
hypnotized. It was all the drugs, remember?” Jordan said, nudging him.

“Very funny, Jordan,” Dan mumbled.

“Anyway you have all those notes and junk now so you can see if there’s anything in there about your family,” Jordan added. “But in the meantime, just cheer up, yeah? We’re going home.”

“You’re right,” Dan said. He glanced at Abby and smiled. “Putting this behind us—that’s the way to go.”

Soon he would be back with Paul and Sandy, safe and distracted by school, college applications, all the things he was supposed to care about.

“That’s your bus, Jordan,” Abby said, pointing down the road. Through the steady rain and mist, a pair of glaring orange lights appeared. “I’ll be in touch. You two take care of yourselves, all right?”

She gave Dan another quick kiss on the cheek and hugged Jordan, then she crossed the street before the bus pulled up. Dan watched her disappear up the path, the same one they had taken up to campus just two short days ago. The bus stopped directly in front of the curb, obstructing Dan’s view of the path. Jordan’s bus pulled up and Dan’s waited just behind it.

“Safe travels, Dan. It was good to hang out with you again even if you are a huge pain in the ass.” Jordan hugged him close and Dan chuckled, watching as his friend saluted and hopped onto the bus.

When it was Dan’s turn, he hauled his bag, now stuffed with the recovered journals and research, into the trunk of the taxi. The driver hardly looked at him when Dan got in.

Dan took the small red stone out of his pocket and stared down at it. The taxi idled, waiting for traffic to pass before pulling out from the curb. It was strange to think that Brookline was probably completely gone at this point, burned out, just a smoking remnant waiting to be demolished.

Most of its sordid history was with him now, stuffed in his bag and cradled in his palm.

Dan looked out the window, feeling his heart spasm in his chest. Numbness settled in his fingers, and he couldn’t feel the weight of the stone anymore.

There across the street, standing on the path where Abby had been just seconds before, was a familiar face, not the ghost of Patrick, but almost definitely a ghost. He was tall and broad, with wire-rimmed glasses and a goatee, and he waved at the taxi as it drove away. His eyes were both black, and thickly clotting blood dripped out of one nostril.

Micah.

“Sanctum,” Dan whispered, fogging the glass. “Sanctum.”

It didn’t matter how many times he said it, Micah, pale as a specter, was there, watching him go.

Dan squinted, pressing his nose to the cold glass, not believing his eyes. Micah waved and waved, now with both hands, and when a car cruised by Dan flinched and blinked. When he opened his eyes, Micah was gone, as if he had never been there at all.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

W
ithout fail, my family and friends are always instrumental in the making of any novel; their patience, support, and love see me through it all. I also want to acknowledge the hefty contribution of Andrew Harwell, and thank him for his guidance and expertise. As always, I would never have gotten to write this project without Kate McKean, my superstar agent. Lastly, a big thanks to Olivia DeLeon, Kim VandeWater, and the fantastic team at HarperCollins.

IMAGE CREDITS

The images in this book are custom photo illustrations created by Faceout Studio and feature photographs from real vintage carnivals.