“Oh, sure.” I imagined Lorraine pressed back in her chair, scratching her hellacious cat Costineau between the ears. “Super easy. You’re going to need four orange candles, some dust from the floor, and an eight-inch string.”
I bit my lip, looking around the classroom. “I have two flashlights—one is almost orange, dust from the floor and”—I scanned, then brightened—“one of Will’s shoelaces?”
“What?” Will snapped to attention. “These are my good shoes.”
“Good shoes don’t have laces,” I hissed. Then, to Lorraine, “Will any of that work?”
“It’s not perfect, but probably close enough. Place the flashlights torch-side-up on the opposite points of the circle. Sprinkle the dust in the center.”
I relayed the instructions back to Will, who growled at me, stomping around the room in one shoe, but did as he was told.
“Now you’ll need to take the dust and the string—or shoelace—and go stand in the center of the circle.”
A flutter of nerves rippled through my stomach as I crossed the threshold of the pentagram and found its center. “Okay, now what?”
“Sprinkle the dust and repeat after me: Goddess Hectate, bringer of all we know, chants of the past bring a dazzling glow.”
I slowly circled, dusting, and repeating Lorraine’s chant.
“Now take one end of the string, and let it flow out as you circle, chanting.” Lorraine cleared her throat and I did the same, pinching the string between my forefinger and thumb.
“Goddess footsteps shall never be stopped, bring me wisdom so I too may walk.”
I stopped, Will’s shoelace flopping to the ground at my feet. “Nothing happened.”
“Give it a second,” Lorraine said before hanging up.
“Well, that was quite a fun show,” Will said, striding into the circle and snatching back his shoelace. “But—”
He paused, openmouthed, as a rumble emanated from the floor. I could feel the vibration through the soles of my shoes; it was as if hundreds of students were running through the halls.
I saw Will’s mouth move, but any word he spoke was drowned out in the chanting wail that shook the walls of the art room. I couldn’t make out one single voice or one single word; each blended into the others, creating a din so solid and loud that it pressed against my chest like a weight. A hot wind shot up, too, circling us.
I felt Will’s hand slice through the air and grip me around the waist, pulling me so that my hammering heart was pressed up against him. A light kicked up—then a thousand lights—circling us and moving in time with the din.
“Oh my God, Will, look!”
The pentagram on the floor was slowly, painstakingly being formed. A line of chalk arched into the circle. Another one, slightly larger, moved faster. Star upon star upon star etched itself into the ground.
The etching sped up, the wail hitting an ear-splitting crescendo as the thunder of unseen footsteps shook every bone in my body. And then, as quickly as it had appeared, the sound, the movement, the hot wind, the chalk, all disappeared.
“What the fuck was that?”
I stared down at the circle around us. The lines were thick, heavy, well defined. My throat was suddenly dry and I tried to swallow, tried to talk, but my tongue was plastered to the roof of my mouth. Finally, I was able to point a single shaking finger toward the floor.
“It was them.”
What seemed like hundreds of pentagrams—one on top of the other—were outlined around us. Some were exact, some were slightly skewed, but each had a point that formed a direct line toward the bay.
“You can see them too then?”
Will circled slowly, once hand clenched around his jaw. “Of course I can. There must be at least a hundred here. What is this? What is this room used for?” He gaped at me. “What the hell kind of classes do they teach here?”
I scanned the macabre graffiti, my stomach clenching with each new line. “I don’t know. I’m pretty sure the only electives they offered when I was a student were jazz band and home ec.”
When my phone rang, I went light-headed and Will dodged for the door. “It’s only my phone. Were you taking off?”
Crimson washed over Will’s cheeks. “I was securing the door to save you.”
“Right. Hello?”
“So, did it work?”
It was Lorraine, and once my heart dropped out of my throat and into my chest, I spoke. “Yeah. Maybe a little too well.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are pentagrams everywhere. The spell illuminated at least sixty—maybe more.”
Lorraine paused for a beat. “Really?”
“Really. What does that mean?”
“It means that you’re definitely not dealing with a couple of kids messed up with the occult. You’re dealing with a legacy, Sophie.”
I clicked the phone shut and looked at Will. He swallowed slowly. “So?”
“Lorraine says we’re dealing with a legacy.”