Insidious(89)

“Reese is my new tutor,” I cut in, stepping between the two. “And he was kind enough to give me a lift to school, so we can get in an early morning session before class starts.”

Mom continued glaring at him. “I thought you said you were all caught up with your schoolwork. Anyways, why can’t Vanessa tutor you? She’s on the honors society.”

“Well, I’m actually in the top five of our graduating class,” Reese politely replied.

Even I couldn’t help but look at him doubtfully.

“And there’s a big exam coming up in Calculus that Kat could really use help on,” he added.

That part was true, and I had even mentioned—or more moaned about it—the other morning over breakfast. At last, Mom relented and backed away from the door, allowing me to step past her.

“Don’t forget we’re hosting the social tonight for the Woodstone. Seven o’clock,” she called out as I followed Reese down the driveway. I waved back to signal I understood before climbing into the passenger seat of the pickup as Reese settled behind the wheel.

“Top five in our class?” I laughed quietly.

“What’s funny about that?”

I’d learned his tells pretty well by now, and Reese was showing none. Holy crap! He wasn’t kidding. “But…how? You don’t even go to half your classes!”

He gave a knowing smile. “The only one I don’t go to is French, and that’s because I’m exempted due to my commitments for the newspaper. I take all the necessary exams during either Lunch or Study Hall. I’ve got a ninety-eight percent.”

“You’re serious?”

Reese nodded.

“Well, well, well. You really are full of surprises.”

He winked, flooring the truck out of the driveway. “Oh, you have no idea.”

We drove down the end of the street, but Reese took an unexpected turn once we hit Main.

“Ah, hate to break it to you, Columbus, but you’re going in the wrong direction,” I said, pointing behind us. “The school’s that way.”

“Not the one I have in mind.” Reese turned onto another road, and I realized where we were going. The highway.

“Care to fill me in?”

“Have you ever heard of Dr. Jonathan Madsen?”

I shook my head.

“He’s a theology scholar who just so happens to be holding a lecture at Whitmore University.”

“So…?”

“I’ve got a good feeling,” he simply shrugged.

“A feeling?” I gawped. “You’re gonna drive a two-hour roundtrip for a ‘feeling’?”

“That...” He reached into the backseat and tossed me a paperback. “And this.”

“Decoding Demonology & Occultism,” I read across the spine. I turned it over, and sure enough, it was written by the good ole doctor.





To our surprise, we managed to make the trip there in less than forty-five minutes. Creighton looked like many of the other New England campus towns I’d visited, filled with quaint village shops and grocery markets next to multileveled banks and hotels. Monuments of men dressed in colonial clothing rested on various street corners as several artillery cannons greeted us on the lawn of the local library. And I wasn’t entirely sure which period they were supposedly a part of. Maine seemed to house memorials from many wars spanning over multiple centuries. Most of Mystic Harbor’s monuments were in dedication to the Civil War, but other places also paid tribute to everything from the American Revolution, the French & Indian Wars, and even Aroostook.

We at last rolled up to a set of opened filigree gates with the word Cumberland inscribed into the rote iron workings. Taking the long, winding road north, the front of the magnificent building eventually came into view. The place looked more like a freaking castle than a college. Just like Belleview High, Whitmore was an old school, only much bigger. A stone façade and gigantic columns loomed overhead as we parked the car. Reese reached over me to open his glove box, fetching out what looked like an ankle brace of some sort.

“I want you to carry this,” he confirmed, plucking out a dagger from inside his jacket.

“Seriously?” I wasn’t the biggest fan of knives to begin with, and after what I’d done to Brittany, it was the last thing I wanted to ever have to use.

“It’s better to have what you don’t need.” He slid the knife into what I now realized was a holster. Relenting, I rolled up the end of my pant leg, letting him strap it around my ankle before we headed into the building.

Inside past the massive oak main doors sat gleaming marble floors, a rich crimson area rug, and soaring ceilings fit for a Renaissance cathedral. A bulletin board hung nestled in the corner, and a map of the school was printed on the right side. I headed over to it, but just as I approached, a flash of imagery swept into my vision.