Page 43 of Some Kind of Haunted

“And what is this generation doing?” I ask, because I feel like we’ve blundered into the middle of an established thing here. They’ve invited us into their group, sure, but they don’t quite know how to fold us in yet.

“We fight,” Cleo replies easily, her dark gaze on me. I don’t think I’m imagining the challenge I see there.

“We believe we can stop it,” Nora adds. She smiles, but it’s not a happy smile. “Not that anyone ever has. But if a deal was made, a deal can be unmade. Right?”

Her gaze shifts to Jack.

“We’ll unmake it.” Jack’s voice is grim enough to send a shiver through me. “Once and for all.”

“You three think you can stop a demon horde from acting on a deal your ancestors made? Because demons, generally, are known for being very relaxed about things like that?” Logan is clearly not as moved by the idea of the fight. “After centuries?”

“I think we have to try,” Nora tells him, very seriously. “And they’re your ancestors, too.”

He looks away from her.

I’m trying to put the pieces together. “Okay, if I’m this harbinger, how can I help? Aren’t I just the bad guy who shows up and fucks everything up?”

“What you are is a sign, and that makes you neutral,” Nora says, her gaze steady. I find that encouraging. “What side you end up on is up to you. We all think it’s a good thing that the harbinger this time is a Darling. That feels positive. So does the fact you came so early in October. We have weeks to prepare for the Feed. Weeks to try to prevent it this time. The harbinger usually appears the night before Halloween, so there’s no way to prepare. You coming early gives us a fighting chance, literally.”

We’re going to try to prevent a centuries-old deal with demons. As much as I’ve been uplifted by being believed for a change, it’s hard to take this as a positive.

“Historically, the demons have their two zones.” Jack points again to the places he means on his map. “Along the flood wall and around the mine.” His lifts his gaze in my direction. There’s no scowl. No animosity. Just a strange feeling that we’re connected, or maybe I wish we were. I can’t tell. “Tell them what you told me earlier today. About the clock tower.”

I blink. For a moment, I don’t have the words. Years and years of trying not to remember my dreams makes sharing them now feel . . . dangerous. A test. But as I look around the room, everyone is looking at me with serious expressions.

Waiting. Interested. Believing.

I look back down at the map. And the clock tower that’s haunted me my whole life. Because it has and it exists and I am not as messed up as I always believed. Just . . . haunted.

“Ever since I can remember, I’ve had dreams of that clock tower,” I tell them. “I see it in the dark. I hear the slurping. And as the clock strikes, these . . . things come out of it. Slurping.”

I take another look around the room again then. It’s instinct and experience that has me bracing myself for the laughter. The rolled eyes. The concern trolling that’s worse.

I’m waiting for this to be a trick. They lured me out here to listen to whatever insane tales Lexi Darling can come up with, and then they’ll really stick that knife in. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But everyone nods along like I am just . . . right.

Sane and right.

Like I know what I’m talking about. It’s beyond weird to be taken seriously. This seriously, like it’s nothing more or less than simple fact.

So simple and so factual that they just . . . carry on. No questions about whether I’m taking medication or what kind of help might benefit me. No “just out of curiosity” interrogations to “gently” lead me to realize how off my rocker I am.

If this is reality, it’s going to take some getting used to.

“Nora, you’ve never mentioned dreams about the clock tower being dangerous,” Jack is saying while inside, I reel.

Nora shakes her head. “No, my bad dreams tend to deal with the area around the mine.” Something in her expression hardens, and that’s interesting, because I would say there’s nothing hard about Nora. But there’s a hint of it now. “What about you, Logan?”

All eyes turn to Logan, including mine, because . . . Logan doesn’t dream. That’s always been my purview.

Logan is staring right back at Nora. His expression is hard, too. “I don’t dream like Lexi.”

There’s something about his tone that I find . . . off. I don’t think he’s lying. Surely he would have told me at some point if he dreamed like me. But there’s something very lawyerly about how he phrases that, like he’s working around a technicality.

I tell myself I’m being paranoid. I’m not going to start doubting my brother. Not when he’s here with me, navigating this strange new world we’ve been thrust into.

Besides, he was the one who insisted we come here in the first place. I don’t know why he’d do that if he dreamed all this shit. If given the option, I’m pretty sure I would have stayed in New York and upped the Xanax.