Page 43 of Conjure

A sycamore leaf drifts across the steps, propelled forward by the singing wind. I watch it twirl and pirouette, dancing over Lily’s shins.

“Demons don’t exist,” she says, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around her knees.

The leaf takes flight and carries on its journey.

Aron glares at her before shooting to his feet and striding off. We watch him enter the building, his broad shoulders disappearing through the doorway.

Gwen blows out a breath and lets her head fall back against the fountain. “Everything is such a fucking mess.”

“Do you think he’s right?” Brittany asks, looking between us. “Do you think we caused this?”

“We didn’t cause this,” Gwen says in a firm tone. “Whatever happened isn’t our fault.”

Lily swipes at her wet cheeks before rising to her feet and picking up her bag. She shoulders it, staring at the cracks in the steps beneath her feet. “I didn’t mean anything bad by what I said.”

“We know,” Gwen says, pulling her in for a hug. “Aron knows it, too. He just… Emotions are running high.”

I meet Brittany’s gaze but look away.

His hatred for you is delicious.

What if Aron was right? What if there’s something more sinister at play? Weird things have occurred ever since my family arrived in this small town. It can’t be a coincidence that Benny pushed Erica off the roof a week after the séance before committing suicide.

I keep my thoughts to myself as we rise to our feet and set off toward the entrance. But the tense air surrounding my friends is palpable. We’re all thinking the same thing.

What if we invited something in?

“Why don’t you go ahead,” I say to Gwen when we pass the bathroom. “I need to pee before class.”

It’s not true. I just need a moment alone.

“Sure.” She offers me a small, sad smile.

I wait until they turn the corner before shouldering my way into the piss-smelling bathroom and locking myself insidethe nearest stall. My arm itches, and the sensation of crawling insects beneath the skin has me sucking in a breath.

“It’s all in my head,” I whisper, hands flat against the graffitied door. “It’s just in my fucking head. Get it together.”

Sweat beads on my lip. Why is it so stifling? I can’t breathe in this fucking place.

Something drifts through the gap between the stall and the floor. I peer down, distracted, watching a sycamore leaf move across the floor on an imaginary breeze.

Every muscle locks tight, and a small sob escapes my lips. My spine connects with the wall when I step back.

“Camryn…”a voice whispers.

The eerie sound floats through the stalls.

I hold my breath as a bead of sweat trails down my temple.

Another whisper seeps through the muggy air.“Camryn…”

I look down at the leaf before slowly lowering myself to the sticky floor on my hands and knees, my heart pounding in the silence as I peer beneath the partition. Empty stalls stretch out in front of me, a row of lone toilets providing stark splashes of white in this dim room. I’m alone.

“CAMRYN!”the voice shouts, and I shoot upright.

Digging my nails into my palms, I allow the sharp bite of pain to anchor me before I turn to unlock the stall door.

People die like this in horror movies—investigating strange noises. Unfortunately, I can’t stay locked in the toilet stall all day.