DEAD CREED ACADEMY

CHAPTER ONE

The first time I realized there was something wrong with me, it was raining.

Not the cute kind of rain people like to take pictures of.

I mean the kind that turns the sky black in the middle of the afternoon and makes the windows shake.

The kind that makes you wonder if the house is actually strong enough to keep the outside world from getting in.

I was six years old.

And my mother was still alive.

I remember sitting on the floor beside my bed with my knees pressed against my chest.

I remember the thunder.

I remember my mother running down the hallway.

And I remember her looking at me like she was scared.

Not scared for herself.

Scared of me.

That is the part I never understood.

Every time I try to remember what happened that night, my memory breaks apart.

Pieces.

My mother's voice.

The smell of rain.

A flash of white outside the window.

Her hand grabbing mine.

Then nothing.

Everyone told me she died that night.

I've spent eleven years trying to believe them.

Sometimes I almost do.

Almost.

Until it rains.

---

Blair!

I opened my eyes.

For a second, I didn't know where I was.

My bedroom was dark except for the gray light coming through the curtains.

Rain tapped against the window.

My heart was beating way too fast.

I sat up slowly and wiped my face.

I was sweating.

Again.

Blair!

I looked toward the door.

I'm awake.

The door opened.

My dad stood there, already dressed.

He looked at me for a second before his eyes moved toward the window.

You okay?

Yeah.

It came out too quickly.

He noticed.

Of course he did.

My dad always noticed things.

Just never the things I wanted him to.

He walked inside and pulled the curtains shut.

The rain disappeared behind the thick fabric.

Better?

I nodded.

Yeah.

He didn't leave.

That was the problem with my dad.

When he knew something was wrong, he didn't push.

He just stood there until you eventually broke.

I hated that.

I also loved him for it.

Did you have the dream again?” he asked.

My fingers tightened around the blanket.

No.

A lie.

His face changed slightly.

He knew.

You don't have to lie to me.

I wasn't.

Blair.

I looked away.

“Fine.”

He waited.

I sighed.

The storm.

His expression immediately hardened.

Not because he was angry.

Because he was afraid.

And somehow that was worse.

He sat on the edge of my bed.

You remember what happened?

Not really.

That's not what I asked.

I looked at him.

He looked tired.

Older than he usually did.

I remember Mom.

He swallowed.

I watched his jaw tighten.

That's all?

I nodded.

He stared at the floor.

Then he said something so quietly I almost missed it.

She loved you very much.

I laughed once.

It wasn't funny.

I know.

Then you know she wouldn't want you to be afraid.”

I looked toward the curtains.

Then why am I?

He didn't answer.

He never did.

That was how conversations about my mother always ended.

With silence.

---

By eight that morning, the house was already loud.

My stepbrother was arguing with someone downstairs.

My stepsister was yelling that somebody had taken her hair dryer.

The television was on.

Someone was laughing.

Someone else was slamming a cabinet.

Normal.

My house was always normal.

That was the weirdest part.

From the outside, we looked like one of those families people envied.

Big house.

Nice cars.

Perfect Christmas pictures.

Family vacations.

My dad had money.

My stepmother had the kind of face that looked good in photographs even when she was annoyed.

My stepsiblings had friends everywhere.

And then there was me.

Blair Vale.

The girl who never seemed to fit anywhere.

I had gone to three different schools growing up.

Every time I made a friend, something happened.

They moved.

They changed.

They found someone better.

Or I did something stupid and ruined it.

After a while, I stopped trying.

It was easier.

If you don't let people get close, they can't leave.

At least that's what I told myself.

I walked into the kitchen.

My stepmother glanced at me.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

She went back to her coffee.

No hug.

No smile.

Nothing unusual.

My dad was already sitting at the table.

He looked up.

Sit.

I stopped.

That's romantic.

He gave me a look.

I smiled.

Sorry.

I sat down.

My stepbrother walked past me without saying anything.

My stepsister came in behind him, grabbed an apple, and disappeared again.

I watched them go.

My dad watched me watching them.

Then he pushed a folder across the table.

What's that?

Open it.

I stared at him.

You're being weird.

Blair.

Okay.

I opened the folder.

There was a photograph.

A school.

Huge.

Old.

Black stone walls, towers reaching into the clouds, windows glowing like tiny flames.

It looked less like a school and more like a castle somebody had forgotten to stop building.

At the bottom of the page were three words.

DEAD CREED ACADEMY.

I looked up.

No.

My dad didn't react.

I didn't even ask what it is.

You were going to.

Okay. No.

Blair!

No.

You haven't heard me.

I don't need to.

I pushed the folder toward him.

I don't want boarding school.

You're seventeen.

Exactly. I'm seventeen. I can make bad decisions from home.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

Then he didn't.

It's not a normal school.

I stared at him.

That's supposed to make me feel better?

No.

That answer caught me off guard.

He leaned back.

Something happened.

My stomach dropped.

What?

He looked toward the kitchen.

My stepmother was still there.

So was everyone else.

He lowered his voice.

Last week.

I waited.

You remember the storm?

Of course I remembered.

I always remembered the storms.

The lights went out, he continued. You were upstairs.

I remember.

You weren't supposed to be near the window.

I know.

You touched it.

I said nothing.

His eyes stayed on mine.

You didn't just touch the window, Blair.

My throat went dry.

I looked down at my hands.

I remembered.

I remembered standing there.

The rain hitting the glass.

My fingers against the window.

Then the lights exploding.

Every bulb in my room.

At the same time.

Glass everywhere.

And me standing in the middle of it without a single cut.

Nobody saw.

Except him.

My dad reached across the table.

You're like your mother.

I pulled my hand away.

Don't.

His face fell.

“I didn't mean”

Don't compare me to her.

She had the same thing.

I stood up so quickly the chair scraped against the floor.

My stepmother looked over.

Everything okay?

“Fine,” I said.

My dad didn't move.

I looked at him.

His voice was barely above a whisper.

You need to go somewhere safe.

I hated that word.

Safe.

People only used it when something was already wrong.

What's at that school?

He looked at the folder.

Answers.

I laughed.

You don't even tell me anything.

I know.

Then why should I trust you?

His eyes met mine.

Because I'm your father.

That hurt more than I expected.

Because I knew he was right.

He had been there.

Through everything.

Even when I was angry.

Even when I shut him out.

Even when I told him I hated him because I was six and didn't understand why my mother wasn't coming home.

He stayed.

He always stayed.

I looked away.

When do I leave?

Today.

I stared at him.

You're kidding.

No.

Dad!!

I already arranged everything.

I felt something crack inside me.

Not loudly.

Just enough.

You already decided?

I had to.

You didn't even ask me.

If I asked, would you say yes?

No.

Exactly.

I hated him for that.

Mostly because he was right.

I picked up the folder.

Fine.

He looked surprised.

That's it?

I shrugged.

What do you want me to do? Cry?

His expression softened.

You don't have to pretend with me.

I looked at him.

For one second, I almost did.

I almost told him about the dreams.

About the feeling that someone was standing outside my bedroom whenever it rained.

About the strange buzzing under my skin.

About how sometimes the lights flickered when I got angry.

About how, lately, I could swear I heard electricity humming inside the walls.

Instead, I smiled.

I'll be fine.

He knew I was lying.

I knew he knew.

Neither of us said anything.

---

Three hours later, my suitcase was in the trunk.

The rain had gotten worse.

Of course it had.

I stood on the front steps wearing a black hoodie, watching the water run down the driveway.

My stepmother came outside.

You'll call when you arrive?

Yeah.

She nodded.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she said, Take care of yourself.

It wasn't warm.

But it wasn't cold either.

I appreciated that.

My stepsiblings stayed inside.

I wasn't surprised.

My dad walked toward me.

You have everything?

Probably.

Probably?

I forgot my charger.

He sighed.

I smiled.

He shook his head and went back inside.

For a few seconds, I was alone.

Just me.

The rain.

The sound of water hitting the roof.

Then thunder cracked across the sky.

I froze.

My breathing stopped.

The world suddenly felt smaller.

Six years old again.

A hand around mine.

My mother's voice.

Blair, don't look outside.

I closed my eyes.

Stop.

Another flash.

White light filled the driveway.

And for half a second

I saw someone standing at the end of it.

A woman.

Long dark hair.

White dress.

Bare feet.

Just standing there in the rain.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Mom?"

The woman lifted her head.

I couldn't breathe.

Lightning flashed again.

Nothing.

Just the empty driveway.

I stood there staring at the rain.

My dad came back outside.

What happened?

I turned around.

Nothing.

He looked past me.

Then back at my face.

“Blair?”

I swallowed.

I thought I saw someone.

Who?

I didn't answer.

Because I already knew what I had seen.

And there was no way it could be possible.

My mother had been dead for eleven years.

I picked up my bag.

Let's go.

As I walked toward the car, I looked back at the house one last time.

I didn't know it then, but I was never going to see it the same way again.

And somewhere beyond the mountains, behind roads that didn't show up on any map, there was a school waiting for me.

Dead Creed Academy.

I just didn't know yet that it wasn't waiting for me to arrive.

It was waiting for me to remember.