It was only a half-lie. I did want to see what had become of the place that still haunted my nightmares. All these years since we were carried down from the peninsula in the back of an ambulance into the arms of the FBI, Miskatonic Prep shadowed us. It lurked in the corner of the dorm room I shared with Trey at college. It hunted in the woods where Quinn ran his wildlife safari, it watched and waited as Ayaz graduatedsumma cum laudewith his architecture degree and opened a practice. It lay in wait as we went to the animal shelter for Trey to pick our first puppy, who now hopped around the back of the car, panting on Ayaz’s head.
Branches scraped across the roof of the car as we rounded the last corner. I caught peeks of grey stone through the trees, and a knot twisted in my stomach. A shining new sign at the gate read. “Welcome to Miskatonic Preparatory Academy. All welcome.”
Fuck. They even kept the name.
The car fell silent as we all stared at that sign, as the weight of what it meant to be back sank in. We pulled into a parking lot beside a row of cars. There were the familiar fancy rides, of course – a Lamborghini splattered with dust from the road. A Porsche with a scrape down the door from where it had clung too close to the cliff. But interspersed with them were battered pickup trucks and used cars. Against the backdrop of grandeur, these vehicles seemed silly. But the fact they were there at all was a good sign.
The new school buildings loomed above us – the classroom and faculty wings, the dorms, the gymnasium with its high stone wall. It was uncanny how alike they were to Parris’ old home. I searched the windows of the dormitory, finding those that had once housed my friends and my enemies. The tree that had let me out of Trey’s room on more than one occasion no longer existed.
The stone steps, where I’d first laid eyes on Trey Bloomberg all those years ago, still stretched up toward twin wooden doors. The very place where he’d warned me away and laughed at my discomfort.
A shudder ran through my body. We thought we’d banished the ghosts, but would we ever truly be free of the horrors that had chased us?
This is a terrible idea. We should never have come.
The baby squirmed in agreement.
The door flung open. I half expected to see Ms. West’s Morticia Addams gown sweeping over the marble tiles, her hard eyes boring into my soul. Instead, two very familiar but very different figures bounded down the stairs toward us.
“Hazy!”
Greg’s academic gown fluttered around his shoulders. Behind him, Andre beamed – his broad shoulder blocking my view into the building behind them. Greg kissed my cheeks. “You look amazing, honey. You’re positively glowing. Pregnancy agrees with you.”
“It doesn’t agree with that fucking access road,” I muttered, steadying myself against him as a fresh wave of nausea slammed me.
“We’d better get her inside.” Trey took my shoulders. Ayaz came up on the other side and held the door open for me. Fergus wiggled out of the seat and bounded out first, barking in excitement as he raced to sniff the flower beds. Quinn rushed in from the car, carrying this stupid tote bag he insisted I have with me at all times, filled with heat pads and herbal supplements and whale noise that helped the baby grow.
Honestly, what happened to my badass bullies? They used to be the Kings of the school. Now my husbands are fussing over me like old maids. When the baby comes, they’re going to be even worse.
I say husbands, but we weren’t officially married. You couldn’t do that… yet. Tillie was running for senator, and she said she was going to change the law, but I doubt she’d get that one past the House. Not even she had the power to work miracles.
Greg’s hand on my arm trembled with excitement as he led us slowly up the stairs. “I can’t wait for you to see what we’ve done with the place. It’s okay to leave the dog outside.”
He flung open the doors and swept us into a high, airy atrium. My breath sucked in, and for a moment I imagined myself six years ago, stepping into Derleth Academy for the first time. My fingers flew to my pocket, where a brand new iPhone rested against my leg. I remembered clutching my old one for dear life on my first day here before Ms. West slipped it into her robe.
I remembered Trey’s smirk, the way his breath brushed my skin as he christened me ‘New Meat.’
“—tried to choose materials that closely matched the original structure,” Greg was explaining, pointing out details in the moldings. “Of course, we made improvements. The biggest one being laying cable up the peninsula so the entire school has one of the best wifi networks in the state. You can’t get lost in the woods around here, and all students have access to university databases and academic resources.”
Trey pointed to an empty space above the stairs, where the enormous electronic scoreboards used to sit. “No merit points?”
“Hell no,” Andre said, in his deep, rumbling voice. My skin rippled with pleasure from the sound of it. I threw my arms around him. It had been too long.
Over the last few years, after the FBI and some of our class alumni organized enough funds to put him in therapy for his trauma, Andre started to talk. Not a lot, and not often, but every word was a gift. He and Sadie taught us all the basics of sign language so we could use our hands to speak to them as well.
“We decided we didn’t want that kind of competitive atmosphere,” Greg said. “Don’t get me wrong – this isn’t a place for lazy kids. But we wanted students to focus on improving themselves. So instead, we track individual progress against a set of self-defined parameters. It’s more work, but it seems to be working. We have one of the best success rates for college acceptance in the country, which is unheard of in such a new school.”
Trey smiled. “Well, new-ish.”
“Right. If you come this way—” The bell rang, cutting Greg off. Doors banged and the entire building shook with the rumble of hundreds of feet. Students erupted into the halls.
I noticed the changes immediately. No longer was the student body of Miskatonic Prep a sea of petulant white sameness. Now, I saw uniforms resplendent with Native American adornments, faces of all colors and shapes and sizes laughing together. Accents and languages from all corners of the earth rose through the space in a polyglot symphony. An ocean of diversity, wild for its unusualness, beautiful because of what it meant for the future.
As students raced past on their way to their next classes, they high-fived Greg and fist-bumped Andre.
As I followed Greg and Andre down the hall, posters advertising a school LGBT club and a multicultural celebration week jumped out at me. All things that would have been completely foreign at the school I attended. He showed us the dormitories, which had been remodeled. Instead of the sumptuous suites for the richest students, there were collaborative spaces where students worked together. There was no staff in the dorms – laundry, cleaning, and cooking was all done by the students.
We reached the end of the hall. My hand gripped the balustrade. A hole in the floor gaped darkness, with a row of narrow stairs like sharpened teeth ready to swallow me. The basement. The dungeon.
