And no sign of Emilía.
Someone clears their throat, making me jump.
An eerie voice fills the classroom.“If everyone’s here, then let’s begin today’s lesson.”
I turn to the teacher’s desk, but no one is behind it.
A slow shiver spreads through me.
The teacher continues talking.“When we travel the spirit realm, we take on great personal risk. If we aren’t careful, our spirit can become lost in the realm, leaving our body an empty husk. If this happens, then the risk of possession—”
“Why not return the spirits toourrealm instead?”Another voice interrupts.
A student. I spin around to the back of the classroom.
It’s empty.
“Spirits cannot be trusted in the realm of the living,”the teacher chastises. “Though still dangerous, it’s safest for us to traverse the spirit realm to consult the dead and get their insight. We areneverto let them return to ours.”
I gulp. Like a séance?
“Why not?”the student pushes.“Does a spirit not owe a debt to theirsummoner? Wasn’t it spirits who first taught us seiðr?”
“Perhaps, but once returned, spirits must possess a living host or become trapped in our realm. The havoc and harm they could wreak is unimaginable. Which is why we must always be cautious, even while traversing their realm. Now, as I was saying…”
At the front of the classroom, a piece of chalk is floating in the air.
What the hell?
I can’t stop staring as the chalk slowly scrapes over the board. It draws a… triangle before moving to the right and drawing another one. My stomach sinks as I watch. A third triangle is drawn lower on the board so it overlaps the other two.
Three large interlocking triangles. Just like the symbol I saw on Emilía. I gulp. Is it some kind of seer symbol? Is that why Amund and Nils had never seen it before?
There’s a noise outside the classroom. Footsteps.
I rush into the hallway. “Emilía?”
Someone—no, something—stands at the other end of the long hall. My vision readjusts to the darkness. I can make out shaggy fur, pointed ears, long claws. A wolf.
No, a berserkr.
But it stands on two feet. It doesn’t look fully animalorhuman. Its shoulders are too broad, its arms too long and encased in thick fur. I can’t see its face in the shadows—only its glowing eyes fixed on me.
The intercom system crackles to life, making me jump out of my skin. Then the voice I heard earlier screams,“Run!”
I listen.
As I bolt in the other direction, images flash of Emilía, her stomach shredded by claws. Images of my mom, lying on the carpet, covered in blood. The memories propel me, my muscles screaming from effort. I have no idea how to get out of here, but I cannot let the monster catch me. No matter what.
Because I know, somehow Iknow, that I’ve just seen Emilía’s real killer.
Behind me, the creature drags a claw along the wall. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out all other noise. It sounds like nails against a chalkboard. The killer is… playing with me, I realize.
I have to get out. Somehow. The scraping grows louder. Louder. My breathing is getting heavier, but years of track have prepared me for this. If it comes down to a chase, I can outrun them. I hope.
The creature rounds the corner, letting out a menacing snarl.
Shit.
