School of Secrets (The Perkins School for Self Improvement #1)

Chapter 22

Eventually, the rest of us have finished with our tests, and Atwater's given us permission to talk. Almost everyone takes the opportunity.

Derek, Creighton and I are no exception.

Creighton's studying the piece of paper that Atwater gave her, one of her own notebooks positioned next to it on her desk.

"What did he want?" Derek whispers, leaning across the aisle to glance at the paper, "Did he give you that? But ... What on earth?"

Derek's eyebrows seem to rise of their own accord, the surprise and confusion displayed clearly across his face as he looks from the piece of paper to the notebook.

"What's going on?" I demand, too far away to make a clear determination for myself.

"That's your handwriting," Derek continues, ignoring me, "but that's impossible."

"What," I repeat, "is going on?"

Creighton sweeps her notebook and Atwater's paper out of Derek's reach, leaning across the aisle to hand them both to me.

I quickly read the contents of the solitary page, a shiver running down my spine. Had I still lived in a world where superpowers and strange occurrences were out of the question, I would have called this poetry. Now, I don't have a clue what to make of it.

Death leads to life,
sacrifice breeds chaos.
Army of the dead,
imprisoned by the living.
In a future ruled by Darkness,
the Five hold the key.
Together they wield the power,
though alone they cannot stand.
Spirits of the lost must take their place
finding reason to connect the remnants of reality.

"Professor A wrote this." Creighton clarifies, pointing to the words on the slightly wrinkled page, "He saw this in one of his visions, but after he finished writing it, he noticed it didn't match his handwriting. He recognized it as mine."

I stare at her, unsure of what to make of that. Upon considering Atwater's words and comparing them to Creighton's astronomy notes, I can't disagree.

"It's a perfect match." I manage.

"It's a prophecy." Creighton sounds pretty sure of it when she speaks.

I'm startled to say the least.

"Well," I try to reason, "clearly it has something to do with you. That's the only logical explanation for the handwriting."

Creighton nods, reclaiming the evidence.

"But there are only three of us," Derek argues, "so it can't be collectively referring to me, you, and Tim, can it?"

"There are four of us if you count Lauren," I refute, "that would mean we'd be looking for the fifth."

"Or it's mentioning the three of us," Derek muses, "and Marco and Yumi. That's five."

Creighton frowns at the paper, silently reading it again.

"I think you're sort of onto something," she tells Derek, "but I think Marco and Yumi may be the ones responsible for the 'army of the dead'."

Derek looks shocked.

"You think they would ...?" he wonders, running a hand through his hair.

She nods.

"He holds his rituals in the cemetery most of the time," Creighton reasons, "figuratively, there's an army of dead people in every cemetery. Literally ... he might be able to manage that too."