Page 50 of Sweet Nightmare

In a school like this, where trust is in short supply and a huge percentage of the student body has been screwed over by what feels like the entire world, that kind of trust is impossible to buy. They might not trust her to give them a fair shake if they act up, but they trust her with their lives. And in our world, that’s a hell of a lot more important—even if there isn’t a giant hurricane on the horizon.

“Surprisingly, the storm has come up very fast, which is why we haven’t had news for you sooner,” she continues, sweeping the room with her gaze so she can look as many students in the eye as possible. “But the emergency response team and I have spent the last two hours putting together a plan to get us all through this safely.”

My uncles Carter and Christopher step forward at her words, along with my aunts Carmen and Claudia. “We’re actually very lucky,” she continues once they’re standing beside her. “Because the storm has stalled out in the southern Gulf of Mexico. Now we don’t know how long it will stay there before it begins moving forward again, but it gives us the hours we need to prepare the island.” She pauses. “And to evacuate.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

WHEN LIFE HANDS YOU MONSTERS, DON’T STOP TO DRINK LEMONADE

For a second, I’m certain that I’ve heard wrong. My mother could not possibly have said that we’re going to evacuate. In its entire eighty-year history, Calder Academy has never evacuated.

Not through Carla or Camille.

Not through Gilbert or Andrew.

Not even through Harvey or Rita.

All of them devastating hurricanes. All of them barely a blip on Calder Academy’s radar.

It’s one of the many perks of being magic, my aunt Claudia always says. The students may be banned from accessing our powers, but we have enough witches, warlocks, and other powerful paranormals on staff to create barriers that withstand even the toughest storms…and other situations.

So what does it say about this particular hurricane that even my mother actually thinks we need to evacuate? Especially since it’s only been a couple of hours since she told me she’d never let me off this island?

For one moment, pure, unadulterated joy sweeps through me at the thought of finally—finally—getting out of here. But then I have to wonder what kind of disaster would actually drive my mother to take such a drastic step…

As the decibel level in the room starts to rise, I pull out my phone to look up information on the storm myself. I’m not surprised when a quick glance tells me most of the people around me are doing the exact same thing.

What is surprising is there isn’t much out there on the storm yet. It’s named Gianna, it’s in the Gulf of Mexico, and it’s huge, but that’s about all there is to find. Maybe because it’s so new?

I don’t actually buy that excuse, but I can’t find a better one before my uncle Carter leans his nearly seven-foot frame down to speak into the microphone my mother is still holding.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says in the deep, reassuring voice I remember from my childhood. But then I remember him using this same voice—this same tone—the day they took Carolina away, and it turns into nails on a chalkboard. “I know this is unusual, but this is only a precaution, and we will protect you and the island the way we always have. But this storm is strong enough that we don’t want to take any chances. Your safety is our highest priority, and right now, that means evacuating you to a large installation about a hundred miles from Galveston, where we can guarantee you’ll be safe.”

“Holy shit,” Luis mutters as he slouches down farther in his chair. “That doesn’t sound ideal.”

“None of this sounds ideal,” I answer, slouching down with him. Because while there’s a part of me that is overjoyed at the idea of actually getting off this island for the first time in my life—it’s what I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember—there’s another, bigger part that’s waiting for the catch. Because with my family, there’s always a catch.

And if anyone thinks they’re just going to take a bunch of dangerous paranormals off this isolated, very protected island and plop us down in the middle of a hotel somewhere, then they don’t know my family—especially my mother—very well.

It’s much more likely that she’ll ship us all off to the Aethereum itself for the foreseeable future.

Just the thought of ending up at the same deadly prison where my vibrant, beautiful cousin spent the last years of her too-short life has my blood running cold. A glance across the room to where Remy is sitting with, but definitely not talking to, a very annoyed-looking Izzy tells me I’m not the only one whose thoughts are running in this direction.

A feeling that’s made even more abundantly clear when his voice—with his New Orleans accent out in full, Cajun force—rings through the rotunda. “Installation?” He looks as skeptical as he sounds. “Exactly what kind of installation are we talking about here?”

Before my uncle can answer, a violent howl of wind sends the trees outside the dorm into an absolute frenzy.

Their branches shake.

Their leaves skitter against each other, causing a creepy rustling to fill the air around us.

And their trunks bend so far over that I can’t help wondering if they’ll just give up and break in half.

As I watch them through one of the room’s large picture windows, a feeling of foreboding creeps over me, sliding over the hair on the back of my neck and slithering slowly, steadily, into my very pores. I try to figure it out, to put my finger on exactly what it is that’s making me so uneasy, but I don’t have words for the feeling.

I just know I don’t like it—even before a woman in a long, pink nightgown walks by the window. She’s barefoot, and her long hair is hanging in wet clumps around her face as she lifts her hands in a futile effort to keep the rain out of her eyes.

My mind starts to race with questions like who is she and what is she doing out there in this weather before she turns and I realize she’s very, very pregnant.

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