Page 96 of Switching Graves

It’s such a simple, boyish thing that they’re doing, but I know what it’s for. To fight off the Syndicate when they inevitable send their muscle against him.

Near the end of the final journal, Finley spoke about them closing in on him. They had already begun renovations for the school—although Ravenshurst will have you believe they waited two years to start those—and he was going in each day to destroy their work. The mayor was pissed. Lewis overheard him planning to put a team together to hunt him once and for all. The only thing stopping him was the fact that most people had noidea Finley was still alive, so finding a group of people he could trust was proving to be challenging.

I still remember the maniacal way he scribbled his thoughts in one of them, and the sinking feeling I got when I saw his words splattered across the page. It read:

There

will

be

a

reckoning.

Whether it is my soul who delivers the punishment, or some future legacy. I will ensure that my family is aware of the betrayal that was cast against their blood.

Nocturne Valley will pay the price of their sins. They should prepare for the worst.

I’m thrown out of the memory and back into the present, where I’ve fallen onto the forest floor on my hands and knees. My stomach lurches, but nothing comes out. The sun has set further, causing the trees to cast shadows over the forest floor. I have no idea how long I’ve been out here, stumbling around with no sense of direction. I’m definitely not anywhere near the entrance of the woods. There’s a creek a few feet away from me, and my mouth goes dry at the sight of it.

Climbing to my feet is impossible. Even with the help of the trees, my legs are too fatigued to make it more than a few steps, my abs sore from dry heaving. Instead, I crawl my way there, ignoring the rocks and sticks as they bite into my kneesand palm. Stray, sweat-soaked hair falls in my eyes, blocking my vision. I don’t have the energy to move it.

I need water. I need sustenance. I need something in my stomach besides that wretched tonic Matilda gave me.

I’m going to kick the old woman’s ass next time I see her.

Finally, after what seems like ages, I reach the edge of a small river. Rocks dig into my knees when I carefully lean forward to cup my hands against the current of the flowing water. I hiss at the freezing temperature, eyes widening at the blood that swirls in the water from my ripped up palms.

I’m too thirsty to clean them off.

Carefully dragging my hands toward my face, I take a gulp of the cold, metallic water and my eyes roll back as another memory invades my mind.

This one appears clear as day.

Two different boys are running toward me with fear written across their immature features. They can’t be older than ten, though the basic jeans and T-shirts they’re wearing are more modern than what Finley and Lewis had on.

The forest is showing me someone else.

Squinting my eyes, I try to focus on their round faces. They stop just beside me on the river’s edge, sawing out breaths as they repeatedly look back in the direction they came from with widened, terrified eyes.

“We can go through,” the older one suggests.

“The current is too strong right now,” the younger boy says, shaking his head. “We’ll lose our footing. We have to keep moving through the woods. They’re coming up on us quickly.”

Looking down, I see that the calm, shallow water I had just drank from is now twice the width and at least six feet deep with rushing, angry current.

A blood-curling, feminine screech echoes off the trees before two women break through the thick brush.

I recognize them immediately from family photos I’ve seen decorating the walls of Aunt Divina and Uncle Graysen’s home.

It’s my mother and Divina. They can’t be much older than me.

They stop a few feet away from the boys, cornering them against the dangerous creek.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Divina warns, taking slow steps toward them.

“We were on our way home,” the young one explains in a shaky voice. He holds a ready stance, prepared to take off at a second’s notice.

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