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for it in blood right now.

 
    Chapter Five
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    The ’98 Caravan rumbled through the hills, rolling up and down the tree-lined highways. Mike had the window down – the air conditioning was broken – and he was plugged into his old-school iPod. The one with the click-wheel.
    The humidity was down, but for some reason, Mike was sweating. The invitation had asked Mike to arrive “before sunset” – as if they were afraid of vampires or something – and the burnt orange sky told him they were getting pretty close to that deadline. He’d learned that a good first impression was the determining factor in how the staff at a new school treated him, and he was hoping to make good on that trend here.
    Besides, the sooner he got to Windham, the sooner he could call Laura.
    He’d tried her several times late last night, but she hadn’t picked up. Which worried him. The sooner he got in touch with her, the better. He’d explain what happened, she’d understand, and everything would sort itself out.
    Or at least he hoped.
    Mom pulled off the highway and onto a series of back roads. After a bunch of twists and turns that made Mike feel like he was in a hang-glider, the old Dodge drove through a gate lined by two stone pillars. Each had a gargoyle perched on top, crouching in menacing fashion. Mike glanced at the statues but paid them no real attention. Instead he took out his earbuds and popped open his cell phone—
    To find that he had no reception.
    â€œNo service? Are you kidding me, Mom?”
    â€œNo service?” Mom repeated, as if she was genuinely surprised. “Things must be worse than I thought …” Then, as if realizing Mike was still there, she said in a stronger voice, “I’m sure you’ll be able to call her once you’re inside.”
    Mike didn’t answer. Instead, he folded his arms over his chest and stared back out the window. If there’s no service inside, Mom, I swear to you I’m breaking out of this joint and hailing the next cab back to Queens. And you’ll have to figure out some way to pay for it.
    The gravel road cut through a large expanse, with random oaks scattered across a neatly trimmed meadow as large as a football field. A wall of trees bordered the grounds on all sides, which rubbed Mike the wrong way. Like it was there to keep everybody locked inside.
    Finally, after a minute or so, the van peeled around a tree-shrouded turn, and Mike got a look at his new home.
    It looked more like a mansion than a boarding school. There were four rows of windows on the front of the building, each numbering more than twenty across. Marble pillars shot up from the embankment all the way to the roof, evenly spaced. Two tremendous wooden doors were slightly ajar. And on the roof, overlooking the estate, were several huge gargoyle statues, each a full-body illustration.
    â€œWhat’s with the statue kick?” Mike said as the caravan ached forward.
    Mom gave a wry smile but did not answer.
    Mike’s attention turned to the wooden doors. The guy who had dropped off the invitation to school – Stockton, was it? – was standing there, greeting other kids who were about Mike’s age. His mouth was twisted into a frown, as if it was engraved like that.
    â€œWho is that guy, and why is he such a jerk?”
    Mom exhaled. She was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, like she did when she got nervous. “I’m not sure of his position nowadays, to tell you the truth. I’m sure you’ll find out when you get inside.”
    When the caravan reached the front of the line, Mike got out of the car and grabbed his gym bag and rolling suitcase. His mom hopped out of the driver’s seat and left the car running.
    â€œI’ll be in touch,” Mike said as he gave his mom a hug.
    Mom’s eyes were wet. “Be careful, Michael. Don’t trust—”
    â€œ Anyone , I know. You