Where Monsters Hide (The Monster Within 1)

He looks at me, first, then Piers. “Your scores have been tallied, and you’ll be able to see them on the screen in a few moments. I suppose now it’s just time to wait and see … if it was enough.”

He smiles—a sly, knowing look—at our stunned silence, then walks around us and out the door. We follow along until we get to the outer chamber with the screen, then we wait around while the rest of them file out.

I turn to the score screen, which is being updated as I watch. Names are being shuffled around as the final scores are calculated, the top performing students appearing at the top and proceeding down from there. It’s an agonizing wait. I’m covered in filth from the ogre and running on some reserve power that’s bound to run out any moment.

The names stop shuffling. The boys and I push closer to the screen to find our names. And there I am—just below Piers, but above Bennett and Owen, who’s at the bottom.

The very bottom.

For a second, I’m sure we’re out. Then, with a sudden flicker, the four of us leap up exactly five spots. The names beneath us are struck out—their scores replaced with the word ‘DISQUALIFIED’ in all caps.

“Oh my God,” I whisper, taking a step back. “Holy fuck. We passed! Guys, we did it!”

They all turn to me slowly. Their scowls are back. For one second I forgot I’m at odds with these three … despite the last few minutes.

“Barely,” Piers says, his eyes scanning the last group. My gaze follows his, and I wonder what anyone else could’ve done that got them disqualified … when we didn’t. Piers shakes his head. “I knew it was a trick, and we should’ve run. But because of you and your damn plan, we’re at the bottom!”

He shouts the last word, shoving me in the shoulder as he says it. I stumble backward and almost fall, but Erin catches me.

“So what?” I say, out of breath. I’ve finally reached that point. I’m not sure I have the strength to ex

tricate myself from this girl’s awkward grip. “Barely passing is still passing.”

“Who cares if it’s passing?” Owen mutters darkly. “Don’t you know what happens at the end of the year?”

“They drop the lowest-performing student,” Piers hisses. He points savagely at the score screen. “Because of you, we scored the lowest, and we’ll have to work twice as hard just to catch up with the rest of the class.”

I look at the numbers again. They’re low. A lot lower than everyone else. In all rights … we should be out. If that other team didn’t get disqualified, we would be.

Bennett folds his huge arms, biceps flexing dangerously as if in agreement.

Piers steps closer to me, bringing his face inches away from mine. “If it’s the last thing I fucking do,” he whispers, “I’ll make sure it’s you who gets dropped. I’m not letting you take me down with you.” His blue eyes bore into mine just long enough to let me know he’s serious, and then he turns abruptly away and marches out the door.

Owen and Bennett scowl at me for just a moment longer before they follow.

Erin pats my shoulder. “It’s okay,” she whispers, her voice trembling. I glance at the score screen. She’s in the middle of the pack, probably in no danger of being sent home.

If I could muster up the strength now, I’d jerk my shoulder out of her grasp, scoop up my backpack, and walk out of the room, leaving her there alone. The very last thing I need is a pep talk from her of all people.

She ran.

I don’t care if it was the ‘right’ thing to do. She ran. She left us. I won’t forget that. I’ve no patience for cowards.

But I also have legs like jelly that don’t work right.

The residential wing of Saint M houses both male and female students. By the time we’ve hobbled back upstairs, roommate assignments have already been made … and it looks like I’ll be stuck with Erin for the rest of the year. Under any other circumstances, I might have complained—but I’ve no energy to do that, not now.

To make things worse, the room is very small with no privacy at all; two beds, two desks, and two dressers make up the entirety of the furniture, with just enough room between them to delineate whose is whose.

Erin wastes no time decorating. While I put my meager amount of clothes inside my dresser, she tapes a few posters to the wall above her bed and sets little knick-knacks on her desk like a giddy freshman sorority girl or something. I set my only notebook and pencil on my own desk and watch her exchange her plain white blanket for a flower-patterned comforter.

She glances over her shoulder. “You didn’t bring much?” Her voice is timid.

“Didn’t need much,” I say, looking over the posters of boybands she’s pasted all over her side of the room. “From what I’ve heard, most people like us usually don’t.” We’re a thing of the old world, people with not only a secret, but the solution. Our lives don’t make well for settling down long term. There’s always another monster. Always another hunt.

Erin’s face goes red.

“I just … want it to feel a little like home,” she mutters. I catch her push an unrolled poster under her bed with her foot, trying not to let me see. “Um … I know you might be mad at me, but … would you mind coming with me to the showers?”