Chapter Text
“The stars incline us, they do not bind us.” — William Shakespeare
The first day of senior year didn’t feel like the beginning of anything important. If anything, it felt too much like every other day that had come before it — the same chipped bricks on the side of Whitechapel High, the same flickering hallway lights, the same air tinged with something slightly supernatural and slightly moldy.
Ethan Morgan sat on the edge of the front steps, fingers nervously drumming against his jeans. He wore his favorite jacket, one that was a little too warm for the weather but gave him the illusion of control. A breeze rolled through, carrying with it the sound of chatter, locker slams, and the occasional shriek from someone discovering that yes, Erica had dyed her hair platinum and no, it wasn’t a phase.
He checked his phone. 7:46 a.m. Benny was late. Again.
This, too, was part of the pattern.
Ethan had barely started composing a mental complaint when he heard the slap of sneakers on pavement and the breathless, familiar voice calling out:
“Wait! Ethan, wait up!”
There he was — Benny Weir, hoodie unzipped, t-shirt half-tucked, hair a little chaotic in that way that said “I tried, but my mom kept talking about dental insurance.” His backpack was bouncing with every step, and he looked like he had sprinted the last block.
“You’re gonna vibrate into another dimension,” Ethan said dryly as Benny skidded to a stop in front of him.
“Wouldn’t be the worst way to start the year,” Benny replied, grinning. “At least I’d avoid gym class.” He leaned down, hands on his knees, catching his breath. “My mom made me eat a banana before I left. Said Pop-Tarts don’t count as breakfast.”
“You eat Pop-Tarts for all your meals.”
“They’re versatile!”
Ethan rolled his eyes but smiled. It was always like this with Benny — chaotic, loud, a little ridiculous. And yet… grounding. There were few constants in Ethan’s life that made him feel genuinely steady, and Benny was one of them.
Even when he was fifteen minutes late.
They headed inside together, falling into step automatically. The hallway smelled like floor wax and overconfidence. A few lockers down, Rory was dramatically reenacting his summer internship at a haunted car wash, while Erica leaned against the lockers, bored and radiant.
“Should we ask what happened or just assume it ends in ghost soap?” Benny whispered.
“Play it safe. Ghost soap.”
They reached their lockers. Ethan opened his to find a sticky note with a doodle of a vampire in a top hat and the words: Welcome back, Vision Boy. He didn’t need to guess who had left it — Sarah had a particular flair for teasing notes.
“I feel like this year’s gonna be different,” Benny said, out of nowhere.
Ethan glanced at him. “Different how?”
“I don’t know. Just… different. Like we’re on the edge of something.”
Ethan didn’t answer right away. His powers had been acting up over the summer — not visions exactly, but feelings. Twinges in his chest, flashes of light that didn’t belong to the real world, dreams that left him cold in the morning. And always, always a sense of something coming. Something close.
Maybe Benny was right.
Or maybe Ethan was just reading too much into everything again.
“Let’s just survive first period,” Ethan said, trying to shake the weight off his shoulders. “Then we can worry about destiny.”
Benny bumped his shoulder. “That’s the spirit.”
⸻
They survived first period. Barely.
History was taught by a new teacher this year, a tall man with sharp cheekbones and the kind of voice that made you feel like you were being recruited into a conspiracy. His name was Mr. Halvorsen, and he wore all black — shirt, slacks, shoes, and, weirdly, a single silver ring on his index finger that seemed to catch the light in ways it shouldn’t have.
“He’s either a vampire or in a metal band,” Benny whispered as they left the classroom. “Possibly both.”
“I’m voting for ancient cursed artifact collector,” Ethan muttered, glancing over his shoulder.
There was something about Mr. Halvorsen that tickled the edge of Ethan’s sight — the place where visions usually lived. A shimmer just behind the man’s shoulder. A brief flicker, like a shadow moving against a wall with no light to cast it.
He didn’t say anything, not yet. He had learned that blurting out things like “I think our new history teacher is from another dimension” wasn’t always the best social move.
Third period brought them to the library, which was now supervised by Vice Principal Stern after the previous librarian vanished under “mysterious circumstances.” (Read: she opened a book that screamed and hasn’t been seen since.)
Ethan and Benny sat near the back, out of habit. It was their usual table — the one that creaked ominously when you leaned on it too hard and had a carving in the wood that said: W.H. + T.S. 1986. Ethan always wondered who they were, what kind of lives they had. Did they survive Whitechapel High? Were they also constantly nearly eaten by monsters?
“Okay,” Benny whispered, pulling out a notebook. “Game plan for this year.”
“We have a game plan?”
“We do now.” He flipped to a page titled: Senior Year Goals (That Don’t Involve Getting Mauled by a Demon). “Item one: Ace calculus.”
Ethan arched a brow.
Benny shrugged. “Okay, item one: Get through calculus without crying.”
“More realistic.”
“Item two: Finally tell Erica she looks like she stepped out of an ’80s music video and I mean that in a good way.”
“She will bite you.”
“Item three,” Benny said, lowering his voice slightly, “figure out what’s going on with your visions.”
Ethan looked down at the table.
There had been flashes all summer. Not the clear, cinematic style he was used to. These were more like impressions — someone whispering his name in a tunnel, a flickering light, a pair of red eyes in the dark. And Benny… Benny had been in a lot of them.
But he didn’t want to say that out loud. Not yet. Not until he knew what it meant.
“You don’t have to figure it out alone, you know,” Benny said, softer now, as if reading his mind.
Ethan looked up and met his eyes.
Benny wasn’t teasing. His eyes, usually so alive with mischief and chaos, were steady. Warm. Familiar in a way that made Ethan feel like he could breathe again.
“I know,” Ethan said.
And he did. Benny had always been there. Through every vampire attack, every portal, every bad cafeteria mystery meat. And through all the confusion, the visions, the magic, the danger — Benny stayed.
That meant something.
Even if Ethan didn’t quite know what yet.
⸻
After school, they headed to Benny’s place like they always did. His grandma was out — something about a spell circle being off-balance at the retirement home — which meant the house was quiet. The kind of quiet Ethan didn’t get in his own house, where his parents were always either arguing softly or talking too loud, trying to ignore that their son had psychic powers and vampire trauma.
Benny tossed his backpack into the beanbag chair and flopped dramatically onto the couch, arms stretched like a starfish.
“So,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “I think we should form a club.”
Ethan was sitting on the floor, back against the couch. “A club?”
“Yeah. For supernatural investigators. We’ve earned it.”
“Didn’t we already do that unofficially in, like, sophomore year?”
“Yeah, but now we make it official. Get jackets. Patches. Maybe a newsletter.”
Ethan smiled. “Can we veto the newsletter?”
“No promises.”
They sat there for a while in the golden quiet of the late afternoon, the kind of hour where the sun slips low and everything feels a little too soft, a little too important. The window was cracked open, and a breeze rustled the leaves outside.
Ethan tilted his head back to look at Benny.
“You ever think about how weird all of this is?” he asked. “Our lives, I mean.”
Benny looked down at him and grinned. “Every day.”
“I just thought high school would be… different.”
“You mean less vampires?”
“Yeah. Less vampires. More… I don’t know. Dates. Parties. College prep. Normal stuff.”
Benny was quiet for a second. “Do you want that? Normal?”
Ethan hesitated. “Sometimes. But not if it means giving up this. Giving up… you.”
It slipped out before he could stop it. He didn’t even realize what he’d said until Benny blinked.
There was a pause — not awkward, not tense. Just… full.
Then Benny smiled. “Well, I’m flattered.”
Ethan tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat. He looked away, cheeks warm. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” Benny said softly. “And for the record… I wouldn’t give this up either.”
Ethan turned back toward him, and for a moment they just looked at each other. Not like friends. Not like teammates.
Something else.
Then Benny sat up suddenly. “Okay, mush time over. We have a mystery to solve!”
Ethan laughed, relieved and a little breathless. “We do?”
“Yep. Our new history teacher is 100% shady. Possibly immortal. Possibly related to Dracula.”
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”
“Never. Get your laptop, Watson. We’re going vampire hunting.”
⸻
They spent the next two hours researching Mr. Halvorsen. Not that they found much. His name turned up no social media, no faculty pages, no online presence at all. It was weird. Even their old gym teacher had a Twitter account (mostly filled with complaints about protein powder and teens).
“He’s a ghost,” Benny declared, munching on gummy worms. “Or a shadow creature. Or maybe he’s one of those eternal beings that exist between time and memory.”
Ethan snorted. “Or maybe he’s just an old dude who doesn’t use Instagram.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Just then, Ethan’s screen flickered.
It was brief — half a second, maybe — but enough to freeze the air in the room.
Benny noticed. “That happen before?”
Ethan nodded slowly. “A few times. Always when I’m looking into something weird.”
They exchanged a glance.
“Maybe Halvorsen’s the start of something,” Benny said, and he didn’t sound like he was joking anymore.
Ethan’s phone buzzed before he could reply. A text. From Sarah.
“Need you guys at the station. Weird case. Bring Benny.”
He showed Benny the message.
Benny raised an eyebrow. “See? Told you. First day of senior year and we’re already back in business.”
Ethan grabbed his jacket. “You coming?”
“Always.”
⸻
They met Sarah outside the police station, near the back entrance where she usually slipped them in unnoticed. She was wearing her standard leather jacket and sunglasses, despite the fact that it was dusk.
“Missing person,” she said without preamble. “Seventeen. Disappeared two nights ago. Left his house at 11 p.m. to go to a friend’s. Never arrived.”
“Whitechapel weird, or regular teen disappearance?” Benny asked.
Sarah hesitated.
“He was last seen near the edge of the woods,” she said. “And the street cameras… glitched.”
Ethan’s stomach dropped.
“Like how?” he asked.
“Like… blinked out. Five whole minutes of static. No electrical reason. Just gone.”
That feeling returned — the one he’d had all summer. Like something was watching. Like the air was too still.
“We’ll look into it,” Ethan said.
Sarah nodded. “I figured you would.”
She left after that — businesslike as ever. But she squeezed Ethan’s shoulder gently before she turned away.
They stood in silence for a second.
“Woods at night,” Benny muttered. “Because that’s always gone so well.”
Ethan cracked a smile. “We’ll bring flashlights.”
“And garlic.”
“And salt.”
“And maybe… you know. Just a little bravery.”
Ethan looked at him.
Benny grinned. “Okay, a lot of bravery. But I got your back.”
Ethan smiled, but his heart was pounding. The woods. The visions. The missing kid.
Something was starting.
He could feel it.
And whatever it was… it wasn’t going to wait.
⸻