Was it because he’d given me firespell? Had the magic created some kind of bond between us that I didn’t know about? I made a mental note to ask Scout about it . . . without telling her why I was asking. I might eventually need to spill Sebastian’s interest in me, but I wasn’t going to do that now. There was no reason, as far as I could see, to raise the alarm bells.

By the time I returned, my secretly empty sketchbook in hand, Scout was in the common room, ready to head out for dinner.

To be honest, seeing her made me nervous. I still wasn’t sure what I should tell her. After all, I’d willingly had a meeting with a Reaper. Granted, a Reaper who’d saved my life, but given her experiences, I wasn’t sure she’d care much about the difference. I didn’t want to keep a secret from her, but I also didn’t want the lecture.

So I decided to let it ride. I kept the dinner convo light, and steered away from all things darkly elite.

Study hall followed dinner, and as soon as we got back to the suite, Scout hied off to her room. She walked in, and with an apologetic glance back at me, started closing her door.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep. Just some work to do.”

Okay, this was, what, the second time this week she’d locked herself in her room? “What are you working on?”

“Just some spells. Nothing personal. I just need quiet and . . . you know . . . to concentrate.”

“Okay,” I said. I watched her disappear into her room, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do. Was I supposed to worry about her? Give her privacy? Break down the door to make sure she was okay? I mean generally, I’d be all for having time to oneself, but this girl had been kidnapped. I didn’t want to leave her alone if she was in there being held at spell-point by a Reaper.

“She’s fine, you know.”

I glanced back. Lesley stood in her doorway, the bow to her cello in hand.

I didn’t want to talk about Scout within earshot, so I walked over to Lesley’s room. “What do you mean?”

She plucked a tiny piece of lint from the bow. “She did the same thing earlier. She seems fine, though.”

“Huh,” I said. “Did you notice anything odd?”

“She has a nose ring. And her hair is dyed two colors.”

Okay, Lesley did have a point there.

“But I’m not sure how you are.”

My eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head to the side and gave me an up-and-down look. “You look weird. What’s going on?”

Was she really that astute? Or was I sending out some kind of “I just had a secret meeting with a Reaper” vibe? I shrugged and hoped it looked nonchalant. “Nothing. Just. You know. Being me.”

She didn’t look convinced, but when she shrugged, I figured she was moving on.

In any event, time to change the subject. “So, I’m gonna work on my drawing for studio. How’s yours coming along?”

Lesley shrugged. “I’m done.”

“Already? We don’t have class again until next week.”

“I’m not running secret missions at night. I had time.” She turned on her heel and headed back into her room. “And now it’s time for practice,” she said and shut the door behind her.

You had to admire that kind of focus.

Since Amie’s room was empty and Lesley’s cello-playing made a pretty good soundtrack to creativity, I grabbed my sketchbook and started drawing. Sebastian might have interrupted my afternoon plans, but he wasn’t going to take over my evening.

13

Scout’s room was empty when I woke up the next morning. I showered and pulled on my plaid, grabbed my bag, and headed to the cafeteria. I found her at the end of a long table, surrounded by empty chairs. There was a tray in front of her, and a half-eaten muffin on the tray. A couple of notebooks were open beside it.

I plucked a box of chocolate milk and a carrot-raisin muffin from the buffet, then took the seat across from her. “You got an early start.”

She glanced up from the notebook. “Yeah. Sorry—was I supposed to wait for you?”

I pulled out a raisin from the muffin and dropped it on the tray. I liked carrots, but raisins were just weird. Like little wrinkly fruit pebbles. No, thank you.

“Well, we didn’t have a contract or blood oath or anything, but you usually wait for me. Should I ask what you’re working on, or is it secret, too?”

She blew out a breath. “Not secret. Just a spell.”

Three more raisins hit the deck. “I see,” I said, although I really didn’t. “How’s it coming along?”

“I’m not really sure.”

Since she wasn’t playing chatty, I finished cleaning out my muffin and downed the bit that remained. When the bell rang, we grabbed our books, dumped our trash, and headed out to pretend to be normal high school juniors.

I thought about Sebastian pretty much all morning long. I didn’t mean to; he just kept popping into my head. I felt pretty weird about that. I was talking to Jason, after all. And when I got a text message from Jason with the deets about our first official date, I felt that much worse.

“FOR OUR DATE SATURDAY—HOW ABOUT LUNCH?” he asked.

“LUNCH WORKS,” I texted back.

“ANY PREFS?” he asked.

I thought about it for a second, but decided I wasn’t picky. As long as we got out of St. Sophia’s, I’d be happy. “UR PICK,” I told him.

“IF I COULD, I’D PICK YOU,” he said. I swooned a little.

And speaking of secrets, since I’d been interrupted yesterday, I still had art studio homework and Sterling Research Foundation business. Mom and Dad business.

After morning classes, I invited Scout to head outside with me. She said no again, and since she was pretty well focused on whatever spell she was working on, she didn’t seem that worried about the fact that I was leaving her alone at lunch again. And this time, I really did plan to be alone. I put a couple of sketch pads and my watercolor kit into my bag, firmed up my courage, and headed out.

The sky outside was overcast, like a gray blanket had been tossed over the city. And because of the clouds, there weren’t any shadows. It made everything seem a little weird—a little flatter than before. The St. Sophia’s flag hung limply above the school, no wind to stir it up.

I started down the street, walking past the bank and slowing when I reached the STERLING RESEARCH FOUNDATION Sign. For a couple of minutes, I stood outside and made myself focus on the architecture. The shape of the windows. The lines of the building. The little details that the original architect had put into it. Because I really did have an assignment to do, I made myself think about shapes and shades, and not about the stuff that might lurk inside it.

The information.

But I was here, and I had a chance. I made a split-second decision, then brushed my fingers against the SRF sign, like that little touch could give me luck. And then I walked inside.

A bell rang when I pulled open the front door. The receptionist, who sat behind a long wooden desk, glanced up. She looked pretty young, with short, curly blond hair and blue eyes. The nameplate on her desk read LISA. She took in my plaid skirt and St. Sophia’s hoodie, then smiled kindly.

“Hi there. You must be from the school down the street?”

I nodded, walking slowly toward the desk so that I could get a sense of the reception area. Although the building was squat and old-school on the outside, the interior was bright and modern, with lots of sharp lines and edgy furniture. There was a closed door behind the reception area, and another one on the left side of the room behind an L-shaped sofa.

I reached the desk, then tugged on my satchel. “Yeah, I am. I’m Lily. I’m in an art studio, and we’re supposed to study a building in the neighborhood. Would it be okay if I draw yours?”

“Oh, sure, that’s fine.”

“I just didn’t want you to think I was snooping around or anything.” Although I totally am, I silently added.

“It’s no problem. I’m Lisa, so if anyone gives you any trouble, just find me, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “Thanks a lot.” I felt a prickle of guilt that she was being so nice. It’s not like I had bad intentions, but I wasn’t being exactly truthful, either.

After we exchanged a smile, I began walking to the front door. But then I stopped, and I didn’t know what I was going to say until the words were out of my mouth. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what kind of things do you research here?”

“Oh, we don’t actually do research. We’re a foundation—we sponsor other people’s research.”

Nerves lit through my stomach. I was getting closer, and I knew it. “Oh, yeah? That sounds cool.”

“It’s very interesting,” she agreed. “We fund scientific research projects all over the world.”

Of course they do, I thought, then smiled again. “Thanks again for your time.”

“Anytime,” she said, then looked over at her computer monitor again.

That was when Lisa’s phone rang. “Wow,” she said after she’d picked it up. “You finished faster than I thought you would. I’ll be right up to get it.” The handset went down, and she slid out of her chair and from behind her desk, then trotted to the stairs, where she disappeared through a second-floor door.

I glanced back at her desk.

Crap. You only live once, right?

When the upstairs door closed behind her, I made my move. I skittered behind her desk, put a hand to the door behind it, and peeked inside.

It was an office, and a nice one. My heart thudded when I read the nameplate on the desk: WILLIAM PERRY.

Someone named William had signed the letter to my parents on SRF letterhead—the letter that encouraged them to send me to St. Sophia’s and not tell me what they were working on. If this was his office, he was an SRF bigwig—the head of the foundation, maybe.

I wasn’t sure how much time I’d have before Lisa came back, so I glanced around to see what could be checked quickly. There were framed diplomas on one wall, and the opposite wall held a desk with a tall credenza behind it.

There was a computer on the desk.

“Bingo,” I quietly said. I peeked back into the hallway to make sure the coast was clear, then moved in for a look at the computer monitor.

None of the programs was on, but the guy had a really messy desktop. There were icons everywhere, from files to Internet links to random programs. I scanned them quickly—I surely had only a moment before she came back downstairs again—and decided on his e-mail program.

When it loaded, the first message in the queue was from Mark Parker—my dad—and the subject line read, “DNA Trials—Round 1.”

My hand shaking, I opened it.

“Dear William,” it read. “To follow up from our last call, we’re beginning to pull in the data from the first round of trials. Unfortunately, we’re not seeing the DNA combinations we’d hoped to see. We’re still hopeful some adjustments in the component samples will give us positive results in this round, but adjustments mean more time. We don’t want to push the schedule back any further than necessary, but we think the investment of time is worth it in this case. Please give us a call when you have time.” The message was signed “Mark and Susan.”

Somehow, over the thudding of my pulse in my ears, I heard the clacking of Lisa’s footsteps in the lobby. I closed the program, ran away from the desk, and held up my paintbrush.

She looked inside Perry’s office, worry in her expression. “What are you doing in here?”

I smiled brightly and held my paintbrush up. “Sorry. I pulled this out and dropped it. It rolled in here. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Oh,” she said, clearly relieved. “Well, let’s get you back into the lobby.”

When I was back in her safety zone, she took a seat behind the desk and gave me a thin smile. “Good luck with your drawing,” she said, but she didn’t sound very enthused. I might have had an excuse for being in the office, but some part of her wasn’t buying it. Time to get out.

“Sure. Thanks again for your help. Have a nice day.” I practically skipped out of the building, even though the urge to run back into the room was almost overwhelming. My parents had been on the computer in Perry’s office, talking about research—and clearly not the philosophical kind.

I walked outside, heart still beating wildly, and headed to an empty covered bus stop bench. I took a seat and took a moment to process what I’d seen.

Fact—my parents knew Foley. She admitted they knew each other, and I’d seen a letter they’d written to her.

Fact—that letter had been written on SRF stationery. That meant my parents were connected to the foundation, and that connection was strong enough that they got to use the letterhead.

Fact—my parents had talked to William Perry about “DNA” and what sounded like experiments. That meant my parents and Perry were still in contact, and they were giving him updates about their work. Whatever that was.

Conclusion—my parents weren’t just philosophy professors, and they were definitely researching something.

But what? And even if you put all those facts together, what did they mean? And what did they have to do with my being at St. Sophia’s?

And then the lightbulb popped on.

There was one more fact I hadn’t considered—Scout and I had snuck into Foley’s office one night to return a folder stolen by the brat pack. While we were there, we found the letter from William to my parents. He’d also written something like he’d “inform Marceline.”