"Sit down!" Mr. Yates's order echoed through the room. "Kill each other on your own time, not mine."

Kylie turned around, surprised the suspicious teacher hadn't let the she-wolf take her out.

The tension still hung thick when he started teaching. Facing forward, Kylie debated if she would get a pencil stabbed in her back from Fredericka.

But nothing happened. Mr. Yates started talking about how adrenaline can create strength in humans, and how it partly explained how supernaturals received their powers. His teaching skills were above average, and he had everyone hanging onto his every word. Even Kylie found it hard not to be enthralled. Yet everything in Kylie's gut told her he hadn't come here to teach. And considering Hannah's warning that the killer was here, Kylie wasn't about to let down her guard.

Her need to stay on guard shot up a notch when the class ended and she was half out the door and she heard him clear his throat.

"Kylie, stay a few minutes."

Kylie froze, her back still to him. Della, equally wary of the man, leaned in and whispered, "I'll be right outside the door."

Pulling her books closer to her chest, remembering she suspected the tall thirty-something teacher of being a serial killer, she moved back into the room with caution.

"Did I do something wrong?" An image of the three girls, their decomposed bodies in that grave, filled her mind. What kind of evil person did that?

"No-well, yes. As a protector, you shouldn't pick a fight with a were."

"She started it," Kylie said, and frowned at how juvenile that sounded. But this man gave her the creeps and brought out the worst in her.

His concern was touching-not-but she suspected there was more to this little chat. "Is that all?"

"I feel as if we got off on the wrong foot." Sincerity, a heavy dose of it, seemed to flow from him, but Kylie didn't buy it for a second. If an evil person without a conscience could lie to a vampire, he could also fake his emotions.

He continued, "I'd like to believe you would trust me."

Had he told Hannah and the other two girls the same thing? Did he get them to trust him and then wrap his hands around their necks and choke the life out of them? She could swear he looked at her throat.

Chills spread down her spine. She heard the sound of the other campers leaving the area. Was Della still outside the door? If she screamed, would Della be able to get here in time to save her?

"I don't trust very easily," Kylie said.

"I got that feeling." He took a step toward her.

She took a step back, his presence making it hard to breathe. "You know what else I don't do?" Her heartbeat played to the tune of fear, but she fought not to let it show.

He laced his fingers together. She couldn't help wondering if he was remembering how it had felt to use his hands as weapons.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Let anyone hurt someone I love." Kylie listened again, and there wasn't a sound coming from outside. The only noise bouncing off the freshly painted walls was the whishing noise of the ceiling fan.

Had Della left?

He tilted his head to the side. "What are you accusing me of doing?"

"What have you done?" Kylie fed her lungs a mouthful of air and held it.

"Nothing," he said.

Liar! She could feel it, feel him hiding the truth. "Like I said, I don't trust very easily." She turned her back on him, and with each step, she expected to feel him snatch her back, to feel his hands wrap around her throat, choking the life out of her the way he'd done the others.

* * *

Three days later, after suffering through yet another Hayden Yates class, unable to think of anything except the threat this man posed to Holiday, Kylie stormed into the office. Burnett and Holiday were arguing again; she heard them before she reached the porch, but she didn't care.

Well, she did care, just not enough to quiet the alarm blaring inside her. Hayden Yates was hiding something. That something was probably murder. And until Kylie could make Burnett and Holiday see this, Holiday's life was in jeopardy.

Walking right into Holiday's office, Kylie slammed the door behind her. "I don't like him."

"Me either," Burnett roared.

Holiday cut her eyes from Kylie to Burnett. "You two aren't even talking about the same person."

Kylie looked at Holiday for an explanation. Holiday obliged. "Blake has offered to help look into Hannah's disappearance. He was the last person to see her alive, so I think we should accept his help."

"A suspect helping with the investigation, that makes about as much sense as fried ice cream."

Holiday leaned her elbows on her desk. "You can't find one thing that points to his guilt."

"He slept with your sister!" Burnett roared.

"Guilty of murder, not of being a piece of shit."

"And I'm telling both of you," Kylie said, "Hayden is guilty."

"There's no proof of that," they said at the same time.

"He wears a glove over his emotions. Every time he opens his mouth to speak, half truths come out. I feel it."

Burnett shook his head. "I've dug so deep into his background, I can practically tell you when he stopped wearing diapers."

Holiday's chair squeaked. "Kylie, if Hayden was out to hurt me, he's had plenty of opportunity. I interviewed him the first time when I was away taking care of my aunt's funeral. It was just him and me."

Kylie frowned. "I don't care. I still-"

"Both of you are wrong," Holiday insisted. "Blake didn't do this, and neither did Hayden. And if we don't stop focusing on them, we'll never find the killer. And we might never find Hannah's and the other two girls' bodies."

Burnett's eyes brightened and Kylie could read his mind. It wasn't finding the bodies that worried him so much; it was protecting Holiday. Hannah's warning felt imminent and Burnett felt that, too.

"Where the hell is Hannah when we need her?" Burnett bit out. He looked at Kylie. "You haven't seen her, felt her? Nothing?"

Kylie dropped on the sofa. "The last time was when she saw Blake here in the office."

"See," Burnett bellowed. "She probably figures we caught the bastard."

"I don't think so." Kylie almost feared disagreeing with Burnett when he was in this kind of mood, but getting them to see her point felt crucial. "She didn't look as if she thought it was over when she left."

He folded his arms over his wide chest. "Can we have a seance? Hold hands and call her back?"

"A seance?" Holiday rolled her eyes. "You have so much to learn about spirits."

"I don't give a damn about learning about spirits. I just need Hannah to come and tell me once and for all who she thinks is trying to hurt you."

* * *

On Friday morning, Kylie had skipped breakfast and Meet Your Campmate hour. She barely made it to English on time.

Obviously, Burnett wasn't the only one who needed to learn more about spirits. Kylie didn't know enough, either, because while she had felt Hannah's presence in the last few days, and again this morning, the spirit wouldn't manifest. Kylie had tried to appeal to her the way Holiday suggested. No luck. Kylie had even resorted to begging. Nothing.

Sitting at her desk, she reached down to make sure she'd brought her phone. The slight bulge in her pocket was reassuring. Maybe she was dreaming, but she hoped Lucas would either call or at least text her. But so far, nothing. That stung.

Looking up at the front of class, Miss Kane started talking about famous authors and the books they would be reading for the first six weeks. Who knew Jane Austen and so many others were supernatural? Kylie sure as hell didn't.

Intrigued by the conversation, Kylie barely noticed the noise when it started. Just a slight knock, as if someone were tapping on a door. The tap became a loud knock. Confused, she looked around, and oddly, no one else reacted.

Inhaling a strange vibe, she stared straight ahead again. As the noise grew louder, a slight movement to the right of the teacher caught Kylie's attention. The closet door behind Miss Kane rattled on its hinges, telling her where the banging originated.

Cutting her eyes left and right, she prayed she'd see someone, anyone, reacting to the obvious disruption.

Nope.

Then the cold of a spirit sent goose bumps racing up her arms. A trail of steam floated up from her lips, impairing her vision. Miss Kane said something, but Kylie couldn't hear over the ear-piercing hammering.

"Kylie? Kylie?" Someone called her name.

Who? Kylie couldn't think.

Forcing herself to look up, she saw the teacher staring at her as if waiting for a response. Kylie tried to talk, just a muttered, "Huh?" but not a word would leave her shivering lips. Then she saw it. Steam, lots of steam, billowing out from under the closet door.

Damn! Damn! This wasn't a normal spirit's visit. It felt more like the beginning of a vision.

That thought had hives popping out all over her chilled skin. Not because visions were scarier than hell, but because visions generally ended up with Kylie unconscious, or even worse, babbling incoherently.

Not here, Kylie pleaded. Not in front of twenty-five other campers.

An icy touch whispered across her shoulder. She looked back. A woman, her skin a pale ashen color, with dark purple circles under her gray eyes, stared at Kylie.

"She needs to see you." The spirit wore a white nightgown and her long brown hair hung around her shoulders. She raised her hand and pointed to the closet in front of the class.

"Who are you?" Kylie asked, and realized she'd forgotten to talk in her head.

All the students were now staring. Kylie could hardly think. So cold. She could barely feel her own skin anymore.

"Who's in there?" she asked.

In the distance, like static noise, Kylie heard others talking. Someone else called her name, maybe it was Della, and then she thought she heard Derek, but nothing sounded right, or felt right.

"She needs to talk to you."

Suddenly, realizing it could be Hannah behind that door, Kylie forced herself to stand up and walk to the closet. Even determined to do it, she hated doing it in front of people. But what choice did she have? Her knees wobbled as she neared the closet door.

She saw Miss Kane backing across the room, fear turning her complexion pale.

Kylie completely understood. She was pretty damn scared herself.

She reached for the closet's doorknob. Before she touched it, a hand ripped through the wood. Bony fingers latched onto the front of her shirt and yanked her through the splintered wood of the closet door. And yet it wasn't the closet.

The dark, dank place smelled of dirt, herbs, and death.

She screamed. Hard. Loud.

"Kylie? Kylie?" The voices echoed in the distance and then faded. Now, the only sound she heard over her own screams was the clanking sound of metal hitting metal.

She lay flat on her back. Gritty dirt rained down on her cheeks from above. The desire to brush it away hit, but her arms were locked at her sides. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew where she was.

The grave-she was in the grave with Hannah and the other girls.

And something told her she might never escape.