At dinner, Wes broke it to me that Mr. Turner wouldn’t let them skip two prep periods in a row. I hadn’t asked him to check, but I frowned and shook my head in a manner almost as dramatic as his grim announcement.

“But!” He held up a finger to interrupt my mourning. “We do have free time from nine to ten.”

“Didn’t you get in trouble for staying out late yesterday?” I asked.

“Turner didn’t catch us,” Eric said.

“So you’re going to risk it again today?”

“That’s the way he works,” Dustin said with a sigh.

The plan was for me to be outside their dorm hall at nine, then we could go over and pick up Scott Shipp from his hall.

“Okay,” I said, “but if I’m not there at nine, it’s because I had work to do. You guys go on without me.”

“You can’t ditch it?” Wes asked.

Eric Reed said, “Work isn’t like school, Wes.”

Scott laughed. “Oh, man. Once you leave here, you’re going to do great. I can tell.”

After dinner, I told Darius the boys were hoping to hang out with me and asked if there was anything he wanted me to do. He said that hanging out with the boys was what he wanted me to do.

“Keep talking to them,” he said, “and make sure you’re listening for any information they drop.”

A discontent growl escaped my throat.

The vampire wasn’t going to miss that.

“Yes, Emerra?” Darius said.

“It’s just…isn’t Wuller telling you everything you need to know? He’s enthusiastic enough.”

Darius stopped typing and turned in his chair to look at me. “What’s really bothering you, Emerra?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t believe that. You know, as well as I do, that Wuller only knows half of what goes on at this school—”

I thought that estimate was a bit high, actually, but I didn’t want to admit it.

“—so something else must be bothering you. What is it?”

“I feel like a spy,” I said. “Those kids are talking to me like a friend, and there I am, taking a bunch of sneaky notes and reporting back to you!”

The vampire smiled one of his closed-lip smiles and turned back to his laptop. “A spy’s position and intentions must remain unknown to their mark. The boys know exactly who you are. If they tell you anything, it’s because they don’t care if you know.”

“You’re saying I’m not a spy because they know I’m from the Torr?”

“I’m saying, if you are a spy, you’re a lousy one.”

As the boys and I roamed the halls, trying to figure out what to do with the measly hour allowed us, they told ghost stories. These weren’t good ghost stories—after all, we only had an hour. They were only the bare outlines of the dreadful tales. About the time you strip the stories of all their details, they wind up sounding a lot more ridiculous than dreadful. Even the spooky atmosphere of the school could only do so much when it had to contend with Scott skipping down the hall, his squeaky laughter bouncing off the dark, looming walls.

“Think about it!” Wes cried. “If you came back from the dead, would you spend all your time hanging around a bathroom?”

“You have me there,” I said.

“But what if—what if…” Scott turned, one-eighty, so he could point at Wes. “What if the food in purgatory is really bad?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had nights like that. It’s enough to make you wish you were dead again.”

“Ghosts can’t eat,” Wes jeered.

“Oh, you’re talking about ghosts,” I said. “Not just people who came back from the dead?”

Wes’s brow furrowed. “Who else comes back from the dead?”

I grinned with private delight and shrugged.

Eric’s voice was heavy with incredulity. “You can’t believe in Bloody Mary, but the other ghosts—sure, why not?”

“Let’s say, I’m open-minded about them,” Wes said.

Eric rolled his eyes.

Scott piped up, “What does the smart one have to say?”

We all looked at Dustin.

Dustin’s verdict was “I haven’t met one yet.”

Scott shook a finger at him. “That’s a good line. Have to remember that.”

“What about you, Emerra?” Wes asked.

It didn’t seem fair for me to answer. Living with death gave me some serious insider knowledge. But I could fudge.

“You know, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if there were ghosts.” I looked around the gloomy hall, and my eyes strayed to the shadows of the high ceiling. “And it wouldn’t surprise me if we found a few here.”

Scott laughed.

“What?” I said.

“It’s not telekinesis.” He waggled his eyebrows. “It’s ghosts.”

“What about the pyrokinesis?” Eric said.

“Really angry ghosts.”

“It’s not anger.” Wes’s voice was quiet. “It smolders. It’s like a low ache that you carry around with you. Sometimes it flares.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of our footfalls.

“Does it hurt you?” I asked.

“That’s not what I meant.” Wes closed an eye, and his cheek lifted to make the oddest thoughtful expression I’d ever seen. “But I use it, right? I’m around it a lot. Everybody says it’s anger, but that’s not it. That’s the wrong kind of energy. It’s more like…pain.”

In the silence that followed, Wes looked around and saw four somber faces looking back at him.

In a much louder and more playful tone, he said, “What do you think, Eric? Would you rather have it be psychics or poltergeists?”

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Eric scowled. “I’ll take the psychics.”

The hall in front of us opened onto the balcony overlooking the great hall. Scott ran ahead, leaned over the stone banister, and whooped loud enough it echoed three times.

“Must you?” Dustin said, covering the ear closest to Scott.

Wes clapped his hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “A man has to stake out his territory.”

We all moseyed over to join Scott at the railing. When I got there, I spotted a familiar set of furry ears down on the floor below. I almost called out to Conrad, but then I thought better of it.

Maybe he sensed my intentions. He turned and looked up at us.

I offered him a hesitant wave.

The wolfman raised his hand, then turned and walked into a dark hall. I kept my eyes on the spot where he’d disappeared.

Five days. You’d think I’d be over it. But Wes was right—some aches smolder. I took a deep breath and drew myself up.

When I turned, the boys were watching me.

“What?” I said.

Eric jerked his head toward where the wolfman had been. “Is he a problem for you?”

At first I was too stunned to respond. Then I laughed. “No! Geez—no. Conrad is…he’s really great.” My stomach sank.

Scott leaned over and whispered to Wes, loud enough we could all hear him, “She said cheese.”

“She said ‘geez,’” Wes corrected him.

“What kind of geez?” Scott grinned. “Do you think she has Red Leicester?”

“Not now,” Dustin said.

“Is the wolfman strong?” Eric asked.

“Oh, yeah.” I put my hands in my pockets and kept walking. “Scary strong.”

The boys fell in step beside me.

“Does he scare you?” Eric asked.

“He used to,” I said. “Then I got to know him.”

“What’s he doing?” Wes asked.

“Probably snooping around the building.”

We reached the end of the hall. We could turn and keep walking along the balcony, or we could go down the stairs.

“Which way, guys?” I motioned to our options.

They looked at each other, waiting for someone—anyone—to have an opinion. Since it looked like no one wanted that honor, Wes decided to volunteer someone for it.

“Dustin!”

“Why me?” Dustin asked.

“Because you didn’t like where we went last night. This time you get to pick.”

Dustin must have seen the justice in that argument. He nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s go to the greenhouse.”

“Can we?” My voice rose with excitement.

I had seen the greenhouse while I was exploring the grounds. It looked like the glass walls were the only thing keeping the potted jungle from taking over the world.

Wes and Dustin both smiled.

“Yes,” Wes said, “I do believe we have a winner.”

The greenhouse was on the bottom floor at the end of the main wing. The door looked like any other door, but the boys assured me that behind that unassuming slab of wood was the jungle-esque utopia I had seen.

“Grant’s the head of the gardening club,” Scott said. “We’re still trying to figure out if what he does counts as chlorokinesis.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking.

Wes grabbed the door handle.

“Is it locked?” I asked.

“It’s not ten yet,” he said. “Besides it’s never locked if you know the trick.”

He put his foot against the bottom of the door, braced his shoulder against it, and shoved. A second later, he motioned for Eric to come help. Under their combined weight, the door slowly, grudgingly, gave way.

Wes held the door open and ushered the rest of us through. I stopped beside him.

“That’s the trick?” I said. “Push really hard?”

“The trick,” Wes whispered, “is that this door is a pain in the arse to open and close, and Grant can never shut it tight enough to use the lock.”

Walking into the greenhouse was like stepping through a magic portal. I left behind the heavy stone and dark wood of the school. Here the walls seemed to be made of light and air. I didn’t know if the glass in the roof was real enough to keep out the rain. Soft, yellow light from the outdoor lamps attached to the side of the school filtered through the branches. The smell of the plants and the soil hung in the air like perfume. I held my arms wide and inhaled.

“This is beautiful,” I announced.

“You should come back in the daytime,” Scott said.

He careened down one of the small aisles open on either side of the main table, but his reckless charge stopped abruptly at the end of the table. His arms dropped to his sides, his energy, gone, and he eyed something hidden to the rest of us by the large potted plants.

We glanced at each other, then came forward, quiet and cautious.

There were three boys, tucked behind the table, at the back of the greenhouse. If the sudden death of joy hadn’t been enough of a clue, I could have guessed from the way Scott was standing, all tense and poised to run, that they weren’t friends.

Beside me, Eric growled, “Ivers.”

Ivers? Why did I know that name?

The kid on the far right smirked.

Definitely not a friend, I thought.

The way Ivers held himself reminded me of a boy I knew as a child. I had hated and feared him, and after months of keeping a wary eye on him, I’d had a flash of brutal insight: the arrogance that the boy had enjoyed came from his belief that rules didn’t apply to him, and the unusual ease of his manner was because he didn’t care what anyone thought. It was a rare combination of traits, usually found in the kind of people I preferred to be warned about.

The boy from my childhood had picked on cats and collected cronies—the human version of crows. They hopped around the scene, making noises and watching the suffering of others from their untouchable branches.

Yup. There he was. The boy on the left. With his head hung low between his shoulders and a flat smile—a crony.

Evans, the telekinetic, was between them. He was hunched up, like something being pecked at.

“What are you doing here?” Eric demanded.

Ivers dropped a heavy arm across Evans’ shoulders. Evans winced. “Nothing. I’m only asking my friend here for a favor.”

I closed my eyes. Please, don’t anyone be stupid enough to ask what the favor is.

Eric sneered. “A favor, huh? Evans, are you okay?”

Evans eyes darted between the boys on either side of him. “Yeah,” he said. There was a slight tremor in his brazen reply—hardly noticeable, if you weren’t listening for it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Besides, what are you doing here?” the crony cawed.

Okay. He didn’t caw. But it sounded a bit like that: a raspy shot, spat out in a hurry.

I braced myself in case the boys said something like “we’re showing Emerra around.”

Shame on me for underestimating my friends.

Wes and Eric stepped forward, hiding me from sight.

“It isn’t ten yet,” Wes said, “and we’re still in the school. We have as much right to be here as you do.”

“Is there a problem?” Eric added.

Ivers shrugged. “There doesn’t have to be.” He pushed away from the table he was leaning on and came toward us. “I was thinking of leaving anyway. It’s getting close to lights out, Reed, shouldn’t you be hurrying back to your house?”

“Don’t worry about me, Ivers,” Eric said. “I can look after myself.”

Ivers’ eyes shifted to me then moved back to Eric. “But a last-chance boy—”

I couldn’t see Eric’s face, but his voice was loud and angry. “I appreciate the warning.”

Scott said, “Besides, aren’t you a last-chance boy?” He motioned with both hands, shooing Ivers away. “Scuttle, scuttle.”

Ivers smiled, all arrogance and ease. “I’m not worried, little shit.”

“It’s Shipp, Ivers. Shipp.” Scott shook his head. “I swear, you can’t teach a gorilla anything.”

Ivers feigned lunging at Scott and laughed when the smaller boy shifted away from him. “Sure, you’ll be brave when Osborn’s here, but I doubt you’d be such a smart-ass if you were alone.”

“Fool on you! I’m always a smart-ass.”

Dustin said through grit teeth, “Scott!”

Scott shut his mouth. Ivers’ gaze lingered on Eric and Wes as he passed by. Scott, Dustin, and I didn’t even rate a glance. The crony slipped through the path Ivers had cleared between us.

Evans waited until they were completely out of the room before trying to follow them.

I spoke when he was right by my shoulder. I stayed facing the back of the greenhouse, and I didn’t look around.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.”

Evans stopped.

I went on, “Whatever it was he asked you to do, you don’t have to do it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“I might know more than you think.” I turned to him. “Do you need help?”

He was motionless for a second. Then he shook his head. “It’s not like that. Ivers is…a friend.”

A friend. He couldn’t even bring himself to say my friend.

“Ivers is a thug,” Eric said. His hands were clenched.

“Evans—” Wes started.

“I said it’s not like that!” Evans yelled. “Why don’t you mind your own business!”

Glass from the wall beside us exploded. Shards flew in all directions. A line of blood appeared along Scott’s cheek, worryingly close to his eye. Several pieces cut up Wes’s arm and shoulder. I could see the tears in his shirt. I thought I saw a glimpse of red.

Before I could recover from my shock, Dustin was between Eric, Wes, and Evans. He was facing his friends with one hand on each of them.

“It’s okay,” Dustin said. “He didn’t do it on purpose.”

In the silence, I could hear Eric’s ragged breathing.

“It was an accident,” Dustin said.

Evans gawked at the hole in the wall where the cold night air was already invading the greenhouse.

“Oh, shit, oh, shit,” he muttered. “Grant is going to kill me.”

There was more honesty in that crumpled look of concern than I had ever seen from him before. The real Evans was laid bare—small, harried, and afraid.

Eric and Wes both let out a laugh that was mostly an exhale. Their shoulders relaxed.

“Hey!” Eric tried to look angry again. It didn’t work. “There are some people you hurt over here!”

“Never mind that!” Wes yelled. “Think of the plants!”

I had been too worried about the flying glass to notice that two nearby pots had also exploded. They’d burped up their soil, and the plants were laying on the table surrounded by chunks of ceramic. The rest of the plants shivered in the breeze.

“You’ve got to help me find something to patch the hole,” Evans begged.

I stepped forward. “I’ll look after Scott. You guys go find some cardboard or something.”

“Yeah!” Scott chirped. “You guys fix the window. Let the lady look after me.”

When he smiled and winked, I rolled my eyes.