Darius was one-hundred percent spot-on about Miller. It was almost spooky. I stood in Miller’s office—well, the room outside of Wuller’s office where Miller did most of his work—and stuttered out an explanation of what we wanted to know, and Ha! You may think it’s weird, but I swear there’s a good reason for it. No. Really. Then I smiled and tried to look inoffensive.

Miller had been leaning back on his desk with his arms folded, gazing at me while I spoke. When I finished, he didn’t move. The slightly worried frown on his face didn’t move either.

A few seconds passed, then he said, “The other groups never asked for that information.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, “we’re…different…from the other groups.”

In my head, I added, They probably don’t have a vampire FBI agent who treats finding a misplaced cuff link like a man-hunt.

Miller said, “They were investigating if the powers were real, but that’s not what you’re doing, is it?”

I squeezed two of my fingers with my other hand. “No.”

Miller raised his head, then dropped it—giving me one thoughtful nod—and hummed.

I squeezed my fingers harder, then forced myself to stop when I realized I was doing it.

“Yes, Miss Cole. I would be happy to help you.” Miller turned around and went behind his desk. He pulled out two large, leather binders from the top drawer, laid them on the desk, and opened them. He used both hands to flip through the binders—the left binder getting his left hand, the right binder getting his right hand. His eyes moved back and forth from book to book.

His ambidextrous efficiency took me by surprise and colored me a nice, bright shade of impressed. If I’d tried something like that, I would’ve had to pick up my scattered brains after only a second. His nervousness was gone now too. This wasn’t a young man, feeling out of place, trying to make himself amiable. Alex Miller created and managed a world of information, and he knew every inch of his system.

I took a step toward him. “Are you going to tell Wuller?”

Miller didn’t look up. “Mr. Wuller is a busy man. I don’t think it’s important to bother him with such a simple request. Besides, he asked me to make myself useful to you.”

There was something there, an itty-bitty timbre to his words. Was it? Surely not. But…maybe, there was a hint of an attitude.

Miller glanced up and caught me grinning at him. That made him blush and clear his throat nervously. Thus, order returned to the universe.

He pulled out his chair and sat down while motioning for me to do the same. I took the chair he motioned to, but I pulled it around so I could sit down on the same side of the desk as him. I was junk when it came to reading upside down.

“The new sports complex was finished about that time.” Miller tapped on the left binder. Under his finger was a calendar, filled with his neat script. “I remember they were over a month late completing it, so the boys had to start their year in the old gym at the bottom of the school.”

“What about the new student dorms?” I asked.

“No. Those had been finished on time—before the beginning of the school year. We made that our priority so the third-years would have a place to stay. We also had the old annex torn down.”

“The annex?”

“It was put up during the nineteen-seventies, but the people who built it didn’t do a good job. It was too deteriorated to be worth saving.”

I leaned over so I could point to his notes. “Are all of these construction notes?”

“I’m afraid so, and there’s still lots of areas that need work. Fortunately, we have time to get the school in order before we grow into it.”

“Were there any other changes—not just to the buildings?”

“Oh, dozens, but since the construction was the most disruptive, my memories are generally tied to what renovation disaster we were dealing with when it happened. You asked about teachers?”

“Teachers. Any new instructors.” A shot of inspiration hit me. “Did you get a new cook?”

“No,” Miller said. “No new cook. Maybe someday.” He sounded wistful. “We hired four new teachers for that year, but only Mr. Turner is still with us.”

“Turner? Head of Salix House?”

“Yes. Do you want the names of the other three?”

“I’ll probably need them. Do you have a paper and pen? There’s no way I’m going to be able to remember this all.”

Miller pulled out a drawer and passed me the paper and pen. I tried not to feel self-conscious about my writing while Miller watched me take down a few notes. I wrote Turner’s name and the three other names Miller gave me.

“What about Aaron Reisig?” I asked.

“Ah. Yes. He’s not really a teacher,” Miller said. My twitchy ears thought they detected another one of his microtones.

“When was he added to the staff?” I asked.

“He started coming in September of that year.”

“September? Did Wuller bring him on before the first psychics were discovered?”

Miller leaned back. “That greatly depends on how you define a few of those terms.”

I tilted my head, confused. It wasn’t like I’d used any big words.

Miller continued, “Reisig started coming to Setlan on Lee before the first pyrokinetics had manifested—perhaps that would be the easiest way to say it. There had been other claims. Reisig was brought in, several times, as a consultant. When we started seeing more and more psychic powers, he was hired full-time.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“When was that?”

“December.” Miller rested his hands in his lap. His voice went quiet. “It was only five boys back then.” A brief smile wavered, then disappeared. “Those were exciting times.”

He leaned forward to pull the right binder closer to him.

“As for the other staff,” he said as he flipped through the pages. “Here’s a list of our hirings and firings.” He tapped on the page and pushed it closer to me.

“That’s a lot of names,” I said.

“To be fair, that does cover the whole school year. If you’re looking for the ones brought in from September to December…”

He ran his finger from the top of the page, down, and stopped under the name of Edgar Pierce, who’d been hired to assist the groundskeeper. I don’t think he liked the work much. He quit two months later.

I dutifully started jotting down the names of everyone that had been hired. The ones that were still there got a check next to their names.

“Did you guys make any changes to what you did? Or to how you did things?” I asked. “Did anybody bring in anything new?”

Miller leaned his head back and peered at a point near the ceiling. “Not like I think you mean. We altered our schedule because the teachers and students wanted more time between classes, and we switched out our math system, but I don’t think that kind of information will be useful to you.”

I shrugged. “Well, I mean—what’s useful?”

Sometimes I say stupid things because I don’t know what else to say, but Miller took my question at face value.

“Anything that might have had an impact on our psychics. Or the students who would become psychic.”

Dang. The kid was smart.

Not a kid! Young man. Honestly, he was probably older than me, and if I wasn’t a kid, then he wasn’t either.

Besides, at that moment, he was putting off the air of someone who was older than his years.

I suddenly leaned toward him. I know it was sudden because he leaned back as if I’d pounced at him.

“Miller, what do you think is going on?”

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“With the psychics. Come on, you must know how weird this is.”

Miller looked down and cleared his throat. “Yes, I-I’m afraid I do know…how weird it is. But that’s all I know. You see, I’ve been here, Miss Cole. I’ve been here the whole time. I watched it happen.”

“You said it was exciting.”

“At first it was exciting, but then, as you said, it started to get weird.” He let out a quick, aggravated sigh. When he spoke again, he seemed to be speaking to the desk. “You aren’t the first person to try to delve into why it’s happening.”

I remembered what he’d said about the other teams the Torr had sent. Miller didn’t know about their investigations.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I said.

He nodded.

It was a useless question, and I knew it, but I asked anyway. “Did you learn anything?”

“No.” There was a flicker of a forced smile. “But maybe you’ll have more luck. After all, it’s your job to get to the bottom of this. I could only ask questions in my spare time.”

There was a new tone in his voice, but this one made it sound tight. I couldn’t tell if it was frustration or sadness.

“Wuller keeps ya busy, huh?” I drawled.

This time Miller smiled for real. “I can never tell if that’s a typical American accent or if you’re using slang at me.”

“Using slang is pretty typical.”

“Mr. Vasil doesn’t talk that way.”

“Mr. Vasil is too old to be an American. Everyone knows that all Americans are young, beautiful, and live in New York City or Hollywood.”

“That’s no good, Miss Cole. I studied in London. I’ve seen the tourists.”

“Bummer. What about our loud and obnoxious reputation?”

“Oh.” Miller knit his brow and nodded several times. “Still intact. Well intact.” He flashed me a smile, in case I couldn’t tell he was joking, then he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Mr. Wuller does keep me busy. Very busy. Fortunately, I have a talent for the work.”

He wasn’t joking when he said that. And I wasn’t joking when I answered.

“He’s lucky to have you.”

Miller turned his head to look at me. “While I was growing up, I always wanted to be a great man—someone important, who could get things done—but then I came here and discovered that what I was truly great at was being an assistant to a great man. I have a talent for it. I enjoy it…but all the same, it took some mental adjustment.”

There was no micro tone or undercurrent of emotion. Miller was only stating facts. Because he could say them without any bitterness, his words carried even more weight. I could feel them gently pressing into my heart.

And curse my too-honest heart that just had to respond to his honesty.

“I think it’s wonderful,” I said.

Miller cocked his head and gazed at me.

“You think it’s not important,” I said. “It is. If you do something good—like, really well—to help people, they remember you. One of my—”

I stopped. If I wanted to keep the story short, I’d have to simplify. Saying ‘one of my foster parents’ usually led to distracting questions.

I tried again. “There was a lady I stayed with for a while. She had a bad back, so she always asked me to help her with grocery shopping. There was a grocery bagger at the store—all he did was stick the food in the bags—but we would always get in one of the lines he was serving, even if it meant waiting behind three extra people, because he was good at his job. He cared. Heavy stuff on the bottom, bread and bananas on top, meat separate. I don’t think they exchanged more than five words a week, but Mrs. Neal loved him. He was one of the most important people in the world because he bagged our groceries right. A job well done matters.”

I could have rambled on to draw out the moral or try to explain how much that meant to me—the idea that a person becomes important because they care enough to do a good job, that nobody is a nobody if one person is glad they’re alive—but I figured I had monologued enough. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Miller, so I shut my mouth. The inevitable, fluffy, pink cloud of over-sharing embarrassment descended.

I twiddled my fingers and tried, desperately, to think of a way to make the silence go away.

“So, um,” I said, “how did Wuller find you?”

“Find me?” Miller said.

“Did he put out an ad for a personal assistant?”

“Oh. No. We knew each other from the Psychic Society.”

My head jerked up.

Miller continued, unconcerned, “When he heard I was looking for a job, he mentioned that he could use an assistant.”

“The what-now?” I said.

“Come again?”

“The Psychic Society?”

“Technically, it’s called the Society for Psychic and Paranormal Research, but everyone calls it the Psychic Society for short.”

“And you and Wuller were both members?”

Miller nodded.

“Even though you’re not psychics?”

“There are a lot more people interested in psychic abilities than there are psychics, Miss Cole.” He paused. “At least, there used to be.”

My phone rang. It was so unexpected, I almost jumped out of my chair.

Who? Why? And why now?

I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

Darius.

Okay. That was a call I ought to take.

I grabbed onto Miller’s arm. “Bookmark this conversation. Use a sticker. A highlighter!”

“What?”

“Don’t let me forget it!”

“All right!”

I stood up. As I walked away from the desk, I answered the call.

“Darius,” I hissed into my phone, “is this important?”

I’m so polite.

He returned my politeness in kind.

“Yes,” he said bluntly. “I need you over here as soon as possible.”

“But—”

“As soon as possible.”

There was a strange emphasis in his voice. I recognized it.

His hypnotic powers—

Oh, right. He didn’t like it when I used that term.

His “vampiric influence” didn’t work over the phone, but the fact he’d slipped into it, probably without meaning to, made it clear how important the matter was.

“Where are you?” I asked.

“Second floor, main wing, toward the north end of the building.”

I grit my teeth and stared up at the ceiling. Because of course I knew where north was!

“Go to the main stairs,” Darius said. “Come to the second floor. I’ll have Reisig meet you there and bring you to me.”

“Got it. I’m on my way.”

We hung up.

I went back to the desk, picked up my notes, and crammed them into my pocket while saying, as sweetly as possible, “Mr. Miller, could I bother you for a moment? I need someone to point me to the main staircase in the main wing. We’re on the third floor, right?”