What the boys gave me was less of a tour, and more of a wandering conversation. Every once in a while, they pointed out a place of interest to them, but the building was so huge and their input was so sporadic, ten minutes into our “tour,” I was more confused than when we had started. Five minutes after that, I gave up on trying to create a mental map of the building and focused on enjoying the boys’ company.

It would have been impossible not to enjoy it to some degree. Scott and Wes were so full of enthusiasm, they made me—me!—feel every bit my venerable age. If I hung around them too long, I’d probably wind up using the phrase “whippersnapper” and complaining about technology. Eric wasn’t as animated, but he carried his own steady energy, like a torch. It was enough to corral and direct Scott and Wes away from their dumbest plans. Dustin seemed to be rest incarnate—a pool of calm that his friends couldn’t ruffle. He rarely spoke unless someone spoke to him first, but they all did. They would come back, walk beside him for a step or two, draw out a comment, and dash off again.

I wondered if they came to him to get a break.

I stayed back with Dustin and allowed myself to be entertained by the other boys’ antics (which I suspected they made more lively for my benefit).

It was nice to be somewhere I was wanted.

My stomach soured, just like it had when I had looked up at the head table in the dining room.

Come on, Emerra. You have to let it go. Conrad probably likes you a lot better now. So you’re winning, right?

My stomach didn’t seem to agree.

“Are you tired?” Dustin asked.

“Huh?” I said.

“You flew in today, didn’t you?”

What a sweet kid.

“What are you talking about?” I forced a smile. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s the middle of the afternoon.”

“Hmmm. And what time did you wake up?”

My smile changed to a grin. “You are the smart one.”

He blushed and studied his shoes as we walked.

From further down the hall, Wes called. “Hey! The biology room!”

Scott ran up to Wes’s side. “Is it—is it open?”

Eric meandered toward them.

Wes tried the handle and laughed. “God bless you, Mr. Robson!”

He threw the door wide and planted himself in front of it so it wouldn’t close. Scott darted in. Eric wandered through.

As Dustin and I approached, Wes flourished his arm to indicate the open portal.

Despite the fancy welcome, I stopped outside the door. Something about the darkness of the room made my nerves whisper like wind chimes shivering in a cold breeze. It was strong enough to move them, but not enough to make them sound. If I walked through that door, I thought the shadows might swallow me whole.

“Oh, come on, Dustin,” Wes said.

I looked beside me. Dustin was frowning.

“You know we’re not supposed to be in there,” he said. “We’ll get in trouble if we’re caught.”

Wes put his arm around his friend. “And you know that won’t stop me.”

“It’s the biology room,” Dustin said. “I don’t want to be in there during the day—why would I want to go in there now?”

“Because Emerra hasn’t met George yet.”

“George?” I said.

Wes patted his hand against Dustin’s chest. “If Dustin, here, is the smart one, then Sir George is the funny one.”

Scott called from inside the room, “I thought I was the funny one!”

“No, you’re the clown,” Wes shouted.

“Clowns are funny.”

“No one thinks clowns are funny,” Eric said in a voice that allowed no argument.

Scott argued anyway. “Well, I think, I think”—he paused for dramatic effect—“it depends on the clown.”

“Is there a light we can turn on?” I asked.

“Not without getting caught,” Wes said.

I sighed and stepped through the door. George had better be hilarious.

The room had several windows that admitted the weak moonlight that had managed to filter through the clouds, giving us something to see by. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out the imperfect rows of old desks, the educational posters along the walls, and the various models stacked on the bookshelf in the back. Eric and Scott were standing by the teacher’s desk.

I walked over to them. Wes and Dustin were only a step behind me.

“And Sir George?” I asked.

Scott grinned like the Cheshire cat and stepped aside, giving me a full view of the hanging skeleton behind him.

For a second, I stared. Then I threw back my head and laughed.

Wes said, “I told you, he’s the funny one.”

“This is George?” I said.

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“After George who went to slay the dragon,” Scott explained.

“This was all that was left of him,” Eric added.

I twisted my head and peered at the skull. “I don’t know. He looks more like a Jacky to me.”

“Oh!” Scott bounced behind the skeleton and bent its right arm bones up at the elbow. The skeleton’s limp hand dangled off the wired wrist. “He’s very pleased to meet you.”

I shook the bony hand. “Likewise.” I leaned in and said to George, “You know, it’s my first time meeting a knight.”

“You know what we should do?” Wes blurted out. “We should take him and put him in Mr. Macguire’s chair. Make the old man think he can do astral projection.”

Eric squinted at the skeleton. “They do look a bit alike.”

“Wes,” Dustin said, “he’s the chemistry teacher.”

“And?” Wes said.

“With all those chemicals and equipment, what are the chances that he forgot to lock his room?”

Scott hugged the skeleton from behind. “Then we should take him home with us! Georgie probably gets all lonely in here. In the dark. By himself.”

As much as I liked Sir George, I didn’t want to be involved in a kidnapping. I hunted for a way to change the subject.

“Can any of the students here do astral projection?” I asked.

The boys paused.

Scott let go of his skinny friend and came out from behind him. “Not on demand.”

“Not yet,” Eric said.

I looked from face to face. “Not…on demand?”

“Most of the psychics can’t use their powers on demand.” Eric nodded to Osborn. “Wes is an exception.”

“That’s what makes me their king,” said Wes, the world’s most humble kid.

There was a general chorus of groaning and derisive noises.

“Your peasants don’t seem to be rejoicing, Your Majesty,” I said.

Wes made a pssssh sound. “These aren’t my peasants. None of them are psychics.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Scott grumbled. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”

“And you can call up your powers whenever you want?” I asked Wes.

He offered me one of his million-dollar smiles. “Want to see?”

I looked around at the others. “What do you guys think?”

Peasant Dustin was the first to speak up. “If it gets us out of here—yes.”

“I suppose we can indulge him,” Scott said. “This once.”

“If we have to,” Eric grumbled.

On the way out of the room, Scott kissed George’s jawbone and renewed his pledge of eternal brotherhood.

Wes led us through the halls for what felt like a mile, until we reached the lowest, furthest corner of the main building. When he got to the double doors, he opened one of them without hesitation, completely confident that it would be unlocked. He was right.

I walked through the door into a small, derelict gym.

“The old game room!” Wes said. He closed the door after Dustin made it inside. “And our new play room.”

The room included two basketball hoops, even though the floor wasn’t large enough to be a full-sized court. Both of the hoops were hinged and pushed up to keep them out of the way. The majority of the floor was dominated by a series of mats, about two inches thick and covered with tightly woven material. They looked scorched. On the side was a row of bleachers, and beyond them were a bunch of chair-desks shoved together, out of the way of the floor.

Wes took me by the shoulders and hustled me over to the bleachers.

“Front and center, Miss Cole.”

“Oh. I’m Miss Cole again,” I noted.

“Of course. I’m showing off for you officially.”

I rolled my eyes as I sat down in the center of the third row. Scott and Eric sat on the front row and started jeering to set the mood. Dustin sat near me.

As Wes walked to the center of the mats, I leaned over and said to Dustin, “Aren’t you going to join in the booing?”

“These guys can handle it.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, you seem…quieter…than the rest of them.”

He shrugged.

“How did you fall in with them?” I asked.

“Wes is my bunkmate.”

I smiled. “Yeah. That would do it.”

“The first year it was probably luck, but I think Turner did it on purpose this year.”

“Wes kidnapped you without even thinking about it, didn’t he?”

An unassuming smile appeared on Dustin’s normally serious face. “Yeah, but I don’t mind. It gets noisy, but Wes actually likes people. That’s who he is—this dumb friend who’s always happy to see you, even if the last time he saw you was five minutes ago.”

I thought about Charlie, a therapy dog I used to know. I could still picture his tail wagging so hard his butt wagged with it.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” I said softly.

Dustin nodded.

Wes had made his way to the middle of the floor. As he cuffed his sleeves up above his elbows, he called out, “Ladies, gentlemen, and unnecessary hecklers—”

“Do a flip!” Scott shouted.

“—I present to you my modest talents with pyrokinesis.”

Scott and Eric fell silent.

Wes stood with his arms out to his sides. Nothing happened. Then, slowly, a low red flame rolled from his elbows, over his forearms, and gathered at his hands. The flames grew, building up along his arms until they reached his shoulders. I could see his fingers, as he moved them back and forth in the fire. He laughed and spun in a circle, creating a blurred ring of illumination.

“And that doesn’t burn him?” I was too mesmerized to do anything but mutter.

“No.” Dustin sounded indifferent. He’d probably seen the show several times before. “If he concentrates right, it doesn’t even burn his clothes.”

Wes stopped turning. He scowled in concentration. The fire on his arms wandered away from his body until they hovered four inches off his palms. The tiny flames still running along his fingers leapt toward the floating fires.

“Whoa.” I scooted to the edge of the bench.

Wes spun again. The hovering fires followed his lead. He swirled, moving his arms up and down, making the flames roll through the air, creating a corkscrew of light.

I felt a hand on my arm.

“If you lean any further forward,” Dustin said, “you’re going to fall off the bench.”

I scooted back. “It so beautiful.”

Dustin looked from me, up to his friend. The orange-red light cast shadows across his calm face. “I guess it is.”

Wes came to a stop. The fires hovering off his hands dwindled, jumped back to him, sailed over his palms, and sank into his skin. He lowered his arms to his sides.

I stood up, laughing, clapping, and whistling the best I could. Even Eric and Scott showed grudging approval.

I walked over to Wes. The other boys followed me.

“Amazing, sir. Amazing,” I said. “Miss Cole is officially impressed.”

When Wes bowed, flecks of sweat dropped to the floor. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“You’ve gotten better at controlling it,” Eric said.

“Good thing,” Scott said. “You know. Fire and all.”

“Do other fires burn you?” I asked.

Wes straightened up. “Like, normal fire? I’m not sure. It probably depends on my concentration.”

“What about other people’s fires?”

“You mean from other pyros? Uhhh, I don’t know that either.”

I walked around him, looking for any of the small signs I’d learned to associate with magic. There was nothing. Not a glimmer of white. Not a speck of blue or purple.

“What are you doing?” Eric asked.

“I’m looking for the wires.” I motioned to the grinning Wes Osborn. “This has to be a trick.”

Wes hooked his thumbs into a set of make-believe suspenders. “Nope! That’s all pure, in-born talent.”

Eric backhanded his arm.

“Can the other pyros control their flames?” I asked. “And you call them pyros?”

“Why not?” Wes said.

“It makes you sound like a bunch of pyromaniacs.”

“Duh,” Scott said. “They’re crazy after all.”

“Most of the others have some control of their flames,” Wes explained, “but I’m the only one that can call them up every time I want to.”

“How many pyros do you have?” I asked.

“Lots. It looks flashy, but in the world of psychics, it’s not all that special. That’s why I have to show off so much.”

“Well, obviously.”

“There are a few telekinetics that are getting pretty good with their power,” Eric said.

“They’ve got the special talent,” Scott added. “They can use their powers whenever they want. The pyros and the ergos get sent to”—he lowered his voice—“the dungeon.”

“Here,” Wes said. “He means here. This is the dungeon.”

“Can anyone fly?” I asked.

“We have…five levitators?” Wes said. “I think? But they can only do it when they’re asleep, and no one’s gotten higher than a few feet above the nearest surface.”

“What about an empath?”

I didn’t need psychic powers to feel the sudden shift in mood. The boys all went quiet.

I lowered my voice, “Telepathy?”

Behind me, Eric said, “That’s the holy grail.”

I turned to look at him. His face was grim.

“That’s the one that Wuller’s really looking for,” he said.

I thought back to the information packet Iset had put together. Empathy and telepathy were considered the most rare and advanced of the psychic abilities.

“You don’t have one?” I asked.

“Not yet,” Scott said.

Eric added, “And I don’t know if this will stop until we do.”