Scout was in her room, granola bar and magazine in hand, when I made it back to the suite. She looked up when I walked in.

“You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

“As a vegetarian, I object to that metaphor.”

Scout grinned teethily at me. “As a carnivore, I object to your pickiness. Now spill the goods.”

“There were Montclare boys at our party-planning committee.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were flushed. “Like I care.”

“Oh, you care. Jason was there, and Michael, of course, and their friend John Creed.”

She spun a finger in the air like she was twirling a party favor. “I know who John Creed is.”

“Did you know Veronica has a thing for him? But that he has a thing for M.K.? I feel like that’s information we can use to our advantage.”

Slowly, she looked up and grinned. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Parker.”

5

What, you might ask, was the best thing about being forced to attend an all-girls’ boarding school? Was it the lack of cute boys? The bratlets? The complete lack of a social life?

Maybe. But the mandatory study hall was right up there on the list.

Scout and I were seated beside each other in the Great Hall, a giant room of stained-glass windows and books. We sat across from Colette, another girl in our class, at one of the dozens of tables, the room around us full of plaid-wearing teenagers in varying levels of study comas.

Since I’d already filled Scout in about the party-planning meeting, I was actually doing my trig homework. Anyone who passed by the table might think Scout was reading up on European history . . . or the comic book that was stuck in between the pages of the textbook.

They’d be wrong.

The comic was actually a cover for Scout’s Grimoire, her main book of magic. She’d worked a charm to make it look like a racy comic book featuring a big-busted heroine with long hair and longer legs. I thought that was a dangerous disguise, especially if one of the dragon ladies who roamed the room decided it needed to be pitched. But Scout was smart enough to think ahead—she had disguised the book in the first place—so I assumed she had a clever magical backup plan.

Personally, I was waiting for the day the comic book characters appeared in 3D at our suite door, ready to perform their magic at Scout’s command. Geeky, sure, but that still would have been sweet.

Scout had her faux comics, and I had my sketchbook. I loved to draw, and I was supposed to start studio classes anytime now. I could do still lifes—drawings of real objects—but I preferred to lose myself in the lines and let my imagination take over. I kept a stash of favorite pencils in my messenger bag. And since my parents apparently felt guilty about sending me to Chicago while they did whatever they were doing in Germany, I also had a new stash of sweet German notebooks they’d mailed out last week. When I finished with the trig problems, I pulled one from my bag, grabbed my pencil case, and set to work.

I was in a roomful of characters—rich girls in plaid, weird girls in plaid, and the dragon ladies who patrolled the room and made sure we were doing homework instead of flipping through Cosmo. I was also in a room of cool architecture, from the dozens of stained-glass windows to the huge, brass chandeliers that hung above us. Each chandelier was made up of slender statues of women—ancient goddesses, maybe—holding up torches.

I opened the first notebook—a thin one with a pale blue cover—and touched the pencil lead to the slick paper. I picked a goddess from the nearest chandelier and started drawing. I started with a light line to get the general shape of her body, just to make sure I had the proportions correct. As I worked on the drawing, I’d darken a final line and fill in the details.

It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t trig. And best of all, the dragon ladies couldn’t complain. I was studying, after all.

I’d just finished the sketch when the Great Hall went silent. It was usually pretty quiet, but there was always an undercurrent of sound—papers shuffling or low whispers as girls tried to entertain themselves.

But this was quiet quiet.

Scout and I glanced up simultaneously. My first thought had been that a spindly-legged monster had walked into the room. But it was just the headmistress.

Marceline Foley strode confidently down the aisle in a trim suit and the kind of heels an adult would call “sensible.” Her eyes scanned the room as she moved, probably taking in every detail of the students around her.

Foley was still a mystery to me. She was the first person I’d met when I arrived at St. Sophia’s a few weeks ago, and she’d given me a very cold welcome to Chicago. She’d also been the one who’d suggested my parents weren’t who they seemed to be. She had changed her tune, but when I had tried to talk to her about what was really going on, she’d convinced me to let things lie. Foley knew my parents, and she seemed convinced that they’d had a reason for not telling me what was really going on.

A reason that put their safety at risk.

What else could I do but believe her?

Tonight, she held a stack of small cards—like index cards—in her hands. As she walked past the tables, she occasionally stopped and handed a card to one of the students at the table. And then she stepped forward, and she handed one to me.

“Instructions for your studio art class,” she said.

I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath until I let it out again. I’d been fighting tunnel-crawlers, but it was the principal who really tied my stomach in knots. I’m not sure what that said about me.

I took the card from her. It was a schedule for the studio classes, which were supposed to start tomorrow. I’d have class in the “surplus building.” Didn’t that sound glamorous?

I glanced up again. Foley stayed at the edge of the table for a moment, the rest of her cards in hand, looking down at me. I waited for her to speak, but she stayed silent. After a nod, she moved along to the next table.

“That was weird,” Scout said. “What did she give you?”

I flipped the card her way so she could see it.

“Huh. Looks like you’ve found your creative outlet.”

I’d only just stuffed the card into my notebook when noise erupted across the room. We all looked over to see Veronica standing at a table, her chair now on the floor, her face flushed and eyes pink. M.K., arms crossed over her chest, stared back, a single eyebrow arched at Veronica.

“Things just went nuclear,” Collette muttered.

“You are a witch,” Veronica hissed out, then stepped over the chair and ran to the door.

You could have heard a pin drop in the Great Hall.

M.K. rolled her eyes and leaned toward the girl beside her, gossiping together while one of her best friends ran away from her. A dragon lady moved to the table and picked up the chair Veronica had knocked over. A low rumble of whispering began to move across the room.

“At least that’s over with,” Colette said. “Can we all get back to studying now?”

Scout and I exchanged a glance, and I read the same thoughts in her face that I had in mine: Could it really be that easy?

A few hours later we were back in the tunnels, Scout and I making our way back to the arched wooden door to Enclave Three, its status as an Adept HQ marked by the “3” above the door and the symbol on the door—the letter Y inside a circle, a symbol Scout had told me could be seen across the city of Chicago. It was the mark of an Adept.

Sure, putting symbols on buildings and bridges across the city wasn’t exactly in line with the Adepts’ idea of keeping their work under the radar. On the other hand, I got the feeling the symbols were a kind of reminder that they were here. That they fought the good fight, even if no one else knew about the war.

Scout opened the door, and the Junior Varsity Adepts of Enclave Three looked toward us: Michael Garcia, Jason Shepherd, Jill and Jamie, Riley, and Paul Truman. Each of them had their own unique magical talent. Michael was a reader, which meant he could “read” the history of a building just by touching it. Jamie and Jill were the elemental witches. Jamie could manipulate fire, and Jill could manipulate ice. Paul was a warrior. His magic gave him the ability to adapt his fighting style to whatever man or monster faced him. Paul was tall with skin like rich coffee. He was also cute and lanky enough that it was hard to imagine him in some kind of ferocious battle, but the determination in his eyes gave him away. As lanky as he was, he may not ultimately have the strength to beat that monster, but his magic always gave him a fighting chance.

We walked into the giant room—big, vaulted ceiling and tile-covered walls—toward Jill and Jamie, who stood apart from the guys. But that didn’t stop Jason from winking at me, or Michael from making doe eyes at Scout. She rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile on her face.

“What’s up, Adepts?” Scout asked.

“Just waiting for the head honcho to get started,” Jill said, nodding toward Daniel.

Daniel was our new leader, a guy sent down from the bigwigs to keep an eye on Katie and Smith. Daniel, let’s say, was easy on the eyes. He was tall and blond, with strong shoulders, blue eyes, and one of those chin dimples. He was talking to Katie, who was cheerleader-cute and very petite, and Smith, an emo-wannabe with greasy hair and clothes that were always a couple of sizes too tight. Katie and Smith were the Varsity Adepts who’d refused to send someone to rescue Scout; that was why Daniel had replaced them. I’d been the one begging them to go after her, and I’d seen the stubborn looks on their faces when they’d said no. That was the kind of thing that made me question exactly who the “good guys” were. I was still wary of them.

Scout smiled at Daniel with big, wide eyes. “I’d be happy to help out Daniel with any special projects he has in mind.”

I rolled mine. “I’m guessing he’s not going to take you up on that offer since he’s four years older than you. And in college.”

“Don’t rain on my parade. I know he’s a little out of my league, but he’s just kind of . . . dreamy, don’t you think?”

“He’s not bad,” I allowed, “in a gorgeous, totally platonic, ‘Let’s get this magical show on the road’ kind of way.”

“You know those movies where the blond girl walks by—and time slows down? She swings her hair back and forth”—Scout gave me a demonstration, her short hair hardly moving as she shook her head—“and all the guys stare. I feel like Daniel could pull that off.”

“He could pull off staring?”

“No—the time-slowing-down part. I mean, just watch him.”

We were probably a pretty entertaining sight—four high school juniors, two of us in smokin’-hot plaid uniforms, staring down a college sophomore. But she really did have a point. Daniel walked across the room to talk to Smith, and there was something about the way he moved—like he wasn’t just walking, but making a statement.

Daniel also had swagger.

“Okay, he’s impressive,” Jamie said.

“I so told you.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Michael’s head popped between us, gaze shifting left and right as he waited for details.

“None of your beeswax, Garcia.”

I could see the sting of defeat in his eyes, but he kept a smile on his face. “You know what you need?”

Ever so slowly, Scout turned her head to look at him, one eyebrow arched. Her expression was fierce. “What?”

“You need a man who respects you. Who treats you like his equal.”

Not bad, I thought. But Scout wasn’t buying. Sure, there was a little surprise in her eyes, but that was all she gave back to him.

She put a hand on his arm. “The problem, Garcia, is that no one’s my equal. I’m the most ass-kickingest spellbinder in Chicago.”

I rolled my eyes, but really didn’t have much reason to disagree.

Before Michael could retort, Daniel clapped his hands together. “All right, kids. Let’s get this show on the road.”

We all clustered together, the Junior Varsity members of Enclave Three. Katie and Smith—still Adepts but not quite like us—stood a little farther away. They both looked miffed to have been replaced. Katie’s arms were crossed over her chest as she glared daggers at Daniel, while Smith whipped his head to the side to throw his bangs out of his eyes. Given how many times I’d seen him do that in the last couple of weeks or so, I almost volunteered to grab scissors from my room.

“First matter of business,” Daniel said. “Tell me what you saw last night.”

Scout popped a hand into the air. “Things. Big, nasty, na**d, crawly things. They had pointy teeth, and they moved weird.”

“Like a school of fish,” I put in.

“Like barracudas,” Jason put in. “We found this slime in one of the corridors near St. Sophia’s, and next thing you know they were coming at us. It took a dose of firespell, a protection circle, and”—he glanced at Scout—“what did you call it?”

“A flutterby spell,” Scout offered.

“A flutterby spell to take them out.”

Katie rolled her eyes. “It was probably just Reapers.”

“No,” Scout said, her fierce expression not allowing argument. “First, they were na**d. Second, they weren’t Reapers or trolls or anything else we’ve seen before. They were something new. Something outside my Grimoire —I spent study hall today looking it up.”

I held up my right hand. “She did. I totally saw her reading.”

“They looked like something that walked straight off Dr. Moreau’s island,” Jason added.