The pho­ne in my poc­ket rang, and I jum­ped out of my skin.

  'I see you," El­li­ot sa­id when I ans­we­red. "Sit­ting out the­re in the car.

  'Whe­re are you?"

  "Watc­hing you from a se­cond-story win­dow. We're pla­ying in­si­de."

  "I don't want to play."

  He en­ded the call.

  With my he­art in my thro­at, I got out of the car. I lo­oked up at the dark win­dows of the scho­ol. I didn't think El­li­ot knew Patch was in­si­de. His vo­ice ca­me ac­ross im­pa­ti­ent, not angry or ir­ri­ta­ted. My only ho­pe was that Patch had a plan and wo­uld ma­ke su­re not­hing hap­pe­ned to me or Vee. The mo­on was clo­uded over, and un­der a sha­dow of fe­ar I wal­ked up to the east do­or.

  I step­ped in­to se­mi­dark­ness. My eyes to­ok se­ve­ral se­conds to ma­ke so­met­hing of the shaft of stre­et­light fal­ling thro­ugh the win­dow en­ca­sed in the top half of the do­or. The flo­or ti­les ref­lec­ted a waxy gle­am. Loc­kers we­re li­ned up on eit­her si­de of the hal­lway li­ke sle­eping ro­bo­tic sol­di­ers. Ins­te­ad of a pe­ace­ful, qu­i­et fe­eling, the halls ra­di­ated hid­den me­na­ce.

  The out­si­de lights il­lu­mi­na­ted the first se­ve­ral fe­et in­to the hal­lway, but af­ter that, I co­uld see not­hing. Just in­si­de the do­or was a pa­nel of light switc­hes, and I flip­ped them on. Not­hing hap­pe­ned.

  Sin­ce the po­wer was wor­king out­si­de, I knew the elect­ri­city in­si­de had be­en shut off by hand. I won­de­red if this was part of El­li­ot's plan. I co­uldn't see him, and I co­uldn't see Vee. I al­so co­uldn't see Patch. I was go­ing to ha­ve to fe­el my way thro­ugh each ro­om in the scho­ol, pla­ying a slow ga­me of eli­mi­na­ti­on un­til I fo­und him. To­get­her we wo­uld find Vee.

  Using the wall as my gu­ide, I crept for­ward. On any gi­ven we­ek­day, I pas­sed down this stretch of hall se­ve­ral ti­mes, but in the dark­ness it sud­denly se­emed fo­re­ign. And lon­ger. Much lon­ger.

  At the first in­ter­sec­ti­on I men­tal­ly as­ses­sed my sur­ro­un­dings. Tur­ning left wo­uld le­ad to the band and orc­hest­ra ro­oms and the ca­fe­te­ria. Tur­ning right wo­uld le­ad to ad­mi­nist­ra­ti­ve of­fi­ces, as well as a do­ub­le sta­ir­ca­se. I con­ti­nu­ed stra­ight, he­ading de­eper in­to the scho­ol, to­ward the clas­sro­oms.

  My fo­ot ca­ught on so­met­hing, and be­fo­re I co­uld re­act, I went spraw­ling to the flo­or. Hazy gray light fil­te­red thro­ugh a skylight di­rectly over­he­ad as the mo­on bro­ke bet­we­en clo­uds, il­lu­mi­na­ting the fe­atu­res of the body I'd trip­ped on. Jules was on his back, his exp­res­si­on fi­xed in a blank sta­re. His long blond ha­ir was tang­led over his fa­ce, his hands slack at his si­des.

  I pus­hed back on my kne­es and co­ve­red my mo­uth, pan­ting air. My legs tremb­led with ad­re­na­li­ne. Very slowly, I res­ted my palm on Jules's chest. He wasn't bre­at­hing. He was de­ad.

  I jum­ped to my fe­et and cho­ked on a scre­am. I wan­ted to call out for Patch, but that wo­uld gi­ve my lo­ca­ti­on away to El­li­ot-if he didn't al­re­ady know it. I re­ali­zed with a start that he co­uld be stan­ding fe­et away, watc­hing me as his twis­ted ga­me un­fol­ded.

  The over­he­ad light fa­ded, and I ma­de a fran­tic sur­vey of the hall. Mo­re end­less hal­lway stretc­hed ahe­ad. The lib­rary was up a short flight of sta­irs to my left. Clas­sro­oms star­ted on the right. On a split mo­ment's de­ci­si­on, I cho­se the lib­rary, gro­ping thro­ugh the blac­ke­ning halls to get away from Jules's body. My no­se drip­ped, and I re­ali­zed I was crying so­und­les­sly. Why was Jules de­ad? Who kil­led him? If Jules was de­ad, was Vee al­so?

  The lib­rary do­ors we­re un­loc­ked, and I fumb­led my way in­si­de. Past the bo­oks­hel­ves, at the far end of the lib­rary, we­re three small study ro­oms. They we­re so­undp­ro­of; if El­li­ot wan­ted to iso­la­te Vee, the ro­oms we­re an ide­al pla­ce to put her.

  I was just abo­ut to start to­ward them when a mas­cu­li­ne gro­an car­ri­ed thro­ugh the lib­rary.1 ca­me to a halt.

  The lights out in the hall po­we­red to li­fe, il­lu­mi­na­ting the dark­ness of the lib­rary. El­li­ot's body lay a few fe­et away, his mo­uth par­ted, his skin as­hen. His eyes rol­led my way, and he re­ac­hed an arm out to me.

  A pi­er­cing scre­am es­ca­ped me. Whir­ling aro­und, I ran for the lib­rary do­ors, sho­ving and kic­king cha­irs out of my way. Run! I or­de­red myself. Get to an exit!

  I stag­ge­red out the do­or, and that's when the lights in the hall di­ed, plun­ging everyt­hing on­ce aga­in to black.

  "Patch!" I tri­ed to scre­am. But my vo­ice ca­ught, and I cho­ked on his na­me.

  Jules was de­ad. El­li­ot was al­most de­ad. Who had kil­led them? Who was left? I tri­ed to ma­ke sen­se of what was hap­pe­ning, but all re­ason had left me.

  A sho­ve to my back threw me off ba­lan­ce. Anot­her sho­ve sent me flying si­de­ways. My he­ad smas­hed aga­inst a loc­ker, stun­ning me.

  A nar­row be­am of light swept ac­ross my vi­si­on, and a pa­ir of dark eyes be­hind a ski mask swir­led in­to fo­cus. The light ca­me from a mi­ner's he­ad­lamp se­cu­red over the mask.

  I pus­hed up and tri­ed to run. One of his arms shot out, cut­ting off my es­ca­pe. He bro­ught up his ot­her arm, trap­ping me aga­inst the loc­ker.

  "Did you think I was de­ad?" I co­uld he­ar the glo­ating, icy smi­le in his vo­ice. "I co­uldn't pass up one last chan­ce to play with you. Hu­mor me. Who did you think the bad guy was? El­li­ot? Or did it cross yo­ur mind that yo­ur best fri­end co­uld do this? I'm get­ting warm, aren't I? That's the thing abo­ut fe­ar. It brings out the worst in us."

  "It's you." My vo­ice rat­tled.

  Jules rip­ped off the he­ad­lamp and ski mask. "In the flesh."

  "How did you do it?" I as­ked, my vo­ice still tremb­ling. "I saw you. You we­ren't bre­at­hing. You we­re de­ad."

  "You're gi­ving me too much cre­dit. It was all you, No­ra. If yo­ur mind wasn't so we­ak, I co­uldn't ha­ve do­ne a thing. Am I ma­king you fe­el bad? Is it dis­co­ura­ging to know that out of all the minds I've in­va­ded, yo­urs tops the list as easi­est? And most fun."

  I lic­ked my lips. My mo­uth tas­ted a stran­ge com­bi­na­ti­on of dry and sticky. I co­uld smell the fe­ar on my bre­ath. "Whe­re's Vee?"

  He slap­ped my che­ek. "Don't chan­ge the su­bj­ect. You re­al­ly sho­uld le­arn to cont­rol yo­ur fe­ar. Fe­ar un­der­mi­nes lo­gic and opens up all sorts of op­por­tu­ni­ti­es for pe­op­le li­ke me."

  This was a si­de of Jules I'd ne­ver se­en. He'd al­ways be­en so qu­i­et, so sul­len, ra­di­ating a comp­le­te lack of in­te­rest in ever­yo­ne aro­und him. He sta­yed in the backg­ro­und, dra­wing lit­tle at­ten­ti­on, lit­tle sus­pi­ci­on. Very cle­ver of him, I tho­ught.

  He grab­bed my arm and jer­ked me af­ter him.

  I cla­wed at him and twis­ted away, and he dro­ve his fist in­to my sto­mach. I stumb­led back­ward, gas­ping for air that did not co­me. My sho­ul­der drag­ged down a loc­ker un­til I sat crump­led on the flo­or. A rib­bon of air slip­ped down my thro­at, and I cho­ked on it.

  Jules to­uc­hed the tracks my na­ils had car­ved in his fo­re­arm. "That's go­ing to cost you."

  "Why did you bring me he­re? What do you want?" I co­uldn't ke­ep the hyste­ria from my vo­ice.

  He yan­ked me up by my arm and drag­ged me fart­her down the hall. Kic­king a do­or open, he thrust me in­si­de and I went down, my palms col­li­ding with the hard flo­or. The do­or slam­med be­hind me. The only light ca­me from the he­ad­lamp, which Jules held.

  The air held the fa­mi­li­ar odors of chalk dust and sta­le che­mi­cals. Pos­ters of the hu­man body and cross-sec­ti­ons of hu­man cells de­co­ra­ted the walls. A long black gra­ni­te co­un­ter with a sink sto­od at the front of the ro­om. It fa­ced rows of matc­hing gra­ni­te lab tab­les. We we­re in­si­de Co­ach McCo­na­ughy's bi­ology ro­om.

  A flash of me­tal ca­ught my eye. A scal­pel lay on the flo­or, tuc­ked aga­inst the was­te­bas­ket. It must ha­ve be­en over­lo­oked by both Co­ach and the jani­tor. I slid it in­to the wa­ist­band of my je­ans just as Jules ha­uled me to my fe­et.

  "I had to cut the elect­ri­city," he sa­id, set­ting the he­ad­lamp on the ne­arest tab­le. "You can't play hi­de-and-se­ek in the light."

  Scra­ping two cha­irs ac­ross the flo­or, he po­si­ti­oned them fa­cing each ot­her. "Ha­ve a se­at." It didn't so­und li­ke an in­vi­ta­ti­on.

  My eyes dar­ted to the pa­nel of win­dows span­ning the far wall. I won­de­red if I co­uld crank one open and es­ca­pe be­fo­re Jules ca­ught me. Amid a tho­usand ot­her self-pre­ser­ving tho­ughts, I told myself not to ap­pe­ar frigh­te­ned. So­mew­he­re in the back of my mind I re­mem­be­red that ad­vi­ce from a self-de­fen­se class I'd ta­ken with Mom af­ter my dad di­ed. Ma­ke eye con­tact… lo­ok con­fi­dent… use com­mon sen­se… all easi­er sa­id than do­ne.

  Jules pus­hed down on my sho­ul­ders, for­cing me in­to a cha­ir. The cold me­tal se­eped thro­ugh my je­ans.

  "Gi­ve me yo­ur cell pho­ne," he or­de­red, hand held out for it.

  "I left it in the car."

  He bre­at­hed a la­ugh. "Do you re­al­ly want to play ga­mes with me? I've got yo­ur best fri­end loc­ked so­mew­he­re in the bu­il­ding. If you play ga­mes with me, she's go­ing to fe­el left out. I'll ha­ve to think up an ext­ra-spe­ci­al ga­me to ma­ke it up to her."

  I dug out the pho­ne and pas­sed it over.

  With su­per­hu­man strength, he bent it in half. "Now it's just the two of us." He sank in­to the cha­ir fa­cing mi­ne and stretc­hed his legs out lu­xu­ri­o­usly. One arm dang­led off the se­at back. "Let's talk, No­ra."

  I bol­ted from the cha­ir. Jules ho­oked me aro­und the wa­ist be­fo­re I'd ma­de it fo­ur steps and sho­ved me back in­to the cha­ir.

  "I used to own hor­ses," he sa­id. "A long ti­me ago in Fran­ce, I had a stab­le of be­a­uti­ful hor­ses. The Spa­nish hor­ses we­re my fa­vo­ri­te. They we­re ca­ught wild and bro­ught di­rectly to me. Wit­hin we­eks I had them sub­du­ed. But the­re was al­ways the ra­re hor­se that re­fu­sed to be bro­ken. Do you know what I did with a hor­se that re­fu­sed to be bro­ken?"

  I shud­de­red for an ans­wer.

  "Co­ope­ra­te, and you ha­ve not­hing to fe­ar," he sa­id.

  I didn't for one mo­ment be­li­eve him. The gle­am in his eyes wasn't sin­ce­re.

  "I saw El­li­ot in the lib­rary." I was surp­ri­sed by the wa­ver in my vo­ice. I didn't li­ke or trust El­li­ot, but he didn't de­ser­ve to die slowly and in pa­in. "Did you hurt him?"

  He sco­oted clo­ser, as if to sha­re a sec­ret. "If you're go­ing to com­mit a cri­me, ne­ver le­ave evi­den­ce. El­li­ot's be­en an in­teg­ral part of everyt­hing. He knows too much."

  "Is that why I'm he­re? Be­ca­use of the ar­tic­le I fo­und abo­ut Kj­irs­ten Hal­ver­son?"

  Jules smi­led. "Elli­ot fa­iled to men­ti­on that you know abo­ut Kj­irs­ten."

  "Did El­li­ot kill her… or did you?" I as­ked on a cold snap of ins­pi­ra­ti­on.

  "I had to test El­li­ot's lo­yalty. I to­ok away what was most im­por­tant. El­li­ot was at King­horn on scho­lars­hip, and no­body let him for­get it. Un­til me. I was his be­ne­fac­tor. In the end, it ca­me down to cho­osing me or Kj­irs­ten. Mo­re suc­cinctly, cho­osing mo­ney or lo­ve. Ap­pa­rently the­re's no ple­asu­re in be­ing a pa­uper among prin­ces. I bo­ught him off, and that's when I knew I co­uld rely on him when it ca­me ti­me to de­aling with you."

  "Why me?"

  "You ha­ven't fi­gu­red it out yet?" The light high­ligh­ted the ruth­les­sness in his fa­ce and cre­ated the il­lu­si­on that his eyes had tur­ned the co­lor of mol­ten sil­ver. "I've be­en to­ying with you. Dang­ling you by a string. Using you as a proxy, be­ca­use the per­son I re­al­ly want to harm can't be har­med. Do you know who that per­son is?"

  All the knots in my body se­emed to co­me un­do­ne. My eyes mo­ved out of fo­cus. Jules's fa­ce was li­ke an Imp­res­si­onist pa­in­ting-blur­red aro­und the ed­ges, lac­king de­ta­il. Blo­od dra­ined from my he­ad, and I felt myself start to slip off the cha­ir. I'd felt this way eno­ugh ti­mes be­fo­re to know I ne­eded iron. So­on.

  He slap­ped my che­ek aga­in. "Fo­cus. Who am I tal­king abo­ut?"

  "I don't know." I co­uldn't push my vo­ice abo­ve a whis­per.

  "Do you know why he can't be hurt? Be­ca­use he do­esn't ha­ve a hu­man body. His body lacks physi­cal sen­sa­ti­on. If I loc­ked him up and tor­tu­red him, it wo­uldn't do any go­od. He can't fe­el. Not an oun­ce of pa­in. Su­rely you've got a gu­ess by now? You've be­en spen­ding a lot of ti­me with this per­son. Why so si­lent, No­ra? Can't fi­gu­re it out?"

  A trick­le of swe­at crept down my back.

  "Every ye­ar at the start of the Heb­rew month of Chesh­van, he ta­kes cont­rol of my body. Two who­le we­eks. That's how long I for­fe­it cont­rol. No fre­edom, no cho­ice. I don't get the lu­xury of es­ca­ping du­ring tho­se two we­eks, lo­aning my body out, then co­ming back when it's all over. Then I might be ab­le to con­vin­ce myself it wasn't re­al­ly hap­pe­ning. No. I'm still in the­re, a pri­so­ner in­si­de my own body, li­ving ever) mo­ment of it," he sa­id in a grin­ding to­ne. "Do you know what that fe­els li­ke? Do you?" he sho­uted.

  I kept my mo­uth shut, kno­wing that to talk wo­uld be dan­ge­ro­us. Jules la­ug­hed, a rush of air thro­ugh his te­eth. It so­un­ded mo­re si­nis­ter than anyt­hing I'd ever he­ard.

  He sa­id, "I swo­re an oath al­lo­wing him to ta­ke pos­ses­si­on of my body du­ring Chesh­van. I was six­te­en ye­ars old." He shrug­ged, but it was a ri­gid mo­ve­ment. "He tric­ked me in­to the oath by tor­tu­ring me. Af­ter, he told me I wasn't hu­man. Can you be­li­eve it? Not hu­man. He told me my mot­her, a hu­man, slept with a fal­len an­gel." He grin­ned odi­o­usly, swe­at sprink­ling his fo­re­he­ad. "Did I men­ti­on I in­he­ri­ted a few tra­its from my fat­her? Just li­ke him, I'm a de­ce­iver. I ma­ke you see li­es. I ma­ke you he­ar vo­ices."

  Just li­ke this. Can you he­ar me, No­ra? Are you frigh­te­ned yet?

  He tap­ped my fo­re­he­ad. "What's go­ing on in the­re, No­ra? Aw­ful­ly qu­i­et."

  Jules was Cha­un­cey. He was Nep­hi­lim. I re­mem­be­red my birth­mark, and what Dab­ria had told me. Jules and I sha­red the sa­me blo­od. In my ve­ins was the blo­od of a mons­ter. I shut my eyes, and a te­ar slid out.

  "Re­mem­ber the night we first met? I jum­ped in front of the car you we­re dri­ving. It was dark and the­re was fog. You we­re al­re­ady on ed­ge, which ma­de it that much easi­er to de­ce­ive you. I enj­oyed sca­ring you. That first night ga­ve me a tas­te for it."

  "I wo­uld ha­ve no­ti­ced it was you,' many pe­op­le as tall as you."

  "You're not lis­te­ning. I can ma­ke you see wha­te­ver I want. Do you re­al­ly think I'd over­lo­ok a de­ta­il as con­dem­ning as my he­ight? You saw what I wan­ted you to see. You saw a non­desc­ript man in a black ski mask."

  I sat the­re, fe­eling a tiny crack in my ter­ror. I wasn't crazy. Jules was be­hind all of it. He was the crazy one. He co­uld cre­ate mind ga­mes be­ca­use his fat­her was a fal­len an­gel and he'd in­he­ri­ted the po­wer. "You didn't re­al­ly ran­sack my bed­ro­om," I sa­id. " You just ma­de me think you did. That's why it was still in or­der when the po­li­ce ar­ri­ved."

  He ap­pla­uded slowly and de­li­be­ra­tely. "Do you want to know the best part? You co­uld ha­ve bloc­ked me out. I co­uldn't ha­ve to­uc­hed yo­ur mind wit­ho­ut yo­ur per­mis­si­on. I re­ac­hed in, and you ne­ver re­sis­ted. You we­re we­ak. You we­re easy."

  It all ma­de sen­se, and ins­te­ad of fe­eling a bri­ef mo­ment of re­li­ef, I re­ali­zed how sus­cep­tib­le I was. I was strip­ped wi­de open. The­re was not­hing stop­ping Jules from suc­king me in­to his mind ga­mes, un­less I le­ar­ned to block him out.

  "Ima­gi­ne yo­ur­self in my pla­ce," sa­id Jules. "Yo­ur body vi­ola­ted ye­ar af­ter ye­ar. Ima­gi­ne a hat­red so hard, not­hing but re­ven­ge will cu­re it. Ima­gi­ne ex­pen­ding lar­ge sums of energy and re­so­ur­ces to ke­ep a clo­se eye on the obj­ect of yo­ur re­ven­ge, wa­iting pa­ti­ently for the mo­ment when fa­te pre­sen­ted you an op­por­tu­nity not just to get even, but to tip the sca­les in yo­ur fa­vor." His eyes loc­ked on mi­ne. "You're that op­por­tu­nity. If I hurt you, I hurt Patch."

  "You're ove­res­ti­ma­ting my va­lue to Patch," I sa­id, cold swe­at bre­aking out along my ha­ir­li­ne.

  "I've be­en ke­eping a clo­se eye on Patch for cen­tu­ri­es. Last sum­mer he ma­de his first trip to yo­ur ho­use, tho­ugh you didn't no­ti­ce. He fol­lo­wed you shop­ping a few ti­mes. Ever) now and then, he ma­de a spe­ci­al trip out of his way to find you. Then he en­rol­led at yo­ur scho­ol. I co­uldn't help but ask myself, what was so spe­ci­al abo­ut you? I ma­de an ef­fort to find out. I've be­en watc­hing you for a whi­le now."

  Not­hing short of dre­ad grip­ped me. Right then, I knew it was ne­ver my dad's pre­sen­ce I'd felt, fol­lo­wing me li­ke a phan­tom gu­ar­di­an. It was Jules. I felt the sa­me ice-cold, une­arthly pre­sen­ce now, only amp­li­fi­ed a hund­red ti­mes.

  "I didn't want to draw Patch's sus­pi­ci­on and bac­ked off," he con­ti­nu­ed. "That's when El­li­ot step­ped for­ward, and it didn't ta­ke him long to tell me what I'd al­re­ady gu­es­sed. Patch is in lo­ve with you."