David shifted in his seat. “Isn’t that your area?”

Uncomfortable, I shrugged. “I guess so.”

Silence fell over the car again.

“Are you going to kill him?” David finally asked. “Or her?” That was my job, right? Or it would be, if I were actually

going to be a Paladin. Which I wasn’t. “We can question whoever it is,” I said. “See how many of them there are, what their plans are.”

“You heard Saylor. Their plans are probably to kill me.”

“Yeah, but maybe we could get more of a sense of why. Is it the whole ‘boys make crappy Oracles’ thing, or is there more to it? For example, maybe you’ve been writing horrible articles about other people.”

Snorting, David wrapped his arms around his knees. “No, you’re the only person I torture in that particular way.”

Why do you? I suddenly wanted to ask, but I bit back the question. Mine and David’s tangled personal history wasn’t the issue here.

“Have you had any more . . . you know?” I lifted one hand off the steering wheel and wiggled it. “Visiony things?”

“Prophecies? No. Nothing since that night.”

I made the turn into Merlington, driving down an oak-lined street. “Well, that’s part of it, right? Being a boy means not having great visions.” Overhead, the trees cast shadows on the car, covering David’s face in dappled sunlight.

David shrugged. “Unless I do some kind of crazy spell on myself that makes me Mega Oracle.”

I turned to look at him, nearly running a stop sign. “You wouldn’t do that though, right?”

David dropped his feet from the dash, pulling at the hem of his T-shirt. “Seeing as how I wouldn’t even know where to start on something like that, let’s go with no.”

He wasn’t looking at me, but something in his voice wedged under my skin like a splinter. “But even if you did know how,” I said, “you . . . you wouldn’t, right? I mean, you heard what Saylor said. That spell gave Alaric awesome visions and power, but it also fried up his brain and ended with lots of dead people.”

David sighed, scrubbing a hand up and down the back of his neck. “Yeah, I got that part. Still, it sucks having visions that are so half-assed, you know? And no matter what Aunt—” He stopped, dropping his hand back to his lap. “I’m never going to stop doing that, am I?”

“You can still call her your aunt, David,” I said, surprised at the gentleness in my voice. “I mean, she did raise you.”

He made a noncommittal sound in reply before settling back in his seat. “All I’m saying is, being able to see the future but not really see the future is frustrating as hell. I get why someone would try a spell like that.”

We drove past the big brick sign reading “The University of West Alabama,” and I turned down the narrow street leading to campus. The library was at the end of the road, rising out of the bright green lawn like some kind of medieval church. I could already make out the stained glass windows. “Well, the next time you start thinking like that, try to remember that Alaric ended up dead thanks to that spell.”

David turned to me as I pulled into a parking space. In his glasses, I had to admit, I did look a little Carmen Sandiego-ish, so I tugged off the hat. “Okay, before we go in, anything else I should know?”

Unbuckling his seatbelt, David dropped his gaze. “No.”

“You are the worst liar in the entire world.” As I shifted the car into park, a couple of girls walked past the car, long hair blowing in the breeze. Other than them, I didn’t see anyone else in the parking lot.

“I’m not lying,” he said, but I waved him off.

“Look, I know we’re not exactly best friends, but we have known each other more or less since the womb. Remember in second grade when you spilled all the blue paint, and tried to say you hadn’t? You’re making the exact same face.”

David rolled his eyes. “And what face is that?”

I jutted my jaw out and gave my best David scowl. “Kinda like this,” I said through clenched teeth, and he gave a surprised laugh.

“Okay, I do not look like that. That looks like . . . I don’t know, Dick Cheney.”

“No, this is totally how you look when you lie,” I insisted. “You did it with the blue paint and you’re doing it now.”

David’s grin slowly faded and his fingers fiddled with the edge of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his bicep a little. Since when did David Stark have biceps? How did you get any muscle tone when all you did was type and be annoying?

“Trust me, Pres,” he answered as he opened his door. “That’s it. No more to tell.”

He wanted me to trust him, and Saylor wanted him to trust her, and I just wanted this whole thing over with.

So why are you here? a little voice whispered inside my head. Instead of chasing that thought, I got out of the car and hurried after David.

He was looking at his phone. “Okay, so the appointment is in ten minutes on the second floor of the library. Which would be . . .” He pointed to the large Gothic building. “Here.”

I stared at it, waiting to feel that sudden tightness in my chest that told me David was in danger. But there was nothing but the breeze brushing my hair into my face and the slight chill of early November. No vice around my heart, no Pop Rocks.

“Should we go in?” David asked, and I nodded.

Walking inside, the familiar old building smells of mildewed carpet and burnt coffee assaulted my nose, but other than that, everything felt . . . fine. Normal. Maybe this was a routine scholarship interview.

The office David had been told to go to was on the library’s second floor. As we made our way up the stairs, everything was completely silent except for the squeak of David’s sneakers on the stone floor. “Do you feel weird?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. I feel . . . weirdly unweird, actually.”

Slanting me a look, he gave a half-smile. “Only for us would unweird be weird.”

It was easy enough to find 201-A. It was the first office right off the stairs, and when David knocked on the door, a pretty, petite brunette opened it, smiling at us. There were deep dimples on either side of her shining white teeth, and despite the imminent danger we might be in, I couldn’t help wondering where she’d gotten her lipstick. That was a seriously gorgeous—ugh, no. Focus.

“Hi, there!” she said brightly. “David?”

It was hard to imagine anyone looking less like an assassin, especially since she was decked out in a bright pink and green Lilly Pulitzer dress.

David startled slightly, and I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. “Yeah,” he finally said. Then, clearing his throat, he tried again. “I mean, yes, I’m David Stark.”

The brunette reached out and shook his hand. “I’m Blythe,” the woman—girl, really—said, pumping David’s hand enthusiastically.

Then her eyes slid over to me. “Oh!” she said. “You brought a friend!” The dimples deepened, and she leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink. “Or is this your girlfriend?”

Rude, I thought, but then I realized we hadn’t exactly come up with an excuse as to why I was here with David.

David slung an arm across my shoulders, and I automatically slid my arm around his waist. Seeing as how we were standing a few feet apart, I’m not sure if any two people have ever held each other more awkwardly.

“Yup,” I said. “Girlfriend.”

“So my girlfriend,” David agreed, and I would’ve dug my fingers into his ribs if I’d been capable of it.

But if Blythe noticed our extreme awkwardness, she didn’t acknowledge it. “Well, y’all come on in!” she said.

Once her back was turned, David glanced over at me. I knew what he was thinking. How could a girl who appeared to speak only in exclamation points possibly be a hired killer?

“I have to say, David, we have heard so many great things about you,” Blythe said, going over to her desk. As she rifled through it, she added, “Oh, and could y’all shut the door, please?”

David turned to do that while Blythe kept talking. “You do not even know the trouble we’ve had trying to get in touch with you.”

His hand still on the doorknob, David turned back to Blythe. “Yeah, you guys have sent a bunch of e-mails.”

Blythe gave a light, trilling laugh. “Oh, trust me, it’s been a lot more extensive than some e-mails.” Suddenly her face brightened as she found whatever it was she’d been looking for.

“Oh, here we go!” she said chirpily. She was holding a letter opener, one that looked far longer and far sharper than necessary for opening mail.

For a second, all I could do was stare dumbly at the blade, wondering why I wasn’t feeling the chest tightening and the Pop Rocks, and all of that.

Blythe planted one foot on the edge of the desk, launching herself up and over, and I realized why I hadn’t felt like David was in danger.

She was lunging for me.

Chapter 21

Like it had that night with Dr. DuPont, my body started moving before my mind had time to catch up. David shouted, but I was already bracing myself, throwing up an arm to deflect the blow. Blythe landed on me, hard, and I felt something icy arc along the skin below my elbow. Then the ice turned into searing heat, and I saw a flash of red. Oh my effing God, I thought, almost from a distance. She stabbed me. A girl in Lilly Pulitzer stabbed me.

Gritting my teeth against the sudden blossom of pain, I reached up with my other hand, trying to grab her wrist, but she moved faster than I’d anticipated, snaking out one foot to hook around my ankle and send me crashing to the ground.

As she did, I managed to grab the hem of her dress, yanking her off balance, too. We fell together, my head thwacking the base of one of the chairs. I saw stars, and then another flash of silver as the blade darted at my throat. Without thinking, I grabbed at the letter opener, my palm closing around it. I could feel metal cutting into my skin, but the agony was nothing compared to the adrenaline and fear racing through me. Above me, Blythe had her teeth bared in a snarl. Sweat dotted her forehead and her upper lip, and strands of hair came loose from her ponytail to cling to her cheeks. Her face was pale, dark eyes huge in her head, and I realized that despite her being the one with a weapon, she was scared. Terrified, even.