It couldn’t have been clearer that Shelley was totally bored, and I told myself I was just being paranoid. If another Paladin chick was going to come after me, she wouldn’t be here waiting. We’d picked this place on impulse, so how could anyone know where we’d be?

They could if they could see the future, moron, a not-very-nice part of my brain whispered.

I swallowed hard before reminding myself about positive thinking again. Even if David was conjuring up Paladins, he had called Annie off, right? Shelley handed me a key card—I was honestly surprised a place this trapped in 1993 had key cards—and pointed to her right. “One thirty-two is on the end,” she said, “but not, like, the end.”

“Awesome, thanks!” I said, probably way too brightly.

Blythe and Bee had hung back during this little exchange, and while Bee was texting, Blythe was watching Shelley with the same suspicion I’d felt.

I didn’t like it.

Not that Blythe was suspicious, but that we might have something in common.

“We’re on the end,” I told them. “‘But not, like, the end.’”

“The hell does that mean?” Blythe asked, shifting her bag to her other arm.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

The three of us made our way down the cracked sidewalk outside the building. Off to my left, the sun was a blazing orange ball, just about to set. We’d been driving for what felt like forever, and I was very, very glad that this day was ending.

I was also very glad a shower was in my future.

Room 132 was indeed at the end but not, like, the end, and I saw exactly what Shelley had meant. The rooms at the end end were blocked off with yellow tape.

Fabulous.

I slid the key into the door, and swung it open.

“Oh, good,” I said as we stood in the doorway. “I’d been afraid the room would be really depressing.”

At my side, Bee gave a little snort of laughter. Or maybe that was her trying to cover a sob. I felt a little sobby myself looking at that room.

Two double beds took up most of the room; both were covered in bedspreads the same bright aqua as the bricks outside. I’d never thought of aqua as being a particularly offensive color before, but looking at those bedspreads, I knew that next school year I was totally banning anything even approaching that shade from any school dance decorations. I’d never be able to look at it again without wanting to slit my own throat.

Moving into the room, I looked for a place to set my bag where it wouldn’t possibly pick up some kind of insect. I settled for the battered desk, and Bee did the same.

Blythe apparently had no such issues with the room, though, because she cheerfully tossed her bag on one of the beds and flopped into a seated position, pulling her legs up under her.

I wasn’t sure if she was doing yoga or just recharging her evil.

Bee blinked twice and then said, “I’m . . . gonna go call Ryan.”

Retrieving her cell phone from her pocket, she stepped outside, leaving me with Blythe. I waited until I heard Bee’s footsteps recede, then gingerly made my way over to the other bed. I needed to call my parents and Aunt Jewel, but I didn’t want to do that with Blythe in the room, and for some reason, I didn’t want to leave her by herself.

I know that sounds stupid, but there was no telling what Blythe might get up to her on her own. So for now, I would just stay here and . . . watch her.

You know, in a non-creepy way.

She sat still on the middle of the bed, her legs folded, hands resting on her knees. She was taking deep breaths through her nose, and I didn’t want to disturb her but I also wanted to know what the heck she was doing.

“So are you resting, or . . .”

“Why don’t you go grab a shower?” Blythe suggested, not answering my question.

“Omigod, I don’t smell, do I?” I picked at the collar of my T-shirt, giving a discreet sniff inside. I’d been using all the deodorant, so I was pretty sure I was Powder Fresh, but a day in a car during a southern summer can defeat the best of us.

From her spot on the bed, Blythe smiled. “No, I just want you to leave me alone so I can try to sense the Oracle.”

I felt a glimmer of relief. “Can you feel him now?”

There was a little wrinkle between her brows, but Blythe still didn’t open her eyes. “No. Or I can, but it’s . . . faint.” I watched her take another deep breath, then another, and the frown deepened. “It’s like another heartbeat inside my chest,” she said, “but a really soft, fluttery one. I can only feel it when I sit still.”

“I feel that, too,” I said, picking at the strap of my sandal. “Not all the time, but sometimes. Like, I get this feeling that he’s almost in the next room or something, but . . .” Trailing off, I rolled my eyes at myself. This was not the time to have some kind of slumber party moment with Crazy Blythe.

But then she opened her eyes. They were brown like Bee’s, but a shade darker, so dark that I could hardly separate the pupil from the iris. Weird as it sounds, I’d almost expected her eyes to glow when she looked at me. Maybe that’s because sitting so still and kind of pained, she’d reminded me of how David looked when he had visions.

“And the dreams?” she asked.

Startled, I raised my eyebrows. “Dreams?”

Nodding, Blythe shook out her hair. “You and Bee are having them, right? Vague things, but definitely his?”

Just last night, I’d had another one, that same weird mix of blood on a yellow dress, my voice echoing around me.

I didn’t give Blythe an answer, but she went on like I had. “The closer we get, the stronger they’ll become, so be sure you tell me whenever you have one.”

“So we could’ve tracked him without you?” I said, crossing my arms. “By following our dreams?”

Blythe shrugged. “It’s not exactly as precise as the magic I can do tracking him, but I guess so.”

Rolling my eyes, I looked up at the ceiling. “Things that might have been helpful to know before now,” I muttered, and Blythe sighed.

“Tell me about him,” she said, surprising me, and I sat up a little straighter.

“About David?” I blinked, trying to think of what I could say to her. How did I even describe David? For a second, I thought about telling her the Oracle stuff. You know, unclear visions, glowing eyes, the headaches that would make him wince in pain. But I knew that’s not what she wanted. Blythe wanted to talk about David the person.

That felt easier and harder all at once.

“He’s . . . smart,” I said at last. “And funny, but in a vaguely obnoxious way. He has the worst taste in clothes known to man—he’s never met a plaid he didn’t like and subsequently abuse.”

That made Blythe smile a little bit. “I seem to remember that from when the two of you came to the college.”

“Oh, you mean the day you tried to kill us?” I said, scooping up a bag of chips from the little pile of gas station food we’d picked up earlier.

Blythe’s smile faded immediately, replaced with a scowl. “Always bringing that up.”

“It’s a weird thing of mine, remembering times people tried to stab me,” I admitted, leaning back against the dresser. It seemed a safer bet than sitting on the other bed or the couch. I was really regretting not bringing along some Febreze, let me tell you what.