I sigh. “You’re stunning, Lalana. Everyone stares at you.” I read the note again. “This last line here. Before it’s too late for us both. Is that a threat?”

She fiddles with one of her chandelier earrings. “Isn’t that just an expression?”

“Not one I’ve ever heard.”

A charged silence descends, filling the space between us. My mind whirls, trying to connect the dots. What could Lalana’s secret admirer have to do with the future? And how can I do anything about it if they’re just that—a secret?

Lalana glances over my shoulder. I turn to see Reggie striding down the hall, his powerful legs eating up the distance, his brown skin as smooth as river stones.

Reggie. Maybe the Virus Maker is Reggie. He certainly has the confidence. He struts around school, secure in the knowledge that someday, some way, he’ll be someone. He’ll do something. Could his legacy be a biological weapon of mass destruction?

“Let’s talk later,” Lalana says quickly. She kisses me on both cheeks, and her floral scent wafts around me. “Reggie is this close to asking me out. I can feel it.”

“Maybe you should make him a cake.” I try to curve my lips. I don’t like this. Not the fact that there might be a mass murderer walking in our midst. And not the possibility that my best friend might somehow be involved.

Lalana’s already heading toward the heartthrob of the senior class, but she turns and flashes me a brilliant smile. “Only if you promise to help me bake it.”

…

The final bell rings. Lalana and the rest of the students clear out, leaving me with the dirty-gym-socks scent of the corridor. My head aches. My nerves buzz. I can’t possibly sit and listen to Ms. Carlyle drone on in my next class, so I shove my cell phone and car keys into my back pocket.

But I don’t leave. And I groan when I realize why. I really am a Goody Two-shoes, since I’ve never actually cut class before.

Instead, I loiter at my locker. Darn it. I forgot to tell Lalana about the Loki head. It shouldn’t matter. I can show her the cutout face at lunch. But for some reason, the omission feels like a huge loss.

Electricity flashes across my skull.

I jerk my hand up, rapping my knuckles against the underside of the locker.

“Ow,” I mutter. “At least you could give me a warning.”

“The current is the warning,” the Voice says nicely. She’s in a good mood today, just like last time. Thank goodness. I don’t miss the ragey woman from the first visit.