“Gideon.” Kathleen Morgan sounded frantic. “I’m so glad you called. Have you seen Claire? We haven’t seen or heard from her since she left here.”

The knot in his gut tightened, twisting. “When was that?”

“Tuesday afternoon.”

“Did she say where she was going when she left there?”

“She needed to clear out her room at work,” Mrs. Morgan explained. “The school is using it for summer school classes. And a teacher needed to talk to her about a student.”

His fingers tightened about the phone. “Did she mention the student’s name?”

“Lenny, I think.”

Of course Claire would have gone to hear what the teacher had to say. “Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”

Less than an hour later he walked the halls of Roosevelt High School with Darius at his side. A handful of faculty still roamed the building, but it had the air of an abandoned ship. Most doors lining the halls were closed, the panels of glass next to them revealing darkened caves within. Summer vacation was well under way. He stopped a lone student, a boy lugging a saxophone case, and got directions to Claire’s room.

Her classroom was unlocked. He flipped on the lights, blinking against the sudden fluorescent glare. The room was empty save for the uniform rows of desks. One box sat on her desk and several more littered the floor.

“She never finished,” Darius announced, peering into a box.

Gideon’s gaze swept over the room. “She was interrupted,” he surmised aloud.

Darius lifted a backpack off the top of a desk with two fingers. A Hello Kitty mirror hung off the backpack’s zipper. “Hers?”

“No,” he answered, pulling her chair out from her desk, discovering her purse discreetly stashed on the cushioned seat. “She wouldn’t have left her purse.”

“Now what?” Darius asked.

“Let’s check the office downstairs. Maybe someone talked to her. Saw something.”

Darius pushed himself off a file cabinet and followed. As they neared the front office, they passed dozens of large photos displaying championship football teams, drill teams, and other school clubs.

“Hey, hold on a minute.”

Gideon stopped again and looked impatiently over his shoulder at Darius. “What?”

Darius stared intently into one of the large frames. “You ever see this guy before?”

Gideon moved beside Darius to stare at a district championship photograph of the school orchestra.

Darius tapped the glass above Cyril’s face. “Know him?”

“I’ve met him. Claire introduced me. Cyril Jenkins.”

“He’s a lycan.”

Gideon looked back and forth between Darius and the photograph, his chest constricting, suddenly painfully tight. “It’s just a photograph. How can you tell?”

“I know him.” Darius’s expression grew strained. “It’s been a while, and his name wasn’t Cyril then, but I would never forget his face.”