So that’s why I did feel bad when I fished a pen out of my bag and chucked it at her, figuring that if I were Paladin of the Grove, it would stop about an inch from all that shiny blond hair.

It didn’t.

I flinched as the pen smacked Liz right in the back of her head. She gave a startled cry and whirled around, hand on her head, eyes full of not-so-churchy anger.

“Harper?”

My teacher, Mrs. Ford, was looking at me with total confusion. “Harper,” she said again, “did you just . . . did you just throw a pen at Liz?”

Now the whole class was looking at me. I turned on my best smile and said, “Oh my gosh, no, Mrs. Ford! I was just . . . um . . . writing really fast because there was so much information to take in, and I had, like, some lotion? On my hands? Anyway, the pen flew out of my hand and hit Liz.” I turned to Liz. “Really sorry about that. Total accident.”

“It’s okay,” Liz said, but she was scowling and rubbing the back of her head.

Mrs. Ford was watching me like I had just sprouted a second head, but she eventually shrugged and said, “Well, be more careful.”

“Will do!” I chirped. Then I turned back to my notebook, my heart pounding and my mouth dry. Holy crap.

I had a noble cause, all right. But it wasn’t Grove Academy.

It was David Stark.

Chapter 7

I SPENT the next three classes pretty out of it. For the first time in history, I took absolutely no notes. I just sat and stared and thought.

Mr. Hall had been protecting David. Dr. DuPont had been trying to kill David. I now had to protect David. Other people would probably try to kill him. But why? I mean, yes, David Stark was annoying, but that didn’t make him worth killing. And if Mr. Hall had been protecting him, had he chosen to? Because I sure as heck hadn’t chosen this. What would happen if I just . . . didn’t? Or could I pass the powers on to someone else?

By the time the bells rang for lunch, one thing was abundantly clear to me:

I needed my mentor-person right now. I had figured out as much as I possibly could, so it was time for my Giles or my Professor X or whoever to get here and start explaining.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and started heading to lunch when it occurred to me that it wasn’t like my Giles/Professor X could just come sashaying into the cafeteria amidst a hundred teenagers. No, I’d have to be on my own.