In calculus, my second-to-last class of the day, I found myself face-to-face with the guy who’d saved me that morning. “Hey. That was wild this morning,” he said as he sat down at the desk next to mine.

I agreed. “Yeah.” I was lost in thought about how I was going to get back to Willow, but he had no idea what a huge risk he’d taken by trying to save my life. So I added, “Thank you again. Really.”

“I’m Ernesto,” the guy said. He was a head taller than me, with broad shoulders, glasses, and an earring in one ear.

“McKenna,” I said.

“You’re from Wisconsin, right?” he asked.

I felt a blush creep into my cheeks. I didn’t think anyone at Hyde Park High knew anything about me, at all. “Uh, yeah.”

Ernesto smiled, pleased with himself. “Knew it! I recognized you from the news! When you showed up in this class, I was like, It’s that girl!”

Great. All this time, I’d thought I’d been a low-key, under-the-radar new kid who no one cared to meet, which had been fine with me. Ernesto was making it sound like everyone knew my story and had been gossiping about me since February. “There’s more to the story than what you saw on the news,” I muttered.

“All right, everyone!” Mrs. Orian, our teacher, said as she entered the classroom and pulled the door closed behind her. “Let’s take out last night’s homework.”

Just as I was digging out the worksheet I’d started in study hall the day before but failed to finish at home, I received a text message that almost made me jump up from my desk in shock.

VIOLET 12:53 P.M.

Call me. We need to talk.

Mrs. Orian scowled at me. “Miss Brady. Care to share with us?”

All eyes in the classroom were on me. I hadn’t realized that I’d gasped so loudly when I’d seen Violet’s name pop up on my phone. I collected my backpack and stepped away from my desk. “I have to, uh… bathroom.”

I rushed out of the classroom to a chorus of snide remarks and giggles. Once in the cool hallway, I jogged toward the double doors that led to the side courtyard, where I would be able to talk on the phone with some privacy.

Violet didn’t even greet me when she answered her phone. “Thanks for calling. I didn’t think you would—”

“Have you heard from Mischa?” I interrupted her.

“No, of course not!” Violet replied. “I’m the last person she’d ever contact. Every time I run into her around town, she’s still pissed off at me. She doesn’t seem to have any idea that you guys made me play the game again, or that none of what happened in the fall was really my fault!”

I resisted the urge to argue with her. Two of my friends were dead, and Tracy Hartford had lost most of her hearing during her bout with meningitis over the winter. But reminding Violet that all of those things were, indeed, kind of her fault, wasn’t going to get me far. I was very aware that I might need Violet’s help to keep Mischa from giving in to the spirits—especially since there was no way Trey was going to be able to get a leave from Northern Reserve approved any time soon.