“You look troubled,” said Ms. Terwilliger, watching me pack up when the bell rang. “Worried about getting your project in on time?”

“No.” I’d actually finished two of the charms, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that. “I’m worried about Trey. He keeps missing school. Do you know why he’s out? I mean, if you can tell me?”

“The office notifies us if a student will be out for the day, but they don’t tell us the reason. If it makes you feel better, Mr. Juarez’s absence was called in this morning. He hasn’t disappeared.” I almost mentioned my fears about his home but held off. I still needed more evidence.

Between worrying about Trey, Ms. Terwilliger’s work, the Warriors, Brayden, and all my other myriad complications, I knew I couldn’t waste any of my free time. Nonetheless, I went to Adrian’s after school on a mission I couldn’t refuse. On our way to Wolfe’s class earlier this week, Adrian had mentioned offhandedly that he hadn’t had the Mustang looked at by a mechanic before purchasing it. Although my own novice assessment hadn’t found anything wrong with the car, I pushed for Adrian to get the car examined—which, of course, meant I had to look up a specialist and make the appointment. It was just before my textile museum date, but I was certain I had time to make it all work.

“The guy I bought it from seemed pretty trustworthy,” Adrian told me, after we’d dropped the car off with the mechanic. He’d told us he’d look at it right away and that we could hang around and wait. His shop was on the outskirts of a suburban area, so Adrian suggested we go for a walk through the neighborhoods. “And it ran just fine when I did the test drive, so I figured everything was okay.”

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t problems you can’t see. It’s best to be safe,” I said, knowing I sounded preachy. “Bad enough you got a car you can’t drive.” Glancing over, I saw a small, half smile on his face.

“With your help, I’ll be a pro in no time. Of course, if you don’t want to help anymore, I’ll just wing it and figure it out on my own.”

I groaned. “You already know what I’d say about—wow.”

The neighborhood we were in was pretty affluent. In fact, I’d say the houses bordered on being bona fide mansions. We stopped in front of one that looked like a cross between a hacienda and a southern plantation, large and sprawling with a pillared porch and pink stucco siding. The front yard was a mix of climates, green grass with palm trees lining the path to the house. The trees were like tropical sentries.

“Gorgeous,” I said. “I love architecture. In another life, I’d have studied that—not chemicals and vampires.” As we continued on, we saw more of the same, each house trying to outdo the others. All of them had high fences and hedges blocking their backyards. “I wonder what’s back there. Pools, probably.”