“Could you not roll on top of me, though?” Alistair asked. “I was here first.”

When the bell went off, signifying what would have been the end of the period had it been a normal school day, we both jumped a little and blinked. Alistair had gotten up and moved away to another corner, and I heard some sniggering in our general direction. We emerged from the library bleary-eyed and collars crooked. The three police cars had turned into two police cars and four much larger vans. There were also people coming in twos and threes and fours carrying signs and candles.

“There’s going to be a vigil tonight,” Jerome said, adjusting his prefect’s tie. “On the Mary Kelly murder site. It’s just a few streets over. Supposed to be thousands of people.”

The sun was already retreating, and the crowds were coming. The Ripper, the Ripper, the Ripper.

We went right next door to the refectory. Jerome held my hand. This did not go unnoticed. It wasn’t mentioned either. But I saw it register. I was suddenly starving and took a heavy helping of fish pie. I ate with one hand, and with the other I held Jerome’s hand under the table. There was just a trace of sweat on his brow. It made me proud. I caused that sweat.

And life was good for about half an hour.

“So there’s some speculation on where tonight is going to happen,” Jerome said. “Because it’s going to be indoors, right? A lot of people are saying hotel, because of all the tourists . . .”

My good mood exploded. Pop. Gone.

He went on for a good ten minutes about the various odds on locations for that night’s murder. I took it as long as I could.

“I have to call my parents,” I said, getting up. I shelved my tray roughly and joined the many people who were heading out.

The stupid misting rain had started up again. I could see it under the orangey glow of the lights along the green and in front of the school. Loads more people were around the school now, the people with their signs and the police officers and the handful of press people who had decided to use the previous murder site as a place to broadcast.

“Hey!” Jerome called. “Wait! Rory!”

“It’s not a game,” I said, turning around.

“I know that,” he replied. “Look, I know you were a witness. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know anything,” I snapped.

I regretted it even as I said it, but the simple fact was—something had to give. The kissing had distracted me for a little while, but reality was back.

Jerome looked at me in confusion and shook his head, unable to come up with the words.

“I’m going back,” he said. “I’ve got desk duty all night.”