The funeral for Mr. Bennett was held a week later in the theater, and as Alastair ushered the guests in, he was distracted. He had been standing a few feet away from where Bennett's body ended up when the shots went off. And when the smoke cleared, he saw one of their best teachers fallen. Bloody. Alastair stared at the frayed edges of the holes where the bullets had passed through Bennett's shirt and into his stomach. His face was slack, as if all the muscles had relaxed, and his mouth hung open like a hooked fish. There was no question that he was dead. Cain, who had been swept along in the darkness too, knelt beside him to check anyway, as if that somehow gave him comfort.

Alastair noticed something crushed in Bennett's right hand, and reached down to take it.

"Wait, Alastair," Cain said quietly. "Let me." The teacher peeled back Bennett's hardening fingers to reveal an ID badge. He flipped it open. "John Roberts," he read quietly. "Federal Bureau of Investigation, IC Division. What's the IC Division?" he asked of no one in particular.

A heavy silence had fallen over the room, mottled by the occasional heaving of sobs. Alastair could not move his eyes from Bennett's face, could not fathom what had happened. Obviously, he had been shot by one of the intruders. And the intruders were apparently, us? Our government? These were questions for the police, who stepped inside the lobby ready to take over. Alastair noticed that Cain slid the ID into his pocket rather than leaving it for the police. Maybe this question wasn't for them after all.

The sound of mournful music and crowds crushing past brought Alastair back to the present. The younger students had been sent home two weeks early, but the secondary kids all wanted to attend the funeral and so had been allowed to remain in spite of the sense of danger. Now, the auditorium was filled with current and past students and staff, parents, and Mr. Bennett's wife and family. His body was displayed in a casket on the stage, surrounded by flowers.

Alastair joined the other SOs mourning down in the fifth row, wondering about the dark mist. Who had cast that choking, noxious cloud? Surely not Bennett. Definitely not Cain. Alastair's heart began to pound as he recalled the book sitting on Mr. Jackson's desk when he spilled the coffee. Ancient Incantations. Cain taught incantations. And that page. Alastair had thought at the time that the strange note had been folded inside the book randomly. Perhaps not. The writing had been fancy, elaborate calligraphy. But Alastair knew for certain he had read the Latin words "obfocco," and "nebula." "Choke" and "cloud."

No, he thought, shaking his head. It can't be him. He found it hard to focus on the ceremony.

Rose sat at the back of the theater, steeped in sadness. Good people seemed to die whenever they became a part of her life. She squeezed her eyes closed remembering the small, waxy form of Marie when she died last year. Rose had gone downstairs to breakfast only to find Marie dead at the kitchen table, her empty eyes staring blindly at the fridge. Then there were her parents and RJ. She was overwhelmed with the feeling she should never let anyone close again. They'll just die too.

Doctor Olivier stood and spoke at the podium, disrupting her self-pity.

"James Bennett was one of the finest teachers we've had at this school, but more, he was one of the finest men I have ever known. He was brave. James was the first to dash into danger if it meant helping someone."

Rose looked around at the nodding crowd. She wallowed in the guilt of his loss. Those men had come for her, but Bennett died. He was the only one she had told about her brother, about healing. He was the only one she had spoken to since Avery beat her into silence. She covered her face in her hands as hot tears began to fall again.

"He was full of integrity. James could not be swayed from what he believed was right, and it was his goal to impart that passionate obstinacy to his students," Olivier scanned his eyes across the room. "He wanted you to believe in something. He wanted you to stand for something. He wanted you to fight for what is right. Let that be his legacy. Believe. Stand. Defend your rights. Fight for others. Make a difference, as he did."

There were a few more speeches, performances, and tearful dedications, then the crowd disbursed. Rose remained seated as the room emptied, unable to bear the closeness of all those bodies. As Bennett's wife walked past, Rose was struck with new feelings of guilt. She grieved for her teacher's death as if he were so close to her. He was her favorite teacher, but he was this woman's husband. Rose became angry with herself for being so selfish. She stood and turned to leave as the crowd thinned.

But there was one other seat still occupied after the exodus. Tommy was hunched forward with his hair pushed back in his hands. Rose remembered Bennett saying he had arranged for Tommy to stay with him, which must have meant a lot to Tommy. He had no one. Just like her. She walked silently to the front.

"Hey."

He glanced up, then stood quickly, his surprise at hearing her speak evident in his expression. He wiped away the tears on his cheeks. "My god, your eye," he breathed the words out as if in despair. His fingers grazed the bump on her cheek where the man had hit her. "I should have protected you."

"You tried," she rasped. Rose stepped forward and put her arms around him, lopsided, like a crooked picture frame, one arm up over his shoulder, one low around his waist. He held her close, breathing into her hair. She felt his body shudder with a sob, but even as he cried, his embrace comforted her, the way home feels.

"It's my fault. It's my fault he's dead," she whispered, her own tears smearing on his shoulder. She didn't know where her words were coming from all of a sudden. But it felt so good to say it.

Tommy pulled away and held Rose's face close, resting his forehead against hers. His left eye was a pale rainbow of yellows, blues, and purples, swollen where the gun had exacerbated the earlier lump from Alastair.

"No," he insisted. "It's not your fault, Rose."

Rose moved her head back to his shoulder. She didn't want to look at him as she confessed. "They were here for me."

"The only people to blame are the grown men trying to kidnap a teenager."

She brushed back the hair from the left side of his face, keeping hers turned away. Rose ran her fingers over his lumpy eyebrow and felt her own flinch with pain as she healed him. She sucked in a breath and stifled the sound that wanted to escape.

She pulled away as Tommy pressed his lips against her cheek, his fingers sliding up and tangling in her hair. There was a hunger in his touch that both scared and excited her.

His hand skimmed across Rose's stomach and caught her hand as she stepped away. "I'll see you this summer, Cali," his voice was still husky with emotion, but his eyes were shining with his smile.

Rose cast her eyes down at her feet and allowed the smile tugging at her lips to form. "Yeah." She walked away, her right arm trailing behind because he didn't let go right away.

««•»»

Alastair and Maggie ate quietly in the nearly empty dining hall the next day. Alastair had been brooding over the questions he had about Jackson for a whole day now. He had come to the conclusion that he must be wrong. There was no way Jackson was responsible for Bennett's death.

"I just wish we had known in advance that someone was coming to attack that day," Alastair muttered, lost in thought.

"We did," Maggie said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I knew, and, and they knew, I mean," she stuttered. She widened her eyes at Alastair reading his look of disbelief. "I knew because I heard something."

Alastair stared at her mutely. Maggie had kept something from him. Where did the betrayal end?

She took a deep breath and put down her fork. She flattened her hands on the table. "Okay, the day of the show, I was up on the twelfth floor, as usual. Claudia and I walked around toward the girls locker room because she needed something. The boys locker room door was swinging shut, and I saw some guy poke someone in the chest. It was dark, so I couldn't see either one. The guy said something like, 'We better get results.' I don't know. It seemed suspicious to me, so I told the first teacher I saw."

Alastair's mouth was dry as he asked, "Who?"

"Jackson."

He didn't have much time to digest this information because they had to rush to their SO meeting right after lunch, but a heaviness settled over him.

In the SO room, the director settled into his usual chair, and the meeting began. The first hour was a lot like the other meetings of this type this year: "Who are the dark practitioners?" and "What are they after?" and "Be careful."

"Who shot Bennett? Dark practitioners? That doesn't make sense," Broer asked. "Did anyone ask Tommy Roarke or the quiet girl, Rose? Or your sister, Daniel? Ellie was down in the pit with Rose that night."

Daniel's eyes widened. But it was the dean who answered, "We asked Tommy. He said he remembered someone coming through the door, but the light was behind them, so he had no idea who they were. We haven't asked Rose yet."

Alastair couldn't stop himself. He blurted, "Jackson is the one who cast the dark mist, I'm almost sure."

The gathered group of teachers and student officers looked at him as if he had just escaped the asylum.

The director leaned forward, "That is quite an accusation, Alastair."

"Yes, sir," Alastair murmured. Then he continued with more force, "I wouldn't have made it if I didn't have something to back it up. For starters, where is he? Where was he at Bennett's funeral?"

Alastair went on to outline everything he had collected in his mind. He told them about what Maggie heard, who nodded in support of his claims. He described the book on Jackson's desk, which garnered gasps from around the table.

"Where was Dennis that day at the museum when the lights went down?" Cowdrey asked slowly.

"He said he was on his way to help but didn't have time to make it back to us, yet Cain got there pretty quick," Alastair cut in. "He cast that dark incantation at the museum, and he conjured the dark mist that led to Bennett's death."

Alastair tossed the coffee-stained note down on the table in front the director.

"The day of the play, I received a phone call warning that someone might get hurt," Dr. Olivier stretched his words as he read the note. "Where did you get this?"

"It was on Jackson's desk."

"Everyone remain where you are. Brian, go speak to Rose Regitano. Dean, come with me. We need to have a word with Mr. Jackson"

Alastair stood up alongside Cain, who gave the slightest nod. He wondered why Cain didn't offer up the ID badge, but decided to leave it for another day. They went to the library, where Rose was stacking books for the librarian. She had a faint purple bruise and lump on her left cheek, as if she had been in a fight.

"Rose, we need to speak with you," Cain said quietly, heading into one of the conference rooms. As they settled into the plush chairs, he continued, "I need to know what happened the night of the play."

Rose took out her tiny notebook and described what happened. She left out how the man knew her name. She left out how he quoted words said in her childhood. She left out the fact that Bennett was dead because those men had come for her although she was sure that someone would put it together soon. Each time, the men had come after her.

"What can you tell me about the men who grabbed you?"

Rose looked at Alastair, who gave a slight gesture with his head. She interpreted it to mean he didn't want her to tell Cain. Honestly, she didn't want to anyway. The more she said, the more they would all realize that she was the cancer plaguing the school. She was afraid they would cast her out.

Nothing, really. It was dark. It was hard to see. I bit one of them, and he punched me. As we walked in the underground passageway, we were overcome by black mist. A voice told us to run, so we did.

"Did you see anyone in or around the dark bloom?"

She shook her head.

"Did you recognize the voice?"

Again, she shook her head. Cain put his head in his hands, and Rose caught Alastair's eye.

"Cain, I'm going to take Rose to the infirmary to see if I can patch up her cheek."

The teacher mumbled and flipped his hand, still with his head down.

Alastair moved around the infirmary with ease. He had worked there many days as an SO, and Nurse Durand allowed him to assist with treating minor wounds. But his hands were shaking as he opened the cupboard and found some Swelling Salve. Before he walked over, he paused to try and calm down. He had just accused one of his favorite teachers of very serious crimes, and another was dead. And yet another, Cain, was giving him too many reasons to not trust him. What the hell was going on with the world?

"This smells absolutely disgusting. But, it really works," Alastair said as he approached Rose.

Rose nodded, bracing herself as she sat on one of the beds. It was really gross, but she felt her skin relaxing.

"That's better," he said as her cheek reduced to its normal shape and size. "There was more, right? You didn't tell him everything?"

Rose shrugged. But Alastair was standing so close, his right leg between hers. And his shirt smelled of safety. She wished he wanted her the way Tommy did. Her stomach lurched as she looked up into his vibrant eyes and nodded.

"Be careful who you share any of this with. Things are really uncertain right now. I'm not sure who can be trusted."

He turned away for a minute and scribbled something on a paper, which he handed to her when he returned.

"If you need anything this summer... I mean, I don't know if the phone number will do you any good. But," he tapped the address, "I live right near Greenwich Prep."

Rose raised her eyebrows in amusement.

"I saw you at spring break," he smiled, but his eyes were somewhere else. "So, anyway, if you need me, I'm there."

They walked out into the hall and hugged briefly. Rose didn't want to let go, but it was time to say goodbye.

««•»»

The last two weeks at Whitman had been rough for Alastair. He could tick off on his fingers all the crap that had piled up to make this school year easily the worst of his life. Strangers were terrorizing the school. Sarah and Mason had apparently consummated their relationship while she continued to shun Alastair. Plus, he was rocked by the realization that one of his best teachers was dead because one of his favorite teachers had betrayed them all.

When the stains from Bennett's wounds had been scrubbed away, and the leadership team had completed its end-of-year business, the director revealed that Jackson appeared to have fled the school. His classroom, office, and apartment were cleared of most of his personal belongings, and his label of traitor was etched into everyone's minds.

All of this hung heavy over Alastair as he made his way up the stairs to his apartment, remembering how tense it had been between he and his mother. Just one more thing to add to the garbage dump that was his life. Surely she wouldn't still be holding on to that anger, he hoped. But, she wasn't there. She was hardly ever there.

A few hours after he got home, the phone rang. "Yeah," he said gruffly, his mood still dark.

"What up, Alastair?" Keira. He hadn't seen her since the day after Bennett was killed, when he shamefully handed over the stolen Amplification potion. "Thanks for the stuff. You wanna come Amp with us tomorrow?"

He was supposed to go to the NYU bookstore with Maggie tomorrow, in preparation for their summer classes.

Alastair thought about reliable, responsible Maggie. Then he pictured wild, brazen Keira. There was something that pulled him to her, and he didn't really understand it. He had played the responsible schlub too long. And what did it get him?

Nothing. His should-be girlfriend was dating the biggest jerk in school, his mother was still pissed at him for speaking his mind, and he never had any fun. What harm could really come from one afternoon of goofing off, he thought. A lot. His serious side tried to counter. He shouldn't do it, even though the idea of an afternoon casting spells was extremely tempting.

"Sure," Alastair said before he could stop himself. He was certain now that he would go with Keira.

He was tired of trying to be perfect. And failing.

««•»»

It was quiet as all the girls packed the next day, the weight of Bennett's funeral and rumors of Jackson's betrayal still lingering over the school. As soon as Rose heard that, she knew it to be true. The same voice that had told her to run from the men had also cast the dark incantation at the museum in December. It was also the same voice that questioned her about Alastair's injuries. "You better start talking, Missy," Jackson's gruff voice echoed in her mind. The whole school was angry with him, but Rose had mixed feelings. She understood that people felt betrayed and blamed him for Bennett's death, but in her mind, it was the gray-eyed man who was responsible, and Jackson saved her. He stepped in and saved her when no one else could. She kind of didn't care that he was "dark," and she was sorry he was gone.

When she was done packing, she followed the masses down to the main hall, where parents greeted their kids to take them home for the summer. She watched as Tommy loaded two boxes and two duffle bags into a cab. Little by little the lobby emptied until she sat alone, perched on the edge of her box labeled "books."

"I called your guardian a little while ago," Rose jumped when Dean Whitley spoke. "He's on his way."

Rose barely had time to squeeze out a fake smile before he walked in. Her skin crawled the moment she saw Avery, his creepy gaze lingering on her body. She shuddered and folded her ams across her chest, as if that could protect her from his leering eyes. "Are you ready, my dear?" Even the sound of his voice made her skin crawl. Was she really going home with this guy? She wished again that she had gotten the chance to tell Bennett about how he hit her. Maybe then she'd be going somewhere else now.

Maybe back to California, she thought. The way he looked at her was disgusting. But Rose couldn't imagine leaving this place now. It was home. And home, she had discovered, wasn't necessarily where you hang your hat, or where your heart is. Home, she knew for the first time in her life, was where you were most yourself. Where you could be the truest version of you. Whitman was her home.

Though her instinct was to run, she went with Avery. There was information she wanted--about her family, about her lawyer, about her trust--and he likely had it. Rose was determined to find it. Avery made her skin crawl like worms on wet dirt, and the last thing she wanted was to spend a summer alone in his house. But Rose also knew she had people now. There was Alastair. He would step in and help her if she needed him, no doubt. Tommy. A chill ran down her neck thinking about Tommy--a pleasant chill. He'd already said he would see her at summer school. A tiny smile played at the corner of her lips. Yes, I'll be okay, she thought as the car turned east on 14th street. I always am. Somehow, I always am.