Naomi sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "You know I can't tell you that. But I promise they didn't have anything to do with Grace's death."

"Please..." I was ready to start begging, but Naomi just shook her head and stood to leave. She hesitated before getting back into the car, but she didn't say another word.

Looking down at the cards on my lap, I knew without a doubt my missing invitation would have filled in another corner of the crest. But who had the fourth piece?

Chapter 24.

That evening, my parents were working late as usual. I used the twenty dollars they left on the counter to order my favorite Pad Thai. I'm not sure if it was the peanut sauce, the solitude, or maybe the small charm of the crest I'd been staring at all day, but I was feeling sorry for myself.

I dragged my desk chair over to my closet and pulled down another box of Grace memories. As part of my healing process, Dr. P. had prescribed packing away all of the things that most reminded me of Grace. Theoretically, that was supposed to curb my obsession with her death. But in reality I just fixated on the boxes stacked in neat rows at the top of my closet. Thanks for that, Dr. P.

The second I lifted the lid, I smelled her. The scent was a mixture of Johnson's Baby Shampoo (she swore by it) and vanilla, essential Grace. Tank tops, sweaters, T-shirts, dresses, even a pair of jeans were folded in the tub, all of them belonging to Grace. Well, at least they used to.

We'd shared clothes constantly, Grace borrowing the outfits she wished her mom would let her buy, me borrowing the ones Grace cast aside, many still with tags. I pushed my hand to the bottom, gently lifting my favorite piece. It was her orange cashmere sweater. Grace had given it to me to wear to one of our eighth-grade dances.

"It'll look better on you," she had said. Grace was as impulsive with her gifts as she was with everything else in her life. "Make your eyes pop." I had doubted it at the time, but on the night of the dance, with the orange reflecting onto my face and my skin practically glowing, I had never felt prettier.

Pulling the sweater on over my T-shirt, I shut my eyes and imagined away all of the heartbreak and sadness of the past year. And as if on cue I heard the ding of the new-email sound from my laptop.

I knew it would be from her before I even opened my mailbox.

To: [email protected] Sent: Tues 9:03 PM From: Subject: Re: (no subject) The writing is on the wall.

Look into the heart of Brown.

Our time is almost up.

They're coming for you.

My stomach twisted as I read and reread that last line.

They're coming for you.

I still didn't know who "they" were; I wasn't even sure if it mattered anymore. What mattered was uncovering the truth.

My eyes drifted back to my box of memories. Guess Dr. P. was right. It was time to put the past behind me. I slid the sweater up and over my head, carefully folding the material and placing it back into the box. As much as I cherished all of my memories of Grace, they weren't going to bring her back. But figuring out what really happened that night just might.

Chapter 25.

The heat had finally broken, making it the perfect fall morning, but I was too tired to appreciate the weather. Instead of sleeping, I had spent the entire night rereading Grace's email and checking the lock on my window.

Between bites of toaster pastry, Seth chattered about the new neighbors being secret agents. He couldn't say for sure whether they were working for the CIA or for Russia, but apparently he'd seen both of them sneak out of the house late at night wearing earpieces.

I was 99 percent sure they were trapped in a loveless marriage and using Bluetooth headsets to make late-night booty calls, but instead of bursting Seth's secret-agent bubble, I stuck with "ahhing" and "hmming" my way through the conversation.

My mind was elsewhere, and I could not turn it off. One line from Grace's email played over and over again.

Look into the heart of Brown.

Did some rule force ghosts to speak in riddles? Why couldn't Grace just tell me what the h.e.l.l was actually going on?

I'd already Googled my b.u.t.t off trying to find out something, anything about the "heart of Brown." Clearly the reference was to the old boys school and most likely involved one of the three Brown buildings that still dotted the perimeter of the upper school's campus.

But I was fairly certain the buildings were used for storage, and I knew for a fact they were locked. Even if I did manage to figure out the right building and get inside, how was I supposed to know what I was looking for?

I was left with only one choice.

"Seth." Apparently he was enjoying the conversation he thought he was having with me, because he didn't hear me interrupting him. "Seth." This time I elbowed him. He rubbed his ribs and finally stopped talking and actually looked at me. "What do they use the old Brown buildings for?"

He needed a second to process my seemingly off-topic question. I could almost hear the gears in his brain working.

"Storage, mostly. At the end of every school year, teachers weed through the department closets and haul old sets of textbooks, outdated student files, and other random junk down there. Why?"

"I just have an art project about Brown's architecture and wanted to check them out."

"I can get you in. I'll walk you over. Just meet me at the office after ninth period."

I leaned my head against the cool window. I didn't have the energy to think about what a field trip to the old buildings would be like with Seth buzzing in my ear. As I stepped off the bus, I wondered why this couldn't be easier. Why couldn't I run across campus right now and throw open the door to the heart of Brown and find Grace's big, fat clue staring me in the face?

For one, I couldn't skip anymore cla.s.ses. I had suffered through two days of morning detention (one of the days alone with Mr. McAdams-apparently there wasn't a law against that if the door was left open, which thankfully it was), and I was already on Headmaster Sinclair's s.h.i.t list. Not to mention my parents who were on the brink of giving Dr. P. consent to use shock therapy to zap the Grace obsession right out of me. Worse (and about five thousand times scarier), I seemed to have someone on my trail. Someone comfortable using threats to get what he wanted.

So instead of booking it over to Brown, I mentally explored the edges of campus, searching for imaginary clues as I navigated the maze of hallways to my locker. After s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up my combination three times, I stopped and focused on the numbers. When a voice said, "Hey, Kate," I jumped, yanked my locker open, and slammed the metal door into my head-in that order.

Liam.

"Holy..." I threw my hand to my chest, covering my pounding heart.

"Oh, I...didn't mean to scare you. Just wanted to say hi."

I turned back to my locker without even acknowledging his presence. Did he really think he could humiliate me in front of Beefany and then show up at my locker to flirt a few days later?

"Oh, so you're allowed to talk to me now? Bethany won't get p.i.s.sed?"

He blushed, and I felt myself waver just a little bit. G.o.d, why was it so cute when boys blushed?

"I...well...it's a long story. I just...I don't know. It's not like that...anymore." He looked down, suddenly fascinated with one of his shoes.

"Could've fooled me." I grabbed my English Lit book and slammed the door to my locker shut.

"Yeah, right," Liam said, turning away from me. "But enough about Bethany. Um..." He met my eyes for a second but then glanced back down at his shoes. "Do you think maybe we could, like, hang out sometime? If concerts aren't your thing, we could grab a coffee again or something."

I stared at him. What exactly did Liam want with me? He seemed to like me, but clearly he had a history with Beefany that didn't seem to be over.

"Sorry. Not interested."

"Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. Give me a chance. I'll prove you wrong."

I stared at him and he smiled this amazing, heart-stopping smile, and I wanted to say yes. I wanted to spend more time with him, to learn more about why he was always covering every available inch of notebook paper with cartoons and doodles, to hear about how he got started designing band posters, why he liked music so much, whether or not he'd really blackmailed the headmaster to get into PB. I suddenly wanted to know all of that and more. I wanted to know who Liam Gilmour really was.

And then out of the corner of my eye I saw Bradley Farrow stop at his locker a few down from us. He nodded in my direction and gave me one of those secret smiles that made me want to punch his perfect white teeth in.

"Kate? Kate? Did I lose you?" Liam looked at me expectantly, his smile hopeful and a little apologetic.

"Yes, I'll go out with you," I said, unable to stop my eyes from wandering over to Bradley as I said it. "But don't screw this up." I managed to remain serious at first but then allowed the corners of my mouth to curl up just a little.

"Does today after school work?" he asked.

"It would, but I'm being forced to go to the Concilium meetings. I could probably just blow it off," I said. Hopefully no one would notice my absence. Not that I contributed much.

"Cool, I'll meet you by the parking lot doors after ninth period."

c.r.a.p. I had totally forgotten about my date with the decrepit buildings of Brown. Minor change of plans.

"Actually, do you mind if we meet at four? I have a bunch of questions for Ms. Haverton about trig." I wasn't sure how long it would take me to dig around Brown. I hoped an hour would give me enough time to find whatever it was I was searching for.

"No prob," Liam said. "See you at four."

It took all I had to hide the smile threatening to overtake my face.

I spent the rest of the day walking on air. I was almost excited enough to forget all about lost best friends and the writing on the wall.

Almost.

Chapter 26.

The second hand of the black-and-white clock hanging above the marker board was painful to watch. It made its way around each number, patiently ticking a slow circle. The clock wasn't in a rush, but I was.

As soon as the last bell rang, I grabbed my stuff and booked it toward Station 3, where I knew Seth would be waiting. I had an hour to find whatever it was I was looking for.

Faber est suae quisque fortunae. I repeated the Latin phrase hanging above the office's gla.s.s doors over and over in my head. "Every man [or woman, in my case-those Romans were a bunch of s.e.xist pigs] is the artisan of his own fortune." Seth, for better or worse, was a time suck. And time was not on my side. As I rounded a corner, I noticed a desperate-looking group of first-year boys and took matters into my own hands. Those s.e.xist Romans would have been scandalized.

"Hey!" I yelled out, but no one looked. "Boys!" All at once, seven heads turned and looked up at me. I felt like Snow White and I'm not even that tall; they were just that short.

"They're giving away free doughnuts in the office." I pushed past them and continued down the hall to where Seth was leaning against the gla.s.s walls of the office, arms crossed, keys in hand. It crossed my mind to run up, swipe the keys, and tear out of the building in the direction of Brown. I knew I could outrun Seth, but I also knew that would break his heart, and I wasn't in the mood.

"Hey, thanks for waiting." As I stood with Seth, the same group of boys stormed into the office. A worried look crossed my face. "I wonder what's going on."

Confused, Seth stretched his neck out and stood on his tiptoes to peer through the gla.s.s. "I've gotta get back in there. Mrs. Newbury needs backup. We'll have to go to Brown another time." Seth made a move to leave, but I placed my hand on his arm.

"I have a deadline." I tried to mimic Seth's signature kicked-puppy-dog look. "I'll take Naomi," I lied. I knew he wouldn't want me to go alone. "And I'll bring the keys right back, promise." More puppy-dog eyes. If I'd had a tail, I would have wagged it.

Seth thought about my proposition for as long as he could. Mrs. Newbury really was struggling in there, all raised hands and darting eyes. She looked totally confused and even a little scared. Doughnuts were not a joking matter.

"Okay, but you can't tell anyone, and you have to come right back. I mean right back. If someone finds out I loaned out my keys, I'm dead. A dead man, Kate!" Seth's eyes bugged out of his head.

After he showed me which ones to try, I bolted out of the building. I guess I didn't need to be concerned about not getting enough exercise since breaking from tennis. With all the running I was doing, I should have joined cross-country.

I flew past a bunch of first-years hanging out in the gardens. As usual, it was quite the hot spot for the squealing girls of Pemberly Brown. If the legend about kissing your boyfriend under Farrow's Arches wasn't enough to lure them inside the garden, there were always the carved wedding stones that made up the garden pathway. Nearly everyone knew a couple who had met at Pemberly Brown and ended up married with a gorgeous stone on the wedding walk to commemorate the event.

It was a source of endless fascination to see how incestuous the school really was. I mean, it couldn't be normal to have hundreds of couples graduate from the same prep school and eventually marry, right? And even worse, they ended up breeding and sending their own kids to PB. I swear they put something in the water.

I jogged past them-laughing, talking, doing normal teenage girl things-and hated them just a little. They were a reminder of how abnormal my life had become.

Fortunately the girls barely spared me a second glance, and I moved deftly along the twisting path through the gardens to the campus beyond.

I spotted the three remaining buildings that made up Brown's old campus. While they were beautiful from the outside, they hadn't been used for anything aside from storage in years. According to the administration, the buildings would be too costly to renovate after years of neglect, plus they were too far from the main campus to be of any use.

The wind picked up. I noticed gray clouds looming overhead and caught a whiff of that just-before-it-rains smell. Another storm was on its way. I didn't have much time if I was going to make it back to the office to drop off the keys and then out to Liam's car without getting completely soaked.

I ran to the nearest building and tried one of the keys. I slipped it in, but the key wouldn't even turn. I tried the remaining two with no better luck. Had Seth screwed up the keys? I stood on my tiptoes and tried to look through the small gla.s.s window situated near the top of the door. I couldn't see much.

I hadn't set out to add breaking and entering to my growing list of misdemeanors, so I jogged over to the next building, hoping one of the keys would work. Please, Grace, help me find whatever it is I'm supposed to be looking for. I sent my silent plea up to the stormy sky as the clouds rolled ominously-and hoped for the best.

When I approached the door to the next building, I saw that something had been traced into the layer of dirt on the window of the door. A heart. The heart of Brown.

My breath caught in my throat. This was it. I slipped in one of the keys and wiggled it back and forth. It moved a quarter of an inch but no more. I slipped the next key in and did the same. As soon as I began twisting, I felt the lock give way beneath my fingertips and knew I was in. Relief flooded through me as I pulled the heavy door open and took a step inside.

Dust danced in the dim light of the doorway, catching in my throat and nose. When the door slammed behind me, I wasn't sure what was worse, the claustrophobia or the dust-induced coughing fit.

But then I thought of Grace, of her funeral, the coffin, her buried under the ground. In that moment, more than anything else, I wanted to turn around and run away. I wanted to climb into the warmth of Liam's car and forget all about this dusty, tomblike building.

Instead I forced myself to imagine the real Grace, my best friend, who deserved so much more than secrets and lies. I pictured her crooked smile and lifted the hem of my blazer to cover my mouth. I was going in.

Led only by the meager light streaming through the window by the door, I navigated through the hallway. To my left I spotted a plaque mounted to the wall, similar to the stations at the Academy. I brushed off a thick layer of the ubiquitous beige dust and read: Brown School for Boys, Cor Unum. "One heart." I was in the right place.