The bell rang and everyone streamed out of the classroom, comparing papers and chatting. Quickly I shoved my exam inside my binder and shuffled up to Mr. Powell’s desk. I could hardly even look at him.

“Morgan,” he said, folding his arms on his desk, “we’ve spoken about this before. Your grade in this class has dropped significantly since first semester, and I’d hoped to see more improvement.” Mr. Powell looked up at me. He was a good teacher—the kind who really seemed to care about his students—and he looked concerned.

“I know I messed up,” I replied. “I’ve just been a little. . overwhelmed lately.”

“This was the second of four major exams for this marking period,” Mr. Powell said. “The exams are what determine your final grade.”

I did a quick mental calculation. Even if I got a hundred on each of the other two exams, my final average would be a seventy-eight. Seventy-eight. That was pretty far from my usual honor roll standards.

“You do realize, Morgan, that junior-year grades are what most colleges look at when they are determining admissions, ” Mr. Powell went on. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let your parents know about this.”

Oh, no. “Is there anything I can do?” I asked. “Some extra credit or something?”

Mr. Powell thought for a moment. “I don’t like to give one person a shot at extra credit without giving the whole class the same chance,” he said slowly.

“I’m sure other people would like to bring up their grades,” I suggested.

Mr. Powell sighed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll announce it to the class tomorrow. Write a five- to eight-page paper on any historical subject for a maximum of twenty extra points on the next exam.”

I stifled a groan. Twenty points. That didn’t sound like much. But when I did the average in my head along with two other perfect exams, I realized I could end up with an eighty-three average for the marking period—a B. It would be tough, but I could do it. “Thanks, Mr. Powell,” I said quickly, and turned toward the door.

“Morgan,” he called after me.

“Yes?” I paused in the doorway.

He looked at me over the tops of his bifocals. “Make it good,” he said.

“Did you talk to Robbie?” I asked Bree as we walked out of English. It was our last class. I hadn’t seen her or Robbie all day, except from a distance—neither one of them was at the usual spot in the morning or at lunch, either.

Bree hugged her notebooks to her chest. “No,” she admitted. She was wearing a long black leather skirt and a woolly black sweater with a plunging neckline, and it made her look mysterious and a little sad.

I wasn’t all that surprised. Bree hated “relationship” talks. “Why not?”

“To be honest, Robbie was pretty freaked out by the circle on Saturday,” Bree said. “Yesterday didn’t really seem like the best time for a chat, you know?”

“Bree, you need to talk to him,” I said.

“I know, I know.” Bree hesitated, her dark eyes clouding over. “Actually,” she said finally, “I think maybe you should talk to Robbie. That scene at the circle scared the crap out of him. God, Morgan, it scared the crap out of everyone. Me too.”

“But that wasn’t me,” I insisted. “It scared me, too.”

We stood there in the hall for a moment, just staring at each other as students streamed past us. I had no idea what to say. Finally Bree reached out and grabbed my hand. “Look, Morgan. If you say it wasn’t you, then I believe it. I’ll talk to Robbie for you. But you should know that he’s worried about you, and so am I.” To my dismay, her eyes filled with tears. Bree wasn’t a big weeper. “We’re friends, right?”

I swallowed hard. “Right.”

“Okay.” Bree gave me a watery smile. “I’ll talk to him. About both things.”

She dropped my hand and turned toward her locker. I trudged to mine, silently cursing these strange things that kept happening. I was as afraid of them as everyone else. Yet everyone thought I was behind them.

Standing in front of my locker, I felt a faint, icy breeze blow past me. The small hairs at the back of my neck rose. Had anyone else felt it? To my right, I saw Cindy Halpern struggling with her locker combination. Maybe it was just my imagination.

I spun the lock and yanked on my locker door. It swung open with a bang. I jumped back to avoid the avalanche of books and papers that cascaded out.

“God, Morgan,” Cindy said, rolling her eyes at the mess, “get a Trapper Keeper.”

I ignored her. My instincts were clamoring. It was true that my locker was a royal disaster, but the way my stuff had shot out of it. . I peered down the hall to see if other strange things were happening, but all I saw was students shoving books into backpacks and pulling on jackets. I cast my senses, but I didn’t sense any sort of sinister presence. Frowning, I eyed the mess on the floor. Maybe it really was just the result of a locker that hadn’t been cleaned out in a while. I bent and started gathering papers.

“Need some help?” asked a voice behind me.

I glanced up as Alisa crouched and began stacking my books. “This looks like the bottom of my dad’s closet,” she said. Her voice was heavy, and she seemed tired.

I stopped gathering my papers and looked at her. “Are you okay?” I asked.

Alisa frowned. “Actually, no,” she said. “I–I wanted to tell you. . I’m leaving the coven.”

I was so surprised, I sat down on the floor. “You are?” I asked. The image of Bree with tears in her eyes, telling me that Robbie was worried about me, clicked into my brain. “Why?” I asked carefully.

Alisa ran her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her oval face. “Things are just going too far for me.” She looked down at the floor, then up at me. “The magick I’ve seen lately. . it scares me. These are powerful forces, Morgan.” She leaned toward me until I could see myself reflected in her eyes. “They’re dangerous.”

I got the feeling that Alisa wanted me to promise that nothing frightening would happen at a circle again. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have any idea what had caused the strange magick on Saturday—and I certainly didn’t have any control over it. “I’m sorry, Alisa,” I said finally. “I guess you have to do what’s right for you.”

Alisa looked at me a moment and then nodded. “Okay. But I just wanted to tell you. . I have a bad feeling. The magick you’ve been practicing is bad for everyone. I’m talking about the whole coven,” she said in a low voice. “I think you should stop what you’re doing. Be careful, Morgan.”

“Yeah, Morgan, be careful,” said a voice above us. It was Mary K., her book bag slung over one shoulder. I tried to read the expression on my sister’s face. Mary K. and I hadn’t had a real conversation since the night of Hunter’s dinner, but I’d felt that she was softening toward me a bit—and now she was obviously here so I would give her a ride home. I hoped she hadn’t overheard anything just now that would freak her out again.

“What does Morgan have to be careful about?” Mary K. asked Alisa.

I waited nervously. Alisa glanced at me, then picked up a pile of my books. “She has to be careful not to get buried in this pile of crap,” Alisa said as she slid my books into place on the shelf. “I was just recommending that Morgan wear bright-colored clothing so we can find her if she gets hidden in the next locker paper slide.”

I gathered the rest of my papers and scrambled to my feet. “Just a second, Mary K.,” I said. “Let me find what I need. I’ll be ready to roll in a minute.”

“Actually,” Mary K. said, “I’m here for Alisa. We’re going over to her house to study.” She turned to Alisa. “Ready?”

“Sure,” Alisa replied. “See you around, Morgan,” she said over her shoulder as she turned to walk down the hall.

“See you later,” Mary K. added, giving me a small wave. “I called Mom already—I won’t be home for dinner.” She trotted after Alisa.