“No. I don’t really know any boys. I’m saving that kind of thing for college.” She looked up at me. “Are you going with Jason?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Do you have a dress yet?”

“Not yet.” Spending my evenings trying to save the world—or at least some of the teenagers who fell victim to Reapers—didn’t leave a lot of time to check out the fashion scene. “Scout and I were going to look this week. What about you?”

She shrugged. “I have some ideas.” She stretched out her legs, revealing a worn pair of Converses. “But I’ll probably go with these. They’re so comfortable. And if we’re going to be dancing all night . . . or running from bad guys . . .”

I looked up at her. “What makes you think we’ll be running from bad guys?”

She shrugged. “I’ve seen television. Bad guys always attack the night of the big dance.”

I made a doubtful sound and grabbed another raven, then sprinkled glitter onto its wings. “Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen this time. There will be all sorts of Adepts there, and there’s not a Reaper in town who’d attack a party full of high-society teenagers. They don’t want that much attention.”

At least, that was what I hoped . . .

* * *

It was late when Lesley and I headed back toward the dorms. The rest of the girls had left an hour before we had, but I’d been having too much fun with glitter and glue. We left the decorations in the gym, but I carried back the messenger bag that I took pretty much everywhere. Lesley, bucking the trend again, carried a small round suitcase covered in stickers. It was pea green and looked like something from the 1970s that she’d nabbed from a thrift store. Strange, but a pretty good find, actually.

The walk from the gym to the dorms wasn’t far. The campus was made up of a handful of buildings, and the entire thing was surrounded by a fence with a key-carded gate. Foley’d only just had the gate installed. Probably a good idea even without the Reapers. There were weirdos in every city, and most of the St. Sophia’s girls didn’t have firespell to protect them.

The air outside was cool. Winter was coming, something I definitely wasn’t thrilled about. Winters in upstate New York were nothing to laugh at, but I’d heard the wind off Lake Michigan was pretty miserable. I planned on using the emergency credit card my parents had given me to invest in the thickest, downiest coat I could find. I might look like a lumberjack, but at least I’d be warm.

Lesley and I walked quietly past the classroom building. There was a bench outside, where a girl in St. Sophia’s plaid and a dark-haired boy in street clothes—jeans and a long-sleeved jacket—sat. His arm was around her shoulders, and he was whispering in her ear. She stared blankly ahead while he twirled a lock of her hair. I realized it was Lisbeth, the brat pack’s new recruit.

It wasn’t exactly unusual for St. Sophia’s girls to sneak out of the building to meet with a boy. There was an old root cellar door I’d used to sneak out before—although for world-saving-type reasons.

But this seemed different. There was sadness in her eyes, and while he seemed totally into her, she seemed really, really unhappy about it. She gave off a vibe of desperation. That was quite a change from her brat pack bonding of a little while ago . . . but maybe not from the moodiness they’d accused her of.

When we passed them, I pulled Lesley around the corner of the building, my heart beginning to pound.

“That’s Lisbeth,” I whispered. “Who’s the boy?”

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“Did she seem okay to you?”

“She looked sad. Like she didn’t think she’d ever be happy again.”

That rung a bell. It sounded exactly like the effect of a Reaper stealing someone’s soul. In my two months at St. Sophia’s and as an Adept, I hadn’t actually seen any Reaping. I’d seen the effects—girls at school whose motivation was gone, who seemed depressed, who were tired and sleepy and unhappy all the time. That was the effect of having your soul—your will to live—ripped away by a Reaper intent on keeping his magic.

I glanced around the corner, where the couple still sat, almost motionless except for his fingers raking at her hair. He leaned in like he meant to kiss her . . . but their lips didn’t touch. Instead, he whispered something to her, and as he did, white wisps of smoke began to slip from her mouth and nose.

No, not wisps . . . her soul. It was her energy, her essence, her life’s blood, that was seeping away, and this Reaper was using her for it. That explained her depression. Soon, she’d be little more than a shell of a girl with no hope, no energy, and no interest in anything.

Adults thought hormones made teenagers tired and moody. As if.

My heart pounded with fear, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. This guy—this teenager—was a slow killer, a drainer of energy and taker of things that didn’t belong to him.

He wasn’t even supposed to be doing this. He was too young. I’d been told only adults did the Reaping because they were the only ones who needed the magic. This guy still had all of his powers, so he shouldn’t have needed the extra energy.

But even if it didn’t match what I’d been told, I knew what I was seeing. I had to stop this, had to interrupt it. I couldn’t let him drain this girl right in front of me, right in the middle of Adept turf. My hands shook with fear, but I reminded myself that the scariest times were the only times bravery mattered. I firmed up my courage, stepped around the corner, and cleared my throat.