“Oh, that.” A vision of the plinth flashed as clear as a photograph in my brain, the B and E on its surface like pieces of art, lovely to behold even to my waking mind. I pushed the vision away. “It’s nothing.”

Deverell shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s not true. I think you might have the beginnings of a block, as we call it in psionics.”

“A block?”

He nodded. “It’s when an abstract object such as an idea or an image or even a thought gets lodged inside your mind.”

“Ouch. Sounds painful.”

He shook his head. “Not really, but the longer the block is allowed to continue the deeper it can get lodged.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“Only to your grades.” He smiled, heading off my horrified look. “It hampers your mind-magic.”

“Oh,” I said, catching his drift.

“Most of the time the block goes away on its own. But I do know a few techniques we can try to help it move along more quickly if you want.”

I bit my lip, uncertain. On the one hand, I would love to stop obsessing about the stupid thing, but on the other, I didn’t like the idea of anyone else besides me seeing the plinth and reading that word.

Still, I didn’t want to reject him outright. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll think about it.”

“Sure. I understand.”

“But there is something else you could help me with,” I said, suddenly remembering my afternoon mission.

“Yes?”

I bit my lip, trying to think of the best way to phrase it. “Do you know anything about how to extract memories?”

“A little,” Deverell said, his voice cautious now.

“Any chance you could show me how to do it?”

“Why?”

Knowing I couldn’t mention Lance, I spun the first yarn that came to mind. “I have this friend, you see. She’s a fairy, and well, she has a little bit of a sugar problem, you know?”

Deverell compressed his lips as if he were resisting a smile. “I do.”

Feeling encouraged, I flipped my hair back behind my shoulders. “Well, she went on this bad binge last weekend and thinks she did something really stupid, but she can’t remember what. Or with who, if you catch my drift.”

He nodded, still looking on the verge of smiling.

“And now she’s asked me to try to help her remember.” I stopped speaking and drew a nervous breath.

Deverell scratched his chin, and I could tell by the look on his face the answer would be no. “I’m very sorry, Dusty, but I can’t simply show you how to do something as complicated as that. It’s far too advanced and delicate a technique. Not to mention the moral complications involved in possessing such a skill.”

“Right.” I sighed, seeing his point.

Deverell nodded, checking his watch. “Now I suppose you don’t really need me to show you how to get to the infirmary?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Good. But make sure you’re feeling better in time for my class.”

He bestowed one last smile on me and then turned and walked off.

Once more alone in the hallway, I exhaled, fighting back a wave of nerves. Then with a huge effort of will, I turned and faced the door into the locker room. I took a deep breath, bracing for the stink, and stepped inside.

The smell was even worse than I feared, the BO stench having seeped into the walls themselves. Covering my nose and mouth, I moved quietly down the rows of lockers, searching for the right number. Unlike ordinary high schools, all the lockers at Arkwell were assigned to make sure that each locker suited the needs of whatever kind it belonged to.

Paul’s locker was in the farthest corner and adjacent to the shower area entrance. It looked more or less like my gym locker, and when I opened it with the moonwort key, I was glad to find it wasn’t stinky. Just the opposite, I discovered, as I impulsively leaned toward the shirt hanging from a hook and breathed in. The familiar, pleasant smell filled my nose, the combination of laundry detergent, shampoo, and deodorant that formed Paul’s particular scent. The smell brought back so many memories that I stood there for a second, overwhelmed by them all.

Then I remembered where I was, and I reached into the locker and started rummaging through his backpack. I found the book at once. It was the largest thing in there, resting in between a three-ringed folder and a government textbook. I pulled it out, surprised by how dense it was.

A photograph that must’ve been stuck to the book fluttered to the ground and landed at my feet. I bent and picked it up, turning it over in my hands.

My own face stared back at me. I swallowed as a nameless emotion tightened in my chest. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but something akin to it. I recognized the photo, of course. It was from my freshman-year soccer season. Paul had asked me for a picture when we first started dating, and this was the only one I’d had at the time.

Why had he kept it? And what was he doing carrying it around in his backpack?

The simplest answer was that Lady Elaine had been right—he did have true feelings for me. But things were never simple with Paul. I didn’t know much about black magic, but I knew that a person’s likeness could be used against them in certain spells and curses. The thought sent a shiver slipping over my skin.

Swallowing back the ball of nerves in my throat, I slid the photo into my pocket and returned my attention to the book in my hands. The title on the cover and spine was faded beyond discernment. The leather cover was flexible like a Bible, instead of firm, making it hard to hold.