“Know what?!” Ranger snaps, shoving Mr. Murphy back and then raking his fingers through his hair. He moves away from all of us and puts his forehead up against the door. I decide to leave him alone for the time being, turning back to the skittish English teacher as Church steps forward and puts his palms flat on the desk. He looks so … aristocratic. And knowing that he's like, some badass martial arts expert? Be still my beating heart.

“You wrote the notes to Chuck?” he clarifies, and Mr. Murphy nods. “You let her out of the trunk the night I locked her in?”

“You let me out?” I ask, looking at Mr. Murphy with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“And you chased her with the knife,” Church clarifies, and Mr. Murphy groans, putting his face into his hands. “Presumably, to frighten her?”

“I wasn't going to hurt Chuck,” he moans. “I'm sorry I wrote those awful things. I didn't know how else to get her to leave the school.” He lifts his face up, expression drawn and tired.

“How did you get the keys to my dad's car?” I question, blinking through the confusion.

“The break room,” Mr. Murphy admits sheepishly, and my brows go up. Of course. Just like I'd planned on stealing his keys. Why the hell didn't I think of that until now?

“Dear JR,” Church begins, reciting the suicide note—or rather the not suicide note—from memory. “I think they know about us. There's not much left I can do. If you want to meet me, you know where to find me. I'll be waiting with the angels. Love, J. Explain it, please.”

“The cult found out that Jenica knew about them, that she’d been watching them,” Mr. Murphy says, shame coloring his words. “We weren't sure if they were aware of me, too. She was going to leave campus, but she needed Jack to give her a ride; she didn't want to risk calling a car. She thought … well, it doesn't matter what she thought.”

“Jack?” Spencer says, his voice high and tight. I glance back in time to see a look of surprise cross his handsome features. The twins exchange a look behind him and step forward, like honor guards, taking up on either side of him. “Jack killed Jenica?”

“No, but I think he knows who did,” Mr. Murphy says, standing up suddenly and reaching for the cord on his blinds. When he opens them, I can see that we're done here. He's told us all he's going to. He's a nice man, a kind man, but he's also a coward. That much is obvious. “Try not to be too hard on him. If he spoke up, he'd be dead, too. Now, go back to the dorms and stay together. It's almost over …” His voice trails off, and I exchange a look with Church.

What the crap is that supposed to be mean?

And is it a good thing, or a bad one?

Ranger slams a set of ceramic mixing bowls down on the counter, cracking one in half. He's positively fuming, anger-baking in a whirl of sugar, butter, and flour. His words from the other night—slap your ass and leave a flour handprint—flitter around my mind for a moment.

“Are you okay, man?” Tobias asks, trying to lightly touch his friend's shoulder. Ranger ignores him and continues to whip out all the ingredients necessary for a lemon meringue pie.

“A cult?” Ranger mumbles, but more like he's talking to himself than to any of us. “My sister was killed by a cult?”

Church pulls the pages from the manila envelope and studies them as the rest of us peer around and try to get a glimpse for ourselves.

There's that symbol again, the one from the stone, next to Jenica's unique handwriting. No wonder Church claimed that it could only have been her who wrote the note; her handwriting is like a signature.

This is the symbol I saw, on the stone above Libby’s bed. She snatched it back when I asked about it, and the bullying got worse. Way worse. I didn't think anything of it until I found that key. Until I saw them in the woods, wearing their robes and masks.

Adamson and Everly, two different schools, one history.

I don't like the way this looks—not for me, or anyone else who stumbles into this mess.

The danger here is very, very real.

Church turns the page without waiting to see if the rest of us are caught up reading along with him.

“Where the fuck are my lemons?!” Ranger roars, overturning a bowl of fruit. An apple rolls across the counter and bounces across the floor. I struggle for a moment to decide if I should go to him or if he needs a moment to himself, deciding on the latter when he smacks the wooden bowl off the counter with his forearm.

Besides, I feel like we all need to be caught up to understand what he’s truly raging about here.

The next page shows a dark drawing done in charcoal that looks an awful lot like a door leading into a tunnel, like say, the one we stumbled down last year during spring break.

Lionel is the only thing that gives me joy anymore, the only person who takes the hurt away. When he’s around, I don’t need Jack’s pills or Rick’s overconfidence; I just need him. He holds my hand the way a boy should always hold a girl’s hand—like he’d rather die than let her go, but also like he’d help lift her into the sky and say goodbye if she wanted him to.

I should never have taken him down those steps or into the woods.

This is my fault.

And I’m going to make certain that I’m the only one who pays for my mistake.

“This is getting dark, and quick,” Spencer says as I tear my eyes away from the journal pages to look at his face. He’s a bit sweaty right now, like he’s lost in the moment, like he’s just realizing that what happened to Jenica could so very easily happen to us.

I lick my lips as Church flips the pages again, taking Tobias’ hand when he reaches down to grab mine. We exchange a look before turning back and finding ourselves face to face with a page full of that W-shaped rune, drawn in red, over and over and over again.

They know that we know.

The Fellowship of the Divine.

They heard us creeping around, and they know.

I thought if I went home for break, that I’d be safe there. But the way my father looks at me, I don’t think that’s true. Not anymore.

“Ranger,” Church says, lifting his head up from the page to watch as his friend puts every ounce of anger and frustration he’s feeling into a lemon meringue pie. He’s whisking sugar, flour, cornstarch, and salt in a saucepan like it owes him money. Next, he’ll have to stir in the lemon juice and zest, milk, and butter, then carefully add the hot mixture to some egg yolks without cooking them. It’s hard as hell: trust me, I’ve messed up too many lemon meringues to count. Oh, and also been pegged in the face with a few of my zesty failures. “Are you alright?”

“No.” Ranger turns around, his jaw ticking with anger, sapphire eyes an ebon black with rage. “No, I’m not alright.” His attention flicks to me, and I swallow. He thought he’d scared me before? Nuh-uh. Maybe a little bit now though. Yeah, and you’re like, excited by it. Thirsty bitch. “I need to get naked.”

He’s quivering now, and yet all I can think is: how much can you love a guy who gets naked, dons frilly aprons, and bakes his anger out? The answer being: with everything you have. I bite my lip.

“Is it okay if I get naked?” he asks, and it’s Church who answers, gesturing elegantly in his friend’s direction.