“Gag, much?” Spencer asks as a stray shaft of moonlight catches on his silver hair. But he doesn't sound that mad about it, not anymore. He really reined in the jealousy after our talk, and the effort isn't lost on me. “Gareth McConnell,” he continues, tossing his stick aside and then lighting up a cigarette before handing one over to Ranger. “Pretty sure he's related to Mark's girlfriend, What's-Her-Name.”

“Selena?” I ask, raising a brow as we come out the other side of the trees and onto the road where the sleek, black length of the limo is waiting.

“Gareth used to sell weed with Eugene and Spencer,” the twins supply, each one pointing across their chest at Spencer. “But he can't count with worth shit, and we're pretty sure he skims cash off the top.”

“Either way, he's a terrible choice for treasurer.” Spencer kicks a rock and then tucks his hands into the pockets of his blue jeans, glancing back at us with that fierce turquoise stare of his. “Why am I the only one freaking out about this? Were you guys at the same debate I was today?”

“I could really use the Student Council job for my college applications,” I admit. I actually took the twins' advice and applied to Bornstead University in Colorado. There's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm getting in, but at least I can say I tried. My second choice was UC Santa Cruz because I figured at least I'd be close to the twins' house. I shake my head and push away thoughts of college. It’s still fall for crap’s sake; I have months to worry about what life will be like when Adamson is over.

“We killed it with our speeches today,” Micah mumbles, ruffling up his red-orange hair in a move that's adorably similar to his best friend.

“And yet nobody was listening to the actual words coming out of our mouths.” Tobias picks an orange leaf off a low-hanging tree limb, tucking it behind my ear as Ranger opens the door and lets me slide into the backseat of the limo first. He's right though. Nobody was listening to the boys talk because they were all too busy checking out the new girls, laughing at Mark's stupid ass jokes, and gossiping about the official announcement my father made just before the debates started.

Integrated student body. Mixed gender population.

He looked pointedly in my direction at least three times during the speech, too.

“It's our fault,” Spencer says, climbing over a grumbling Ranger first before he scales my lap and flops into the seat on my left side. “We took the only girl in school for our own, so she doesn't have as much sway over the student body as she should.”

I snort, but that's pretty much the gist of it. During my first week in female form, the boys were a tad … vicious. How stupid is it that I like their ridiculous caveman behavior?

“And thus, we are all animals,” I say aloud, and everyone turns to stare at me as I cough and choke into my hand and pretend I've got some level of social decorum. Church smiles, one of his big bright smiles that I realize was never actually fake, and then taps his knuckles against the glass of the window.

“Does it strike anyone as odd that Jason Lambert was murdered, and then here Aster Hayes is, campaigning against me?”

“Why not just kill you then?” Ranger asks, tapping his combat boot against the floor, blue-black hair razored and falling in glorious shimmering strands around his face. He notices me looking and then smirks in my direction, sapphire eyes bright. My body reacts instantly, and I have to suck in a sharp breath to keep my cool. “If this cult stuff is all true, and Jenica was killed because of it, then why not just off you? Or me?”

Spencer takes my hand, curling his fingers through mine, and sending goose bumps up along my skin. When I glance his way, at his turquoise eyes and silver hair, I feel my body react in the same way it did when I looked at Ranger. Yep. Yep. In love with every boy. My cheeks and ears heat up, and Spence raises a questioning brow.

“Maybe they tried, you know, when we were in the tunnels?” I suggest, looking away from him and back toward Church and the twins. The McCarthy boys are paying attention, but they're also absently entertaining a private thumb war together as well. Looks like Micah might win. “They lured us down there and locked us in, didn't they?”

“Mm,” Church muses, but doesn't reply. Either he doesn't think I'm following the right train of thought, or else he doesn't know.

And that scares me.

Because if Church can't figure it out, then nobody can.

About an hour later, we're emerging from the darkness of the woods, the faint twinkle of the town's lights in the distance. Church rolls the window down between us and the driver and requests that he stop where we're at, leaving us with a good ten-minute walk to hit the first stop sign that leads into town.

“We're going full sleuth, huh?” Tobias asks, stretching his arms above his head and surveying the quiet town of Nutmeg with eyes that look like emeralds under the glow of the moon. “Like, true gumshoeing? I feel like we need hats, and little pipes, and then every time I make a brilliant deduction, I'll consult with dear Watson over here—”

“Bro, if either of us is Sherlock Holmes, it's me. And you're Watson,” Micah announces, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his Adamson Academy hoodie. Tobias is wearing the same hoodie, just in navy blue instead of champagne.

“Bullshit. You might win at drag racing, but my grades are better than yours by far. Plus, I'm older by eight minutes. That makes me the detective, and you the sidekick.”

“Remind me how many fights you've won versus how many I've won. I'm superior in the ring, and I'm better at sex. Even Charlotte thinks that. I'm Sherlock.”

I roll my eyes, because they both know I think they're equally good at, um, well, you know. Sex, Charlotte, say sex. If you're mature enough to do it, you're mature enough to say it.

“Neither of you is Sherlock,” Church says, pausing on the corner of Main and Adamson (yep, the road that goes up the hill to the school is that cleverly named), and looking down the long length of empty sidewalk at the pools of light cast by the streetlamps, ringed in ominous shadows. “I am Sherlock. Ranger is Watson. You'd both be lucky to be our faithful bloodhounds. Now shush.”

Church pulls out a set of keys from his pocket and leads us across the street, and down a narrow alley behind the row of businesses. I recognize the bookstore right away, from the cute little bistro sets sitting on the outdoor patio. The weather's a bit too cold to sit outside right now, so they're chained together in stacks and pushed under the overhang. The lights, however, are still on.

I don't see anyone, but my heart is racing like crazy, and my palms are soaked in sweat. I'm a terrible sleuth, that much I can promise.

“Come on,” Church says, unlocking the back door to the business just next door. On the other side, there's a parking lot and the side entrance to the Jaw Flapper, the same one the twins dragged me through last year. He ushers us all in and locks the door behind us, his blond hair bright, even in the dark.

“What's the plan?” Spencer asks, picking up a glass clown and shuddering as he sets it aside. “No wonder I've never been in this store before,” he adds under his breath.