“Get off of you?” Ranger asks, his voice this cloud of darkness that makes me shiver. “You just attacked our girlfriend, and you want me to get the hell off of you?”

“It was a practical joke,” Mark sneers, as if he’s got the moral high ground here. I remember that day we went into his room to check the ceiling; he told me, quite easily I might add, that Eugene was in Cancun. But if he’s involved in the cult then surely, he knew his best friend was dead. Yet the lie came that easily to him, like it meant nothing. “You have no right to keep me here. I’ll start screaming, man.”

“Why are you in London, chasing after Charlotte, Mr. Grandam?” Church asks, circling around the pair with murder in his eyes. He’s smart enough not to mention the cult. Because if we do, then they’ll know that we’re aware of their existence. Part of me feels relieved, like maybe I’m seeing the end of this nightmare. What are you planning on doing with Mark though? Killing him? Tying him up and throwing him into a basement until we can get the rest of this mystery sorted out?

I realize than that we haven’t accomplished anything here—except, you know, for stopping my kidnapping.

“I said get off of me!” Mark screams, just as a pair of schoolgirls comes around the corner, pausing as they see the scene in front of them. To be fair, Mark is bleeding from the head, and Ranger is lording over him like he might very well strangle him to death.

Seeing no choice in the matter, Ranger stands up with a scowl, gritting his teeth hard as he curls his hands into fists.

“We knew you were guilty,” the twins say together, standing on either side of me and Spencer, ready to move in if needed. They exchange a look and then nod, turning back to point at Mark. “You killed Eugene.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Mark asks, stumbling over to the sidewalk and swiping blood from his lip. He pulls out his phone and dials a number, putting it to his ear as it rings and watching us warily.

We’ve literally caught him red-handed and there’s nothing we can do about it right now.

It’s serious freaking torture.

“Yeah, come get me. I’m still at the cemetery.” He hangs up as the six of us stand there, watching him like the monster he is. “What? Stop fucking staring at me. Sorry you can’t take a damn joke.”

“You killed your best friend,” Spencer says, his turquoise eyes narrowing. “Or you know who did.”

“Seriously, shut the hell up,” Mark snaps, and I can see the boys are doing it on purpose to egg him on. “We only came up here because you guys are freaks, and your girlfriend is a freak, and nobody at the fucking academy likes you.”

“Nobody believes you followed us up here to play a practical joke,” Church says, but Mark’s already turning away and marching down the hill. “Who were your friends, by the way? We’d love to know who else was in on this little jest.”

A taxi pulls up and Mark gets in, sliding into the backseat without another word, and slamming the door behind him.

“I’m not surprised,” Church says, looking back at me, Spencer, and the twins. “But I am intrigued. What does this move mean, exactly?”

“That they’re on a timeline?” I suggest, breathing hard, the adrenaline finally fading from my limbs. That was close, closer than last time. What happens next? I’m afraid to find out.

“Let’s see if the attacks coordinate with anything in particular,” Church says as Ranger looks up the hill behind us, eyes narrowing slightly.

“And who the hell do you think was in that limo?” Spencer wonders as he pulls me close, and the sky opens up into a torrent of freezing rain.

The Montague’s ‘flat’ (that’s like, a condo for us ‘Muricans) is this sprawling mini-mansion contained within the smooth white walls of some fancy building in a neighborhood called Hyde Park. I don’t know much about London, but I hear it’s pretty swanky.

I almost choked on my soda when I first walked in here last week.

“My dad’ll be here in a half hour,” Ranger says, checking his phone and then cursing under his breath. For the last four days, he’s been staying at Church’s place with the rest of us, but his dad’s just come back into town after a business trip, and he’s picking Ranger up today.

I’m not the only one with reservations about him going over there.

Church looks away in frustration; he’s tried talking his friend out of it, but Woodruff is nothing if not stubborn.

“You sure you’re not gonna die over there?” Spencer asks, putting his hands on his hips and looking Ranger over with a sharp frown. “Your dad is actually in this cult, like without a doubt. Jenica was scared of him.”

“Exactly,” Ranger snaps, putting his fingers in his black hair. “And she’s dead. So I have to go, if only to find out what happened to her.”

“There are other ways,” Church says softly, moving over to sit next to Ranger. “We’ll explore the tunnels when we get back, find their hidden church. If Jack could sleuth around without getting caught, we’ll figure it out.”

“And you’re assuming you’ll find anything of worth while you’re there,” Tobias starts, and Micah finishes the thought for them.

“Why would your dad keep anything incriminating around? This is pointless.”

“I’m going to talk to him,” Ranger says, lifting his head up, azure eyes burning. “I’ll be careful about it, but yeah, I’m going to ask some hard questions.”

Church huffs out a sigh.

“You’re impossible,” he says as Ranger gets up and impulsively finds his way into the kitchen, unloading some staple items onto the counter. Looks like he’s going for a classic brownie recipe. “Tell me what you expect to come out of this with.”

Ranger looks around for an apron, and finally scores one in the cabinet on the far end of the room. It’s one of those white French maid type ones, and he looks amazing when he slips it on, diving into his brownie-making cooldown while we all watch and wait for him to respond.

“Maybe I don’t expect to come out with anything,” he admits, stirring the batter with hard, fast movements. “I just want to look him in the eye and know that he did it. I want to see what that feels like.”

“Trust me,” Spencer says, and I wonder if he’s thinking about Jack or someone else. “You don’t want to see someone you loved after you know the truth. It hurts too much. Let him go.”

“I’ve never loved that man,” Ranger says, but that’s clearly a lie. The doorbell rings, and he shoves the brownies aside, slamming his hand against the oven to set the temperature as he storms past and heads for the front door. “Don’t overcook those fucking brownies. I expect thick, fudgy goodness out of that batter.”

He tears the door open as I move closer to see what Eric Warren looks like, curiosity keeping me brave.

The man looks just like his social media picture, like Ranger might in thirty years, but with an unkind streak that isn’t present in either his son, or his deceased daughter. She looks just like him, too, and I have to make myself remember that technically, she was his niece.