I spent the next forty minutes drawing up my time line. I started with the day Rosemary’s father had given her the ring—June 30. She’d written:

I can’t believe it’s finally here. I’ve waited so long. I’m finally old enough to bear the responsibility of my heritage as my mother did before me and hers before that. Mother says I’m too young to wear the ring, but Father thinks differently. He knows how important it is that I prove myself to the Magi. I know where my future lies.

From this, I finally accepted that the Keeper spell wasn’t new. Shame. It would’ve been easier to identify the item if it had been recent, and the regular use of black magic raised some troubling doubts about the magickind leader and his family.

Rosemary started dating F sometime between the eleventh and nineteenth of July, and they met regularly after that, always on campus. So the guy had either been living on campus through the summer or somewhere nearby. This meant I could eliminate any of the students who went home to other cities for the break.

When I finished the time line, I pulled out the suspect graph and placed it beside the list of dates. I stared at them, willing the answers to jump out at me. On the graph, I’d written F in the Name column below Frank Rizzo. I’d also placed a check in the Opportunity column since Rosemary had been on her way to meet F in Coleville that night. The rest were a complete blank.

For Motive, it was possible F had killed her in a fit of rage over the breakup, and then somebody else had come along and cut off her hand, but I doubted it. Too coincidental. It was more likely that F’s reasons for being in the relationship had been fake, judging from Rosemary’s reasons for breaking up with him. But who could it have been? What was he after? My head began to ache.

“Ugh,” I muttered, dropping my pen. It rolled and fell off the desk. “Too many questions I don’t have the answer to.”

“Do you always talk to yourself?”

I jumped so hard I almost fell out of my chair. I looked up and saw it was Paul Kirkwood. My pulse increased. Glancing at his shoes, I knew he’d been the person typing earlier.

I smiled at him, glad I’d worn a ball cap this morning to cover my polka-dot hair. “All the time, actually.”

“Hmmm. I imagine it makes for good conversation.”

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“Do you live here or something?” I asked.

“Yep. I’ve got a cot in the librarian’s lounge. They let me use old newspapers for blankets and books for pillows.” He pulled out the chair next to mine and sat down. “Seriously, I’m just working on my senior thesis paper. Wanted to get an early start.”

I nodded, in awe of his devotion to schoolwork. I waved my hand toward my pen on the floor, summoning it with my telekinesis. To my surprise it flew up at once and into my outstretched fingers without a hitch. See, I can do magic without screwing it up, I thought. Too bad Eli wasn’t around to see it.

“So what are you doing?” Paul said, tapping the diary.

“Oh, um. Studying.”

His gaze took in the suspect graph and time line, and he raised his eyebrows. “For what?”

I blinked, at a loss for a response. I didn’t want to lie, but I couldn’t see telling him the truth. I’d been sitting here trying to visualize myself as Veronica Mars, all smart and badass. But in reality, I felt more like Inspector Gadget with my go-go button stuck in neutral.

“This is about Rosemary, isn’t it?”

“How’d you guess?”

“It was either that or homework for a criminology class. Only Arkwell doesn’t offer any.” He brushed hair out of his face. I wished he wouldn’t do that. I liked the way it hung in his eyes. “Are you trying to figure out who killed her?”

“Trying being the operative word. I’m not having much success.” I said. Here was a guy smart enough for MIT, and here was me playing cops and robbers.

“Would it help if I told you the police have a suspect?”

“Really? I’ve been keeping an eye on the news but I haven’t heard anything.”

Paul leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk. “Well, it’s not like magickind are big on the virtues of freedom of the press.”

“No kidding. So who is it?”

He grinned mischievously, and I was momentarily stunned by how attractive he was. His high, prominent cheekbones looked almost exotic combined with his crooked nose and blond hair. Sexy combination. “Now, hang on a minute. This is top-secret information. I could get in trouble for telling you.”

It took me a second to realize he was joking. I leaned into him, lowering my voice to conspiratorial level. “I promise I won’t tell anybody. Cross my heart.”

Paul shook his head. “Not good enough. You’ve got to give me something in equal trade.”

“Like what?”

He seemed to consider the question seriously. “How about a date?” He grinned again, only there was something a bit shy and insecure about it.

My stomach flipped over, but I managed a smile. “Hmmm … well, that’s a pretty high price, but I guess I can do it.”

He winked. “You won’t regret it. How about next Saturday?”

“Okay.” I ripped off a piece of paper from the time line, jotted down my cell and dorm numbers, and handed it over. “Now spill,” I said, anxious to move on. I was afraid if we didn’t, he might admit he’d been joking after all. Or he might remember that he was a Kirkwood, and I was the daughter of Moira Nimue-Everhart.




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