I wake to a prodding sensation in my head that sends me into a panic. I thrash at the bedclothes, nearly falling off of my bunk before I realize that I'm in my own bed. The room is dark, empty and silent.

The prodding continues, and I slowly realize it's someone trying to connect with me through a farspeak spell. I hesitate but decide to allow the connection - it can't be Professor Terrec - at least I don't think so.

When I permit the connection, a voice in my head says hey.

At first I think it's Ahmed - and I'm a little confused, because he always comes to my room if he wants to talk. But then I realize - it's Donald.

Oh hey. King of pranks.

You like that one? Both satisfaction and palpable relief in his thoughts. I thought you were in for it when I saw you with the Evil Prince but Urchin said you came back to the room. You okay?

Yeah - just felt kind of dizzy after he - should we be talking about this?

Relax, I'm in my room. No way he's close enough to be able to tap in at this distance, and anyway, we'd know if he did.

Oh. Well that's good, I guess.

You sure you're okay?

Yeah, fine, I just woke up. And it's true that I do feel a lot better. The headache from this morning is now just a dull throb, and feels more like an effect of sleeping through the day than anything else. Did he interrogate you any?

Oh yeah - for a while. But don't worry, I didn't crack. I only get caught when I want to get caught, you know.

And he didn't - like - use any weird spells on you or anything?

No, just kept asking me what I knew about what happened. What do you mean weird spells?

Nothing, I think hurriedly. I just started feeling funny when he was asking me questions. But I didn't crack either.

We make a good team! Donald says in my head, and I try to project a happy thumbs-up sort of emotion at him.

So I just wanted to make sure we had a deal, he continues. I was thinking maybe I could talk to Ellen this week? I know it's not supposed to be, like, romantic or anything, but I might ask her to the Dark Dance…

It takes me a minute to remember what he's talking about. Right! Sure, soon as we're alone I'll let you know. Good luck.

Thanks. You too.

I don't know how to respond to this, so I just cut off the mental connection and roll onto my back. It's dark in the room, not even any light shining through the drawn curtain. I've slept through the whole day. And - I realize - I'm starving. A glance at the clock shows me I have fifteen minutes left until the cafeteria closes, so I race down my bunk and out the door.

I get to the cafeteria just in time to snag what looks like the burnt end of a pork roast, some lukewarm macaroni and cheese and some soggy brussels sprouts. Neither Suki nor Ahmed is at our usual table - they must have finished dinner a while back - so I cross the room to sit by myself.

As I'm walking, though, the room quiets as the remaining students who are finishing their dinners turn to stare at me. By the time I'm halfway to the table, the only sound is my footsteps on the lino tile.

When someone starts to clap, the sound is thin and high, nearly disappearing in the poor acoustics of the space. But I still whip my head to find the source. I don't manage to find the person who started the applause before another person joins in, and then another. Soon, the stragglers of the cafeteria are all clapping, some even cheering a bit, and one even yelling "north star!"

I don't have any idea how to respond to this sudden show, so I just seat myself at the far corner facing the wall, and focus on shoving as much food into myself as I can before I start to feel sick.

The weekend is, fortunately for me, uneventful. Despite a lot of tossing in my bed on Friday night, I manage to get up for my usual Saturday mail delivery, though I'm not very happy to be up. I'm already regretting ripping up Hieronymous's last letter - not only because an increasingly vocal part of me is convinced that I ought to have followed his advice, but because I know I won't be receiving another letter this week. Bland and disappointing as his letters have been, I'm still despondent knowing that I won't be receiving one at all.

But as I'm sorting the mail, I start at seeing an envelope addressed to "Eliza Moon." But it's written in regular pen, not magical appearing ink, and the hand is rounded and with little loops on some of the letters - definitely girly. I drop the rest of the packet of mail I'm sorting, pull out my pocket knife and slit the envelope, wondering who on earth would be writing me.

Dear Eliza,

Hi... I guess you are wondering why I am writing to you or maybe you have forgotten about me? I'm Tabby and I met you over the summer when my Gran died.

Suddenly I'm all attention - what with the events of the school year, I had forgotten that I'd asked Tabby to write to me following her thirteenth birthday, which I think I remember was at the beginning of October. I had the feeling - more than a feeling - that she'd be presented with the Choice, and that she might want to hear about what was going to happen to her in her future.

Anyway, you said write to you if anything unusual happened around my birthday so... I am writing because something weird did happen and I'm not sure what to think about it. You remember I told you then that I could tell things sometimes. Well the strangest thing happened to me around my birthday when I turned thirteen. It might sound stupid to you actually but I am very worried about it and hoped that maybe you could help me figure out what to do. Ever since my birthday, that bit of me that could just tell things... it hasn't been working. It's like it was just switched off and one day I could tell things, and one day I couldn't. I don't know what to do cos I have been able to do that my whole life and now I can't I don't know feel like I am not special any more or something. I wanted to know is this the odd thing you meant when you said I should write you, and if it is, what should I do?

I think that maybe you are a witch like my Gran and your cousin something that Lord too so maybe you could help get my telling back.

Please write me.

Sincerely,

Tabby

I stare at the letter, open mouthed, not quite understanding. Tabby wouldn't have said no to the Choice - would she?

No, of course not - nobody would say no to being able to do magic - even with the sometimes strange consequences it brings. I remember back to my own thirteenth birthday - the strange ebullience I had been feeling all that day, then playing tag at my birthday party, feeling like I could run until the world ended, then jump straight into the air and fly. And fly I had - right over the hedge, to the shock of my fellow players. There was no way I could have said no to the power, the possibility that had suddenly come into my grasp. It was my birthright, after all. And Tabby - she had known, instinctively that her own Gran had the power to choose that too. But Mrs. Craft had been prevented from making the Choice, and had spent the rest of her life searching for that lost chance at magic.

There's no way Tabby would have said no. No way.

So someone or something prevented her from making her Choice, and her magic got shut off - that's the only explanation I can think of. And what am I supposed to do? I can't write back to explain things - that would get me in way more trouble than I'm already in. But I can't just leave Tabby with no answer either.

I'll have to think about it, I decide, folding the letter into as small a square as possible and shoving it into my pocket.

I do think, but I'm unable to come up with any satisfactory answer all weekend - mostly because I have to frantically cram as many spells into my head as I can in order to prepare for the upcoming final. I'm losing two full school days prior to Friday's rescheduled exams, since I'm excused from classes to set up on Monday, and classes are canceled on Tuesday. I do make sure to take time to hang around my room and scout for a good opportunity to invite Donald to take his chance with Ellen.

My chance comes on Sunday evening. I get back to the room from dinner relatively early - after receiving another enormous blue envelope in the mail on Saturday, Ahmed's been morose and taciturn all weekend, so we didn't chat after dinner as we usually do. I find Ellen alone in our room, engrossed in a red magic textbook.

"Where's Virginia?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

Ellen looks up, annoyed at the interruption. "Sports club admin meeting with Anisha. Why do you care?"

"Just curious," I say, hopping into my bunk. Once I'm there, I fire off a farspeak spell to Donald. Hey - get over here. Now's your chance!

What? Is the panicky response I get in return. Now? I mean - can't you give me some time to fix my hair or, like, put on cologne or something?

Donald, Ellen has lived at the same boarding school as you for an entire year, and she's stayed at your house twice. She knows what your hair looks like. If you wanna ask her to the dance, get your butt over here now.

Donald cuts off the connection, and I begin to worry that I've offended him so much that he isn't going to come over at all. My worries are assuaged, however, when there's a knock on the door.

"Hey!" I say, upon opening the door to Donald's ashen face. "Thanks for volunteering to decorate for the Dark Dance with me. C'mon in."

Donald does, trying unsuccessfully to flatten his normally unruly spiked hair in the process. I seat him in my desk chair, next to Ellen who is studiously ignoring both of us.

"So I will just go get my notebook," I say. "Which I left. In the library. So I will be right back." And before Ellen can protest this, I dash out the door.

I stay in the library for an hour and a half, rummaging through the history textbooks to see if I can find another one that's older than what we're supposed to be reading. My search is, however, unsuccessful. When I get back to the room, Virginia's back, and Ellen has already gone to bed. This doesn't strike me as a particularly good sign, so I decide against farspeaking Donald to ask how everything went.

I dread having to wake up on Monday morning, when I'll have to spend the entire day watching Minnie and Jacob hang all over each other and kissing when they think no one is looking. But when I get to the gym, it seems as though Minnie and Jacob have had some kind of fight. They're both here, using levitation spells to hang their garlands from the ceiling, but they don't talk to each other unless forced to, and then only in clipped phrases. At first it's refreshing, and I hum a satisfied little tune to myself as I strew a mix of freshly fallen autumn leaves and chrysanthemum petals onto the gym floor - grudgingly admitting to myself that the combination is very pretty. But after a few hours it starts to get grating, having to relay messages from Jacob to Minnie and back again because each refuses to speak directly to the other.

The junior and senior members of the student council are also present - the juniors here to create a dim, amorphous glowing light to lead the students to the gym, and to create the constant, nipping autumn breeze. This latter spell seems complicated, and takes all four juniors some time to get exactly right - they get it too strong at first, and it blows all of my leaves to one side of the room so that I have to re-strew them all again with a breeze spell of my own. The seniors have set up a sort of band in the corner - drums mostly, but there are a few strange-looking instruments in the mix. I see a red-headed girl with a hammer dulcimer, and a boy with pale green-gray hair and wire rimmed glasses with a bulky instrument that I can't identify, but which he plays by sitting it in his lap turning a crank.

Once I finish sweeping the leaves out again, I edge toward the musicians, who have launched into a riotous sort of song. They seem to be having a nice time practicing, and it does cheer me up to watch them play. I find myself looking forward to the dance itself for the first time all month. The boy with the wire rimmed glasses and the bulky instrument looks up and catches me watching, then gives me a shy smile. I smile back before I realize what I'm doing, feel my face go hot, and scuttle away without looking back.

It's too bad, I catch myself thinking. He was kind of cute. Maybe he would have been a nice normal boyfriend. Just thinking this seems somehow mutinous, so I do my best to shove the thought out of my head.

Everyone finishes the setup by dinnertime, and as the light from the windows at Iris begins to fade, I have to admit that the overall effect of the decorations have transformed the gym from the huge utilitarian space into a mysterious garden that seems full of interesting little nooks and hidden recesses. Satisfied, I follow the rest of the student council students to the cafeteria where we all gulp down our dinner, and then run back to the gym.

I set myself up by the door with my shoebox of hawthorn leaves, which I've magicked to include a little safety pin at the stem so that people can wear them on their robes. As students enter the gym, I begin to shove leaves into their hands - which begins to get more and more difficult as the last remnants of evening light fade, and the only way to see is by the glow of the juniors' spell. "Complimentary Dark Dance corsage! Please take one as you go in!"

I'm about halfway through my second box of leaves when a voice near me says "hey, Eliza."

"Donald, hey - here's your corsage, it's got a pin to put on your uniform-"

"Thanks," he says, not sounding particularly grateful. I squint into the dimness around us, but I don't see any shadows nearby that could be Ellen.

"So," I say, "no luck huh?"

"Why didn't you tell me that Ellen asked William to the Dark Dance last year?" Donald snaps.

"Ohh..." I say. I hadn't told him because I'd completely forgotten about it - Ellen's crush on Donald and Virginia's big brother, her attempt to ask him out - and what he'd said to her when she had.

"She told me that since Virginia's her roommate, that makes her practically my sister," Donald says, "and that it'd be way too weird for us to date."

"What about her saying she'd go on a date with you over the summer?" I ask, shoving a handful of leaves at another group of students without looking at them.

"She said it was a mistake," Donald says glumly, "and that she likes me, but she doesn't like me that way."

"Sorry," I say, "but you did give it a shot. And you got your answer, so you don't have to wonder anymore, so that's... good?"

Donald snorts. "If it wasn't for Virginia, she'd have said yes," he says. "I'm sick of everyone just doing what Virginia wants because she's too much of a baby not to get her own way all the time!"

"I don't really know if that's it - here you go! Dark Dance corsage, please pin it to your uniform! I mean, Ellen has to live with Virginia, and we have the final to deal with so we need to get along - here you go! Enjoy the dance! I've already caused enough trouble, I think Ellen just wants to keep things as peaceful as possible."

"I guess," Donald says, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Well. Thanks for trying."

"Yeah," I say. "Sorry." I watch Donald melt into the rest of the crowd as he goes inside the gym.

Once most of the students are inside, the teachers arrive, shepherding latecomers before them. The teachers all happily take a hawthorn leaf corsage, except for Professor Terrec. He looks down his nose at my proffered leaf, then picks it up between a thumb and forefinger, as though he's handling something slimy with a dubious number of legs. I find myself holding my breath as he twists his fingers, twirling the stem until the leaf blurs in my vision.

Then, as quickly as he'd picked it up, Professor Terrec drops the leaf back into my box. "Thank you, Miss Moon," he says, his voice distant and calm. "I require no such ornamentation." With that, he sweeps into the gym.

Professor Potsdam is the last to arrive. "Oh my dear! How lovely - and old fashioned!" she exclaims when I hand her a hawthorn leaf. "Where on earth did you get such an idea?"

"Oh I just... heard about it somewhere," I say, hoping she won't guess about the book I'd found in the library. "The colors are really pretty."

"Ye-es..." Professor Potsdam says, twirling the leaf in her fingers and examining the stem. "Eliza dear, you didn't cut the leaves from this tree, did you?"

"Uh, yes," I say. "Why?"

"Oh no," she says, turning a worried face to me. "Don't you knew it's terrible luck to cut a hawthorn tree when it isn't blooming?"

"N-no," I stammer, shocked. "It's supposed to be tradition, right? Why would it be bad luck if it's tradition?"

"Oh gosling," Professor Potsdam says, "it's tradition to wait until the leaves fall from the tree to collect them for the Dark Dance! You can't simply take measures into your own hands with this sort of thing, you know!"

"Oh," is all I can say.

Professor Potsdam reaches down and pats my cheek in a comforting way. "Not to worry sweeting, I'm sure you'll be quite equal to whatever horrible misfortune is going to befall you. Enjoy the dance!" And with a dazzling smile, she's gone.

I stare after her into the gym, my heart sinking into my stomach. All I'd wanted to do was give everyone a nice night, and now I have to contend with a horrible misfortune? If there's anything that makes me not want to dance, this has got to be it.

Even so, after I make sure there's no one else coming down the halls, I squeeze into the gym. It's packed with jostling bodies, everyone whispering and giggling over the band, and stumbling into each other as they dance. I try to join in, moving slowly and carefully so as not to knock into anyone, but I feel separated from the entire rest of the school. Last year, I'd felt like part of something. I'd linked hands, I'd brushed past bodies, I'd swayed with everyone to the same rhythm. Now I just feel out of sync, with no one around me who understands how I feel.

But then it hits me, and I stop dancing - someone bumps into me and gives a muffled squeak. There is one person who knows how I feel - Ahmed. I didn't see him come into the gym, so he must be in his room. I've finished all the stuff that I have to do for the dance - no one is going to mind if I duck out and spend the rest of the night with my one real friend.

I make my way to the gym doors, jostling dancers and even stepping on someone's foot on my way out. Once I'm in the corridor, the whole school feels eerily silent, the muffled sounds of the band and dancers dampened as the doors close behind the party. I set off towards Toad Hall, trying to ignore the shiver in my intestines as I go.

When I get to Ahmed's door, there's no answer. I wait, knock, wait, knock again, but there isn't even any movement behind the door. It's too early for him to go to sleep - did he go to the dance after all?

Well, there is one way I can find out where he went. I cast a track scent spell, and immediately detect two strong scents leading from Ahmed's door. One is that goatish unwashed sheet smell - uch, it must be Orrin - and one is a mix of black tea, buttered toast, and the lavender brilliantine that Ahmed uses in his hair. Both scents lead in the same direction toward the main building - the classrooms and the gym - but Ahmed's is much fresher smelling. He can't have been out of his room for very long.

I follow Ahmed's trail through the halls, and find myself grow anxious when it goes right past the gym - not even a little pool of scent to indicate that he paused in the doorway - and continues toward the classrooms. He couldn't have snuck out- not after he promised me that he wouldn't - right?

Suddenly I lose the scent and have to back track before finding it again - heading toward one of the classrooms. Why would he be in here? I hope he's not sick or something, I think as I push the door in.

It's a little too dark to see in the classroom, but enough ambient light from the gym and hallways filters through the open door that I'm able to see a figure silhouetted against one of the windows - seeming to be huddled over itself. Worried, I step into the room.

"Hey Ahmed, are you okay? I've been looking for you ev-"

Before I can finish, the figure suddenly straightens - too tall to be Ahmed, and too thick, and somehow the wrong shape. A sudden flare of light erupts from where the figure is standing, temporarily blinding me with the glare. I rub my eyes, squinting against the light - and then I freeze. The light has illuminated not one face, but two. The first is Ahmed, looking pale and frightened in the harsh glare of the light. And the second face is blue, fringed with violet, with a murderous glare in its eyes.

"Damien?" I say.