"My office. Second shelf," she called back without missing a beat. "I have been asked to convey three very important facts to you both. The first is to remind you that what happened in London is highly classified. Anything you might have seen . . ." she stopped and stared at us over the top of the glasses. "Any conversations you might have had are not to be repeated to anyone - especially your classmates. These are stories you will not share on school grounds."

Bex shot me a quick glance, and knew she'd heard the loophole too. That's probably why Professor Buckingham didn't waste a second before adding, "The second thing is that there will be no more trips off school grounds." She turned to climb again.

"Extracurricular or otherwise."

Climbing up the stairs. I watched my teacher turn her back to me. "I'm sure we've missed some, Cameron. And if we did . . . well . . . I do hope you'll tell us."

Before I could ask exactly what they might have missed, I stopped midstride and studied the wall, staring at a piece of molding used to twist and open into a passageway to the barn where we had Protection & Enforcement. The entrance was covered now - a solid wall of stone blocking it forever.

In the first-floor corridor, we passed the place where a grandfather clock used to stand, concealing a trapdoor to the mansion's original ventilation system . . .

Near the library, I looked for the bookcase that used to swing open to reveal a rope ladder that ran from the mansion's basement to its roof . . .

But it was gone. They were all gone.

Professor Buckingham must have read my mind, because she stopped at the top of the Grand Staircase and studied me.

"I think, Cameron, that you'll find a lot of things are different."

Armed guards stood in the foyer below us, scanning the fingerprints of my classmates, rifling through their luggage. The stained-glass windows I loved so much were covered with bulletproof glass. The Gallagher mansion had endured hundreds of years of storms and termites and overzealous seventh graders, but in that moment I knew my school was wounded, and all I could do was stand there, staring at its scars.

"They did all this for me?" I wasn't sure how it was supposed to make me feel - flattered or sfe or just really, really guilty.

The hallways were quiet. The Hall of History was dark. Below us, the last of our classmates were being cleared to come, home, but nothing of the place around me felt like the home I'd left.

Well - that is, until I heard the screaming.

"You're late!"

There was no mistaking Liz's voice. Her accent was stronger, like it always was after a break. And yet as I turned and looked at the incredibly tiny blonde who stood in the mouth of the Hall of History, hands on hips, I was totally not expecting what I saw, because Elizabeth Sutton, supergenius and amazing friend, was angry.

Not the kind of angry that she gets when she oversleeps and wakes up to study at 6:05

a.m. and not at six sharp - not like how she gets when Bex teases her about her patented system of color-coded flash cards. Not even the kind of angry that comes with hearing that a teacher won't be offering assignments for extra credit.

Liz was angrier than I've ever seen her as she looked between the two of us, then threw out her arms. "I have been so worried!" She shot toward us like an eighty-five-pound bullet, grabbing us both, squeezing with more strength than I thought humanly possible (well- when Liz is the human is question). I would have felt pretty lame, except Bex was totally thrown too.

"Hey there, Lizzie," Bex said with what little breath she could draw. "Have a nice holiday?"

But I doubt Liz even heard.

"Why didn't you two call me? Why didn't you e-mail or write or . . ." She pulled back, then looked from me to Bex. "I told myself that you were probably bust having fun and . .

. were fine. And then I got back and I saw all the new security measures and I was so worried!"

Before I could say anything, we were back in a dual head-lock, and Liz was breathing deeply. And then, just as quickly, she jerked away.

"So what happened? Where'd you go? What'd you see?"

"Liz, we -"

"I'm afraid that classified." Buckingham shot me a look as she spoke.

"All of it?" Liz asked.

"All of it," Bex and I answered.

"Patricia!" Mr. Smith was running up the stairs. "We're ready to start the -"

"Coming!" Buckingham called without even a glance. She was too busy looking at me.

"Three things," I told her. "You said there were three things."

"Yes, Cameron, I've been asked to tell you that your mother has been temporarily detained."

"But -"

"She's fine - I can assure you. Just a little delay. But she's not back quite yet."

"Patricia, Harvey seems to think we'll only have one shot at this so . . ." Our Countries of the World teacher motioned as if to say let's hurry this along. And, with that, Professor Buckingham made a move toward the stairs.

"The Welcome Back Dinner will begin shortly," she told us. "You girls go on."

"But . . ." I started, but then forgot what I was about to say. Because, in the foyer below us, Madame Dabney was helping a senior explain to the guards why she had fifteenth -

century saber in her duffel bag. At the end of the hall, Dr. Fibs was complaining that the entrance to the seventh-grade labs had been moved and he couldn't find it. The Gallagher Academy was stronger than it had ever been - technically. Physically. And yet, in a way, I could almost feel it crumbling around me.

"And, Cameron," Professor Buckingham said from the top of the stairs. "Welcome home."

Climbing the stairs to our room, I tried not to count the secret passageways that we should have passed, but didn't (4); or the underclassmen who suddenly stopped whispering as soon as they saw me (6); or even the number of fingerprint-sensitive doors we had to pass through to reach our suite (9).

I tried to concentrate on how cute Liz's hair looked (because, unlike me, she can totally pull off a bob). I focused on my jetlagged body and my growling stomach (because while MI6 safe houses might be incredibly safe, they do not come particularly well stocked foodwise, let me tell you).

"So I came back a day early to show the formula for my new truth serum to Dr. Fibs," Liz said, eyes shining. "It's ten times more effective than Sodium Pentothal . . . and it makes your teeth whiter . . . and -"

"Wait," I said, stopping in the door to the suite that we'd shared since seventh grade, knowing - sensing - that . . .

"Something's different," Bex said, easing past me into the room.

The beds were made. The curtains were open. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be, except . . . it wasn't. There were shoe prints on the freshly vacuumed rug, the faint smell of coffee and strong cologne.

I was stepping toward the dark bathroom, reaching for the light, when Bex yelled,

"Wait!"

But it was too late. A strong hand grabbed my wrist. I saw the shadow in the bathroom mirror, looming in the dark. And I didn't hesitate: I stepped back and grabbed the arm that grabbed me, spinning, using my attacker's own momentum to fling him through the open bathroom door and to the other side of our room.

He smashed into a dresser and sent a lamp crashing to the floor. Then Bex was there, lunging forward with a textbook kick. The man quickly, avoiding her foot my inches.

He held out his hands and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say a word, a Louis Vuitton suitcase came flying into our room, struck the man squarely on his face, and dropped him to the floor like stone.

"Hey, Macey," I somehow managed to mumble through Bex's hair as my best friend pressed me into the corner of our suite. "That was a nice -"

"Don't move," Macey warned. I wasn't sure if she was talking to me of the man who lay at her feet with blood pouring from his swelling nose. Macey McHenry is one of the most gorgeous girls in the world, but the expression on her face wasn't beautiful in that moment. It was terrifying.

And yet, the man at her feet didn't tremble. Didn't fight. He just shook his head and sai,

"Now, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I followed his gaze to the corner of the room, where Liz was trying to decide whether or not to punch a big red button on the wall marked PANIC BUTTON: TO BE USED IN

EMERGENCIES ONLY. I'd never seen it before, but I was fairly certain that pushing it would bring the full force of the Gallagher Academy down upon our suite.

"A strange man is in our room, Liz. Push it!" Bex ordered (Sounded a tad irritated that she hadn't been the one to hit him with a suitcase).

"No," I blurted. I looked past the blood and swelling nose and focused on the blue eyes that I'd last seem staring at me across a cold, metal table.

"That's right." The man almost smiled as he stared up the four of us and said, "I'm not a stranger. Am I, Ms. Morgan?"

Chapter Ten

So okay, technically I had seen him once before, but he was still a total stranger. After all, he hadn't given me his name in London - no rank, no serial number. I knew he had high enough clearance to be in a top secret MI6 facility and an equally top secret school.

But if I didn't know Joe Solomon, then I didn't know any man.

Unfortunately, knowing something and convincing Liz of something are two different things.

"But why is he doing the security check of our room?" she pleaded after we'd changed into our uniforms and stared downstairs. "Is he on the security staff?"

"I'm not sure, Liz, I admitted. "He's just an agent I met in London."

Liz was practically jogging to keep pace beside me, her hand on the banister. "So he was on your protection detail?"

I looked at Bex and shrugged. "Not exactly."

"Did you met him?" Liz asked whirling on Bex.

"No," Bex said truthfully. "I didn't."

"You left her alone?"

I'd almost forgotten that Macey was there, to tell you the truth. She'd been so quiet, walking ahead of us, but now she was standing at the bottom of the staircase, glaring up at Bex.

"I thought we agreed . . ." Macey started, then stopped suddenly.

"Agreed to what?" I asked, but got nothing. "What?" I asked again. "Did you guys get together before break and agree to never let me go someplace by myself? Or was it more like and agreement to monitor my mood and behavior so you could warn someone if I was about to crack up and do something stupid?"

My three best friends in the world looked at each other as if they'd all forgotten how to speak English. Finally, Bex said, "Both."

The big double doors of the Grand Hall were standing open. I smell fresh bread and heard the voices of a hundred girls talking, laughing. I was home. After weeks of running and hiding, I was finally home; but looking at my roommates, I remembered that being a Gallagher Girl sint about a building. It's about a sisterhood.

I remembered that I'd never really left.

"She didn't leave me, Macey," I said. "They hauled me in for questioning one day, and he's the one who did it." I stepped toward the Grand Hall, with one last smile back at my friends. "She didn't leave me."