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light makeup and just a hint of brown eyeliner around my dark eyes. I donned the sundress Josh hadn’t seen Saturday night—with the shawl, this time—and was off to school by six forty-five.
     
    By five to seven, I had locked my bike at the racks and was booking it to the football field, determined to find out what Settler weirdness was brewing. I walked the length of the dew-damp grass, explored the area beneath both the visitors’ and home team bleachers, and even went so far as to peek into the boys’ locker room but came up with nothing. Everything seemed business as usual.
     
    “The track!” I whispered aloud, thunking myself on the forehead with my palm.
     
    I hadn’t checked the track that ran around the field, which was completely stupid on my part. Circles hold great power for Settlers. We walk circles around graves to seal them, and several of the most advanced, third-stage magic commands involved tracing interlocking circles in the air while chanting.
     
    A quick glance at my cell revealed I had plenty of time to investigate, so I hurried out of the field house and back into the cool morning air. I was three-fourths of the way around the hard-packed dirt track when I felt the vibrations of some seriously bad mojo rippling up through the earth. The stinging energy crept along the bare skin of my legs like an electric shock, making me yip and jump in the air. Lucky for me, I landed on the side of my sandal and was down on the ground seconds later, coated in thick, black mud.
     
    “Ergh!” Why was I such a freaking klutz? I’d been in ballet practically since birth!
     
    For the second time in three days I was coated in grave dirt or, in this case, grave mud —mud that had the distinct feel of black magic lingering in its gloppy depths. It was obvious SA had already been here to clean up most of the mess, but the faint flicker of dark power remaining in the mud was still clear enough for me to read. Apparently my ability to pick up dark vibes had returned along with my Settler mojo.
     
    Whatever was going down, it wasn’t Settler stuff. It was black-arts stuff, the kind of thing that led to nothing but seriously bad news for average humans and Settlers alike. And it was happening right here, inches away from the football field where dozens of innocent teens practiced every day—or mostly innocent teens: I’d heard a few stories about some of Josh’s teammates that were fairly scandalous.
     
    I was going to have to talk to Mom about this and force her to find out the 411. If my friends were in danger, I deserved to know about it, no matter what Ethan or the old Elder farts at SA thought.
     
    But first, I had to get cleaned up. I wasn’t sure if grave dirt smelled as awful to average people as it did to Settlers, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stand the stink of myself all day. There wasn’t time to go home, so I was going to be forced to wear the gym clothes in my backpack for the entire day. Not the best way to remind Josh how hot I was but better than smelling like dead people.
     
    I hurried back to the field house and snuck down the darkened hall leading to the girls’ locker room. It was eerily quiet and strangely cold, considering it was already nearly seventy degrees outside. I felt goose bumps break out all over my bare arms and a sinking feeling in my stomach. Hopefully that wasn’t a sign maintenance had remembered to lock this door.
     
    “Yes!” I sighed with relief as the rusty door swung inward with a little shove. It was dark inside, but enough light filtered through the tiny windows at the top of the concrete wall that I could find my way to the showers. I flipped one on. Score: We had water. I wouldn’t have a towel, but there was still soap, so at least I’d no longer smell of decaying flesh.
     
    I dumped my backpack, whipped off my dress and underwear, and laid them on one of the wooden benches near the shower. Then, after twisting my hair into a knot on my head