“I can put him wherever I want,” Jason said, writing something out on a piece of paper. “I drafted him. You’re just complaining because you couldn’t get him.”

Michael pointed at his chest with a pencil. “I didn’t want him. I am smarter than that, and I know he’s not going to last through the season. I took Guzman because I wanted Guzman.”

So he said, but he didn’t exactly sound that confident.

I sat down next to Jason. “Basketball? Really?”

He grinned over at me. “We finished our draft over the weekend, so we’re comparing our lineups.”

“Guzman?” Scout asked. “I can’t believe you picked Guzman.”

This time, Michael looked upset. “You think it was a bad pick?”

Scout snorted a laugh. “Like I know. I have no idea who Guzman is. Or the”—she looked over at the paper—“Lack-ers. Pretty crappy name for a team.”

“That’s Lakers, Scout. Lakers,” Jason said.

“Whatever.” She yawned. “If you two gentlemen are done, can we get this show on the road?”

“Let’s do,” Daniel said, and the rest of the Adepts joined us at the table. “First things first—any updates from the field?”

I looked at Scout, who nodded. “The Reapers have lost their magic,” I said.

The room got really quiet, and my heart pounded so hard I wondered if everyone could hear it.

“What do you mean, they lost their magic?” Daniel asked. “How did you learn that?”

“She—we saw a Reaper near the door at St. Sophia’s,” Scout blurted out.

I froze, then looked slowly over at her. She had totally just lied to Daniel and the Enclave, I assumed to keep me from mentioning my meeting with Sebastian. Because she thought talking to him was a bad idea that was going to get both of us in trouble—or because she wanted to keep our secret source to ourselves?

“Near the door?” Daniel asked with a frown, crossing his arms. “And he didn’t get in?”

“She didn’t get in,” Scout corrected. “She was a Reaper we’d met before, so we knew what magic she could work. But she tried the magic and it didn’t work. When her attempt at mano a mano went bad, she sprinted off.”

“But not before squealing something about how she was like the other Reapers and didn’t have magic, either,” I said.

The story sounded ridiculous even to me, but in the world of the Adepts, it probably wasn’t even on the top-ten list of strange things we’d seen in our careers. Reapers trying to break into our school? Already seen it. Fist-fighting girls? Been there, done that.

“Huh,” Daniel said. “So you’ve got firsthand info that Reapers’ magic is not working?”

“Firsthand info,” I confirmed.

I tried not to fidget beneath the other Adepts’ curious stares. Did they know I was lying? Did I look suspicious? I was definitely not made for spy games. Thankfully, before I actually started shuffling my feet and whistling nervously, there was a knock on the door.

We all braced ourselves for impact—except Daniel.

“It’s open,” he called out.

So much for security.

The door squeaked open, and Detroit walked in.

I mentioned Lesley’s fashion sense—odd, but pretty chill. Detroit’s fashion sense was much more intense—an explosion of leather, lace, feathers, and random bits of metal. Tonight she wore a long, fitted black coat with sleeves that poofed out at the hands with a shower of lace. She wore leggings and knee-high black boots beneath it, and her blond hair was carefully curled. A tiny black hat was angled on top of her head, and she wore a small black satchel diagonally across her chest. She lugged in an old leather suitcase with gold buckles across the top.

Adepts were an odd group, and Enclave Two was certainly no exception.

“What is this?” Paul asked, walking closer.

When she had the suitcase where she wanted it, she placed it down on its side, unbuckled the straps, and flipped open the top. Unlike the vintage leather and brass on the outside, the inside was all wires and buttons that looked like they’d been popped out of old typewriters. Most of Detroit’s machines looked slick and modern. This one looked like bits of junk hot-glued together. I guess that was what you got when your machinist lost her magic.

Detroit pressed one of the buttons.

Nothing happened.

She laughed nervously, then mashed the button down again. The machine clicked and then whirred into action. Little black dials flipped over on each other, and a small contraption that looked like a cheap plastic Ferris wheel began to spin.

“And what is that, exactly?” Paul asked.

She stood up again and looked proudly down at . . . whatever it was. “It’s a virus remover. It will look you over and if you’re infected with a virus that’s caused the blackout, it will get rid of it.”

Well, that was a pretty creative idea. Although it did beg one question:

“We’re infected by viruses?” Scout asked with a frown.

“I’m not sure. But it’s worth a try, don’t you think?”

I guess I couldn’t argue with that.

With the toe of her shoe, she pressed another button. A flap on the other side of the machine flipped open, and a beam of light shot across the room. “I don’t have magic, but, you know, I can still make stuff. Who wants to step into the beam?”

Maybe not surprisingly, nobody raised a hand.

“Is it safe?” Jill asked, kneeling down to get a look at the machine. It buzzed and beeped as she looked at it, like the machine was filled with wicked angry bees.

“Oh, God,” Detroit said, holding out a hand. “Don’t move.”

Jill froze in her crouch, her eyes widening. “Oh, God, what? What did I do? Did I trigger something? Is it a bomb?”

The Enclave went silent.

Detroit laughed so hard she snorted. “Ah, that gets ’em every time. Seriously, it’s fine. Walk into the beam.”

“Because?” Jill asked, face wrinkled with worry.

“Because, in order for it to remove a magical virus, you have to, you know, use the machine.” She nudged Jill gently toward the beam of light.

Wincing, eyes closed, Jill put a toe into the beam. When she didn’t burst into flames, she opened one eye and checked out her foot.

“See? It’s fine. Now step all the way in, please.”

While Jill walked into the light, Detroit adjusted the dials on the suitcase. The light wavered and flickered, but that was all it did. After a moment, the light went out altogether.

Not entirely sure what to do—or what had happened—we stood there looking at each other awkwardly, then at Detroit.

“All done,” she brightly said. “You wanna see if it worked?”

Jill and Jamie shared one of those kinds of deep looks that twins had—like they could read each other’s minds and knew exactly what the other was thinking. And neither one of them looked like they trusted Detroit’s new contraption.

“Of course she does,” Daniel kindly said. “Maybe start with something small.”

The girls looked at each other, then nodded. “Does anyone have a bottle of water?” Jill asked.

“I’ve got one,” Scout said, then dug through her messenger bag and pulled out a bottle. “It’s only half-full.”

“No problem,” Jill said. She walked over to the table and put the bottle on top, then stepped back a few feet.

We all scooted back a little, giving her room to operate. Just in case.

She stood there for a moment, hands at her sides, and squeezed her fingers rhythmically into fists. Open. Closed. Open. Closed. Her long hair fell across her shoulders, which she rolled a little as if loosening them up.

“Is it wrong that I’m really freaked-out right now?” Scout whispered.

“That she’ll turn us all into ice?” I wondered.

“That it won’t work at all.”

That was probably the scarier option.

Jill raised her hands in front of her body, and with a whoosh of sound—like she’d exhaled really hard—she pushed her hands out and toward the bottle of water.

The room was silent—and the water wasn’t even a little bit icy.

The tension in the room was awful. It wasn’t exactly fun to watch another Adept completely unable to work her magic, especially knowing we were all in the same boat.

“Try again,” Daniel said softly. “Just one more time.”

Jill nodded, then repeated her magic prep again. Fists open and closed, rolling shoulders, the pushing of the hands.

But the bottle didn’t waver.

Jill let out a soft sob. She turned around, tears brimming in her lashes, and went to her sister. They hugged.

“This is going to last forever, isn’t it?” Paul asked, panic in his voice. “That machine doesn’t work, and we don’t have any other ideas, and we’re screwed. Our magic is gone.”

“It’s my fault,” Detroit said, her voice softer this time and not nearly as confident. “The machine doesn’t work. I’d hoped—” she began but she shook her head, then wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I’d hoped I could still do it. Anyone can make a machine. You don’t need magic for that. But I make machines that interact with magic. They recognize it. Test it. Use it. That’s my power. That’s my talent.”

She quieted and looked away, and this time didn’t bother to stop the tear that slid down her cheek. “My magic is gone,” she said. “Now I’m just a two-bit hobbyist. I might as well start building battle bots.”

“I like battle bots,” Michael said, a quirky smile on his face. Detroit looked at him and smiled, but you could see the hurt ran pretty deep.

“Our magic isn’t gone,” Daniel said. “This is Chicago—not some fairy tale city. Magic doesn’t just disappear without a reason. Someone is behind this—someone has turned off our magic, which means we focus on figuring out who that is and making things right again.”

This might have been hard for all of us, and it might have been hard for Daniel, but you couldn’t see it to look at him. He was a good motivator—a “never let ’em see you sweat” kind of guy. It was just the kind of thing we needed right now.

Unfortunately, it didn’t give us our magic back.

“Don’t lose your heads over a temporary circumstance,” he said. “And that’s what this is—a temporary circumstance.”

“Or it’s practice,” Paul said. “Like losing our magic before we even get good at it. That sucks.”

“See? It’s an opportunity,” Daniel chuckled. “You guys are seriously making me feel like Pollyanna today.” That got a laugh in the Enclave. “Look, this is hard. This situation sucks, and I know that for sure, because I’m a lot closer to giving it all up than you are. It’s hard to face a lifetime without it. But it’s not impossible. It’s a gift, a really particular kind of gift, but life goes on. And now you know that.”

Jason’s phone rang, breaking the silence. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen, then frowned. Without another word, he walked to the Enclave door, pulled it open, and walked outside. It shut with a heavy thud that sent a little frizzle of panic through my chest. Was this the call? The one that pulled him home again, never to return?

Michael walked over. “What was that about?”

“I don’t know,” I said, eyes still on the door. “Family stuff, I guess.”

“He’s been quiet about that lately. I don’t think he wants to go home.”

I looked back at Michael, wanting to believe him. “Why do you say that?”

Michael shrugged. “He doesn’t talk about it a lot. I think he has a lot of frustration about them, about their ways. He came up here to get away from it, but it seems to follow him. He wants to have his own life, you know? A separate life.”

“Separate from their rules?”

“Yeah. He told you it was a curse?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“It weighs on him. He joined up with the Enclave to help make a difference, because he wanted something good to come of it. He thinks you’re something good to come from it, too.”

I felt my cheeks warm, and I appreciated the admission. “Thanks, Michael. I know he’s glad you’re friends.”

“He should be. I kick butt.” He did a fake karate chop that most definitely did not kick butt.

“And speaking of kicking butt,” Scout said, loud enough for the rest of the Enclave to hear, “we can’t just sit around and wait for something to happen. I have to stay busy.”

“You will,” Daniel said. “There’s one more thing on the agenda tonight.”

We all looked at him.

“The Reapers kept their magic longer than we did,” he said. “That suggests the blackout is part of an organized plan. Probably not by Reapers, unless something backfired and rebounded on them. But they’re even keener to keep their magic than we are. So there’s no doubt they’re looking into it. And if they’re looking into it, they’re probably talking about it.”

“That’s just because half the Reapers are teenage girls,” Paul said with a grin. Jamie punched him in the arm, which Scout and I applauded.

“Whatever the reason,” Daniel said, “that means it’s time to visit the sanctuary and see what we can see. That’s why Detroit is here—she’ll plant a camera so we have good eyes on the place. The Council was very pleased about the last time the Enclaves worked together. Well, except for the part about imploding the other sanctuary. That wasn’t exactly a Council-approved action.”