I knew that Dr. Fibs had developed some new technology that would keep Mr. Solomon’s muscles from atrophying during his long sleep, but he’d been in that bed for months, and it was all I could do to help him start down the hall and into one of the passageways that would keep us hidden from the other students. I tried to tell him that I could go get help, but Joe Solomon was one of the best operatives in the world. He wasn’t going to be delayed one second more, so he leaned against me and we made our way downstairs.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Solomon. Mom’s probably in her office. We can—”

“Not your mom. Patricia,” he said, breathing hard.

“Professor Buckingham?” I asked. It didn’t make any sense, but Mr. Solomon just nodded and I kept walking.

It was harder than it should have been to feel Joe Solomon leaning against me. It wasn’t the weight. It was that the strongest man I knew seemed helpless. And I didn’t like it at all, but I kept going, climbing down stairs and finally into the main hallway on the second floor. I peeked out to make sure it was empty, then helped Mr. Solomon out behind me. We were almost there when—

“Cameron Morgan!” I heard Buckingham exclaim from behind us. “What is the meaning of this?” She looked around and pulled us into a quiet alcove, lest any nosy eighth graders passed by and saw me walking the halls with Joe Solomon’s ghost.

“Now, you wait here,” she ordered. “I will get some help and we will get you back to your room.”

“The necklace, Cammie. Show her the necklace.”

I’m not exactly proud of it, but I actually worried that Mr. Solomon might be seeing things, thinking things—that maybe I had lost my memory and he had lost his mind. But I reached up and found the chain that hung around my neck just the same. I ran my hands along it until I found the small medallion.

“Take that off,” Buckingham ordered, so I gave it to her. She stepped out of the shadows and held the small charm against the light.

“Joe, is that…” she started.

“I think so, Patricia. I think…” But then he faltered and stumbled into my arms. “I need to sit down.”

Five minutes later, we were all settled into Mom’s office with my roommates and Zach and Abby, and Mom was saying, “What is it?”

“Your necklace, Cammie,” Buckingham said. “Show it to them.”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” I said, taking it off again and holding it forward. “It’s nothing, Mr. Solomon. Tell him, Mom,” I said, looking at her. “I was in Rome last summer, and I bought a bunch of jewelry for everyone. Souvenirs and stuff.”

“Look at it, Cammie,” Mr. Solomon said, and I couldn’t help myself: I smiled because he sounded…like Mr. Solomon. I could tell Bex had heard it too.

“Cammie,” Mr. Solomon warned, and I did as I was told.

There was a small silver charm on a matching chain. The charm looked like a shield divided into two, with a large tree covering the center, its branches touching both sides. “What do you see, Ms. Morgan?” my CoveOps teacher asked.

“It’s a seal of some kind. Probably something to do with Rome—that’s where I bought it and—”

“No one bought that necklace, Cameron,” Buckingham told me.

“Yes, I did,” I countered.

Mr. Solomon cocked his head. “I thought you didn’t remember?”

“Well, technically, I don’t. But we know I got a bunch of jewelry at the street fair in Rome.”

“You got it in Rome, I’m sure. But you didn’t buy it.” He straightened on the couch. “I strongly suspect you retrieved that necklace from your father’s safety deposit box,” Mr. Solomon said, and suddenly it didn’t feel like a five-dollar trinket I’d picked up at the fair. It felt priceless. And that was before my teacher talked on.

“What do you see when you look at it?” he asked.

“I don’t remember, Mr. Solomon. I’ve tried, I swear. I just don’t—”

“Not what do you remember. What do you see?”

“It’s a crest,” I said. “It kind of reminds me of the Gallagher Academy seal but without the sword and stuff. I thought that was why I bought it.”

“It’s not like the Gallagher Academy seal, dear,” Buckingham said. “It is the Gallagher family seal.”

My mom was shaking her head. “I didn’t know. I’ve never seen that.” She turned to her sister. “Abby?”

“Me either,” Abby said. “How is that possible?”

“Oh, very few people alive today would recognize it,” Buckingham told them. “Gillian took great pains to remove all traces of her family seal when she inherited the mansion. I’m not surprised you didn’t know what that emblem was.”

Everyone was slowly creeping closer to me. I felt them closing in as the crest lay in the palm of my outstretched hand.

“Why did Matthew have it, Joe?” Abby asked.

Mr. Solomon laughed and shook his head. “I didn’t know he did. Matt was…stubborn.”

Mom sat at her desk, not moving. I didn’t want to look at her, but her presence was like a fire burning at the corner of my eye.

“There was a lot he didn’t tell me. He knew I’d been a part of the Circle, and he knew I was too emotionally involved.” Mr. Solomon glanced, almost involuntarily, at Zach. “I think he was afraid of what I’d do if I found out how close he was getting.”

“How close was he?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Mr. Solomon shook his head. “But if he was researching Gilly’s family”—he pointed to the necklace—“and that makes me think he probably was, then it’s possible he was very, very close.”

Mr. Solomon rubbed his hands on his legs, warming them against the soft flannel. “Patricia,” he said, turning to Buckingham, “tell them.”

She didn’t hesitate or question; she just sat up straighter and said, “What I’m about to tell you may not be true. A lot of people think it’s more fairy tale than anything.”

“I thought it was a fairy tale,” Mr. Solomon added. “Almost everyone in the Circle did.”

“Yes,” Buckingham went on. “You see, to understand, you must first know that before there was the Circle, there was just Ioseph Cavan. But he was a clever man, and he surrounded himself with a trusted band of confidants and co-conspirators. And Gillian Gallagher knew that as long as those friends remained alive and loyal, then the threat Cavan posed could live on.”

Professor Buckingham gave a wry smile. “So she went to work. She wanted to identify the members of the Circle—the families that Cavan left behind. The families that rule over the Circle even today.”

“So she…what? Made a list?” Macey asked.

Mr. Solomon shrugged. “This is where people disagree.”

“Yes,” Buckingham said. “Everyone knows Gilly eventually married and returned to Ireland, but it is unclear if she continued researching Cavan and his followers. The Circle was far underground then, hiding—even though there wasn’t much reason to. The government wasn’t concerned about them. Lincoln was dead by someone else’s hand, and the country was recovering from a brutal war. The world had enough to worry about. No one was going to listen to the fears of a nineteen-year-old in a hoop skirt.”

As Buckingham talked, I couldn’t help but remember that there’s a reason they call us Gallagher Girls. It’s not just because the youngest of us are twelve. It’s also because our founder was under twenty. From the very beginning we have been discounted and discredited, underestimated and undervalued. And, for the most part, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

“No one knows if she finished the list or what she might have done with it.” Mr. Solomon shook his head, then smiled. “But I bet your father thought it was real. If he was researching Gilly and her family, then I bet he thought it was real enough to change everything.”

“I don’t get it,” Bex said, sitting up. “What does the Circle today care about a hundred-and-fifty-year-old list of members who’ve been dead for ages?”

“Because the leadership of today’s Circle dates back to that original group,” Buckingham told us. “It’s essentially a family business. Leadership is passed down from generation to generation. And leadership is a closely guarded secret.”

“But if Dad got that list…” I began.

“He would have been able to bring them down,” Mr. Solomon finished for me. “He wanted that list because the only way to kill this monster is to learn the monster’s names.”

“What’s the necklace, Joe?” Aunt Abby asked.

“It’s the key,” I said, thinking about my father’s letter telling us he was hiding something precious in that safe on the other side of the world. “Isn’t it? It’s the key, and my dad was looking for whatever it unlocks, wasn’t he? He was looking for that list.”

“I don’t know,” Mr. Solomon admitted. “The stories about Gilly weren’t very reliable. Some said she went crazy and that’s why she returned to Ireland. Some said she just gave up, moved on, and made babies.” He glanced at Macey, the descendant of one of those babies, and added, “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Me either,” Macey said.

“But Gilly wasn’t a fool,” Mr. Solomon went on. “If she had something that might be valuable someday, then she was going to keep it someplace safe.”

“Locked up with this?” I asked, holding up the necklace one last time.

“I don’t know. But if your father hid that away—and he never told me about it—then…” Mr. Soloman glanced down at the charm I’d put back around my neck. He didn’t say what everyone was thinking—that it might have been worth dying for.

Chapter Thirty-five

PROS AND CONS OF BEING ME IN THE MONTH THAT FOLLOWED:

PRO: Turns out, almost starving to death over the summer means that the school chef will make you crème brûlée any time you want it.

CON: Even crème brûlée gets old after a while.

PRO: Shorter haircuts take way less time to dry and fix in the morning.

CON: The fact that the boy you like now goes to your school means you have to fix it every day.

PRO: It’s somehow easier to sleep when you finally know where your father is, and that he is at peace.

CON: Not knowing exactly what had happened to him—or to you—means you might never be at peace again.

When fall ended and winter came, it didn’t feel as strange as I’d thought it would. My internal clock had caught up, I guessed. Rain beat against the windows. A chill bled through the stone. And as I sat on the leather couch in a small alcove of the library, a single word pounded in my head: Gillian.

That was what the nuns had called me—the name I had said over and over in my fever-filled dreams. Summer Me must have known she was important. Summer Me might have known everything, and suddenly I hated the bump on my head for robbing me not only of my memories but also of my progress.