Except you’re supposed to protect him , I reminded myself as I searched the shelves. That will probably require plenty of alone time.

Unless there was some way out of this whole thing. With that thought in mind, I grabbed two different biographies of Charlemagne. Between those and They Saw The Future!, maybe I’d figure something out.

Mom and Dad were both at work when I got home from the library, and aside from Bee texting me a few times, my phone was depressingly quiet, and I was, well . . . depressed. It seemed almost impossible to believe that yesterday, I was driving to school, happy and excited about my newfound superpowers. And now, after only a few days, I’d already killed a man (possibly more than one, actually, if the pool thing had worked), jujitsued my boyfriend, and made Saylor Stark, the one woman I lived to impress, think I was some kind of hot-rodding skank. And now David knew about them. David, who practically made a habit of ruining my life, knew the biggest secret I’d ever had.

To keep my mind off of all of that, I paged through the books. Unfortunately, they were about as helpful as the internet had been. The Charlemagne book mentioned Paladins, naming them as some kind of elite bodyguard force for the king. There was even a picture of them, looking entirely too skinny to be badass killers. As I studied the reproduced painting, I was at least grateful that their lame burgundy suits no longer seemed to be the official uniform. Burgundy washed me out, and velvet made me itch.

Other than that, there wasn’t much there. The book referenced the Paladins guarding the king, but it never mentioned noble causes or superpowers, so it seemed kind of useless. After all, I was pretty sure David Stark wasn’t a king.

But that thing with the debate club, no matter how stupid he thought it was, had to be important. It wasn’t like whether or not the debate club cheated was a major, world-changing event, but still. If David could see the future, no matter how small or insignificant those visions seemed to be . . . yeah, that might be something people would kill for.

Tossing that book aside, I picked up They Saw the Future! It was one of those Time-Life books they used to sell on TV. I was pretty sure my Aunt Jewel had a few, but I’d never seen this one before. I opened it up, scanning the chapters, muttering their titles aloud. “‘Visions Of Doom,’ ‘Seen Too Late,’ ‘Dreams of Destiny’ . . .”

David had put a little Post-it flag beside that chapter in the table of contents.

He’d marked another one, too. “Oracles.” I flipped the book to the page listed, snorting with laughter when I saw the picture taking up most of the page. It was a scantily clad girl, wearing what appeared to be a large, transparent handkerchief, her head thrown back, her eyes closed. “Okay, you weren’t marking this one for the information,” I murmured, but when I turned the page, I saw that David had actually put more flags on the pages not featuring half-naked ladies.

“‘Historically, Oracles came into their power in their teen years,’” I read next to one marker. “‘The visions often did not reach full potency until the Oracle was between eighteen to twenty years of age.’”

I turned another page, and found more little paper flags. “‘The original Oracles at Delphi were controlled by five men known as the “Ephors,” elected men who served as a sort of Parliament. Oracles were strictly female.’”

“Well, there you go then,” I said quietly. Unless David had a secret bigger than the debate club thing, it was looking like we could dismiss any chance of him being an Oracle.

But then another flag caught my eye. “Oracles were greatly prized commodities, and it was rumored that most of the great leaders of the world—Ghengis Khan, Elizabeth I, Charlemagne— all had Oracles at their disposal.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. David wasn’t a girl, that was for sure, but I knew Paladins were connected to Charlemagne. And if Oracles were, too . . .

I reached out for the Charlemagne book, flipping it back to the page on Paladins, my eyes scanning for anything about Oracles. There was nothing, but once again, I found myself staring at the illustration of the Paladins in their fancy little uniforms. Their fancy, burgundy uniforms embroidered with gold thread in the shape of—

I grabbed the psychic book again. There, over the picture of the half-naked Oracle, was a little symbol, like a skinny figure eight, turned on its side. It was the same shape embroidered on the Paladins uniforms.

“Holy crap,” I muttered under my breath.

“Harper?”

Startled, I looked up from the book. Ryan was there. Standing in my doorway. And he was smiling at me.

Okay, so the smile was kind of tentative, and he seemed a little . . . wary, hovering there by the door, but still. He was here.

I immediately pushed myself into a sitting position, shoving the books away and wishing I was wearing something a little more flattering than my sweats and one of his old basketball T-shirts. But his expression softened when he saw “Grove Academy Raiders” scrawled across my chest. “I wondered where that shirt ended up,” he said, lips lifting. There were shadows underneath his eyes, and his wavy hair seemed a little poofier than normal. It was the closest I’d ever seen Ryan to looking “rough” since the time he’d had the flu sophomore year.

“Oh my God, Ryan, I am so sorry about yesterday,” I blurted out. “I was afraid you were going to hit David, and I don’t know, get suspended or something, and I . . . freaked out. Did I hurt you?”

Sighing, Ryan came in and sat on the edge of my bed. “I really wish I could say no, because it kind of hurts my masculinity to admit my tiny girlfriend kicked my ass.”

“I didn’t kick it so much as throw it,” I said, wanting him to laugh. Needing him to laugh.

And he did. Kind of. It was more a huff of breath than his normal laugh, but I would take it. “Where did you learn how to do that anyway?” he asked. His eyes searched my face, and I twisted my fingers in the bedspread.

“Self-defense class. I guess I took it a little more seriously than I thought.” Lifting my head, I tentatively moved my fingers closer to his. “Is that why you weren’t at school today? Because I hurt you?”

Ryan shook his head. “I was a little sore, yeah, but I . . . I needed some time to think.” Hesitantly, he reached out and took my hands between his. His hands were warm and big, dwarfing mine. “Harper, believe it or not, the kung fu isn’t really what I wanted to talk about. I mean, it’s part of it, but . . .” He paused, looking down at our joined hands. “I just . . . things are weird with us.”

“No, they’re not,” I said immediately, and when he quirked an eyebrow, I sighed and rolled my shoulders. “Okay, yes, the past few days have been a little intense, with Homecoming and all, and Cotillion coming up, and the, uh, flipping you bit.”

Ryan shook his head, a tiny crease appearing between his brows. “No, it’s been going on a lot longer than the past few days.”

Okay, now I was confused. Sure, my superpowers had been throwing things off since Friday, but before that, everything with me and Ryan had been fine. Better than fine. We were happy.

“I’m not blaming you,” Ryan was saying. “You had a really rough year with—with your sister and everything, and I know getting college stuff together is freaking you out—”

“No, it’s not,” I said, and the corners of Ryan’s mouth turned down.

“And that’s another thing. Lately, it’s like I can’t say anything without you contradicting it.”

“I don’t—oh. Sorry.”

Ryan ran a hand over his hair, ruffling it. “I love you,” he said at last. “You know that. But it’s . . . it’s like we’re speaking two different languages most of the time. Harper.” He tugged on my hand. “If there’s something going on with you, you can tell me, okay?”

For a second, I really thought about telling him. I wasn’t sure how I was going to spin it, exactly, but there had to be something I could say. Some way of letting him know it definitely wasn’t him, it was me. And then a funny expression crossed his face. “Is it David Stark?”

Maybe it was because the question was so unexpected, or maybe because it was David Stark—in a way—but whatever the reason, my reaction was . . . not great.

I made this kind of spluttering sound that was kind of like a laugh, but mostly involved me nearly spitting all over Ryan. “W-what? What would David Stark have to do with anything?”

“You guys seemed pretty . . . intense yesterday,” Ryan said, dropping my hand.

“Yeah, we were intensely arguing over him writing that stupid article,” I said even as I had a sudden vision of me and David, laughing in his car. Hugging. God, we had hugged.

Now Ryan was frowning. “But you’re always arguing with him. Or talking about him. Or competing with him. And sometimes I wonder how you can be so obsessed with someone you supposedly hate.”

“I’m not obsessed,” I corrected before I could stop myself, and his mouth tightened. “Forget it,” I said quickly, rising up on my knees to scoot closer to him. “I promise you, David Stark is . . . nothing to me.” And he wasn’t. I mean, he may have been some future-telling guy I was supposed to protect, possibly unto death, but other than that . . .

Ryan seemed less than convinced, so I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his. He hesitated for a second, but then, finally, he kissed me back. As his hand slid up to tangle in my hair, I moved forward, still on my knees. Ryan’s other arm tightened around my waist, and I sank into the kiss, trying for a few seconds to turn my mind off.

It was nice. I know you’re probably supposed to use words like “hot” or “amazing” to describe your boyfriend kissing you, and we’ve had plenty of make-outs I could describe that way, but “nice” was good, too. Comforting. Stable.

When we pulled apart, Ryan had that happy, glazed look that told me all thoughts of David Stark and my ninja moves and basically anything else had been obliterated.