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Chapter One
I had thought nothing could be worse than what they had already
done to me, but I was wrong. The silent echo of nothingness illing
the windowless chamber was ininitely worse. Not knowing how
much time had passed, whether it was day or night. Not knowing
when he would come for me.
As I sat, back pressed against the cold rock wall, I wrapped
my arms around my knees, trying to conserve any warmth I still
had left in my body. I was staring blankly at my bare, muddied
feet when a shaft of light fell across the dirt loor. To the left of
me was a small hole at the bottom of the wall. The gray stone
was crumbling there, breaking into tiny pieces as ine as dust.
It was disintegrating before my eyes. The hole was the size of a
small ireplace now. Quickly I shimmied through it, the jagged
pieces of rock ripping into my uniform like a serrated knife. And
then I was free. Outside in the sunlight, staring at a gravestone.
Persephone Archer.
“It isn’t you,” a voice said behind me, deep and melodic.
I turned and saw him. Raven black hair and eyes that seemed to
shift colors—gray, blue, and pale green.
1
Copyright © Anastasia Hopcus, 2010.
Available from Egmont USA on July 13, 2010, wherever books are sold.
I looked at the headstone, then down at my dirty and torn
clothes.
“But it is me,” I whispered. He reached out, his strong hand
cupping my chin.
“It doesn’t have to be.” His intense eyes bored into mine. “Find
the branches. They will show you how your piece its.”
My gaze wandered away from him. The gravestone was chang-
ing, the letters shifting. I watched as the name was spelled out
before me: Rebekah Sampson.
“You know who it is. You just have to wake up.” He put his hand
on my shoulder. “Phe, wake up.”
“Phe, we’re here.” Someone was shaking me gently.
I’d been having that strange dream again. The cell, the cem-
etery, the gravestone—those had all been the same. Eerie, but at
least they were familiar. The guy, however . . . the guy was new.
I blinked slowly, taking in my surroundings. I was reclining in
a maroon vinyl car seat—deinitely not belonging to my dad’s
showy Lexus. Rubbing my eyes, I pulled myself back into reality.
The towering maple trees outside the car window and the stately
wrought-iron gate we drove through were beautiful but foreign.
Fresh memories bore down on me like a freight train—saying
good-bye to Ariel, the awkward hug from my aunt when she met
me at the baggage terminal in Boston. I was in Aunt Lisa’s old
Volvo in front of Devenish Preparatory School.
My new home.
The thought twisted my insides. It had been my idea to come
here, but now that I was actually sitting in front of the build-
2
Copyright © Anastasia Hopcus, 2010.
Available from Egmont USA on July 13, 2010, wherever books are sold.
ing, I felt almost sick. My sister mentions a school in her diary
and I decide it’s my destiny to go there? The only thing I was
destined for now was starting my junior year at a new school
where I didn’t know anyone. I already missed the palm trees, the
smog, the kids selling star maps on street corners. I missed my
best friend Ariel.
But my life in L.A. had become so stiling, like I was jammed in
somewhere I didn’t it. I was constantly pretending—pretending
I was the same person, but I wasn’t. I didn’t know who I was now.
At least
here
no one else would know who I was either. They
wouldn’t know who I had been.
But I wasn’t going to let myself get all emotional now. The
two-hour drive from Boston to Shadow Hills had been uncom-
fortable enough as it was. I hardly knew my aunt, which my mom
blamed on her sister’s dislike of L.A., but at least Lisa had come
to visit; my family never went to Boston. I thanked Aunt Lisa for
the ride and grabbed my backpack, grateful she’d agreed to drop
me off instead of coming inside.
As I closed the car door behind me, a cool wind blew across
my thighs, kicking up the hem of my skirt. I pulled the lightweight
blazer tighter and hurried up
the gray path. If it was this cold at
the beginning of September, my prospects for the rest of the year
were bleak.
I looked out across the campus I was going to have to navi-
gate alone. Most of the buildings were redbrick, with turrets and
steep roofs, but there was also a simple white chapel and several
newer additions.
3
Copyright © Anastasia Hopcus, 2010.
Available from Egmont USA on July 13, 2010, wherever books are sold.
The main building of Devenish Preparatory was a daunting
structure. It was redbrick like the others, but with the double-door
entrance and expansive front steps, it was statelier. And its mas-
sive clock tower presided over the campus with an imposing air.
Still, I wasn’t going to be intimidated. Smoothing down the
front of my skirt, I took a steadying breath and squared my
shoulders. The heavy wooden doors had large wrought-iron
hinges bolted onto them, like doors to an old English church. I
grasped one of the handles and pulled.
As I stepped into the empty foyer of the main ofice, I surveyed
the vaulted ceilings, marble loors, and curving grand staircase.
There was a brass sign on the wall in front of me with the word
admissions and an arrow pointing to the left. I walked into the
ofice expecting to see some ancient, possibly with a mole on her
face, but I was instead greeted by the sight of a guy about my age.
He was sitting in a desk chair behind the counter, scribbling on a
sheet of paper and looking bored.
He is deinitely not a decrepit old
lady.
Even from my limited view of the side of his face, I could tell
he was attractive, with dirty-blond hair and a strong jaw.
“Hi. Um, I think I’m supposed to check in.” I sounded like I
was getting a hotel room. “Or register, I guess,” I inished awk-
wa rdly.
The boy looked up, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes,
then broke into a big smile. There was a small chip in his left front
tooth. “L.A.?”
“Huh?” My eloquence today was astounding.
“You.” His clear aqua-blue eyes sparkled as he smiled again,
4
Copyright © Anastasia Hopcus, 2010.
Available from Egmont USA on July 13, 2010, wherever books are sold.
though this time it seemed to be more like a smirk. “You’re from
L.A., right?”
“Is it that obvious?” I was wearing the regulation black pencil
skirt and blazer with the Devenish crest embroidered on it.
How
could he tell I was from L.A.?
“Only someone from California would be shivering in sixty-
eight-degree weather.” He laughed. “Graham.” He pointed at him-
self with the pen he was holding. “I’m from San Francisco. Trust
me, you get used to the weather after a while. Also, about the
uniform—we only have to wear them when class is in session.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my lat, boring Mary Janes. Old Los
Angeles me wouldn’t be caught dead in them.
“Don’t worry about it.” Graham leaned into me. “I won’t rat
you out.” He sat back down in his chair and spun around to the
ile cabinet behind him. “Let me grab your ile, and we can get
you on your way to being a full-ledged Devenish student. It’s
Persephone Archer, right?”
“What are you, psychic?” I raised an eyebrow, regaining
my cool.
“The head of admissions told me you were coming in today.
Persephone isn’t an easy name to forget.” Graham was scrib-
bling something down in the folder he’d pulled for me. I peered
over the counter, trying to see what he was writing.
“I actually go by ‘Phe.’ I don’t know if you want to put that in
my ile or whatever.”
“Fee?” Graham wrote it down at the top of the page, mis-
spelling it.
5
Copyright © Anastasia Hopcus, 2010.
Available from Egmont USA on July 13, 2010, wherever books are sold.
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