The second gathering of the new cohort of Rothko Scholars was on Saturday, in the same upper room in McClanahan Hall where they’d first met. School uniforms were technically optional on weekends, but Fern wore hers all the same. Despite her initial discomfort with having to wear a short plaid skirt which she thought showed a little too much of her gangly legs, Fern had come to appreciate not having to think about what she wore—or what people would think of it. A pair of black tights made her feel less exposed, and that was just about all she had to complain of. And besides, she thought that she needed to do something to balance out the rather revealing outfit Vipsania was wearing that evening.
“That shirt is… rather low,” said Fern to her roommate as they walked across campus together. “You’re not going to be able to dress like that when you take your vows.”
“I am wearing all black,” said Vipsania unconcernedly. “That’s gotta count for something.”
Fern thought it counted for precisely nothing, but she didn’t want to argue the point—at least until they ran into the boys. Dean and Lucas were waiting at McClanahan Hall’s main elevator, and as they rode up together, Fern noticed that both of them had stolen a glance at Vipsania’s chest. She would have to talk to Vipsania about not causing her male classmates to stumble.
“I’ve heard good things from all of your teachers,” said Dr. Strathmore, looking pleasantly at the freshmen as they took their places around the long wooden table beneath the imposing portraits of the school’s former headmasters. “You’re off to an excellent start. Not a very talkative group—with one exception—.”
She glanced at Vipsania.
“—but quite hardworking and dependable. Or so they’ve been telling me.”
“The classes aren’t even that hard,” said Lucas.
“Oh, calm down, Einstein,” said Vipsania, rolling her eyes. “The first week of classes is never hard. Wait until midterms before you start bragging.”
“Vipsania is right, of course,” said Dr. Strathmore. “But, there’s nothing wrong with a little confidence—as long as it doesn’t become complacency. Ah, it looks like the food has arrived—and Dr. Goddard along with it. We can always depend on you, Maurice.”
Dr. Goddard bowed himself into the room with a grin and took a seat next to Fern. The Sisters of St. Fausta served the food, which was just as plentiful and wholesome as their previous meal together. Steaks, sausages, mashed potatoes, green beans—the Sisters apparently had a knack for preparing a feast. The Rothko Scholars had had to skip their usual dinner, and Fern wasn’t the only one who felt famished.
“You know, ah, Fern,” said Dr. Goddard as he spooned heaps of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “It’s not too late to join Vipsania on the, uh… soccer team.”
He said the words as though soccer was an activity of great prestige and mystery, like joining the Knights of the Round Table. Fern chuckled, but didn’t reply.
“You’re an able-bodied and, uh… energetic young lady. They could use you. Think about it.”
“Fernie doesn’t like sports,” said Vipsania, through a mouthful of steak. “You should see the way she’s going out for chess, though. Betcha the library doesn’t have any books left that teach you how to win. She’ll have Lasker’s Manual of Chess memorized in no time.”
Dean shot a quick glance at Fern, who found herself blushing slightly.
“Well, I am a little behind,” she said. “I fully intend to give it my all.”
“Ah, but where’s the glory?” said Dr. Goddard in his booming voice. “And Mr. Calvert, you’re in excellent physical shape. Much stronger than you look, I daresay. Surely your mind gets enough exercise in the, uh, classroom. Lacrosse! The only suitable activity for a young man.”
“Dr. Goddard is rather biased,” said Dr. Strathmore, sipping what was probably her fifteenth cup of coffee for the day. “I will say that Walter—Mr. Kirrane, that is—is delighted to have a responsible trombonist in the jazz orchestra. Too many of the freshmen think they’re Tommy Dorsey and deserve a solo. Fern does what she’s told.”
It was a tepid compliment, but Fern appreciated it nonetheless. Mr. Kirrane was a professional musician, and not the kind of man who would speak well of a student if he didn’t mean it. She’d heard from the older students in the orchestra that he had quite the temper.
“There are a few things to discuss,” said Dr. Strathmore after they’d all filled their plates. “Besides Dr. Goddard trying to recruit you, of course. The freshman retreat to the Adirondacks is next weekend. There will be several activities just for the Rothko Scholars, so do bear in mind that your schedule will be different than your peers. Dr. Goddard and I will be there, along with some of the other freshman instructors.”
“A good chance to rough it,” said Dr. Goddard lustily. “To exercise the body as well as the mind.”
“Here we go again,” Vipsania whispered.
“Yes, well, we do prefer that our Rothko Scholars are well-rounded,” said Dr. Strathmore, barely suppressing a smile. “Everything you need for the retreat will be provided, just make sure to pack some warm outdoor clothes and leave anything precious or fragile behind—wilderness being what it is.”
She took another sip of coffee.
“Homecoming is also approaching, but attendance is not required for the 9th grade. You’ve already got enough on your plates. That said, it will be a admirable opportunity to meet some prior graduates of the program. There are many Rothko Scholars in high places. It could be most beneficial to make their acquaintance.”
Vipsania rolled her eyes, but Lucas looked rather satisfied with himself, as though he fully expected to be making many friends in high places.
“Father Rohrbach will probably summon each of you to his office during the next several days,” Dr. Strathmore continued. “He’s met with Dean already, and he likes to get to know all the Rothko Scholars—though he’s been rather busy since the semester began. If he weren’t expecting some local businessmen, he’d be here now.”
Fern and Vipsania shared a glance at the words “local businessmen,” which in Marbrose City seemed to be code for something more sinister.
“I believe that’s everything,” said Dr. Strathmore. “At least for now. Enjoy the meal.”
The campus was blanketed in darkness by the time the Rothko Scholars left McClanahan Hall. Apart from the faint sounds of the city around them, the night was quiet, and the school grounds were completely deserted. They were supposed to head straight back to the dorms—students at Marbrose Catholic weren’t allowed to wander around after curfew without good reason—and Fern had fully intended to follow the rules until Vipsania stopped in her tracks.
“Hmm,” she said, almost to herself. “Figures.”
She was staring at a black Lothian sedan parked in front of McClanahan Hall which hadn’t been there earlier in the evening. There were several impressive-looking vehicles that were parked on the roundabout that took in McClanahan, Cochran, and Aquinas Hall, but Fern didn’t see anything particularly notable in the fact. Dr. Strathmore had said Father Rohrbach was in a meeting, but Vipsania was staring at the license plate of the nearest car with recognition in her eyes. Dean and Lucas were already halfway to the dorms, and Fern was starting to become impatient.
“Hey,” said Vipsania suddenly. “You wanna learn something about Marbrose City? Like, real serious stuff they don’t want you to know?”
“I… suppose,” said Fern hesitantly.
“Good. Follow me.”
Glancing around to make sure they weren’t being watched—the chauffeurs were smoking together out on the lawn and hadn’t noticed the two girls—Fern and Vipsania ducked around to the back of McClanahan Hall. A row of bushes mostly concealed them from sight, and the walls were just overgrown enough with tough-looking ivy that a daring student could make the climb. Vipsania pulled one of the vines to test its strength, then turned to Fern.
“You climb up first,” she whispered.
“Why me?”
“Because you’re taller, and you can pull me up.”
“How very… altruistic of you,” Fern grunted as she took hold of the tangle of ivy. The vines scratched her hands, but it wasn’t too hard to get a foothold. Within a minute, Fern was halfway to the second-story window that Vipsania had pointed out.
“Oof,” said Vipsania from below. “Those are some serious granny panties, Fernie. You know you’re in high school now, right?”
“I’m wearing tights, Vipsania.”
“I can recognize the outline of bad panties anywhere. We gotta get you to Victoria’s Secret one of these days. Now c’mon, get that window open.”
Hoping that her annoyance with Vipsania wouldn’t cause her to lose her balance, Fern reached for the window and managed to pry it open with her fingernails. Pulling herself over the sill, she practically flopped into the room, tangling up her legs and scuffing her knees painfully against the carpet. The inside was dark and empty, and Fern had no sooner brushed herself off than Vipsania was demanding to be pulled up in a loud whisper.
“You are… much heavier than you look,” said Fern as she lifted Vipsania over the windowsill and closed the window behind them. “Are we going to get in trouble if we’re found here?”
“Gotta take risks, Fernie,” said Vipsania, peeking out into the lighted hallway. “Also, never forget to include a girl’s ample bosom when estimating her weight. I know that’s not a problem for you, but some of us…”
She snickered as she saw the way Fern was scowling at her.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Fernie. Okay, let’s look around. There should be a… hmm, this looks about right.”
She walked over to an antique grandfather clock in the corner of the room and started to feel around its edges. Fern couldn’t figure out what she was looking for, but Vipsania seemed like she knew what she was doing. Suddenly, there was a soft click, and the smallest of cracks opened between the right side of the grandfather clock and the wall. Vipsania pulled, and the old clock swung forward, giving Fern a glimpse of a hidden passage beyond.
“There we go,” said Vipsania. “Ready to be a rat in the wall, Fernie?”
“It’s what I was born for,” Fern sighed.
Together, they squeezed through the gap and found themselves in what appeared to be a narrow passage hidden in the building’s walls—cramped, dusty, and lined with cobwebs. It was barely three feet wide, and the ceiling was low enough that Fern had to bend double to squeeze inside. The air was surprisingly cool and a faint breeze seemed to be blowing along the passage—almost like it formed part of the building’s ventilation system. As Vipsania slowly closed the grandfather clock behind them, she and Fern were plunged into darkness.
“Here,” she said, taking a small flashlight from her pocket. “You never know when you’re gonna need to sneak around in the dark. Better to be prepared.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever needed to sneak around in the dark,” Fern mumbled. She leaned against the wall so Vipsania could lead the way.
“So, how do you know about this?” asked Fern in a whisper as they crawled carefully along the musty passage. Their right side seemed to be the solid bricks of the building’s outer wall, but to their left was nothing but wooden planks. Fern suspected they could probably be overheard if they weren’t careful.
“All the school buildings—well, most of them—have the bones of the old Windy Park mansions,” Vipsania replied. “They never tore anything all the way down. So there are servant passages, old corridors, gaps in the walls—that kinda thing. Cochran Hall even has a hidden room where old Hezekiah Snead used to whip his servants. They’re not that hard to find if you compare the diagrams of the old houses with the blueprints for the school buildings—the construction crews left most of ‘em intact.”
“Is historical architecture a hobby of yours?” said Fern, ducking under a particularly large spider web.
“Finding secrets is my hobby,” said Vipsania. “And this school has lots of them. Okay, Father Rohrbach’s office should be right on the other side of this wall. Now if there was only some way that we can—aha!”
Her exploring fingers had found a small vent at the wall’s base. Vipsania turned off her flashlight and knelt down to check whether anything was visible, getting dust all over her knees.
“Ooh, we’re in luck. Take a look, Fernie.”
Fern crouched down so her eyes were level with the vent and peered through. It seemed to be peeking out from behind a metal radiator, and it gave her only a partial view of the room inside. Fern pressed her face even closer, trying to get a better view. There were at least four men in Father’s Rohrbach’s office—all well-dressed in what Fern took to be the favored wardrobe of the Marbrose mobster. Some were sitting, while others were pacing the room, like they didn’t like being cooped up. Fern couldn’t see the headmaster’s face, but his hands were folded on his desk, in an attitude of patient endurance.
“There are some men in the office with Father Rohrbach,” Fern whispered. “I don’t recognize any of them, except—.”
“Lemme look,” said Vipsania, shunting Fern aside so she could peer through the vent. “Hmm. Yep, that’s what I figured. So, the old guy sitting across from Father Rohrbach—the one with the gray pants and plaid socks—is Carmine Aurelio, a serious bigshot in the Montagnese family.”
“He was meeting with Father Rohrbach the night we arrived,” Fern whispered.
“Yep. You were in his territory when those guys from the Polish mob tried to shake you down. Big mistake on their part. The other old guy—the one with the ascot and the pencil mustache—is Len Maslow. Playboy Len. He’s been hiding money for the rich and powerful in Marbrose City for decades, and he’s the go-to accountant for the Marbrose underworld—like, he handles all the money my dad takes in and makes sure the FBI can’t find it. Ooh, and that’s Henry Galt over there in the corner—nobody else likes pinstripes that much. Here, take a look.”
She moved so Fern could press her eye to the grating.
“Is the man sitting by Carmine Aurelio… your father?”
“Mmhmm. Dear old Papa. I wonder why he’s here. South Marbrose is outside his territory.”
“He looks… young. Younger than I expected,” said Fern.
“Well, Lucilla was born when he was just 19,” Vip whispered. “I came along two years later, after he and mom got married. That makes him… I dunno, thirty-five? Pretty young for a caporegime, really, but that’s what good ol’ mafia nepotism gets you.”
“And who is that standing behind him?”
“You mean the darker-skinned guy? That’s my uncle Lucian. He’s Papa’s half-brother. He only came back to Marbrose about a year ago.”
“Is he also a… caporegime?”
Vipsania smirked a little at Fern trying her hand at the mafia lingo.
“No, just a soldier. He’s papa’s right-hand man, though. Shh, they’re talking.”
They both pressed their ears to the vent. If they kept perfectly still, they could make out the voices of the men in the room.
“The Rosinskis say it was a mistake,” Carmine Aurelio was saying in a harsh, rasping voice. “Something that could happen to anyone. I’m satisfied with their apology and their explanation—if you are, Father Rohrbach.”
“I am,” said the headmaster. Fern again noticed the slight German inflection of his voice.
“Long as we keep the Polacks on a short leash, they shouldn’t be any trouble,” said Dominick Montagnese. Fern’s teeth clenched. She’d only been called that word once—by a bully on the playground in third grade—but she’d never forgotten it. Even in Bancroft, Poles weren’t exactly at the top of the ethnic pecking order. Marbrose was evidently no different.
“Dama Rosinska doesn’t care much for being on a short leash,” said Maslow. “Besides, she and her husband pay their dues—and they’re good customers. I can show you the calculations. Six million in the last year—and that’s just in the Fen. No reason to overreact just because their son got too ambitious and forgot to check a license plate.”
“Then that’s settled,” said Father Rohrbach. “Now… I suppose you want to hear about my meeting with the young man.”
There was a pause, and Fern wondered whether the mobsters had just shared a glance.
“Let’s hear it, Konstantin,” said Carmine Aurelio.
“He is angry, as is to be expected,” said the priest. “He suspects much, even if he can’t prove any of it. He resents being selected for the scholarship, but his guardian has been most cooperative. So far, he’s kept his head down. He does everything that’s asked of him, but no more. Outward conformity is all we can expect of him.”
“The kid wants revenge,” said Dominick Montagnese. “He’s gotta know something’s off. Galt said his IQ is off the charts.”
“And that’s exactly what we planned for,” said Carmine Aurelio. “Give it time, Dominick. It’s all figured out. We just need patience.”
“I don’t like my family being mixed up in this,” said Dominick. “My little girl just starting, and—.”
“You don’t have to like it, Dom,” said Len Maslow. “But it’s got approval from the very top. If we tame him, the Great Imperium regains a son—and a crisis is averted. Not to mention what you stand to gain personally.”
“And what if he refuses to be tamed? Then what?”
“We dispose of him,” said Henry Galt, pouring himself a glass of sherry. It was the first time he had spoken, but Fern recognized his voice.
“Don’t be daft, Galt,” said Len Maslow. “There’s nothing that boy can find out that will hurt the Imperium—not if we watch him. You came up with this plan, and there’s no reason it should fail. As long as he doesn’t do anything drastic…”
“He won’t,” said Father Rohrbach. “You have my assurances.”
“He’s the greatest threat to the Imperium since Eugene Rothko,” said Henry Galt. “And a member of the Great Families could do a lot of damage. We’ll try it your way, Konstantin. But when the time comes, don’t shield him. Your first loyalty is to the Great Imperium of Marbrose. Don’t play the holy man.”
“Konstantin knows the score, Galt,” said Len Maslow. “He won’t protect the boy if the Imperium is under threat.”
“It will not be necessary to protect him,” said Father Konstantin coolly.
There was a pause.
“Well, that’s settled,” said Len Maslow, rubbing his bony hands together. “I told you it wouldn’t take long. You can send us reports through Dom. He can come and go without raising any suspicion. Two daughters here now, right? It’s a beautiful family, Dom. You should be proud.”
“Lucian’s got another on the way,” said Dominick, standing up. “A girl.”
“I’ll send a bottle of cognac,” said Carmine Aurelio, giving a hoarse cough as he got to his feet. “You’ll need it, Lucian. They’re a handful.”
There was a scraping of chairs against the carpet and the shuffling of many feet. Chatting pleasantly, the mobsters strolled out of the office, leaving only Father Rohrbach and Henry Galt behind. For a moment, neither man said anything—almost like they were waiting for the mobsters to be safely out of earshot.
“He’s more dangerous than you’re letting on,” said Henry Galt at last.
“He’s a child, Galt. There’s nothing to—.”
“I’ve seen his psychological evaluations. My people administered them. The kid’s a borderline case of just about everything. If you really think Dom would—.”
“It was your plan.”
“The Great Families asked for it. They’d rather spare one of their own. Me, I don’t like taking risks. I built this thing, Konstantin. Unlike you, I’ve been down this road before—with Rothko. Brilliant, they said. Get him a beautiful wife—wine him and dine him. Make him work for us instead of against us. And you see how that turned out.”
“Dean Calvert is not Eugene Rothko.”
Fern and Vipsania stared at each other, their faces suddenly pale. On the other side of the wall, there was a long pause.
“I hope you’re right,” said Henry Galt. “But I wouldn’t bet on it.”
There were footsteps, and then a door slamming shut. For about a minute, Father Rohrbach looked after him in silence, flipping idly through the papers on his desk. Then, abruptly, he turned off the light, locked the door, and left.
It was a long time before either Fern or Vipsania could say anything.
“What was that?” said Fern in disbelief. Vipsania turned her flashlight back on, and Fern was shocked to see that her hands were trembling.
“I don’t know. Or, maybe I do, but—we can’t talk here. Let’s get back to the dorms.”
They squeezed back through the hidden passageway—careful not to make any noise—and reemerged through the grandfather clock. Climbing back down the vines was much easier than climbing up, but they were halfway to Caithness Hall before Vipsania abruptly broke the silence.
“It must be about his family—you know, what happened to his mom and dad. Maybe Dean knows something that wasn’t in the papers—something that would be embarrassing for the Great Imperium if it got out.”
“Like why his father killed his mother?” Fern suggested.
“If that’s even what happened. I always knew there was something fishy about it. I’m gonna check what they’ve got in the library—there’s all kinds of stuff about Marbrose history hidden back there. You just have to know where to look.”
“Should we… talk to Dean?” Fern ventured.
Vipsania glanced at her, and Fern felt herself blushing.
“Well, he wouldn’t talk to you. He thinks Fern Kubelsky is a naive goody two-shoes, which shows he’s not a terrible judge of character. I’ll give it a try, if I can catch him alone. It’ll be tough, though. He doesn’t trust anybody—apparently for good reason. Shh, we’re here.”
As they stepped through the main doors of the dorm as casually as they could, they were met by Vipsania’s sister Lucilla, wearing a judgmental scowl.
“It’s after curfew,” she said.
“Rothko Scholars had a meeting, Lucilla,” said Vipsania. “Check with Miss Marjorie, she knows where we—.”
“That meeting ended half an hour ago,” said Lucilla coldly. “You know, Papa came looking for you a few minutes ago, and I had to tell him I didn’t know where you were. It was very embarrassing.”
“Not my problem,” said Vipsania.
“Well, it will be,” said Lucilla. “I’m not letting you embarrass our family. And you.” She rounded on Fern. “I warned you, Kubelsky. My sister is not a good influence. Hopefully this will teach you a lesson.”
She whipped a small notebook out of her pocket to formally document their punishment.
“Three hours of community service each, and all privileges revoked for a week. I doubt you’ll forget the rules about curfew after that.”
Fern’s eyes grew wide. It was a stiff punishment—especially for a first offense—and she was almost too shocked to argue. Vipsania, however, wasn’t cowed.
“You don’t have the authority,” she snarled. “Only teachers can—.”
“Well, we’ll see what Sister Athanasia thinks, then,” said Lucilla haughtily. “I’ll let you guess how she feels about students breaking curfew.”
The two sisters were staring at each other with undisguised hatred, and Fern was afraid Vipsania was about to throw a punch. Some of the older girls that were watching from across the entrance hall looked like they were about to run to Miss Stott’s office, just in case this really turned into a fight.
Fern decided she needed to step in before Vipsania dug herself into an even deeper hole.
“Um, come on,” she said, taking her roommate by the arm. “We’re sorry for breaking the rules. It won’t happen again.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Lucilla, and she followed them with her eyes all the way up the main stairs and across the landing to the freshmen dormitory. Vipsania was shaking by the time they reached the safety of their dorm room, and Fern tactfully closed the door behind them.
“That bitch!” Vipsania burst out once they were alone. “That self-righteous, stuck-up little whore. Like she cares about school rules—she and her friends sneak out all the time. She just wanted an excuse to ‘teach me a lesson.’ As if this wasn’t enough!”
She jerked the black beanie from her head and threw it across the room.
“We did violate curfew,” said Fern, almost timidly. Vipsania ignored her.
“I can’t get away from it anywhere! She’s been hounding me from the day I was born. Like it’s my fault that people blink when they hear our family name. I didn’t choose this. I’m not the one in the mafia. I’m not the one who kills people!”
She yelled these last words so loudly that Fern was afraid she’d attract the attention of their suitemates, and—even if that was exactly Vipsania’s intention—Fern didn’t want anyone to see her acting like this.
She was a future nun, after all.
“Vipsania,” Fern said, trying to be soothing. “Maybe you shouldn’t—.”
But her roommate rounded on her.
“As if you could understand. Fern Kubelsky from Bancroft. God, what I’d give to have a last name people didn’t recognize. I’d rather be a nobody than have Lucilla breathing down my—!”
“I’m not your sister, Vipsania,” said Fern coldly. “You don’t need to yell at me.”
Vipsania’s teeth clenched, and for a moment Fern thought she was going to feel the full force of Vipsania's rage, but then she seemed to come back to herself. Her breathing became slower, and a slight tinge came into her cheeks that might have been embarrassment. She bit her lip, and glanced down at her shoes.
“Sorry, Fernie,” she mumbled. “That wasn’t…”
“I don’t mind being called a nobody,” said Fern sternly. “It’s the truth, and I don’t resent it. But I don’t like being shouted at.”
“Sorry.”
“I forgive you,” said Fern. “Now…”
She sat down on the bottom bunk, and patted the spot beside her. Vipsania plopped down next to Fern, looking dejected. Fern had been rather hoping they could have a little heart to heart about everything Vipsania had done that evening—starting with her immodest T-shirt—but then Vipsania rested her buzzed head on Fern’s shoulder, and she found she just couldn’t bring herself to lecture her roommate about clothes and breaking rules and losing her temper when she was so discouraged.
“Three whole hours of community service,” Vipsania sighed. “And she’ll make sure it’s something I really hate.”
“What sort of things are students assigned to do?” asked Fern.
“Grounds,” said Vipsania. “Y’know, gardening, weeding, that kind of thing. If you’re indoors, it’s organizing books, cleaning the dorms, running errands for teachers. Knowing Lucilla, she’ll have me scrubbing the locker rooms.”
“None of those sounds… too terrible,” said Fern hesitantly.
“You’ll probably be okay,” said Vipsania, glancing up at Fern. “I’ll go to Marjorie tomorrow and see if I can get our privileges back, at least. Class reps can’t take those—not according to the school handbook. Maybe if I get to Miss Stott before she gets to Sister Athanasia…”
Vipsania sat up and shrugged.
“I guess we’re lucky the school abolished paddling, or our butts would both be sore for a month. Lucilla would see to that.”
“I would definitely prefer manual labor,” said Fern.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
“Whatever is going on with Dean, we have to help him,” said Vipsania, almost in a whisper. “I would say you should keep an eye on him, but I know you do that already.”
She winked at Fern, who found herself blushing despite her best efforts.
“As you said, he doesn’t like me.”
“Well, keep an eye on him anyways.”
Vipsania leaned over and started pulling off her shoes.
“Which Mass are we going to tomorrow?” said Fern, hoping to steer the conversation away from Dean Calvert, at least for the time being. Vipsania sniffed.
“Damn. I forgot about that. You probably go to the earliest one they have, right? First one in the pew at 7:30? ‘How are you this morning, Father Murphy’ and all that jazz?”
“No,” said Fern smugly. “My parents never got up before 10 o’clock on Sunday. My father… likes to sleep in. Shall we do the 11:30 service?”
“Sounds peachy,” said Vipsania with a yawn. “Y’know, you’re alright, Fernie. But don’t you dare wake me up before 11:15.”
Fern rolled her eyes, and got up to change into her pajamas. It would be hard to sleep that night. There were too many thoughts bouncing around in her brain—their community service, the mutual hatred between Vipsania and Lucilla, and whatever was happening with Dean. Those were her last thoughts before she drifted off around midnight. The bad people who ran Marbrose City were afraid of Dean Calvert. And Fern couldn’t figure out why.