She had succeeded.

Tara walked into the lobby of her dormitory, victorious. She had won them over and was now their new best friend. She giggled. How dismal she must have sounded to them. And in return, she received an abundance of their pity. Poor, poor Tara, they must be thinking. She has so many problems, and we’re going to help her fix them. Rarely had Tara put on such a performance; the tears, the appearance of utter hopelessness.

“Academy, where is my Oscar?!” she nearly shouted as she entered the elevator. Pressing “6”, the doors closed. She reflected on the story that she’d given Goodie and Girly-Girl. It was a story that she was going to have to keep straight in order to play her part successfully.

She had “explained” that her anguish had resulted from her boyfriend having just broken up with her, throwing her into a major depression. She had lashed out at Brent because he was a guy—a guy that happened to be in target range.

Then she told them that the reason, she thought, that her boyfriend had broken up with her was her constant alcohol binging. She told them that she hated both her ex-boyfriend and herself for creating such a mess. And finally, she said that she couldn’t get her head back into her studies and that she was afraid she was going to fail the semester if things didn’t change soon.

It was all lies, of course. Not a word of it was true. In fact, right now she was too busy for a boyfriend because she was concentrating so much on her sophomore-year studies. She was actually carrying a 3.7 GPA.

But they bought it all, hook, line, and sinker … and bobber. She giggled again.

Of course, Goodie had started in with the whole “God” thing. She’d expected it once she realized that he wasn’t a witch. The guy probably hadn’t so much as told a white lie since he was five years old. Goodie Two-Shoes to the core.

Now, Miss Girly-Girl was a different story. She could tell that Marta had probably come from the other side of the tracks. And Tara knew she would have to watch out for her. She didn’t seem as trusting as Brent. Even so, she seemed to have bought the story as readily as he.

Keeping the deception going was the key. They had offered to pray for her needs. And as long as they were praying for needs she didn’t have, Tara suspected that Goodie and Girly wouldn’t create too many problems when it came to using their Christianity.

Both her mentor in the craft, Stephanie O’Leary, and her spirit guide, Shalinar, had warned her against being the focus of targeted prayers. It was to be avoided at all costs. Better to have Christlings praying for non-existent challenges than real ones. Tara didn’t understand why the warnings were given, especially if Christlings were actually misled weaklings, but caution would be maintained anyway.

The diversion would also keep them from suspecting her when it came to the torments that Goodie, and now Miss Girly, would experience. She’d have to be careful, though, and bide her time. She mustn’t have any more attacks seeming to coincide with their “chance” meeting in the cortyard today. Yes, wisdom was called for.

Devious wisdom.

7:07 P.M.

BRENT AND MARTA walked away from The Great Oak feeling better than they had when approaching it a couple of hours earlier.

“Maybe God used what the enemy meant for evil last night to bring us back here to do some good today,” Marta offered.

“Wow. Good thought. All’s well that ends well, right? If some good comes out of my weird experience, then I’m satisfied.”

They walked a few more paces, heading toward the off-campus apartment that Marta shared with two other roommates. Brent reflected out loud. “Interesting girl.”

“Yeah. Interesting,” said Marta. “Pretty screwed up. But it sounds like she really wants some help. She didn’t really seem interested in hearing about God, though.”

“No. At least not yet. She basically gave us a list of things that we can pray for, though. When God starts answering our prayers for her, I’m sure she’ll become more receptive.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I always am.” Brent looked over and presented a big, toothy grin.

“Want another elbow?”