The teachers took their seats,but the chair stayed empty as my mother took her place at the podium inthe center of the long head table.

"Women of the GallagherAcademy, who comes here?" she asked.

Just then, every girl at everytable (even the newbies) stood and said in unison, "We are the sisters ofGillian."

"Why do you come?"my mother asked.

"To learn her skills.Honor her sword. And keep her secrets."

"To what end do youwork?"

"To the cause of justiceand light."

"How long will youstrive?"

"For all the days of ourlives." We finished, and I felt a little like a character on one of mygrandma's soap operas.

We sat down, but Mom remainedstanding. "Welcome back, students," she said, beaming. "This isgoing to be a wonderful year here at the Gallagher Academy. For our newestmembers"—she turned to the table ofseventh graders, who seemed to shiver under her intense gaze— "welcome.You are about to begin the most challenging year of your young lives. Restassured that you would not have been given this challenge were you not up toit. To our returning students, this year will mark many changes." She glancedat her colleagues and seemed to ponder something before turning back to faceus. "We have come to a time when—" But before she could finish, thedoors flew open, and not even three years of training at spy school prepared mefor what I saw.

Before I say any more, Ishould probably remind you that I GO TO A GIRLS' SCHOOL—that's all girls, all the time, with a fewear-drop-needing, plastic-surgery-getting male faculty members thrown in forgood measure. But when we turned around, we saw a man walking in our midst whowould have made James Bond feel insecure. Indiana Jones would have looked likea momma's boy compared to the man in the leather jacket with two days' growthof beard who walked to where my mother stood and then—horror of horrors—winked at her.