Chapter 1

Mike Messina downshifted his sporty black Dodge Aspen super coupe into neutral and coasted down the offramp from the interstate on a crisp, clear Friday morning. He made the sharp turn onto Murphy Hill Road, where lush walls of basswood, birch, dogwood, and chinkapin flew by in a verdant blur as he gradually accelerated to nearly twice the speed limit, chewing up and spitting out this mostly straight, flat section of rural backcountry road. After several miles, the road curved sharply left, passing underneath the very same interstate he’d just exited, to begin its gradual ascent into the rolling, forested foothills to the west of Pisgah National Forest, roughly following the meandering path of Morgan Creek as it snaked its way through hollows and dales carved into the rolling hillside, on its way to drain into the French Broad River deep in the valley below.

Further on, the trees thinned to reveal forested hills overlooking a lush, flat vale where simple stone and timber farmhouses and barns shared split rail fences with newer, oversized mountain dwellings that seemed to pop up every month, constructed by wealthy city dwellers seeking second homes with affordable acreage. Luxurious weekend getaways just a short drive from their townhomes and Victorians in Asheville and Charlotte.

Another mile down the road, Mike turned left onto the tiny private lane that swept around a low promontory and led directly to a small gravel parking lot in front of the imposing, two-story stone facade of Leavitt Hall. Scirewood Academy’s main academic facility, and home to the school’s administrative offices.

Mike was Scirewood’s newest faculty member, and one of only eight teachers at the school. At forty-two, he was also the oldest, hired five months earlier after returning an email from an academic recruiter about an open position at a prestigious all-girls private boarding school in western North Carolina he’d never heard of before. At the time, he’d been teaching physics at a day school in Thousand Oaks, California and, up to that point, had been content with both the job and the scenery, but he was intrigued by the school’s inquiry- and project-based approaches to education, as well as the fact that the tiny academy had just been awarded the state’s highest honors for STEM education. The school was in search of a new science teacher with robotics experience, and Mike’s name had percolated to the top of a very short list.

The entire student body consisted of just sixty students, with a hard cap of sixty-four in order to maintain the school’s strict eight to one student-teacher ratio policy. The academy was open to high school girls aged fourteen to seventeen who passed a rigorous entrance examination and submitted a research topic that would form the basis of her senior thesis. A requirement for graduation and the capstone of her educational career at Scirewood. Upon acceptance, each girl was assigned an academic advisor to help guide her through the research and writing process, and provide feedback and refinement along the way.

Mike was instantly popular with both his colleagues and his students, earning a reputation as a top-notch science communicator and instructor. His nearly two decades of experience as a lead engineer and supervisor at a variety of special effects shops in Hollywood, where he’d worked on some of the biggest blockbuster films ever made, only served to elevate his already impressive standing. He frequently sprinkled entertaining stories about his experiences on set into his lessons, sharing amusing anecdotes about overbearing directors and demanding actors that enthralled and amused the girls in his classes.

Despite his easy going and soft spoken nature, he wasn’t blind to the effect his good looks and charming personality had on both his female colleagues and the young, impressionable girls under his tutelage. He often felt their eyes on him as he passed by in the hallways, and more than once he’d needed to disengage from an awkward encounter with an infatuated student who’d sought him out in his office or an empty classroom for a private moment alone.

The attention flattered him, of course, but he took his work and his ethical responsibilities seriously, and so kept his personal and professional lives strictly segregated. Teaching was his saving grace and the most fulfilling calling of his life. When the major studios began to transition away from practical special effects in favor of motion capture and computer generated imagery, the steady work he’d once relied upon quickly dried up. A chance encounter with a former colleague led to his first teaching position at a private school in Van Nuys, where his lack of previous teaching experience was more than made up for by his extensive industry experience. The bachelor’s in mechanical engineering he’d received at Caltech, and the master’s in mechatronics he’d earned at Stanford might have helped smooth the path as well.

“Hey, Mike,” Marcus Bingham chirped when Mike walked into the lounge for a cup of coffee.

Marcus taught mathematics and, along with Mike, was one of the school’s three male teachers; the third being Davey Baden, who taught biology and anatomy. Marcus had been just twenty-four when he earned his PhD in computational mathematics at UNC Chapel Hill. Now twenty-seven, he was almost single-handedly responsible for securing the academy its top-level science rating. Fifty pounds overweight and prematurely balding, the young academic had been intimidated by Mike when he was first hired, but Marcus soon warmed to him when he discovered that Mike had worked on several of his favorite sci-fi films.

“Morning,” Mike said cheerfully. He set down his book bag and selected a pod of dark roast coffee from the little stainless steel rack, popping it into the overworked Keurig with a satisfying ka-chunk. “You going to the new Marvel movie tonight?”

Marcus brightened and nodded his large head. “As soon as my last class ends, I’m out of here,” he said. “What about you? Any weekend plans?”

“I thought I might spend some time debugging the control system on Razor’s Edge. I’m still seeing some lag between the controller and receiver.”