The secretary had her own version of Mr. McCormick’s I know what you’re up to look, and I wasn’t altogether surprised to find myself on the receiving end of it. If I’d had any other choice, I wouldn’t have just marched myself into the office to ask, but it was a pretty big school, and I didn’t think that popping my head into every classroom, looking for Bethany, would go over much better.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in class, Ms….,” the secretary trailed off, as she realized that she didn’t know my name.
I was loathe to provide it for her, but given that there couldn’t have been more than three Indian kids in the entire school, I seriously doubted she’d have trouble tracking me down if she was so inclined.
“D’Angelo,” I said. “Kali. I’m new. And I really need to talk to Bethany. It’s an emergency.”
The secretary leaned over her nameplate, and even though I knew she was human down to her artificial fingernails, I got the distinct feeling she could see my soul. And that she was thinking of eating it.
“Kali D’Angelo,” she repeated.
If I’d had any school-yard sins to confess, they would have come pouring out of my mouth, just listening to her say my name. But I really did try, for the most part, to be a good kid. To not cause trouble. To be left alone.
“Look, Mrs. Salinger,” I said, stumbling over her name, terrified that I’d slip up and inadvertently address her as Mrs. Soul Eater instead. “It really is an emergency.” True. “My dad works with Bethany’s dad,” I continued—also true. “And if I don’t find her right now …”
My voice cracked. With a shake of her head, Mrs. Salinger handed me a tissue, assuming, I suppose, that I was on the verge of tears.
“Does this have something to do with a boy?” she asked.
Boy? I thought. Bloodsucking menace to society? Same difference, really.
“Yes,” I said seriously. “It does. Please don’t eat my soul.”
It took me a few seconds to realize that I’d added that last part out loud.
“Ummm … I mean …”
Mrs. Salinger held up a hand. “There’s not a thing that goes on in this school that I don’t know about, Kali D’Angelo. People talk. I listen. I do not, for the most part, eat souls.”
“Of course not—I didn’t mean to—”
My feeble apology was cut off by the sound of blood-red nails hitting a pristine keyboard. I felt like Mrs. Salinger was adding my name to the roll call in hell.
“Bethany’s got drama this period,” she said finally. “I believe the class is in the auditorium doing a cold read of The Glass Menagerie.”
“The Glass Menagerie,” I said, unable to keep from dumbly repeating everything the woman said.
“Go on, now.”
She didn’t have to tell me twice. I hightailed it out of her office and to the auditorium. I needed to find Bethany before I lost my nerve or found my common sense. Her life depended on my being simultaneously brave and stupid.
Lucky her.
As I opened the door to the auditorium, I braced myself. Every single person in the room turned and looked at me.
This time, at least, I had a cover story. “The office needs to see Bethany Davis,” I said.
The drama teacher mumbled something that I couldn’t decipher, but I guess he must have given Bethany permission to leave, because a moment later, she was sauntering toward me: sugar and spice and eyes that said did I give you leave to speak my name, lowly serf?
I could tell already that this was going to be buckets of fun. When Bethany reached the door, she turned around and smiled, waving at the teacher in a motion that looked more like the work of a hypnotist than a teenage girl. Exactly five seconds later, the two of us were in the hallway, headed toward the office.
“Wait,” I said. The word came out high and squeaky, even though my voice is normally closer to the “husky” end of the spectrum. When Bethany didn’t stop, I reached out to grab her arm. She tried to shrug me off, but I tightened my grip.
“What is your problem?” she huffed. “You delivered your little message. Now, shoo.”
I didn’t move, and since I had a hold on her arm, neither did she.
“Oh, I know what this is about,” she said, her green eyes widening in a way that made me think, for a split second, that maybe she did.
“You do?” I asked.
Her widened eyes narrowed. “You’re Skylar’s new little project, and you think that since I’m with Elliot, and he shares an unfortunate number of his chromosomes with Little Miss Loose Legs, you have an in.”
For a few seconds, I considered letting go of her arm, turning around, and walking off. If she was retaining enough of her memories to be this much of a bitch, she clearly wasn’t in that much danger.
But I couldn’t make myself do it. Couldn’t drop her arm. Couldn’t turn around. All I could do was drop the act.
“Do you have a tattoo?”
“Excuse me?” Bethany did the ice-queen motif to perfection, but at the moment, I had bigger things to worry about than painting a giant social target on my forehead.
“It’s a simple question. Yes or no—do you have a tattoo?”
Something in my voice, or maybe my eyes—which had a tendency to go nearly black when I was on a hunt—must have convinced her that I was serious, because she actually answered me.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I don’t have a tattoo.”
The desire to say well, then, if you want to live, come with me was overwhelming, but I didn’t see the point in being cryptic or vague.
“You have an ouroboros on your back.” I said the words softly. I didn’t want to be saying them at all.
Bethany blinked several times, and I plowed on.
“It’s a symbol,” I told her, “of a snake eating its own tail. It has a lot of different mythological meanings, but only one scientific one.”
“You think I’ve been bitten,” Bethany said, and something about her tone of voice reminded me that I wasn’t the only one who’d grown up with a father in academia.
“I think you’ve been bitten. I think it burrowed inside of you. I think it’s drinking your blood and absorbing your memories—”
“I know what chupacabras do.” Bethany probably didn’t spend her nights hunting the preternatural, but I was beginning to suspect that she knew more than I’d given her credit for and that her sole exposure to the concept of chupacabra possession wasn’t some Lifetime Original Movie called Three Days to Live. “I know exactly what these things do, Kali.”