recipients.
Sal opted for a numb silence. She had no idea what she was doing, why she’d been summoned, if she could answer this question without demerits, or if her stomach would survive its current battery-acid state.
“Come in,” said Willis, his voice picking up her feet and moving her into the room. Somehow the door closed behind her.
It was Tuesday morning, 8:10. Five minutes late for band practice, she’d arrived to find Rolf waiting outside the music room. Raising the three fingers on his right hand, he’d said, “Follow,” then turned and started off down the empty hall.
She’d followed.
“Come sit down,” said Willis, and she walked the tightrope of his voice toward the footstool at the center of the circle. Seated, she watched his long hypnotic fingers stroke his chin.
“Yesterday,” said Willis, “you received your first duty.”
Sal hesitated. It wasn’t exactly a question, but he seemed to expect a reply. Keeping her eyes on his chin, she nodded.
“And what was this duty?”
“To deliver the plastic tabs.”
“Deliver them where?” asked Willis.
She was beginning to get it. One side of her brain took a sickening lurch into the other. “To the names on the list.”
“Exactly!” snapped Linda Paboni.
An electric current was lifting tiny hairs up and down the length of Sal’s back, but she fought the urge to swivel around and face the vampire queen. So this was the reason she’d been placed at the center of a circle — no matter which direction she faced, she was in a position of weakness.
“Then why the hell did you give three tabs to teachers?” This voice came from Sal’s left. If she turned her head slightly, she could just see the guy. He looked jockish. What was his name — Mark? No, Marvin Fissett.
“But they weren’t in their homerooms,” Sal protested faintly. “How was I supposed to find them? I didn’t even know who most of them were.”
“Ask around,” hissed the girl seated beside Willis. Not, Sal noted, Ellen Petric. Today it was Judy Sinclair — another drama star.
“But no one will talk to me,” said Sal. “No one’s allowed to talk to the lottery winner.”
“That doesn’t mean you go handing Shadow business to teachers,” snapped Linda. “You never, ever, involve teachers.”
Sal swallowed acid and took a chance. “But how do I find out who a target is if I can’t ask anyone for help?”
The room settled into a pause as everyone digested her question.
“She is in grade ten,” Rolf said finally, doodling in his secretary’s binder. “Jenny was in grade eleven — she knew just about everyone.”
“What did they do other years when the victim was in grade nine or ten?” asked Judy.
“Before Jenny, the victim was Carlos Ferraro. He was ingrade twelve. Before that it was Ian Ecott, grade eleven.” Rolf shrugged. “Before that was before my time. Anyone else remember?”
“There was a grade nine victim five years ago,” said Willis.
“Oh yeah.” Linda sounded thoughtful. “How did Shadow handle that one?”
“Before my time,” Willis shrugged.
“We’ll have to give her the sign,” Rolf said suddenly.
“I don’t think so.” Linda’s tone made her distaste for the suggestion obvious.
“Why not?” asked Rolf.
“We shouldn’t be handing out signs to victims,” said Linda.
“It’s just one victim,” said Willis, “and one sign.”
“I don’t like it,” said Linda.
“Got any other suggestions?” Willis asked softly.
“No,” said Linda huffily. “I don’t.”
“Rolf, teach her the sign,” said Willis.
“Victim, turn to receive the sign,” said Rolf.
Sal’s stomach was about to give up the biscuit big time. She swung a dizzy quarter circle toward Rolf, and Linda Paboni came into view, her long red hair scooped into a utilitarian ponytail, her thin body hunched like a ferret’s. If anyone was typecast for Shadow Council, it was Linda. She was on the yearbook and cafeteria committees
Sal opted for a numb silence. She had no idea what she was doing, why she’d been summoned, if she could answer this question without demerits, or if her stomach would survive its current battery-acid state.
“Come in,” said Willis, his voice picking up her feet and moving her into the room. Somehow the door closed behind her.
It was Tuesday morning, 8:10. Five minutes late for band practice, she’d arrived to find Rolf waiting outside the music room. Raising the three fingers on his right hand, he’d said, “Follow,” then turned and started off down the empty hall.
She’d followed.
“Come sit down,” said Willis, and she walked the tightrope of his voice toward the footstool at the center of the circle. Seated, she watched his long hypnotic fingers stroke his chin.
“Yesterday,” said Willis, “you received your first duty.”
Sal hesitated. It wasn’t exactly a question, but he seemed to expect a reply. Keeping her eyes on his chin, she nodded.
“And what was this duty?”
“To deliver the plastic tabs.”
“Deliver them where?” asked Willis.
She was beginning to get it. One side of her brain took a sickening lurch into the other. “To the names on the list.”
“Exactly!” snapped Linda Paboni.
An electric current was lifting tiny hairs up and down the length of Sal’s back, but she fought the urge to swivel around and face the vampire queen. So this was the reason she’d been placed at the center of a circle — no matter which direction she faced, she was in a position of weakness.
“Then why the hell did you give three tabs to teachers?” This voice came from Sal’s left. If she turned her head slightly, she could just see the guy. He looked jockish. What was his name — Mark? No, Marvin Fissett.
“But they weren’t in their homerooms,” Sal protested faintly. “How was I supposed to find them? I didn’t even know who most of them were.”
“Ask around,” hissed the girl seated beside Willis. Not, Sal noted, Ellen Petric. Today it was Judy Sinclair — another drama star.
“But no one will talk to me,” said Sal. “No one’s allowed to talk to the lottery winner.”
“That doesn’t mean you go handing Shadow business to teachers,” snapped Linda. “You never, ever, involve teachers.”
Sal swallowed acid and took a chance. “But how do I find out who a target is if I can’t ask anyone for help?”
The room settled into a pause as everyone digested her question.
“She is in grade ten,” Rolf said finally, doodling in his secretary’s binder. “Jenny was in grade eleven — she knew just about everyone.”
“What did they do other years when the victim was in grade nine or ten?” asked Judy.
“Before Jenny, the victim was Carlos Ferraro. He was ingrade twelve. Before that it was Ian Ecott, grade eleven.” Rolf shrugged. “Before that was before my time. Anyone else remember?”
“There was a grade nine victim five years ago,” said Willis.
“Oh yeah.” Linda sounded thoughtful. “How did Shadow handle that one?”
“Before my time,” Willis shrugged.
“We’ll have to give her the sign,” Rolf said suddenly.
“I don’t think so.” Linda’s tone made her distaste for the suggestion obvious.
“Why not?” asked Rolf.
“We shouldn’t be handing out signs to victims,” said Linda.
“It’s just one victim,” said Willis, “and one sign.”
“I don’t like it,” said Linda.
“Got any other suggestions?” Willis asked softly.
“No,” said Linda huffily. “I don’t.”
“Rolf, teach her the sign,” said Willis.
“Victim, turn to receive the sign,” said Rolf.
Sal’s stomach was about to give up the biscuit big time. She swung a dizzy quarter circle toward Rolf, and Linda Paboni came into view, her long red hair scooped into a utilitarian ponytail, her thin body hunched like a ferret’s. If anyone was typecast for Shadow Council, it was Linda. She was on the yearbook and cafeteria committees
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