Bloodlines

In attempting to fix a loose thread on her cardigan the other day, Jill had nearly unraveled the entire sweater. "I don't think that's really Jill's thing." "Doesn't matter," said Kristin. "Most of the people in it can't sew anyway. But every year, the club volunteers with local designers. Miss Yamani would totally let walking in the show count as volunteering. She loves Lia DiStefano."

"And they'd have to let her go," said Julia, face full of triumph. "Because it'd be for school."

"Interesting," I said, wondering if there was any chance of it working. "I'll tell Jill." A familiar blue car pulled into the driveway, and I stood up. "There he is." Keith parked and got out, scanning around for me. Kristin gave a small sound of approval. "He's not bad."

"Believe me," I said, walking forward. "You want nothing to do with him."

Keith gave the girls what was probably supposed to be a charming smile and even winked at them. The instant they were gone, his smile dropped.

Impatience radiated off of him, and it was a wonder he didn't tap his foot.

"Let's make this fast," he said.

"If you're in such a rush, you should have just let me come by when you had more time." I took out a binder containing the letter and handed it over with a pen. Keith signed without even looking at it and handed it back.

"Need anything else?" he asked.

"No."

"Don't mess up again," he said, opening the car door. "I don't have time to keep covering for you."

"Does it matter?" I challenged him. "You've already done your best to get rid of me."

He gave me a cold smile. "You shouldn't have crossed me. Not now, not back then." With a wink, he turned around and began to leave. I stared, unable to believe the audacity. It was the first time he'd directly referenced what went down years ago.

"Well, that's the thing," I shouted at his retreating figure. "I didn't cross you back then. You got off easy. It's not going to happen again. You think I'm worried about you? I'm the one you need to be scared of."

Keith came to a halt and then slowly turned around, his face awash with disbelief. I didn't blame him. I was kind of surprised myself. I couldn't ever remember a time I'd so openly countered someone in a higher position of authority, certainly not someone who had so much power to affect my situation. "Watch it," he said at last. "I can make your life miserable."

I gave him an icy smile. "You already have, and that's why I've got the advantage. You've done your worst - but you haven't seen what I can do yet."

It was a big bluff on my part, especially since I was pretty sure he could still do worse. For all I knew, he could get Zoe out here tomorrow. He could get me sent to a re-education center in a heartbeat.

But if I went down? So would he.

He stared at me for a few moments, at a loss. I don't know if I actually scared him or if he decided not to dignify me with an answer, but he finally turned and left for good. Furious, I went inside to deliver the letter to the office. The front desk secretary, Mrs. Dawson, stamped it and then made a copy for me to give to Mrs. Weathers. As she handed it to me, I asked, "Who's Kelly Hayes?"

Mrs. Dawson's usually dimpled face grew sad. "That poor girl. She was a student here a few years ago."

My memory clicked. "Is she the one Mrs. Weathers mentioned? Who went missing?"

Mrs. Dawson nodded. "It was terrible. She was such a sweet girl too. So young. She didn't deserve to die like that. She didn't deserve to die at all." I hated to ask but had to. "How did she die? I mean, I know she was murdered, but I never heard any details."

"Probably just as well. It's pretty gruesome." Mrs. Dawson peered around, as though afraid she'd get in trouble for gossiping with a student. She leaned over the counter toward me, face grave. "The poor thing bled to death. She had her throat cut."

Chapter Twenty

I ALMOST ASKED, "Are you serious?" But let's face it: that probably wasn't the kind of thing she would joke about, especially considering how grave her face looked. Other questions popped into my head, but I held back on those as well. They weren't that weird, but I didn't want to draw attention to myself by showing unusual interest in a grisly murder. Instead, I simply thanked Mrs. Dawson for her help with the letter and returned to East Campus.

Mrs. Weathers was at her desk when I entered the dorm. I brought her the letter, which she read over twice before tucking it away in her filing cabinet. "All right," she said. "Just make sure your sister signs in and out each time."

"I will, ma'am. Thank you." I hesitated, torn over whether to go or ask the questions Mrs. Dawson's information had triggered. I decided to stay. "Mrs. Weathers... ever since Jill disappeared, I just keep thinking about that girl you told me about. The one who died. I keep thinking that could've been Jill." Mrs. Dawson's face softened. "Jill's fine. I shouldn't have told you that. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Is it true that girl's throat was slit?"

"Yes." She shook her head sadly. "Terrible. Simply terrible. I don't know who does that kind of thing."

"Did they ever find out why it happened? I mean, was there anything unusual about her?"

"Unusual? No, not really. I mean, she was a lovely girl. Smart, pretty, popular. A good - no, great - athlete. Had friends, a boyfriend. But nothing that would especially make her stand out as a target. Of course, people who do awful things like that probably don't need a reason."

"True," I murmured.

I walked up to my room, wishing Mrs. Weathers had elaborated a little more on how pretty Kelly was. What I really wanted to know was if Kelly had been Moroi. If she had, I'd hoped Mrs. Weathers might comment on how tall or pale she was. By both Clarence's and the Alchemists' accounts, no Moroi on record had lived in the Palm Springs area. That didn't mean someone couldn't slip through the cracks, however. I'd have to find the answer myself. If Kelly had been Moroi, then we had three young Moroi women killed in the same way in southern California within a relatively short time span. Clarence might argue for his vampire hunter theory, but to me, this pattern screamed Strigoi.

Jill was in our room, serving out her house arrest. The more time passed, the less angry I felt toward her. Having the feeding issue fixed helped. I would've been a lot more upset if we'd been unable to get her off campus.

"What's wrong?" she asked me, looking up from her laptop.