Today was Wednesday and when Cassandra offered to drop me off at the corner of Gilman Drive and Voight on her way to her dojo, I jumped at the chance. Van had told the first-years that we could take the morning off from group exercise, and I was eager to complete a ten-mile run to make up for the pathetic three-milers I’d been doing with the slayers. I still had my key to Tioga Hall, so I could shower before Asian-American Lit. As soon as Cassandra drove away, I double-knotted my shoes and did what I always did before a race. I closed my eyes and asked for Bernard’s blessing.
Now, my heart, lungs, and muscles pumped in harmony, and the clarity that came with intense cardio flooded my brain. The morning dove cooed its sweet song, and the smell of freshly mown grass filled the air. This was it. Life was finally going my way. I could feel it in my bones. Home, friends, a pseudo family, and a plan for the future—everything was falling into place. It was about time, too, because I was due for some good luck.
Kate! barked a familiar voice. Kate, wait for us!
I looked over my shoulder and saw Charlie pulling the leash and dragging his owner down the sidewalk, full throttle, to catch up with me.
“Hi, Charlie. Hi, Dr. Simone.” I slowed down and jogged in place. “Do you have surgeries scheduled for today?”
“Not today, toots.” She pushed up the sweatband around her forehead. Dr. Simone’s spiky blonde hair stuck up straight, and freckles scattered over her tanned skin. “I have rounds later this afternoon, but I took the morning off. My mileage has been crap this week.”
“Mine too.” I matched my stride to Dr. Simone’s. For an older woman, she ran fast, quicker even than some of the girls on my high school team. “I’ve been so busy,” I said. “I’ve only clocked three miles a day.”
“That’s about where I’m at too.” Dr. Simone sighed. “The Rock ’n’ Roll Marathon is a qualifier for the Boston Marathon, and I’m all signed up. I promised myself last month when I turned sixty that I would focus on my training schedule.”
And that she’d stop dating sleazy anesthesiologists, Charlie barked.
“Did you see a squirrel, Charlie?” Dr. Simone adjusted her grip on his leash.
“Running the Boston Marathon is a huge goal of mine too,” I said. “You have to qualify for it one year and run it the next, right?”
“That’s right.” Dr. Simone breathed hard.
Even though she was in great shape, I wondered if talking and running at the same time might have been too much for her. I slowed down my pace ever so slightly to make it easier for her. “You’re pretty much my hero.” I tightened the straps of my backpack. “I hope I’m still running marathons when I’m your age.”
“Ultra-marathons will be more like it. Is that why you have that pack?”
“My backpack? Nah.” I shook my head. “I have class later and wasn’t positive I’d make it back to my dorm to shower first.”
“Showing up at class stinking like a runner. Good for you.” Dr. Simone reached out and fist-bumped me.
You always smell good to me, said Charlie. His black-and-white coat glistened with sweat.
“Listen, I’m doing a training run at Torrey Pines State Reserve this Saturday,” said Dr. Simone. “Would you like to come?”
“When are you going? If it’s first thing in the morning, I could probably swing it.”
“I was thinking eight.”
“Bummer. Sorry, but I already have plans with my roommates.”
“I understand.” Dr. Simone smiled. “I was young once, too. Still am, if I have anything to say about it. But what are a bunch of coeds doing at 8 a.m. Saturday morning?”
“Hatchet throwing lessons,” I said, not bothering to lie.
“I hear that’s the new big thing. There’s a club out in San Marcos, right?”
“I’m not sure. My friends are planning the details.”
“Okay, but as a hand surgeon, I just need to warn you about the dangers of repetitive stress injuries. Be sure you warm up your wrists before you start chucking things.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”
“Well,” said Dr. Simone, “this is my turn-off. See you at Barktacular.”
“Yeah.” I bent down and scratched Charlie behind the ears and he licked salt off my arm. “See you later.”
I ran the rest of the way to Tioga Hall at my fastest pace, arriving at the dorm in a pool of my own sweat. I took the stairs two at a time all the way to the tenth floor and went directly to the women’s restroom for a shower, grateful for the change of clothes in my backpack. Then I swung by the dining hall on my way to class for breakfast. All I’d had that morning had been a protein shake before my run.
A thrill ran through me when I saw the thick stack of school newspapers in the rack by the wall. My article on campus safety headlined The Triton! I picked up a copy and spread it open. Who killed Jane Doe and what is being done about it? My own words saluted me. It didn’t matter if it was a serial killer—or a vampire—on the loose, at least now I’d warned my fellow students that they should take precautions. I pulled out my phone and checked my Twitter stats. Mario had already tweeted the article and tagged me in it, using the hashtag #JaneDoeUCSD. Even better, The San Diego-Union Tribune and CBS News 8 had both liked the tweet. Sweet!
I practically floated to class; I was in such a good mood. But when I arrived at Asian-American Lit and saw Joshua glare at me, my happiness evaporated. I ducked down and made a beeline to the other side of the room. I took out No-No Boy and opened up my computer to my notes. I used the next five minutes before class to bang out the opening paragraph of my essay due on Friday. I clicked over to Twitter, right before the post-doc began her lecture, and saw that the hashtag #JaneDoeUCSD was picking up steam. The student body president had retweeted it, along with the leader of the Pan-Hellenic Council.
By the time my shift at Barktacular began three hours later, my article had been retweeted 143 times. That was a huge number for me, considering the small size of our newspaper.
Congrats! Mario texted. Your follow-up is due Friday at 2 for the weekend edition.
On it, I answered. I’m interviewing Sergeant Byrd Friday morning.
I put my phone away and went back to playing tug-of-war with a mixed-breed puppy who was trying out Barktacular for the first time. My schedule had officially become nuts. I needed to write my essay for Asian-American lit, turn it in ahead of schedule since I was skipping class on Friday, interview Sergeant Byrd, whip out another front page article, and keep up with my digital media class at the same time. Plus, slayer training? I tried not to panic but began pacing, pulling the puppy back and forth across the romper room with me because she refused to let go of the sock in my hand.
Kids. Melvin snorted. They’re always showing off their teeth.
Just because you had eighteen teeth pulled doesn’t mean the rest of us need to hide our chompers. Charlie grinned, flashing a full set of pearly whites. Dr. Simone brushes my teeth every day.
Well, bully for you. Melvin frowned and turned away. Except for one tooth up front, all he had left were brown molars.
“Guys, be nice.” I took my eyes off the sock for two seconds and the puppy almost nipped me. Careful, I barked, and she immediately let go. “It’s okay.” I shook the sock. “We can keep playing.”
Once she fell asleep, I curled up next to her and finished the rough draft of my essay. I also brainstormed questions to ask Sergeant Byrd in my interview on Friday morning. By the time my shift was over, I was in good shape. So long as I could scrape up time tomorrow to revise and proofread my essay, I’d be fine. That shouldn’t be a problem because Natalie had told me that Thursday nights were free.
I stood outside of Barktacular for twenty minutes waiting for Gretchen to pick me up on her way home from her part-time job at Food Without a Face, the vegan smoothie restaurant next to Whole Foods. She pulled up to the curb wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and slurping from a straw, not bothering to apologize for being late. “Are you hun
gry?” She looked down at the smoothie in the cup holder. “I brought you a Briar Rabbit’s Paradise.”
“Thanks.” I hopped in the passenger’s seat and clicked on my seatbelt. “I’ve never had one before.” Or any smoothie from Food Without a Face since it was so dang expensive, but I didn’t mention that to Gretchen. I took a big sip and immediately regretted it. “What’s in this?” I asked, trying not to gag.
“It’s salad in a blender. Don’t you like chard?”
“Kind of.” I forced the smoothie down. “This tastes like it must be really healthy.”
“It’s good for you.” Gretchen tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “And you know what else is good for you?” She looked at me from the corner of her eye and grinned. “Learning to drive.”
“I don’t have my learner’s permit yet.”
“Relax. I’m not taking you out on the open road. But here’s an empty parking lot that would be perfect to practice in.”
We were right by Triton Baseball field. Gretchen was right. The parking lot was a vast swath of nothingness. I wouldn’t be able to hit anyone because we were the only car here. “Are you sure you don’t mind teaching me?” I looked down at the giant smoothie cup. “I just drank a ton of liquids. I’m gonna have to pee soon.”
“It’s going to be fine. Stop making excuses.” She turned off the car and opened her door. “Let’s do this.”
“Okay.” I tugged the neckline of my shirt. When I climbed into the driver’s seat, I felt a surge of adrenaline. All of those years of being at the mercy of others. Janet driving me to a new foster home. Temporary guardians who couldn’t be counted on to take me to cross-country meets. Joshua, taking me up Mt. Soledad Road to get my first glimpse of Slayer Academy. Now I was finally behind the wheel and it felt like freedom, even before I’d stepped on the gas. “Thanks for doing this,” I told Gretchen. “I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” She pointed at the gear shift. “Right now, you’re in park. Put your foot on the brake—that’s the pedal to the left—and then slide into reverse so you can back out of the parking space.”
“You want me to drive backward? I don’t know how to drive forward yet.”
“Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine. Keep one hand on the wheel and look over your shoulder so you don’t hit anyone.”
I did as I was told, and nothing happened. “What did I do wrong?”
“Your foot’s still on the brake.” Gretchen pushed her sunglasses up to the top of her head. “It’s time to press the gas pedal.”
“Okay.” I bit my lip. “Here goes nothing.” I stepped on the gas and the car lurched back quicker than I’d intended. I stomped the brake to compensate, and my seatbelt bit into my shoulder.
“Not so hard,” Gretchen said in a patient tone. “A little less pressure.”
I tried again, and this time the car eased backward at a safe speed.
“Good.” Gretchen nodded. “Now change into drive, and let’s go forward.”
We spent the next twenty minutes driving around in circles. Gretchen taught me how to switch on the blinkers and turn on the headlights. I practiced coming to a complete stop and driving through pretend intersections. When we finally switched seats because it was time to go home, I had a solid foundation for the basic mechanics of driving a car. Now all I needed to do was study road rules and get my learner’s permit. “Thanks,” I told Gretchen. “You’re a really great teacher.”
“You can thank me by doing KP duty all by yourself tonight.” She clicked her fingernails on the dashboard. “I just got a manicure.”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “I don’t mind doing dishes.” Really, I didn’t. KP duty was a small price to pay for a driving lesson. Three years of shuffling from home to home with nobody willing to teach me, and now I had Gretchen taking time out of her day to help me. As we drove down Gillman Drive, seagulls flew up into the sunset and it seemed like a beautiful vision capping a perfect day.
“Oh my gosh!” Gretchen screamed, slamming on the brakes. For the second time that evening, my body flung forward and the seatbelt went rigid. “That man’s covered in blood!”
When I looked through the dashboard to see what she was pointing at, my heart went cold. It was Professor Radcliffe, cradling Melvin in his arms. “No dogs die on my watch,” I said. “Pull over. That poodle needs my help!”
Chapter 22
Melvin was perfectly fine, thank goodness, but it was difficult to tell at first because blood matted his fur. Professor Radcliffe wore a maroon velour jogging suit with a white T-shirt underneath. Blood splattered his pristine white shoes. He cradled Melvin in his arms protectively, shaking his head in dismay. “What have I done?” Professor Radcliffe cried. “My poor baby.”
“What happened?” I scanned them both from head to toe, trying to gauge their injuries. I didn’t see any cuts or wounds on Professor Radcliffe that might cause blood flow, but Melvin’s fluffy fur made it difficult to tell. My stomach lurched, fearing the worst. He looked like he was dyed in red ink. “Melvin, sweetie, are you okay?”
I’m fine, Melvin barked. But that was scary.
“He came out of nowhere and got me.” Professor Radcliffe swayed from side to side.
“Here,” said Gretchen. “I found a blanket in the trunk. Sit down on this. I’ll get the first aid kit. Should we call 911?”
“There’s no need. I’m not hurt.” Professor Radcliffe sat on the quilt. “Melvin got the worst of it.”
“Worst of what?” My gaze zeroed in on Melvin again. “Can I hold Melvin? I need to see what’s wrong.”
“What?” Professor Radcliffe jerked his head, dazed. “Oh, sure. Here you go.” He deposited Melvin’s warm body into my arms.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Gretchen asked.
“Positive.” Professor Radcliffe took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and mopped his brow.
I started with Melvin’s head and scanned backward, inspecting every inch of his skin for puncture wounds or bite marks. But I couldn’t find one scratch. “Where’s all this blood coming from?” I asked. “Melvin’s drenched.”
“That would be this.” Professor Radcliffe took a plastic bag out of his pocket. “I was bringing a pint of O Negative home from the lab for research. You should have seen it. A hawk or an eagle or something—I’m not sure what type of bird of prey it was. Anyhow, it zoomed out of the trees and went straight for Melvin. My best friend could’ve been lunch.”
It was terrifying. Melvin shuddered.
“Luckily, the bird’s talons spliced open the blood bag in my pocket, and that caused such a distraction that the bird flew away.” Professor Radcliffe stroked Melvin’s wet fur. “This poor guy got the worst of it.”
“I should say so.” Gretchen wrinkled her nose. “He looks like a poodle zombie.”
Thanks a lot, girl with the heart-shaped sunglasses. Melvin lifted his chin. Excuse me if I don’t listen to fashion critiques from you.
“Poor doggie,” said Professor Radcliffe as Melvin barked. “He’s really upset.”
“Why’d you have a bag of blood on you to begin with?” Gretchen asked.
“Professor Radcliffe’s doing research on heart disease,” I explained. “He just received a new grant from the American Heart Association.”
“Impressive.” Gretchen nodded.
“Thank you.” Professor Radcliffe mopped blood off Melvin’s snout. “I’m not sure what I would have done if our funding had dried up. My mother died of a heart attack. Cardiovascular research is my life’s work.”
“And I’m grateful for everything you do.” I patted him on the back. “You’re sure both of you are safe and sound?”
“Absolutely.” Professor Radcliffe smiled. “But if it’s okay with you two, I’ll use this blanket to help carry Melvin home. I’ll be sure to wash it in bleach and return it to you at Barktacular.”
“Sure.” I stood up. “That sounds fine. Be careful on your way home.” I looked up into the
tree branches for any sign of a hawk. “The birds around here are really becoming aggressive.”
It turned out, angry birds were the least of my problems. When Gretchen and I arrived home at Slayer Academy for dinner, Van and Natalie gave us a hard time when we described what had happened to the poodle.
“Wait a second.” Van sliced into his steak. “There’s an old man wandering around the UCSD campus with a pint of blood in his track suit, and that didn’t strike you as odd?”
“It struck me as odd.” Gretchen passed on the steak and helped herself to an extra scoop of scalloped potatoes instead. “That’s why I asked him point blank why he was carrying blood.”
“It was Professor Radcliffe,” I said. “Melvin’s owner. I’ve known the professor for over two years, and trust me, he’s not a vampire.”
“Trust you?” Natalie raised her eyebrows. “You want us to trust a first-year who’s only been here five full days?”
“Look him up.” I crumpled up my napkin without meaning to. “Google him. Professor Radcliffe is a famous scientist. I see him almost every single day, and I’m best friends with his—”
Oh shoot. I almost said I was best friends with his dog.
“Best friends with his what?” Natalie asked. “Does he have a daughter we don’t know about?”
“Or a son,” said Al. He held up an enormous bowl of tossed salad. “Did everyone get enough to eat? There’s no room for this bowl on the table, so I’ll put it up on the counter. Help yourself if you want more salad.”
“I just think it’s odd that anyone, even a famous researcher, would carry around a pint of blood,” said Natalie. “O Negative was it? Like I said, odd.”
“I agree.” Van loaded steak onto his fork. “I’ll go check him out tomorrow. Do some surveillance. See what we’re dealing with.”
“He’s not a vampire,” I muttered. “He doesn’t smell like a vampire.”
Secret Shifter Page 15
