My friend’s Alfar mojo is completely dampened, but still she radiates power. At her heels scurry the two other guidance counselors, two elderly ladies whose sage advice to their female students consists entirely of ways to land a rich husband. Ironically, Mrs. Powers and Mrs. Masters are longtime widows and equally longtime roommates. Shar thinks they’re lesbians, but that’s because Shar can’t imagine two human beings sitting in the same room without humping each other. Usually with her as the butter in their human sandwich.
“Ms. Summers,” Mr. McCreepPerv purrs at Moo, motioning her over eagerly. His eyes finally unlatch from my breasts, only to anchor firmly on Moo’s long, strong thighs.
He’s an equal opportunity leerer, a breast man and a leg man, which is funny, considering Stacey is built like the wispy ghost of a twelve-year-old boy.
“Mr. McEachern,” Moo replies, her voice curt. She eyes the vandalism. “I see we’ve had another one.”
Mrs. Powers and Mrs. Masters both tut, as if on cue, shaking their curly blue-rinsed heads.
“What is the youth of America coming to?” says Mrs. Powers.
“I don’t know. I really don’t,” says Masters, her sentence flowing seamlessly off Powers.
“I blame that Gaga woman.”
“Or that one with the dollar sign in her name.”
“No, it’s that reality TV.”
“It’s TV, period—”
“Ladies,” interrupts McCreepPerv. “Don’t blame all of television. I happen to know two girls who enjoy their soaps…”
McCreepPerv’s words trail off suggestively as Masters and Powers giggle.
“That we do,” says Masters.
“That we do,” finishes Powers.
I shudder involuntarily.
“And speaking of the youth of America,” begins Masters, using her chin to point down the hall.
“That sad creature,” concludes Powers helpfully. I’m afraid her blue-rinsed hair is going to fall off she’s shaking her head and tutting so fiercely. That can only mean one thing.
Shar.
Sure enough, down the hallway comes our own succubus halfling, who has doctored her uniform so she looks like an unholy combination of schoolgirl, Pussycat Doll, and Morticia Addams. Keeping a firm grip on her arm is Trinity’s new music teacher, Mr. Ruiz.
If McCreepPerv had a polar opposite, it’d be Fernando Ruiz. Not only is Fernando gorgeous and talented, he’s also charming, charismatic, and—quite simply—likable. Upon meeting Fernando, with his wavy dark curls and strong Latino features, people want to get to know him better, help him out, maybe donate to his favorite charity.
So I trust Mr. Ruiz even less than I do Mr. McCreepPerv. Frank would be hard-pressed to convince a valet to drive his stick shift, let alone get a girl to join his Satanic cult. Fernando’s a different story. All he would have to do is point the way.
Hell, I’d probably throw on a pair of horns and let him fondle my forked tail if he asked nicely.
“Fernando,” Shar whines, dragging her clompy, Goth-booted feet behind her in a perfect imitation of a teenage nightmare.
“It’s Mr. Ruiz,” Fernando says firmly, pushing my friend toward us. Shar huffs but does as he wants and faces Moo. The two women eye each other, and for a second I want to applaud their acting skills. Shar’s staring at Moo’s impeccably tailored suit like it’s made of aluminum foil, while Moo drips disdain over Shar’s knee-high Frankenboots and micromini gray-and-black-plaid schoolgirl skirt. The skirt is even shorter, paired as it is with a tiny tutu-style petticoat. To top it off, Shar’s knotted up her uniform’s white shirt so it barely covers a black push-up bra.
Then I remember they’re not acting, and for all the love they have for each other, they have equal amounts of what I choose to call “competitive fascination.”
“As you can see, Ms. Summers, Starr has been doctoring her uniform again.”
Shar rolls her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her belligerently.
“Whatever, Fernando. I’m just expressing myself. Just because you like naughty little girls dressed in school uniforms doesn’t mean I have to play along.”
“It’s Mr. Ruiz, Starr. And the uniform is school policy.” Fernando hasn’t even broken a sweat, but he does look to Moo for help.
“I’ll talk to Starr,” my friend says, her normally cool voice glacial. “I’m sure we can reach an understanding.”
“Whatever.” Shar pops her gum obnoxiously to make her point.
“Thank you,” says Fernando fervently, as if Moo is doing him a favor, rather than her job as “Starr’s” guidance counselor.
“Thanks for nothing,” Shar mumbles, kicking at my bucket of soapy water. It slops onto her own boots and she swears as long-windedly and creatively as the talking parrot of the madame at a pirate’s whorehouse, causing everyone to start.
Masters and Powers walk away, tutting maniacally, while McCreepPerv makes his apologies to my breasts and Moo’s legs, then leads Stacey away. She’s still smiling like an imbecile and I wonder, not for the first time, if she’s on drugs.
Fernando gives me his most winning smile, thanking me for all my hard work. He’s very careful to go out of his way to be nice to me, because he’s the sort of Nice Man who speaks to underlings, and also because he probably can’t figure out if I’m Hispanic, like him, or something else.
I don’t bother clarifying my genetic heritage, obviously, as I doubt “half-human, half-supernatural shape-shifter with a few extras” is on his list of possibilities.
Once Fernando’s gone, that leaves Moo, Shar, and me standing in the hallway.
“Well, there go our most likely suspects,” I murmur, as I use my now-mostly-dry sponge to sop up the water Shar’s just spilled.
“Who are all pretty unlikely,” says Shar, scratching lazily at her exposed belly.
“I don’t know,” Moo says. “I don’t trust Fernando. And he could easily persuade most of these girls to follow him.”
“He could persuade me, that’s for sure,” says Shar. “But I dunno. I’ve flirted with him pretty extremely, and he’s not made any sort of a pass.”
“Maybe he’s not attracted to you,” Moo suggests, her voice arch.
Shar snorts, letting us know how ridiculous that is.
“Of course he’s attracted to me. He’s got a pulse.”
“So?” Moo asks, needling her.
“So? I’m me!”
“And?”
“And I’m not even wearing panties. Do you know what that means?”
“I need to carry wipes?”
“Ew,” I interrupt, knowing the girls could go at it like this all day. “This is serious. We’re working.”
“It’s not like we’ve lost anybody,” Shar says sulkily. She’s been spending too much time as “Starr.”
“True, no one else has gone cult-side since we got here. But we also have jack shit for leads, and it’s been a week,” I remind her.
Moo raises a slim hand. “Not true. Like you said, we have suspects.”
I lean back against the wall, graffiti be damned. “Sort of. But are they really suspects?”
“They’re the only people who don’t have alibis for the nights the girls went missing,” Moo reminds me.
“Yeah, but that’s because we’ve focused everything on the school and they’re the only ones who live together, or alone, and don’t have social lives, so they’re either without alibis or each other’s alibis. Can you really imagine those two old ladies running a Satanic sex cult? And I wouldn’t let Frank lead me to the bathroom, let alone into evil.”
“But it has to be the school,” Moo insists, and I know she’s right. The girls who’ve gone missing have nothing in common, other than the school. They were all the misfits, the losers, the freaks and geeks—the people who walk alone, especially when they walk in school. But even then they didn’t seem to be friends with one another, except for one small group of three girls who were some of the first to go.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be focusing on teachers,” I say, after giving my lip a thorough chew. I turn to Shar. “What about other students?”
“These kids? Hell no. They’re so goody-goody it hurts. I think the only kids who weren’t total sheep were the ones to go with the cult. Now there’s me.”
“Maybe you’re too bad,” suggests Moo. “You don’t have to be so extreme all the time.”
Shar swivels, ready to take Moo’s bait, so I intervene. “C’mon, you two. Not the time or place. Shar, pack up your stuff and go home. We’ll meet you back at the hotel. Moo and I will wrap up here.”
Shar flounces off, walking down the hallway toward her locker. I say good-bye to Moo, who strides off in the opposite direction toward her office. I’m about to take off, too, when I remember I still have a job to finish. Swearing under my breath, I grab my sponge, hoping my “magic words” will help scrub off the graffiti. But something catches my peripheral vision: a flash of bright yellow fabric moving down the same hall that Shar just took.
Dropping the sponge, I duck against the wall, looking around carefully. I’m only searching for people, as I know this school like the back of my hand by now, and only the external doors, the main lobby, the gymnasium, and the auditorium have security cameras. If I tuck myself up against the wall, my coast is clear.
I take a deep breath, and I reach down into my magic. I’m not a powerful halfling at all. The product of a human and a nahual, I can’t even shape-shift fully like my dad can. He can be whatever he wants, but I’m limited to morphing some of my features. Whatever weird genetic cocktail got mixed up inside my blood gave me a rare, precious gift, however: that of camouflage. Not only can I cloak myself with a glamour of invisibility, but I can cloak my glamour so that there’s no magical power signature.
I can be the invisible (wo)man, to both humans and supernaturals, at least for a short time, anyway.
Creeping forward on silent feet, I make my way down the hall, then turn to my left after peering carefully around the corner. Shar’s at her locker, talking to someone in the yellow and white uniform of the Trinity cheerleaders.
That’s unexpected, I think. After all, cheerleaders traditionally rule the high school roost, and even though it’s only for girls, Trinity’s no exception. They may cheer for the neighboring boys’ academy instead of their own school, but that doesn’t make them any less the popular girls.
Unlike Shar, who is at the absolute bottom of the social pecking order, as a new student and as someone who purposefully stands out from the crowd.
So why is a cheerleader talking to Shar?
I creep ever closer, keeping careful magical feelers extended inside my camouflaging glamour. But no one besides me is using any magic in the school that I can sense. Shar has hers dampened, and the girl in yellow appears entirely human.
Human and friendly, I think, watching as the girl runs a hand down Shar’s arm. Shar looks up, all wide-eyed innocence.
Now I know she’s acting.
The cheerleader and Shar have their faces close. They’re whispering, so it’s not until I’m nearly on top of them that I realize who the other girl is.
It’s Jodi Corwin. I’m dumbfounded. If cheerleaders are popular at Trinity, Jodi is the Queen of the Cheerleaders. Athletic, with long pale limbs and fetching auburn curls, Jodi’s that wondrous combination of sex vixen and milkmaid we like to think of as “the girl next door.”
Jodi’s never once glanced at me in the hallway—she doesn’t see people in uniforms, even with my janitor’s hat floating above me like a second head on my big-ass hair. And she’s only talked to Shar once—to ask Shar if her perfume was called “Skank.”
Nowadays Jodi seems to be digging Eau du Skank, I surmise, as she giggles at something Shar’s said.
I’m close enough to the couple now to hear what they’re whispering. With my camo, I also know Shar can’t sense me there, so I feel a bit pervy. Yet this is too weird not to investigate. It could be that Jodi’s genuinely interested in “Starr,” at which point I’ll leave them to it. But until then, call me Nosy Nelly.
“I’m serious,” Jodi says, her blue eyes huge. “I love your outfits. They’re so unique.”
Shar blushes, looking down. “You haven’t seemed to like them.”
“Oh, that. Look, I know I can be a total bitch. But I just didn’t know you. I didn’t get it. For serious, I’m sorry.”
Shar looks up into Jodi’s face. “You mean that?”
“Of course. That’s why I’m here. I know I’ve been mean and I’m sorry.”
“Well, thanks, Jodi.” Shar’s smile is so slow and sweet it’s like molasses spreading across her face.
“You’re welcome.” Jodi’s smiles brightly. And she doesn’t seem like a Satanist at all. She could be legit. Or she could be a Mean Girl looking to butter up “Starr” to embarrass her later or to get her to do something stupid. Shar can handle something like that, and I consider leaving. But I’ve got one of those twinges in my gut that tells me to stay.
After long experience, I’ve learned my instincts are to be trusted. So I keep listening.
“So where do you get your clothes?” Jodi asks.
“Oh, mostly online. There were stores in Chicago, but not here.”
“Well, I love it. You’ll have to give me the websites. Can I ask why you dress that way?”
“I dunno. I think it’s pretty.” Shar gives a dramatic pause before looking up at Jodi coyly. “I guess I just like dark things.”
Jodi beams at Shar like my friend is the sunrise. My eyebrows rise.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you. And why I think I was so mean to you. I was jealous,” Jodi says.
“Of me?” Shar’s voice is perfectly incredulous, honoring Jodi’s far superior social status.
“Yes, of you. You’re brave enough to be like I want to be. I like dark things, too.”
“You do?”
“I do. I know I’m a cheerleader, and everyone thinks I’m so happy and fun. But it’s not really me, you know? Not who I am in my soul.”
Shar’s nodding like she’s a parrot, and she’s taken a careful step closer to Jodi. Shar is breaking into the other girl’s intimate space gently but firmly.
“I know what you mean. It’s like we can be totally different people in our hearts. It’s so hard.”
Jodi’s eyes have welled up like she’s going to cry. She gives a choked sob. “Yes, so hard.”
“Oh, Jodi,” Shar whispers, drawing the other girl forward into a hug. Jodi sniffles decorously, and then it happens. Jodi leans in and her lips find Shar’s in the sort of kiss that should only exist on a porn site, what with the cheerleading uniform, Shar’s outrageously doctored school uniform, and both girls’ stunning good looks.
After a carefully timed moment, Shar kisses her back before pulling away. “Jodi?” she asks, all tremulously.
“I’m sorry, Starr. I couldn’t help it. I feel like I know you so well.”
“I feel the same,” Shar says, raising her fingers to touch her lips in wonder.
“I want you to meet some other people,” Jodi says hurriedly, as if she’s caught in the moment. My ears perk up and I thank the Snooping Gods that I stuck around to listen.
“Other people?” Shar asks.
“They’re some people I’ve met who I think might be like you. Like us. You know, different inside. Interested in different things.”
“Dark things?”
“Yeah, dark things. I think you’ll like them. I think we can all be friends.”
Shar beams at Jodi like she’s been offered a puppy. “Oh, Jodi, thank you. I’d love that. I do feel lonely here.”
“I know, Starr. And I am sorry. But maybe I can fix it?” The girl leans into Shar, who blushes beautifully, raising her face shyly to Jodi.
They kiss again, but I’m already moving away. I’ve heard enough. It’s not concrete evidence, no. But Jodi’s whisperings about “dark things” and “new friends�
� is enough to raise alarm bells.
I’m pretty sure our circle of suspects has just widened to include one Trinity Academy cheerleader.
* * *
It’s a week later, and Shar’s finally getting to meet Jodi’s “friends.” For the occasion, our little succubus halfling looks hideous, in an adorable way. She’s done her long black hair up into pigtails, and she’s wearing this ridiculously short version of an Elvira dress, only this one has fake, sort of plastic chains hanging from the waist, along with ribbons. They trail farther down than the dress, so that they knock against her plump thighs.
I would worry the chains will run her fishnets, but they’re already full of holes, so I guess that’s a moot point.
Giving the immediate area one last sweep with both my weak magic and my sharp eyes, I go ahead and turn off our trusty if ancient Bronco. We’ve pulled into an abandoned parking lot, part of a strip-mall complex that might once have been fashionable, but had long since been abandoned for the Super Targets and Walmarts closer to the highway. All Shar has to do to get to her destination is walk around the empty stores in front of us, and then hike about a mile to get to the park where she’s supposed to meet Jodi.
Moo adjusts the camera stuck to my forehead like a miner’s lamp. It’s not our most impressive equipment, but it’s cheap and no one’s supposed to see it, anyway.
“Be cognizant of this—it’s your only link to me,” Moo cautions, causing Shar to roll her eyes.
“Like Cappie’s going to forget she’s miked,” Shar says, but she pats Moo’s hand at the same time. They really do love each other, these two, even if they fight like…well, like sisters.
I shake my head experimentally, feeling the camera bounce a bit with my hair but otherwise remain solid. Neither it nor my little earpiece microphone is going anywhere. The camera’s gonna squish the shit out of my ’fro, but like me, my hair is resilient.
Something Wikkid This Way Comes Page 2
