Blood Drive

I know I shouldn’t be surprised at this. Shapeshifters. Werewolves. Vampires. What other creatures are there that I’ve yet to discover?

Frey answers, though the question is rhetorical.

Let’s see. I can name several right off the top of my head. Ghosts, for instance. Angels. Demons. Dragons.

Dragons?

Not many left. But there are a few. In remote jungles, mostly. And lost islands.

I sink back down in the chair. Why do I feel as if we should be having this conversation on a moving staircase at Hog warts not here in a California classroom?

Frey is smiling at me.Now that’sfiction. The school, that is, not the existence of witches and warlocks. They exist-

I hold up a hand to stop the flow. I’m quickly reaching information overload.Let’s get back to you. How many shapeshifters do you know? Around here, I mean. Do you travel in prides?

He resumes his perch on the corner of the desk.No. We’re pretty much solitary creatures. It’s hard enough for one big cat to prowl the city undetected. It would be impossible for a pride. Besides, we’re not all cats.

Oh?

There are all kinds of shapeshifters. Some change into dogs. Birds. Snakes.

That’s when it clicks, like tumblers in a rusty old lock that yield when you’re given the right combination.

Culebra.Rattlesnake.

It’s so clear.

Culebra?Frey snatches the name out of the air.Who’s that?

I shake my head. I’ll think about Culebra later. I need to get back to the reason I’m here. I don’t waste time forming the words, just let Frey pick an edited version of the story out of my head.

His face betrays nothing as he “hears” about Barbara and Trish and why Carolyn suspects he is involved with her daughter’s disappearance. I’m not specific, especially about Carolyn’s accusations. I frame it in terms of rumor and i

Exchanging drugs for sex? Why would she think that? Why would anyone think that?

My mother tells me those rumors have been around for awhile, just never been substantiated. In my experience, a story like that usually has some basis in fact.

Frey draws himself up, fury hardening the lines around his eyes and mouth.I help students. I don’t feed them drugs and I certainly don’t sleep with them. I can’t believe your mother thinks that I might. Finding women to have sex with has never been a problem for me. And I do prefer women to girls.

I didn’t say my mother believes it. I’m just saying she’s heard it.I raise my eyebrows.AndI’ve seen some of today’s high school “girls.” They’re pretty mature for their age.

Nonetheless, I wouldn’t do that. There have never been “sleepovers” or “weekend seminars.” God. Why would she say that?

I shrug.Who knows? I pause briefly before asking,And what about Barbara Franco? Did she come to see you?

No. And if she had, I would have told her what I just told you.

He answers directly and without any prevarication that I can detect. However, my experience with shapeshifters has been limited. I don’t really know what they are capable of.

We can lie. Just like humans. Just like vampires. You have had some experience with that, I understand.

I hate this. I want you to stop getting into my head uninvited. I can prevent it with vampires. Is there a way to stop you?

Why should I answer that?

A show of good faith. You expect me to believe you, and this would go a long way toward establishing credibility.

He leans toward me, his eyes cold.That would require a great leap of faith on my part. I don’t know you. I don’t trust you any more than you trust me. I think you should go. I have students coming.

Do you know where Trish is?

The question seems to catch him off guard. Something flickers in the depths of his eyes, ripples the calm, dark waters of his thoughts. But he recovers quickly and the hesitation is like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wing-so fast you think it might be an illusion.

Would you believe me if I said I don’t? I hope she is safe. Now, I want you to go. Students are arriving. They will need my full attention.

I glance past him to the open classroom door. I don’t see anyone.

He taps the side of his nose.I don’t have to “see” to know they are coming.

And as if on cue, a car door slams in the parking lot. Then another and another. It’s thirty minutes until class time. I guess Daniel Frey can smell a human’s approach as easily as a panther in the jungle can smell a tethered goat.

Chapter Eight

Not exactly the interview I had hoped for. I take a seat at one of the lunch tables in front of the theater and watch as silent, sober-faced teens file into Frey’s classroom. He meets them at the door, ignoring my presence, though he feels it. His thoughts flicker out once or twice as if testing my reaction to the scene.

I don’t have one. Yet. All I have are more questions.

As many boys as girls form a crowd that soon spills out of the classroom and into the grassy quad right below my bench. For some reason, I figured his appeal would be strictly to girls. But the students gathering are a mix of jocks and nerds, model-pretty cheerleaders and mousy bookworms. They’re all drawn to Frey, and through him, to each other. He’s like a modern Pied Piper. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or bad.

As nine o’clock approaches, he shepherds the kids toward the auditorium where my mother and Chief Williams will address them. I follow as far as the office. I don’t see the point in hearing another recitation of what I already know. I’ll come back to question Frey again after I see Carolyn.

I duck into Mom’s office to call David. He answers on the first ring.

“Any luck with the names I gave you this morning?” I ask.

I hear a rustle of paper. “Who should I start with first?”

“How about Daniel Frey?”

“An interesting character, that one,” David replies. “He’s forty-two years old, born in Boston, educated at Harvard. Came west about ten years ago after teaching at an i

I give an impatient huff. “What’s so interesting about that?”

“I contacted the records office at Harvard. There’s a Daniel Frey listed as having attended all right. But they show him graduating in one of the school’s first classes. That would be in the late, what? 1800s? Which makes him closer to two hundred than forty-two. What kind of shape is the old geezer in?”

I detect the humor in David’s voice, but somehow I can’t bring myself to laugh. Neither can I explain to David that Frey may in fact be two hundred years old. I have no idea of the life expectancy of a shapeshifter. “So,” I say instead, “must be a mistake.”

“Don’t school districts check that kind of thing?”

“They should. My hunch, though, is that he got his job here based on an exemplary record in Boston. Who knows how thoroughly the Boston school district checked his credentials when he applied there? Anything else? Any mysterious disappearances around the time he left?”

David’s voice echoes with disappointment. “Nothing. And Frey doesn’t have as much as a parking ticket on his record. Fact is, he has never applied for a driver’s license. How the hell does he get around in Southern California without a driver’s license?”

Good question. On all fours maybe? “I’ll be able to answer that when I see you this evening,” I reply. “I plan to follow him when he leaves school. What about Barbara Franco?”