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might have felt subsided, because I couldn’t deny, even for a second, what I’d known since I saw the symbol on Bethany’s back.
    Whether I was in class taking a test or out wandering the hallways, there wasn’t anything I could do to save her. I was weak. Human. There was no instinct pounding in my temples, compelling me toward a battle I’d inevitably win. I had no idea where Bethany was, and even if I found her, what was I going to do—talk to the little parasite? Ask it to let her go? Tell the school nurse?
    Who was I kidding? By the time the ouroboros symbol appeared on a person’s skin, it was too late for medical science to intervene. The only thing that could save Bethany Davis’s more-popular-than-thou, oh-so-charming personage was a trade, and even that was supposed to be pretty much impossible. But hypothetically, if the chupacabra did find someone it liked better, it might leave Bethany before it sucked all of the life out of her.
    And if that person happened to be me …
    I glanced down at my watch.
    Seventeen hours and twelve minutes.
    If I could last that long with a psychic, parasitic hellbeast sucking the blood out of my body and the thoughts out of my brain, I’d be fine, because seventeen hours and twelve minutes from now— eleven minutes from now—I’d change. My blood would change.
    And the bloodsucker would die.
    As far as plans went, it was imprecise, but at the moment, it was all I had.

    “Can you tell me what class Bethany Davis is in right now?”
    The secretary had her own version of Mr. McCormick’s I know what you’re up to look, and I wasn’t altogether surprised to find myself on the receiving end of it. If I’d had any other choice, I wouldn’t have just marched myself into the office to ask, but it was a pretty big school, and I didn’t think that popping my head into every classroom, looking for Bethany, would go over much better.
    “Aren’t you supposed to be in class, Ms….,” the secretary trailed off, as she realized that she didn’t know my name.
    I was loathe to provide it for her, but given that there couldn’t have been more than three Indian kids in the entire school, I seriously doubted she’d have trouble tracking me down if she was so inclined.
    “D’Angelo,” I said. “Kali. I’m new. And I really need to talk to Bethany. It’s an emergency.”
    The secretary leaned over her nameplate, and even though I knew she was human down to her artificial fingernails, I got the distinct feeling she could see my soul. And that she was thinking of eating it.
    “Kali D’Angelo,” she repeated.
    If I’d had any school-yard sins to confess, they would have come pouring out of my mouth, just listening to her say my name. But I really did try, for the most part, to be a good kid. To not cause trouble. To be left alone.
    “Look, Mrs. Salinger,” I said, stumbling over her name, terrified that I’d slip up and inadvertently address her as Mrs. Soul Eater instead. “It really is an emergency.” True. “My dad works with Bethany’s dad,” I continued—also true. “And if I don’t find her right now …”
    My voice cracked. With a shake of her head, Mrs. Salinger handed me a tissue, assuming, I suppose, that I was on the verge of tears.
    “Does this have something to do with a boy?” she asked.
    Boy ? I thought. Bloodsucking menace to society? Same difference, really.
    “Yes,” I said seriously. “It does. Please don’t eat my soul.”
    It took me a few seconds to realize that I’d added that last part out loud.
    “Ummm … I mean …”
    Mrs. Salinger held up a hand. “There’s not a thing that goes on in this school that I don’t know about, Kali D’Angelo. People talk. I listen. I do not, for the most part, eat souls.”
    “Of course not—I didn’t mean to—”
    My feeble apology was cut off by the sound of blood-red nails hitting a pristine keyboard. I felt like Mrs. Salinger was adding my name to the roll call in