Blood of the Devil

Chapter 3 - Maths, Music and Mice

Lingering behind outside, Letha waited twenty minutes before entering her classroom, doing so without knocking. She had time enough to walk in, storm to the back, and set her books on the desk before the teacher reacted.

“Ms Antitheus!”

“Yes sir?”

The middle-aged man wiggled his glasses, setting them more firmly on the bridge of his nose before he pointed to the door.

“Office. Now. I believe you know the drill.”

Picking up her books again, Letha walked out of history as usual. As she passed the front row, the new boy with the watch tossed his hair slightly, and grinned at her. He was one bright blue curl that emerged from his crown, and it swung into his eye. Letha scowled at him; what didn’t this boy understand about such simple sign language.

Outside the door, Letha paused, considering whether to actually go to the office or not. Deciding her refuge had been ruined for the day by the new kids, she put the tree from her mind and, sighing, headed to the office. The balcony was deserted, the classrooms she passed full and trotting down the stairs, Letha wondered what they were doing in history right now. The crusades? The Salem witch trials? One of the many wars begun by religious differences? There wasn’t a thing in the world that Letha couldn’t blame on religion.

Stepping inside the office, Letha assessed the lady behind the desk. She was new, but gave Letha a grim smile.

“Letha Antitheus, I presume.”

“Present,” Letha said with overtly fake cheer.

The woman rose, scratching her chin. She appraised Letha slowly, as Letha returned the favour. Tall and thin with thick glasses, the woman had a distinctly ‘giraffe’ air to her, enhanced by the leopard skin jacket she wore. Letha wondered what Giraffe saw; a skinny, ill-looking child with hard eyes or the rebel who was wearing jeans when it wasn’t Friday along with a school uniform that had the collar ripped off. Annoyed by the quiet, Letha raised a brow.

“Dr John is expecting you.”

The upside to going to the office was the heating, but the downside was Dr John, the school psychologist. For the last year, Dr John had been talking to Letha about her behaviour and her future, neither of which were topics that she showed any interest in. John Stanford had a dealt with rebels and inebriates before, had ‘straightened them out’, but Letha had resisted all help. Once he had eventually gotten her in his office of course.

Now, Letha walked in easily enough, collapsing in the armchair. Ritually, their stare-down began. Dr John was average height, average weight, average temperament and average complexion. He didn’t wear glasses or have braces, and he looked neither younger nor older than his thirty-four years. And, as always, Dr John looked away first. Letha smirked.

“How was your weekend, Letha?” He asked, but continued without waiting for the reply he was never going to get, “Did you eat anything good? See any good movies? Meet any new people?”

Dr John had developed a method of talking with Letha, where he’d ask a lot of questions in quick succession. If he said something that offended her or intrigued her, she’d reply, or in some cases like this, she’d react accidentally and Dr John would strike gold. This had happened twice over the last year, and each had resulted in yelling and a period where Letha didn’t attend for several weeks.

“you met someone?” he murmured again, jotting something down in his pad, “At home? At work? Do you work?”

Letha snorted and Dr John made a note.

“So at school. Boy or girl?”

Letha raised an eyebrow, and said instead of replying, “Do you know that it is possible to lick your own elbow after you dismember your arm?”