The Dragon of Rosemont High

"How lucky do you feel, Elias?"

He takes Eli to the councillor's office. Eli knows the place well; walls painted in the big, looping street art of kids long-since graduated, floor covered with brightly colored bean bags and large plush Pokémon toys. The school councillor is a woman named Miss Fleur, and looks like a refugee from a photograph of Woodstock by way of a Tim Burton film about faeries. She's kind of spacey, but she's always nice to Eli and she does try.

Today, Miss Fleur is nowhere to be seen. Neither are her bean bags and plush toys. Instead, they've been replaced by a single table and two chairs, set up like a TV cop show interrogation room. The blinds are shut and only the graffiti on the walls reminds Eli of where he is.

Principal Malek leaves Eli in the room with a squeeze to his shoulder and a very distressing murmur of, "Good luck." Eli is suddenly sharply reminded of Addi's warning, and he knows who he's going to see even before her designer heels click-clack into the room.

"Sit down, Mister Drake," says Yvonne Lacroix. "This will go quickly if you cooperate."

Lacroix looks like an older version of Morgan, albeit one carved out of ice and razor blades. Everything about her is some variation of designer off-white: her pantsuit, her hair, her skin. Even her eyes are a bleached sort of grey Eli's never seen before. She looks like the CEO of Ghost and Skeleton, Incorporated, and Eli hates her immediately.

Eli does not sit. Instead, he walks to the window and peers out through the blinds. The sky outside is low and dark with clouds. So much for finding the peryton's master by their shadow.

Lacroix says:

"Do you know who I am, Elias?"

"Arthur and Morgan's mom," Eli says, a slightly petty edge creeping into his voice.

Lacroix continues as if he hadn't even spoken: "I represent a private consulting firm specializing in assisting law enforcement with unusual crimes. I'm currently investigating a series of six murders in Rosemont and the surrounding region."

Eli can't help the little jolt when he hears six murders, and has half-turned to face Lacroix before he can stop himself. She gives him a razor-gash little smile that says gotcha as clearly as if she'd yelled it out loud.

Her lipstick, Eli notices, is the same color as the rest of her face. It doesn't do anything to make her look less like a corpse.

"Tell me about Lance Marlowe."

Eli feels the anger like a physical pain, a bubble forming deep inside and bursting across his skin almost as quickly. Of course this is Lance Marlowe's fault. Of course that asshole had to go tattle to Arthur's mom.

The anger goes as quickly as it comes, popped and dispersed, the source pushed back down and caged and sealed. Never let them see you angry, Dad told him once. Never give them the excuse. Eli says nothing, just resumes staring out the window. Not that there's much to see. Class has started and he's missing History. He likes History.

"You assaulted Lance the other day," Lacroix says. "He has quite a serious injury to the neck. It's a sensitive area; if the wound had been positioned slightly differently, it would've hit his jugular. It's unlikely he would have survived it."

The words set a slightly queasy roil in the pit of Eli's stomach. Marlowe is an asshole but Eli doesn't want to kill him.

"You could be charged," Lacroix continues. "Assault if you're lucky. Attempted murder if not. How lucky do you feel, Elias?"

Yellow eyes and sharp teeth and Eli's voice saying: "If I'm accused of something, then send the cops. I know my rights."

Lacroix shifts, sharp nails click-clacking against the table. "That's right," she says, as if just remembering something. "Your father was a lawyer, wasn't he?" Then, when Eli says nothing: "Such a shame, what happened." But she's smiling, pallid and ghoulish, and the sight of it sends every single hair on Eli's body standing on end.