Death's Academy Read Free Page B

mom, but I’ve—”
    Demien slaps the steering wheel triumphantly.
    “I recognize you. I saw you in the paper. You’re the roller for the under-twelve skull ball team,” he says. “I saw you play last month. You’re really good.”
    “Oh. Thanks,” I say, and a small grin crosses my face.
    “So, what’s your name, kid?”
    “Midnight, but everyone calls me Night,” I reply.
    “And your last name?”
    I bury my chin into my chest and whisper,“Smith.” I try to change the subject. “Where are you taking me?”
    “To the Lock,” he says.
    My heart sinks. You guessed it. The Lock is our jail.
    Demien turns in his seat and glances at me over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t happen to be Obsidian Smith’s son would you?”
    I lower my head even lower and nod.
    “Ouch,” he says and a flash of pity wipes across his face. “Well, you’re going to hang out at the Lock until your parents come down and answer a couple of questions.”
    “My parents don’t know anything. I snuck out,” I plead.
    “So how did you get the details on our friendly Mr. Chipmunk, then?” he asks.
    I shift uncomfortably in my seat and stare at my shoes. “I just picked an old-looking chipmunk.”
    Demien snorts, and on the next turn he cranks the wheel so hard our tires screech around the corner. Clang! My head slams into the iron bars.
    I look down and see I have grown an extra set of hands and legs. In fact, I have two of everything.
    “You lie to me one more time, and I’ll drive us over to Cutback Canyon,” he says.
    I shake my head and take a deep breath. “My Aunt Dementia. She’s a chipmunk, squirrel, and bushytailed hare Death. She was over at my house for dinner the other night. I snuck a peek at her schedule for this week. There was a chipmunk due to be knocked offand it was close by, so I wrote down the details. I have my exam coming up, and I don’t have a benefactor. I thought I would be doing her a favor,” I say with what I feel is my best downtrodden voice.
    He frowns back at me. “Her schedule had Fluffy on it?” he asks.
    “Well, kind of,” I reply.
    “Kind of?”
    “Before I could get all the info from her schedule, my mom came into the room. I knew when and where, but I wasn’t sure which chipmunk. So I came to the park and looked around. When I discovered the chipmonster—I mean, Fluffy—I just assumed it was him. Did you get a look at him? He has one foot in the grave, and he is probably the most hideous creature on the planet. I was sure it was him,” I say.
    “So you came to the park hoping you would find the right chipmunk, which you didn’t, and then you were just going to wing it?” Demien asks.
    My bruised ego rumbles to life and I bark. “No, I had a plan! It would have worked too, if it wasn’t for that stupid falcon.”
    “I gotta hear this,” Demien says.
    I give him a dirty look. If he could read minds, he would be able to charge me with a couple more crimes.
    “I told the falcon to drop a cactus branch on the southeast corner of the tree. The cactus would have broken through the leaves and hit the hedgehog.”
    “The hedgehog?” Demien asks.
    “He was on the opposite side of the trunk from the chip-monster. His back was turned so he would havegotten pricked on the butt by the cactus thorn. He and the chip-monster hate each other; I figured that out while casing the scene yesterday. The hedgehog would have assumed it was the chip-monster playing a prank on him, charged the chip-monster, and pushed him into …”
    For some reason, when I was planning everything out in my head, it seemed a lot cooler than it does now that I’m saying it out loud. I make what I think is a wise decision and shut up.
    Demien shakes his head and gives me one of those looks that you reserve for when a dog bites its own tail or a toddler spins too many times and falls flat on his face.
    “Figures. Like father, like son,” Demien says.
    My stomach lurches, and I become very interested in a