Dracul Read Free Page A

Lab (whose call back number is identical to the number I called that morning) that I realize a couple of things.
    One is that the university apparently doesn’t send somebody to pick up bats—you have to bring them the animal and fill out a form.
    The other—and this is the one I probably would have realized earlier if I wasn’t in a hurry and trying to cover up the fact that I’d murdered the bat in question—is that when I called earlier, I left my name and phone number and a brief message about a bat.
    I didn’t give them my address.

Chapter Two
     
    My fellow students brush past me as I slow to a stop on the sidewalk, staring at my phone in wonderment.
    There’s got to be a rational explanation, right? Like maybe…I don’t know…the student directory has my address. So maybe they looked it up and sent Constantine to get the bat even though that’s not their policy?
    No, that’s just weird.
    So how did Constantine find me? Does he even know how to tell if the bat had rabies?
    The brisk Montana wind whips stray flakes of snow toward my face from the overcast sky. I tuck my head low inside my hood and shove my phone back into my backpack.
    As I’m slinging the pack over my shoulder, a grip firmer than the wind tugs my bag free from my hands.
    A tall figure in a black parka and blue jeans darts past me, my backpack tucked under his arm.
    “Hey! That’s my backpack!” I leap after the bag-snatcher, but he has several strides’ head start.
    Still, I’m fast. I need my bag, not just because it has my phone and my books from class, but because it’s mine. Historically, dragons are known for hoarding things. We like our things and we like to keep our things. Even if it’s not gold or treasure, that guy took my bag and I want it back.
    So I’m racing down the sidewalk after the dude, planning in my head how as soon as I get close enough I’m going to jump on him and use some of my martial arts moves I’ve never had a chance to try on a person before, when a paunchy middle-aged guy sitting on a bench up ahead stands up and extends his arm just as my bag-snatcher runs past.
    Just like that, the older guy is holding my backpack.
    I slow my steps, unsure whether I should continue to pursue the bag-snatcher into the busy parking lot beyond, or stop and claim my bag from the helpful balding man.
    The bag wins. I didn’t even get a good look at the guy and there are lots of parka-wearing males in the parking lot. Now that none of them are carrying my bag, I’m not even sure which one had it.
    “This yours?” The older guy is a little shorter than I am. It’s not that he’s crazy short or anything. I’m just on the tall side, and he’s not.
    “Yeah. That guy grabbed my bag.”
    The man hands over my backpack. “He followed you as soon as you left the building.”
    “What?” I look back at the brick structure I exited after class. It’s over a block away, but there’s a clean line of sight from the bench where this man was sitting to the door I exited.
    “The man who took your bag was leaning against the building. When you came out, he followed you. When you slowed down, he slowed down. When you stopped, he took your bag. I saw the whole thing.”
    “Did you see what he looked like?”
    The man shrugs apologetically. “Ski mask.”
    “Seriously?” I glance around and notice at least a third of the people walking past are wearing ski masks or balaclavas. Of course they are. It’s crazy cold out, and the blasting wind doesn’t help.
    The older man doesn’t seem at all surprised that the perpetrator had his face covered. “Aren’t you going to check your bag and make sure nothing’s missing?”
    “Good idea.” I set the bag on the bench and open the top, eyeballing the contents and verifying my phone’s okay.
    The older man holds the bag open wide and peers in with me. “Everything still there?”
    “Looks like it. I don’t think he had time to take anything. He was