Dracul Read Free Page B

running—”
    “Why’d he follow you?” The man still has his hands firmly on my bag, but it’s his gaze that’s holding my attention. His eyes are dark and glinting, boring into mine like maybe there’s a reason that dude stole my bag.
    Out of all the people carrying backpacks this morning, the bag-snatcher took mine.
    I swallow uneasily. “I don’t know. Maybe because I stopped?”
    “He followed you.”
    “Everybody left the building about the same time. Maybe he was just following the pack.”
    “You should be careful.” The man flashes me an I’m-just-trying-to-be-helpful look, revealing a gold tooth on one side of his smile.
    I flash him a thank-you-for-your-concern-but-I’ve-got-this look and tug my bag back out of his hands. “Thanks for your help. I need to be going.”
    My bag securely slung over both shoulders now, I walk briskly back to my house. Weird morning. First the bat, then Constantine, then the question of how and why Constantine showed up in the first place, then the thing with my bag.
    I’d like to believe that was a random bag-snatching. Maybe a student low on funds, hoping to hawk a few textbooks in order to make rent. But the old guy didn’t seem to think so, did he?
    *
    My last class is over by three. Shortly after that, I’m sitting in my kitchen munching popcorn chicken and trying to decide whether I should return the call from the Diagnostic Testing Lab and tell them my bat got away from me, or maybe ask them if they know a guy named Constantine, when my phone rings.
    The number is the same one jotted on the notebook in front of me, right above Constantine’s name.
    “This is Rilla.”
    “Hey, Rilla. It’s Constantine. I’m just calling to reassure you the bat did not have rabies.”
    Normally I’d breathe a sigh of relief, but, “How do you know it didn’t have rabies? Do you work for the university’s Diagnostic Testing Lab?”
    “No.”
    “Did you take my bat there?”
    “No.”
    “How did you know about the bat?” I’ve spun some theories, like maybe that he was tapped into my phone (which is a long-standing paranoia in my extended family), but I’m not going to make any accusations until I’ve heard what he has to say for himself.
    “I saw it go in.”
    “What?”
    “I saw the bat go into your house. I never saw it come out. I wasn’t sure if you cared, but then I thought I’d like to know if there was a bat inside my house, so I rang your bell.”
    “You rang my bell to warn me about the bat?” I’m reviewing everything that happened this morning. I answered the door and all Constantine said was, “You have a bat . ”
    I’d interpreted his statement as a question, almost a prompt for me to produce the bat. But in retrospect, maybe he was warning me. Maybe the questioning note in his voice came from his uncertainty over whether I’d care to hear his news. I mean, it was a Monday morning and my sleep had been interrupted by the bat. It’s not like my analytical processing skills were in peak form.
    But that still leaves one really weird thing.
    “How do you know the bat doesn’t have rabies?”
    “I study bats. That’s how I saw the bat go into your house. It’s very unusual this time of year for bats to be flying around at all, especially outside. They are supposed to be hibernating.”
    “The ones inside my house are not hibernating.” I’m still kind of in catch-the-holes-in-Constantine’s-story mode, but I realize what I’ve accidentally revealed as soon as the words are out of my mouth.
    Constantine breathes in sharply.
    Oops.
    Clearly, he realizes what I’ve said, too. “You have more bats inside?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know. I mean, I’ve heard things. Maybe I’m just assuming they’re bats.”
    “What have you heard?”
    “Fluttering. Shrieking. Noises in the attic.” I bite my lip. How do I take back what I’ve confessed? Now Constantine knows about the bats, which my mom didn’t want anyone to know about. But I’m