Hannah Jayne - Under a Spell

You want me to do what?

In all my years as the only breathing employee at the Underworld Detection Agency, Ive been asked to do a lot of thingshobgoblin slobbery, life-or-death, blood-and-flesh kind of things. But this? This took the cake.

Pete Sampson leaned back in his leather chair, and though I usually beamed with pride when he did thatas I had been instrumental in getting him back into head of the UDA positionthis time, I couldnt. My stomach was a firm, black knot and heat surged through every inch of my body as he looked up at me expectantly.

I really thought you would be excited to visit your old stomping grounds.

My knees went Jell-O wobbly then and I thumped back into Sampsons visitors chair. I yanked a strand of hair out of my already-messy ponytail and wrapped it around my finger until the tip turned white.

Excited? To return to the source of my deepest angst, my inner-turmoilto the brick walls that can only be described as a fiery, brimstony hell?

Sampson cocked an eyebrow. Its just high school, Sophie.

Exactly.

Most people would say that high school is the most traumatic time in their livesmyself included. And since in the last few years Id been shot at, stabbed, hung by my ankles, almost eaten, and sexually harassed by an odoriferous troll, most traumatic took on a whole new significance.

Isnt there anything else we can do? Anything I can do? And Im talking human sacrifice, demon sacrifice, total surrender of my Baskin Robbins punch card.

Sophie, Sampson started.

Wait. I held up a hand. Are we sure we have to go in at all? And why me, specifically? I meanI rifled through my purse and pulled out a wrinkled business cardits been a while since youve been back at the Agency, Sampson. See? I slid the card across the desk to him. It says right there: Sophie Lawson, Fallen Angels Division. I stabbed at my name on the card as though that would somehow give my title more emphasis. Does this case have anything to do with fallen angels? Because if not, Im sure there are other UDA employees who would be excellent in this investigation. And then I would be able to really focus on my current position.

Granted, my position more often than not found me pinning a big baddie to a corkboard or locked in a public restroom san clothes, but still.

Sampson stacked my business card on top of a manila file folder and pressed the whole package toward me.

You should go in because you know the high school.

Ill draw you a map. I narrowed my eyes, challenging.

And because everyone else around here Sampson gestured to the open office, and I refused to look, knowing that I would be staring into the cold, flat eyes of the undeadand the occasional unhelpful centaur. Well, everyone else would have trouble passing. Besides, its not like youre going in alone.

Im not worried about that. And hey, Im flattered, but there really is no way Im going to pass as a student.

Though Im only five-five (if I fudge it, stand on a phone book, and stretch), often wear my fire-engine red hair in two sloppy braids, and have, much to my best friends chagrin, been known to wear SpongeBob SquarePants pajama bottoms out to walk the dog, it had been a long time since anyone had mistaken me for anything more than a fashionably misguided adult.

Youre not going in as a student. Youre going in as a teacher. A substitute.

I felt as though all the blood in my body had drained out onto the brand-new industrial-grade carpet. Because the only thing worse than being a high school student is being a high school substitute teacher.

My left eye started to twitch. A substitute teacher?

My mind flooded with thumbtacks on desk chairs and Saran Wrap over the toilets in the teachers lounge. Suddenly, I longed for my cozy Underworld Detection Agency job, where no one touched my wedged-between-two-blood-bags bologna sandwich and a bitchy band of ill-tempered pixies roamed the halls.

A substitute teacher, I repeated, who saves the world?

Sampsons shrug was one of those Hey, pal, take one for the team kind of shrugs and I felt anger simmering in my gut.

You can teachhe made air quotes that made me nauseousany class youd like. Provided its in the approved curriculum. And not already assigned.

I felt my lip curl into an annoyed snarl when Sampson shot me a sparkly-eyed smile as if being given the choice between teaching freshman algebra or senior anatomy was a tremendous perk.

If this high school isnt about to slide into the depths of hell or in the process of being overrun by an army of undead mean girls, Im going to need a raise. A significant one, I said, my voice low. And a vacation.

Sampson nodded, but didnt say anything.

So, I said, my eyebrows raised, why is this so dire?

Do you remember last year when a body was found on the Mercy High campus? Sampson asked.

My tongue went heavy in my mouth. Though I was well-used to the walking undead and the newly staked, the death of a young kida breather who would stay deadmade my skin prick painfully. I nodded.

Thats what this is about?

Sampson didnt answer me.

Her name was Cathy Ledwith, right?

It had been all over the papersa local student mysteriously vanishing from an exclusiveand, before that day, safehigh school campus. A week later, her body was discovered dumped near Fort Cronkhite, an old military installation on the Marin side of the Golden Gate Bridge. Though the story was told and retoldin the Chronicle, the Guardianand the Mercy High School campus was overrun with reporters for the better part of a semester, there werent a lot of details in the case. Or at least not a lot were leaked to the press.

That murder was never solved, Sampson said, as he slid the file folder over to me.

Didnt someone confess? Some guy in jail? He was a tweaker, said something about trying to sacrifice her. The thought shot white-hot fire down my spine, but I tried my best to push past it. I still dont see what this has to do with the high school. Or with me having to go into it. I followed the case pretty closelyI was somewhat of a Court TV or pretty much anything-TV junkieand I dont remember any tie-back. I mean, the girl was found in Marin.

She was dumped in one of the tunnels at Battery Townsley.

I shuddered. People go through there all the time.

It was a hiker that found her. Her killer obviously wasnt concerned about keeping Cathys body a secret.

I winced at the mention of Cathys body.

I still dont understand what this has to do with uswith the Underworld. Everything about it screams human. Cathy was humansomeone even recognized a van, right? Very few of our clients drive vans.

Sampson gestured to the folders and I swallowed slowly, then looked down at them. Directly in front of me was a black and white photo of a smiling teenagerall perfect teeth and glossy hairand it made my stomach roil even more. My high school picture was braces doing their darnedest to hold back a mouthful of Chiclet teeth and hair that shot straight out, prompting my classmates to announce that my styling tools were a fork and an electrical socket. I yanked my hand back when I realized I was subconsciously patting my semi-smoothed adult hair.

What? The prom queen? I stopped and sucked in a sharp breath when my eyes caught the headline plastered over the photo: MERCY HIGH STUDENT MISSING.

I scanned quickly.

Mercy High School student Alyssa Rand disappeared Monday afternoon. Erica Rand, Alyssas mother, said that she last saw her daughter when she boarded the number 57 bus for Mercy as she always did; teachers confirmed that Alyssa attended her classes through the lunch period, but she did not show up for afternoon classes. Police are taking student statements and a conservative approach, unsure yet whether to classify Alyssa as a runaway or an abductee.