A fist struck the locker, slamming it shut again. The sound echoed through the empty hallway as he spun around.

“Hey, Rex. Lost your specs?”

Timmy Hudson. That explained the trickle of fear in Rex’s stomach—the boy had beaten him up almost every day back in fifth grade. As strong as any flash of darkling memory, Rex recalled being trapped behind the school one day by Timmy and three friends, punched in the gut so hard that for a week it had hurt to piss. Though it had been years since Timmy had done anything worse to Rex than slam him against the wall, the tightening in Rex’s stomach remained as knife-edged as it had ever been.

“Didn’t lose them,” Rex answered, his own voice weak and plaintive in his ears. “Don’t wear glasses anymore.”

Timmy grinned and stood closer, the smell of sour milk sharp on his breath. “Contact lenses? Huh. The funny thing is, makes you look like even more of a retard.”

Rex didn’t answer, struck with the sudden realization that Timmy Hudson was looking up at him. At some point he had grown taller than his old nemesis. When had that happened?

“You must think you’re getting pretty cool these days, huh?” Timmy punctuated the last grunted word with a hard shove, and a combination lock rammed into the small of Rex’s back, hard as the barrel of a gun. The feel of it focused his mind, and he felt his lips begin to twitch, pulling away from his teeth. His mouth felt suddenly dry.

Something was moving through Rex, something stronger than him.

He shook his head no. He was Rex Greene, a seer, not an animal.

“What’s the matter? Too cool to talk to me these days?” Timmy laughed, then squinted up at Rex’s scalp. He reached out and ran one hand across its bristly surface.

“And a new ’do?” Timmy shook his head sadly. “You trying to look tough? Like everyone doesn’t remember what a little pussy you are?”

Rex found himself staring at Timmy’s throat, where the blood pulsed close to the surface. One shallow rip through the frail skin and life would spill out, warm and nourishing.

“Think your little extreme makeover makes you Mr. Cool, don’t you?”

Rex found himself smiling at the words. What had happened to him was so much more extreme than anything Timmy could imagine.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your weakness.” Rex blinked. The words had just popped out of his mouth.

Timmy took half a step back, blank-faced with shock for a moment. He looked one way down the empty hall, then the other, as if checking the reaction of some invisible audience.

“My what?” he finally spat.

Rex nodded slowly. He could smell it now, he realized, and the scent of weakness had triggered something inside him, something that threatened to spin out of control.

His mind grasped for some way to master himself. He tried to think of the lore symbols, but they had all flown out of his brain. All he had left were words. Maybe if he could keep talking…