blood with pure liquid revulsion. The footsteps poured through the halls of the Schola Prima, drawing closer and closer. So many of them. Yet there was no warning bell, no alarm like at the other

Schola.

Ash made a short chuffing sound, turning in a circle so fast his fur made a whispering noise. He all

but pee-danced in place, and I stepped nervously out into the hall.

He lunged toward me, and I flinched back down the hall. He stopped short, considered me, lunged

again. I stepped back, and he stopped.

Oh.

I got the idea, but it took all the courage I could scrape together to half-turn and set off, one hand

touching the wall because I wasn’t too steady on my feet. He padded behind me, occasionally almost dancing in place when I slowed down, impatience in every fluidly moving line of him. Blood

roared in my ears, almost drowning out the horrible little tip-tapping footsteps, and the most horrible thought in the world floated through my head.

Is he trying to get me someplace safe or is he driving me toward them?

Hell of a thing to think. I’d just been sleeping in the same room with him, and I’d been trusting him

all this time. But oh, God, the nasty little mistrustful idea just wouldn’t go away.

The hall ran into a T-junction at this end. I glanced back nervously, my hair getting in my eyes, and

I gulped in an unsteady breath. “Ash?” I whispered. “I, I don’t know—”

He bumped into me. I jumped and almost ran into the wall. He slid past, his shoulder then his chest

and his flank touching my hip in one long stripe. His narrow graceful head looked left and right,

and I heard the footsteps again. Like Q-tips tapping a drumhead, each one distinct but fuzzy.

They were even closer. Don’t ask me how I knew.

Ash kept his head cocked. Then he looked back at me, and the awful human madness in his glowing

eyes dimmed a little. He flowed back and pushed me toward the right.

I didn’t know where this hall went. If I went down here, I’d be trusting him completely.

You were just sleepin’n there with him at’n the door, Dru. Too late now. Gran’s voice, practical and

stinging. My cheeks were wet and hot.

I won’t lie. I did spit. I couldn’t stand the taste in my mouth, but it didn’t go away. My head hurt, a

vise squeezing my temples. My bladder was incredibly full, and I was cold. My mother’s locket,

touching my chest, was a chip of ice. My fingers were wooden.

Closer. They were closer. My breath actually fogged, I was so cold.

I slid around the corner to the right. There was a door at the end, a big massive oak-bound thing.

The type that, here at the Schola, led outside.