Page 73

Delores

“Ugh, take it from the top!” Rufus puts his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Full tech rehearsals for the talent show have become our daily nightmare. The inability of the various arts disciplines to work as a team makes for constant friction, and Rufus’ patience—thin as it is—is ready to snap. I don’t blame him—unlike our number, the other acts from the dance and music departments are all solo performances, so every pred is the star in their own head. There are a few tolerable small preds, but most of our tantrums have come from a single source.

The Heathers.

My ex-besties have thrown together a Pred-mart version of the Cell Block Tango from Chicago. It's easily the worst thing I’ve ever seen, and I’d say that even if they weren’t my nemeses. They’re trussed up in LaPerla rather than lingerie designed to work on stage. When they’re miked and moving, it’s a shitshow of nip slips and plumber’s cracks. Add to that their complete lack of rhythm, choreography resembling a bad strip tease, and singing so off-key it physically hurts, and you have a hot fucking mess.

I can’t decide if this is all on purpose to ruin our show or if they’re just this ignorant, but it’s making Rufus lose the plot.

“Dollypop, can you please talk to that brainless twit in lighting about her timing? If they disrobe on stage, I’ll fail this project and it’s a huge chunk of my grade. I know the shifters in the audience won’t give a fuck about nudity, but not being able to control my cast will be a black mark on my resume, no matter what.”

I take pity on my friend, rising to walk back to the light board to talk to the owl running the spots and cans. She’s a nervous little thing, and Rufus has been taking out his frustration with the Heathers on her all afternoon. Her wide eyes settle on me through thick-framed glasses, and I give her an encouraging smile.

“Does this...” I gesture at the blinking lights, switches, and buttons. “... have programming? Like, can you cover our butts by putting something together that you could activate with a push of a button if they screw up and pop a seam? If so, that would help everyone relax a little, I think.”

Specifically, a high-strung honey badger on the verge of a mental breakdown.

The tech girl nods quickly, a grateful expression on her face. “Yes, yes! I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. I can set it to quickly activate and hide… inappropriate stage attire.”

I suppose that’s one way to put it. Full frontal nudity is another.

“Good. Please set it up, and also work with the sound guy to automate music to play when it cuts their mics. I appreciate it, truly. My friend isn’t a bad guy—he’s so stressed about his final grade that he’s about to pull his hair out.” She gives me a nod and a half smile, and I walk back to the row where my two friends are whispering.

When I join them, Cori throws an arm over my shoulders. “Dolly, it would probably be easier at this point just to kill the Heathers. Ru-Ru knows people who could do it.”

A laugh bubbles out of me before I can stop it. “When they were trying to kill me, we ignored them, but when they butcher Kander they may not be kind. It’s obvious the other performers didn’t spend the past six weeks rehearsing for this show, and to say they are rough would downplay the situation. Cori’s exam was based on the costumes for our group, so she’s not as worried as he is.

“Excuse me… is anyone paying attention? My lighting is wrong again,” Gold whines as she stomps over to the proscenium.

I arch a brow as I look at her, unwilling to even dignify her antics with a response. Gold and the other Heathers’ mindless minions scared me when I first arrived because I was alone and had no support. Now that I have Rufus, Cori, and my guys, I can see how pathetic their games are. Their own followers would leave them in a second if they found a better meal ticket, and the power they believe they wield is far less than they assume.

Herr Director gives Gold a scathing look before he scoffs, “If you’d wear actual costumes, you wouldn’t have to worry about being unflattering. Since you’re determined to wear that...” he pauses and rolls his eyes. “... we don’t have a choice.”

“My father will—” Pink starts.

Cori whips her head around to glare at her, white fur shimmering over her form. “Look, you smelly trout. I am a good person—I do yoga, avoid red meat, and champion the little guys. But you and your friends are really testing my non-violent philosophy over here.”

My gaze cuts to Rufus and he shakes his head. Apparently, we really don’t want Cori to lose her whole peaceful warrior thing. If the bloodthirsty honey badger says it’s bad, I’m going to assume it’s terrible. He walks up behind her and puts a hand on her shoulder as she continues to stare down the plastics, and I mimic his actions on her opposite side.

The newest Heather goes to open her mouth, but Rufus bares his fangs. “Not the time to earn your stripes, McLachlan. Back in line with you.” When the blonde slips back in line, he yells, “From the top! We’re not allowing this mess on stage if you can’t get your shit together.”

The house lights go down as the music starts, and I instinctively tense. Cori squeezes my arm, and the tension seeps out of me. Ever since the whole ‘body on the balcony’ incident, I haven’t complained about sticking close to my friends or the guys. Even though I feel like I’m getting better at protecting myself, I learned a harsh lesson about going anywhere without a buddy. There’s no reason for my pride to get me killed.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I tilt my head and squint at the loge on stage right. My night vision isn’t as good as the other preds, but I’m fairly certain there’s someone up there. I don’t know if they have on a cloak or a hoodie, but shadows obscure their entire form as if they’re trying not to draw attention to themselves.

If this is someone’s idea of a joke, it’s not fucking funny.

Elbowing Cori, I whisper out of the corner of my mouth, “Don’t look; don’t react. There’s some weirdo up on the balcony dressed like a fucking stalker. It could just be a creeper trying to catch a nip slip, but it could also be a psychopath.”

Maybe even the campus psychopath...

To her credit, Cori remains calm as she covertly sneaks a peek before mimicking my tight-lipped hiss. “I see them. They don’t look big enough to have taken down some victims—I mean, that tiger shark shifter was stacked, D. This idiot is probably one of the Heathers’ petty posse trying to Ghostface you on the way out.”

“My eyes are better than both of yours, ladies, and I promise that person would have to be venomous to have taken out the shark or the bear over winter break. I mean, unless they’re a fucking ninja trained in Batman skills.” Rufus’ gaze is back on the Heathers as they pranced around the stage like idiots, so he must have seen enough.

I never went to watch them cheer back at Shifter Secondary. Lucille said nothing beyond ‘the Pred Games are a waste of time and energy’.

Discreetly sliding my gaze back to the hooded observer, I murmur to my friends carefully. “What if there’s more than one person doing all of this? Is that possible?”

“I don’t know, Dolly. It would have to be someone who either works or attends the school. I’m not sure multiple strangers could run around the campus without being noticed,” Cori replies.

Unless they’re not strangers… and they live here.

Holy shit! What if they know about the prey tunnels?

A shiver runs through me. I’ve been using those tunnels all semester to get around safely—that is until Rennie requested I have a chaperone at all times. I haven’t shared my knowledge of these routes with Rufus and Cori because I promised the prey staff that I wouldn’t tell any students about them. But if someone has gotten their hands on the secret map app, or if they’re prey themselves, they would have full access to all points on campus, from any direction.

This is awful. I have to tell the guys after rehearsal, but I don’t know what they can do. We can’t seal the tunnels off, because the prey staff need them to get around safely.

I slip one hand into each of my friends’ as the realization hits that, little by little, the mysterious killer—or killers—has made it so nowhere on campus is safe. That’s fairly impressive at a school full of the biggest, meanest predators on the planet. What kind of person has the skill and reach to do this? It can’t simply be some run-of-mill sociopath—the body on the Tower balcony proved that.

Oh, shit! Does the dead kid in our Tower mean the killer has wings? I can’t imagine them dragging the damn thing up eight flights of steep stone stairs.

Theories whirl in my head as Rufus focuses on huffing at the Heathers bumbling across the stage. If a potentially dangerous shadowy figure wasn’t lurking in the wings, I’d be grateful for the distraction. But right now, all I can think about is who could have placed the corpse on our balcony. The victim was a medium-sized shifter, so smaller avians probably couldn’t have achieved it, unless they had help.

That leaves bigger avians. I don’t think I’ve met any climbing shifters here, so that’s an unlikely option.

“Rufus!” I squeeze his hand. “Do we have shifters that climb at Apex? Like ones that could climb the Tower.”

“Some of the big cats are excellent climbers, but I’m not sure about something as high as the Tower, especially since it’s made of stone. If there was enough erosion to create claw holds, maybe, but I doubt it. It’s really more likely someone would get in from the stairs or by flying. Why? Are you worried? I assumed your gargoyle has that place locked down.”

His question makes me squirm. The guys asked me not to tell anyone—even my friends—that someone breached Renard’s defenses. Aubrey was the one who brought me around to keeping the secret. He insisted that if only we knew, someone might reveal themselves by mentioning the body at the Tower. Since the other buildings on campus have been left alone, one slip in phrasing would give us a new lead on the killer.

I don’t like keeping things from my friends, but I understand the strategy. It makes me feel like a jerk, though, and once this is over, I’m going to apologize immediately.

“Because I’m thinking about how the creeper watching us up there got in. The doors to the upper levels have codes when the theater isn’t open, and we didn’t open the balconies for this rehearsal yet.”

“That’s brilliant, Dolly,” Cori whispers. “It could all be connected.”

I nod resolutely. “Once the Heathers finally stop, we should break for dinner. I guarantee by the time we get up there, the asshole is gone, but maybe we can find clues to who—or what—it was.”

“Like the Scoobies!” Rufus chortles. “Jinkies, Dolly, a clue!”

I roll my eyes and elbow him in the ribs. “Yeah, and most TV shows prove no one gets away without leaving some evidence. It couldn’t hurt to snoop around in case they did.”

Cori snickers, muttering, “That’s it, no more true crime for you. You’re not Sherlock Holmes.”

That sends us all into giggles, and my tension evaporates again. At least now I have some actionable steps for when rehearsal is over. I’ll need to talk to my boyfriends too. If we’re going to survive the rest of the semester, we need an offensive plan—traveling in pairs will not cut it. I sigh, turning my attention back to the screeching dogs on stage. I’ll have to watch this nonsense until Rufus calls a dinner break.

And that’s when the body drops from a rope, bouncing in the air in the middle of the stage like the motherfucking Phantom of the Opera.