Page 29 of The Executioners Three

Looking forward to it. How was a gal supposed to sleep after a comment like that? Needless to say, Freddie didn’t. On the one hand, this meant she didn’t have any disturbing dreams… or kissing dreams either.

On the other hand, it meant she began her day feeling like the Crypt Keeper. And frankly looking like him too. To make her feel that much better about herself, the Fortin Prep uniform acquired from the Friedmans’ dry cleaners yesterday didn’t fit.

It was intended for the proportions of a teenage boy, which left it too tight in Freddie’s hips and boobs, and too loose everywhere else. But with half-shuttered eyes and a yawn, Freddie managed to squeeze into it. Then she snuck out of her room, ready to meet Kyle and Cat promptly at seven A.M.

Well, they were prompt. Freddie was two minutes late because halfway through the kitchen, a button on the shirt decided today was the day it wanted freedom. It went sproing! , hit the Mr. Coffee, and suddenly Freddie found herself giving those one-boobed paintings a real run for their money.

One safety pin later—the heavy-duty kind—she was finally out the front door and into the still-dark morning.

Where she promptly heard “Dreams” by the Cranberries blasting from Kyle’s Jeep.

The volume doubled as soon as she opened the back door and clambered in.

“Hey!” Kyle shouted over Oh, my life is changin’ every day . “Looking good!”

This was quite an overstatement, but Freddie blushed anyway.

Kyle’s uniform—despite also being the forgotten leftover of a former student—fit his shapely body to a T.

And although Cat (seated in shotgun) didn’t look quite as flawless as Kyle, at least her uniform was intended for someone with breasts.

“Here,” Cat said once Freddie was buckled in. She also had to pitch her voice over the music. “Put this on your hair! They all know what you look like over there.”

The this in question was a plain red baseball cap, under which Freddie did not think her hair would actually fit. But it was at least sort of a disguise, because Cat was right: the kids at Fortin definitely knew what Freddie looked like. Especially after the Incident with the Kiss.

Laina, Luis, and Divya were not joining for this prank. Laina and Divya had perfect attendance records (who were these people?) while Luis never missed his morning run (ugh). Cat, Kyle, and Freddie meanwhile had nothing to lose—and Freddie had quite a lot to gain.

Kyle of course drove with his usual reckless abandon, which almost became wreck-ful abandon when an entire herd (or was it a clan ?) of deer went sprinting across the road. He only hit the brakes in time to miss them because Cat and Freddie both screamed. Loudly .

Really, this could have been added to Kyle’s résumé at this point: Extracurricular activities: near-miss car accidents.

His Jeep careened to a stop right in front of the county park’s trail entrance. The entrance Freddie had chased Mrs. Ferris to. There was police tape across it now. Those woods aren’t safe right now, Ibrahim had said. First Mrs. Ferris got mauled… and now we’ve got another body.

But there’d been no mention of a body in today’s paper. Freddie had checked. No mention of feds coming to town either, or any clue as to what Ibrahim might’ve been referring to.

Five minutes later, the stone pillars and sign that marked the entrance to Allard Fortin Preparatory School came into view, and Kyle finally slowed his Mario Kart speeds so he could pull in.

“F-U, Fortin Prep,” Kyle said at the sign—followed by a delighted, “Hey, they’re the same letters! F-U, F-P! Say it with me, guys!”

No one said it with him.

The drive curved and crooked upward, forcing Kyle to a slogging twenty-five miles per hour.

Every few seconds, Freddie would glimpse a rooftop or window or balcony from the main estate.

The sun hadn’t risen yet, but there was at least a grayish haze to brighten the lawns and outbuildings.

Students shambled on paths and sidewalks as Kyle drove them ever uphill, and at an intersection leading either toward the main estate or to the dorms, Kyle chose the dorms.

Thirty seconds later, they pulled into a newly paved lot packed with fancy cars. And through a dense row of privacy evergreens, Freddie could see the dorms. She could see Theo’s dorm.

She could also see the mausoleum—or at least its domed roof—through another row of pines and firs. And of course, those secret-corner yew hedges.

Suddenly, her heart was beating very fast. She felt dizzy too, and she greatly regretted skipping breakfast (again). She also wished Kyle would turn down the heat.

“Alright,” she told Cat and Kyle once they were parked. “You know what to do. Dorms, bathrooms, and if you’re still uncaught, call—”

“Cat’s cousin,” Kyle interrupted with a grin. “He’s on bystand right now.”

Cat sighed. “He means standby.”

“Oh yeah.” Kyle laughed. “That too.”

And Freddie couldn’t help but laugh with him, the precious little airhead. “Alright. When everything is done, call me.” She waved Sabrina at them. “And also, if there is any trouble at all, call me.”

“Aye, aye, Prank Wizard!” Cat saluted, and they all piled out.

While Kyle opened his trunk and handed out supplies, Freddie tugged her new cap low.

A duffle and a backpack for Cat, two massive trash bags for Kyle, and a final duffle (in bright leprechaun green) for Freddie.

All of the bags were distinctly cubical, thanks to the crates of crickets within, but like the uniforms, the disguises were just good enough to hopefully pass muster.

And fortunately, as long as the crickets were being jostled about, they were silent. “See you soon,” Freddie whispered, then she waited until Cat and Kyle were out of sight toward the dorms before setting off herself.

She could already see a blond figure lounging like a Gap model against a lamppost near the mausoleum’s gardens. Freddie gulped. And gulped again, telling herself those weren’t butterflies in her stomach—they were just the residual hum of crickets.

For the first ten steps, the freezing morning air was a relief, but by the time Freddie reached the gardens and hedges, she was numb to her core. These blazers were not good for warmth.

Theo didn’t seem to notice Freddie’s approach.

He was staring at his shoes, hands in his pockets.

His face looked marginally better than the day before, in that the swelling had reduced.

And against Freddie’s greatest desire, she was forced to admit that “beat up” worked unfairly well on Theo Porter.

He looked Very Bad Indeed, and with the mausoleum wreathed in morning fog behind him, he might as well have been posing for the opening shot of a new horror film.

All of it was spotless too. Theo and the other students had done a great job cleaning the Prank Squad’s mess, and Freddie couldn’t decide if she was sad to see her handiwork so easily erased… or relieved because she really was a Good Girl in the end.

“Nice job cleaning,” she called as she strode around a trimmed rosebush and low yew hedge.

Theo jerked off the lamppost, his expression turning mildly aghast as he took in Freddie’s uniform. Then he tipped his head sideways and peered beneath her cap’s bill. “Gellar? Is that you in there?”

“Barely,” she admitted. “This uniform is meant for different proportions, I fear.” She flicked at the heavy-duty safety pin.

And Theo’s cheeks reddened. He cleared his throat and looked away. “Where did you, uh, even find that getup?”

“A magician never tells her secrets.” Freddie hefted the duffle bag higher on her shoulder. “Can I get that key card, please?”

“About that.” He sauntered backward, aiming toward the mausoleum with a lazy shrug. “I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to run pell-mell through my library.”

“I would never run in a library, Mr. Porter.”

He smiled—just a flicker. “Be that as it may, you can’t get access without me beside you.”

Ah. That would not work well for Mission Release Crickets. Freddie hopped after him. “What would it take to change your mind?”

“Nonnegotiable.”

“Everyone has a price.”

“Not me.” He smiled again, but this one did not reach his eyes. “So do you want access or not?” He slowed to a stop before the mausoleum. His hand rested on the marble sign, thumb tapping just over Le pouvoir réside dans le service.

(In The Curse of Allard Fortin , Edgar Fabre had actually pointed to this quote on the mausoleum as proof that José had cursed his three servants. Because sure, Eddie! Makes total sense.)

“What about first period?” Freddie countered. “You would just skip class?”

“You aren’t the only rebel around here.”

This argument made no sense, although Freddie couldn’t pinpoint the exact fallacy. “I told you, though, Mr. Porter: the library isn’t part of our prank. I’m just doing research in there.”

“And why should I trust you?” His fingers stilled on the sign. Behind him, one of the busts of José Allard Fortin seemed to be glaring. “I barely know you, Gellar.”

Freddie matched the Fortin glare. She and Theo had exchanged saliva two days ago; that ought to count for something. But she also couldn’t just stand here in the cold, wasting precious moments of her stolen time. “Fine, Mr. Porter. You win.” Freddie thrust out her hand.

“Great.” Theo shook it, his grip firm and fingers cold from the marble. “Then away we go. But hey, watch your step; there’s a loose brick right there.”

The Fortin Prep library looked like every fancy library Freddie had ever seen in photographs. With its gleaming oak shelves and ladders, with its second level of shelves and aisles and polished wood floors, Freddie was both thoroughly in love and also thoroughly intimidated.

In her safety-pinned shirt and hip-hugging khakis, she definitely didn’t belong. Which admittedly, she literally didn’t belong since she wasn’t a student. But she at least wanted to look like she could fit in.