Charlaine Harris - An Apple for the Creature

“But you ran the red light because you were in a hurry. You didn’t want to be late, did you? So you took the risk.”

I winced as she said the words. The full memory had come back to me now. I could see myself, gripping that steering wheel, my face consumed with anger. The bastard. The underhanded, sneaky bastard. How could he pull a trick like that?

“I couldn’t be late. I was told at the last minute that my opponent had shown up unexpectedly at the county fair and was going to make a speech. Sneaky tactics. He knew I was scheduled to speak there that afternoon. So I had to be there when he spoke to defend myself.”

“So you thought you could flout the law and run a red light.”

“Look, I’m sorry it happened but that van must have jumped the light, too.”

Ms. Fer shook her head. “On the contrary. The van could not have jumped anything. It was so old it could only creep along. It lacked the acceleration to get out of your way when it saw you coming. The family was poor, you see. The father had lost his job when your law firm put his company out of business. I believe you represented the bank in court on that one, didn’t you? And won your case yet again?”

“I was paid to win cases,” I said. “I was good at what I did. And I worked for whomever retained us.”

“Big business,” Ms. Fer said. “Chemical companies. Tobacco. Multinationals.”

“They paid well.”

“They destroyed lives. Texas Chemicals versus Rodriguez. You remember that one?”

Funny, that had been the thought that had popped into my head once before today. I nodded.

“Family lost three children to leukemia directly linked to outflow of toxic waste, correct?”

“It was not proven that there was a link.”

“YOU managed to prove that there wasn’t a link.”

I stared at her angrily. “I was no worse than anyone else trying to make a good living. And I was running for Congress, for pete’s sake. I wanted to help my country.”

“You wanted to fuel your ambition. That relentless, driving ambition. You had to be best, top dog, didn’t you? It’s no use, Amy Weinstein. You can’t hide anything from me. You see, I made you what you are. I saw a good brain and a desire to prove yourself and I molded you. You’ve always been my creature. Always been destined for here.”

“So is this farce of a high school the preliminary for hell? Do I have to graduate over again? Do I get some better-looking clothes?”

She smiled now. “Oh, no, my dear. You don’t get it, do you? This is hell. Your hell. For ever and ever.”

I smiled back now as a thought struck me. “Did it not occur to you that now that I know where I am, now that I know the ropes, I can survive here pretty well? I used to be a hot shot at my high school. I can become that again. I can look good and speak out against unfairness and get other kids to rally around me. I’m a natural leader, you know.”

“You became a natural leader after you had given me your soul.”

“So? Does it matter when I found my voice?”

“Very much. You see, you’ve now gone back to what you were before I transformed you. From now on every morning will be a new day for you. You’ll start the day knowing nothing—lost, blundering, pathetic without your number-two pencil to take the exam—just the way you were when Sally Ann found you at your old high school.” She watched the panic growing in my eyes, and the satisfied smile spread across her face. “Every now and then you’ll have a flash of memory, just to remind you what you have lost. But as time goes on, these memories will fade until all you’ll know is that you’re the new girl at this school—the fat girl, the misfit. Every day. For the rest of eternity.”

I stared at her. “Is there no way out?” I whispered. “No way to redeem myself? There is good in me, you know. A real desire to help. I could do good.”

“Too late, Miss Weinstein,” she said. “Your future was sealed when you sold me your soul. Now you’d better hurry. It wouldn’t do to be late for PE class.”

I got up and tried desperately to think. Some way out. There was always an escape clause.

“Wait,” I said, turning back to face her. “That contract. In the state of New York a minor cannot enter into any manner of contract without the consent of a parent and the signature of same parent. We were in the state of New York when that contract was signed. Hence it is null and void. That contract does not exist, Ms. Fer.”

I reached across the desk, took the sheet of paper and tore it in half.

I saw a flicker of amusement go through those narrowed eyes. “You obviously don’t read the small print, Miss Weinstein,” she said. “That statute does not apply to contracts signed in blood. The laws governing those contracts are far older than the state of New York. They go back to the dawn of humanity.”

“I don’t agree,” I said. “A contract signed in the state of New York is governed by the laws of that state. And a contract signed under coercion or pretense can be disputed in any state.”

“Oh, I shall enjoy having you here, Miss Weinstein,” she said. “Such an enjoyable challenge. Most poor wretches simply resign themselves to their lot.” A bell sounded in the hallway outside. “Now you had better hurry. The PE teacher is not as tolerant as I am.”

I came out of her office into the hallway that was already swarming with students. I joined the throng but my brain was already racing. I wasn’t going to let her beat me. There was always a loophole. There had to be a celestial court to which I could appeal, and when they heard how she had tricked me, they’d judge in my favor. I had never lost an important case in my life and I wasn’t about to lose this most important one!

I strode out now.

“Hey, watch it,” one kid said as I bumped into him.

“You watch it yourself,” I answered. A plan was already forming in my head. First step was to get out of these awful, ugly clothes. I’d go into the locker room and help myself to some better items while everyone was at PE. Supplement those from the lost and found. Find myself a locker to hide the stuff away, in case I found myself dressed like this tomorrow. Oh, and steal a hairbrush, too. Surely everything was fair game in hell?

And then? I’d have to work quickly while my mind was still razor sharp. There must be other students like me, sentenced unjustly, tricked into being here. I’d find them and motivate them. We’d form a movement. It would grow until the whole school was behind me. And we’d take over the school, and I’d represent each of them in the celestial court and we’d win.

You’re going down, Ms. Fer, I vowed to myself. I found the library and pushed open the door. I had some planning to do, and some studying. If I had to take those tests again tomorrow, I planned to ace them. I’d be prepared.

I’d already stolen two number-two pencils, properly sharpened, from Ms. Fer’s desk.

Amber Benson is an actor, filmmaker, novelist, and amateur occultist who sings in the shower. Best known for her work as Tara Maclay on Buffy the Vampire Slayer , she is the author of the Calliope Reaper-Jones series for Ace Books and the middle-grade ghost story Among the Ghosts . She is also the codirector (with Adam Busch) of the feature film Drones . She can be stalked on her blog—amberbensonwrotethis.blogspot.com—and on Twitter and Facebook.

Calliope Reaper-Jones felt like an idiot.

No, that wasn’t right. Idiot was too vague a term.

Calliope Reaper-Jones felt like . . . a dunce . Yes, that was more apropos.

A dunce. The kind that sat in the back corner of the classroom with her face to the wall, a large conical cap affixed firmly to her head, trying not to cry as all the other kids pointed fingers and laughed uproariously at her.