It was taped to her locker: a small note, the words made up of letters that looked like they'd been cut from the Sunday circulars.
Inside, having been pushed through the vent: Go to science class. Fine, it was someone who knew her schedule. Bobby? Maybe Hakim?
On her lab station: Boiler room. Someone was going to be very disappointed: she wasn't that kind of girl, at least usually.
Or maybe it was business. The boiler room was dark, but she could hear breathing… labored, animal breathing. She pulled a silver dagger from her bookbag. "Business it is."