Wildfire

Chapter 30

30. Joke

It all seemed like a really distasteful practical joke. I couldn't imagine anyone actually severing a head from a dead body, mounting it on a little wooden card and mailing it to someone. It was more like a Halloween prank — a replica of a human head, designed to scare but not completely horrify. Which was probably why I wasn't horrified — I was just furious.

No, furious didn't really encompass the white-hot rage that surged through my blood. I'd thought all this supernatural business had been taken care of, but since when had I ever caught a break? I really should have expected something like this, especially when Diesel claimed she smelled magic.

When am I ever going to learn?

I rolled my eyes and shoved the card back in the box, flipping the cardboard flaps back over the top. When I looked at Charlie, she was cupping a hand over her mouth, her face gone deathly pale.

"W-what are you g-gonna do?" she breathed.

"I don't know," I muttered. "They didn't exactly leave a return address."

I hefted the box up into my arms and strode toward the door. Charlie scrambled off the bed and opened the door for me, her eyes looking anywhere but at the package. I had a feeling that as soon as I left, she was going to dissolve into full-blown hysterics.

"I'll be back in a bit," I said.

"Cool," she squeaked.

I stormed down the stairwell as fast as I could without putting myself in danger of tripping. I got a few funny looks from other students as I passed, but I just scowled at them until they moved out of my way. When I reached the reception area, I strode over to the desk, dropping the box down unceremoniously in front of the guy who had given it me earlier.

He looked up, a confused expression on his face. "Is something wrong?"

I smiled tightly. "You could say that. Did this package come with the mailman or was it hand delivered?"

The guy glanced down at the box and frowned. "What?"

"The package," I repeated. "Did it come with the mailman or did someone deliver it themselves?"

"When did you receive it?"

I frowned, a frisson of unease starting to creep into my blood. "A few minutes ago."

He stared at me doubtfully. "Um, where did you receive it?"

"Here," I said, gritting my teeth. "I received it here, like ten minutes ago, from you."

"No, miss," he denied. "You didn't."

"Yes, I —" I stopped, grimacing. Of course — whoever delivered the package had probably performed some sort of 'voodoo-hoodoo-whatever-the-hell-it-is forget me' spell on him. Unless he had a twin brother lurking around somewhere. "Never mind."

Yeah," he said. As I walked away, I could have sworn I heard him say, "Crazy bitch."

I pushed open the front doors, hurrying out into the parking lot with the box in my hands. It was surprisingly light, given the contents — yet another reason to believe that the head was a fake. A niggling part of me wanted to consider the idea that maybe the head wasn't so fake after all, but I shoved it down ruthlessly, determined not to go there.

If I did go there — if someone had actually sent a severed head to me in the mail — I wasn't sure how I'd take it. It could be the final straw that tipped me over the edge.