Dean Benedict scanned the new girl’s transcript again, trying to pin down what bothered him about it – and her. She had completed two years at Essex Academy, where she had scored top marks in all her courses. But she’d been put on academic probation twice for cutting classes. Given her grades, that might have been because she’d studied ahead, finishing her textbooks and required reading, and thought her instructors had nothing more to teach her.
She could have been right: Aidra Dorcas was obviously very smart. Her name had a Celtic ring, but she didn’t look Irish. Scottish or Welsh, perhaps, with her black hair and blue eyes.
She’d been a bit of a loner at Essex. No team sports: she played tennis and golf, and she was a distance runner – not a marathoner, but she won the ten-thousand-meter race twice. Pretty impressive for a girl in her early teens.
He closed the transcript folder and looked up. “Everything seems fine, Ms. Dorcas. You’ll start the winter term in the junior class, and you’ll live in Thomas Paine Hall with another transfer student, a young lady named Caitlin Douglas, who comes to us from Pearson Academy.” He waited for a response, but Aidra just stared at him. Her face might have been carved from stone, and the dean suddenly felt as if he were the one being interviewed. Or interrogated.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked.
“Yes, I do.” She spoke in a grown woman’s rich contralto. “Do you ever wonder why this school is so expensive?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A year at Saybrook Academy costs almost twice what a year at Essex does. Why is that?”
It was the last thing the dean expected her to ask, and it caught him off-guard. Saybrook did charge too much. It had a very large endowment fund, thanks to wealthy, generous alumni; tuition couldn’t be free, naturally, but it could cost a great deal less without endangering any of the school’s academic, athletic, or creative programs. But that was something he could never tell a student. So he tried to explain.
“Well, ah, almost all the students here are boarders, but only about a quarter of the student body at Essex live at the school,” he said. “The upkeep of our dormitories, the preparation of three meals a day in Commons, the salaries of the staff… uh, we have a much larger non-academic staff than Essex, you see… oh, and we have more instructors too, of course… well, all that costs a good deal, as I’m sure you understand.” He realized he was babbling, maybe because he had developed a fierce headache. The girl cut him short.
“Is Saybrook a better school than Essex?”
“I don’t make comparisons between preparatory schools, Ms., ah, Dorcas.”
“Why not, sir? My parents certainly did, after I left Essex. My mother wanted to send me here, because it’s co-ed, and she thought girls and boys should be educated together. But my father wanted to send me to another all-girls school because he was afraid I’d lose my virginity and get pregnant.” She gave him a look, eyes heavy-lidded and mouth slightly open, which could only be described as seductive. To his horror, Dean Benedict felt himself beginning to respond physically.
“Well, ah, there are boys here, Ms. Dorcas,” was all he could manage. “I mean…”
“Oh, I know what you mean, Dean Benedict,” she said in that creamy voice. “There are men here, too. Handsome ones. Like you.”
The dean managed to summon up his disciplinary voice, but it took some doing. “Ms. Dorcas, I don’t know what kind of silly game you think you’re playing, but it’s entirely inappropriate. Let’s get back to business.”
“Whatever you say, sir,” Aidra said. “I’m sorry if I’m inappropriate?” Benedict was relieved that she had reverted to teen-age up-speak, even though ordinarily he considered it as offensive as saying “like” before making a statement. But then he wondered if she had just insulted him. Her face was stony again, almost harsh. He felt he was seeing what she would look like when she was his age. His wife dabbled in Buddhism, and believed in reincarnation. Perhaps the girl was an old soul who had passed through many lives. But that was New Age nonsense! The dean was a nominal Episcopalian, and attended chapel every Sunday, because it was expected of him, even though he was agnostic. Sometimes he felt guilty about faking piety, and envied the simple faith of the school chaplain, Reverend Grevin – or “Rev Grev,” as the students called him – not to his face, or course, any more than they call me “Dean Benny” to my face, although I wouldn’t really mind, but faculty-student barriers should be respected, I suppose…
He realized his mind was wandering again. The girl asked, “Is there something wrong, sir?” Demure dutiful darling. Damned deceitful delicious. Her smooth forehead showed a single wrinkle of concern.
“Stop it!” he said sharply. “You’re getting me all confused!”
“Oh, I think you’ve been confused for a long time, Dean Benny,” said the girl gently. “You want to fuck your girl students, but you’re afraid of getting caught. You think the school is way too expensive, but you’re scared to tell the bursar, because he would complain about you to the alumni board. You don’t have any faith in yourself. You should retire. Or die.”
The dean tried to respond, but the headache became unbearable. The room darkened, although the overhead fluorescent lights and his desk lamp were still on. He started to rise from his chair, but everything turned red, and he pitched forward, face down, on his desk.
The demon felt his life-energy coursing through the girl’s body, and it shuddered with ecstasy. They didn’t usually die. It knew Aidra’s face was flushed, and it made her take several deep breaths to calm herself down. Then it sent her running to the door. She opened it, and cried to the dean’s receptionist, “Help! Please! Something terrible has happened to Dean Benedict!”
