"You mean they want to get me at Debbie's alone, so they can pick me off?"
"They might."
I nodded thoughtfully. I didn't believe Debbie was working with our foes, but it was possible that they were manipulating her to get to me. "How should we handle this?" I asked.
Harkat's green eyes betrayed his uncertainty. "I'm not sure. It would be foolish to walk into... a trap. But sometimes risks must be taken. Perhaps this is our way to flush out... those who would ensnare us."
Chewing my lower lip, I brooded upon it a while, then followed the most sensible course of action - I went and woke Mr. Crepsley.
I rang the bell for 3c and waited. A moment later, Debbie's voice came over the intercom. "Darren?"
"The one and only."
"You're late." It was twenty past seven. The sun was setting.
"Got stuck doing homework. Blame my English teacher - she's a real dragon."
"Ha-flaming-ha."
There was a buzzing noise and the door opened. I paused before entering and looked across the street at the opposite block of apartments. I spotted a lurking shadow on the roof - Mr. Crepsley. Harkat was behind Debbie's building. Both would rush to my rescue at the first sign of trouble. That was the plan we'd hatched. Mr. Crepsley had suggested beating a hasty retreat - things were getting too complicated for his liking - but when I pulled rank, he'd agreed to make the most of the situation and attempt to turn the tables on our opponents - if they showed.
"If a fight develops," he warned me before setting out, "it may not be possible to choose targets. You are not prepared to raise a hand against your friend, but I am, if she is working with the enemy. Do not get in my way if that happens."
I nodded grimly. I wasn't sure I could stand by and let him harm Debbie, even if it turned out that she was conspiring against us - but I'd try.
Trotting up the stairs, I was painfully aware of the two knives I was carrying, strapped to my calves so as not to show. I hoped I wouldn't have to use them, but it was good to know they were there if needed.
The door to 3c was open, but I knocked before entering. "Come in," Debbie called. "I'm in the kitchen."
I closed the door but didn't lock it. Quickly scanned the apartment. Very tidy. Several bookcases, overflowing with books. A CD player and stand; lots of CDs. A portable TV set. A cover poster of The Lord of the Rings on one wall, a picture of Debbie with her parents on another.
Debbie stepped in from the kitchen. She was wearing a long red apron and there was flour in her hair. "I got bored waiting for you," she said, "so I started to make scones. Do you like yours with currants or without?"
"Without," I said and smiled as she ducked back into the kitchen - killers and their cohorts don't greet you with flour in their hair! Any half-doubts I had about Debbie quickly vanished and I knew I'd nothing to fear from her. But I didn't drop my guard - Debbie didn't pose a threat, but there might be vampaneze in the room next door or hovering on the fire escape.
"How did you enjoy your first day at school?" Debbie asked, as I wandered round the living room.
"It was strange. I haven't been inside a school since... Well, it's been a long time. So much has changed. When I was..." I stopped. The cover of a book had caught my eye: The Three Musketeers. "Is Donna still making you read this?"
Debbie poked her head through the doorway and looked at the book. "Oh," she laughed. "I was reading that when we first met, wasn't I?"
"Yep. You hated it."
"Really? That's odd - I love it now. It's one of my favourites. I recommend it to my pupils all the time."
Shaking my head wryly, I laid the book down and went to view the kitchen. It was small, but professionally organized. There was a lovely smell of fresh dough. "Donna taught you well," I remarked. Debbie's mum used to be a chef.
"She wouldn't let me leave home until I could run a good kitchen," Debbie smiled. "Graduating university was easier than passing the tests she set."
"You've been to university?" I asked.
"I'd hardly be teaching if I hadn't."
Laying a tray of unbaked scones into a petite oven, she switched off the light and motioned me back to the living room. As I flopped into one of the soft chairs she went to the CD stand and looked for something to play. "Any preferences?"
"Not really."
"I don't have much in the way of pop or rock. Jazz or classical?"
"I don't mind."
Choosing a CD, she took it out of its case, inserted it in the player and turned it on. She stood by the player a couple of minutes while flowing, lifting music filled the air. "Like it?" she asked.
"Not bad. What is it?"
"The Titan. Do you know who it's by?"
"Mahler?" I guessed.
"Right. I thought I'd play it for you, so you're familiar with it - Mr. Chivers gets very upset if his students don't recognize Mahler." Taking the chair next to mine, Debbie studied my face in silence. I felt uncomfortable, but didn't turn away. "So," she sighed. "Want to tell me about it?"
I'd discussed what I should tell her with Mr. Crepsley and Harkat, and quickly launched into the story we'd settled upon. I said I was the victim of an ageing disease, which meant I aged slower than normal people. I reminded her of the snake-boy, Evra Von, whom she'd met, and said the two of us were patients at a special clinic.
"You aren't brothers?" she asked.
"No. And the man we were with wasn't our father - he was a nurse at the hospital. That's why I never let you meet him - it was fun, having you think I was an ordinary person, and I didn't want him giving the game away."
"So how old are you?" she enquired.
"Not much older than you," I said. "The disease didn't set in until I was twelve. I wasn't very different to other children until then."
She considered that in her careful, thoughtful manner. "If that's true," she said, "what are you doing in school now? And why pick mine?"
"I didn't know you were working at Mahler's," I said. "That's a freak occurrence. I've returned to school because... It's hard to explain. I didn't get a proper education when I was growing up. I was rebellious and spent a lot of time off fishing or playing football when I should have been learning. Lately I've been feeling like I missed out. A few weeks ago I met a man who forges papers - passports, birth certificates, stuff like that. I asked him to set me up with a fake ID, so I could pretend I was fifteen."