Hunter's Alpha (gxg) ✓

4. The Act

UNIVERSITY STUDENT FROM TOULOUSE ACADEMY IS MISSING. IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION, PLEASE CONTACT THE POLICE.

Posters have been plastered everywhere. Images of a girl I don't recognize, someone with smooth brown skin and dark-lashed eyes.

On the sidewalk of the library, I slow down.

The memory of the outstretched hand flickers in my mind. The deep red of blood, sinking into the carpet.

I only saw her hand, but could it be her?

KACY BELL. 5'4, BLACK-HAIRED, BLACK EYES, 115 POUNDS. IF YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HER DISAPPEARANCE, DON'T HESITATE TO CONTACT US.

Beneath it, a phone number is listed. I write it down.

But I called the police. I told them she was dead. Why would there be missing posters of a dead person?

It can't be the same girl.

And yet, isn't it worse if it isn't her? How many people are missing around campus? Why are the students disappearing?

I've only been here for less than two weeks. And already, I've seen a killer on the loose.

It should terrify me. It should make me tremble and hyperventilate and cry. But . . . I'm familiar with death. Too familiar. I've had my fair share of it. I looked it in the eyes and I walked away. And if I did it once, I can do it again.

The murder should faze me. But it doesn't.

I don't know if that makes me empty. Emotionless. But I know it's giving me strength right now, as I knock on the door of the Crescent sorority house.

One minute. Two.

It's a girl with red hair and a bright smile who opens the door. She wears skimpy pink pajamas, barely there, and I can see her white skin through them.

Now this, this, is what I imagine a sorority to be like.

She holds her hands at an awkward angle as she waves, and I notice her fingernails are a fresh pink, still wet.

Yes, this is what I thought university would be like. Girlish sleepovers and pink pyjamas and talking about boys late at night.

Not kidnapping and cults and dead bodies in the living room.

Hey, those could be lyrics in a Lorde song.

"Hi," says the red-headed girl brightly. "Can I help you? I'm Julia."

Be nice. Be nice. I'm going to have kiss serious ass if I want the help of these people. "I'm Jude. I was wondering if I could speak to the sorority president?"

It's only a bet that the green-eyed girl is the president. With the way the other girls looked to her, almost worshipping, I think I'm right.

Julia's face flickers, almost imperceptibly.

Recognition.

Shit. If I've made a name for myself already, I'm done for.

This club—or cult, whatever it is—must be like the Dead Poets Society. At least, that's what I'm hoping. They'll have connections in higher places, connections I can use. I need these people if I want the resources to help my mother.