Prey Read Online Free PDF

Straight bangs hung over plucked eyebrows and eyes so blue, they had to be contacts. The light colors she wore, faded jeans and white turtleneck, coupled with her pale skin made her seem fragile, like porcelain.
    â€œBad, Aristotle!” the woman said. To Chelsea: “I’mso sorry. He’s so frisky. Just a puppy!”
    â€œIt’s okay. I know him. I work at Rhett’s.”
    The woman’s mouth rounded with recognition. “Yes. I remember. You kept counting the change, like it was going to be different each time.” She scooped the little dog into her arms and nodded at the house. “You live there?”
    â€œNo, my teacher does. Ms. Mandisa.”
    â€œHope she’s hiring you to mow her lawn.”
    â€œSorry. Just pet sitting.”
    â€œShe has a dog?” the woman said, surprised.
    â€œUh…lizard.”
    â€œEw,” she said reflexively. “Well, if you need anything, or if Aristotle gets loose again, I’m Tess Sullivan. I live right across the street.” The woman spun and walked toward her box-like home, the long leash dragging behind them.
    Turning back, Chelsea crept up the leaf-laden path to the door of the cape and tried to avoid counting her steps. There were only four stairs leading up to the porch, though, so she took them in at a glance before she could stop herself.
    It wasn’t really an OCD thing. More an observation. Perfectly normal, right?
    Before she could press the paint-covered buzzer, thedoor opened, revealing Ms. Mandisa. She wore a brown housecoat with orange accents that matched some of the dead leaves, and a wide grin that was singularly hers.
    â€œI was afraid you’d decided not to come, and then I saw you with my neighbor. Quite a character, isn’t she? Come in, come in.”
    As Chelsea entered, Ms. Mandisa lingered at the door, fidgeting with a big lock that seemed, strangely, to have a key on the inside. “The door’s a little complicated,” she said. “I’ll explain all that later, so you don’t lock yourself in.”
    The door had opened to a staircase heading up. To the right was a small hall leading deeper into the house, a single doorway on the side. Further right was the living room proper, open to the hall and stairway. Outside the afternoon sun was shining, but the living room was dark enough for a small lamp to be turned on. Thick green drapes smothered the windows. The flower-patterned couch looked expensive and foreboding. Chelsea, afraid she’d have to sit on it, scanned for things to count.
    But Ms. Mandisa kept walking, down the hall and into a wide, sunny kitchen with a back door. Chelsea followed her hostess, sliding her windbreaker off asshe went. She was sweating already, and the house felt very warm, steamy even. Old radiators pinged and hissed.
    â€œJuice? Coffee?”
    â€œOJ with water would be great, Ms. Mandisa.”
    â€œCall me Eve. Just not in the classroom, all right?” she said pleasantly.
    Chelsea nodded and sat, not at all sure she wanted to call her teacher Eve. She liked the way Ms. Mandisa felt when she said it, but now, of course, the woman might be hurt if she didn’t use her less-lyrical first name. The table she sat at was a massive thing that looked like it could stop a tank, but at least it was clean. Though there wasn’t a spot of rust or decay, the design was very retro; silver edges, thin silver legs and a white Formica top. In the pattern lay scores of swirling dots, like instant coffee grains melting in hot water. The urge to count them was strong, but she resisted.
    â€œMostly I live in the kitchen. The living room is so depressing. I only go in there at night to read,” Eve Mandisa said as she retrieved the juice from the refrigerator.
    â€œWhy not take off the drapes?” Chelsea asked, quickly adding, “Eve.”
    Eve made a face that revealed her skin was not assmooth as Chelsea thought. Tiny