Red Glove

Red Glove Read Online Free PDF Page B

Book: Red Glove Read Online Free PDF
Author: Holly Black
isn’t part of the script. It slips out. I don’t know how to deal with this. I know how to be the witness to her grief. I don’t know how to be this kind of villain.
    “I don’t need your pity.” Dots of hectic color have appeared on her cheeks, like she’s running a fever. “I’m waiting the curse out at Wallingford. If I’d told my dad what your mother did, she’d be dead by now. Don’t forget it.”
    “And me with her,” I say.
    “Yeah,” she says. “And you with her. So get used to the idea that I’m staying.”
    “I can’t stop you,” I say quietly as she turns away from me and heads for the stairs. I watch the way the shadows move down her back. Then I slump against the wall.
    I’m late for class, of course, but Dr. Kellerman only raises his bushy eyebrows as I slink in. I missed the morning announcements on the television suspended over the blackboard. Members of the AV club would have explained what lunch was going to be and when after-school clubs were meeting. Not exactly thrilling stuff.
    Still, I’m glad Kellerman decides not to give me a hard time. I’m not sure I could take it.
    He resumes explaining how to calculate odds—something I am pretty good at, being a bookie and all—while I concentrate on trying to stop my hands from shaking.
    When the intercom on the wall crackles to life, I barely notice it. That is, until I hear Ms. Logan’s voice: “Please send Cassel Sharpe to the headmistress’s office. Please send Cassel Sharpe to the headmistress’s office.”
    Dr. Kellerman frowns at me as I stand up and gather my books.
    “Oh, come on,” I say ineffectually to the room.
    A girl giggles.
    One thing’s in my favor, though. Someone just lost the first bet of the year.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    HEADMISTRESS NORTH-cutt’s office looks like a library in a baronial hunting lodge. The walls and built-in bookcases are polished dark wood and lit by brass lamps. Her desk is the size of a bed and is made of the same wood as the walls, with green leather chairs resting in front of it, and degrees hanging behind it. The whole thing is designed to be intimidating to students and reassuring to parents.
    When I’m shown in, I see Northcutt is the one that looks uncomfortable. Two men in suits are standing beside her, clearly waiting for me. One has dark sunglasses on.
    I check for bulges under their arms or against their calves. Doesn’t matter how custom the suit is, the fabric pulls a little over most guns. Yeah, they’re carrying. Then I look at their shoes.
    Black and shiny as fresh-poured tar, with rubbery flexible soles. Made for running after people like me.
    Cops. They’re cops.
    Man, I am so screwed.
    “Mr. Sharpe,” Northcutt says. “These men would like to have a conversation with you.”
    “Okay,” I say slowly. “About what?”
    “Mr. Sharpe,” says the white cop, echoing Northcutt. “I’m Agent Jones, and this is Agent Hunt.”
    The guy in sunglasses nods once in my direction.
    Feds, eh? Well, federal agents are still cops to me.
    “We understand that we’re interrupting your school day, but I’m afraid what we have to talk about is sensitive enough that we can’t discuss it here, so—”
    “Wait a moment,” Northcutt interrupts. “You cannot take this student off campus. He’s underage.”
    “We can,” says Agent Hunt. He’s got a slight accent. Southern.
    Northcutt flushes when she realizes he’s not going to say more than that. “If you walk out of here with that boy, I will contact our lawyer immediately.”
    “Please do,” Agent Hunt says. “I’d be happy to talk with him.”
    “You haven’t even told me what this is about,” she says in an exasperated tone.
    “I’m afraid that’s classified,” says Agent Jones. “But it has to do with an ongoing investigation.”
    “I don’t suppose I have a choice?” I ask.
    Neither agent even bothers to answer. With a slight pressure against my back, Agent Jones steers me out of the room, while Agent
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