‘A what?’ I practically yelped.
‘A knife,’ she repeated, unwrapping the brown paper to reveal a smooth, olive wood penknife with the initials A.K.W. engraved in a cursive font. ‘I had it customised, because I am nothing if not pretentious.’
‘Why do you need a knife?’ I asked, unease rubbing up against me like an arched black cat.
I hoped the answer would be something innocent, something easier to dismiss – maybe because she was jealous of mine, or because she wanted to protect herself from the murderer at large. But instead she just curled her lip and said, ‘I’m going to kill Kate Feathering with it.’
My stomach dropped. ‘The librarian? I . . .Why?’
A nonchalant shrug. ‘She looks at me the wrong way.’
‘She looks at everyone the wrong way!’ I said, urgency creeping into my tone. ‘I think that’s just her face!’
‘So you agree she needs to be dealt with?’ Alice asked calmly, her villainous brow hooking upwards. This demeanour, so mild and composed, was somehow far worse than the monstrous voice of the transformations. A cold and calculated killer had replaced the feral, desperate girl.
I knew we needed drastic action, and I knew we needed it now.