Three Tomorrows for Abigail

[Twitchcraft]

Elizabeth Craft swept the entrails of the rabbit off her desk and into a Ziploc bag.

She wiped down the plastic desk protector and added the paper towels to the trash, along with the thin latex gloves she'd worn for the ritual. She sealed the bag with a sharp swipe of her hand and tucked it into the bottom drawer of the desk. Then she sat back to wait.

The girl arrived five minutes later. There was, Elizabeth decided, more gristle than grace about her. Her hands were calloused, her knuckles scarred. Her face was unadorned, and she wore her hair in a loose, somewhat untidy ponytail.

"Miss Blackburn," said Elizabeth. She let a trace of her old accent -- her original accent -- seep into her voice; the lilt tended to put people at ease. "Thank you for coming. Please. Sit."

She gestured to the only other chair in the room. The girl hesitated, but finally settled into it.

Their eyes met.

"Don't believe I know you, ma'am."

Elizabeth gave her a smile. Measured, warm, reassuring. One she'd practiced over a great many years. "I'm Miss Craft," she said. "I'm a counselor."

The girl eyed her dubiously. "Thought that was Miz Wilson."

"Oh, I'm a counselor of quite a different sort," said Elizabeth. "Best to think of me as... deeply interested in your future."

The girl nodded, considering that. Then, with only the faintest hint of suspicion, she said, "Haven't seen you before, I don't think."

"I'm not actually part of the regular faculty." Elizabeth worked to keep the amusement off her face. Oh yes, this was the daughter of a prefect, a watchman, a sentinel. "I'm more a consultant, really. Mr. Herrera sometimes asks me to speak with students."

"He ask you to talk to me?"

"He did indeed."

"How come?"

Elizabeth shrugged with her eyebrows. "You tell me."

"'cause I'm in trouble?"

"Are you?"

"Reckon so."

Elizabeth steepled her fingers. "It would not be inaccurate to say there's some concern."

"About me," said the girl.

"About your performance," said Elizabeth. "About your behavior."

The girl folded her arms and said nothing. Not sullen exactly, but not cooperative, either. Elizabeth suspected she had a great deal of practice at the stance.

"Would you like to see your file?"

The girl shrugged. Elizabeth drew the manila folder from the file basket beside her. She opened it and began to spread the contents across the desk.

It was a very thick file.