Chapter 1

I fingered the fabric of the Third Year choker around my neck, staring at it in the mirror. I murmured to Grant, “I wish I could read it.”

Grant looked up from his handbook of standard Noosemeister show scenarios, his expression puzzled. “What do you mean? Just take it off and read it.”

I shook my head, still looking at my reflection. “It’s not the same. If I take it off, then it’s not around my neck anymore.” I stirred the other chokers in my dresser drawer, all identical except for their colors—at Academy parties I could choose whichever one went best with my party outfit. Grant and I had taken to wearing very hot ensembles for the auctions following our party performances. All of mine had the words “Amy—Property of the Hanging Academy” stitched across the front. “I can see what it says. I want to feel what it says. I want to read it while it’s around my neck.”

Grant resumed studying the handbook. “What, can’t you read it backwards?”

“I want to see it the way club members at the parties will.”

My metal Second Year collar, now discarded, hadn’t affected me this way. Probably because the thing was so heavy that I could never forget it was there. Yes, that was it. The feathery weight of the new choker was so imperceptible that I found myself almost unaware that I was collared at all. I had to keep reaching up to touch it to make sure it was there.

I sighed, then giggled. “Maybe we can rig up extra mirrors so my reflection gets reflected.” I brushed a fleck of lint from my new aqua-colored bra, part of my Third Year uniform. I was enjoying my new, exalted status among the students of the school.

But I had lost Grant’s attention. I turned, walked to the bed and sat on it beside him. Grant couldn’t understand my preoccupation with the symbols of my status as a Third Year. To Grant, the fact of being a Noosemeister was indisputable, and he didn’t need a collar to tell him the Academy owned him.

I put my arms around Grant’s waist and leaned my head on his shoulder. I saw the page Grant was on. “Captured Assassin? Is that the one you want?”

Grant frowned. “I’m not feeling it. If I was going to kill somebody, I’d make sure I had the perfect plan and couldn’t be caught.”

I turned my head slightly and kissed Grant’s cheek. “Hon, you’ve got to be the Prince. That’s so totally you.”

Grant looked briefly at me, then back at the handbook, his lips turning up in a smile. “Why, thank you, loyal subject. So why am I a prince?”

I looked steadily into Grant’s eyes, until he turned to look at me. “Because you have so much in common with a prince. A prince is born to be what he is, just like you were born to be what you are.”

Grant’s eyes lit up instantly. “I like that.” He reached up, gently pulled my head closer, and kissed me. “And you’ll be my servant.” The role of the prince’s servant was one of those recent additions to the various scenarios since Miranda’s day, designed to give Academy students active roles in other grads’ hanging performances.

I giggled, mumbling against Grant’s lips, “If I’m still alive.” Each of us longed to be present at the other’s hanging, But we couldn’t both get our wish. We had finally agreed to leave it to chance—whichever received a serious, acceptable offer first would take it, and not fret over losing the chance to see the other hang.

Grant continued to kiss me, reaching to unhook my bra, and I started undressing him. We could rarely stop once our physical intimacies had progressed to this point. But I looked up in annoyance as the speaker in our room crackled to life with the announcement, “Amy Cameron, please report to the First Year dorm parents’ room.”

I recognized Larry’s voice before the message registered. I shook my head as Grant broke off the kiss. “It’s just Larry messing around. He’ll probably order us to come over for movies tonight.” I had known it would be a mixed blessing when Larry and Laney had been made dorm parents. Laney could be counted on to take it seriously, but Larry was sure to spice up his position of authority with a little playfulness.

Grant kissed me lightly on the cheek and handed my bra back. “Go ahead. You know what kind of shit he’ll give you if you don’t show up.”

I put on the shirt, stood and leaned down to kiss Grant. “Yeah, but he doesn’t know what kind of shit I’ll give him the next time he interrupts us in the middle. See you in a little bit. Hold my place for me.”

Grant grinned and picked up the handbook again. “I’m your prince. Don’t give me orders.” As I left, Grant was turning back pages to examine the Prince Scenario.

I knocked on Larry’s and Laney’s door. I hadn’t generally bothered with that for over two years, but their position now required a greater degree of decorum. I didn’t want to lessen their authority if one of the First Years was in their room. I heard Laney’s “Come in.” I put on my exasperated face and entered.

It was still jarring for me to see my friends in their red graduate uniforms, but it didn’t stop me from venting my irritation. “Larry, could you just...” I stopped abruptly—there was indeed a First Year sitting in one of the chairs.

The instant I focused on her face, I gasped and blinked. My legs suddenly felt weak. I began, in a whisper, “Mir...” and stopped.

I stared at the girl intently. She did remind me strongly of Miranda, especially in profile now as she shot Larry a puzzled look. She certainly had the same nose and the same high cheekbones, though the shape of her chin was slightly different, and her hair was a darker blonde than Miranda’s, with a curl to it that Miranda’s didn’t have. The butterflies in my stomach weren’t going away. “Larry ... is...” To the girl I said, “Are...” before words failed me. I shot a look at the girl’s metal collar, forgetting that it would simply identify her as “Slave Girl.”

I realized Larry was doubled over in laughter, sputtering, “I knew you’d see it! You’ve spent a lot more time looking at that face than I have!”

Laney, laughing too, put her hand on the First Year girl’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Melissa, we’re not laughing at you, honest. You just don’t know how to appreciate the look on Amy’s face right now.”

Larry, choking back the last of his giggles, said, “Melissa, this is Amy Cameron. A Third Year ... well, you can see that. Amy, I wanted to make sure you met Melissa Warren. Okay, you can go on back to your room now.” He made a brusque shooing gesture.

I ignored Larry and took a step closer, trying again to speak. At last I managed a choked, “Hi, Melissa.”

Melissa’s puzzled frown deepened as she saw the expression on my face. Then she spoke and I recognized Miranda’s voice. “I’m really sorry ... I’m usually good with faces, but ... if we’ve met, I’m just not remembering. Oh! So you knew...” She shook her head slightly. “You couldn’t have known my sister either. She was hanged before you started here.”

I finally found my voice, and a smile. “There’s something ... someone, I mean, I think you should see.” I looked up at Laney. “You don’t need to talk to her anymore, right? Can I take her and show her something?” I corrected myself again. “Somebody?”

Laney grinned. “Oh, sure. Mind if we come along?”

Melissa looked at her “dorm parents” and shrugged, standing. “Is this still part of orientation or something?”

Laney interrupted before Larry could say anything misleading. “Ahhh, no. Melissa, I know you just met us, but trust us. There’s a reason we’re being so mysterious, but you’re not going to be locked in a secret closet or anything like that. Nothing bad will happen, I promise.”

Melissa shrugged again, and put on a tentative smile. “Well, okay.” She turned to me and said, “You’ll have to show me where we’re going, of course. I can barely find my way back to my own room.”

I rapped softly on the door of our room. Grant occasionally still violated the neck trainer rule by using it alone, and I hoped no one else would ever find out. “Grant? You decent? I’ve got company.”

Melissa asked, “So is this your room?” Behind Melissa, Larry’s and Laney’s eyes were bright with excitement.

I played what Melissa had said back in my mind and responded, “Oh, yeah. Grant is my roommate,” as Grant’s muffled voice came through the door, “Yeah, no problem.”

I opened the door, and saw Grant sitting on the bed with his back propped against the wall, looking up from the handbook to see who was here. I gestured for Melissa to go in, watching carefully for Grant’s reaction.

Melissa stopped abruptly; she and Grant were both startled, for different reasons. In Melissa’s case, it was the usual reaction of anyone seeing Grant for the first time—Grant would always stand out, even in a roomful of sexy Hanging Boys. Grant, meanwhile, let his jaw drop open, and instantly shot a wide-eyed look at the shelf on which Miranda’s head rested.

It almost seemed to happen in slow motion:, Melissa turned her head slightly to see what Grant was looking at. Her hands flew to her cheeks, and her knees buckled. Crouching, she let a strangled squeak emerge from her throat and then stood in that pose frozen, staring.

I turned to look at Larry, who grinned and gave me a thumbs-up signal. When I looked back at Melissa, she had taken several steps into the room. In an awed whisper, Melissa asked, “What is she doing here? She should be with the people who bought her.”

I thought for a moment about how to answer. “Ummm ... she is, sort of. My father bought her for my brother. My brother ... realized how important she was to me. And let me have her.” That was basically true, as far as it went.

Melissa whirled to look at me. “You ... your family staged her hanging?” Her eyes and mouth were wide open.

I stepped toward Melissa and put a hand on her shoulder, unable to stop glancing back and forth between her and her late sister. It wasn’t a case of there just being a subtle family resemblance. If Melissa did some things to her hair, she might easily have impersonated her sister. “The show she put on was really wonderful. I want you to know, your sister is the reason I’m here, at the Academy. I’m not just saying that.”

Melissa took a step closer to Miranda, reached out and stopped herself, looking at me. “Is it okay if I touch her?”

I blinked in surprise. “Melissa, she’s your sister. Of course you can touch her!”

Melissa reached out again, and rested her fingertips on Miranda’s cheek as if her sister were a soap bubble that might pop at the slightest touch. She stroked her sister’s cheek softly. Only a few of the other students who had visited my shrine had actually touched Miranda, but I wasn’t surprised that Melissa would.

She looked back me again. “Could I hold her?”

I made a hand gesture of offering Miranda to Melissa. “Like I said.”

Melissa gingerly lifted her sister’s head off the shelf, backed up a few steps and felt blindly behind her for the bed, sitting on the edge of it when she reached it. Grant got off the bed to give her some room, and stood beside me, automatically taking my hand.